Married Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  There was also a note about the contents of the grey plastic bottle, which Mariner couldn’t fully decipher, so he rang the lab.

  ‘It was something unexpected,’ Rick Fraser told him, ‘though I’ll leave you to work out the implications. We did a full chemical analysis on what was left in the plastic bottle. It wasn’t the original content.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Mariner asked, feeling dense.

  ‘I mean the bottle was an old one, and the original contents must have been disposed of, because what was in there doesn’t match with what the label says. It’s close — the main ingredient is still sulphuric acid — but it’s combined with anionic wetting agents.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘What was in the drain cleaner bottle wasn’t drain cleaner, but paint stripper, more specifically, one designed to remove paint from rubber surfaces. The wetting agents reduce the surface tension of the paint, allowing it to be removed.’ Good old Rick, always providing far more information than was needed.

  ‘Who might use that?’ Mariner asked, cutting to the chase.

  ‘As far as I know it’s not a domestic product,’ Rick said. ‘But it would be used anywhere industrial scale painting goes on, and where surfaces need to be cleaned afterwards, maybe a paint shop or something like that.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Rick, that’s been helpful.’ Mariner was studying the report again and considering the implications of what Fraser had said, when there was a tentative knock on the door and a shadow fell across his desk. He looked up to see Ralph Solomon. ‘Come in,’ Mariner gestured to the chair opposite him. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m fine, sir, thanks,’ Solomon said, lowering his considerable bulk.

  ‘Not easy, making that kind of discovery,’ Mariner said. ‘Are you coping all right with it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I think so, sir.’ Solomon was clutching his notebook.

  ‘What have you got for us?’

  ‘I was assigned the house-to-house on Mrs Silvero’s street,’ Solomon said. ‘I thought you might want to know this.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘The woman who lives next door to Nina Silvero, Audrey Patterson. There was no one at home when I first went round, so I had to go back this morning. It might be nothing but . . .’

  ‘Go on,’ Mariner prompted.

  ‘She was out working in her back garden a couple of weeks back when she overheard what she called a “heated exchange” between Nina Silvero and her stepdaughter.’

  Suddenly Mariner was interested.

  ‘She said that basically it sounded like Rachel was asking for money, a loan so that she and her husband could start some kind of business enterprise.’ Solomon consulted the notes he’d taken. ‘Nina Silvero refused, the two of them argued for a bit, and then Rachel left.’ He lifted his head. ‘I thought you might want to speak to her.’

  ‘You thought exactly right,’ said Mariner, lifting his jacket from the back of the chair. ‘Well done, Ralph. You just earned yourself another Brownie point.’

  * * *

  Audrey Patterson had been Nina Silvero’s neighbour for thirty years, she told Mariner as they sat in a conservatory overlooking her garden, and Mariner deduced, was probably about the same age. Her shoulder-length hair had long since ceased to be its natural ebony, but her face was smooth and unlined. She had agreed to see Mariner before her Thursday afternoon yoga class and was dressed in preparation for it in a burgundy, velour tracksuit.

  Audrey had been devastated by what had happened to Nina. ‘I feel terrible, because Ray and I always try to be good neighbours. We were out at a church function the night she died, but we were at home all day on that Monday, so we must have been going about our business here while she was lying in the kitchen . . .’ She broke off, unable to say the word. ‘I feel dreadful about it.’

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ Mariner reassured her. ‘We’d all like the gift of x-ray vision sometimes. But you can help us. I understand you overheard an argument between Nina and her stepdaughter quite recently.’

  ‘Yes, it was about a fortnight ago,’ she said. ‘Rachel and the baby came to stay for the weekend.’

  ‘Not Rachel’s husband?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘No. Rachel visited her mother quite often — every couple of weeks or so — but I think it was more difficult for Adam to get away.’

  ‘And you overheard a disagreement?’ Mariner prompted.

  ‘Yes, it was on the Sunday afternoon. I think little Harry must have been having a nap because I noticed that the back curtains were drawn. I wasn’t eavesdropping — I just couldn’t help but hear.’ She was keen to make that clear. ‘I was doing some weeding in the flowerbed down there,’ she indicated an immaculate border just beyond the window, ‘and they were out on the patio, and speaking quite loudly.’

  ‘So you heard exactly what was said?’ Mariner checked.

  ‘Oh yes. Nina was saying: “I can’t do it anymore. I’ve given you what I can and I’ve got my old age to think about.” Then Rachel must have suggested that Nina sell the house and get somewhere smaller, but Nina wasn’t having any of it. She said: “this is my home,” and I remember thinking, “good for you.” Rachel always was rather spoilt, especially by her father. Then later that afternoon I saw her and the baby leaving.’

  ‘Do you think Rachel and Nina parted on good terms?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘I think so,’ she seemed reasonably sure. ‘Nina was waving them off, and when I saw her a few days later, she told me what a lovely weekend they’d had.’

  ‘She didn’t mention the argument,’ Mariner checked.

  ‘Oh, no. We’ve been neighbours a long time but we didn’t interfere with each other’s business.’

  Pity, thought Mariner. ‘You must have been aware of who came and went at Nina’s house though,’ he said.

  ‘Sometimes, of course,’ she said.

  ‘Do you ever remember seeing any male visitors?’

  ‘Not recently,’ Audrey said. ‘Just after Ronnie died, there was a man who seemed to be a regular visitor for a short time.’

  ‘A workman?’

  ‘No, he was too well dressed for that. I did wonder at the time what kind of relationship it was between them. Not my concern, of course, but it did seem a bit soon to be taking up with someone new. Then after a few months he seemed to stop coming anyway.’

  ‘Do you remember what he looked like?’ Mariner asked.

  Audrey sighed. ‘Not really. I didn’t take much notice.’ A squirrel scampered across the lawn, distracting her momentarily. ‘I think he was quite tall and well built, balding a bit. He drove quite a smart car; a Rover or something like that.’

  Sitting in his car out on the street, Mariner made a phone call, and on his way back to Granville Lane he took a detour to the offices of Mercer, Brooke and Hanley, an old and well-established partnership that had offices in a Georgian villa on the Harborne side of Five Ways. Outwardly a traditional law firm, Nina’s solicitor, Sarah Wagstaffe, clearly brought some glamour to the practice. She took Mariner into a refurbished, modern office that overlooked the car park.

  ‘Have you been Mrs Silvero’s solicitor for long?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘About seven years,’ said Wagstaffe. ‘Nina was one of my first clients. I took her on from Mr Partington, by mutual agreement of course.’

  ‘And did you have much contact with Mrs Silvero?’

  ‘We’ve met about half a dozen times. She was very conscientious about keeping her will up to date, so I last saw her shortly after her grandson was born. A sensible woman.’

  And a lucrative client, Mariner thought, but he kept that to himself. She had copies of the will ready for Mariner to take, and on the way out they passed an older man in reception.

  ‘Ah, this is Mr Brooke,’ Sarah introduced them.

  It occurred to Mariner as he shook Brooke’s hand that he vaguely fit the description of the man Estelle Waters and Audrey Patterson had seen with Nina. ‘What sort of car do you drive, Mr Brooke?’ he asked.


  ‘A Range Rover,’ said Brooke, understandably taken aback by the question. ‘Have done for many years.’

  * * *

  Mariner took the will back to Granville Lane where he and Knox pored over copies of it, Knox glad of the respite. Nina Silvero, it transpired, had been generous in her donations to charity, including the police benevolent fund, so it didn’t appear that she bore any grudges there. The ballet school, along with any profits or losses had been bequeathed to Susan Brady, and apart from a sum to be put into trust for her grandson, the remaining estate, running into several hundred thousand even before the house had been sold, would go to Rachel Hordern.

  ‘The ballet school is an interesting one,’ Mariner remarked.

  ‘In what way?’ said Knox.

  ‘Along with any profits and losses?’ Mariner quoted. ‘Susan Brady admitted to us that it was beginning to struggle. Much better for her to take control of it while it’s still viable and she has a chance of turning things around, than wait until it’s in real trouble.’

  ‘Taking into account that argument, wouldn’t Rachel Hordern have been pretty anxious to get her hands on her cut sooner rather than later, too?’ Knox speculated. ‘You reckon there’s any chance that these two women knew each other?’

  ‘The stepdaughter and the business partner?’ Mariner hadn’t considered it before. ‘They must be about the same age. I would say there’s every chance.’

  ‘Perhaps we should find out for sure.’

  ‘Well, we’ll bump into them both tomorrow at the funeral,’ said Mariner. ‘Something to look out for.’

  Chapter Ten

  On Thursday evening, Mariner really had no justification for being in the bar opposite the Brass House language centre other than spying. From where he sat idly turning the icy beer bottle in his fingertips, he had a perfect vantage point for seeing who emerged from the building. As it was, he almost missed them because he didn’t immediately recognise the glamourous young woman who emerged arm-in-arm with a tall, blond young man in a sharp suit. Kat had changed out of her formal work clothes and was wearing a short, clinging dress, with a cropped jacket over the top and moderately high heels. Mariner had never seen her dressed like that before. It made him feel uneasy.

  Giles, if this was him, and Mariner was certain that it was, was speaking into a mobile. He was neither what Mariner had expected or hoped for; for a start he was younger and better looking. As he pocketed his phone, there was clearly some playful banter going on between him and Kat as they came down the steps of the centre and turned to walk along Broad Street. Abandoning his beer, Mariner started after them at what he hoped was a discreet distance. As he followed, he watched Giles take Kat’s hand, raise it to his mouth and kiss it.

  Mariner tailed them down a side street and into the entrance to a multi-storey car park. Once in the winding concrete stairwell he lost sight of them temporarily and had to monitor their ascent by their echoing footsteps. A flight below, he fell into step with them, until they halted suddenly, and a few seconds’ silence was followed by the clanging of a door. Mariner bolted up the remaining stairs, pushing open the next exit door onto what he hoped was the right level. Casting about the rows of parked cars, he was just in time to see Kat, fifty yards away, duck between vehicles. Giles had already vanished and as Mariner watched, a low-slung sports car that must have cost upward of fifty thousand, roared into life, reversed slowly out of the parking bay and accelerated towards the exit ramp, giving Mariner more than enough time to note down the registration. It was a start.

  * * *

  Leigh Hawkins was popular. There were no reserved seats in the first-floor room of the tiny Edwardian pub, and half an hour before the venue was due to open, the queue snaked down the stairs and into the street. Millie was having to stand and wait on her own as Mariner hadn’t yet shown up. She wondered what was keeping him. Perhaps, despite what Tony Knox had confided, he was seeing that Stephanie again. She hoped so. It would do him good. Having experienced the pleasures of married life first-hand Millie felt it her mission to secure the same happiness for everyone. It was a mystery to Millie, and always had been, why the boss wasn’t already married, with his mandatory two-point-four kids. Okay, he was knocking on a bit now, but he was still an attractive bloke. Even the grey beginning to streak his hair suited him. And she happened to know from very limited personal experience that he was an alright shag. It was such a pity that things hadn’t worked out with Anna. It was still a source of some shame to Millie that she was the one who could potentially have jeopardised that relationship for him, but no, in the end he had managed to screw it up all on his own.

  At seven sharp the doors opened and the line began to shuffle forward up the stairs, giving Millie her first glimpse into the gig venue. Seeing how packed it was getting, she hoped there wouldn’t be a problem with reserving two seats, though she had her warrant card to back her up should she need it. Most of the punters were middle-aged or older, ageing hippies universally dressed in jeans with T-shirts or open-necked shirts. And all of them, from what Millie could see, were white. She’d long passed the stage where this could make her feel uncomfortable, and she certainly didn’t feel under threat; it was simply an observation. Soon she was next in line at the ticket table, and at the last possible moment Mariner arrived, squeezing his way breathlessly up the stairs past the tail-end of the queue. And, for God’s sake, still wearing his work suit.

  ‘You really know how to blend in, don’t you?’ said Millie, eyeing him up and down as she handed over the money for their tickets. ‘I can see why you’re never asked to go under cover.’

  ‘What? Oh, no time to change,’ Mariner said, distracted. Tickets bought, they walked into the rapidly filling room and Millie chose a table about half-way back.

  ‘What are you having?’ Mariner asked. He took Millie’s order and went up to the bar, leaving her to keep their seats.

  ‘Been somewhere nice?’ Millie fished, as he rejoined her with their drinks, his own already half-depleted.

  ‘Nowhere interesting,’ he said, with a minimal shake of the head. ‘God, it’s ages since I’ve been in here, I used to come in regularly. But the landlord still keeps a good pint, well half-pint, anyway.’ He looked warily around at the audience. ‘I hope this isn’t going to be your finger-in-the-ear purist stuff.’ And from that, Millie surmised, the subject of his whereabouts was closed.

  When the band appeared, Lucy Jarrett’s husband was instantly recognisable from the wedding photos Millie had seen. ‘Though he’s better looking in the flesh,’ she told Mariner. Lean and tanned in black jeans and T-shirt, with dark, spiky hair, he was every inch the rock musician, his arms branded with elaborate tattoos and a string of beads at his throat. The band was a five-piece and, apart from Will, was as predominantly Irish as Leigh Hawkins himself. The eponymous front-man was tall and rangy, his long grey hair tied back in a ponytail, his beard almost white.

  The bass player and drummer kept a pretty low profile but the front line was Leigh Hawkins himself, all gravelly voice and acoustic guitar, Will Jarrett on guitar, mandolin, banjo and occasional harmonies, and a female singer whose crystal pure voice was a clean counterpoint to the gruff male vocals.

  ‘That must be Tess Maguire,’ Millie said.

  ‘She’s the possible other woman?’

  ‘The one who phoned to speak to Will while I was there. Lucy wasn’t impressed. Touch of the green-eyed monster, I’m sure.’

  Occasionally the two sang backing harmony to Leigh Hawkins, and when they did they shared the mic, standing close to each another, occasionally Will’s hand at the young woman’s back, and as they moved back and forth across the stage, in and out of the songs, they exchanged frequent intimate glances.

  ‘He’s not behaving much like a newly married man, is he?’ observed Millie.

  The performance ended at close to eleven thirty and afterwards, while Mariner went to find the gents, Millie queued by the table at the back of the room to
buy a CD. She purposely joined the line nearest to Will, but had to wait some time, as the woman ahead of her was clearly a long-time fan.

  ‘Back again then, Sally?’ Will turned his pearly smile on her.

  ‘Of course,’ the woman twittered. ‘You were fabulous as always.’ She picked up one of the CDs with hardly a glance. ‘Will you sign it for me? I’ve already got this one, but I can’t go away empty handed.’ Having paid for her purchase, Sally produced her phone. ‘One for the album?’ Will dutifully posed for her, then she turned and handed Millie the camera. ‘Would you mind?’ Before Millie could respond, Sally was round the other side of the table, her arm wrapped tightly around Will, her face pressed close to his. Millie focused and snapped. To Will’s credit, he seemed totally relaxed about it all, though the woman must have been too close to be comfortable.

  ‘See you again soon, darling,’ she said, holding onto Will’s hand for much too long and squeezing it tight. She finally relinquished it.

  ‘You take care now,’ smiled Will, turning to Millie, brows raised.

  ‘You have a fan,’ Millie observed.

  ‘Yeah,’ Will gave a wry smile. ‘Thankfully just the one. Sally’s pretty harmless though.’

  Millie handed over the money for her chosen CD. ‘Your wife is Lucy, right?’

  He looked up in surprise, the smile still in place. ‘Yeah, you know her?’

  ‘Kind of. I’m the police officer who’s investigating the nuisance phone calls she’s been getting.’

  There was a definite reaction in those dark eyes, but Jarrett recovered quickly. ‘I didn’t know she’d got you guys involved,’ he said, casually. ‘You really think there’s something in them?’

  ‘I think there’s something bothering your wife, and I’d like to try and find out what it is,’ Millie said, pleasantly.