Nothing but Trouble (13 page)

He waited for a response, but Kirsten stared blankly back at him.

Harry gave her a prompt. ‘You got any ideas?’

‘Me?’ she said, raising a hand to her chest in sham astonishment. ‘Why on earth would I know anything?’

‘I didn’t ask if you knew anything, only if you had any ideas. Could you hazard a guess as to why she’s the only one of you
who’s been targeted? I mean, there were five of you with Minnie that day. Lynda, of course, is no longer with us, but that
still leaves four. Why pick on Sam and nobody else?’

As if she was thinking hard, Kirsten frowned. Her forehead puckered briefly before quickly clearing again. ‘I suppose it’s
to do with that article. She was the only one who agreed to be interviewed, wasn’t she?’

‘Well, that’s not strictly true. Paige and Becky agreed too, but then they pulled out. Do you know why that was?’

‘You’d have to ask them that.’

‘You haven’t discussed it with either of them? With Paige, for instance?’

‘No,’ she said. It was snapped out so sharply that he was sure she was lying.

Harry allowed a short silence to settle. Eventually, as he’d known she would, Kirsten felt obliged to fill it.

‘It’s not right, is it, poking around in all that old stuff again. It’s history, or it should be. The poor kid’s dead and
buried. Why can’t they leave her in peace?’

Harry suspected that it was more her own peace she was bothered about, but he gave a sympathetic nod. ‘Go on.’

‘That’s all, really. But it’s why I didn’t want to talk to that reporter woman. I haven’t got a clue why the others pulled
out, honestly I haven’t. Perhaps they thought about it some more and realised that … that it just wasn’t the right thing to
do.’ Her eyes dropped briefly to the floor, and when she raised them again, there was a glistening hint of tears. ‘Jesus,
when I think about what happened to Minnie … It was awful, just terrible. I still have nightmares about it.’ Leaning forward,
she plucked a lemon-coloured tissue from a square box on the table and dabbed at her eyes.

‘I understand,’ he said, noting that he’d been right about her eyes. They were blue, a very pale shade of cornflower blue.

‘Do you?’ she murmured. Her lower lip quivered a little. She reached out and touched him lightly on the arm. ‘People don’t
always get how hard it is, how painful, how it never goes away. But I think you do. I think you really
do
understand.’

Harry had seen the performance a thousand times before – a pretty girl who thought a display of vulnerability, of wide-eyed
innocence, would enable her to wriggle out of any tight corner – and this particular version wasn’t going to win any Oscars.

‘I try my best.’

‘Yes,’ she said softly. Her hand continued to rest on his sleeve. Her fingernails were long and pink, and she was wearing
several silver rings. ‘You come over all tough, Mr Lind, but I reckon you’re the sensitive sort at heart.’

Harry gave her his most sensitive smile before subtly moving his arm. He picked up the mug and took a sip of coffee. It was
good and strong, with a faint aftertaste of vanilla. ‘Don’t be fooled,’ he said. ‘I really am as tough as I look.’

‘I believe you,’ she said. She gave him one of those up-from-under glances and batted her eyelashes. ‘I bet you have to deal
with all sorts in your job. Perhaps we should go for a drink sometime and you can tell me all about it. I like a man who can
take care of himself.’

Harry’s gaze shifted from her face to the coffee table and briefly settled on the magazine. Had he been the type who liked
his girls served up on a plate, he might have been tempted, but obvious had never really done it for him. He preferred the
cool, aloof sort of woman, the sort who made him chase further than a foot across the sofa. ‘Well,’ he said, being careful
to come across as duly flattered, ‘that sounds like a plan. Perhaps when this case is over …’

He let the sentence hang in the air while he put the mug back down. Then he moved swiftly on. ‘So, getting back to Sam Kendall.
I’m presuming nothing similar has been happening to you? No threats, no odd phone calls?’

‘No, nothing.’ Her blue eyes suddenly widened. She worried
on her lower lip for a second and faked a small shudder. ‘God, do you think I could be in danger too?’

He didn’t fall for this act either. It was all too stagy, as if she’d rehearsed the routine while she’d been grinding the
beans in the kitchen. ‘I shouldn’t think so. It all seems to be connected to the article, and since you refused to talk to
the journalist, I don’t see why you should be a target.’

‘Bloody reporters,’ she said.

Harry thought it was interesting how celebrities, even minor ones like Kirsten Cope, spent half of their lives desperate to
get into the papers and the other half squealing like babies when they got the kind of attention they didn’t want. He thought
about Jess and suppressed a grin. ‘I got the impression that this one was trying to write a serious piece about the aftermath
of Minnie Bright’s murder, how it affected the people who were caught up in it, the enduring legacy … that type of thing.’

‘That’s what she might have
said
,’
Kirsten almost hissed, ‘but all those damned journos are the same. They’re devious bastards. They’re not interested in the
truth. They only want to dig the dirt.’

‘And is there any dirt to dig?’

Kirsten’s expression instantly changed, her face growing hard, her blue eyes blazing with anger. She spat out the words before
she had time to think. ‘And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

‘Only asking,’ he said, but he’d already got the answer he needed. She was hiding something. He’d seen the flash of panic,
the instant recoil of her body. She’d had a knee-jerk reaction that no amount of acting lessons could have disguised.

As if realising her mistake, Kirsten quickly forced out a smile. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that all this …
all
this …’ She flapped a hand vaguely in the air. ‘It brings back a lot of bad memories.’

‘If there’s something about that day you’d like to tell me …’

She was wary now, on edge. ‘What day?’

Harry stared patiently back at her. ‘The day Minnie Bright was murdered.’

Kirsten gave a tiny start, but then suddenly and unexpectedly relaxed. She leaned back against the sofa, her lips parting
as she expelled a breath. ‘Oh, I know what’s going on here. You’ve been talking to David, haven’t you? Well, I wouldn’t believe
a word
he
says; he’s an out-and-out nutter. In fact, if I was looking for a suspect, he’d be at the very top of my list.’

Harry had no idea who this David was – perhaps he should have looked through Jess’s file more thoroughly – but decided not
to display his ignorance in public. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

‘So what did he say to you?’

He gave a shake of his head. ‘I can’t tell you that, any more than I’d repeat what you’ve said to me.’

‘He’s got a screw loose,’ Kirsten said tartly. Quickly she moderated her tone. ‘I mean, I guess it’s not his fault, what with
what’s happened and all, but he can’t go around making crazy accusations.’

‘What kind of accusations?’

Kirsten narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she wasn’t completely stupid either. ‘You’ve talked
to him, you should know.’

‘People say a lot of things. Some of it’s the truth and some of it isn’t.’

She took a moment to think about this statement, her brows pinching together with the effort. She opened her mouth and then
closed it again. Having made one mistake already, she wasn’t prepared to make another.

After the unforeseen detour, Harry returned to his original
line of enquiry. ‘So nothing else happened that day, nothing the police weren’t told about?’

‘How many times?’ she said, her mouth growing sulky again. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’

‘Why do I have the feeling that you’re not being straight with me?’

That hard look came back into her eyes. Her voice, taut with anger, was barely more than a whisper. ‘Are you calling me a
liar?’

‘I’m not calling you anything. I’m simply offering you the opportunity to put your side of the story, to come clean before
this all gets out of control.’

‘Shit,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I want you to leave.’

‘But—’

‘Now!’ she insisted, her voice growing shrill. ‘Get out! Get out of my flat!’

Harry could see that he’d come to the end of the line. Knowing when to quit was as important as knowing when to stick. He
got to his feet and gazed down at her.

‘What are you staring at?’ she growled.

‘See you around,’ he said. ‘You’ve got my number if you need it.’

She glared at him, her mouth twisting into a sneer. ‘You’ll be a long time waiting.’

At the door Harry glanced back over his shoulder. Kirsten was still sitting on the sofa, but she had drawn up her knees. The
knuckles of her right hand were pressed hard against her mouth. He threw her one last parting shot. ‘The past always catches
up with you in the end.’ It was a corny line and he knew it, but he didn’t care. She was a two-bit actress in a TV soap opera.
Corny lines were probably what she understood best.

Back in the car, Harry didn’t set off immediately. He sat for a while drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while
he mentally reviewed his encounter with Kirsten Cope. It had left a bad taste in his mouth. She was lying and he knew it,
but he didn’t know why.

Reaching down, he retrieved Jess’s file from under the seat and quickly flicked through the pages. There was no mention of
a David so far as he could see, but a large pile of press cuttings – cuttings relating to the original trial of Donald Peck
– were stacked up in the back, and the name could be buried in any one of them.

He picked up his phone and immediately it started to bleep.
Battery low
flashed up on the screen. He swore softly under his breath. He’d forgotten to recharge it. Still, he should be able to squeeze
out one short call. He punched in the number and waited. It was answered after several rings by a sleepy-sounding voice that
murmured an incomprehensible greeting.

‘Jess? Is that you?’

‘Huh?’

‘It’s Harry. Sorry, did I wake you?’

There was a short pause, and then a long expelled breath that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh. ‘What time is it?’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Almost nine.’

A more distinct groan floated down the line. ‘Hold on a sec.’

‘I haven’t got a sec,’ he said. ‘My phone’s almost out of juice. I’m in Chigwell. I’ve just been to see the delightful Kirsten,
but I’ll tell you about that later. I was wondering if the name David meant anything to you. I don’t have a surname, but he
must be connected to the Minnie Bright case in some way.’

Jess paused while she thought about it, or maybe she was just trying to get her sleep-dazed brain into gear. ‘Er, no, I don’t
think so. It doesn’t ring any bells.’

‘Could you ring Sam and see if she knows him?’

‘You mean now?’

Harry could hear movement in the background, and then a male voice saying something that he couldn’t catch. Jess obviously
had company. ‘Why, don’t you hotshot reporters work on Sundays?’

‘Ha ha,’ she said. ‘Okay, I’ll give her a call.’

His mobile began bleeping again, this time more insistently. ‘Damn, my phone’s about to die. Look, I’m on my way home. I’ll
call you back in an hour or so.’

Harry plugged the phone into the charger connected to the car’s cigarette lighter, switched on the engine and headed back
towards Kellston. While he drove, he went over his conversation with Kirsten again. He recalled her reaction when he’d raised
the subject of what had happened on that fateful day fourteen years ago. He’d got her rattled, if only for a moment, and that
didn’t make him happy. On the contrary, it worried the hell out of him. It meant that Jess’s hunch could be right, that not
all the truth had come out about the murder
of Minnie Bright – and that could mean trouble from all kinds of quarters.

Harry dwelled on this uncomfortable thought all the way back to Kellston. It was too early to go jumping to any rash conclusions,
but not so early that he couldn’t toss a few ideas around in his head. Kirsten Cope was lying. So too was Paige Fielding.
Perhaps something else had happened, something the girls had omitted to mention to the police, or even deliberately covered
up. Now the past was coming back to haunt them. Although he was still convinced that Donald Peck’s conviction was safe – along
with all the circumstantial evidence, his DNA had been found on Minnie’s clothing – there could be more to the case than he’d
previously thought.

He wasn’t in a rush to return home. Doubtless Lorna would still be trying to create order out of chaos in the office. On reaching
the northern end of the high street, he veered off to the left instead of driving south towards the station, went half a mile
past the high-rise towers of the Mansfield and drove on to the industrial estate. Already it was busy, the local DIY enthusiasts,
the compulsive shoppers and the eager gardeners all out in force.

He parked the Vauxhall and went into B&Q. After grabbing a trolley, he wheeled it through the aisles until he reached the
painting and decorating section. There was only so much time a man could live with bilious green walls. He didn’t spend any
time dwelling on a colour scheme – white would do just fine. He dumped three large tins of matt white paint into the trolley,
then added a couple of rollers with plastic trays, two tins of white gloss, sandpaper, a brush and a bottle of turps. Did
he need anything else? He decided not, went to the checkout, joined the short queue and paid.

After placing his purchases in the boot, Harry got into the car and checked his watch. It was ten past ten. He’d better get
back
and make that call to Jess. As he moved off, he lowered the window and leaned his elbow on its base. The car park smelled
of old dust, exhaust fumes and something more acrid that maybe came from one of the factories on the estate. He breathed in
the warm tainted air and wrinkled his nose. Some smells, no matter how old, never went away.