Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle

by Shirley Wells

  Claire shrugged as if it didn’t matter one way or another, but Jill knew it did. These sessions were a lifeline to her, simply because they broke up her long, empty days.

  ‘Right,’ Jill said, taking that as agreement to talk about something. ‘Pick a subject.’

  Claire smiled. ‘Funerals.’

  ‘OK,’ Jill said thoughtfully. ‘I want to be cremated. I can’t bear to spend my days underground being eaten by worms. And I want a single spray of white flowers on my coffin from someone who loves me. That’s all, just a single spray. What about you?’

  ‘I don’t want to be burned.’

  ‘You’d rather be in the dark with the worms?’ Jill pulled a face.

  ‘It doesn’t matter when you’re dead, does it?’

  ‘Perhaps not. OK, next subject?’ Jill prompted.

  ‘Dogs.’

  Funerals and dogs …

  ‘Dogs are the bane of my life at the moment,’ Jill told her. ‘My—boyfriend—’ Ridiculous to class Max as a boyfriend, but still. ‘He’s spending a few days with me at the moment and he has three dogs. I have three cats so you can imagine what it’s like. I do like dogs, but having three about the place is mayhem. What about you, Claire? Do you like dogs?’

  ‘They’re OK.’

  ‘Have you ever lived with any?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Didn’t you ever want one?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Cats?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you think about dogs then?’ Jill asked.

  ‘They’re OK.’

  ‘Next subject then,’ Jill said.

  ‘You choose.’

  Jill thought for a moment. ‘Houses,’ she said. ‘Where would you live if you had all the money in the world?’

  ‘On a boat on the canal,’ Claire answered without hesitation, and she was staring at a spot behind Jill.

  ‘Really? Yes, I’d like that, too. You’d be free to move around whenever the mood took you.’

  Claire nodded.

  ‘Canals are straightforward, too,’ Jill went on. ‘You can’t get lost. Well, I probably could, but you know what I mean. No traffic jams. A quiet, leisurely pace of life. Yes, that appeals to me, too.’

  Claire was still gazing at some spot past Jill’s shoulder.

  ‘Have you ever lived on one, Claire?’

  ‘No.’ She began scratching her arm, a sure sign that she was upset. ‘I’m tired of talking now,’ she said, standing up.

  ‘OK.’ Jill gathered up her things. ‘I’ll see you next time then.’

  As she left Styal behind, Jill thought about the long stretches of the Leeds and Liverpool Canal and the Rochdale Canal. Daisy’s body wasn’t at the bottom of one, she was sure of that, but it might be in some quiet spot near a canal and both canals rolled through some of the most rugged and beautiful scenery in the country …

  Chapter Nine

  When Max got to his office the following morning, DS Warne wasn’t far behind him.

  ‘It seems as if Johnson might have met someone with a dog, guv,’ she said, waving a report in the air. ‘They’ve found white dog hairs on the victim’s trousers and, better still, a dark hair that might, just possibly, belong to our killer.’

  These days, when disillusionment echoed around every corridor, DS Grace Warne was a gift from the gods. When she’d first joined them, Max had attributed her tireless energy and enthusiasm for catching bad guys to her youth. He’d guessed that one of her brothers had been given a policeman’s outfit one Christmas and Grace had taken to playing with it. She’d been with him for four years now, though, had even married, yet her enthusiasm hadn’t waned. He’d never heard her complain about the endless paperwork or the many ridiculous rules and regulations. She loved her job.

  Max took the report from her and skimmed through it.

  ‘Let’s not get too excited,’ he warned her, guessing it was too late for that. ‘The body was lying in that wood for hours so any dog could have investigated it. It seems to me that the world and his bloody wife walk their dogs there. And Johnson had walked from the manor so he could have stopped to chat to anyone with a dog before entering the wood. We have to accept, Grace, that almost everyone in Kelton has a blasted dog.’

  ‘There’s still the unidentified human hair.’

  ‘True.’ Unlike Grace, Max couldn’t get too excited.

  ‘It’s something.’

  ‘Yes, and the way things are going, we should be grateful for anything, I suppose.’ The truth was, they had no real leads at all. ‘Considering everyone walks through the wood,’ he said, ‘someone should have seen something.’

  Grace shrugged. ‘They didn’t, though. And there are no cameras in the village. Well, that’s a lie—there are some in the shops and the bank and one at the filling station. We don’t think he went anywhere near those, but we’re getting them checked just in case,’ she added.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he replied drily. ‘I saw Doug struggling to stay awake on that particular job.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ She grinned at that. ‘It’s a thankless job, guv. Not a lot happens in that village.’

  ‘Apart from the occasional murder,’ Max pointed out.

  ‘Apart from that,’ she agreed.

  ‘Anything on that blue van yet?’

  Two people had reported seeing a blue van parked in a lay-by a hundred yards from the wood.

  ‘Not yet, guv, no.’

  ‘We’ve only just gone public with that so I suppose it’s early days. Let’s just hope he comes forward.’

  When Grace had gone, Max read through a pile of witness statements again. So far, the blue van was the only lead they had. That and a white dog.

  His mind went back to his meeting with Jack Taylor. He had a black and white dog and, when they spoke, he’d been less than complimentary about Bradley Johnson. Even Jill had been puzzled by his rudeness.

  It was difficult to see him as a killer, though. He was knocking on eighty and had lived in the village all his life. He’d be demanding more coppers on the beat and complaining about the amount of crime in the area, not committing it.

  All the same, he might have seen or heard something that he wasn’t telling. Max decided that another chat with him wouldn’t go amiss.

  Dog hairs apart, there was something about the old man and his hostility that didn’t feel right.

  He could send Grace or Fletch or any one of a number of officers to speak to him but, as he was working on hunches rather than anything significant, he didn’t want to waste their time. Besides, his lack of delegation skills would give his boss something to moan about …

  He drove out to Kelton Bridge and parked his car a few yards past number four, The Terrace so that Jack Taylor wouldn’t see who it was. Given advance warning, Max suspected he’d ignore any unwanted callers.

  There was no bell so Max hammered on the door and then, more gently, on the thin glass pane. There was no response. He would have expected the dog to bark, too, so it seemed likely that Jack wasn’t at home after all.

  Number four was on the end of a row of terraced houses, and had a large garden at the side. Max walked around and stood for a moment gazing at the long length of garden at the back. It was narrow, just the width of the house, but it had to be at least a hundred and fifty feet long. Considering winter was upon them, it was well stocked. Max saw Brussels sprouts, leeks and turnips, and large patches had been dug over, presumably in readiness for the spring. Jill had said he was a keen gardener. He must also be very fit for his age. At the bottom of the garden was a shed, in front of that an incinerator and, to the side, a small greenhouse. On the stone-flagged path, a red, white and blue rope dog toy lay abandoned.

  Max was about to head back to his car when the shed door opened and the collie raced up to him. Its tail wagged joyfully and it was more than willing to make friends. Sadly, its owner wasn’t as welcoming.

  ‘What the hell are you doing snooping around?’ Jack Taylor demanded
in astonishment.

  ‘Mr Taylor, good morning. I wondered if I might have a word.’

  The dog ran around Max’s legs a couple of times and then raced off, picked up the rope toy and brought it back to him.

  ‘Have you got a warrant?’ the old man snapped.

  ‘A warrant? For what? I only want to ask you a couple of questions.’

  Max grabbed hold of the rope and had a quick game of tug with the dog. ‘A lovely animal,’ he said.

  Jack Taylor ignored that. ‘What questions?’ he demanded, standing directly in front of Max now.

  He was a tall man and, despite his age, held himself very erect. Unless Max was mistaken, he was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when he and Jill had met him in Black’s Wood.

  ‘I’m still trying to unravel the events of last Wednesday,’ Max said. ‘As you know, we believe Mr Johnson may have been meeting someone with a dog. We’ve found white dog hairs on his clothes.’

  ‘Well, well, well. By God, you lot are bloody clever, aren’t you?’ It was rare to see him smile, but that brought forth a chuckle.

  ‘I know you’ve been asked if you were in the wood on that particular day—’

  ‘I have, and I’ve told you—as well as every bugger else—that I weren’t.’

  ‘You’re quite sure about that?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘A dog like this must need a lot of exercise,’ Max remarked, stroking the dog’s head. ‘I have a collie and, although she’s getting on a bit, she’ll run all day. You must have taken this one for a good walk on Wednesday.’

  ‘I must have.’

  ‘If you didn’t go through the wood, where would you have gone?’

  Jack Taylor shrugged and stared off into the distance. ‘I can’t rightly remember.’

  ‘Yet you can remember that you didn’t go through Black’s Wood that day?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I can remember that.’

  ‘And you’re quite sure you didn’t meet Mr Johnson at some point during the day?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  Max thought how much more useful bashing his head against the dry stone wall would be.

  ‘Why didn’t you like the man?’ Max asked, changing track.

  ‘What’s there to like?’

  ‘Your granddaughter was quite a fan, I gather. I seem to recall her having her photo taken with him a couple of times.’

  ‘What the bloody hell does my Hannah have to do with anything?’ Jack demanded furiously. ‘If folk know what’s good for them, she’ll be our next MP so she’s had her photo taken with all sorts of simpering idiots.’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘I’m sure she has,’ Max said pleasantly, ‘but she seemed quite happy to be with him. How come you dislike him so much?’

  ‘I took a dislike to him, that’s all. Now, is that it?’

  ‘I thought your granddaughter might have been on his guest list. He threw a party a couple of weeks ago,’ Max explained, ‘and all the local celebrities were there. I’m surprised your granddaughter wasn’t.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s got more sense than mix with the likes of him.’ He glared at Max as if he’d like to physically toss him aside. Given the amount of digging he’d been doing, he was probably capable of it too. ‘Right, I’ve had enough of your questions so you can bugger off. Come on, Sal.’

  Max either had to turn around and walk back up the path or risk being mown down by Jack Taylor. He decided it would be wise to get out of the man’s way.

  ‘If you remember where you went last Wednesday,’ he said, walking back towards the house, ‘or if you recall seeing anyone at all, I’d be grateful if you’d let me know.’

  ‘I’m sure you would, Sherlock,’ Jack muttered.

  Max returned to his car and, seconds later, Jack Taylor, with the collie trotting along beside him, headed down the lane in the direction of Black’s Wood.

  Max was walking out of headquarters that evening when Jill drove into the car park. He stood for a moment, bracing himself against the strong wind, and watched as she stopped the car and gathered up things from the passenger seat.

  He walked over and opened the door for her.

  ‘Hiya,’ she said, smiling. ‘Are you going or coming?’

  ‘Going. Fancy coming with me? I’m off to see our good friend, Thomas McQueen.’ He glanced up at his boss’s window as he added, ‘And it’s legit. We’re talking to all those who attended Bradley Johnson’s last party.’

  She was out of her car, clutching a leather briefcase in her arms. ‘I’m nothing to do with Bradley’s case,’ she reminded him, and she, too, glanced up at Phil Meredith’s office window. ‘As Meredith would be happy to tell you, I’ve loads of things to do.’ She paused. ‘But yes, OK. I’ll come along.’

  Although the thought of suspension had filled him with dread, Max had been hoping for a quiet fortnight. He’d hoped that, while his sons enjoyed themselves in France, he and Jill would manage some quality time together. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to get her to offer him the spare bedroom for a couple of weeks, and he’d hoped to convince her that they could be an item again—a more serious item. They were hardly seeing each other at all at the moment, though.

  All the same he must be doing something right. As yet, that spare bedroom hadn’t been used.

  ‘What’s amused you?’ she asked, regarding him suspiciously.

  ‘Nothing.’ He banished the smile from his face and unlocked his car.

  ‘How was Styal yesterday anyway?’ he asked as he drove them out of the car park. ‘You didn’t mention it.’ And he’d forgotten to ask.

  ‘That’ll be because I’m getting nowhere.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I knew it would be a long, hard slog, but I really am getting nowhere. Except, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that Daisy’s body is somewhere near a canal. Not in a canal, but somewhere close by. Somewhere pretty. A peaceful spot.’

  ‘Great. And how many miles of canal are there around here?’

  ‘A lot,’ she admitted. ‘But, although I wouldn’t put much money on it, it’s currently my best guess. I’m thinking about Peter Lawrence, too. Has there ever been any hint of him being interested in children sexually?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Something she said about him not touching Daisy again.’ She leaned back in her seat, slipped off her shoes and wriggled her toes. ‘I don’t know. I’m working completely in the dark. There’s something about Claire that just doesn’t ring true and I’m damned if I know what it is.’

  A lorry was reversing into King Street and Max sat in the queue of traffic that had built up.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Anything new?’

  ‘Not really. The driver of the blue van has been in touch, but nothing exciting there. He claims he parked in the lay-by near the wood because his girlfriend phoned him. It’s feasible, I suppose. We’re getting his phone records checked.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘As clean as the proverbial.’ He sighed. ‘He’s worked for the same delivery company for twelve years, no form, not even an unpaid parking ticket. I think we can rule him out.’

  ‘So what about Tom McQueen? Is he expecting you?’

  ‘He’s expecting someone.’ Max nodded. ‘Meredith’s not happy about us questioning him, but we can’t exclude him. We’re talking to everyone who was at that last party.’

  ‘That’s fair enough. Even Meredith can’t argue with that.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. McQueen’s a friend of the Chief Constable’s, remember?’

  Thomas McQueen lived in a large, detached stone house on the outskirts of Harrington and Max was soon stopping the car in front of metal, electronic gates. He pressed the buzzer, and a disjointed voice said something. God alone knew what.

  ‘DCI Trentham, Harrington CID,’ Max replied. ‘Mr McQueen is expecting me.’

  After a couple of clicks, the gates whirred open. Very slowly. Max in
ched his way in, almost losing a wing mirror in his impatience to get to the front of the house.

  ‘Have you been here before?’ he asked, and Jill shook her head.

  ‘You’re in for a treat then.’ Max had conned his way in once before and the overall tackiness had almost left him speechless.

  A slim, attractive woman opened the front door and, although he’d only seen her once before, and then from a distance, he recognized her as Mrs McQueen. Panting by her side was a big, mean-looking Rottweiler.

  ‘Don’t mind Ernie,’ she trilled. ‘He’s far too fat to do any damage.’

  Jill didn’t look convinced. Max wasn’t either. The animal was overweight, yes, but, as he panted, it was impossible to miss the size of his yellow teeth. He wore a wide, leather, studded collar. Max returned the dog’s stare and noticed that there wasn’t so much as a single white hair on him …

  ‘Mrs McQueen,’ Max said pleasantly, ‘I’m DCI Max Trentham, Harr—’

  ‘I know who you are,’ she said. ‘I’m Barbara, but call me Babs, for God’s sake.’ She looked at Jill.

  ‘Jill Kennedy, Harrington CID,’ Max added.

  Barbara McQueen nodded, but took little notice of Jill.

  It was true what they said, Max thought. Money was a huge attraction for some women. Barbara wasn’t much above thirty-five years old. She had dark hair, was extremely curvaceous and attractive, beautiful even, but Max gained the impression she didn’t have the highest IQ in Harrington. From what he’d found out about her, she did little with her time other than visit beauty salons and hairdressers.

  There was something about her that had Max mentally scratching his head. They hadn’t met before, of that he was almost certain, and yet there was something—familiar about her. Max rarely forgot a face and, if they had met before, it would come to him sooner or later.

  ‘Come inside,’ she said. ‘Tommy’s in the pool.’

  As they walked along a thickly carpeted hallway, Max was aware of Jill gaping at the furnishings. Someone, either Tom or Barbara McQueen, had appalling taste. They had money, more than enough to employ an interior designer, but instead, seemed to prefer a mix and match of all sorts of furniture. The carpet was white, and a few chairs scattered around were bright red. That would have looked fine, but it was the pictures, all in odd, mismatched frames, the green paintwork, the garish jukebox, the rotating mirror ball and the stone statue of a naked boy peeing by the door that caught the eye.