‘And this is DCI Lakeshaw,’ Sue Baker was saying.
He must concentrate. The rage was getting worse all the time now and he couldn’t let it ride him. Already he’d had to leave the preliminary questioning of DC
Martin Waylant to his sergeant. He himself wouldn’t have been able to keep his temper for more than a minute if he’d had to listen to the stupid sod making excuses for ignoring a call for help from a woman at risk. What was it he’d told Sue Baker? That it had been a case of crying wolf. The victim had called for help so often when there’d turned out to be no danger at all that it hadn’t seemed worth following up this last report, not when the nick was overstretched and undermanned like it was.
Baker nudged him. She was talking. He put the thought of Waylant to the back of his mind and listened.
‘As you know, Ron, we’ve come to ask you some questions about Jeannie Nest.’
The old man pulled the plastic chair on his side of the table nearer him and sat down. Lakeshaw thought of American films he’d seen and even real-life items on the news with killers being taken to and from court and thought this sodding man was damn lucky he’d been convicted in England. In the States he’d probably be chained. Do him good, too.
‘Why now?’ he asked in a voice as hoarse as coughing could make it without actually silencing him. ‘It’s been years since I had anything to do with her.’
‘Are you sure? Who’ve you been talking to about her?’
‘No one. Why would I? I hate the fucking slag. Always did, even before she grassed me up.’ He coughed again, pulling a disgusting handkerchief out of his pocket.
At least he wasn’t spitting on the floor, Lakeshaw thought. Not yet anyway.
‘Well, someone’s been beating her up,’ he said, watching Handsome carefully. There was a hint of sly pleasure sliding into the man’s eyes.
‘Serve her right,’ he said, revealing browned teeth as he grinned. ‘Why d’you need me?’
‘To hear what you know about it.’
‘Come on, mate, I’ve been locked up here for the past six years. How could I know anything?’
‘You’ve got friends on the outside. You keep tabs on what’s going on at the Mull Estate, so I hear. Your son Gary reports to you, and so does your young grandson. Have they been keeping tabs on Jeannie Nest for you, too? Or is it someone else?’
‘Leave off, will you? I haven’t had nothing to do with it. Whoever’s done her over, it wasn’t me. I hate the fucking slag, like I said, but all I know is that she left the estate soon as she’d grassed me up and hasn’t never been back there. That’s all my Gal’s told me, Mr Lakeshaw.’
‘OK. So what about your son himself, then? I’m told he’s been talking a lot recently, even more than usual, about seeing Jeannie Nest gets her just deserts. What d’you know about that?’
‘Nothing.’ Ron Handsome sounded as tired as Lakeshaw felt. He gestured to Sue Baker to carry on. It was just possible that she might get something out of him.
Old Lil was still waiting for news that Gary had done as he was told. He’d wanted her to write down what roads he was supposed to take to get to Spain, but she didn’t want any evidence that she’d been aiding and abetting him if he was picked up. Perverting the course of justice, or as her old man would have put it, ‘preverting’ it – that’s what they’d call it. And she didn’t want to be involved in any police investigation. Not with the business at stake.
But there was no news of Gal. Just like there was still no news of any tom beaten up, or killed, in Wanstead. There’d been a paragraph in the
Sun
about another dead woman; this one’s battered body had been found in a basement flat in Hoxton. The police were interviewing her workmates and all her recent boyfriends, it said, but as soon as Lil had seen that the woman had died some
time on Tuesday night she’d stopped worrying about that one. Gal had come with the blood on his trousers on Sunday.
Mikey was due soon with her shopping. He’d be at her about the fags if he smelled the flat like it was, so she opened the windows and emptied the ashtray. Her back was aching and she was afraid it was the kidney again. The hospital had given her a date next year for an appointment with the urologist, but she didn’t trust hospitals anyway. Kill you as soon as look at you. And they always made a fuss about the fags.
Worrying about what Gal might have been up to was making her smoke far too much. She’d be out of packets soon and she’d have to go down to the shop herself for more. Mikey wouldn’t get them, and she didn’t like going out on her own, even now.
She thought of Mikey’s news about the woman who’d been asking questions about Jeannie Nest, and she thought about the blood on Gal’s trousers. Was it too much of a coincidence? She hated not knowing what was going on and fretting herself to death over it.
Jeannie Nest. Why hadn’t she had the sense to keep quiet like everyone else? And why had Ron been so stupid that he’d had to beat a client’s husband to death in front of the one person on the whole estate who’d talk to the police?
He’d been bright enough to get out of the way when he heard the sirens, and he’d got rid of the baseball bat somewhere, too, and his bloody clothes, so there was no evidence. The client was so scared she said she’d never seen her husband’s killer before and insisted that he’d been wearing a mask so she’d never be able to identify him from photos. All the other neighbours agreed. Only Jeannie Nest came right out with it and gave his name, and identified his photo, and stuck to it all through, in spite of everything.
That was the last any of them had seen of her till they’d come face to face with her in court. And then she’d disappeared, and it wasn’t hard to know why, not with Gal telling everyone he was going to make her pay, even if it took him the rest of his life to track her down. Stupid git. Was that what he’d done now?
Was
it Jeannie’s blood?
Lil thought of the night he’d stripped off the trousers and how she’d seen at once that they could give her the protection she’d always needed. They were safely hidden now. She wouldn’t use them unless she had to. But there might come a day when she needed to get him out of the way. He knew too much as it was, even if he didn’t have the names of her clients or know how much they owed, where she kept her float or what she did with the profits.
No one knew that, except the solicitor who handled everything for her, and he was well paid to keep his mouth shut.
Lil reckoned up her investments sometimes when she was low, and knew she was worth nearly a hundred thousand pounds now, not counting the cottage the solicitor had bought for her. One day soon, when she was sure of Mikey, she’d get rid of the tenants and retire there. No one would know where she’d gone. Then she might be able to relax.
She kept trying to tell herself that her old man couldn’t touch her from inside, but she knew how easy it would be. He had plenty of friends left on the outside. None of them would think twice about doing Ron Handsome a favour and teaching his old woman a lesson. She might not have to wait sweating any more for when he came in drunk, wondering if tonight was the night he was going to do her the kind of damage no hospital could put right. But she was still afraid that one day he’d make good his threats to force her to give Gary a share in the business.
Taking the bloody trousers round to the local nick with a tearful account of how she hadn’t dared bring them in
any sooner should get Gal out of the way for long enough to close everything down and get away. Lil didn’t approve of women who turned in their own sons, but she’d do it if she had to.
Lakeshaw, red-eyed from staring at his screen for hours, took a break to riffle through the pile of notes and reports on his desk. There was one from a sergeant in one of the East End nicks. He didn’t recognise the name, but the message told him that its sender had some anecdotal evidence that might be useful to his investigation. Now that he thought about it, Lakeshaw remembered that the message had surfaced once or twice before. It hadn’t sounded urgent so he’d put it back while he dealt with the stuff that was important. But he had a small window now, as he waited for the results of the latest round of interviews in Southwark, so he picked up the phone.
He shouldn’t have been surprised to get a woman at the other end of the line, but he was. Luckily she had an easy deepish voice instead of the complaining nasal twang of most of the female officers he’d had to deal with recently. She told him about a boy in hospital and a barrister who thought he might be connected with the murder victim.
‘What’s he called?’ Lakeshaw asked.
‘David, but he won’t give his surname.’
‘I meant the barrister,’ he said irritably. ‘Not the child.’
‘Ah. That’s a she: Trish Maguire.’
Lakeshaw stiffened, then reached for the bundle of statements Sue Baker had taken during her interminable interviews with the victim’s friends.
‘She a friend of yours, Sergeant?’ he said into the phone.
‘Yes. Do you think there’s anything in it, sir?’
‘Shouldn’t have thought so. It sounds fairly far-fetched to me,’ Lakeshaw said, not prepared to trust the discretion of any officer he didn’t know. ‘But give me the details and I’ll get it checked out.’
Sergeant Lyalt dictated them, adding at the end, ‘Let me know if you need any more, sir.’
‘Will do.’ He put down the phone and re-read the statement Baker had taken from one of the victim’s workmates. He hadn’t been that impressed on first reading it because he was certain the killing had to be the work of the Handsome family. But now that Maguire’s name had cropped up twice, he’d have to send someone to look into it.
In the meantime, he also had to decide how to deal with DC Martin Waylant. He’d been telling the truth all right when he’d said the nick had been seriously overstretched the last time the victim had called for help. There’d been a whole spate of break-ins, a death-by-dangerous driving, a drugs bust, and a very nasty rape, as well as all the time-wasting stories of lost kitties and weirdos-gone-walkabout that every London officer had to field.
In the circumstances it wasn’t surprising that Waylant hadn’t paid proper attention to the poor cow. She’d deserved better, but anyone with half a brain would see that it could have happened just as Waylant claimed. On the other hand, he had admitted that he’d been aware of her real name, and he shouldn’t have been.
There was no way a local officer of his rank would have been given that kind of information officially, even if he had been told to keep an eye on her. Lakeshaw would have to establish how he’d found out, but the much more important questions at the moment were who else he’d told, and why, and how much it had earned him.
Lakeshaw’s fists were hurting. He looked down at them in surprise and saw they were clenched so tightly on the desk that his knuckles were white. He relaxed his hands,
wiping the palms on his trousers, muttering, ‘Don’t get angry till you have to. There’s no evidence Waylant sold Jeannie Nest to the Handsomes. No evidence that anyone did. Not yet anyway.’
Most of the failures in the witness-protection scheme came, as Lakeshaw knew perfectly well, from the witnesses’ own inability to stay clear of their old friends, neighbourhood and family. Not many people could separate themselves from their own lives for ever without whispering their secrets to someone. Waylant’s guilt mustn’t be assumed while there was still a possibility that the victim could have betrayed herself.
The smoke was hurting Lil’s throat now, but at least that distracted her from the thought of the books behind the boiler and the cash in its hiding places all over the flat, and Gal’s bloody trousers. She kept the batty-old-bag smile on her face, squinting at the young copper as though her watery eyes couldn’t see very well. She might wish her son dead sometimes, but she wasn’t going to hand him over to the police unless there was a clear benefit in doing it.
‘You must know what your son’s being doing. Gary Handsome,’ the sergeant said, in case she was so far gone that she’d forgotten she’d ever had a son. ‘Come on, Lil. Give me something here.’
‘Mrs Handsome to you,’ she answered tartly and saw him exchange a grin with his sidekick. She hated them both. There’d been no sign of them and their like in the days when Ron was regularly putting her in hospital. Couldn’t give a stuff about her in them days. Not like now when they wanted something from her.
‘He’s a grown man. He doesn’t live here. Why would I know what he’s up to?’
‘When did you last see him, then?’ asked the sergeant. He wasn’t from round here. Some of the officers she’d
known since they were kids, but this was a mean-faced bloke with a northern accent and nasty eyes.
Lil dragged on her fag and sniffed, which made her choke so her eyes watered even more. She wiped them with a shaking hand.
‘Last week, I think. Or was it the week before? He doesn’t come regular. And all the days are the same now. It’s hard to know which it was. It was soon after I’d got me pension, that I do know. And I’d had salmon for tea. But if it was last week or the one before …’ She shook her head and wiped her eyes again. Ash sprinkled over her clothes. She looked up at the hard-faced sergeant, avoiding the constable’s eyes. He knew her and might not be buying all this sad old-age stuff.
Lil let her head droop. There was a mouse turd on the floor near the boiler cupboard. She hoped the little beggars weren’t eating the account books. That’d happened once, years ago, and they’d chewed nearly an inch off of the list of debtors. It was a long time before she’d believed Ron when he claimed he hadn’t torn off the corner himself. She’d better get Mikey to buy her some poison for them. She didn’t want the council’s vermin man poking about in the cupboards or under the floorboards and finding anything he shouldn’t.
‘So you don’t know where he was three nights ago, then? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Three nights?’ she nearly squawked, but luckily saw the sergeant watching her beadily. They must be talking about the woman she’d read about in the
Sun.
She’d been killed three nights ago, when Gal should’ve been halfway to Spain. Still, what did that matter? Made it easier to lie about him and the blood on his trousers on Sunday night. Not that Lil had ever found lying that hard. Too much practice, with all the stuff she’d had to say to her old man to make life bearable in the old days. ‘No. No, I don’t think so. Why would I? Who says he was doing anything?’
‘OK. Well, never mind. But we’ll be back.’
‘I’m sure you will. I’ll make you a cuppa then, but I haven’t got no milk for it now.’
‘No, that’s all right, Ma. You told us that before.’
‘Did I?’
‘Don’t worry about it. You take care now.’
She waited until they were well away, then got herself to the window to watch them walk to the car. The kidney was hurting again. Sometimes she had to hold her side and bend forwards, hanging down nearly to her toes to make it bearable. It wasn’t that bad today, not yet anyway, but bad enough. When they’d driven off, she got the books back from behind the boiler. There weren’t any teethmarks. Good. She put on the kettle and waited for Mikey to come back.
‘All right, Nan?’ he called softly from the door. She jumped. He was getting quieter and quieter these days. She never knew where he was, what he was listening to, or watching.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, trying not to pant. ‘Where’s your uncle?’
‘Haven’t seen him. Is that what the Old Bill wanted?’
‘Yes,’ she said, still trying to keep her voice normal. ‘Wanted to know where he’d been three nights since. What’s he been up to?’
Mikey stiffened, ‘Three nights ago?’ he said at last. He had a smile on him now that she’d never seen before. She didn’t like it one bit. It looked pleased and horrible all at the same time. What did it mean?
‘How would I know, Nan? He was probably throwing up in a gutter or trying to get a tart to stay with him long enough to get his rocks off. Or shooting his mouth off in a pub somewhere about what he’s going to do to Jeannie Nest when he finds her. I’ve never known him do much else than that. He’s a loser, Nan. Here’s your milk.’
‘You’re a good boy, Mikey. If you see Gal, will you … ?’
She waited a moment, not sure how to ask what she wanted to know. If she kept telling Mikey he was a good boy, they might both believe it. It
had
to be true. And if it wasn’t true, then it was even more important that he was convinced she thought it was. She felt shaky suddenly and leaned against the back of her chair, her hand stroking her jaw again.
‘Will I what? D’you want me to get him for you, Nan?’
‘No. But I do want to know where he is.’
‘If I see him, I’ll tell him to come.’ Mikey thought a bit, then said, ‘Or I could take you round to his place now. Would you like that? When you’ve had your tea. And a bit of a rest.’
It wasn’t such a bad idea. The bugger should be in Spain by now, but it wouldn’t do any harm to be seen knocking on his door, specially if the police were after him. Judging by the questions today, they were after him for something bad enough to have someone watching his place. If she and Mikey were seen to be looking for Gal, that would show the filth and everyone else that neither of them knew what had been going on.
‘Yes, Mikey. That’d be good. Thanks.’
He smiled a much more normal smile, so she breathed easier while he boiled the kettle. She drank her tea as soon as it was cool enough, then she let him help her into his car. With all the cabbing he did, and the two girls he was running, he could’ve afforded something better than this old banger by now, but it made him fit in with the other mini-cabs, so it was sensible enough. Sitting in the passenger seat, she hoped her stupid son had thought to clean his van of all the blood he must’ve smeared inside it on Sunday.
If it
was
Jeannie’s blood, then she must be dead. If she’d been alive, she’d have had the police round here days ago, with a warrant for Gal’s arrest. Unless, of course, she’d been so badly beaten she couldn’t speak. That could be
what the difference in timing was all about. What if he’d beaten her senseless and speechless on Sunday night, but she hadn’t died till Tuesday, so she hadn’t been found till then? That would make sense.
‘Has that woman you saw been round again? You know, the one who was asking questions about Jeannie?’
‘I haven’t seen her, Nan.’ Mikey ran his tongue across his lips and smoothed back his hair. ‘But don’t you worry. I’ve got it under control.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Her eyes were hurting and she had to lick off a blob of spit in the corner of her mouth as she thought of what he might have been doing. She didn’t like nosy-parkers any more than Mikey did, but she didn’t want yet another women beaten up – or worse – by any of the men in her family.
‘I’ve got people keeping an eye out for her,’ Mikey said kindly. Lil relaxed a bit more. ‘If she ever comes back, I’ll hear. Then we can decide what to do. If we need to do anything.’
That sounded better. She smiled. ‘Good. But don’t take risks. With the police all over us, we don’t want them to start thinking you’re like the others.
I
know you’re not, but they won’t.’
He nodded, not smiling back, so she said again silently in her head, willing herself to believe it: You’re a good boy.
She thought of her husband and their two sons, and the way they all thought violence was the only way of sorting anything. Mikey
was
different. He had to be. He was her only hope. He was talking, but she had other things to think about and didn’t listen.
‘Nan.
Nan
?’
‘What?’
‘We’re here. Can you manage the walk if I park this far away?’
She nearly laughed. Her impression of a failing old bat must be more convincing than she’d realised. It was
only about twenty yards between the entry to this estate and Gal’s block. But she took Mikey’s arm even so, and hobbled forwards. Anyone watching would’ve thought she could hardly stand on her own, and that was how it should be. They got up to Gal’s floor in a lift that worked in spite of the stink, and knocked on his door.
Straight off she knew someone was in there, even though there was no answer to the bell or Mikey’s knocking. Maybe it was a smell, maybe a noise, maybe just a feeling. But she knew.
So he hasn’t gone to Spain, she thought. Maybe the police were right and he did do something on Tuesday night. Maybe the excitement of all that blood on Sunday had made him want another go two days later. Or maybe hurting a working girl had made him feel brave enough to carry out his drunken threats to give Jeannie Nest a good seeing-to.
Lil nudged Mikey to one side and pushed up the flap of the letter box. ‘Gal, it’s your ma. Let me in. Come on, open up.’ She was sure it was him in there, even though he didn’t answer and there wasn’t any more noise. ‘D’you want me yelling my questions from out here? Come on, Gal. Let me in. It’s only me and Mikey.’
At last the door opened he stood there, in his vest, unshaven, wearing more filthy trousers, and looking like the stupid mess he’d always been. He had a can of Special Brew in his hand and a fag, dropping ash everywhere. She wasn’t surprised Mikey was wrinkling up his nose. He’d always been a clean boy, always cared what he looked like.
‘We’re coming in.’
Gal gave way, but he didn’t like it. Lil was sure that if she hadn’t had Mikey with her, she wouldn’t have got in. Gal was scared of his nephew. It had surprised her when she’d first seen it because she’d thought he could’ve smashed Mikey to one side without even breaking a sweat; now
that she knew Mikey better, and listened to stories from her neighbours of his exploits in the gym, she understood her son’s fear well enough. They followed him to the lounge. She stood in the doorway, coughing.