‘Give the boys a hug from me, Max.’
‘I will.’
‘That’s a nice sight,’ Max called out. Striding along the corridor at Harrington High School was none other than Donna Lord.
She turned round, smiling. ‘Well, well, well, if it’s not my favourite detective.’
‘How many do you know?’ he asked when he caught her up.
‘Just the one.’
She really was a nice sight. How young boys concentrated on their English studies, Max had no idea. She was wearing a tight black skirt that showed off those amazing legs of hers, and a crisp white blouse that embraced her breasts.
‘Where are you heading?’ she asked.
‘To the gym.’
‘Ah, you’re still talking to Geoff then. You’ve got that wrong, detective. He’s far too squeamish to make a killer. One of the girls cut her arm yesterday and he fainted.’ She laughed. ‘There wasn’t too much blood, but he had to spend the afternoon lying down.’
Max smiled at the story.
‘I owe you a drink,’ she reminded him, flashing white teeth from ruby red lips. ‘How about tonight?’
If he said no, he’d need his head examining.
‘I’d love to, really, but I can’t make it.’ It was official; he needed his head examining. ‘Some other time?’
‘Count on it, detective.’ She took a door on their left. ‘See you later.’
‘See you.’
He rid his mind of Ms Lord and carried on to the gym.
As luck would have it, the boys had finished their lesson and were putting the equipment away. Did Geoff Morrison look shifty? Max couldn’t decide. He certainly wasn’t pleased to see him.
‘Could I have another word?’ Max asked.
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘Right, you lot,’ he shouted. ‘No messing around. I want you changed in record time. And no leaving the changing rooms until I get there.’
Muttering, grumbling or giggling, the kids left through an adjoining door.
‘So what is it now?’ Morrison asked, resigned.
‘We’ve been talking to your boyfriend,’ Max explained, ‘and he’s had a change of mind. He reckons he wasn’t with you the morning Martin Hayden vanished. He says you left early to go for a run.’
Morrison’s face flushed red. It was difficult to tell if he was embarrassed or furious. A bit of both perhaps.
‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘Yeah, he’s right. I left early. I left early that morning because I was sick of him and his jealous, petty tantrums.’
‘Oh?’ A lovers’ tiff. Great.
‘Did he tell you we saw Martin Hayden at Benedict’s on the Tuesday night?’ He sneered. ‘Yeah, I bet he did. He reckons Hayden was after me. I mean, for God’s sake. He was in a foul mood about it all night. He reckoned I encouraged the boy. Jesus H, I didn’t even recognize the kid until we were leaving and then I only said hello. I was too shocked to see him there, of all places, to say anything else. So we had hissy fits all bloody night.’
‘I see.’ The mind boggled. ‘So where did you go on that particular Wednesday morning?’
‘I just drove,’ he said. ‘Anything to get away from him. I ended up driving through Burnley. I stopped on the Burnley to Bacup road. There’s a pull-in on the left, as you head to Bacup. It has a nice view the hills and the wind farm. I sat there, looking at the view, until I headed back and went to the school.’
‘Can anyone confirm that?’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘It is,’ Morrison agreed. ‘You can arrest me, I’m past bloody caring, but if you do and the killer strikes again, you’re going to look pretty damn silly, aren’t you?’
‘I can live with that.’
Morrison, deathly pale now, took a quick step back.
‘OK, that’ll be all,’ Max told him. ‘You can go.’
‘I can?’
‘Yes.’
‘Gee, thanks.’ The bravado was back.
‘You’re welcome.’
Having driven Harry and Ben home and left them with Kate and DS Forrest, Max was on his way back to the nick when Fletch phoned.
‘Brian Taylor’s here, Max. Says he wants to make a statement. He’ll only talk to you, though.’
‘Really? What’s that all about?’
‘He wouldn’t say.’
‘OK, Fletch. I’ll be there in around fifteen minutes.’
What did Taylor want with him? His alibis really were ironclad. No way could he have killed Martin or Josie Hayden. So what the hell did he have to say?
Max was sitting opposite him less than fifteen minutes later. If Max looked shattered, Brian Taylor looked even worse. He was still chain-smoking, too.
‘You want to talk to me?’
Taylor nodded. ‘Yes.’ He stubbed out a cigarette. ‘I wasn’t completely honest with you, Chief Inspector.’
You and a few dozen others, Max thought grimly.
‘Let’s hear it then.’
Taylor lit another cigarette. ‘Martin I did meet him. I met him a few times before he was killed.’
Oh, for . . . ‘Why the hell didn’t you say so before?’
‘How would it have looked?’ Taylor cried.
‘The same as it looks now! Bloody suspicious!’ Max tried to calm himself. ‘How did you get to meet him?’
‘As you know, I occasionally watched him leave the school.’ Taylor didn’t look at Max as he spoke. Instead, he concentrated on his cigarette. ‘One day, I deliberately bumped into him. We struck up a conversation of sorts and I offered him a lift home. When he saw my car, the BMW, he quickly accepted. I saw him a couple of times and . . .’
He cleared his throat. ‘I bought him his guitar and I used to pay for his lessons. He had no idea who I was though,’ he put in quickly. ‘He only knew me as Adam. I used my brother’s name. Anyway, I’d see him once a week and give him the money for his guitar lessons.’
‘He didn’t know you?’ Max scoffed. ‘Come on, he was a bright kid. Who the hell did he think you were? His fairy bloody godmother?’
‘He thought . . .’ He cleared his throat again. ‘He thought I was attracted to him. Sexually. He started taunting me, asking me what I thought his parents would make of it, what I thought the police would think if they knew.’
‘He was blackmailing you?’
‘Not as such, but I kept giving him money. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just not turn up, could I? In the end, I contacted Josie. I thought that, if I could see him, with everything above board, it would be OK.’
‘But Josie said no.’
‘She wouldn’t hear of it. But I didn’t kill him. I swear it. You have to believe me.’
Max tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘You see your son, he blackmails you and then ends up dead.’
‘I know,’ he whispered.
‘Could he have been blackmailing anyone else?’
‘Quite probably,’ he answered immediately.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Look, Chief Inspector, he may have been my son, but he wasn’t a good person. He looked out for himself and didn’t give a shit about anyone else.’
So everyone said. At least it explained the money Martin Hayden had. It explained damn all else, though. Brian Taylor hadn’t killed Martin or Josie, so who the hell had?
‘What about cocaine?’ Max asked. ‘Would you know anything about that?’
Taylor’s face glowed scarlet. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it gain.
‘I’m conducting a murder inquiry,’ Max told him furiously, ‘and I want the truth. OK? I don’t give a damn about whether or not you snort coke. I want to know if you gave any to Martin Hayden.’
‘I did,’ Taylor whispered.
‘Thank you!’
Max slammed out of the room leaving a sobbing Brian Taylor saying, ‘I wish I’d never met him!’
Jill was at her cottage, wrapping Christmas presents, when her phone rang. She thought it might be Max again. He’d phoned an hour ago to tell her about Brian Taylor’s confession, but he phoned often to reassure her that Harry and Ben were safe. She was grateful for that.
However, it wasn’t Max.
‘Hello, stranger. I got your message.’
‘Babs, hi! Thanks for getting back to me. How are you?’
‘Dreading the obligatory Christmas overdraft. You?’
Jill, surrounded by wrapping paper and presents, had to smile. ‘About the same. Thanks for the card, by the way. You always send lovely cards.’
‘I bought them last January,’ Babs told her. ‘How’s that for efficiency?’
‘Sickening. Anyway, it would be no use me doing that. I’d have lost them long before Christmas.’
They spent a few minutes catching up on each other’s news. She and Babs had not only studied together at uni, they’d shared a flat. They’d had some wild times.
‘So what can I do for you?’ Babs asked.
‘It’s a long story.’ Jill filled her in and told her what they knew about Josie Hayden. ‘We must have contacted every clinic in England. However, it’s just possible that Josie went to Dublin around the right time. I wondered if you could pull a few strings and get old records checked. We think it was 1977. Josie would have been fourteen.’
Babs sucked in her breath at that.
‘I know,’ Jill murmured.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Babs promised.
‘Thanks. You’re a star!’
They chatted some more, and then Jill returned to her present-wrapping.
Her cottage was well decorated, and Christmas cards sat on every surface, but she couldn’t look forward to Christmas. None of them could. The Lord alone knew how the parents of James Murphy and Jason Keane would cope.
If only the boys could be found safe and sound. What a wonderful Christmas present that would be.
She opened a bottle of wine, filled a glass and stretched out on the sofa with it.
Who had they missed?
Every member of the family had been checked out. Everyone associated with Harrington High School had been seen. Toby Campbell, John Higgs, the ex-music teacher everyone was innocent.
Brian Taylor wasn’t their man. In fact, Jill almost felt sorry for him. What must it be like to meet your son and discover that his only interest is in your money?
Her phone rang again and this time it
was
Max.
‘Anything new?’ she asked, dreading his answer.
‘Nothing.’
She breathed a sigh of relief. Every time he rang, her first thought was Harry. Her second thought was that either James Murphy’s or Jason Keane’s body had been found.
‘I’ve spoken to Babs,’ she told him, ‘and she’s going to see if she can find anything. It’s a long shot, I know, but you never know.’
‘It is, Jill. If Josie did have a child in Dublin, well, so what?’
‘I know.’
Max suddenly laughed at something. ‘This dog show on Sunday? It includes Christmas fancy dress, for the dogs that is. Fly is currently modelling his outfit.’
She smiled, wishing she could be with them. ‘Tell Ben I’ll look forward to seeing it.’
‘I will.’
She sighed. ‘Who have we missed, Max? We’ve spoken to the killer, we must have. There’s someone we’ve dismissed, and we’ve dismissed them because they don’t stand out, because they’re ordinary.’
‘That’s what I keep thinking. Martin Hayden was as good as blackmailing Taylor, and Taylor thinks, quite rightly probably, that he could easily have been blackmailing someone else. Martin Hayden thought Taylor was sexually attracted to him so if he thought someone else was’
‘Like Geoff Morrison or Toby Campbell?’
‘Yeah, exactly like them.’
‘If he was at Benedict’s, he could have met someone there. I expect that’s why he went. To find someone rich.’
‘We’ve spent hours in that place but we haven’t come up with anything. Bruce is there tonight doing his gay boy impression. We talked him out of the gold satin suit, but God knows what they’ll make of him.’
She smiled at that.
‘What are you doing tomorrow?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Visiting Mum and Dad, and Prue and Co. Why?’
‘Just wondered. Shall we pick you up on Sunday then?’
‘Thanks, Max, but there’s no need. I’ll have to get straight home after the show because I’ve still got loads of Christmas presents to sort out.’ Including Max’s. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t miss Ben.’
The M62 had been stop-start all the way from Liverpool, presumably because people were spending their Saturdays doing Christmas shopping, and Jill was relieved when she joined the M66. Another half-hour and she would be home.
She’d enjoyed her day, though.
The traffic had been light that morning and she had arrived at 27 River View just after ten o’clock.
As ever, pandemonium reigned at her parents’ home. Her mother had been busy baking; she was a hopeless cook when it came to meat and veg, but she had endless patience and her cakes had won prizes. This morning, they’d been treated to delicious, light chocolate eclairs. Jill’s father had been trying to study form but, in the end, he’d taken himself off to the bookie’s for a couple of hours.
‘You’d think it was rocket science he was studying,’ Jill’s mum had scoffed.
The two of them had sat in the kitchen, catching up on news and drinking coffee. It had been good to see her mum looking so fit and well after the operation on her lung.
‘Still off the fags, Mum?’
‘I am. Mind,’ she added, ‘I could murder one right now. I don’t reckon the time’ll ever come when I don’t want one.’
‘Of course it will.’
‘I feel better for it, though.’
She looked better for it, too. Her skin had lost that dull, grey tinge and her cheeks had a healthy rosy glow.
At lunchtime, Jill’s sister Prue arrived, complete with husband Steve and children Charlotte, Zoe and Bethany. Prue was putting on weight, Jill noticed, but she looked happier than ever. Her life revolved around Steve and the kids. Unlike Jill, she’d never had any ambitions to leave River View.
Steve, who’d spent too many hours behind the wheel of a lorry lately, looked as if he longed to make the sofa his own and sleep for a few hours. There was no chance of that though with three daughters demanding his attention. For all that, he seemed happy with his lot.
The lifestyle wouldn’t suit Jill, but their togetherness touched a chord. Once, she and Max had known the same feeling. They, too, had been a unit.
She’d brushed the thought aside. From the moment she’d been able, Jill had worked to escape River View. While Prue had decided to leave school as early as possible and train as a hairdresser, Jill had spent hours in her bedroom studying. She hadn’t studied to end up as a wife and mother; she’d worked to give herself a rewarding, interesting career. A career which she’d put on hold for the time being . . .
After lunch, the women left the men in front of the television and sat in the kitchen with the girls.
‘Auntie Jill, why haven’t you got a boyfriend?’ Zoe wanted to know.
‘She has,’ Charlotte said before Jill could formulate an answer.
‘I have?’ Jill asked, amused.
‘Yes, but Mum says you’re cross with him.’
Jill glared at her sister, who took no notice whatsoever.
‘And how is Max?’ Prue asked. ‘Still working too hard?’
‘I imagine so. I neither know nor care.’
‘You’re full of crap,’ her sister scoffed quietly. ‘Mum’s right, you know. You’ll end up a lonely old spinster with only a houseful of cats for company.’
Jill, who’d heard it all before, had to laugh.
‘Firstly, I’ve been married so I can’t qualify as a spinster.’ OK, so her marriage had been brief and, if Chris hadn’t been killed, they would have been divorced long ago, but she couldn’t be termed a spinster. ‘Secondly, I don’t think three cats qualify as a houseful. Anyway,’ she added, trying to change the subject, ‘I think I’ll be down to two cats soon.’
‘Is Rabble dying?’ Bethany asked with all the casualness of youth.
‘She’s getting very old and stiff,’ Jill told her.
‘I expect you’ll find another.’ Bethany patted her arm sympathetically. ‘Jimmy Brown, who I go to school with, has some kittens to get rid of. I can ask him if you like.’
‘I’ve got enough for the moment,’ Jill said, chuckling as she hugged her niece . . .
It had been a fun day and Jill vowed to visit more often. Now, however, after a long, boring journey, she wanted to get out of her car. She left the motorway and drove through Waterfoot, Bacup and then into Kelton Bridge. Instead of going straight to her cottage, she turned into The Weaver’s Retreat’s car park.
Saturday nights were busy at the pub, and this evening it was even more crowded than usual. Jill spoke to half a dozen people as she made her way to the bar.
‘Tony Hutchinson was in last night looking for you,’ Maureen said when she served her. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘No.’
‘I expect he’ll be here in a while.’ Maureen handed over her change. ‘He said he’d got something for you.’
‘Oh? What was that?’
‘No idea,’ she said as she took another order for drinks.
Jill carried her drink away from the bar and sat to chat with Tom and Julie for a while. A log fire blazed away next to their table, adding to the sense of cheer provided by Christmas decorations that twinkled merrily from every surface.
Despite the number of drinkers, though, the atmosphere was more muted than usual. Kelton Bridge was uneasy. Two of the village’s young boys were missing and villagers took it as a personal affront. People couldn’t truly relax until their young were found.
Jill was about to head for home when Tony Hutchinson walked in. She went to join him at the bar as he waited to be served.
‘Did you want me, Tony?’
‘I did. I’ve found something . . .’ He broke off to ask Maureen for his pint and Jill waited until he had it in his hand.
‘I found a photo that might interest you.’ Tony put his pint on the nearest table and delved into his inside pocket. ‘Here.’ He handed her a slightly dog-eared photograph. ‘The quality isn’t great, but I can get another printed.’
Jill took it from him and found herself looking straight at Martin Hayden, Jason Keane and James Murphy. The three boys were smiling broadly. Martin Hayden was holding a small trophy aloft.
‘What’s this, Tony?’
No one could remember seeing the boys together and the photo gave Jill an uneasy feeling. Was this the link they were looking for?
‘It’s probably nothing,’ he said, ‘but it was what you said about there being no connection between them. I knew I’d seen them together. I’ve spent hours going through thousands of photos.’ He pointed at the trophy in the photo. ‘About eighteen months ago, the village set up a quiz league. We were raising funds for new heating at the village hall. The league only lasted about three months, but these three lads formed a team. All bright boys, of course. Anyway, they won. Competition from the adults was stiff, but they beat them.’
It was disconcerting to look at the boys’ smiling faces. Martin Hayden looked as posed as ever, but Jason and James seemed genuinely delighted with their victory.
‘I knew Jason was very friendly with Martin Hayden, but I didn’t think James was particularly pally with either boy.’ ‘
I didn’t either,’ Tony admitted. ‘It’s funny, though, seeing them together, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
‘But I expect it’s nothing other than coincidence,’ he said. ‘Martin and Jason were the best of friends and they would have needed a third for the quiz team. They probably asked James because he’s a bright boy. Or perhaps no one else could be bothered.’
He was probably right.
‘I expect,’ he said, taking a swallow of his beer, ‘that if you looked hard enough, you’d find photos of every combination of Kelton Bridge resident.’
‘Probably,’ she agreed. All the same . . . ‘May I take this, Tony?’
‘Be my guest. Let me know if you want a better copy and I’ll run it through the school’s computer.’
‘Thanks. Who else was involved in the quiz?’
‘Almost everyone. There was a committee Mary Lee-Smith may have been behind that. She might know more about it.’
‘I’ll have a word with her.’
Jill put the photo in her bag and then said her goodbyes.
As she drove to Lilac Cottage, she wondered if there
was
any significance to the photo. But like what? A small village quiz league didn’t inspire murder. There might be some bad losers in the village but, surely, no one would kill.
All the same, she would ask around and see if any interesting names came to light.