A Narrow Return (13 page)

Lucy shrugged, and continued, seemingly without rancour, ‘Jenny was a “little girl” type of little girl if you know what I mean? Always looked cute as a button in pigtails with ribbons, and played with dolls and crawled onto Dad’s lap like a bichon frise the moment he came home from one of his coach trips. Me, I wasn’t that needy.’

Lucy shrugged again, and regarded Hillary sourly. ‘Anything else you’d like to know about us McRaes?’

‘Peter was your mum’s favourite then?’

‘Yeah, poor sod. Rather him than me. She was always more on his case than on ours.’

Hillary wasn’t fooled by the supposed sympathy for her brother. Deep down inside, Lucy must have resented every perceived slight, every little proof that she was second best to both her mother and father.

‘Did you know about your Uncle Shane and your mother?’ Hillary asked, and saw Lucy’s eyes narrow suddenly.

‘Of course not,’ she said flatly. And far too quickly.

Hillary smiled. ‘Now you’re telling me lies,’ she chided softly.

Lucy all but gaped at her, then laughed, then shook her head. ‘Nope. As if I would.’ But her eyes gleamed with mockery, and Hillary knew she was mentally challenging her to prove it.

Hillary tried again. ‘Come on, Lucy, let’s not play games. You must have felt like the odd one out in that family. And you were thirteen, and into gay porn! You’re not telling me you didn’t know what was going on. You’re obviously as smart as a whip, and I bet back then, nothing missed your eagle eyes. Kids always are very observant, and I bet you loved spying on the grown ups. Hugging secrets to yourself, gathering power.’

Lucy forced herself to relax and let her legs back down onto the ground. Shit, this one was perceptive. She’d have to be careful.

‘Sorry,’ she shook her head. ‘I had no idea she was having it off with Debbie’s old man,’ she said, deliberately crude now.

Hillary nodded. ‘OK, play it that way if you like. Did you know she was also having an affair with Mark Burgess?’

Lucy shrugged and laughed. ‘If you say so. Like I said, I was just a kid, and in spite of what you think, I had more important things to do than care about what my Mum was up to. I had just hit puberty, for Pete’s sake. I was into boys, and pop music and growing up. My biggest fear was spots on my face. Mum’s life was boring. Any adult was boring. My friends, what boyfriends we had in our sights, discos and trying to find ways of getting at some booze – that’s what I was interested in.’

‘So your mum was very discreet about her love life.’

‘Must have been. Poor Aunt Debs had no idea Shane was sniffing around, and it’s usually the deceived wife that’s the first to suspect isn’t it?’ Lucy asked.

Hillary shrugged. ‘Either that, or they’re the last to know.’

‘You think one of her men friends bumped her off, don’t you?’ Lucy said flatly.

‘Don’t you?’

Lucy tensed, then forced her shoulders to relax. ‘Like I said, I’ve no idea.’

‘How do you feel about it now?’ Hillary pressed, sensing evasion, and not liking it. For the first time since being handed this case on Monday, she strongly suspected that she’d finally found someone who could shed some new light on it, and she didn’t want to play ball. It could become very frustrating, if Hillary let it.

‘What do you mean?’ Lucy asked cautiously.

‘I mean now that you’re an adult. You’ll soon be more or less the same age as your mum was when she was killed. How do you see your mum now, as an adult woman yourself?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I never thought about it. Of course, our lives are totally different. She was married to Dad, but I’ve never wanted to get married. And she had kids. I’d rather die first! And our tastes are totally different, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t catch me sleeping with a butcher for instance – I’ve got more pride than that! I suppose I think Mum was just a bored housewife. A cliché, right? I don’t blame her, exactly – Dad was away a lot, having fun abroad, and she was stuck with the house and the kids and the boring little part-time job. Why shouldn’t she have some fun?’

Hillary nodded. ‘Why not a butcher?’ she asked silkily. ‘I mean, why not a butcher, specifically?’

Lucy frowned at her, shifting uneasily on her chair, sensing danger. ‘What do you mean? I just wouldn’t, that’s all. Thinking of hands that had been handling dead meat all day, all over me.’ She shuddered. ‘Ugh, no thanks.’

Hillary nodded. It was as she suspected. Lucy knew about her mother’s lovers all right. She had mentioned Mark Burgess, but had never said what he did for a living. And why would a school child, who’d be at school most of the time when the butcher’s van came around, even know that the name of the butcher her mother brought the family joint from, unless she had made it her business to find out?

‘Do you have any ideas who might have killed your mother?’ she asked carefully.

Lucy shrugged again, and her eyes went to the window once more. ‘How should I know?’ she asked blandly.

Steven Crayle tapped on Hillary’s door and opened it without waiting for a summons.

The room was empty. It was vaguely annoying but then he didn’t really blame her for spending most of the time out in the field – if he’d had this tiny cubicle for a work area, he’d soon feel the need to get out as well.

He’d read her notes on the case so far, and couldn’t fault her groundwork. He’d wanted to stop by and discuss her opinions on how long she’d like to work on it before calling it quits, and felt an odd flutter of disappointment to find the room empty.

Well, empty of people anyway. But something else was here – and making its presence extremely obvious. Its perfume alone was filling the tiny space with heady fragrance.

Two dozen blood-red moss roses, arranged in a crystal vase, sat on her desk, taking up almost as much room as her computer and files.

Steven’s eyes rested on them for a moment, and the flutter of disappointment hardened into something much more green-eyed.

‘Who’s the man then?’ he heard himself say, and for a second, actually thought he’d spoken out loud, until he realized that the thought was so strong, it had sounded almost physical.

As far as he knew, Hillary Greene had spent her year and half’s retirement cruising the waterways in her canal boat, and had only been back less than a week.

So she was a quick worker to have picked up a boyfriend already, he thought grimly. Or maybe she’d left behind her some poor lovelorn schmuck who was now desperately trying to win her back.

He glanced behind him, but the rabbit warren was deserted, and he stepped into her office and checked the vase. There was no note. If they’d been delivered from the florists, there was usually a note.

Or had she brought them in herself?

Somehow that didn’t seem very likely. Oh, he knew he hadn’t known her for long, but he wouldn’t have her pegged as the type who brought flowers in to work. Or pot plants, or personal photos either for that matter.

He shrugged, and retreated, closing the door behind him.

It was no business of his who left Hillary Greene flowers.

But in that, as it so happens, he was wrong.

Very wrong.

When Hillary returned to HQ she went to the communal office, and gave her team the rundown on her interview with Lucy. When she’d finished, there was a moment of thoughtful silence.

‘You think she’s holding back, guv?’ Jimmy picked up on what she’d left unspoken at once, and she smiled at him. He really was shaping up into a first-class right hand man. Pretty soon they’d be finishing each other’s sentences.

‘Yes. Sam, Vivienne, I want you to go back to Banbury later, when people are coming back from work, and see what you can find out about her. She had some pretty expensive stuff at her place, and was wearing more than her share of bling. I think she’s come into some money recently, and I want you to see if any of her neighbours can shed light on it.’

‘Sounds like a waste of time to me,’ Vivienne said, then flushed as both Sam and Jimmy looked at her. ‘What? Doesn’t it? What has it got to do with who killed her mum twenty years ago?’

‘Maybe something, maybe nothing,’ Jimmy said, with an edge to his voice. ‘But when you’re given orders, you do what you’re told.’

Vivienne flushed again, and reached petulantly for her bag. ‘Want a Nazi salute while I’m at it?’

‘No, just a curtsy will do,’ Hillary said, grinning widely.

Sam slunk by her in Vivienne’s wake, not quite able to meet her eyes. No doubt he was embarrassed by Vivienne’s insubordination, and was anxious not to get tarred with the same brush.

‘Don’t worry, she won’t be here much longer,’ Jimmy said, looking at the space vacated by the tempestuous teenager. ‘Once she realizes that the boss isn’t going to take her up on her generous offer, she’ll be off.’

Hillary sighed, and leaned against the doorframe. She was not about to get side-tracked into gossiping about Steven Crayle’s love life. She was far too canny for that! ‘You’ve read Lucy McRae’s file. What’s your take on her?’ she asked instead.

Jimmy frowned slightly. ‘I think she’s used to living off men. And from what you say, it’s pretty clear that she’s currently inbetween beaus.’

‘Yes, that’s how I read it too. But this sudden access to ready cash worries me.’

‘Why, guv? It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s found another mug.’

Hillary nodded. ‘Perhaps. That might account for the jewellery. But if you’re a professional man-eater, like Lucy seems to be, you don’t exactly just ask for cash, do you? She had a fancy TV and personal stereo. I didn’t get a look at much else, but I’d bet she’s got some other gear too. But if you’re hooking a man, you’ve got to be far more subtle than that, right? Maybe you start off going on long romantic holidays – that he pays for. Then maybe you let him “help you pick out” a car, which he ends up paying for. You don’t just say to him, “give me some dough, I want to buy a new telly”, do you?’

‘Not unless she’s on the game, guv,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘Just because her sister’s a street walker, doesn’t mean to say Lucy isn’t a bit more upmarket. Perhaps her clients are a bit more discerning, that’s all. You know, they go out, have dinner, back to her place, do the business and then he just happens to leave some cash lying around, which they both pretend not to notice. Then he goes back to the wife or the day job or whatever, and she pockets the dough. Until the next time. And both parties, if asked, will swear to the fact that they’re just having a little affair. Nothing so sordid as being a pro with her John. Oh no, nothing like that.’

‘Perhaps,’ Hillary agreed. The scenario wasn’t that far fetched, she knew. People liked to lie to themselves, as well as each other. ‘But I just didn’t get that vibe from her. I got the feeling she was in for the long haul – maybe on the lookout for husband material. She isn’t getting any younger, after all. And if she is looking to her future, she’s not going to blow it by being so obviously money-grabbing.’

Jimmy frowned. ‘So what does that leave?’

Hillary shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m reading more into this than there is. But I’m thinking … maybe blackmail.’

Jimmy let out his breath slowly. ‘Bit of a leap, guv.’

‘Oh yeah. Which is why I’m not going to put it onto paper yet. Not unless I get some confirmation. Tell you what, find out how long Lucy’s been in that flat, and see if you can find out if she has got herself another mug. If she has – well, then fair enough. He’s probably “helping her out” with her living arrangements. But if not – then I think we’d better keep a close eye on our Lucy. The timing on this thing stinks. We take a new interest in her mother’s case, and now she suddenly seems to have found a sudden source of revenue? Add to that the fact that I think she knew all about her mother’s lovers, and might know the names and identities of men we haven’t even uncovered yet, and what have you got?’

Jimmy whistled through his clenched teeth. ‘A recipe for trouble, all right.’

Hillary nodded. ‘Exactly. Anyway, see what you can nose out, Jimmy.’

‘OK, guv.’

Hillary went back to her office and found the roses on her desk.

Like Crayle not an hour before, she sniffed the sweetly perfumed air, and like Crayle, checked for a note. Unlike her boss, however, she was not surprised to find the flowers were strictly anonymous.

Her admirer was getting bolder.

Hillary slowly sat down behind her desk and eyed the flowers belligerently. Unlike most shop-bought blooms, these were an old fashioned variety that actually had a perfume. Thus, they were probably expensive. Did that mean her admirer had a relatively good pay cheque? Not necessarily, she knew. Obsessive types thought nothing of spending money they could ill-afford on the most ridiculous of things.

How had he got them down here?

She frowned over this for some time. Had he just walked in, as bold as brass, holding a vaseful of roses in his hands? Surely he’d have been seen by someone?

She checked the quality of the vase – cut crystal. Nice.

But there were plenty of ways you could smuggle them in. In a rucksack, the roses wrapped protectively in tissue paper, the vase stashed separately. The admirer could then fill the vase with water in the gents, then just have a few paces to negotiate, unseen, to her little stationery cupboard.

She wondered, briefly, if they could be from Steven Crayle, then swore at herself for being so stupid. Of course they weren’t from Crayle.

Why would they be?

No. She had to face facts. In all probability she had herself, at the very least, a fan.

But far more likely, she had herself a stalker. And one who was just starting to step up the pace.

She felt her heart sink. This was just what she needed.

Andy Squires turned into the familiar parking lot of the HQ and found a space near the back. He whistled tunelessly as he made his way towards the building, telling himself that he wasn’t nervous. He was just popping in to say hello. Strictly a courtesy call. He’d heard on the grapevine that someone in CRT was working on one of his cold cases, and he wondered if he could be of any help.

He took a deep breath, pushed open the doors and walked into the foyer.