by Roberta Kray
Nick didn’t feel any particular loyalty towards Mal and was withholding the file as much out of sheer bloody-mindedness as anything else. Why should he contribute towards the creation of yet another piece of sensationalist trash? And even if Heather had greater aspirations when it came to her work, he wasn’t convinced that a further book on the Fury tragedy was either appropriate or desirable. He was, however prepared to put these objections aside if she could shed some light on where Mal might be. He’d do it for Lolly’s sake.
Having spent the last half hour on personal business, Nick thought he’d better get on with what he was actually being paid to do. He typed up his notes on yesterday’s surveillance of Brent Sandler and chucked the sheet of paper into the relevant tray. Notes from the previous few days were still there, waiting to be collated, and out of curiosity he picked up the ones submitted by other operatives and had a quick look through them. There was nothing out of the ordinary – meetings, lunches, drinks, visits to prostitutes – until he came to Thursday night where he discovered that Mickey Ross had managed to lose Sandler at around eight o’clock in Shoreditch.
The lawyer had parked his car at a strip club called Marcie’s, one of Terry Street’s dubious establishments, gone inside and not come out again. The Jensen-Healey had still been parked there at closing time. Sandler must have slipped out the back way or walked out in plain view when Ross wasn’t watching, abandoning the car and taking a cab home. Too much to drink, perhaps.
Nick wasn’t surprised by any of this. Ross was a lazy, incompetent sod and had probably been napping. Whatever the reason, there was now a gap in the surveillance, lost hours that couldn’t be explained. It was doubtful the client would ever get to know about this; one of the Marshall brothers would find a way to sweep it neatly under the carpet. Incompetence was hardly something to shout about.
He put the papers back in the tray, wondering again who the client was. His eyes strayed towards the larger office at the back where the Marshalls kept all the confidential files. They also kept the door locked when they weren’t around. He toyed with the idea of trying to get in – some locks were easier to manipulate than others – but didn’t want to take the risk of being caught in the act. He disliked being in the dark but preferred it to being unemployed.
The phone rang and he picked it up. ‘Marshall & Marshall.’
It was his old colleague from CID. ‘I’ve got the results on that check you wanted. Heather Grant, yeah? It’s come up a blank, a clean sheet, nothing on her at all.’
Nick wasn’t sure if he was pleased or disappointed. In some ways it would have been easier to find out she had a record as long as his arm, a history of conning people. At least then he’d have known who he was dealing with. ‘Thanks, mate. I owe you one.’
‘Too right you do.’
‘I’ll see you around.’
Nick sat back and thought about Heather Grant. Maybe she was exactly who and what she said she was, but he still didn’t trust her. Why was that? Perhaps it was just instinct. Or the fact she hadn’t mentioned visiting Mal. Or perhaps it was because everything to do with the Furys was hazardous. People tended to get damaged, even killed, when they got involved with them. He scratched his chin and sighed. He had the feeling he was heading straight for trouble, like a fly stepping into a spider’s web.
9
Saturday 17 September. Kellston
Heather Grant parked a few yards down from the pawnbroker’s but didn’t immediately get out of the car. Instead she flicked through her notes making sure she was up to speed with exactly what she needed to ask. Her forthcoming interview with Brenda Cecil had taken some negotiation – the old cow hadn’t been prepared to talk for free – and eventually they had settled on a ten-quid payment. Heather intended to get her money’s worth.
Everything was going to plan at the moment. She was rooting around, stirring things up and getting results. Bad smells were rising from the cesspit. Sometimes you had to muddy the waters before anything became clear. As yet she didn’t understand it all, couldn’t see the whole picture but that would change in time. She was making progress and that was all that mattered.
Heather got out of the Mini, walked over to the shop and went inside. It was exactly one o’clock, the time they’d arranged, and Brenda was in the process of breaking for lunch. Cash was being transferred from the till to a canvas bag and there was a rustle of notes, a clatter of coins as the morning’s takings were stashed away.
‘You’re here, then,’ Brenda said, glancing up. ‘Thought you might not be coming.’
Heather raised her eyebrows. First impressions of Brenda hadn’t been good and she had the feeling they weren’t going to improve. The woman was imposing, big and solid with a mountainous bosom and hands like hams. Her face had a puffy look, and her eyes were mean and sly. ‘Sorry, I’m not late, am I?’
Brenda came out from behind the counter, flipped over the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and pulled across a pair of heavy bolts. She turned and put her hands on her hips. ‘A tenner. Wasn’t that what we agreed?’
‘That’s right.’ Heather took out her purse and passed over the note.
Brenda fingered the tenner for a second before holding it up to the light. Eventually she nodded. ‘You’d better come through.’
Heather followed her along a narrow hallway to the lounge and from there to the kitchen at the very rear of the building. The smell of boiled cabbage and stale tobacco hung in the air.
After they’d sat down, Heather took out her Dictaphone and laid it on the table.
‘You don’t mind, do you? It’ll save me making notes.’
Brenda eyed the machine with suspicion. ‘You’re recording this? No, I’m not sure if—’
‘It’ll make everything quicker,’ Heather interrupted. ‘I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I know you’ve got a business to run so the sooner we’re done, the sooner I can leave you in peace.’
This argument seemed to partly appease Brenda although she still looked wary. ‘So, what do you want to know?’
‘Okay, let’s start with Lolita Bruce. Lolly. How did she come to be living with you back in ’71?’
‘I took her in, didn’t I, after her mum topped herself. Someone had to help the kid out. Skinny, half-starved thing she was, barely able to string a sentence together. I thought I was doing the right thing but it turned out to be the biggest mistake I ever made.’
‘Really? Why was that?’
‘Because she didn’t have a grateful bone in her body. Here’s me, doing my best for her, feeding her, clothing her, giving her a roof over her head and what thanks do I get?’ The corners of Brenda’s mouth turned down with disgust. ‘She only goes to the law saying my Tony attacked a man. A grass, that’s what she is, a bleedin’ snake.’
‘Tony?’
‘My oldest, love. He did time for that.’
Heather wasn’t interested in Tony Cecil – he’d probably got what he deserved – but she made some token sympathetic noises before moving swiftly on. ‘What made you believe there could be a connection between Lolly and the missing Fury child?’
‘It was Angela, her mum. She talked about Mr Fury sometimes when she was having one of her episodes, said he was out to get her, that he had spies following her around. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but she weren’t right in the head, not right at all. I didn’t take no notice at the time but later, after she’d . . . you know . . . it got me thinking. Turned out there wasn’t a birth certificate for the kid or nothin’, like she’d just appeared from thin air, so I started to wonder if maybe she weren’t Angela’s at all.’
‘And you contacted Mal Fury?’
‘Not him, the other one, the private investigator. Stanley something, that was his name.’
‘Parrish,’ Heather said.
‘Yes, that’s it. He was the one who dealt with everything.’
‘There was a big reward, wasn’t there, for anyone who could provide information leading to
the discovery of Kay?’
Brenda’s face darkened, her voice becoming belligerent. ‘That ain’t why I took her in if that’s what you’re getting at. Don’t you start accusing me of—’
‘No, no, of course not. I wasn’t saying that at all. Absolutely not. It was very good of you to look after her, extremely kind. There aren’t many people who’d do the same in your position. I think it’s admirable.’
Brenda seemed partly mollified by this, but her eyes probed Heather’s face as if searching for signs of duplicity. ‘I never did nothin’ for money. All I wanted was to give the kid a decent home. You can put that in your book, love. I did it for her sake, not mine.’
Seeing as Brenda had charged ten quid just for the pleasure of a short interview, Heather found her protests laughable. But she was careful not to let it show. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘If there was any chance she could be the Fury kid, then I had to find out. For all their sakes. It wouldn’t have been fair otherwise, would it? Not on any of them. That’s why I went to Mr Parrish, not for no other reason.’
‘I understand.’
Brenda, having re-established the moral high ground, gave a firm nod. ‘Some of us know right from wrong.’
Heather left a short respectful pause before asking, ‘So, why do you think Mal Fury took her on? I mean, if it had been established she wasn’t theirs, why would—’
‘Who said it was established? All I know is what they told me. No proof, that Stanley said even though she was the right blood group. They could have been spinning me a line, couldn’t they? Those sort can’t be trusted.’
‘Those sort?’
‘You know what I mean. The rich, the ones who have all the power. They can do what they like and nobody asks any questions.’
‘But surely Stanley Parrish wouldn’t have continued the search if the Furys thought Kay had been found?’
Brenda’s massive shoulders heaved into a shrug. ‘I’m just saying, that’s all. You can’t believe a word that comes out of some people’s mouths.’
‘I suppose not,’ Heather agreed, wanting to keep the woman on side.
‘Still, they all got what they deserved in the end. Mal Fury’s banged up and Lolly’s back here. I reckon that Esther realised what a devious little bitch she was and chucked her out.’
‘Yes, I heard she was back. You don’t have her address by any chance?’
‘If you’re thinking of talking to her, I wouldn’t bother. She’s like her mother, she’s got a screw loose. And she don’t know how to tell the truth. She’s a wrong ’un, love. You need to watch your step with her.’
‘I’ll bear it in it mind. But if you do have the address?’
‘Just along the road here. I don’t know what number. It’s the flat over the Indian takeaway.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Walking around bold as brass after what she did to my Tony. It’s a bloody disgrace. And it wasn’t as if it was the first time. Do you know about Jude Rule?’
‘I’ve heard the name,’ Heather said cautiously. She had actually met Jude at West Henby, a young, good-looking but very intense man. A screenwriter who’d already had some success. He clearly had a strong attachment to Esther Fury although she wasn’t sure of the exact nature of their relationship. The actress was older than him, over forty, although no one could deny that she was still a beauty. There had been something odd, obsessive even, about the way he had watched her, his eyes never leaving her face.
‘Got away with murder, didn’t he? Everyone knows he killed Amy Wiltshire – he was always sniffing round her – but Lolly swore she was with him when it happened. The two of them cooked up a story and stuck to it. That’s when the law tried to pin it on Tony; hours he spent down that nick before they finally let it drop.’
Heather didn’t know much about the Wiltshire case other than the girl had been sixteen when she’d been stabbed to death on the Mansfield estate. ‘The police never charged anyone?’
‘Bloody morons, the lot of them.’
‘Lolly must have been pretty young then. What, about thirteen?’
‘Old enough to know better. She gave that boy an alibi and let him go free. He should have been locked up. They should have thrown away the key. He’ll do it again, you mark my words, some other poor girl, you can be sure of it.’ Brenda’s expression suggested she couldn’t wait for the day to come. ‘Jude Rule had Lolly wrapped around his little finger. She’d have let my Tony go down for murder rather than tell the truth. But he’ll get what’s coming to him one day, and so will she.’
The background information on Jude and Lolly was interesting, but it wasn’t what Heather was here for. ‘Going back to Stanley Parrish for a moment: what was your opinion of him?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Was he doing a good job? Was he honest? Did he treat you fairly?’
Brenda gave a snort. ‘He was working for the Furys, weren’t he? It was their interests he were looking after, not mine. I did everything I could for that kid and what thanks did I get for it? I’ll tell you this for nothing, I won’t make the same mistake again. I look after my own these days and no one else. Blood’s thicker than water, right?’
‘And you never met either of the Furys, Mal or Esther?’
‘Never.’
‘You must have felt some sympathy for them, though. Losing a child in those circumstances, not knowing what’s happened, must be a complete nightmare. I don’t think I could cope with it.’
But Brenda’s capacity for sympathy was limited. She placed her plump arms on the table and said, ‘We all have our crosses to bear.’
‘It still intrigues me as to why they decided to take on Lolly. Out of all the kids who’d been put forward, why her? What made her different to the others?’
‘You’d have to ask them that. I’ve got my own suspicions, like I said.’
Heather didn’t believe the Furys had ever thought that Lolly Bruce could be their missing daughter. And she knew for a fact that Esther had never wanted anything to do with her. It had been Mal who had taken the unilateral decision to become her guardian and bring her into the family home. And that, perhaps, had been the beginning of the end as regards the Fury marriage.
Brenda glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Is there anything else only I’ve got things to do? I can’t sit here gassing all day.’
‘Just out of interest, what do you think happened to Kay Fury?’
‘I don’t know, love, and I don’t much care. It’s a shame and all that, but it ain’t my problem. I’ve enough of my own worries to be dealing with without adding to them.’
‘Okay, I think that’s it.’ Heather turned off the Dictaphone and put it in her bag. ‘Thank you for your time.’
As Brenda escorted her back through the house and shop, the older woman couldn’t resist one final dig. ‘Don’t forget what I said about Lolly Bruce. She’s a troublemaker. Some people are born bad, born bloody evil, and she’s one of them.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll remember.’
Heather walked along the road to the Mini and climbed inside. Brenda Cecil was bitter and vindictive, and the interview had left a bad taste in her mouth. She brushed both shoulders in turn as if to wipe away invisible specks of dirt. How enlightening had their talk been? Well, she had learned a little more about Lolly, but that was about it. Still, every bit of information was useful.
It was over six months now since Heather had made an earth-shattering discovery, something that had flipped her world upside down. She was still trying to come to terms with it. That she had been lied to and deceived wasn’t anything she’d get over in a hurry; the betrayal was still spreading through her blood like poison. If there was an antidote it wouldn’t be found by sitting on her backside. She needed answers, clarity, understanding. She had to find the end of the thread and start pulling until everything unravelled.
10
Saturday 17 September. Kellston
As she approached the junction she crossed back over and turned left onto Station Road. Her intention was to go and see Stella, popping into the Fox on the way. With any luck Terry would be there and she could return the ring to him. One less thing to worry about. But Tony and FJ were still on her mind. While she walked, she kept glancing over her shoulder, an involuntary movement like a nervous tic she couldn’t shake off.
Even at this early hour the Fox was busy. Most of the tables were taken and there was a queue at the bar. Far from putting people off, the recent murder in the area appeared to have had the opposite effect with the locals gathering to discuss events and share in the horror. She could hear them talking about it, exchanging theories, as she looked over at Terry’s usual table – currently occupied by a couple of lads and their girlfriends – before switching her view to quickly scan the room for Vinnie who was always head and shoulders above everyone else.
Lolly was about to leave when she noticed Stella, Michelle and Jackie standing by the corridor that led down to the Ladies. They were involved in some kind of altercation or at least Stella and Jackie were, their faces twisted, words spitting from their mouths like missiles. Michelle seemed to be trying to keep the peace and the two other women apart. All of them looked drunk.
Of the girls who worked out of the house on Albert Road, Jackie was the only one Lolly actively disliked; she was hard-faced and abrasive with a wide mean streak that ran straight through her soul. Lolly hesitated, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, but then made her way across the pub. Loyalty, she decided, was more important than self-preservation. As she approached she could see that Stella’s gaze was glazed and unfocused; she’d clearly been crying but now her grief had turned to anger. Her mascara had run leaving dark panda shadows under her eyes.
