by Neil White
‘Can we help you?’ the driver said through the open window, his hands fat around the steering wheel.
Jack bent down to his level, and said, ‘No, I’m fine.’
The driver and his companion were just as Jack expected, bulky and wide-necked and tattooed.
‘I’ll put it a different way,’ the driver said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just doing my thing,’ Jack said.
‘Which is what?’
‘It’s my thing, not yours, which sort of ends the conversation,’ Jack said, and then he turned to walk away.
Jack didn’t expect the conversation to end there, but he had to let them know that he wasn’t intimidated.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ said a different voice.
Jack turned around and saw that they were both out of the van now. They were dressed identically: black trousers and black silk jackets, with hair shaved to the scalp. The second man was much shorter than the driver, and one thing Jack had learned from seeing drunken pub fights is that the big man will hurt you the most, but the little man is more likely to start the fight.
‘Okay, let’s talk,’ Jack said. ‘Who pays for your services?’
The two men exchanged glances, less confident now. ‘What do you mean?’ the taller one said.
‘Just that,’ Jack said, and he gestured around him. ‘These people aren’t millionaires, but they’ve got you two looking after them. The police come free. Why you?’
‘We’re here all the time,’ the tall one said again. ‘The police only ever come round with search warrants or to arrest people. You never see them just looking after people.’
‘Very noble of you,’ Jack said. ‘Who is DR?’
The two men exchanged glances again, until the taller one said, ‘Look it up, if you’re that interested.’
Jack nodded. ‘I think I am. Thank you.’
‘Where are you going now?’
‘Like I said, I’m just doing my thing,’ Jack said. ‘If you want to follow me, well, that’s your choice. That’s what they pay you for, I suppose.’
‘You can’t go knocking on doors,’ the smaller one said.
‘If I pull out an axe, you can earn your money, but until then I’ll make my own choices.’ Jack flashed them a grin. ‘You can be in the story if you like.’
The small one scowled and clenched his fists, but the big one just put a hand on his elbow, to keep him in check.
‘If we get any complaints, we’ll see you again.’
‘Understand one thing,’ Jack said, stepping closer, stopping only when he could smell the staleness of their breath. ‘You have no power to do anything. You can’t speak to me, you can’t escort me anywhere, and you cannot stop me doing my job.’
Jack turned away and carried on walking. He expected to hear footsteps coming after him, but he didn’t, and eventually he heard their van start up and head off.
Jack was starting to think that the estate could be a dangerous place.
Laura and Joe were on their way to the home of the first victim when Laura glanced at her watch and realised how late it was getting.
‘Bobby?’ Joe asked.
‘He’s gone to a friend’s house, so he’ll be all right for now.’
‘But you’re still worried about him,’ Joe said.
Laura gave a weary smile. ‘I’m his mother. I’m supposed to be there for him.’
‘What about Jack? Can’t he do more?’
‘He does a lot, but I don’t want Bobby to become a chore.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get home to him,’ Joe said, and then he smiled. ‘Maybe not today, though.’
‘And what about you, and the rest of the team?’ she said. ‘What about your home lives?’
Joe raised his eyebrows but didn’t answer straight away. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road before eventually saying, ‘My home life is best kept there, at home.’
Laura took the hint and didn’t probe any further.
‘We’ll probably go for a drink later on,’ he said, and looked over at Laura. ‘You could always join us.’
Laura pulled a face. ‘I was never any good at the team bonding thing,’ she said.
‘Too macho?’
‘Well, maybe, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about the team.’
‘That’s not how I meant it.’
‘It’s how it feels though,’ Laura said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it would be your scene either.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘It sounds all a bit too Sweeney for you,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘We all need to unwind sometimes, and like it or not, those are my friends. And yours.’
‘It was an observation, not a criticism,’ Laura said, and then turned to look out of the window. She watched as the main road out of Blackley turned into a stream of warehouses and car showrooms. A large supermarket dominated one side, and then soon after Joe swung his car into a street of tall Victorian houses, with large sash windows and dark millstone fronts. They wound their way around curving streets, along tree-lined avenues, the kerbsides dominated by new cars, all large and polished.
They stopped outside the Corley house, and as they got out, Laura smoothed down her suit jacket and reminded herself of the purpose of the visit. Take it easy. Play it like a sympathy visit. Don’t let on that Mike Corley had been spotted at the murder scene and see if he volunteers it.
They walked up the short path and were about to ring the doorbell when the door opened. They were confronted by a large man with a crew cut whose scalp bore faint scars that looked like the remnants of a knife attack. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black combat pants, almost police-style, except for the thick gold chain around his neck.
He stopped when he saw them, surprised, but then he eyed Laura up and down, before he looked back into the house.
‘There’s someone to see you,’ he shouted, his voice gravelly, broad and local, before he set off down the path. ‘Looks like the Mormons,’ he added, and then he flashed Laura a sneer. As she turned to watch him go, he gave her a wink.
There was a noise behind, and as she turned back to the door, Mike Corley was there. He nodded at Joe and then turned to go back into the house.
As they followed, Laura asked, ‘Is your wife in?’
Mike Corley shook his head. ‘Gone to her sister’s house. She just can’t cope with all the visitors and the intrusion.’
‘Looks like she missed a well-wisher,’ Laura said. ‘She needs to know that people are there for her.’ When Corley looked confused, Laura pointed towards the window. ‘The man who was just here.’
‘Oh him,’ Corley said, and then shook his head as if the visit meant nothing. ‘Just an old friend.’
He didn’t look like the sort of person a policeman had round for afternoon tea, Laura thought, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she sat down on the sofa, just to emphasise that it wasn’t a quick visit. Corley stayed on his feet, his eyes flicking between her and Joe.
‘How much have you been told today?’ Laura asked.
‘Not much,’ he said. ‘A reporter came here earlier, but he just told me what I already knew.’
‘Can you remember his name?’
‘Garrett,’ he said. ‘Joe or John.’
Laura blushed, before she said, ‘Jack.’ She coughed. ‘Jack Garrett.’
‘So you know him?’
Laura nodded, trying not to give anything away. ‘Yes, I know him. What did he tell you?’
‘Just that you didn’t catch my daughter’s killer and he has murdered someone else,’ he said. ‘That just about sum it up?’
Laura looked at Joe, who was pursing his lips.
‘You know how it is,’ Joe said. ‘We don’t always catch these people straight away.’
Mike shook his head, his hands on his hips, his tongue flicking across his lips with tension. ‘I know that you lot cruise around the station like we are supposed to be in awe of you,’ he said. ‘But how often do
you get it right?’
‘The woman’s name was Jane Roberts,’ Laura said. ‘Do you know her, or Jane’s father, Don Roberts?’
Corley’s anger stalled at that, and he gave a quick shake of his head. Too quick.
‘You seem pretty certain,’ Laura said.
‘I know who I know.’
‘What about your daughter? Did she keep any address book that you haven’t already handed over? Jane’s name might be in there. If they are connected in any way, it might help to find your daughter’s killer.’
Again, Corley shook his head.
‘Have you checked?’ Laura said.
‘I don’t need to,’ Corley said, angrier now. ‘Deborah’s life was turned inside out by the press before she was found, and it didn’t let up after. All they wrote about was her love life, because she’d had a couple of married boyfriends, just because it made the story a little seedier. How do you think that made us feel, that we had to find out things about our daughter that we didn’t need to know, that no one needed to know?’
‘That was the press, not us,’ Joe said. ‘We can’t stop them from printing whatever will sell their papers, but you can use them, to keep Deborah in the public eye, make them see the real Deborah, not the one they have shown until now.’
‘That’s what the reporter said earlier. You must work from scripts.’ He snorted a bitter laugh. ‘Is that why you’ve come here, to get me to talk to the press?’
‘No,’ Joe said. ‘I just want to find out whether you can think of anything else. It’s been three weeks now.’
Mike Corley gritted his teeth. ‘I know exactly how long it is,’ he said. ‘I have felt every day of it.’
‘So have you thought of anything else?’ Joe asked.
Mike Corley shook his head. ‘No, and now someone else has died.’
Joe nodded, and then looked at Laura to let her know that it was time to go.
‘If you come across Jane’s name, will you tell us?’ she said.
Corley nodded slowly, but then said, ‘Could you please leave? All I see right now are detectives who have failed us. Speak to me when you find out who killed my daughter.’
Laura exchanged quick glances with Joe, and then she nodded. ‘Sorry, Mike. Thanks for your time.’
As they headed for the door, Laura stopped and looked back. ‘Why were you at the scene this morning?’ she said.
Corley’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he shook his head. ‘So that’s why you are here, to catch me out.’
‘It’s not like that,’ she said. ‘We saw you, that’s all, and were curious.’
‘So if you think I had something to do with it, I’m not the cleverest, am I?’ he said.
Laura realised that she didn’t have an answer for that.
The door almost hit Laura as they got to the doorstep and it slammed shut behind them.
‘Not my finest hour,’ she said.
‘It was never going to be,’ Joe said. ‘He doesn’t like us at the moment, and do you know what, I’m not sure I would in his shoes.’
Once they were in Joe’s car, Laura glanced towards the Corley house, tranquil from the outside, but raging within.
‘So do you fancy that drink now?’ Joe asked.
‘I should be getting home,’ she replied.
‘Bobby will still be there later on.’
Laura wavered, and when Joe raised an eyebrow and smiled, she relented. ‘Come on then,’ she said, sighing. ‘I’ve time for one.’
Chapter Fourteen
Jack checked the clock. Just gone nine. Bobby was playing on the floor with some action figures, talking to himself, playing out a scene. He should be in bed, but Jack wanted him to see Laura before he went to sleep.
The piece on the murder had long been submitted, and so he was idling, lying down on the sofa, just waiting for Laura. Johnny Cash boomed out of the speakers, as usual, the Orange Blossom Special album, boxcars and railroad drum rhythms, but it gave the house an energy that he didn’t feel.
There were some wedding magazines on the coffee table, with brochures for venues tucked in like bookmarks. Jack reached over for one, knowing that they had to start making some decisions, but as he flicked through the glossy shots, it didn’t hold any interest for him.
Bobby looked up and smiled, and Jack saw Laura in him for a moment, with small dimples in his cheeks.
‘What time is Mummy coming home?’ he said.
‘Soon,’ Jack said, although he didn’t know whether that was true or not. He knew that she would be tied up for most of the night, the first days of a murder are like that, where all the hope is for a quick hit, but the day had long since gone.
He pulled his phone from his pocket to call Laura, just to see if she was going to be much longer, but he paused. She might be in a meeting, or driving. And was he ringing for updates, ever the reporter, or was he just missing her, wanting to hear her voice? Or was it worse than that; was he just bored?
The album played itself out and the house fell silent again, except for the creak of the stylus arm as it moved slowly across to its resting place. Jack listened to Johnny Cash because it reminded him of his father. He had been killed a few years earlier, but he had spent his life collecting and playing Cash records. In the line of duty was the phrase they had used when he died, although Jack didn’t think he’d volunteered for that part of the job. And it wasn’t just the songs that brought his father close again. It was the album sleeves, the paper inserts, the orange Columbia labels. Jack kept his memory alive by driving his car and blowing the fluff from the stylus.
He turned back to Bobby, who was engrossed in his game once more. Bobby made them a proper family, but Jack knew the truth: if he parted with Laura he would just become a distant memory to Bobby, despite the years he’d put in. It would mean nothing in the end, because they were bound only by Laura.
And there had been some rocky patches. Laura took a long time to settle in the north, and their first couple of years had seemed like a constant battle with Geoff, Bobby’s father, who was still in London and wanted Bobby nearer to him. There had been arguments, and when things had got really strained, Jack could see Laura’s uncertainty about life in the Lancashire hills.
But they loved each other, and so far that had taken them through the difficult times. Jack hoped that their marriage would settle any doubts she might have left.
His melancholy was interrupted by the rumble of a car engine. He sat up and looked towards the window, expecting it to be Laura. He groaned. It was Dolby, his Jaguar making Jack’s Stag look shabby and old. As he climbed out of the car, Jack felt his hackles rise. He tried to stop it, knew that it was an ego thing, because Dolby looked like he could fall into just about anything he wanted. His jeans were designer, and as he walked to the door he threw on a linen jacket. One quick run of his fingers through his long blond locks and then he knocked.
Jack forced a smile as he opened the door. ‘It’s late, Dolby. What have I done to deserve this visit?’
‘Jack, don’t be like that,’ Dolby said, his hands spread. Wide grin. Perfect white teeth. Only to be expected. ‘I was in the area, and so I thought it was a good time to talk.’
Jack stepped to one side and let him go past, until Dolby turned round and said, ‘It might be better if we spoke alone.’
Jack bent down to ruffle Bobby’s hair and whispered in his ear that it was time to go upstairs. Once they were alone, Dolby sat down on the arm of the sofa. Jack didn’t object. It made Dolby look like he wasn’t staying long.
‘How’s the press conference piece?’ Jack said.
‘It’s good, and it’s on the website, but we need more than that now,’ Dolby said.
Jack was confused. ‘What do you mean?’
Dolby smiled in that condescending way that he had. ‘Jack, it’s old news now, and you know what sells newspapers? Anger, that’s what. People are dying and the police can’t catch the killer, but people can get that from the internet. What about
a campaign? Make the people scared. We need to make the paper stand for something again.’
‘And that something is spreading fear?’ Jack said, surprised. ‘The police shouldn’t have to spend their time combating the press, they should spend it catching the killer.’
‘How very fucking noble of you,’ Dolby said, flicking at his hair. ‘Nobility doesn’t keep the paper afloat. The world’s changed, Jack. It’s a tough economy for local papers. You know how it is. It was hard enough before the banks sent us all down. We’re in a different news culture than the one you trained in. It’s instant now, and so we have to do something different. I want to run a campaign, getting at the police, asking why this killer is still loose.’
Jack held back his first response, that he didn’t need a lesson in newspaper politics. Instead, he said, ‘You know it’s difficult for me. Laura’s on the murder squad, for Christ’s sake.’
‘So that’s a no, is it?’ Dolby said, his eyes wide, and Jack guessed the subtext, that there were plenty of eager young hacks getting ready to step in, and that it wasn’t just the one story that was up for grabs.
Jack sighed. ‘No, it isn’t,’ he said quietly.
Dolby slapped his legs with his hands and jumped to his feet. ‘Good man, I knew you would. Can you get something to go in tomorrow?’
Jack pointed at the clock. ‘It’s too late.’
Dolby shook his head. ‘I’ve held back the front page. We’ve got the headline set, with a picture of the crime scene. We need just two hundred words to go underneath.’
‘How soon?’
‘An hour.’
Jack sighed, and then he shrugged and nodded.
Dolby slapped him on the back and went towards the door. Just as he got there, Jack said, ‘Just one condition.’
Dolby turned round. ‘Name it.’
‘Print it under a different byline. For the sake of my pending marriage, if it ever happens, I could really do with Laura not knowing.’
Dolby flashed that grin again. ‘No problem.’
As the door closed, the silence that descended felt heavy, because Jack knew he’d just promised to undermine Laura’s investigation.
