A Narrow Return (12 page)

So why would a thief target her locker specifically, and no one else’s? She’d only be on the job for a few days – if robbery had been the motive, any self-respecting light-fingered tea-leaf would know better. They’d wait a few weeks before striking, giving her plenty of time to store more stuff here – maybe a spare handbag, gear, hell, even trainers or a watch. That way they’d be far more likely to come up with something they could sell on for a reasonable profit.

No. This was not the work of a thief.

But the comb was missing. Not her perfume, which was nearly a full bottle, and might have been taken to give to a girlfriend as a makeshift present.

But her comb. Which was something very personal.

Unless someone into voodoo wanted a strand of her hair, of course. The thought made her lips twist into a grim smile. If she suddenly started getting sharp stabbing pains, then she might consider the occult.

Until then, there was only one likely explanation.

She had picked up an admirer.

‘Shit,’ Hillary said succinctly.

Melvin McRae looked surprised to see Sam and Jimmy on his doorstep.

After their lunchtime drink, Hillary had asked Sam to take Jimmy to re-interview Melvin, and find out if he knew about Mark Burgess, or any other casual affairs his wife might have had, whilst she borrowed Sam’s car and went to interview Lucy McRae.

Melvin led the two men back into the pleasant living room overlooking the church. This time he poured himself a beer from the fridge in the kitchen before they started, and offered them tea.

‘No thank you, sir,’ Jimmy said politely. He was still full from his two lunchtime pints, and he’d made sure Sam had driven over here. ‘Sorry to bother you so soon, sir, but we’ve uncovered some new information. Its might be rather painful,’ Jimmy warned him.

‘Oh?’ Melvin said warily.

‘Were you aware that your wife had had an affair with another man, sir? Apart from Shane Gregg, that is.’

Melvin drank slowly from his bottle of beer.

Finally he sighed. ‘No. But I did wonder. I mean, when I learned about Shane. It had been going on for some time, you see, and neither me nor Debbie had any idea. Well, it made me wonder, that’s all.’

Jimmy nodded. ‘Yes. If she’d done it once, maybe she’d done it before. I can see how it might, sir.’

‘So it was true?’

‘Yes, sir. Do you know or remember a man called Mark Burgess?’

‘Burgess? No.’

‘He used to have a butcher’s round. Still does.’

Melvin McRae shrugged. ‘I left all that sort of thing to Anne. The shopping, buying food, keeping the house, feeding us, that sort of thing. I was away such a lot, you see.’

Jimmy nodded. ‘So none of the neighbours ever mentioned anything to you, like? You know, trying to be kind. Well, trying to keep you in the picture. You see, sir, it seems unlikely that nobody knew what was happening.’

Melvin smiled grimly. ‘No. But then again, most people like to keep themselves to themselves, don’t they? Besides, everyone liked Anne. She was popular with the neighbours. Even our friends were more friends with Anne, than with me, if you see what I mean?’

Jimmy did. When it came to infidelity, they’d be more likely to side with Anne, is what he was saying. Probably most of them believed that Melvin McRae had more than his fair share of foreign birds when he was away on his coach tours anyway, so who was he to kick up a fuss?

‘All right. Well, thank you, sir,’ he said. He couldn’t see that there was any point taking it any further. And it wasn’t as if the man didn’t have a solid alibi.

As Melvin McRae closed the door behind him, Jimmy only hoped the guv’nor was having better luck with her witness.

H
illary regarded the block of flats thoughtfully. Whilst not quite as insalubrious as the building that housed the youngest McRae offspring, it was a far cry from being what most people would describe as a des res. Red brick walls gave way to black roof tiles, both somehow managing to look like dreary smears on the landscape. None of the windows were broken or boarded over, but most were dirty, and needed a good wash. Where there was paint work it was cracked and fading.

Hillary wondered if Lucy McRae had always lived like this, or if it was a sign of recent hard times. According to her files, unlike her younger sister, Lucy had no previous record.

But that could just be because she’d been more careful.

Hillary walked to the door and saw that the intercom and locking method wasn’t working. Anyone could just walk into the communal hall area, which she did, wrinkling her nose as the faint scent of human urine tickled her nostrils. Plain cream walls echoed her footsteps coldly back at her as she set off up the grey, not exactly clean, concrete steps, to the third floor.

And whilst there were no pitbulls snuffling threats under the door, or the sound of crying babies, the silence seemed somehow worse. She could imagine that most of the residents who lived there were first time buyers, and as such, nearly everyone was out at work. The building had an abandoned feeling that made her shoulder blades ache in a tight knot as she walked along the echoing landing, checking the door numbers as she passed by.

When she got to Lucy McRae’s flat, she rang the bell and waited. She knew from the file, that Lucy was unemployed at the moment and claiming benefit, although she had held down a variety of jobs; but never for very long.

Commitment issues, maybe, Hillary speculated. Or maybe she was one of those people who just couldn’t take instruction, and so was constantly running foul of their boss, believing as they inevitably did, that they knew better and could do better, given the chance.

The door opened, revealing a very attractive blonde woman, who gazed back at her blankly.

Hillary was slightly taken aback. Of all her children, Lucy resembled her mother the most. The photographs of Anne McRae, both alive and dead, were now burned into Hillary’s memory, and here she was, almost alive again and in the flesh. The same longish blonde hair, and bright eyes, the same curvaceous figure. And if she had inherited more than just her mother’s looks, Lucy might well have too high an opinion of herself to make life comfortable for either herself or those around her.

‘Yes?’ she demanded.

Hillary held out her ID.

‘Oh right. I’ve been expecting you. Dad called. Come on in.’ When she opened the door wider, Hillary could see that Lucy was wearing designer leggings of grey silk, ruched at the pockets and tapering to slim ankles. With it she wore an apricot jersey, obviously cashmere, and a set of dangling pearl earrings. Her hair was clean and looked as if it had been newly cut and styled, and her make-up was discreet and flawless. She also wore an expensive perfume, the name of which momentarily escaped Hillary.

The person definitely did not fit the surroundings, and Hillary was suddenly sure that the living arrangements had to be temporary. From what Sam and Vivienne had been able to unearth about the eldest daughter of their murder victim, Lucy had never married, but had lived with a succession of men, all of whom had been both older than herself, and wealthy.

Shades of her brother there, if Jenny was to be believed, Hillary mused. Of course, she wasn’t sure that she did. For all she knew, Peter McRae was deeply in love with his partner. They’d certainly been together for nearly eight years now, which sounded more like a long-term and stable relationship, something that Lucy had been unable to find.

‘Sorry about the flat. I’ll be moving out soon,’ Lucy said, giving Hillary a little eerie feeling, as if somehow the younger woman had been reading her mind.

Hillary looked around and smiled briefly. ‘It’s fine.’

But it wasn’t so much fine, Hillary mused, as interesting. The general décor was old and dull, but a large, very new looking, wide screen plasma HD television sat in one corner. Another new-looking personal CD player rested on top of a plain battered wooden coffee table, along with several of the latest pop music releases. When Lucy indicated a chair, Hillary saw the sparkle of gold and diamonds on her wrist, indicating very nice bling indeed.

As Hillary slowly sat down in a well-worn but comfortable brown leather armchair, she had the feeling that Lucy McRae had been in a dry spell, but had recently, perhaps very recently, come into some money. And she made a mental note to herself to ask Sam or Vivienne to check around with the neighbours, see if any of them knew Lucy well, or where she might have got the money from for her little luxuries.

‘Auntie Debbie said you’d been to see her.’

Hillary felt a jolt of surprise, and carefully squashed it. ‘Oh? I didn’t realize the family was still in touch with Mrs Gregg.’

‘Well, we’re not. Not really. I mean, she doesn’t see Dad at all, and Peter’s too happy living the good life to bother. But I reckon Jenny might touch her up for a couple of quid, now and then.’

‘You know that for a fact?’

‘Oh no, just speculating. I know my little sis, see.’

‘But you yourself see your aunt regularly?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say regularly. But she’s not banned from my doorstep or anything,’ Lucy said, with mock-drama.

‘I take it from that, that you don’t think your aunt had anything to do with your mother’s death?’ Hillary asked bluntly.

‘Nope. But I know you lot did,’ Lucy said, sitting back in her own chair and crossing her legs. As she did so, a simple gold ankle chain glinted in the grey light filtering in through the dusty windows.

Hillary allowed herself to smile wryly. ‘I take it DI Squires made his suspicions plain?’

Lucy laughed, a harsh, less-than-musical sound that made Hillary inwardly wince.

‘Let’s just say he shouldn’t play poker.’

Hillary nodded. ‘I asked your father if he believed in his sister-in-law’s guilt.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Lucy went suddenly still. ‘What did he say?’

Hillary’s eyes sharpened on her. ‘He said that he didn’t know. Not for sure, one way or the other. But I got the feeling that he doubted it.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘Well, we know her, see, and you don’t. I just can’t see Auntie Debbie taking a rolling pin to anyone.’

‘And Jenny? Did she think your aunt did it?’

Lucy laughed again. ‘You’ll have to ask her. Nowadays I don’t think Jenny thinks much of anything at all. No longer capable of it, if you know what I mean? The coke’s cooked her brains. It’s only a matter of time before they take those poor kids off her and put them into a home.’

‘You don’t fancy taking them on yourself then?’ Hillary asked, more rhetorically than anything else. She could see for herself that the McRae children were hardly filled with the milk of familial kindness.

Right on cue, Lucy shuddered. ‘Hell no! I’m never having kids,’ she said emphatically. And there was now something as hard as diamonds in her voice. Hillary looked at her closely.

‘The loss of your mother seems to have blighted you all, in one way or another,’ she said carefully. She was treading a fine line here, and she knew it. The last thing she wanted to do was come off as if she was offering phoney sympathy. Or even worse, sounding like some know-it-all social worker or amateur psychologist. But she needed Lucy to open up more than she was currently doing. At the moment she was all brittle, cynical defiance.

‘What did you expect?’ she asked sharply. ‘I came home from school when I was thirteen years old and found my mum murdered on the kitchen floor.’

Hillary nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

The flat, unemotional reply, as she’d expected, caught Lucy by surprise, and gave her pause. And in that pause, before she could have time to get her act together, Hillary said, ‘Tell me about it.’

Lucy sniffed, then sighed, then shrugged. It was as if she had a catalogue of gestures to choose from and wasn’t sure which one was appropriate. In the end, she shrugged again. ‘Fine. As if I didn’t say all of this, over and over again, at the time.’

‘That was then,’ Hillary said, ‘now is now. Tell me what you remember, think and feel
now
.’

Lucy glanced at her again, suspicion and something like grudging respect clouding her face. Then she opted for the shrug again.

‘OK. I remember it was hot and sunny. It was June, and I couldn’t wait for the school holidays to begin. My last class was French, which I hated, but we were in the language lab, so that wasn’t too bad. Me and Melanie Finch messed about in there, and got told off by snotty Forbes, but he didn’t keep us in detention. Me and Peter caught the bus, and got off it together, but then he buggered off somewhere with one of his mates, like he always did, and I went down to the playing field.’

Hillary nodded. All of this had been in her original statement. ‘Bit old for playing on the swings, weren’t you?’ she asked, with a slight smile, and Lucy grinned back.

‘Bugger the swings. There was this girl, Janey Grey, who hung out down there and had all sorts of goodies that she was willing to share. She was a bit of a fat kid, and never popular, so I guess she felt the need to ingratiate herself.’

Hillary felt herself stiffen. ‘Drugs?’

‘Bloody hell no,’ Lucy snorted on a laugh. ‘This was twenty years ago, remember, in a little sleepy Oxfordshire village. Oh, I dare say anyone wanting drugs could have got them, but I was just thirteen. No, I’m talking about fags, or cider, or porn.’ Lucy laughed suddenly. ‘It was funny, because everyone’s brothers were always salivating over
Penthouse
and what have you, but Janey had found some gay porn. So of course, all us girls hung out with her just to get a peek. None of us had seen a naked man before. Anyway, like I said, I hung out down there for a bit, but Janey wasn’t around, and I got bored pretty quickly back in those days, and went home.’

Lucy suddenly drew up her legs under her, and rested the top of her chin on her bent knees. Her hands hugged her ankles and her eyes turned back to the windows.

But Hillary knew she wasn’t seeing the cold grey March day outside, or the bleak Banbury housing estates beyond that. Instead, she was in a pretty village on a hot summer’s day, walking back to the house that was her home, where she’d always felt loved and safe.

‘I opened the gate and walked up the path. Everything was the same as it always was. Mum kept the garden nice, and we had sweet williams in the front and some love-in-a-mists and lilies and a couple of rose bushes. I stopped to smell my favourite one a white rose. All the neighbours admired our garden.’

Hillary nodded.

‘I went to the door and let myself in.’

‘It was locked?’

‘No. But it was shut. Mum was always home from working at the charity shop by the time us kids got in, so all I had to do was turn the handle.’

‘Go on.’

‘I went into the hall and slung my bag into the cupboard under the stairs, as usual. Then I went straight through into the kitchen. I always did. It would be hours until teatime and Mum had usually baked something – flapjacks were my favourite. I’d have a cup of tea and some cake or whatever.’

‘It sounds ideal,’ Hillary said, wondering if Lucy was accurately portraying her family life, or was remembering it as she’d wished it had been.

She was not one for introspection, however, for all she did was shrug dismissively. ‘It was OK. So I went through as usual, and the first thing I saw was her feet. Lying on the floor, behind the big kitchen table. I thought she’d fainted or something. It was a hot day, like I said, and if she’d been baking, it would be even hotter in the kitchen. Of course, she hadn’t fainted. When I went around the table I saw the red stuff on her head and in her hair, and leaking out on the tiles. It was splashed up some cupboards too.’

Lucy’s voice suddenly stopped. She dragged her eyes from the window.

‘I don’t really remember much about the next bit. Sometimes I think I cried out her name, or screamed or whimpered or something, and sometimes I think I just stood there, saying nothing. Doing nothing.’

Hillary took a long, slow breath. ‘That’s the shock.’

‘Yes. I remember going back outside, and standing in the doorway under the porch, in the shade. I don’t know why.’

‘Did you see anyone outside? Window cleaners, butcher’s delivery vans, neighbours?’

Lucy frowned. ‘I don’t think so. Like I said, I’m not very clear on that. The next thing I remember clearly is hearing the garden gate go, and seeing Peter walking up. I stopped him from going inside, and then for some reason, I don’t know why, I insisted we go a few doors down to Mrs Wilkins’s place. She was a neighbour, lived on her own. Lost her husband, I expect, or he’d buggered off and left her. I always liked her, though. She was a lot older than Mum, but she always had a kind word for me.’

Hillary nodded. ‘And then?’

‘I told her and Peter together what I’d found. Peter wanted to go back, but I wouldn’t let him. Then Mrs Wilkins must have phoned the police because a little while later they arrived, and Mrs Wilkins made this woman copper in uniform some tea, and made me and Peter drink some too. It was hot and sweet and by then Peter was all shaking and crying and what have you. I don’t think I was. I can’t remember crying or shaking anyway. I just sat there drinking this hot sweet tea. Then Dad came.’

Lucy sighed. ‘Then we went to a hotel. Then we buried Mum. End of story. I wonder if Mrs Wilkins is still alive?’

Hillary wasn’t about to leave it there, of course. ‘I got the feeling, from talking to Jenny, that she always felt that Peter was your mum’s favourite. And I guessed for myself that Jenny was probably your dad’s. Are either of us right?’

‘Both,’ Lucy said flatly. ‘Dad didn’t think they would have any more kids after me. They had the two children, see, a boy and a girl – isn’t that what everyone wants? One of each? So I think Dad thought that she, my mum that is, had decided enough was enough. So when Jenny came along she was always going to be an added bonus.’