DARK HOUSES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense (5 page)

“She was pissed off with the new rota at work. Megan, the landlady, wanted her to do more nights. Jessie wasn’t up for it, but that bitch was coming down hard on her. Threatened to get rid and find someone else if she didn’t agree.”

Grace and Greco looked at each other. Megan Hunter had not mentioned this.

“Did they argue about it?” Grace asked.

“They had a blazing row yesterday lunchtime. Jessie sent me a text.” He took out his phone and went to the message. “See? She’s going on about how unfair it all was and how Megan was picking on her.”

“I see. And did this continue into last night’s shift?”

“I don’t think so. But I don’t know what they sorted because I didn’t talk or text Jess last night. I was with my family at some eatery up the hills — The Pennine Alehouse. There’s no signal there so we were out of contact all night. When I got back to my flat it was gone one in the morning. I sent her a goodnight text, but got no reply.”

“Thank you, Mr Farr,” Greco said. “Here’s my card. If anything happens, anyone contacts you or you remember something then call me.” He paused. “Another thing. The press will most likely be in touch. My advice is to say nothing. They will pester you. They’ll be saying things, most of which won’t be true. Keep well away. They just want a story. They are not interested in catching Jessie’s killer, only in having good copy to put in the papers.”

Farr nodded. He was pouring more brandy as they left the room.

“I don’t think he’s taken it in, not really,” Grace said. “He looked devastated.”

“He didn’t ask though, did he?”

“Ask what?”

“How she died. What was done to her. But he was very keen to tell us about the argument Jessie had with Megan at the pub. Check that one out. See what Megan has to say.”

* * *

Craig Merrick had been knocking at the house next to where the murder had taken place. He caught up with Speedy, who was further along the road.

“No one in.”

“Nobody along here is going to tell us anything,” Speedy said. He banged on a door further down the street. “Tight-lipped so and sos, the bloody lot of them.”

A middle-aged woman answered. She had her hair in curlers. “We’re investigating the murder that took place up the street,” Merrick said, flashing his badge. “Did you see or hear anything unusual last night?”

“I heard nowt, love. Too busy watching the box. My husband’s deaf so we have it turned up loud. I heard the police cars though, early on this morning.”

“Did you know the people who used to live there?” Speedy asked.

“Old Mrs Baxter. She lived there most of her life. She’s in a care home now I think — if she’s still alive.”

“Did she sell to Mr Rahman?”

“No, he’s always owned it. He owns a lot of them along here. Mrs Baxter rented from him.”

“Have the press been round at all?” Merrick asked.

“Camped out on that corner all morning. Asked all sorts of questions. Don’t think they got owt though. No one knows owt, you see.”

“Thanks.” Merrick handed her a card. “If you think of anything else, give us a ring.”

Speedy was already off, back down the street. “There is someone in. I just saw the curtains twitch.” He banged on the neighbouring door again, and eventually a man answered.

“I’ve nothing more to say. I told you people everything this morning.”

“What people, Mr . . . ?”

“Ernest Talbot. You lot. You were all over the street earlier. Cameras, the lot.”

“Not us, Mr Talbot. We’re the police,” Speedy said. “We’re DC Merrick and DS Quickenden from Oldston CID.”

“What did you tell the papers?” Merrick said.

“Look, I’m on short time at work and they said they’d pay for anything I could give them. I’d be stupid not to, wouldn’t I?”

“Did you go in there last night?”

“No. Rahman wouldn’t let me. He said it was dreadful what had happened to that poor girl. He said I didn’t want that picture in my head.”

“He did you a favour.” Speedy spoke with feeling. Whenever he closed his eyes, the image came back to him. “So if you didn’t go in, how come you were so helpful to the press?”

Ernest Talbot shrugged. “Rahman let one or two details slip. And I’ve got an imagination, haven’t I? Anyway, they don’t care what they write.”

Speedy took out his notebook. “What did you actually see?”

“Nowt. I was in bed.”

“Did you hear anything?” This was painful.

“A scream — I think. It’s what woke me up. I live on my own, well, me and the cat. Bloodcurdling it was. You know, the kind of thing you get in horror films. I woke up and listened for a bit but it went quiet. Then I heard something else, talking it sounded like, coming from Rahman’s place. There shouldn’t have been anyone there. It’s up for sale and empty. I took a look out the window and saw the smoke. That chimney needs a bloody good sweep. The smoke was all over the street.”

“So you rang Mr Rahman?”

“Yes, I did. Two in the morning or not, he needed to know. I thought he had squatters.”

“Don’t say another word to the press, or anyone else,” Speedy said. “I want you to come into the station tomorrow and give a formal statement. Have a think, and write down anything you remember about last night. Anything at all.”

Chapter 5

“I know it’s late, but can we feedback on what we’ve got so far?” Greco said. He’d seen Grace eyeing the office clock and understood that she needed to get away. “All Grace and I got was a bit of a mismatch in the stories of the landlady of the Crown and Frankie Farr. We’ll check it out tomorrow. What about you, Speedy? What did you and Merrick glean from the residents of Arnold Street?”

“Ernest Talbot, the neighbour, is a tricky one. He’s already spoken to the press and reckons he told them a lot of rubbish, but he could be lying. But he did alert Rahman, and he says he heard a scream.”

“Is that it? No one see a car? A stranger? Anything odd? Did anyone even see Jessie on that street? Do we even know what she was doing there?”

“She was going to see Ethel Ridley, my mother!” A woman spoke from the doorway. Her voice was angry.

They all turned towards the door.

“Mavis Weston.” Grace grimaced.

The woman looked at each of them, finally settling on Greco. “Have you found him yet? That murdering bastard needs stringing up too. He needs to get a taste of what he dishes out.”

The comment bothered Greco. She’d made a direct reference to how Jessie had been found. What exactly did she know and, more to the point, who had told her?

“Mrs Weston, we are investigating, but its early days,” he said.

“Not good enough. You need to up your game, copper. He’s a bad ’un. He needs catching and dealing with. If you don’t do it, I know some who will.”

Her face was full of hate. Her eyes went from one team member to another.

“We are putting every resource into this,” he said.

“That man murdered my girl. He wasn’t kind. He didn’t just bash her over the head and have done with it,” she said.

Her eyes were blazing. She was barely keeping it together. Someone had told her. The press?

“Who have you been talking to, Mrs Weston?”

“I have every right to know how my daughter died,” she said. “I know things because I keep my ears open. Shame you lot don’t do the same.”

Her eyes were everywhere, all over the team — and the room. At last they found the incident board. She gave a strangled cry. “They said . . . but I didn’t believe it. What did that monster do to my girl?”

Greco stood in her path to prevent her from going any closer. “Come with me,” he said. “We’ll go somewhere and talk. Craig, arrange some tea, would you?”

He took her along the corridor to an empty office. It had a leather sofa against the wall. He gestured for her to sit down. “We have been trying to find you. We needed to get Jessie identified quickly so that the investigation can get off the ground.”

“So that you can cut her to pieces, you mean. I know what goes on.” She took a breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. “You shouldn’t have asked Mark. He can’t hack it. He comes across as gobby, but he’s a sensitive lad.”

Mavis Weston was weeping openly now, a hankie clutched to her face. Greco felt sorry for the woman. She’d just lost her daughter in dreadful circumstances. It was enough to make the toughest person crumble.

“I want to see her,” she said finally.

“That can be arranged. Let me have a word with the doctors first.”

“The heartless sods have butchered her, haven’t they? Cut her to pieces and sewed her back together all wrong.”

“It really isn’t like that,” he said. “But there are certain things that have to be done, evidence that has to be gathered . . . Are you up to answering some questions?”

She looked at him. Every battle she’d ever fought was etched into her face. Mavis Weston was a tough woman. She was dressed in jeans and a shirt. They were nothing special, cheap market-bought clothing. Her hair was a patchwork of different colours, as if she couldn’t make up her mind which one she preferred. But the truth was there, in the inch or so of grey at the roots.

“What d’you want to know, copper?”

“When did you last see Jessie?”

“Over a week ago. The Saturday before last. I’ve been to my sister’s in Barnsley. Me and Jessie, we spoke on the phone and she texted me, but not much, not like usual. We’d had words. I wanted her to stay at home and take care of Jonno but she didn’t want to. She was spending more and more time with that lad of hers, Frankie Farr. Jonno’s no good on his own. He can’t cope.”

“You said she was going to your mother’s last night. Where does she live?”

“She’s in the care home by the park. Arnold Street is a short cut, that’s why Jessie would go that way. God knows why she had to visit at that time of night though. You’ll have to ask at the home. If that bitch that runs the pub had let her go on time she might even be alive now. Treated our Jess like a bloody slave she did.”

Another reference to Megan Hunter. She was beginning to look like a less than perfect employer.

“Was there a problem with your mother?”

“No idea. I haven’t spoken to the woman in nearly twenty years. If there was a problem, they wouldn’t ring me. Jessie was the emergency contact.”

“My sergeant went round to your flat. Jonathan didn’t know where you were.”

“He’s as daft as a brush. I rang him every day, but he forgets. He spends all night boozing and watching football, his brains addled.”

Craig brought the tea in and handed them each a mug. Mavis eyed the young constable.

“They keep getting younger.” She shook her head. “I hope you’ve got more clout behind this case than the likes of that pretty boy there.”

“Constable Merrick is okay. He does a good job.”

“He’s a bloody kid. I want this one caught, Inspector. So don’t piss about.”

“He’s young, but he has experience and a good team to work with. We will do our best, Mrs Weston, I assure you.”

“Make sure you do.”

“Generally speaking, did you and Jessie get on?”

“We had our moments. She could be a right cow. Jessie was a difficult child. She always went her own way and she never changed. When it came to it, she’d always choose her latest man over the family. I suppose I can’t blame her. I used to be the same. I dragged them kids up on my own. Got no help from their father, and I had to work long hours. The kids were left to their own devices and it didn’t do either of them any good.”

“Does her father know?”

“No idea. Probably not. I was never married to him. When he buggered off I changed my name by deed poll, so it was the same as the kids.’” She put the empty mug on the window sill.

“What’s his name, Jessie’s dad?”

“Eric Weston. Last I heard he was living Stockport way.”

Greco jotted the name down.

“You get the bastard that did for my girl and make it quick. I want him to pay. My Jessie wasn’t perfect but she didn’t deserve to die, not like that.” Mavis stood up.

“I can have someone stay with you — a family liaison officer,” Greco said.

“Police? Staying with me? You’re having a laugh. I don’t want any of you round my place frightening Mark. None of you. Got that? Ring me and I’ll come in if you’ve any information.”

“Okay, we’ll stay in touch.”

“She was so even-tempered it was scary,” Grace remarked, once she’d gone. “I didn’t hear any shouting at all.”

“She’s hurting. However tough she is, Mavis is Jessie’s mother,” he said. “Where are the others?”

“Speedy’s done one and Craig’s gone to get something to eat. He reckons he’ll put what they got today onto HOLMES before he leaves.”

“What is it with Speedy at the moment? He’s obviously got something on his mind.”

“He’s not been right since Grady Gibbs was killed. He’s got it in his head that people blame him. He doesn’t feel that he fits in anywhere anymore, not here and not with his old mates in the town either.”

“If Speedy doesn’t fit in, what about me?”

Grace smiled reassuringly. “You’re doing okay, sir. The others are used to you now.”

“Should I offer to help?”

“He’s best left. He reckons he’s been through the mincer these last months. He’ll come round in his own good time.”

* * *

“You’re late again. Matilda is up in her room getting ready for bed.”

“Couldn’t be helped, Suzy. Work stuff. We’ve got a killer to find and he’s not making things easy for us.” With a sigh, Greco flopped down into an armchair. “In fact, if forensics doesn’t come up with anything, we’re really going to struggle.”

Suzy Greco shook her head. “Despite what you’ve said, crime is worse here. You seem to have tons more to do. You’re run ragged and it shows.” She brushed back the hair that had fallen onto his forehead. “How are that team of yours shaping up? Any better?”

What to tell her? He wasn’t sure he knew himself. Grace was okay, but as for Speedy and Merrick . . .

“Speedy’s going through some sort of crisis apparently. He’s told Grace he doesn’t fit in anymore.”

“I thought that was your thing, not fitting in.” She chuckled. “So what’s wrong with him?”

“He’s not happy. But I’d guessed that much already. He isn’t interested in anything that’s going on. Problem is — he’s my sergeant and I need him.”

“What about Grace? You keep saying how good she is.”

“She is. She’s outperforming him at the moment. But she’s still only a DC. Speedy has to shoulder more of the responsibility. He should be capable of much more. He was excellent once — before I came here.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ve got no idea. I spoke to Grace and she says it’ll pass and to wait it out. But it’s a situation I can do without at the moment. This case we’re working on is hard enough without Speedy going all weird on me.”

“Try to be more of a people person, Stephen. It’d help if your team could come to you with their work problems.”

A people person.
In Greco’s opinion you either were or you weren’t. Suzy was. She got on with her colleagues at the college and with the students. She had a great personality. She smiled a lot and she was pretty. Suzy Greco had a lot going for her. But he wasn’t like that.

“Matilda’s got a new friend. I’ve said she can have her round for tea one day this week. Think you’ll be able to join us?”

“I’ll try. Is she asleep yet?”

“I think she’s seeing to Mortimer.”

“Who’s Mortimer? A new teddy?”

“Not exactly. Matilda had a particularly good day at school, so she got to bring him home as a treat.”

“I’ll go and help her.” Greco pushed his weary frame from the comfort of the chair and went upstairs to be with his daughter.

“Tillyflop!” he called out. She rushed to greet him.

“Come and see Mortimer!” She took his hand and dragged him excitedly into her room. “He’s a hamster.”

Greco gave a shudder. A
hamster.
And in her bedroom too. “Shouldn’t he be downstairs?” That creature should be outside in the garage. He didn’t even want to think about the germs, the dirt . . .

“No, he likes it with me. He’s playing in his wheel.”

“Don’t put your fingers in there, will you? Those things bite.”

“Mortimer doesn’t, he’s nice. He plays out in the classroom and he doesn’t run away.”

“You mustn’t let him out in the house.” His daughter screwed up her face. “He’ll get lost,” he added quickly. “He doesn’t know his way around yet.”

Matilda nodded.

“Make sure you wash your hands too,” Greco said. “And stick his cage on the window sill over there.”

“I want him next to me,” she said with a frown. “Mummy said I could.
And
she said you’d make a fuss.”

He ruffled her blonde hair. “Okay, Tillyflop. I give up.”

He walked across the landing to the bathroom and gave his hands a scrub. It might look cute to Matilda, but all he could see was a fluffy rat.

“Don’t start, Stephen. She’s thrilled to bits,” Suzy said as he returned to the kitchen. “Matilda’s been waiting ages for her turn with Mortimer.”

“Did I say anything?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“My cleaning lady is giving up,” he told her. “It got me thinking. I should sell the flat. Spend the money on this place, or even somewhere new for all of us. What do you think?”

“If that’s what you want to do. But don’t feel that I’m forcing your hand,” she said, and kissed his cheek.

“Perhaps a better idea would be to buy a house together, instead of paying rent,” he said.

“It’s an idea.” She didn’t sound enthusiastic and it surprised him.

“You’re obviously not keen. I can’t for the life of me see why not. I thought that was what we wanted — a new start, a new house, to cement everything together.”

“It’s not bricks and mortar that keeps relationships going, Stephen.”

What was he not seeing?

“I’m not sure. Let’s just wait and see,” she said.

“Wait for what? What are we doing, Suzy? Are we a couple or not?”

The look on Suzy’s face was evasive.

“Of course we’re a couple, like we wanted.” She was twirling her blonde hair through her fingers, like she did whenever she was nervous. “But it’s early days. Maybe we should give things a bit longer. Make sure we’re doing the right thing.”