Shades of Evil (5 page)

Ruth Carlisle would soon be celebrating, if that was the right word, her seventy-seventh birthday. These days, her age came as something of a shock and she found it hard to understand how the years had vanished. Sometimes, when she looked in a mirror, she would be momentarily taken by surprise to see a grey-haired, wrinkled woman staring back at her, but other than that, she didn’t give her age a second thought. Now, looking at her youngest son, she felt every one of those years hanging heavily. That in itself surprised her because it had always been Steve who made her laugh, who made her feel young.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked him.

‘Nothing. What could be wrong?’

‘If I knew that, I wouldn’t be asking.’

‘Really, I’m fine.’

He wasn’t, she was convinced of that. She’d thought he looked distracted on Monday night. Last night, she’d been sure of it.

Steve always came to them for his evening meal when Alison was working away. It wasn’t that he was incapable of cooking his own food, it was his way of keeping the family ties strong. As her other children had left the village, she was glad of that.

He always brought his dog, Cally, with him, too. The dog was no trouble, though. As Frank often said, the animal was too lazy to be a problem.

‘Your dad will be here soon,’ she said as she carried on peeling potatoes for their meal.

‘Where is he?’

‘Down on the allotments with Bill.’

‘In this weather? What on earth are they doing?’

‘They’re supposed to be planning next year’s flower show, but I expect they’re just putting the world to rights. Him and Bill took off with their flasks and some sandwiches. They have that old heater in the shed so they’ll be fine.’

Ruth had been glad to see him go. She’d had a heart attack last year and, although it had been a mild one, he’d rarely spent a whole day out of the house since. Ruth had told him not to fuss and worry, but he still liked to keep a close check on her. It was a bit much at times.

‘Where’s Alison this week?’ she asked Steve.

‘At a sales conference in Leeds.’

He picked up the evening paper where the photo of the dead girl almost filled the front page.

‘Something like that gives everyone a shock, doesn’t it?’ she said, shuddering to think of what the poor girl’s family must be going through. ‘I can’t believe it. I mean, a place like this.’

‘It’s dreadful,’ Steve agreed.

He quietly thumbed through to the jobs pages and Ruth prayed that, today, there was something suitable for him.

Ruth had four children and loved them dearly. She didn’t have a favourite, but she had to admit that Steve held a special place in her heart.

Her firstborn, Toby, had been a demanding baby. Then Amy had come along and Ruth had never known two children fight more. They’d quarrelled from morning till night. When Louise, more delicate, had followed, things had settled down a little. All the same, Ruth’s hands had been full with the three of them and the last thing in the world she had wanted was another child.

Steve had been a mistake and she’d panicked when she’d known she was carrying him, quite convinced that four children would have her locked away in the madhouse. Yet, from the moment he’d been born, his sunny nature and smiling face had captivated her.

She’d thought there would be the obligatory tantrums when he was two or three, but no. Then she’d worried he would turn into the teenager from hell. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Steve hadn’t caused a moment’s anxiety all through his school years. He’d been average at his lessons, nothing more, but he’d been a laughing, happy boy who was always eager to please.

How things change. Looking at him now as he hunched over the newspaper, she tried to remember the last time she’d seen him happy. Not for the last ten years. Nor the last twenty come to that.

After school, instead of following the others to university, Steve had taken a job in a busy office. He’d been responsible for orders and deliveries, making sure bricks and timber were delivered on time. Then, because he soon knew the products inside out, and because he had a good way with people, he’d been invited to apply for a sales-man’s position. With an extra two thousand pounds a year and a company car on offer, he hadn’t thought twice about it.

He’d kept that job until the company was taken over and several were made redundant. As far as Ruth remembered, he’d been out of work for less than a month and had walked straight into his last job. He’d seemed to enjoy it. A year ago, however, along with a lot of others in the industry, redundancy had claimed him again.

‘Anything interesting?’ she asked him as he turned the page.

‘Nothing I’m qualified for,’ he said. ‘And I expect they’d take one look at me and decide I was too old.’

‘Too old? At forty-seven? Nonsense!’

The back door opened and Frank came in. He took off his thick coat, hung it on the back of the door, and rubbed his hands together.

‘They reckon more snow’s on its way, but it feels too cold.’ He gave Ruth a quick kiss.

‘What do you know then, Steve?’ he asked.

‘Not a lot, Dad. You?’

‘No more than that.’

‘Steve reckons he’s too old to get a decent job,’ Ruth said. ‘What nonsense is that?’

‘You can retrain, can’t you?’ Frank suggested.

‘As what?’

‘I don’t know. A plumber or a sparky. The country’s crying out for good tradesmen.’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. I do know I’ll have to do something soon, though. I can’t live off Alison for the rest of my days.’

Ruth wondered if that’s why he seemed so distracted. Maybe he and Alison had argued about money. They wouldn’t be the first couple to do that.

There was little said as they sat at the table to eat. Steve, like his dad, preferred to concentrate on his food rather than make conversation. Today, though, he was pushing potatoes round his plate.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Ruth asked him.

‘Sorry, Mum, I had a big chunk of cake before I got here.’

She didn’t believe him. While Frank spoke of the weather and plans he had for the allotment, Steve, slowly but surely, cleared his plate. Ruth knew the effort it had taken, though.

‘I’ll help with the washing-up, Mum, and then I’ll be off,’ he said, rising to his feet.

‘Anything planned?’

‘My computer’s playing up. I updated some software and it hasn’t been right since. I need to sort that out.’

Ruth had never owned a computer and never wanted to. She hadn’t a clue how they worked or what anyone would want one for, but she guessed Steve was making an excuse to get away. Whether he admitted it or not, her son had things on his mind.

‘It’s a poor do when a man can’t tell his mother what’s bothering him,’ she said, plunging her hands into the hot soapy water.

‘There’s nothing bothering me, Mum. Really, I’m fine.’

‘And I’m a monkey’s uncle,’ she retorted.

He took a tea towel from the top drawer. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Mum, I promise you.’

Ruth continued to worry.

It was almost nine o’clock that evening when Max picked up his jacket and left his office.

Paddy was manning the desk, a phone to his ear and half a sandwich in front of him. While he listened, he was doodling on a notepad.

‘We’ll send someone round tomorrow,’ he promised as he ended the call.

‘Busy?’ Max asked him.

‘Just the usual. You off to the Green Man then?’

‘Nope, I’m off home.’ Max frowned. ‘Why? What’s going on at the Green Man?’

‘Sam’s engagement celebration.’

Now Paddy mentioned it, Max could remember the invite. He could imagine the state his officers would be in when the morning rolled round, too. There always seemed to be something to celebrate. Last week, they’d been wetting Colin’s baby’s head and the Green Man hadn’t closed till gone three.

For a brief moment, Max thought of joining them, but he dismissed the idea and trudged through the slush to his car. He needed to see if his sons still recognized him.

Then again, it was his job to motivate the team. They’d worked long frustrating hours lately, looking into the disappearance of Yasmin Smith and, now with Lauren Cole’s murder on their doorstep, would be working a lot more. An hour spent with them might do everyone good.

Besides, his kids were happy enough and had a far better social life than he did. It wasn’t too long till Christmas and, for the first time that Max could remember, he’d be spending almost a fortnight at home with them. With his kids and his dad.

He was trying not to think too much about his father’s visit because he knew it would be difficult.

Max had got the phone call on 4 April, almost eight months ago now. He’d raced to the hospital and to his mother’s bedside and had spent the next hour holding her hand and willing her to pull through.

Then he’d remembered other stroke victims he’d seen and heard about, and he’d known that she wouldn’t want to ‘pull through’. She would have needed to learn to speak and eat all over again. She would have hated it. They all would.

Eventually, he’d left his father at her bedside and stepped outside to speak to his brother.

‘He blames himself,’ Dave said.

Max knew that. Their father had left for a day trip to London to catch up with ex-colleagues. When he’d walked out of the door to catch the train, Margaret Trentham had been sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast with the morning paper open beside her. When he’d returned shortly after ten that night, she’d still been there, the paper still open, her breakfast cold before her. She’d been slumped over the table unconscious for most of his fifteen-hour absence. She was sixty-seven years old.

Despite the odds, she lay in her hospital bed for three long days before Max got the next phone call.

‘She’s gone,’ Dave had said simply.

Shrugging off his memories and putting all thoughts of his father’s impending visit from his mind, Max headed towards the lights of the Green Man.

The best, and probably the only good thing about the pub was that it was close to headquarters. And it was well-heated, Max decided as he stepped inside.

This evening, it was packed, mostly with coppers. Jill was standing at the bar chatting to DS Grace Warne, and Max fought his way over to them.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here, guv,’ Grace said, her face flushed from heat, embarrassment or alcohol.

‘I didn’t expect to see most of the team here, either,’ he replied, looking around him and wondering who would be fit to drive in the morning.

‘Yeah, well. Most have only dropped in for a quick one. I’ll, um, go and remind them about the morning briefing.’

Grace left them and Max watched her for a few moments. He guessed her colleagues were being warned of his presence rather than reminded about the early briefing.

Jill was holding a glass of orange juice which meant she was driving. Trying out her four-by-four no doubt.

‘Have you had any ideas?’ he asked her, shouting above the din. ‘I mean about the phone calls, about someone who might bear a grudge?’

‘None. I honestly can’t think of anyone, which is why I’m assuming it’s kids.’

But kids didn’t string up cats. Not unless they wanted to be psychopaths when they grew up.

‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Anything new come up?’

‘Nothing.’ And wasn’t that the truth? ‘What I can’t understand is how anyone could be in Kelton Bridge, carrying a bloody axe of all things, without the whole damn village knowing about it.’

‘A backpack? Lots of people walk in the hills. No one would think twice if they saw someone in walking gear. Or a four-by-four,’ she added. ‘Marvellous vehicles. You can fit everything in the back and get from A to B in no time.’

Max smiled at that. ‘I take it you’re still impressed with your purchase then?’

‘I love it. I don’t know why I didn’t get one years ago.’

They were joined by Clive White and, immediately, Max sensed the tension in the air. Clive and Jill nodded at each other, and mumbled quick greetings. Much like two boxers might face each other in the ring.

Like everyone else, Clive looked as if he’d had a few drinks before Max arrived. That was his choice, though. Sadly. It grieved Max to think of good coppers idling away their time at home when they could be of use out in the field. And, despite what Jill thought, Clive was a damn good copper.

‘How long till you’re back with us?’ Max asked him.

‘Not long I hope. You’ll have to ask Jill,’ he added, winking at her.

Max saw the way her lips tightened at that wink.

‘You’re up for review in six weeks,’ she reminded him.

‘Six weeks?’ Max couldn’t believe it. Hell’s teeth, that was ridiculous. Clive was as fit as any of them. That was the trouble with this culture of counselling. Why people couldn’t be allowed to get on with the job, he had no idea.

But he wasn’t having another row with Jill about that. It was ridiculous, but unfortunately, it was her decision.

‘’Fraid so,’ Clive said. ‘And it can’t pass quickly enough. I’m bored rigid. I’ve practically decorated the whole house.’

Clive was young and energetic, a keen, enthusiastic copper. He’d been tailing a stolen car that had mounted the pavement and killed a pedestrian. While Max acknowledged that it was a tragedy no one should have to witness, he couldn’t understand that keeping Clive away from a job he loved was beneficial to anyone.

‘Six weeks is nothing,’ Jill was saying. ‘And just think, you’ll be at home for Christmas.’

‘Oh, great.’ Clive groaned with laughter. ‘If there’s one thing I hate, it’s Christmas.’

‘Me, too,’ Max said. ‘A total waste of time and money.’

‘Bah humbug to both of you then,’ Jill put in. ‘I won’t invite either of you to my Christmas party.’

‘You having a party?’ It was the first Max had heard about it.

‘I might.’

The barmaid had finally noticed Max. ‘A pint of Black Sheep, please. Jill? Clive?’

‘I’ll have a pint of the same, please,’ Clive said.

Max supposed the bloke had nothing better to do than drink away the time. If they weren’t careful he’d go from good copper to dypso.

‘Jill?’

‘No, thanks. I only came to say hello so I’ll be off soon.’

As soon as Clive had his drink in his hand, he went off to catch up with his friends.

Jill gave Max a guarded look, no doubt daring him to comment on her decision to keep Clive away from the job. Max knew he should keep quiet, but—

‘I really can’t see the need to keep him off work for another six weeks. We’re short of officers as it is.’

‘I’m not arguing with you, Max. I believe he’s unfit for work and that’s that.’

‘He seems all right to me.’ And how anyone could decide one way or the other after showing him a few ink blobs, or whatever it was they did, Max had no idea.

‘At least he seems more cheerful,’ Jill agreed, watching Clive laughing with fellow officers on the far side of the room. ‘Usually, I can’t get two words out of him.’

Max was about to comment on that, but then he spotted another familiar figure.

‘Don’t look now, and whatever you do don’t make eye contact, but Adam Smith is sitting in the corner.’

‘You and your shadow, eh?’

Max was halfway down his pint when Smith, swaying slightly, made his way to the bar to stand beside Max.

‘You’ll be busy looking for this girl’s killer then.’ His bloodshot eyes were sinking into his skull. The weight was falling off him. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? My Yasmin has been forgotten. Case closed.’

‘Not at all, Mr Smith. The case won’t be closed until your daughter has been found. I give you my word on that.’

‘Your word? What good’s that, eh? You told me you’d find her. It’s been four months now. Four months!’

‘I know.’ Max also knew that if one of his boys was missing, he’d be frantic, too. In fact, he’d be doing exactly what Adam Smith was doing, walking the streets day in, day out. ‘Believe me, we’re doing everything we can to find Yasmin.’

‘No you’re not. You’re looking for the bloke who killed that girl. And what use was she to the world, that’s what I want to know? My Yasmin has her whole future ahead of her. She’s bright, clever. She’ll make something of herself. Not that other girl. She was a drug addict, that’s what it said in tonight’s paper. Who cares if she lives or dies, eh?’

‘We’re doing all we can to find your daughter.’ His heart went out to Smith though. He wondered if Smith, too, was wondering if the killer of Lauren Cole had known his daughter. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

‘No, you bloody well can’t!’ Smith spat on the ground at Max’s feet. ‘You enjoy your little party. I just hope you can damn well sleep at night because I can’t!’

It didn’t do to shout at senior officers in this place and a couple of PCs soon had Smith by the arm.

‘Leave him,’ Max said.

Smith freed himself from the officers’ grasp and stormed out of the pub.

‘He’s right,’ Max said when he and Jill were alone again. ‘What right do I have to stand here drinking a pint when his daughter’s missing?’

‘Every right in the world,’ she replied easily. ‘Yes, it’s awful for him and yes, we’d all be wrecks in the same situation, but you can only do your job, Max. And you can’t do that twenty-four hours a day.’ She looked at him. ‘
Are
you sleeping?’

‘You should know.’ But last night, she’d been asleep within seconds and Max had tossed and turned beside her. ‘If you’ve forgotten, you can come back to my place and find out.’

‘Ha.’

‘OK, I’ll come back to yours,’ he suggested.

‘I thought you were supposed to be with your kids tonight.’

‘I am.’ As much as the idea appealed, he couldn’t spend another night at Jill’s. ‘And I will be soon. Come with me.’

‘I can’t. In any case, I want an early night.’ She emptied her glass and put it on the bar. ‘Be seeing you, Max.’

Max bought himself another pint, spent twenty minutes chatting to various people, then decided to leave them to it. And God help them if there was even a whiff of a hangover at the morning’s briefing.

After trudging through freezing slush to his car, he began the drive home. He was turning into Bailey Street when he saw the unmistakable figure of Adam Smith heading towards the bridge over the canal. It was a common meeting place for drunks, druggies and prostitutes. Smith’s head was turning from left to right, scanning every doorway, and his hands were deep in the pockets of a jacket that offered little resistance to the temperature.

Smith rarely slept and, by the look of him, rarely ate. He’d given up his job as a lorry driver and spent every minute of every day searching for his daughter.

Max wondered what he’d do if he got home to find that Harry or Ben was missing. It was every parent’s nightmare and simply didn’t bear thinking about.

Linda’s last words to him had been, ‘Take good care of my boys, Max.’

He could remember feeling the weight of that responsibility at Linda’s funeral when he’d said a final goodbye to his wife.

His marriage had been over long before then, though. He and Linda had shared the same house, and the same bed, and would probably have stayed together for the sake of the boys, but it had been over. They’d both known it.

He only remembered two things from the funeral. One was the sheer panic of trying to raise two boys on his own. The other had been the rain. It had been relentless as he and his sons had stood beside that sodden, miserable grave, oblivious to the dozens of mourners around them. Undertakers had fussed around with huge, black umbrellas but he and the boys had preferred the rain.

Max pushed the memories away and concentrated on the murder of Lauren Cole.

Motive. He needed to concentrate on motive. Why would anyone want her dead?

Max had an uneasy feeling about it all. Was the person who chose an axe as a murder weapon the same person who enjoyed stringing up cats?

He suddenly slapped the steering wheel.

Percy Jacobs!

Seven years ago, Bill Jacobs had been sentenced to life imprisonment for the vicious rape and murder of a teenager. Jill’s profile had helped to bring about an arrest.

His brother, Percy, had always, despite hard evidence and a confession, protested Bill’s innocence. If anyone bore Jill, or the force in general, a grudge, it was Percy Jacobs. And Max would bet his life that the grudge was weighing even heavier now that Bill had passed away. He’d died in prison two weeks ago.

Percy was a nasty piece of work, too. No better than his brother, he’d been detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure for rape.

Perhaps it was time to pay him a visit.