‘I had to ask,’ Mariner said, lightly and the tension in the air seemed to ease a little. ‘What was the reaction of Hughes’s family when Silvero died?’
Coleman sighed, as if dredging all this up was taking an enormous effort. ‘Like I said, they gave Nina a hard time about it. Some of them thought Ronnie had got what he deserved, and others felt cheated by it. They’d lost their scapegoat.’ Coleman looked up as if something had occurred to him. ‘You think Nina’s death might be some kind of posthumous revenge thing?’
‘I’m thinking I’d just like to find some kind of motive for such an obscene attack on an otherwise universally popular middle-aged woman,’ Mariner said. ‘At the moment we’re clutching at any old straw we can find.’
‘Well, it’s a pretty flimsy straw. It happened twenty years ago. Why on earth would anyone want to start digging it all up again?’
‘I’m going to have to talk to the Hughes family,’ Mariner said.
‘You must do what you have to, just like we all do.’ But Coleman didn’t sound happy about it.
Mariner drained his cup. ‘Did you know the first Mrs Silvero, Rachel’s mother?’
‘No, she was long gone when I met Ronnie. He was a single dad. It was like a dream for him when Nina came along.’
‘How was the relationship between Nina and Rachel?’
‘I don’t remember it being a problem, though it might have been in the early days. Half the time I used to forget that Nina was her stepmother.’
‘Nina would have been pretty busy, what with the ballet school as well.’ Mariner said. ‘Did you know her well, I mean before . . .?’
‘We’d met a couple of times at social functions, but Glenys would have talked to her more. She’s gone shopping in Worcester this morning, but when she gets back I can ask her what she remembers, and if you want to come back and talk to her, that’ll be fine.’
Mariner raised an eyebrow. ‘You sure?’ The Glenys he remembered hated the way the job had taken over her husband and probably wouldn’t be keen on him getting involved again.
‘I’m sure. She’ll want to do what she can to help. We both want to find the bastard who did this.’
‘Yes,’ said Mariner. ‘I know how that feels.’
* * *
The rest of the conversation was small talk, Mariner updating Coleman on the station gossip.
‘How’s your new gaffer working out?’ Coleman wanted to know.
‘She’s good. Could never fill your shoes, of course, but she’s alright. You’d like her.’
As Coleman was showing him out Mariner had to ask: ‘Do you ever miss it?’
‘Do I miss being up to my elbows in paperwork, trying to juggle a budget that covers about half of what we need and all with the brass breathing down my neck about targets? Do I miss standing in a mortuary looking at what some lowlife has done to a woman like Nina Silvero?’ There was a catch in his throat, and to recover, Coleman feigned reflection for a moment. ‘Can’t say that I do,’ he concluded, his voice still hoarse.
‘No, when you put it like that.’ And as if to underline the point, a blackbird sang out joyfully from a nearby tree.
On his way back to the city, Mariner went for a walk on Holly Hill, dropping down to the Holly Bush, an unpretentious working man’s pub, for a pint of M&B mild. In the late afternoon it was quiet; those who had been for lunch were drifting away, and it was too early for the evening drinkers. But the lack of activity suited Mariner very well, allowing him the peace and quiet to mull over what Jack Coleman had told him, and equally significantly, Coleman’s mood. He’d remained studiously objective about the death of the prisoner, though not without some sympathy for the family, but he was right about the timing. Could the attack on Nina Silvero really hark back to something that happened twenty years ago? As Tony Knox had pointed out, Nina Silvero had been afraid of something. But if it was related to that death in custody, why now? Nevertheless it was a line of enquiry that would need to be ruled out. And it would be interesting to know what the dead man’s family were doing now.
Chapter Twelve
On his way home Mariner considered picking up a DVD, but decided to consult Kat first on what she might like to watch. They could get a takeaway to go with it. But Kat had other plans. He arrived back to find her all dressed up and hunting around for her bag.
‘You’re going out again,’ Mariner said, stating the obvious. ‘With Giles?’
‘Yes, we go to Broad Street.’ It was becoming a habit.
‘Is he picking you up?’ Mariner asked, hopefully.
‘No, I get the bus.’
‘I can take you,’ Mariner said, impulsively. ‘If you can wait while I get changed. I’m meeting someone too.’
Kat smiled. ‘A woman?’
‘It’s work,’ Mariner said, vaguely, cutting that one off at the pass. Anything else and he’d be committed to the full post-mortem the following day. ‘Where are you meeting Giles?’
‘Mambo’s — is a bar on Broad Street.’
She waited, and a little later Mariner joined the line of taxis flooding into the city centre, their passengers heading in for Saturday night entertainment. Dropping Kat off by the Hyatt Hotel, Mariner turned into Gas Street and parked in the first multi-storey he came to. Bearing in mind Millie’s remarks the previous night about blending in, he’d worn a short-sleeved shirt, which he pulled outside the waistband of his jeans. It took ten years off him, but getting out of the car he shivered as the easterly wind cut right through the thin cotton. He made his way back to Broad Street. He’d never heard of Mambo’s and had to ask directions. Once he’d located the bar, he waited until a large and noisy group of young men was going in, and hooked onto the back of them, hoping that if Kat was still there, he would see her before she saw him.
The place was rammed, and the low lighting both hindered and helped his cause, but Mariner was able to secure a spot at the end of the bar with his back to the wall that gave him a wide view through the heaving mass of bodies. Finally he saw Kat, and in the nick of time too, as she was on her way out, being shepherded though the crowds by Giles, his guiding hand at her back. Mariner followed them as best he could, weaving a path through the closely packed bodies. Out on Broad Street the crowds thinned a little, though gangs of youths and young women blocked the pavement, some of them already the worse for drink. Mariner was grateful that Giles was tall and he was able to follow the pale mop of hair back in towards Brindley Place. Then suddenly Giles and Kat ducked into a doorway and Mariner followed, descending a dark stairway in their wake and into his idea of hell.
The club was dark, but for a web of laser beams above the dance floor and a cinema-sized flat screen on one wall showing random, grainy images cut from old news footage of the sixties; flower power and mushroom clouds, JFK on a grip and grin. The music was a heavy dance beat that battered his ear drums and Mariner stood back and watched as Giles and Kat joined the mass of people thrashing in the middle of the room. Mariner’s dancing had never been up to much and he couldn’t help but feel a sneaking envy for Giles who threw himself into the music with abandon while still looking pretty cool, leaving Mariner to wonder what he might be fuelled by. Kat was more restrained, a little dazed, Mariner thought, but she still moved well. For a while Mariner kept his eyes on them, but when his back started to ache from standing in one place for too long, he strained to see his watch. He’d been here more than two hours tracking their movements between the dance floor and the bar, and so far it had been a total waste of time.
He was about to give up, when suddenly the whole enterprise became worthwhile. Kat had retired from the dance floor for a drink and was standing to one side, propped, as Mariner was, against a wall, sipping her drink and watching the revellers. Giles had disappeared but returned after a few minutes. He towered over Kat as she leaned in against him and their faces got close as they seemed to be talking about something. Then, as Mariner watched, Giles shifted his position to retrieve his wallet from h
is back pocket. Opening it, he took out a small packet, from which he shook something into the palm of his hand, closing his fingers around it, as he replaced his wallet. Giles held out his hand for Kat to see. Looking up at him, she nodded and Mariner watched as she picked up the item from Giles’ palm between finger and thumb, threw back her head and stood poised to drop it into her mouth. In seconds, Mariner had covered the ground between them, shoving aside anyone and anything in his path, and grabbed Kat’s arm before she could swallow the pill.
Giles was big but Mariner had outrage and intent on his side. ‘You, outside — now!’ he spat in Giles’ face and seizing the young man’s arm, thrust him roughly towards the exit, vaguely aware of Kat trailing helplessly behind them. Mariner forced Giles up the dark stairwell, battling against the downward surge, and out onto the street where it seemed blissfully cool and quiet. Retaining a firm grip Mariner dragged Giles into a side alley, slamming him none too gently against the wall.
‘What the hell is this?’ Giles demanded, though Mariner could see the fear in his face.
Kat looked terrified. This was a side of him that she’d never seen. ‘What are you doing, Tom?’ she pleaded.
‘Tom?’ Giles was incredulous. ‘Fuck it. You’re Tom Mariner?’
‘Detective Inspector Tom Mariner actually,’ Mariner said, evenly. ‘You just chose the wrong customer to screw with.’ Mariner drew out his warrant card. ‘I’m arresting you for the possession of a Class A drug with intent to supply . . .’
‘What?’
‘You do not have to say anything . . .’
‘It’s not a fucking Class A, you moron,’ Giles cut him off. ‘It’s a paracetamol!’
The strength of his indignation was enough to make Mariner falter for a second.
‘I have a headache,’ Kat wailed in corroboration, tugging on Mariner’s arm. ‘Giles is give it to me for the pain, and then we go home.’
Putting his face close to Giles’s, Mariner hissed. ‘Don’t you dare move.’ Then, relaxing his hold on the young man just a little, he fished in his pocket for the small torpedo-shaped pill that he’d snatched from Kat. He held it in the light cast from the street lamp, to examine it more closely. It did look bigger than any ecstasy tablets he’d seen before. And it did appear to have the letter P stamped on the side.
‘If you’ll let me, I can show you the rest,’ Giles offered. Mariner took his arm off the man’s chest and nodded acquiescence. Giles took out his wallet once more and retrieved from it a small blister pack, the foil backing imprinted with the name and logo of a high street pharmacy. He passed it to Mariner. There was a single empty compartment and Mariner opened a second to reveal a pill identical to the one he was already holding.
‘It’s as Kat said,’ Giles told him, calmly. ‘She’s got a headache, so she was going to take that and then we were calling it a night.’
For the first time Mariner looked carefully at Giles and tried to weigh him up. What he said didn’t seem entirely implausible. And embarrassing as it might be, his gut feeling was that Giles was telling the truth. He fished in another pocket for the evidence bag he’d brought for this very eventuality and slipped in the pill and the blister pack. ‘Well, I won’t take it any further this time, but I will be getting this tested, to make sure what you’re saying is true. And I wouldn’t leave the city any time soon.’
‘I wasn’t planning to,’ Giles snorted. ‘You can suit yourself, of course, but that won’t contain anything you can’t buy over the counter. I gave all that up a long time ago.’ He shot Mariner a meaningful glance, well aware that he’d been checked up on. ‘Look, I don’t really understand what you are to Kat, but you should know that I really like her and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.’ Stepping away from the wall, he slipped a protective arm around Kat. ‘You want to go home, sweetheart, don’t you?’
‘She can come with me,’ said Mariner, he looked across at Kat, ‘if you want to, that is. I mean, I’ve got the car here anyway, so you may as well . . .’
Giles looked at Kat who nodded, and Mariner had to stand by while they hugged and kissed before he bid an awkward goodnight to Giles. Under normal circumstances he might have shaken the man’s hand but somehow on this occasion it didn’t seem quite appropriate.
Leaving the buzz of Broad Street behind them Mariner and Kat walked back to the car park in a painful silence. Not until they were driving out of the city along Bristol Street could Mariner bring himself to venture, grudgingly, ‘I’m sorry, I spoiled your night.’
Kat was looking away from him and out of the window. ‘Is okay. Is like Giles say. I want to go home soon anyway. My head is bad.’ The silence recommenced and continued all the way out to Kingsmead. Mariner pulled up outside the house and cut the engine. They sat for several seconds not moving.
‘Giles is a nice guy,’ Kat said suddenly.
‘I’m sure he is,’ said Mariner, still smarting from having made such an idiot of himself.
‘He knows what happened to me. I tell him all about it. He understands.’
‘Where did you meet him?’ Mariner asked.
‘At a cancelling group.’
It took Mariner a few seconds to interpret what she meant. Finally he got it. ‘A counselling group,’ he said.
‘Yes. Is for rape victims. I go there every week.’
Wow. ‘I didn’t know that,’ said Mariner. ‘So Giles is a counsellor?’
‘No.’
Mariner was still working it out when she added, quietly: ‘Giles is raped too, when he was a boy.’
* * *
Sunday dawned grey and drizzly. By mid-morning Kat still hadn’t surfaced, for which Mariner was grateful. And he decided that the best policy might be to stay out of her way, the truth being that he was ashamed to face her. Putting on his walking boots and waterproof jacket, he opened the back door of his house and stepped out onto the canal towpath. Today with the absence of any sunlight, the air was tangy with damp vegetation. Mariner followed the canal for a mile or so until it cut through the Primrose Hill estate, where he surfaced and picked up the footpath taking him out into the countryside along the North Worcestershire Way. Out in the open fields the mud stuck to his boots, making them heavier with every stride. The Peacock at Weatheroak was packed with families noisily enjoying a late Sunday lunch, so Mariner had a quick half and then walked home again. When he got back to the house Kat had gone out, and thus they successfully avoided each other for the whole day.
* * *
Millie Khatoon had been visiting her in-laws in Dudley, where Suli was helping his brothers with some decorating to the family home. Dal was going to drop him off later, leaving Millie free to go home in the early evening. Driving up through Northfield she realised she was not far from Lucy Jarrett’s, and wondered what kind of a weekend she’d had. Millie was pretty sure that Will was away. She’d also been driving around with her own wedding snaps in her car for a couple of days, with a view to taking them round to Lucy sometime; awkward to try and fit that in with professional concerns. But perhaps tonight would be a good opportunity. Taking a slight detour along the Bristol Road, she turned into Lucy’s estate.
Although there was no transit van on Lucy’s drive there was another car tucked in behind Lucy’s Mercedes, and when Millie rang the doorbell she was surprised to hear music coming from inside the house, as if a party had already started. And this time, when she came to the door, Lucy was smiling, a glass of wine in her hand.
‘Hello.’ Millie held up the photo album. ‘I’ve brought pictures, but it looks like you’re busy. If you want me to come back another time . . .?’
Lucy’s hesitation was momentary and her smile returned, if a little tightly, as she stepped back to let Millie in. ‘No, that’s great, Julie-Ann’s already here. Come and join us.’
Millie followed Lucy through to the kitchen. There was something she had to confess to before she felt able to relax. ‘We went to see Will’s band,’ she said.
‘I know
.’ It was said with feeling and Millie had a sudden sense of foreboding.
‘Will told you?’
‘Yes, just before he stormed out again, accusing me of suspecting him,’ Lucy said, pointedly.
Shit. ‘Oh, Lucy, I’m sorry, that was my mistake. I thought it would be a good idea for us to let him know that we were keeping an eye on things, making sure that you were okay, especially since he’s away such a lot. He obviously didn’t take it that way.’ Millie wondered again where it was that Will stormed off to on these occasions. It seemed to be a habit of his.
‘No, he didn’t,’ Lucy said, leaving Millie to wonder if she’d given any thought as to why that might be. But she had to keep Lucy on side, so she said nothing more. ‘And he was furious that you’d taken the computer.’
‘Well, we should be able to let you have that back soon.’
‘Did you find anything?’ Lucy challenged.
‘We’re still following up on the spam,’ Millie said, suddenly aware that she’d let that slide.
‘So what did you think?’ Lucy asked.
‘Of . . .?’
‘The band.’
‘They’re good,’ Millie said, truthfully. ‘I mean, not really my kind of thing, but Will’s obviously a talented musician — they all are. And that young woman — Tess, was it? She’s got a great voice.’
‘Yes, she has, hasn’t she?’ Lucy had poured her some wine and now passed her the glass. ‘Anyway, what would you like to drink?’
‘Have you got a coke or something?’ asked Millie.
Lucy retrieved a can from the fridge and poured it into a glass.
‘Forgiven?’ Millie asked, taking it from her. ‘Believe me; I was only trying to help.’
Lucy smiled, and this time it was a warm, open smile. ‘You are forgiven, DC Khatoon. Cheers.’
Julie-Ann appeared and regarded Millie warily. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’
Lucy grinned. ‘All the best parties happen in the kitchen. But yeah, let’s go somewhere more comfortable.’ Picking up the wine bottle she led them into the lounge.
Married Lies (Reissue) Page 16
