by Menon, David
‘Very real wives of Cheshire’ Ollie whispered to Jeff.
‘You’re not kidding’ Jeff whispered back, looking round.
Jade Matheson had bottle blond hair and false nails that she’d left unpainted. She had short black leather stiletto boots and spoke with an accent that suggested to Jeff that she was a Northerner who didn’t want to sound like one. He hated that. She explained that her sister Tabatha was busy in a meeting with her solicitor and wouldn’t be long. When Jeff asked Jade what the meeting was about she said that her sister was securing her financial position following her husband’s death.
‘Really?’ Jeff questioned. ‘With all due respect, her husband is barely cold. Can’t all that wait until later?’
‘Not if you’d met my brother-in-law’s family’ said Jade with a very disapproving look. ‘They’re very working class and are probably trying to figure out how they can get their dirty little hands on my sister’s money as we speak. Please come through to the lounge and I’ll get the maid to serve you some coffee whilst you wait’.
Jeff and Ollie raised their eyebrows at each other. Just who did these people think they bloody were? They followed Jade into the lounge that had a large window almost from floor to ceiling offering an admittedly amazing view of the house gardens and the Cheshire plains beyond. The maid looked young and had the slightly olive complexion of an Eastern European. She was dressed in an all white style of uniform served the coffee and then they waited. And the longer they waited the more irritated Jeff in particular became. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kept waiting whilst a widow sorted out her financial position before talking to the police about who may have murdered her husband.
‘How long does your sister plan to keep us waiting?’ asked Jeff.
‘I couldn’t say’ said Jade, irritably. ‘But she’ll be through when she’s done’.
‘She does understand that this is a murder investigation?’
‘I think she has grasped that, yes’ answered Jade sarcastically. ‘But there are practicalities to consider and if you knew my sister you’d know that she has to sort all that out before she can even consider grieving’.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that people deal with death in their own way, officer’ Jade stated. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me’.
‘I’d be obliged if you could tell your sister what I said’ said Jeff.
‘I can’t promise’.
‘Do your best, please’.
When Tabatha Murphy came through she didn’t apologise for keeping them waiting. She was clutching her mobile phone as if her life depended on it but at least she looked the part of the grieving widow. She was in an all in one black dress with a black belt around her slender looking waist. She looked thin and almost emaciated. Jeff thought that it must be like making love to a bag of bones. She’d probably never actually finished a meal for years. He’d never found stick insects like her attractive. His late wife Lillie Mae had never been overweight but she’d been blessed with what he’d call a normal figure, the kind of figure preferred by men who really did respect women and didn’t see them as bits of skirt. Sometimes she’d only have to look at him a certain way and he felt his legs turn to jelly. He missed her so very much.
‘First of all, Mrs. Murphy, I’d like to say we’re very sorry for your loss’ said Jeff. ‘And as I’m sure you can imagine we need to proceed as quickly as we can’.
‘Well I can tell you who murdered my husband’ stated Tabatha who’d settled into a large armchair that was more like a throne with its high back that went way above the top of her head. It was almost blocking out some of the light coming into the room. ‘It was one of his Irish peasant family’.
‘Say that again?’ Jeff questioned. Something didn’t quite reach the finishing line here. There was no trace of any tears around those perfectly made up eyes and why was she holding her phone like that? And why did she keep looking at the door as if she was waiting for some visitor? It would be expected for her to receive calls of condolence following her husband’s death. But Jeff had already decided that her diligent attention to her mobile hadn’t much to do with grief. So what did it have to do with?
‘They’re Irish peasants and that’s that’ said Tabatha firmly.
‘But did your husband maintain contact with his family?’ Jeff wanted to know.
‘Well since I’ve known him not until recently’ said Tabatha. ‘He’d been estranged from them for years but recently he’d started to see some of them again. Apparently they came to see him at his office or they’d meet him in town. I always refused to be there’.
‘So members of his family had been visiting him at his office?’ asked Jeff as his mind started turning over certain facts in his head. There was no sign of a forced entry at Barry Murphy’s office and it had looked like Barry Murphy had been expecting his visitor. Could it have been a member of Murphy’s own family as his wife here had so delicately suggested?
‘Isn’t that what I said?’
‘Of course it was’ said Jeff. ‘I was merely clarifying’.
‘Well, like I say’ said Tabatha. ‘I refused to let his family be part of ours and I’ve never met any of them. But they’re weird. I mean, it’s like this whole business about their mother. I mean, they really should be learning to let go and get over it now’.
‘Isn’t that a little harsh, Mrs. Murphy?’ asked Ollie. ‘Seeing their mother being dragged away from them must’ve had a terrible impact on them as children and those scars rarely heal’.
‘Perhaps’ said Tabatha through pursed lips. ‘But I don’t waste my time thinking about it. It’s their reality, their memory. It isn’t mine. My reality is what you see around me’.
‘So you didn’t feel you should support your husband in his search for the truth as to what happened to his mother?’
‘No’.
‘Why was your husband estranged from his family in the first place?’ asked Jeff.
‘I’ve no idea’.
‘None at all?’
‘Look, he didn’t talk to me about it and I didn’t ask’.
‘Mrs. Murphy, aside from your late husband’s family, can you think of anyone else who might’ve wanted to kill him?’
‘Officer, I didn’t take any interest in my husband’s business’ Tabatha Murphy declared. ‘I knew he sold cars but that’s it. I know what you must be thinking but the fact is that Barry and I didn’t have the most conventional of marriages. We led separate lives mostly. I did my thing with my friends and he did whatever he did, I don’t know what that was because I wasn’t interested. I married him on the rebound from someone else and we only stayed together for the sake of our daughter Georgina who was a real Daddy’s girl. They adored each other. She’s absolutely distraught and heartbroken about Barry’s death in a way that I’m just not. Barry and I were friends and I’ll miss that, and of course I’m sorry he’s dead particularly in the circumstances in which it happened. I’m not a completely heartless bitch. But I wasn’t in love with him and although this is very sad, especially as I said for my daughter, it does give me the chance to get on with my life and I’m not sorry for putting it that way because it’s the truth’.
‘I’ll take that as a no then’ said Jeff. ‘Mrs. Murphy, who will be taking over as the new head of your husband’s company?’
‘Well in name it’s my daughter Georgina’ said Tabatha. ‘It all passes to her but it’s held in a trust until she’s eighteen which is administered by me’.
‘Well we’ll need to speak to all of the employees’ said Jeff. ‘We’ll also need full access to all company and personnel records. I trust that neither of those things will be a problem?’
‘No’ said Tabatha, impatiently. ‘No, no, of course they won’t be’.
Jeff thought she’d told a very pretty little story with such perfect poise and that’s why he didn’t believe she’d exactly been fulsome with the truth.
‘Sorry, are we ke
eping you from something, Mrs. Murphy?’ asked Jeff.
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘You seem to be a little distracted’.
‘I’ve just lost my husband, officer’.
‘But is there anything else you want to tell us about?’
‘Like what exactly?’
‘I don’t know’ said Jeff. ‘That’s why I’m asking’.
‘I don’t know what you’re getting at, officer’ said Tabatha through clenched teeth. ‘But now I need to be with my daughter’.
DS Adrian Bradshaw and DC Joe Alexander were on their way to the Farmers Arms pub in Chorlton to see what they could find out about the man called Chris O’Neill who, according to Padraig O’Connell’s girlfriend Carol Anderson had sometimes locked horns with O’Connell owing to their different positions from either side of the Northern Ireland sectarian divide. Joe was driving and Adrian used the opportunity to see how his friend was. Like it seemed he’d spent half his life doing.
‘So how are you, mate?’ Adrian asked.
Joe knew exactly what Adrian meant and had almost been expecting it. ‘How am I? What do you mean by that?’
‘Exactly what the words mean?’
‘Well I don’t know what you mean’.
‘For fuck’s sake, Joe, we’ve know each other long enough not to play the fucking innocent’.
‘Innocent? What the fuck have I done wrong?’
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about’.
‘Oh you mean the chip on my shoulder that everyone says I’ve had since you got the promotion to DS instead of me?’
‘I’ve never said you had a chip on your shoulder about it, Joe’.
‘So why are you asking me?’ said Joe who would admit that his friendship with Adrian had been tested to the limits since he lost out to him over the promotion. It just wasn’t what he’d needed after a bad couple of years but in his more rational moments he knew that he couldn’t blame Adrian for any of it.
‘Joe, you’ve always been a good mate’ said Adrian. ‘Remember Kate Branning the psycho teacher? Your help in stopping her from murdering my daughter was crucial. I just thought I’d ask how you were because we haven’t had much time to talk lately’.
Joe pulled a face at him. ‘Don’t go all bloody bro-mance on me’.
‘Aw, fuck off then!’
Joe laughed. ‘The look on your face! Look mate, yeah of course I was pissed off I didn’t get it but when it came down to a choice between just the two of us then one of us was going to end up being pissed off. I’m glad it was you who got the promotion and not some stranger from outside the team’.
‘So we’re okay then?’
‘Of course we are you big ugly twat’.
‘Good. Glad we got that sorted’.
‘Just don’t expect me to call you boss’.
‘Piss off’.
‘So anyway, are you okay?’
‘Yeah, I’m alright’ Adrian replied.
‘I notice you’ve not been talking about getting your end away recently?’
‘I never talk about getting my end away’ Adrian protested. ‘I’m very discreet’.
‘Not to me you’re not’.
‘Well no that’s true’ said Adrian although he’d never told Joe about all the ways he liked to get his end away just like he wouldn’t tell him now how restless he was getting again. He wanted a girlfriend to share his life but he also wanted a friend with benefits who was a man. He missed sex with a man. He missed not being able to fulfil that side of his needs although being as highly sexed as he was he missed having it with anyone. ‘But how are you now with regard to Rebecca Stockton? You were jumping over the moon when the two of you got together and then … well then she put herself in danger without telling anyone and paid the ultimate price. That can’t have been easy?’
‘No, it wasn’t’ said Joe, more thoughtfully than before. ‘But there’s nothing I can do except to just pick up and move on, however much I miss her’.
‘I’m sorry, mate’.
‘I know’.
When they got to the Farmers Arms they found a typical modern suburban pub on the corner of two main roads with outside tables and benches filling the space at the front and the side between the pub and the pavement. But of more interest to Joe was the board outside advertising ‘two meals for £7.95 at lunchtime’.
‘Great’ said Joe, clapping his hands together. ‘I was beginning to feel hungry and it is almost one o’clock. It’ll be your shout though’.
‘Well I knew that would be the case you tight bastard’.
‘Well you are on a DS salary now’.
‘Ha bloody ha’ said Adrian. ‘Let’s wait until my sides stop splitting’.
The inside of the Farmers Arms was a fairly unremarkable place. Wooden tables and chairs finished in a dark brown standing on wooden floors finished in the same way. On each table were wire baskets containing ketchup, brown sauce, mustard, mayonnaise, salt and pepper, little sachets of malt vinegar, knives and forks, paper napkins. There was indeed a faint whiff of malt vinegar in the air that found Adrian’s nostrils straight away. He couldn’t stand the smell of the stuff and was sensitive to it. They walked up to the bar which ran along the right hand wall of the pub and waited whilst the barmaid finished talking to her mates at the other end of the bar before she condescended to come over to them.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Why wouldn’t we be okay?’ Adrian asked. The barmaid, who wore a name badge saying ‘Donna’ was fairly heavy in weight and was wearing a dark brown shirt unfastened at the neck to show off her cleavage and the promise of very large breasts. Her dark brown hair was scarped back in a ponytail and she had very little left of her finger nails which it looked like she chewed almost right down to the quick.
‘Sorry?’
‘Oh don’t apologise’ said Adrian who then held up his warrant card. ‘I’m DS Adrian Bradshaw and this is my colleague DC Joe Alexander. We’d like to talk to someone who we think is one of your regulars? His name is Chris O’Neill?’
‘Well yeah I know Chris’ replied Donna. ‘He comes in here three of four nights a week. He doesn’t do anything for me but a lot of the girls fancy him. He’s one of those slightly older guys who keeps himself fit and he isn’t exactly ugly. But is this to do with all that Padraig O’Connell stuff? Because I can tell you now that we were all really shocked about what happened to Padraig. We all liked him. He was a lovely bloke, a real old fashioned gentleman and we couldn’t believe it when we found out about his past. But I think that most people thought that he’d served his time and all that, you know. They just liked knowing the man he was now’.
‘Did that include Chris O’Neill?’ asked Joe.
‘Er, no’ said Donna. ‘Chris and Padraig used to argue a lot about stuff to do with Ireland and that. I don’t know about any of that stuff but although it sometimes got quite heated it never came to fists or anything and they always managed to calm down. The landlord threatened the pair of them a couple of times and that seemed to be enough’.
‘You say O’Neill was popular with the ladies?’ said Adrian. ‘Did he have a girlfriend?’
‘He did but he didn’t talk that much about her’ said Donna. ‘We never met her. He never brought her in here. She was some posh bird out in Cheshire and I get the feeling she was married’.
‘
THROWN DOWN SIX
Last night Patricia had tried to open up her heart to Dennis but it had never been so hard to talk to the most important person in her life than now. Every time she’d tried to open her mouth she’d felt herself grasping for the right words but it was like reaching out for a ghost in the fog. It had led to an atmosphere between them that was excruciating. In the end Dennis had gone out and found himself some dinner before returning to their hotel room where Patricia hadn’t been able to stomach anything to eat. They went to bed but neither of them could sleep and the restless night led to them packing their things to
gether just before dawn and driving back home to the eastern Melbourne suburb of Scoresby. On the way they skirted the city and Patricia tried to ignore all the signs to St. Kilda where they’d agreed to move to before they’d been given the news of her brother Padraig’s death. The way things were going she didn’t know if that move would ever happen.
It felt strange as she wondered round her house doing the things that any householder would do. This was her home. This was where she should feel safe. This house contained so many happy, wonderful memories of her and Dennis and the children. It was where they’d bound together, the five of them, where they’d held birthday parties and dinners for girlfriends and boyfriends. And yet now, with the overwhelming and frightening silence that hung between her and Dennis like an ocean, this home suddenly felt so fragile it was as if it would give up on her at any moment. It could all be knocked down by the prevailing winds and she wasn’t certain if there was anything she could do to stop it.
It was almost eleven in the morning and she decided it wasn’t too early for a glass of wine. The unopened bottle was in the fridge, lovely and cold and positively inviting her to let it help her ease the pain. It had a screw top. She loved screw tops on wine. It was so much easier than battling with a stupid bloody corkscrew. Screw tops represented something modern and forward looking. They were about the future. Her thoughts led on to the memories she had of her dear brother Padraig. She would never forget what he told her the night she’d agreed to escape Belfast and the likely arrest that would soon catch up with her. He said she was to ‘look ahead now sis, don’t look back, keep your head held high and don’t turn around’. She started to cry. Standing here in her family kitchen on the other side of the world she started to weep for her lost brother. He was lost to her many years before his death. And now it seemed he’d been murdered. All these years later blood had been spilt but for whose gain? She thought of all those hundreds and thousands of nights he’d spent in his lonely prison cell whilst she was down here living the happy family life in the lucky country of Australia. It didn’t seem right. She’d agreed to it all those years ago because the alternative would’ve been to spend the best part of her life in prison just like Padraig had done. And that made her weep even more. She’d always been close to Padraig even when they were growing up. They’d been partners in crime. Their Mammy would shout ‘Oh sweet Jesus what badness would those two be bringing into this house now?’ But she’d let him down. And yet after that he’d rescued her and shown her the love of a true and good brother.
