Stolen

by Roberta Kray

  There had been bad blood between Terry and Les ever since Joe Quinn’s murder. Les had seen an opportunity to take over Joe’s manor, to fill the gap that had been left, and he’d marched in his army of thugs only to find Terry waiting for him. Vinnie smiled at the memory. A&E had been busy that night. After the battle a fragile peace had broken out but trouble was starting to escalate again.

  Terry didn’t need trouble at the moment. He had enough grief with the law crawling all over his patch. The killing of Dana Leigh would have a serious impact on business for a week or two, the punters keeping their distance until the fuss died down. And it wouldn’t just mean a loss of earnings from the girls: the sales of weed and coke would suffer too. Customers didn’t care for Old Bill looking over their shoulder.

  Vinnie had barely known Dana and so felt no personal sense of loss at her death. He was sorry for her but had seen enough of life to know that for some girls it would never get any better than a futile, self-destructive cycle of turning tricks to fund their habit. One way or another, she’d have been dead before the age of thirty. It was possible, even probable, that Dana had been moonlighting, meeting punters away from the house so she could keep the money for herself. A risky business as she’d found out to her cost.

  Brent Sandler came into the pub, shook hands with Terry and Les and took a seat at the table. Vinnie shifted on the bar stool and frowned. Sandler was someone else he couldn’t stand, a creep, a slimeball who always had his hands on the girls. He’d been at Marcie’s on Thursday night, taking the usual liberties, until he’d disappeared about nine leaving that flash motor of his in the club car park.

  There were all sorts of stories about the bastard – none of them good – but Terry was happy to overlook his less desirable character traits. A bent solicitor always came in handy when you were dealing with the law: he could sort out sweeteners and make sure everything ran smoothly. Sandler had half the CID in his pocket and that kind of leverage was worth its weight in gold.

  Vinnie drank his Scotch and slid his tongue along his lips. He had another more personal reason for hating the man and that was to do with his wife, Laura Sandler. The woman had class and he was smitten. It was three months now since the affair had started and it showed no signs of fizzling out. Most of the girls he dated were here one day and gone the next, a bit of fun, but she was different. When he thought about her something clenched in his chest.

  Laura was dark-haired, brown-eyed, a real beauty, but what he felt went beyond the physical; she had got under his skin and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He knew he was playing with fire, that there’d be serious repercussions if the affair was exposed, but the sneaking around only added to the thrill.

  Vinnie didn’t give two fucks about Sandler – the bloke was beneath contempt – but Terry was a different matter. He’d do his nut if he ever found out and not because he had any scruples when it came to screwing other men’s wives: Sandler was useful to him and business always came first. Vinnie liked to think that Terry would stand by him, the same way he’d stood by Terry after Joe Quinn’s murder, but nothing was certain. Loyalty had shades of grey; it was never cut and dried.

  Feeling Rico’s eyes on him, Vinnie looked across the bar again. He held the lowlife’s gaze, unblinking, until Rico gave up and glanced away. It was a small victory but it made him feel better. He drained his glass, put it on the counter and went back to thinking about Laura. Some women were worth taking risks for and she was one of them. He held her face in his mind, traced her features, thought about the way she moved when they made love. He was consumed, he knew, with a passion beyond reason. It was the kind of passion that didn’t always end well.

  13

  Monday 19 September. Camden

  Nick drank his coffee while he waited, wondering why it was that girls were always late. It was as if they worked to a different clock to the other half of the population, the mechanism ticking at a female pace. He hadn’t heard back from Heather Grant until last night when she’d apologised for the delay and said she’d been away for the weekend. Not wanting to discuss matters over the phone, he’d suggested meeting up in Camden at eleven in a café near the Tube. It was only a couple of stops down the line from Tufnell Park if she chose to leave the Mini at home.

  Nick always had Monday off when he’d worked a Saturday and he usually spent it catching up on those mundane chores like going to the launderette and giving his flat a clean. The latter never took long as he lived in a shoebox, the only place he could afford on his current salary. He could have shared accommodation – it would have been cheaper – but that came with its own problems, like having to put up with someone else’s bad habits. Anyway, he spent so little time there its size didn’t really matter.

  Camden was one of Nick’s favourite places in London. He liked the mix of people and its feeling of edginess. And okay so maybe it was a touch run down but he preferred that to the layer of gloss that covered some areas. However, this wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t chosen Connolly’s like the last time. The risk of running into Lolly in Kellston was too great. All the things he admired about her – her straightforwardness, her feistiness – were things that could get in the way when it came to brokering a deal with Heather.

  Although Nick felt some guilt about keeping Lolly out of the loop, he reckoned it was for the best. She was upset about Mal going AWOL and was likely to give Heather the third degree if she thought information was being withheld. He favoured a more softly-softly approach using artful persuasion rather than confrontation.

  Just as Nick was checking his watch for the umpteenth time, the door to the café opened and Heather Grant walked in. Even in jeans and a shirt she managed to look elegant. Her face was as lovely as he’d remembered, her fair hair sleek and glossy. As she walked towards him his eyes quickly raked her slender frame, taking in everything from the fine gold chain around her neck to the pink pumps she was wearing on her feet. He could have justified this close scrutiny with the excuse it was important for detectives to hone their observational skills, but in truth he just enjoyed looking at her.

  Heather pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Hello, Nick. Good to see you again.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Curious,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’

  ‘I’m curious too.’

  ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Mal Fury,’ he said. ‘I presume you’ve heard the news about him absconding?’

  ‘Yes, I heard. It was in the papers – and Esther called me.’

  ‘And the police?’

  ‘The police,’ she echoed, frowning slightly as if she didn’t understand.

  ‘Haven’t they been in touch with you?’

  A waitress arrived to take their order – more coffee for him, tea for her – giving Heather some time to consider her response. She waited a few seconds and then her mouth slid into a smile. ‘Ah, so you know about the prison visit. How did you find out?’

  At least she hadn’t insulted his intelligence by lying to him. ‘It wasn’t that hard,’ he said. ‘But I’m surprised he agreed to see you. From what I know about Mal he usually stays well away from reporters, authors and the like.’

  Heather gave a small shrug. ‘Perhaps you don’t know him as well as you think.’

  ‘What did you tell the police?’

  ‘The truth,’ she said.

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘That I’m researching a book about Kay Fury. That I wanted to get Mal’s take on things. What else?’

  ‘It’s the what else that interests me. I mean, it seems a bit of a coincidence that pretty soon after your visit he decided to do a disappearing act.’

  ‘Coincidences happen.’

  ‘I’m just wondering what you said to him.’

  Heather inclined her head, her face the picture of innocence. ‘I can’t think of anything that would have made him take off. It’s a complete mystery.’

  ‘Why don’t I bel
ieve you?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. You must have a suspicious mind.’

  ‘Did you tell him about Teddy Heath’s girlfriend?’

  Heather didn’t answer.

  ‘And what’s Esther’s view on all this?’ he continued. ‘She must have one. Why does she think Mal’s gone AWOL?’

  But Heather wasn’t playing ball. Instead she said, ‘I went to see Brenda Cecil. She doesn’t have a very high opinion of Lolly.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s mutual. That woman was only ever out for what she could get. She’s a nasty piece of work like those two sons of hers. If it had been down to her, Lolly would have ended up in care.’

  ‘So, what’s the deal with you and Lolly?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘There isn’t any deal. We’re just friends.’

  ‘You’re very protective of her.’

  ‘That’s what friends do: watch out for each other.’

  ‘How chivalrous,’ she said, the sarcasm not even thinly veiled.

  ‘You don’t think men and women can be friends?’

  ‘Did I say that? All I meant was that you seem close.’

  Nick suspected her of trying to provoke a reaction, of probing for his weak spots. She was certainly perceptive, unless his feelings were blatantly obvious. He hoped this wasn’t true. He’d always been careful to keep relations with Lolly on a purely friendly footing and the last thing he wanted was a situation where the two of them became awkward with each other.

  The waitress turned up with two mugs and put them on the table. There was a brief silence until the woman was out of earshot. Heather was the one to speak first.

  ‘So where do we go from here?’

  Nick decided to play his ace. ‘I’ve brought a copy of Stanley’s file with me.’ He gestured towards a carrier bag lying on the seat beside him. ‘You can have it if you’ll share your information.’

  Heather’s eyes lit up. ‘What made you change your mind?’

  ‘I need to know what’s going on in Mal’s head, to try and figure out what he’s going to do next.’

  ‘Esther thinks he’s coming after her. She’s leaving you know, going to the States.’

  ‘And you told Mal that?’

  ‘I might have mentioned it,’ she said. ‘To be honest, I presumed he already knew.’

  Nick didn’t believe this for a moment. ‘When is she going?’

  ‘Soon. A few weeks, a month. But now Mal’s on the loose, she’s convinced she’s going to be murdered in her bed.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘I suppose, in theory, he’s got every reason to hate her – she sent him to jail, didn’t she? – but I didn’t get that impression when we met. He seemed more resigned than vengeful. And Esther’s the original drama queen. Everything has to be about her.’

  ‘Did you tell Mal about Teddy Heath’s girlfriend?’

  Heather’s gaze flicked towards the white carrier bag. She didn’t reply. She was going to stay tight-lipped until he delivered the goods.

  Nick picked up the bag and put it on the table between them. Heather quickly reached out, but he brought his hand down, preventing her from taking it. He wasn’t going to relinquish the papers until he’d got what he wanted. ‘Teddy’s girlfriend?’ he repeated.

  Heather smiled, hesitated, glanced at the bag again and said, ‘Hazel, Hazel Finch. It took me six months just to find out her name. I must have talked to a hundred people, actors mainly, trying to jog their memories. Teddy wasn’t what you’d call the monogamous sort; he changed his girlfriends as often as his underpants. It was one of his exes who suggested Hazel; she remembered Teddy bringing her to a party.’

  ‘Did you manage to track her down?’

  ‘Eventually. She was living in Harlow and wasn’t best pleased to find me on her doorstep. Swore blind she hadn’t even been with Teddy when Kay was taken, that they’d split up a long time before.’

  ‘You don’t believe her?’

  ‘She seemed pretty jumpy, but then she could just be the nervous sort. The thing is, I watched the house for a few days before I even approached her. There was a girl living there too, fair-haired, about nineteen or twenty.’

  ‘Her daughter?’ Nick asked, a faint excitement stirring inside him.

  ‘Well, someone’s daughter. Her name’s Vicky, but I didn’t get the chance to talk to her.’ Heather gave a sigh of frustration. ‘When I went back, a few days after I’d spoken to Hazel, no one was there and I’ve not had a sniff of them since. How odd is that? Unless it’s another of those coincidences, I’d say I well and truly put the wind up her.’

  ‘And Esther knows all this?’

  ‘Yes, I told her.’

  ‘And Mal?’

  Heather nodded. ‘But I was careful not to get his hopes up. I said it was just a lead, nothing more, that there was more chance of Vicky not being Kay than actually being her.’

  ‘How did he react?’

  ‘He was calm. He understood. I mean, he’s been here before, hasn’t he?’ She glanced down towards the file. ‘How many possibles are there in there? Hundreds?’

  ‘Not far off. Some of them fell at the first hurdle – wrong blood group – and the others were dismissed later.’ He took a sip of coffee and put the mug down. ‘Did Esther think about informing the police?’

  ‘Telling them what, though? Hazel could have had all sorts of reasons for leaving: maybe she just didn’t want to get involved, didn’t want people to know that she’d ever dated Teddy Heath. If the press had got hold of the story, they could have made something of it. Mud sticks, doesn’t it? Or maybe she had a completely different reason for going – debt collectors on her back, a relationship breakdown, a new job . . . ’

  ‘And the neighbours couldn’t shed any light?’

  ‘No, they kept themselves to themselves apparently, and they’d only lived there for nine months. There was something, mind: one of them told me that a man had been there looking for Hazel a few days earlier. He claimed to be an old friend and was trying to find out where she’d gone. He was very persistent. It made me wonder if . . . I don’t know, I could be completely wrong, but I wondered if Esther had hired a private detective.’

  ‘I take it you asked her?’

  ‘She said she hadn’t, but I’m not sure I believe her. And recently she seems to have lost all interest in Hazel, saying I shouldn’t waste any more time on her, that it’s just another dead end.’

  ‘You think she’s trying to sideline you?’

  ‘It’s possible. This sudden decision to move to the States . . . Well, perhaps it is to do with her job, but I’m not convinced. Something doesn’t smell right.’

  ‘How much of this does Mal know?’

  ‘Most of it.’

  It occurred to Nick that if Mal Fury thought Esther was in contact with Kay or even close to finding her, then that would provide a pretty good motive for what he’d done. By the time he got released from jail it could all be too late. Esther would be hundreds of miles across the ocean, taking the truth and maybe even their daughter with her.

  ‘I’ve been down Somerset House,’ Heather said, ‘trying to find a birth certificate for Victoria Finch, but there’s nothing matching in 1958. It could be she’s not even registered under that name.’

  ‘Or not registered at all.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s not going to help.’

  ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘I’ll just keep going, keep digging. Something might turn up. Did you get a chance to talk to Lita, to Lolly?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Heather’s eyes narrowed as if she could see straight through the lie. ‘Well, when you do, let me know what she says.’

  ‘I will.’

  She placed her hand on the carrier bag next to his. ‘Okay, I’ve stuck to my side of the deal.’

  Nick hesitated, but then released his hold. ‘Fair enough. It’s all yours.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Heather pulled the bag towards her and then leaned her
elbows on it as if Nick might try to snatch it back. ‘You know what’s so frustrating about all this?’

  ‘Everything?’ he suggested.

  ‘Apart from that. If Mal had trusted Stanley with the truth, Hazel Finch could have been found years ago. If he’d just told him about what happened to Teddy . . . ’

  ‘That’s a lot of trust. Don’t forget you could hang for murder back then. Even if Teddy’s death was an accident, a jury might not have seen it that way.’

  ‘Wasn’t it a risk worth taking if it meant his daughter might be found?’

  ‘Unless he thought it was already too late, that Teddy would have covered his tracks. And he’d have been asking Stanley to be an accessory. Perhaps he didn’t want to put him in that position.’

  Heather wrinkled her nose as if neither of these explanations really stacked up. She gazed into the middle distance for a while before refocusing on Nick and expelling another long sigh. ‘What if I’m barking up the wrong tree entirely? I’m not even sure how old Vicky is. Hazel might just be protecting her, and herself. No one wants to be linked to a murderer – he killed that poor nanny, after all – and with a man who stole a baby.’

  ‘True. You should be careful.’

  ‘Careful?’

  Nick smiled. ‘This is the kind of case that can take over your life. You’ll end up living, eating, breathing and sleeping it.’

  ‘I’m a lost cause already,’ she groaned. After lifting her elbows, she tapped the bag with the fingertips of her right hand. ‘Is there anything useful in here?’

  ‘You’ll have to read it and see.’

  ‘What about the nanny? Did Stanley ever look into her?’

  ‘Cathy Kershaw. Yes, he went to see her parents. He didn’t think she was involved. The police had checked out that angle years before and come up with nothing. There was no indication that she’d even met Teddy.’