Nothing but Trouble (17 page)

‘How did you—’ Becky stopped short, her mouth still open. But it was too late to take it back. She’d already confirmed part
of Harry’s theory.

Now was the moment for Jess to start sowing the seeds of suspicion. ‘What you have to ask yourself is why you should keep
quiet when others aren’t. I mean, it’s going to look bad for you when the truth comes out.’ Then, not wanting any of this
to lead back to David Choi, she quickly added, ‘There’s a private investigator working on Sam’s case now. If you have the
right contacts, it isn’t too hard to get hold of old phone records. Perhaps Paige told you about him. His name’s Harry Lind.’

Becky shook her head. ‘Paige ain’t told me nothin’.’ And then, as if her brain had only just caught up with what Jess had
mentioned earlier, she said, ‘What do you mean about other people talking?’

Jess smiled thinly back at her. ‘Sorry, I can’t tell you that. Let’s just say that not everybody is being quite as tight-lipped
as you.’

Becky’s face twisted a little, and she shifted from one foot to the other. Finally she seemed to make up her mind. She dug
into her pocket and pulled out a key. ‘I’ve gotta go. The kids need feeding.’

Jess, inwardly cursing, sensed that her best opportunity was slipping away. ‘And then there are Social Services to consider.
I don’t suppose they’ll take too kindly to your involvement in all this.’ It was a low blow and she knew it, but desperate
times called for desperate measures. If she wanted Becky to come clean, then she was going to have to force her hand.

Becky’s gaze darted down towards her children before moving up to settle on Jess again. ‘This ain’t got nothin’ to do with
them.’

‘Think about it,’ Jess said. ‘Do you really want to be the scapegoat in all this, Becky?’ She got her purse out of her bag
and took out one of her business cards. Quickly, she scribbled Harry’s name and number on the back. ‘If you don’t want to
talk to me, you can give the private detective a call – in confidence, naturally. Only I’d make it soon, because the longer
you wait, the worse it’s going to get.’

Jess thrust the card into Becky’s reluctant hand and walked away. When she reached the corner she glanced back over her shoulder,
but the other woman had already gone inside. Had she done enough? She hoped so. She’d lit the fuse and now all she could do
was stand back and wait for the bomb to go off.

Harry put his elbows on the desk, opened his mouth and yawned. He’d been up since the crack of dawn, making sure that the
van was ready and all its equipment in proper working order. Today was the start of the Aimee Locke surveillance. He could
have done the checks the night before but had spent some of the evening slapping another coat of paint on the walls of the
flat and the rest sharing a bottle of wine with Valerie at Wilder’s.

He frowned as he thought back over the evening. She’d been more distant with him than usual, less relaxed. Just the pressures
of the job, or something more? He didn’t want to dwell on the something more. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel if she hooked up
with another man. Their partnership may have died, but it hadn’t quite been buried. She was a free agent and had every right
to pursue a new relationship, but a part of him still baulked at the idea. She’d had boyfriends since him, of course she had,
but none of them had been serious. And when she’d almost been killed by the Whisperer a couple of years back, he was the person
she’d turned to.

He pondered on this for a while before switching his
thoughts to the events of the morning. The Lockes’ side of the street had double yellow lines, but there had been plenty of
space on the other side. The local residents kept their expensive motors behind secure iron gates, and so the only people
who parked on the close were those who either worked at the southern end of the high street or shopped there. It had been
too early for either to be out in force.

He had chosen a spot with a clear view of the Lockes’ house, but not directly opposite. The white van, despite its hi-tech
interior, looked like the kind any workman might use, a bland sort of vehicle that blended effortlessly into the background.
He had turned off the engine, waited and had a quick scan around. When he was sure that no one was watching, he had climbed
into the back. For the next couple of hours, long, fruitless and predictably tedious hours, he’d sat peering through a camera
lens until Warren James had come to take over the surveillance.

In that time, nothing had happened. No one had come. No one had left.

Although he had a mountain of paperwork to get through, Harry’s mind continued to drift. With his fingers poised on the computer
keyboard, he started to think about Valerie again. She’d asked him what he was working on, but he hadn’t mentioned the Minnie
Bright case. He told himself that this was because he hadn’t wanted to put her in an awkward position. She hadn’t been involved
in the original investigation, but she was still a cop, and all cops got defensive when old cases came under scrutiny – especially
when those old cases had been headed by their current boss. Had she sensed that he was being evasive, or had her mind been
elsewhere?

At ten past eleven he’d walked her back to Silverstone Heights, but this time there had been no invitation to come up for
coffee. Just a quick peck on the cheek, a vague excuse about
having an early start, a promise to call him and then she was gone.

Harry was still mulling this over when the internal phone started to ring. He picked it up. ‘Yes?’

‘There’s a call for you,’ Lorna said. ‘A woman. She won’t give her name but she says it’s urgent.’

‘Okay, put her through.’ Harry waited until he heard the click. ‘Hello, this is Harry Lind speaking.’

There was a rustling on the other end of the phone, an edgy clearing of a throat.

‘Hello?’ Harry said again.

And then the line went dead.

Harry gave a shrug and replaced the phone in its cradle. He was used to nervous clients. Whoever it was would think about
it some more and then they’d call back or they wouldn’t. Either way there was nothing he could do about it.

Shortly afterwards the phone rang again. He expected it to be his mystery caller but instead it was Mac.

‘You got a minute?’

‘Sure,’ Harry said. He walked out to reception, gave Lorna a nod and went into the room next door. Mac glanced up and waved
towards the empty chair.

‘That was quick,’ he said, as if Harry had sprinted from the other side of Kellston. ‘Grab a pew. I won’t be long.’

Harry sat down, stretched out his legs and made himself comfortable. His partner’s office was a little larger than his own
and had the same view over Station Road. The left side of the room contained a solid bank of metal filing cabinets, the right
a couple of bookcases filled with volumes on law and criminal procedure. A tall potted palm – the one that Lorna had been
fussing about yesterday – stood proudly in the corner. The surface of Mac’s desk, even though he’d only been in for a few
hours, was already invisible, covered by a chaotic
heap of files, folders and overflowing plastic trays. His large mottled hands were busily sifting through the writs that needed
serving. It was the bread-and-butter part of the business, tedious but a steady earner.

After a while, Mac stopped his sorting, picked up a white form that had been lying to his left and skimmed through the details.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Sam Kendall. One of the Minnie Bright girls, huh?’

Harry gave a nod. ‘Threats and criminal damage.’

‘And you think it’s connected to the original case?’

‘Well, someone wants to shut her up, and that’s never a good sign.’

Mac placed the form carefully on his desk. He sat back, folded his arms across his chest and stared at Harry. ‘You’d better
make sure of your facts before you start pissing off the high and mighty at Cowan Road.’

‘I’m not intending to piss anyone off.’

‘Pretty cut-and-dried, the way I remember it.’ He left a short pause. ‘But then I wasn’t there. Didn’t you work on that investigation?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, I was part of the team that went into the house, but I was pulled off the case shortly after. We
had a spate of armed robberies in the area, banks and building societies. It was pretty violent stuff. I got assigned to that
instead.’

‘Who was running the Bright case?’

‘Saul Redding,’ Harry said. ‘He was a DCI back then. But I’m sure it was all by the book. He’s got nothing to worry about.’

‘He’s got plenty to worry about if he sent the wrong man down.’

‘He didn’t,’ Harry insisted. ‘Peck did it all right. His DNA was all over her. I think this is something else entirely, something
to do with the girls and the story they told the police.’

‘I hope you’re right, Harry. This could be a bloody minefield. Just tread carefully, right.’ Mac glanced down at the form
again. ‘Jessica Vaughan. So she’s back on the scene, is she?’

Harry could hear the disapproval in his voice. He grinned. ‘Mad, bad and dangerous to know.’

‘Yeah, well, you can joke about it, but last time you got mixed up with that lunatic journalist you almost got your brains
blown out.’

‘I’ll be sure to pass on your best regards.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Mac said. ‘Just keep me posted.’

‘Will do.’

‘And watch your back.’

‘I’ll do that too.’

Harry had only just returned to his office when the internal phone started ringing. He perched on the edge of the desk with
one foot on the floor. ‘Hey, Lorna.’

‘Your shy lady friend is on the line again.’

‘Okay, put her through.’ He waited for the click, for the sound of life on the other end. ‘Hello, Harry Lind.’

Again there was silence. Not complete silence, but nothing in the way of actual words.

Harry kept his tone soft and reassuring. ‘How can I help?’

There was a small intake of breath, a gathering of courage. And then finally she spoke. ‘She said I could talk to you – on
the quiet, like.’

The accent was local, the voice tense and agitated.

‘Of course,’ Harry said. ‘In complete confidence.’

Another pause. ‘And she won’t go to Social Services, right? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. They’re not taking me kids away from
me.’

Harry frowned, not catching her drift. He’d thought at first that she’d been referring to Lorna, but now he was starting to
realise otherwise. ‘Er, when you say
she
…’

‘You know.’

Harry didn’t know. He tapped his heel against the edge of the desk, suspecting that they could be here all morning if he didn’t
cut to the chase. ‘Do you have a name for this woman?’

‘Her,’
she snapped, as if he was being deliberately obtuse. ‘From the magazine.’

The light suddenly dawned. Harry rose smartly to his feet, interest flashing in his eyes. ‘Ah, you mean Jessica Vaughan.’

‘That’s it. She said I could talk to you.’

‘Okay,’ Harry said. ‘What is it that you’d like to tell me?’

There was another short silence. The woman hadn’t given her name and he knew she wasn’t going to. All he’d have to do was
ring Jess and ask who she’d given his number to, but in the meantime he quickly ran through the list of possible suspects.
It had to be one of the Minnie Bright girls. Definitely not Kirsten Cope, unless her acting abilities had improved drastically.
And not Paige Fielding; he’d heard her voice at the market and it didn’t sound like this one. Which, by a matter of elimination,
left Becky Hibbert – the one Jess had pinpointed as the weakest link. It seemed like she’d been right.

‘I ain’t done nothin’ wrong,’ the voice whined again.

‘I’m sure you haven’t. You just want to get things straight, yes? That’s completely understandable.’

Her voice tipped up a pitch. ‘And you won’t tell the others? You mustn’t tell the others. This is just between you and me,
yeah?’

‘You and me,’ he repeated. His heart was beginning to beat a little faster as he waited for the revelation. Something else
had happened that fateful day fourteen years ago, and possibly, just possibly, he was about to find out what.

‘Lynda Choi did call me.’

‘Yes,’ Harry said.

‘She wanted Kirsten’s number.’

‘But you didn’t have it,’ Harry said, trying to help things along. ‘So you … what? Put her in touch with Paige?’

‘I might have done,’ she said cautiously.

Harry’s eyes flicked up towards the ceiling. This was like getting blood from a stone. ‘And how did Lynda sound that night?
Was she calm, upset, confused?’

There was a hesitation, as if Becky was rolling these three options around in her mind. ‘I dunno,’ she said eventually. ‘A
bit …’

Another long pause.

‘A bit?’ Harry prompted.

‘She was kind of weird,’ she said finally. ‘Rude. I dunno. Maybe she was pissed. She wasn’t very friendly, didn’t ask how
I was or what I’d been doing. After I told her I wasn’t in touch with Kirsten no more, she said I had to give her Paige’s
number. Just like that. No please or nothin’.’

Harry walked over to the window, separated two slats of the blind and gazed down on the street beneath. ‘And that’s it? That’s
all she said to you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘She didn’t mention why she wanted to get in touch with Kirsten Cope?’

‘Nah.’

Harry swallowed a sigh. So far nothing new, but he still lived in hope. He stared at the people passing by. ‘But she told
Paige, right?’

There was a distinct hesitation. ‘Er …’

‘And you’re good mates with Paige, so I’m presuming that
she
told
you.’

Becky paused again, clearly battling between the desire to say as little as possible and the urge to dodge any trouble that
could be heading in her direction. The latter impulse won. ‘It were about that day, you know, with Minnie Bright and all.
Lynda took off with Sam Kendall, yeah, but then later she changed her mind and went back.’

Harry could feel the hairs start to rise on the back of his neck. He let the slats of the blind drop back into place and turned
away from the window. ‘Lynda went back to the house on Morton Grove? Are you sure?’