Beyond Angel Avenue

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  I fold my arms. “It seems pertinent to ask, how ill was he? Did she get the monopoly on him, or were there times other carers were sent to deal with him.”

  She slaps the table playfully. “You hit the nail on the head, Julianne, girl. Before she came along, we took it in turns to go up there and see to him. He was handsome, chatty. Mostly self-sufficient except for needing housework doing, his meals preparing, his medication administering. He was very generous with his money…” She rubs her fingers together, telling me he probably gave tips in note form. “…then, she came along, and that were it, she got him. He wanted her, nobody else. She no doubt got all the tips. He were a great client. He was never in a mess. He was forgetful but he wasn’t totally lost. They had him on some drugs that were helping. As far as I know his dementia was controlled and not worsening, more levelling off. He must have recently deteriorated, maybe.”

  “The police told me it was a dementia-related stroke. A follow-up to an earlier, smaller stroke.”

  “We didn’t know what was going on with him. For the last year of his life, it was mostly her seeing to him and we’d only get called up there maybe once or twice a week when she was ill or had a doctor’s appointment. Twenty minutes a week is not enough time to gauge a man is it?”

  I find myself scratching my ear, somehow not sure about all this.

  “If she didn’t take her annual leave entitlement, would she get paid for it in lieu, or lose it?”

  Tongue in her cheek, literally, Janice looks cocky. “Lose it. But if he were giving her a tenner or a twenty every time she showed up, doubt she minded.”

  Wow, Janice is world-weary, for sure.

  “Okay, so, she got sacked?”

  “That’s all we were told. Something about a difference of opinion between her and our manager, William Barker.”

  “William Barker. Yeah, I spoke to him. What do you make of him?” To me, he seemed scared whenever I spoke with him on the phone. Like he knew something but his hands were tied.

  “He’s the fairest boss I’ve ever had and that’s saying something. We went through dozens of bosses at the bakery. Nah, William Barker, we all know we can go talk to him whenever we like and he’ll listen and try to resolve the issue. Seems to me she must have really done something bad to piss him off. Nice bloke all round.”

  I chew my cheek and finish my cup of tea while I try to think of anything else. “What about cash? How much did he keep round the house? Did you ever see?”

  She smiles, cocky. “He had a safe. Always bragged about keeping a bag of sand in it.”

  I swallow. “A grand?”

  She nods slowly. I won’t tell her the police found no money. It’ll be gossiped from here to Constantinople before sundown.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Any idea where Miranda is now?”

  She pushes her lips together. “She got another job. One of the other girls saw her wearing a different uniform, white with lilac lapels.” Janice gestures at imaginary lapels, pointing at her robe, suddenly remembering she’s actually still wearing a robe. The woman must be tired.

  “I’d better go but I really appreciate you talking to me and I really think your clients appreciate you too.”

  She follows me down the hallway. “Happen they do, love.”

  Just before she opens the door, I ask, “How did you know how I take my tea?”

  She stares into my eyes, some sort of mysterious weight behind her serious expression. “Same as Lorraine.”

  It’s been years since I heard anyone say that name and it vibrates my world – that reminder – she once roamed these very streets. “She used to come in the bakery every lunch for her tea and pasty. Weren’t much but skin and bone on that woman. Glad to see you’re not the same. Husband must be happy as chuffin’ Larry with you.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Yep. She was beautiful, elegant like you. Deserved better than to die face down on the kitchen table.”

  “I have to go–”

  I’m racing down the street, clutching my anxiety inside a clenched fist as I go.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jules

  I’m sat in the car on my phone, searching all the private care companies in the area. There are only a couple round here and not many of them have comprehensive websites. Most advise to phone up and speak to someone or ask for a brochure to be delivered. I don’t have much time but something tells me Miranda wouldn’t get work in the immediate area, not after being sacked. She’d probably try to get work at another place, maybe even a different sort of care company altogether. I would imagine she’d want a new start somewhere, something new. For all I know, she might actually be a trained nurse. I do a search for the uniform Janice described, white with lilac collar, and discover it’s the colours used by a company the other side of the Humber. It’s a company that provides similar services to the one Janice works for. So, Miranda’s gotten work on the other side of the river instead?

  I note the address of the offices of her new place of work and wonder. Her new office is in Cottingham, just a few streets from where we live on Snuff Mill Lane. How much closer to us could she get? I don’t know how often the carers visit the office between visiting clients, but it’s worth a shot. I start the engine and head back, visualising the firm’s offices as I drive. They are housed in one of those big, Victorian yellow-brick mansions typical to the town.

  I arrive at noon and park on the street outside the building. I’m glad I packed some food for myself earlier because I’m starving and really don’t have the time to stop at a shop, just in case I miss Miranda popping into the office. It’s a long shot given these women live out of their cars, hopping between visits, but she may well stop by. I have to hope she does. If she’s still fairly new to the job, she might be popping back and forth for training or whatever, I don’t know.

  I get bored of the radio and fear I might run the battery down so when it’s just me and my thoughts, they run away from me. Is Miranda a money grabber? If she was really squeezing my dad for a handful of cash everyday, why is she still in care work?

  I’m feeling insanely trapped by the metal and glass of the car when my phone bleeps.

  KITTY: Any luck?

  ME: Some. Currently on a stakeout.

  KITTY: Sounds exciting!

  ME: Wish I was as entertained.

  KITTY: You’re in the clear so far, no calls, and the boys are fine.

  ME: Thank you. Over and out.

  As I’m looking up from my screen, I realise I just missed a vehicle driving onto the forecourt of the mansion up ahead. I didn’t see who it was! Damn it! It might have been her. I have no idea because I took my eye off the ball.

  Looking at my watch, it’s 3.30 and I decide to give myself half an hour more before calling it quits.

  Ten minutes later, a car pokes its nose out of the exit at the other side of the forecourt. From a distance, I can’t see much but as the driver edges the car out into the road, I see her blonde hair shining in the sun. It’s her. It’s unmistakable. She’s driving a Lexus estate and it makes me wonder! Does she have a rich husband? Why is she doing this job?

  I consider taking down her number plate and getting one of Warrick’s old colleagues to trace her but that would mean involving my husband and if he could see me now, steam would be blowing out of his ears.

  As I watch her wait for a gap in the traffic, I start my engine and resolve to follow her.

  Keeping a steady pace, I tail behind until she pulls down my street! Surprisingly, she then pulls up onto the kerb just outside my house!

  Holy shit.

  She knows.

  While she pulls up at the kerb, I park on my drive and she gets out of her car, standing by the side of the vehicle with her arms folded.

  “You’d better come in!” I shout as I quickly text Kitty: Target acquired. Might be a little late.

  KITTY: Bloody Buggery Gordon Bennett Nora.

  Miranda follows me inside the house and I try to
hide my alarm code from her eyes as I switch it off. She could be an axe murderer for all I know.

  She shuts the front door behind her and explodes, “DON’T YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS THIS IS?”

  I stare, flummoxed.

  “What?” I stand, numb, shaking my head. What the heck is she on about? How did that loud, barking noise come out of her little body?

  “You don’t know who I am?”

  “NO! I mean, YES! You were my father’s carer? And now you’re in my house, Miranda. All I know is that you might have killed my bloody father! That’s all I know, so remember your place here, won’t you?”

  She scoffs. “You’re the one chasing me. Just leave me alone. Forget about Julian.”

  I shake violently as I retort, “How can I when that Janice woman has me convinced there is something suspicious about you… and your dealings with my father.”

  She clutches her neat bob as if she wants to yank at her hair and I suddenly have a suspicion that’s not real hair on her head and she’s sweating like I don’t know what beneath that rug.

  She steps forward and holds out her hand, “I’m DI Scales. That’s all you’re getting.”

  “What?”

  “I’m undercover, duh!”

  “What?”

  “I’m a freaking copper, Jules!”

  “What happened to my dad? That’s all I want to know.”

  “Nothing. He died. People do.” She throws her arms around, like I’m the most inconvenient thing to happen to her all day. She’s wearing the uniform and I wonder if she has a job to go to. “Yes, we had an affair, but it had nothing to do with my work. It wasn’t planned, it just happened. He spoke about you a lot. He was more than meets the eye, your father. He carried deep regrets about you. He loved you, what more do you want from me?”

  She looks around the hallway. This isn’t a copper in control. She’s on the edge. She’s grieving and she’s hurt.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, what good is that?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sorry. I guess I chased you up because you’re the only one who really seemed to know him and I just couldn’t believe he didn’t tell me he was dying.”

  She takes an enormous, deep breath and reveals, “He wanted to. He called you when you were away, abroad. Your boy told your father you were gone, on a long holiday, and your dad didn’t want to spoil your time away.”

  “Why didn’t Rick mention this?”

  She shrugs, her bottom lip turning up. “How the hell would I know? Maybe Rick’s worried he’s responsible for you not being able to say goodbye to your father.”

  I sigh. “No. He just knows I wouldn’t have done anything about it.”

  “You wouldn’t? You wouldn’t have tried to say goodbye?” She frowns so deeply, her whole face groans under the weight of those wrinkles.

  “No. It feels better to know at least he tried to do his duty and tell me, but yeah, looking back I realise I probably wouldn’t have tried to say goodbye.”

  “WHY?” She screams and I notice there’s sweat on her forehead. Is she on drugs? Is this the pressure of her job? What is going on?

  I lower my voice and step closer to her so she can see the truth in my eyes. “He shot up in the room next to me for years while I went to school with holes in my fucking shoes and rags on my fucking back so don’t you look at me like I’m guilty and you’re great for being there in his last days. I saw him at his worst. He as good as killed my mother. He ignored his daughter, slept with his daughter’s best friend on her graduation night. He gave me nothing but a chunk of his lottery win and a complex about never being worthy of anything in this fucking world.”

  I take a breath and calm down, rubbing my chest because I can feel anxiety’s claws starting to dig into me.

  “He never mentioned any of that,” she says, looking away, her mouth dry.

  “The guilty never do like to talk about their crimes. They just pretend they’re someone else, but they never change.”

  She chews her nails, unsure what to do. Her lip wobbles and her face crumples as bitter tears I’m all too familiar with strike her down on her knees. “I loved him.”

  “Why were you there at his farm anyway, why?” I sound impatient. “What is your case? What are you undercover for?”

  “He was clean and had been for years but with his condition, we thought he might talk finally.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “A man he was having dealings with and that’s all I can say.”

  I stand over her and demand, “Tell me what the bloody hell you’re insinuating.”

  She sighs, wearily, and explains, “Your father was mixed up with some bad people.”

  I drag my nails through my hair, anger and disbelief chasing through my veins. “Don’t talk to me as if I’m stupid. Tell me the truth.”

  “All I can tell you is that I have a big fish to fry and he has so far avoided every net imaginable. Hanging around your father, I was just trying to find a morsel of evidence to hook the bastard once and for all. That was all I was doing.”

  I click my heels on the floor. “DI Scales, did he actually win the lottery?”

  “Yes, but it was a big syndicate so it was something small like £20,000 and somehow he used that to buy his farm.”

  “Drugs?” I swing round to face her, tears in my eyes. “Is this about drugs, still?”

  “He was clean. I don’t know at what point he got clean but,” she shrugs, “we imagine Julian used that 20K to buy a piece of the local dealership for himself.”

  I laugh so high-pitched, it ricochets off the walls and the mania inside me shocks the both of us. “He told me he found God!”

  She bites her nails. “He never admitted what he was doing, not directly, but he used to tell me in vague terms that drugs would always be available so what was the harm in making sure gear reached the street in a clean-cut way?”

  “What a bastard.” I push my index fingers into my eyes and try to breathe.

  “He was right though Jules,” she says, biting her nails.

  I shake my head. “Then more and more people will die because of drugs, because of all of you.”

  “I’m still in care work, keeping up the ruse until this all blows over. The big fish has to believe I’m legit, that I’m not a copper. I’d be dead if they knew who I am. Dead. Once Julian was dead, Walker wanted me gone because he sensed Julian and I had become close and everyone knew the rumours about his farm. Walker cut me off to stem any chance of trouble, that was all. He wanted me out.”

  “You’re keeping up the ruse of the care worker, just in case? Why?”

  “Again, it’s classified. I shouldn’t even be here. I’m risking everything and you need to let this go, let me go and move on Jules.”

  I scorn her with my eyes and my tone of voice. “Did he talk? Did he give up the enemy?”

  She shakes her head. “Julian was absolutely terrified and never gave up anything to me, even though he really believed I was his carer. Before I took on the case, we found out his farm was being used as a drop for the gear but I never found evidence. While Julian slept I searched his house a number of times but never found anything. He had to have a really good hiding place, maybe on his land. I don’t know, but it would make sense they were doing pickups from there, under the cover of darkness.”

  “I don’t understand this.” I touch my forehead, trying to rub away how much this hurts.

  “You get buried, you never get out. That’s the way it is Jules. He probably had people threatening him, people relying on him to make the handovers. Somebody, somewhere is watching me, and you poking your nose in is only going to risk me, do you understand? I have to pretend I know nothing, like I am a care worker. That’s all I know.”

  “You could disappear.”

  “Yeah but then all this would’ve been for nothing.”

  “You know more, Miranda… but you’re going to leave me going out of my mind? Is this fair? When obviou
sly, you must know drugs killed my own mother?” Hands on my hips, I’m begging. I need this.

  She shakes her head, whispering to herself before blurting out, “In the months leading up to his death, the only people recorded going to that farm are myself, Janice, Kerry, a Tesco delivery van and once or twice, a community nurse. Yet, drugs were making it to the street still… and the same brand he’s known for. It’s more than a possibility that one of the other carers was taking drugs off his land and taking it to the streets for Julian. It’s a possibility this is widespread. I just have to stick around, just in case someone somewhere knows something and I get wind of it. Carers talk, it’s all they do. It’s a long shot, but somebody has to know something.”

  “I can’t… I can’t digest this.”

  She looks at her watch. “I’m going home. I will contact you if we find anything. Please, do not get involved Jules. Remember what this job did to Rick? Please, please remember, because if you don’t, you might be getting dragged down with him this time.”

  I gulp. “Did you work with my husband?”

  “No, but I saw his files.”

  “Oh.”

  “Stay away, Jules,” she says, opens the front door, and leaves.

  I watch her out of the window as she pulls away. Not only does she leave, but a car parked across the road starts its engine at the same time. Is it the person following her? I have no way of knowing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Warrick

  I’ve been aware something isn’t right, ever since I got home from work tonight. She’s not speaking unless spoken to and her eyes keep avoiding mine. We don’t lie to each other, and actually, it’s physically impossible these days because we read one another so easily. Having been through all we have, we know one another inside and out.

  We’re pulling the bedcovers back when my phone glows beside the bed. I really hope this isn’t an emergency call out because I could do without it, especially tonight. I drop my side of the bedcovers and pick up my phone.

  Oh shit, it’s Ronnie! What does he want?