Nothing but Trouble (39 page)

Jess took the place beside him. She waited until Clare had sat down in an armchair before she began. Without going into too
much detail, she swiftly explained about the article she’d been planning on writing and how she’d gradually become more interested
in the original trial. ‘And then, of
course, I talked to Ralph Masterson and he gave me the impression … well, that he wasn’t entirely convinced of your uncle’s
guilt.’

‘Really?’ Clare said. She looked bemused.

‘He didn’t mention that we’d talked?’

Clare shook her head, but her gaze met Jess’s for only a second before flicking down towards the floor. ‘I haven’t seen him
in years. We moved away after the trial.’

‘I see,’ Jess said. She was about to probe a little further when a female voice, a slightly scared-sounding voice, piped up
from the room beyond.

‘Who is it? Who’s there?’

Clare jumped up and went over to the open door that separated the two rooms. ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ she said gently. ‘It’s only
… it’s only some friends from work. You watch your programme. We won’t be long.’

‘Is it the man about the boiler?’

‘No, Mum. He came last week, remember? The boiler’s fine. There’s plenty of hot water and everything. I’ll only be a few minutes,
yeah?’

Clare walked back, sat down again and crossed her legs. She was wearing a floaty sleeveless summer dress that made her look
faintly ethereal. Her feet with their pearl-coloured toenails were bare. She looked over at Harry and gave him a tentative
smile. ‘I’m sorry about that. She gets nervous when there are strangers in the house.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said, sitting forward and smiling sympathetically. ‘We understand.’

Jess watched her closely. The way she’d addressed her apology solely to Harry made her suspect that Clare Towney was the type
of girl more comfortable in the company of men than women. Or was she just trying to get one of them on side? As soon as the
thought crossed her mind she felt a twinge of
guilt. Having an uncle like Donald Peck couldn’t have been the easiest thing to deal with, and now the past was coming back
to haunt her again. ‘It must have been tough for you, the trial and everything.’

Clare put her hands on her lap and twined her fingers together. ‘I try not to think about it.’

‘But you never had any doubts?’

‘Doubts?’ she echoed.

‘About your uncle’s guilt,’ Jess said.

Clare shook her head. ‘She was there, wasn’t she? That poor little girl was there in his house.’ She glanced over at Harry.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not quite sure what … I mean, I don’t understand why you’re involved in all this.’

‘I’ve been retained by Sam Kendall,’ he said. ‘Do you remember her? She was one of the girls who went to your uncle’s house
with Minnie that day. She’s been receiving death threats.’

‘Really? Oh, that’s terrible.’

‘But not as terrible as what happened to Becky Hibbert,’ Jess said.

Clare blinked hard. ‘But that doesn’t have anything to do with … She was killed by her boyfriend, wasn’t she? That’s what
it said on the news.’

‘Maybe,’ Jess said. She left a short pause before she continued. ‘You worked with Becky, didn’t you? That must have been awkward.’

‘We usually worked different shifts. I do mornings – one of the neighbours comes in to sit with Mum – and she did afternoons.
I hardly ever saw her.’

‘But you heard about the article I was writing? Even if Becky didn’t tell you herself, one of your workmates must have mentioned
it.’

Clare hesitated, a look of indecision passing over her face. She probably wanted to deny it but had no way of knowing if Jess
had already talked to the staff at the supermarket. ‘I may have heard a rumour.’

‘And how did that make you feel?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if I was you I wouldn’t have been happy,’ Jess said. ‘Here’s this girl, who some might say was partly responsible for
what happened to Minnie Bright, bragging about how she’s going to be in a glossy magazine as if the whole horrible affair
was something to be proud of.’ Jess was only guessing, but it was a guess based on Becky’s response after she’d first approached
her. ‘After everything you’ve been through, that can’t have been easy to deal with.’

Clare gripped her knees tightly and stared hard at Jess. Her hazel eyes flashed with suspicion. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’

‘No,’ Harry said firmly, shooting Jess a warning glance. ‘Of course not. We’re just trying to talk to everyone involved in
the original case. We’re not singling anyone out and we’re certainly not throwing any accusations around. We’re here to try
and establish whether Donald Peck’s conviction was safe. If you have any doubts, any doubts at all, then we’d like to hear
them.’

‘I don’t,’ Clare said. ‘My uncle was a sick man. He had serious problems. You must be aware of his record.’

Harry nodded. ‘So you don’t share any of Masterson’s reservations?’

‘I wasn’t aware that he had any. Like I said, I haven’t seen him for years.’ Clare gave a weary sigh. ‘Look, I was fourteen
when all this happened. I barely knew the guy and I certainly wasn’t privy to his thoughts on whether my uncle was guilty
or not.’

As Jess glanced around the room, her gaze alighted on the sideboard by the door. On it was a framed family photograph, a picture
of Clare Towney when she was six or seven standing in a garden with her parents. At least she presumed they were
her parents. The woman had a look of Clare about her – the same striking red hair, the same wide eyes and mouth. The man,
in his early thirties, had blander, less memorable features.

‘Is that your mum and dad?’ Jess asked.

Clare, looking startled at the question, followed Jess’s gaze. ‘Yes.’

‘So your dad, he’s … er, not around any more?’

‘No,’ Clare said. ‘He cleared off shortly after that picture was taken, cleared off and never came home again. Mum spent the
next twenty years waiting for him to walk back through the door. Even when we were in Devon, she still thought he’d …’ She
gave a small, bitter laugh. ‘He couldn’t take it, you see, having a brother-in-law who was the local perv. It’s not the greatest
family connection, is it? Hardly something to brag about down the pub.’

‘It must have been hard for the two of you,’ Harry said.

‘We managed. We had to. Now all I want to do is to put the past behind me and get on with my life. That’s not too much to
ask, is it?’

‘No,’ Harry said. ‘Of course not.’

Jess could sense that Harry was about to end the meeting. He’d not been comfortable about coming here in the first place,
and it was clear that since arriving, he’d heard nothing from Clare that had led him to suspect her of being anything more
than a victim. She, however, wasn’t so sure. Harry might be smart, but he was still a soft touch when it came to damsels in
distress.

‘So if there’s nothing else?’ Clare said.

Jess wasn’t in a hurry to leave. She still wanted to talk about Lynda Choi and the light. If nothing else, it would be interesting
to see Clare’s reaction. Just as she was about to broach the subject, she sensed a movement behind her. Turning her head,
she saw a woman standing in the doorway.

Stella Towney – for surely it had to be her – was a tall, gaunt woman in her mid-fifties. Her hair, cropped short, was a faded
shade of red. With her hands pushed deep into the pockets of a long green cardigan, she gazed around the room with a look
of bewilderment. Finally her brown eyes settled on Harry. She stared at him for a moment, and then, as if a flicker of recognition
had dawned somewhere in the back of her mind, she inclined her head and smiled.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘How are you? Have you come to see Alan?’

‘No, Mum,’ Clare said, quickly standing up. ‘Dad isn’t here any more. You know that.’

‘Hello, Mrs Towney,’ Harry said.

Stella rocked on her toes, her gaze still fixed firmly on his face. ‘He isn’t home yet, you see. Has Clare made you a cup
of tea? You should have a brew while you wait.’ Her eyes shifted over to her daughter and then back to Harry again. ‘He could
be in the pub,’ she said. ‘Have you tried the Fox?’

‘He’s not in the Fox, Mum,’ Clare said, her voice full of strained weariness. She took her mother’s arm and led her gently
back into the other room. ‘Come on, let’s get you sat down and then we’ll find something for you to watch.’

Jess wondered if Stella remembered Harry from long ago, from the trial perhaps, or the police station. The woman was comparatively
young to have developed dementia, but Jess knew that it could strike at an even earlier age. It couldn’t be easy for Clare
to cope with. Not only had she had to return to Kellston, but also, as an only child, she’d had to take on all the responsibility
for her mother’s care. Jess felt some sympathy. However, if she was putting on her cynical hat, she could see how easy it
would have been for Clare to become bitter, to turn against others, to maybe even want some payback for the cruelty of her
own ruined life.

When Clare came back, Harry immediately rose to his feet.
‘We should be going,’ he said. ‘Thank you for talking to us. We appreciate it.’

Jess, left with no other choice than to follow suit, reluctantly stood up too. ‘Yes, thank you.’

Clare smiled thinly, walked across the room and opened the front door. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. As you can see,
I’ve got more to worry about at the moment than what may or may not have happened in the past.’

‘Well, if you think of anything that could be useful,’ Jess said, holding out a small piece of paper with her name and number
written on it, ‘you can call me any time.’

Clare Towney gazed disdainfully at the offering before eventually reaching out and taking it from Jess’s hand with the tips
of her fingers. As if she couldn’t wait to get rid of it, she immediately turned and dropped it on to the sideboard. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye,’ Harry said.

Jess gave her a nod.

They were barely out of the door before it was shut firmly behind them and the bolt pulled across. Jess squinted as they walked
in silence along the short driveway, past the bins and into the street. It seemed extraordinarily bright outside after the
gloom of the semi-curtained room.

‘So, what do you think?’ she said, keeping her voice neutral. She was irked by Harry’s unilateral decision to leave but determined
not to show it. After everything he’d done for her, it would be churlish to pick a fight now.

‘I think she’s struggling. It must be stressful trying to hold down a job and take care of her mother at the same time.’

Jess glanced up at him. ‘Yeah, but maybe that’s not all she’s struggling with.’

Harry’s blue eyes met hers. ‘Meaning?’

‘How about a guilty conscience for starters?’

‘And how do you figure that one out?’

Jess held his gaze and smiled. He might believe that Clare Towney had nothing to hide, but she thought otherwise. ‘Just call
it feminine intuition.’

‘Is that something to be relied upon?’

‘Oh, Mr Lind,’ she sighed. ‘You’ve still got a lot to learn.’

DI Valerie Middleton had spent almost fifteen minutes on the phone, fifteen minutes of wheedling persuasion and implied threats
in order to finally convince Chris Street that it was in his best interests to hand over Monday’s security tapes from the
Lincoln. She had known that she was on dodgy ground, that she probably couldn’t force him to comply without going through
the more usual time-consuming legal channels, but she wanted those visuals as fast as possible.

Eventually, a compromise had been reached and Street had agreed to release the footage from the external cameras only. What
went on
inside
the Lincoln probably wasn’t something that he’d relish being viewed by the police. Still, it was a result. Livesey had been
working the door that night so everything he’d done and everyone he’d talked to would have been caught on camera.

It was now over half an hour since Street had relinquished the tapes. Valerie and Swann were sitting side by side in the incident
room going through them carefully. There was the usual motley crew drifting into the pool hall – shifty-looking youths,
hustlers, dealers, even a couple of toms hoping to pick up some business – but no one out of the ordinary.

Livesey was a wide, solidly built man with the kind of face only a mother could love. He was virtually chinless, with small
eyes, a fleshy mouth and a nose that had clearly been broken on more than one occasion. His head was shaved and his bald pate
gleamed in the fierce security lights. Dressed in a dark suit and tie, he looked bored and sullen. For long periods of time
there was nothing for him to do. He leaned against the wall, smoking cigarettes and fiddling with his phone.

‘He’s either texting,’ Swann said. ‘Or he’s checking out the hot babes on the internet.’

‘And you’d know all about that.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, smirking. ‘I do a lot of texting.’

Valerie raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Well, there were no texts sent from the mobile he left in the flat. And the one and
only call he made to Becky Hibbert that night was at five past twelve, shortly after he got to the Mansfield. That’s kind
of late to ring, isn’t it?’

‘Depends on the hours you keep, I suppose.’ ‘But why not call earlier and let her know he was coming?’ ‘Maybe he didn’t want
her to know. Or maybe he only made his mind up at the last minute.’

Valerie stared hard at the grainy image of Livesey. ‘He doesn’t look like a man with murder on his mind. More like he’s trying
to choose between a bag of chips and a kebab.’ She placed her elbows on the table and tried not to yawn. It had been after
one o’clock before she’d got to bed last night. After dinner at Adriano’s, she and Simon had gone on to a wine bar. It had
been an enjoyable evening – he was good company – but she’d drunk more than she should have and woken up with a hangover.
The remnants of a headache still tugged behind her temples.

‘Fast-forward it,’ she said to Swann. ‘Let’s see what happens at closing time.’