Mikey saw Trish Maguire come out of the nursing home and wait on the corner of the street. She didn’t look half as rich and superior these days, which was something. The kids on the estate might have scared her a little that first day, but even they hadn’t made her look like this. She was pale and there were great grey bags under her eyes. Her expensive hair was a mess and she was wearing crumpled jeans. But she still didn’t look behind her, stupid cow.
A black cab came up with its light on. The driver stopped for her and she said something through the window, asking if he’d take her to Southwark probably. It just showed how even rich lawyers didn’t know all the law. Black cabs had to take you wherever you wanted to go. Not like mini-cabs. They could choose, which was how Mikey liked it. He wasn’t ever going to have drunks sicking up in the back of
his
car.
When she’d got into the cab, Mikey switched on his own engine and followed them till he was sure they were going home. Then he took his own private shortcut back to Southwark.
He phoned her number at the flat to make sure there was no one else there, then he waited in the phone box until her cab drove up. He didn’t usually let her see him, even though he liked to remember the night when he’d made her so scared she’d had to pay her cabbie to walk her up the stairs to her flat.
So far that was the closest he’d let her get to him after that first meeting on the estate. Considering she had no real routine that was a miracle. He’d followed her for long enough to know who her friends were and what sort of work she did and where she bought her food and parked her Audi, and how she lived. But he
still
couldn’t work out why she was so interested in Jeannie Nest. Nor why she’d come to the estate for information in the first place.
Everything else was going so well, what with his nan almost ready to retire and his hopeless uncle making such a fool of himself that he was no rival any more. Mikey couldn’t let this nagging worry about what Trish Maguire wanted and how much she knew spoil everything.
There’d been one bad day when he’d seen her rush out to work without putting on her burglar alarm. It wasn’t the day her cleaner came, so he’d thought he’d get a chance at last to go through her place and find out who she really was and what was driving her. He’d followed her across the river to make sure she was going to stay at work for once, then he’d come back here. But just as he was about to try to force the locks, he’d heard someone else on the iron stairs behind him. Turning, casual as you please, he’d seen a tall fat man, whose face was all over suspicion.
‘Mr Rogers?’ Mikey had said, cool as cool. The big bloke had looked surprised. ‘There’s a mini-cab been ordered for Rogers. That you?’
The bloke had said there was no one called Rogers at that address, so Mikey had just said, ‘Cheers, mate.’ Then he’d left without running. He’d got back in his car and pretended to be calling control on the radio so he had time to see the fat man take out a key and let himself in. Up till then, Mikey had thought Trish Maguire lived on her own. It’d been a nasty shock to find she had a bloke.
Trish stepped across the post on the doormat and shut the door. It had always been one of George’s bugbears
that she’d bend down to pick up her letters in full view of everyone, a target for any nutter in the street, with her door open and her flat exposed. These days she shut and double-locked the door every time she came home.
Most of today’s envelopes were bills or circulars, but there was a card from her mother with a wonderful Dot cartoon that made her laugh out loud. She read the note inside as she walked to the kitchen. Her hand was already on the kettle lid when she read:
Don’t be afraid, Trish. I know that some of Paddy’s past can seem worryingly high-coloured, but he’s not a bad man. Whatever the circumstances may suggest, or the police try to insinuate, he couldn’t have killed this woman.
I
lived with him for ten years. I
know
that.
So the police had been questioning his ex-wife as well as everyone else, Trish thought.
She should have felt reassured, but she didn’t. There had been plenty of women who’d lived with killers and trusted them, having no idea what they did when they left the house. And there’d been mothers, too, who’d been emotionally destroyed when they discovered that their apparently charming, normal sons had cellars-full of body parts. No one could be certain that her husband or lover or child was innocent, never really know for sure, however much she might long to believe.
Needing to talk to someone else who would understand all that, Trish rang Caro.
‘Trish, I’ve told you, I cannot—’
‘I’m not asking you to. It’s not that, Caro. I’m worried about the boy, David. Lakeshaw let me see him today, but he suggested … no, he threatened that I wouldn’t get to see him again unless I cooperated. But I’ve nothing to cooperate with. It’s like being tortured for information you don’t have. Please help. I know you could, if you chose.’
‘Talk to Lakeshaw, Trish, it’s not my case. I’m really sympathetic. Really. But I can’t do anything.’ Caro’s
voice was strained rather than angry, so Trish took a chance.
‘Then just tell me this: why doesn’t Lakeshaw trust me?’
There was a sigh, then Caro began to speak very fast. ‘He doesn’t believe your story of why you went looking for Jeannie Nest. And he doesn’t believe that you didn’t know anything about David before. He hasn’t confided in me, but my guess is he thinks you knew them both already. What did he want you to ask David today?’
‘More of the same. Who, why, or what so frightened his mother that she …’ Trish broke off, wondering why she’d been so slow. ‘You mean he only wanted to see me and David together again to assess how familiar we were with each other?’
‘Probably, but I could be wrong.’
Oh shit, Trish thought. Why didn’t I work it out in time to stop myself kissing the poor child? ‘Are you busy tonight, or would you like to come and have some supper? George is back.’ Trish could hear the smile in her own voice. She was beginning to get used to the depth of her need for him. And she didn’t mind it nearly so much now that she’d seen the gaps in his emotional armour. ‘So you’d get something much better than with only me.’
There was a pause, during which Trish heard only Caro’s breathing and her own. ‘Oh Trish, I’d love it, but I can’t. Not till this case is over. But I’m glad you’ve got George back with you now.’
Putting down the phone, Trish wondered what more doubts – or suspicions – could be making Caro so hesitant. She had to know, so she rang Lakeshaw, but he wouldn’t speak to her.
Lil had had a good day. Her Essex solicitor had taken her to see the cottage, explaining that he’d already told the tenants they’d have to go at the end of the month. Luckily
they weren’t making difficulties about it. They and the ones before them had only ever been allowed to rent it by the month. Then she’d gone back to the solicitor’s office and he’d taken her through the accounts. It seemed she’d have about three hundred pounds a week to live on after tax, the solicitor’s bill, and the outgoings on the cottage, which would be plenty on top of her pension and whatever Mikey paid her.
She’d told the solicitor that all things being equal, she’d move into the cottage in two months’ time and that she’d like him to go on working for her without telling anyone who she was or where she came from. The story would be just that she was the new tenant of the cottage. He’d agreed and as usual asked no questions, which was why she’d always been happy to pay his bill.
By the time she got back to the estate that night she was so tired she felt like a rag that’s been caught in the mangle. It was years since she’d walked through the place alone in the dusk and she didn’t like it at all. Passing the spot where her husband had beaten a man to death, she saw three boys with hoods over their heads, shadowing their faces so much she couldn’t even see if they were blackies or not. But they didn’t come after her and nor did anyone else. She got to her block safely, then she saw Mikey’s little girl, kicking pebbles into a puddle.
‘I told you Mikey said I could have a pound,’ she said when she saw Lil.
‘I know. He told me, too. Has he given it to you?’
‘Course he has,’ the child said, proudly digging in the pocket of her draggled dress. When she opened her fist, Lil saw three pound coins lying in the damp palm.
‘Three? What else did you do for him?’ she said, worried to death all over again.
The gap teeth showed again as the child grinned. ‘I told you – every time I see the lady, Mikey gives me a pound. He said to save the money, so I haven’t spent it.
You tell him I haven’t spent none of it. See? There’s still three pounds here.’
‘Yes. That’s good. I’ll tell him. What’s your name?’
‘Kelly.’
‘You’re a good girl, Kelly, but you shouldn’t be out on your own late like this.’
‘My mum sent me. She’s busy. She’ll call when I can come in again.’ Kelly kicked more pebbles into the muddy water, deliberately slopping it over the edge of her shoes.
Lil was furious with the child’s mother, but it wasn’t her responsibility and she needed to sit down. The lift wouldn’t work, so she had to climb all those flights up to her flat. In the end, she was pulling herself up with her hands, clawing three steps higher than her feet. The bag over her wrist bumped at every step, and her knees were killing her.
There was no light on in the flat, so Mikey must be out again. She wished he was there. She didn’t think she’d have the strength to find her keys. Leaning against the wall by her door, she waited till her breathing was more normal again. Then she tried to get at the keys, but it was hard to see, and her hands hurt.
Hard-edged metal dug into one finger and she forced the rest of the stuff out of the way and got the bunch out. Her hands were shaking though and she couldn’t fit the right key into the lock. Men were coming up the stairs, several of them, not talking. She thought of Ron’s threats, pushed the key into the lock at last and turned it, leaning against the door to open it.
‘Mrs Handsome?’
She was inside and pushing the chain into its socket, but she wasn’t quick enough. He pushed the door further open.
‘Mrs Handsome? Nothing to be afraid of. It’s me – Chief Inspector Smith.’
She’d never thought she’d be that pleased to see the
police. A minute later, she was on the settee with her head between her knees, his hand on her back and his voice saying, ‘There now. You’ll be all right in a minute. My WPC’s making you a cup of tea. Come over all faint, didn’t you?’
‘I thought you was after my pension. Leave me be and I’ll be all right.’
He let her sit up. ‘And I thought you weren’t scared of anything now that your old man’s safely locked away, and you’ve got your grandson with you. Where is he?’
‘Out with his cab, I should think. Ouf. Thanks.’ She smiled at him, remembering to make her chin wobble and therefore her voice. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Smith?’
‘It’s Gary again.’
‘Oh, my God. What’s he done now?’
‘You know how he’s always telling his mates in the pub that he’ll give Jeannie Nest a right seeing-to?’
‘That’s just his talk. He’s always been all mouth and no trousers.’ She bit her lip as she thought of the bloody trousers in their hiding place. Was it time to use them yet? No. Not until she knew more. ‘You know that. Has something happened to her, then?’
‘You know it has. Don’t you remember when my boys came to talk to you and Mikey and after that you went along to see your Gary?’
Lil couldn’t bear it. Not now. Not tonight when she was so tired. She didn’t want to have to think and plan and work out what he knew and what he wanted and how to protect herself and her business and her grandson.
‘When did it happen?’
‘Why d’you ask that, Lil? Why when? Why not, what’s happened? Or how bad is it?’
‘All right, then. How bad is it?’
‘She’s dead.’
‘Jeannie? Oh my God. Why? Why now? It’s been years since …’
‘That’s what we want to know.’
‘Well, I can’t help you, Mr Smith. I would if I could, you know that.’ She grabbed his arm, clinging. ‘I liked her. And I owe her. She had my old man put away and I got a chance to stop living in fear all the time.’
‘OK, Lil. Steady on.’
‘But why hasn’t it been in the papers, Mr Smith? I’ve been looking every day, in case I could see why you were all so keen to talk to my Gary.’
‘There was a para or two with a report of a woman found dead in a flat in Hoxton, but there weren’t any details as far as I know.’
So that was Jeannie, she thought. But why Tuesday night? Why not Sunday? What had Gary been doing on Tuesday?
‘Now, Lil, come on and tell me what your Gary was doing up here last Sunday night.’ His voice was quite kind, but it changed when he snapped out: ‘Not now.’
Lil couldn’t think what he meant, barking at her like an angry dog, then she saw his uniformed girl with a tea tray in her hands. ‘What’s she doing in my kitchen?’
‘Making tea, like I said.’
Careful, Lil, she told herself. Or they’ll start searching. And there’s the books and the money as well as the trousers. ‘Then get her back. I could do with a cup. Just what I need after that dizzy spell.’
He called for the girl. She came back all right, but her tea was washy, so it didn’t give Lil back any of her strength. She lit a fag instead.
‘OK. Now tell me: what was Gary doing here on Sunday night?’
‘It wasn’t Sunday you wanted to know about last time, was it?’ she said, making herself feel vague.
‘He was seen, Lil. Coming out of your flat at four in the morning last Sunday – or Monday it would’ve been by then – muttering to himself. Looking dangerous, they say.’