‘Something she said,’ Jill explained. ‘She’s quite ill at the moment, and inclined to lose touch with reality, but she mentioned having to get Robbie’s tea on the table. I wondered if you knew anyone called Robbie.’
‘No. I’m sorry, but the name means nothing to me.’
Brenda made them another cup of tea, but was unable to tell them much else and they were soon leaving.
‘Will you give us a call if you think of anything else?’ Grace asked, handing her a card with the phone number on it.
‘I will.’
They were at the car when Brenda suddenly called out. ‘Terry! The one who used to babysit, I reckon his name were Terry or something like that.’
It was good to spend the evening with Kate and the boys. Max too, if Jill was honest with herself. She couldn’t help wondering, though, if she was so pleased about his turning down Donna Lord and asking her to accompany them this evening simply because she wanted him to want her. And why? So that she could have the satisfaction of turning
him
down, and proving to him that she liked her life without him? The trouble was that, although she did enjoy her life, she missed him and the boys terribly. Evenings like this were simply a reminder of how good things had been between them. Why was it so easy to remember the good times? And why was it so easy to ignore the bad memories the fighting, Max’s drinking, his betrayal?
They were having a pub meal before Kate returned to her flat for a small party with her friends.
‘I might win another rosette on Sunday,’ Ben was telling Jill.
‘What for?’ Harry scoffed with a guffaw of laughter.
‘Sitting down when you’re told to?’
‘OK, so Fly might win one,’ Ben muttered, used to his brother’s teasing.
‘Is it a show?’ Jill asked.
‘Yeah, at the leisure centre. It starts at ten,’ he added, looking hopeful, ‘but Fly doesn’t go into the ring till two.’
‘Can I come and watch,’ Jill asked, ‘or will that put you off?’
‘You can come,’ he told her.
‘I’ll be there then.’
The unconcealed pleasure on his face at that statement brought tears to her eyes and she had to blink them back. Max was looking at her. He saw. He knew.
‘So what does sixty-two feel like, Kate?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘Old!’
Jill laughed. ‘Don’t talk silly.’
Kate pulled a face. ‘You wait.’
It didn’t seem like two years since they’d celebrated Kate’s sixtieth. She’d insisted she didn’t want any fuss, yet Jill and Max had organized a surprise party and she’d loved every second of it.
The thought of birthdays dragged her mind back to what Brenda Daley had said about leaving Rockafella’s the day after Josie’s fourteenth birthday. Why had Rose left at the same time, and why leave so suddenly?
Had she met someone new? Had she had trouble from a boyfriend? Perhaps an irate wife had been after her.
It sounded as if she’d loved that job so what had made her leave? Something important must have happened.
She glanced across at Max and she could see that, although he was laughing and joking, his mind was on the case. That didn’t surprise her. They were all on edge as they tried to race against time. They had two boys missing, and it was Max who would have to break the news to their parents if they ran out of time.
It was possible, of course, that James Murphy and Jason Keane were already dead. So how did they fit in?
She was convinced, rightly or wrongly, that Josie Hayden’s past was responsible for her murder and that of her son. But what about the two missing boys?
‘Come on, you two,’ Kate said to the boys, ‘let’s go and put some money in the machines.’ She shook her head at Jill and Max. ‘You two are miles away,’ she scolded.
Jill watched them wander off.
‘Anything new?’ she asked Max.
‘No. Apart from a few dozen more loose ends,’ he said grimly, ‘and another couple of dozen possible sightings of James Murphy and Jason Keane. Murphy’s been spotted hitching a lift near the M62 junction at Milnrow, going into a cafe in Blackpool, and eating a sandwich in Carlisle.’
Like Max, Jill wouldn’t get excited. When someone was reported missing, so-called sightings came in from all over the country.
‘And you still haven’t found a link with the Haydens?’
‘Only Toby Campbell,’ Max told her, ‘and he checks out.
He couldn’t have killed Josie.’
‘I know.’ She signalled for the waiter and asked for another coffee.
‘Geoff Morrison’s hiding something,’ Max said, ‘and so is that boyfriend of his.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, ‘but there’s something. When Martin Hayden was taken, they claim they were together. I don’t believe them.’
‘And when Josie was murdered?’
He sighed. ‘Geoff Morrison was at the school entertaining a visiting football team with a very convenient shed load of witnesses.’
‘And the boyfriend?’ Jill asked.
‘In a recording studio in London,’ Max told her, ‘and yeah, it checks out. There’s no way he could have killed Josie.’
‘We’re assuming that Martin and Josie were killed by the same person. Perhaps we’re wrong.’
‘We’re assuming that,’ he agreed, ‘but we’re looking at every possibility. We’re questioning everyone in Harrington, we’ve checked out everyone at Harrington High clerical staff, cleaners, teachers, canteen staff, the groundsman . . .’ He sighed again.
Jill finished her coffee.
‘Come on, let’s find Kate and the boys, throw some money in the machines and put it from our minds for a while.’
‘Good idea. You go ahead and I’ll settle the bill.’
The boys were on a winning streak, but it didn’t last long.
Half an hour later, they all headed back to Max’s place. Kate went straight to her self-contained flat to get ready for her guests. Jill and Max had coffee while Ben showed them how Fly’s training was coming along. Ben took it very seriously; Fly thought it was great fun.
‘I’m impressed,’ Jill said, hugging Ben to her. ‘I’ll be at that show on Sunday to watch Fly win that rosette.’
‘You’ll have to be quick,’ Harry grinned. ‘Fly will eat it . . .’
Jill was about to leave when Max’s phone rang.
‘Yes, Fletch?’
Jill watched him. His gaze darted from Harry to her, and it rested on her, unnerving her, as he spoke. Something awful had happened; she could see it in the tension in his jaw and the hard anger blazing in his eyes.
Had a body been found?
The house was warm, but Jill was shivering. She turned on the gas fire.
Max finished his call.
‘Right, you two, time you were in bed,’ he said, and there was something in his voice that chilled Jill even more . . .
Half an hour later, the boys were in bed.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
They were in the kitchen. Max was reaching for glasses.
‘A text message a fucking text message, for God’s sake has been received at the nick. It was sent from Jason’s Keane’s mobile.’
‘Jason sent it?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
Without asking, he half filled two glasses with whisky and handed one to her.
She tried to remind him that she was driving, that her car was parked on his drive and that she needed to go home. She couldn’t. Her hand trembled as she took the glass.
‘What did it say, Max?’
He looked at her long and hard. ‘Tell DCI Trentham that Harry is next.’
Max sat in the armchair, a glass of Scotch in his hand and the bottle on the table at his elbow. He felt sick.
Jill was curled up on the sofa, a glass beside her. She’d planned to drive back to her cottage after the birthday meal but, if she left now, she’d have to get a taxi. Apart from the fact that they’d both been drinking, she didn’t look capable of walking across the room let alone driving.
‘You OK, Jill?’
‘Not really. You?’
Of course he wasn’t.
‘What are you going to do, Max?’
He’d been asking himself that same question and, other than find this sick bastard and blow his brains out, he had no answers. Who the fuck was he dealing with? Someone he’d leaned on? Geoff Morrison? Toby Campbell? Brian Taylor?
‘I don’t know.’ For her sake, he had to at least give the appearance of being calm. ‘It’s tempting to pack the boys off to a safe place in Scotland or somewhere, but I can’t do that. Whether I like it or not, they have to be at that bloody school tomorrow.’
She nodded, and he saw a shimmer of moisture in her eyes.
‘Hey, nothing’s going to happen to Harry,’ he promised.
She nodded again, as if she hadn’t doubted it for a second.
Nothing’s going to happen to Harry
. Who the hell was he to say that? The great detective who had no idea what the fuck was happening? The great detective who already had two, and possibly four, bodies on his hands?
He felt sick. Physically sick. A mixture of fear and fury was churning away inside him, fear that he might not be able to protect Harry and fury that some sick bastard thought he could fuck with him!
‘As a rule,’ he said, ‘Kate takes them to school, but sometimes, I take them. Starting tomorrow, I’ll take them every day and bring them home. We’ll get someone at the school watching them classrooms will need painting or the electrics will need checking.’ He drained his glass. ‘Half of Harrington Constabulary will be at the school watching Harry and Ben, and if Meredith even thinks the word shoestring, I’ll bloody deck him.’ He sloshed more whisky into his glass. ‘Do you want another?’
She looked at her glass, seemed surprised to find it was almost empty, and nodded. She stood up, helped herself, then sat on the floor, close to his chair, gazing at the fireplace.
‘Have I had this wrong from the start?’ she said shakily. ‘I’ve convinced myself this is all to do with Josie, but perhaps she simply knew too much.’ She kicked off her shoes and rested her feet on the hearth. ‘This maniac may not be directly linked with the school,’ she went on, ‘but if it’s someone who likes young boys, it’s the most convenient place to hang out.’
‘Agreed.’
‘But if it
is
someone with an unhealthy interest in boys, and we’ll forget Josie for the moment, then Harry doesn’t fit, Max. Our man likes them sixteen or seventeen years old. Young adults. Harry’s too young.’
She stood up again, walked over to the bureau and hunted round for a pen and paper.
‘Let’s start with Harry and work backwards,’ she suggested, resuming her place on the floor. ‘If we work on the assumption that Harry has been chosen because of you, and we have to assume that because no one else has had a warning, we need to think ’ ‘
About someone I’ve spoken to,’ he finished for her.
She sighed. ‘Or someone you
haven’t
spoken to. You’re the face on TV, Max. The face everyone associates with this case. This could be a cry for help. Our killer might want to be caught.’
They talked, argued and made notes for three hours. And they were still in the dark.
‘What about the teachers?’ Jill murmured. ‘Phil McKay’s too worried about the school’s reputation to be of much help, but the other teachers must know something. They must. It’ll be something they’ve dismissed as unimportant, but the kids must have mentioned someone –’
‘We’ve questioned every last one of them.’
‘Donna Lord’s your best bet. She’s worked at the school for two years, yes? She’s bright and clever, and, more important, she gets on well with the kids. Yes, yes, I know you’ve spoken to her, but perhaps it’s worth having a good long chat, off the record, to see if she can come up with something. Someone has been behaving out of the ordinary. Someone must have aroused the kids’ interest. She’s on the same wavelength as her pupils, Max.’
‘It’s worth a try, I suppose.’
‘It’ll be a terrible hardship for you, I know,’ she said sarcastically.
He let that go. ‘We’re missing something here, Jill.’ He’d felt that all along. There was something vital they’d overlooked.
‘Like the killer’s identity?’
Yes, that would be a help . . .
It was four in the morning. Max couldn’t decide if it was worth trying to sleep for a couple of hours or not. Probably not.
Max wouldn’t be surprised if Donna Lord stood him up. He wouldn’t be too bothered, either. He’d had one hell of a day.
Credit where it was due, though, Phil Meredith had been a star. Apart from muttering about pulling Max off the case because it had become personal hell, it was
always
personal with Max he’d been great. He hadn’t so much as hinted at the word shoestring. The force might never have had to run to a budget. Everything Max needed was at his disposal.
He had detectives posing as electricians at Harrington High School and he had DS Bradley and DS Forrest taking turns to ‘babysit’ at his house. Harry and Ben had been within sight of damn good coppers all day.
He’d had to tell Harry what was happening and, typically, Harry saw it as an adventure. He wasn’t in the least worried. Why should he be? Like all fourteen-year-olds, he considered himself immortal. Besides, his dad was the ace detective, wasn’t he?
While Max had been chasing round all day, Jill had been at the nick going over every piece of information they’d gathered on this case and there was plenty. She was still there now.
Max had been talking to Philip McKay, the headmaster, about security for his boys this morning and, when he’d left him, he’d seen Donna Lord.
She’d been a bit cool, probably because he’d turned her down, but he’d thought Jill’s idea had merit. She was right; Donna was on the same wavelength as the pupils.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he’d told her, ‘and I’d far rather do it over a drink. Can I tempt you?’
‘Am I getting preferential treatment, detective?’
‘You are. If you want it, that is.’
She gave him that coy smile of hers. ‘Why?’
‘Have you looked in a mirror recently?’
She smiled at that. Flattery went down well with her.
‘OK,’ she said.
‘The Chameleon?’ he suggested. ‘Seven o’clock?’
‘OK.’ She tapped her fingers against his tie. ‘See you at seven, detective.’
It was seven fifteen and there was no sign of her. He’d give her until seven thirty then take it he’d been stood up. It was a long shot anyway. As ever, he was clutching at straws.
He was emptying his glass when the doors swung open and she rushed inside. It was seven twenty-nine.
‘Max, I’m so sorry.’ Her hand rested on his arm as she spoke. ‘I forgot all about our date. I thought you would have given up on me.’
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d found something better to do.’ He nodded at the bar. ‘What can I get you?’
‘White wine, medium, please. I’ll grab us a table.’
As he waited to be served, Max was pleased to see her sit at a table on the far edge of the room. He glanced up at the ceiling; they should be far enough away from the speakers to make conversation relatively easy.
She looked stunning, he couldn’t help noticing. The dress she wore was pale grey wool and it clung to her figure like skin. Her curves were in all the right places and her legs seemed to go on forever. In a word, she was gorgeous.
‘Here’s a coincidence,’ she said when he joined her, ‘my hairdresser is Sarah Hayden. Martin’s sister. I only found out today. I turned up for my appointment, asked where Sarah was and had the shock of my life when they told me. She looks nothing like her brother.’
‘No.’ He wouldn’t tell her they had different fathers. That was the Haydens’ business.
‘What a small world.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘Ooh, delicious. Thank you, Max. Now, what do you want to talk to me about?’
Once again, he flattered her, this time by telling her how he realized she was her pupils’ best friend.
‘They’d talk to you about things,’ he explained, ‘whereas they’d be wary of the other teachers. Have any of the kids mentioned anything unusual? Has anyone unusual been seen hanging around the school? Anyone behaving oddly? Have any strangers approached them?’
‘I’ve thought and thought,’ she told him, ‘but nothing springs to mind. The boys are full of bravado, but they’re scared. They’re on their guard.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Yes.’ She was about to speak, but changed her mind.
‘What is it?’ Max pressed.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ she said, ‘but the other day, I noticed a bloke hanging around at the school gates. Whether he was suspicious or whether we’re so anxious that now
everyone
seems suspicious, I don’t know.’ She gave a self-conscious shrug. ‘Probably the latter.’
And probably not.
‘What was he like?’
‘A good-looking man, as far as you could tell. He was sitting in his car. Mid-forties, perhaps. Fair hair.’ She ran a finger round the rim of her glass. ‘The thing is God, this sounds crazy. When I saw him, I had the idea that I’d seen him there before. This is probably the sign of an over-active imagination, but I think he’s been there several times just watching from his car.’
Max was intrigued. ‘What sort of car is it?’
‘A big, flash silver thing. A BMW, a Mercedes or something like that.’
That description would fit Brian Taylor. Did he go along to see his son, Martin, or did he watch the other kids, too?
‘You said you saw him the other day,’ Max reminded her. ‘Can you be more specific?’
‘Yes, it was on Tuesday. I know that because I left early, at the same time as the pupils, and he was parked right in front of the gates, blocking my view as I tried to pull out.’
‘I don’t suppose . . .’ No, of course she hadn’t.
‘What?’
‘I was wondering if you noticed the number plate, but you wouldn’t, would you?’
‘Sorry.’ She grinned at him. ‘Hopeless, aren’t I?’
‘Not at all.’ She’d been more helpful than she’d know. What in hell’s name was Brian Taylor doing outside the school gates on Tuesday?
Had Taylor tried to get to his son and ended up killing him, losing him forever? Then, blaming Josie for the fact that he’d never known that son, had he killed her in the most brutal way possible? Perhaps he’d then acquired the taste for murder and gone after James Murphy and Jason Keane.
At best, that theory was weak.
‘Anything else?’ he asked. ‘Has anyone said anything?’
‘Not to me.’
The music was getting louder and the place was getting hotter.
‘What about Martin Hayden, James Murphy and Jason Keane?’ he asked. ‘Sorry, I know you’ve been asked about them before but’
‘I have. Countless times.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘They were just normal kids. James, I know, is having battles with his parents. They’re suffocating him.’ She pulled a face. ‘Mr and Mrs Murphy come to every parents’ evening, every school play, every school fair, every sports day. Their world revolves around James. And poor James just longs to escape the apron strings.’
‘And Martin Hayden?’ Max asked. ‘Did he long to escape the apron strings?’
‘Who knows?’ She shrugged. ‘I would if I were him. Who’d want to live on a farm in the middle of nowhere?’
Max thought of the dull, dreary place that was Lower Crags Farm. ‘Not me,’ he admitted, and she smiled.
‘Someone was telling me that the police over there outnumber the residents now and I include the sheep in that.’
She was right. With two members of the family murdered, security was tight out at the farm.
‘Who told you that?’
‘I can’t remember. It was just something someone said in passing. Oh, I know, it was Alan Turner.’ At his frown, she added with a grin, ‘Geoff Morrison’s bit of skirt.’
Why had Morrison’s boyfriend been out at the farm?
‘So,’ she said, teasingly, emptying her glass, ‘is that it? As I can’t tell you anything useful, I suppose I have to buy my own drink?’
‘I’ll buy it,’ Max said on a laugh. ‘It might help you remember something else.’
He fought his way to the bar, and waited to be served. One barmaid was moving at the pace of a comatose slug, and the other was taking a personal call on her mobile.
Eventually, he caught the comatose slug’s attention. ‘A medium white wine,’ he said, ‘and a double Scotch, please.’
He should take a cab home and leave his car here, but he needed it for the morning. Sod it, he’d have to be totally irresponsible and drive while over the legal limit. He was safe to drive, he just wouldn’t be legal. Yeah, and how many times had he heard Harrington’s morons come out with that logic?
He carried their drinks to the table and wished his gaze wasn’t constantly drawn to her cleavage.
‘Does the name Toby Campbell mean anything to you?’ he asked. ‘He gives guitar lessons. Has anyone mentioned him to you?’
‘No. Sorry, the name means nothing. Oh, wait. He’s not the weirdo who played at our school concert, is he? The Christmas one, year before last?’
‘I don’t know.’ But he’d like to. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Phil McKay had this great idea of putting on a musical
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
. The music teacher, John Higgs, said he knew a good guitarist and this weird bloke pitched up.’
Toby Campbell was weird.
‘What did he look like?’
‘Strange,’ she said on a laugh. ‘Like Quentin Crisp.’
That
was
Toby Campbell.
‘He wore strange clothes,’ she went on, ‘had long hair, and he was knocking on a bit.’
‘Yes, that sounds like Toby Campbell.’ There was no doubt about it. ‘What about the music teacher, John Higgs? How come I haven’t spoken to him?’
‘He left.’ She laughed again. ‘Soon after that disaster of a concert.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ She patted his knee, and an involuntary shudder trembled through his body. Donna Lord was too attractive for her own good. She was certainly too attractive for Max’s. ‘I’m not much help, am I?’
‘You’ve given me a couple of ideas,’ he assured her.
‘I have?’ Like a child, she was absurdly pleased.
‘You have. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, detective.’
She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands, pouting slightly as she gazed at him.
‘So who are you going home to tonight?’ she asked him.
‘The same as ever. Harry, Ben and two dogs.’ He feigned regret. ‘What about you?’
‘An empty flat,’ she said with a shrug, ‘and an enormous bed.’
Silk sheets, he’d bet. Lots of pillows. She’d send a man blind . . .
‘Sadly, it really is time I was going. Can I give you a lift or call you a taxi?’
She looked around the room.
‘No, thanks. If you’re deserting me, I’ll have to see if I can find someone else to keep me company.’
She’d have no problems there. Max would bet his life that there wasn’t a man in the room who hadn’t noticed her. Noticed her and wanted her.
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ Her face brightened suddenly. ‘Next time, though, I won’t let you go so easily.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll keep you to that.’
She reached up, kissed him on the cheek, then walked over to the bar. Max watched her climb on to a stool next to a guy in his early thirties. Lucky devil.
Max stepped out into the fresh air and walked round to the car park.
Why had Brian Taylor been hanging around the school? How many times had Toby Campbell been to the school? And why hadn’t he mentioned it? Because you didn’t have the sense to ask him, a small voice mocked. What about John Higgs? Was he connected to this?