Black Daffodil (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (17 page)

‘Probably.’ Dan pulled a pack of peppermints from his pocket. ‘You saying that because you’re hoping that whoever’s holding Daisy and Andrew aren’t capable of cold-blooded murder?’

‘Yes,’ Trevor replied honestly. ‘Think of the situation from their point of view. Why would they risk being banged up in prison for years when they can get someone else to do their dirty work and leave the murders to the gangs’ hit-men? The Black Daffodil vendors will remain squeaky clean, divorced from the crimes they instigated. And the people they wanted dead, will be just as dead.’

‘They’ll only remain squeaky clean if they let Daisy and Andrew live – and didn’t push that poor girl out of the window.’

‘How could she possibly be mixed up in this? She was a junkie – I saw the marks on her arm …’

‘Remember me telling you about the arson case the locals are investigating?’

‘The one on the Bay. They thought the arsonist was holed up here.’

‘Not any longer. The suspected arsonist was Marissa Smith. And she is lying dead on the concrete car park.’

‘Then Kelly Smith …’

‘Was at Damian Darrow’s party. And that arson attack – was on another sister’s flat. Amber Smith.’

‘I don’t see …’

‘Neither do I – yet.’

Dan glanced up when Peter joined them. ‘Trevor’s updating me on your thoughts. As Daisy is the one involved how do you want to play it?’

Peter hesitated but only for a split second. ‘First we go back over the interviews of everyone who was at the party in Damian Darrow’s penthouse.’

‘If “they” really are watching us, they’ll know we are still working on the case. That is a risk to Daisy and Andrew,’ Trevor leaned against the wall.

‘Not if we three go over the transcripts in secret,’ Peter said.

‘We’d still have to pull the interview files. And whoever is watching us – and given what happened to Alfred and the others, I think someone is – they have to be on the inside.’ Trevor was speaking his thoughts aloud, more than to the others.

‘Any ideas?’ Dan asked. ‘Me – one of you two – Bill …’

‘Throw your net wider, Dan. It could be anyone from upstairs, or the undercover boys who drew up our backgrounds, the office staff who rented our cars and booked us into the hotels. You might have kept it from the locals, but you couldn’t have kept it from everyone.’ Peter reached for the inevitable pack of cigars.

‘He’s right,’ Trevor said. ‘And given that e-mail we have no choice but to close the operation immediately, finally and publicly.’

‘It’s done. I telephoned Bill from the car when I was being driven here. He was passing orders down the line as we spoke.’

Peter showed the first signs of irritation. ‘You could have told us …’

‘I wanted your take on the situation. But, as Bill said, too many lives have been lost on this operation for us to want to risk more. And, you’re not the only one who values Daisy Sherringham. She’s a very special lady. The world needs people like her. Although I can’t understand what she sees in you.’

For once Peter wasn’t flippant in his reply to Dan. ‘Neither can I. I just count my blessings every time I look at her. We need to find her. And quick!’

Chapter Seventeen

Dan looked up the stairs as three constables from the local force escorted a dozen protesting residents downwards.

‘It’s security, madam. Dangerous criminals have barricaded themselves into one of the flats on your floor. We are not prepared to take any risks when it comes to public safety. I’m sorry for the inconvenience …’ the constable faltered in the face of the fury of a young girl Trevor recognised.

‘The lift’s not bloody working – is it ever – and my Auntie Dolly is sick. She needs rest, peace and quiet, not a fucking route march up and down these stairs.’ The girl was wearing too much make-up, not enough clothes and an abundance of gold jewellery. Along with another girl, she was helping a plump elderly woman who was wheezing asthmatically and could barely stand, let alone walk down the stairs.

Peter glanced at the woman and turned back to the girls. ‘I know you two, don’t I?’

‘I do.’ Trevor stepped forward. ‘Hello, Lucy. Making a house call?’

‘Here – in this place? Don’t make me bloody laugh.’

‘You clients?’ Ally stared at Peter and tongued her lips.

‘You’re Ally.’ He remembered her name from the brochure in the massage parlour.

‘You
are
a client.’ Ally stepped down a stair, hitched up her skirt to show off her legs and bent forward until one of her breasts popped out of her low cut top.

Peter shook his head. ‘Friend of Kelly’s.’

‘So why are you and Lucy here?’ Convinced Kelly knew her attackers, and disturbed by her assertion that she wouldn’t give evidence against whoever had killed Marissa, Trevor was hoping to find witnesses who might help them put the people responsible behind bars.

‘Not a job, that’s for sure.’ Lucy propped the old lady against the banister on the landing as if she was a broomstick. ‘No one who lives here could afford me or Ally. We’re high class.’

‘Odd that you two and Kelly decided to visit here on the same day.’

‘No, it’s not. Kelly and I grew up on this estate.’

‘You too?’ Trevor asked Ally.

‘It’s my afternoon off so I offered to keep Lucy company. Auntie Dolly enjoys visitors. The more the merrier she says. Don’t you?’ She wrapped her arm around the old woman and hugged her. The old woman glowered at her.

‘Is Auntie Dolly your real aunt?’ Trevor recognised the symptoms of dementia. He doubted the elderly lady knew Lucy or was aware of where she was.

‘If you must know, she’s a friend,’ Lucy gave Trevor a hard look. ‘She used to give us fifty pence to do her shopping when we were kids.’

‘Likes to ask questions, doesn’t he?’ Ally commented.

‘Coppers do. And you are a copper?’

It wasn’t a question but Trevor responded. ‘I am.’

Lucy looked over Trevor’s shoulder at the number painted high on the wall. ‘Kelly’s gran’s old flat was on this floor. Is Kelly here?’

Trevor didn’t answer her. ‘Do you two know Kelly well?’

‘Course we do. As you well know, we all work in the same bloody parlour.’ Lucy watched white-suited officers emerge from the flat into the corridor. ‘What’s going on? People have been running up and down all over the place, disturbing Auntie. And all the coppers would tell us is that someone fell out of the window on the other side of the building.’

‘Kelly and her sister Marissa were attacked,’ Trevor gazed directly into Lucy’s eyes.

‘Attacked, what bastard …?’

‘That we don’t know. Can you help us?’

‘Who? Me and Ally?’

‘You are here.’ Trevor reminded her.

‘As I said, Auntie Dolly’s flat is on the other side of the building. Are Kelly and Marissa all right? – not that Marissa is ever all right,’ Lucy added. ‘She’s a dope fiend.’

‘Dope fiend?’ Trevor repeated.

‘She used to sell both her sisters for a fix once she got too scabby to sell herself. Amber was twelve the first time she did it. She couldn’t wait that long with Kelly. Poor kid was ten. Amber was bright, she could have gone far. She even got a place in university but Marissa leaned on her for money, so she became a working girl.’

‘So Marissa wasn’t your friend but Amber was and Kelly is.’ Trevor leaned back against the wall.

‘Amber and me started working in the parlour together. Not that she was there that long. Six months and she struck out on her own. Did well too, rented her own flat before she burned to death in that fire. As for Kelly, someone had to look out for the kid. Amber was too busy and Marissa never did, that’s for sure,’ Lucy looked over Trevor’s shoulder. ‘There’s a lot of men wearing white suits down there.’

‘There are,’ Trevor agreed.

‘All for someone who fell out of a window.’

‘They were thrown.’ Like Trevor, Peter was monitoring Lucy’s replies to Trevor’s questions very carefully.

‘From the tenth floor?’ Lucy’s eyes rounded. ‘You sure whoever it was didn’t fall?

‘Quite sure,’ Peter echoed. ‘There are witnesses.’

‘Well, I didn’t see anything and, even if I did, I’m no grass. And, if I’m asked, I’ll deny I ever spoke to you.’

‘Not even when it comes to murder and an assault on one of your friends?’ Trevor asked.

‘What friend?’

‘Marissa’s dead.’

‘I told you, Marissa was no friend of mine. And Kelly’s all right.’ Lucy hesitated. ‘Isn’t she?’

‘Not really.’ Trevor didn’t elaborate. He watched Peter take a cigar from his pocket. Peter hadn’t said a word but he knew he was suspicious as him. ‘Off the record, do you know anything else about Marissa?’ He tried to make the question sound casual.

‘When Marissa had money, she dealt as well as shot up. So if she was pushed, I suppose it could have been by an unhappy customer, or one who didn’t have the money to pay. Or a revenge attack by a relative. Half the poor sods around here who are hooked on drugs, got hooked by her.’ Lucy patted the hand of the old woman. ‘Auntie Dolly’s ill. She can’t go on. Not all the way downstairs. She’s confused as it is.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Dementia.’

‘Constable,’ Trevor called a young rookie. ‘Help Mrs …’

‘Jenkins,’ Ally supplied.

‘Back to her flat.’

‘We think the pair that threw the girl out of the window have holed up in one of the flats on her floor, sir. The Super’s sent for the armed response team.’

‘Use your initiative. Take her to a flat on another floor. But take a good look around first to make sure there’s no one hiding in any of the cupboards or under the bed. Stay with her and make her a cup of tea until we’ve finished talking to her nieces.’ Trevor gave the order but he was aware that he had absolutely no authority over the constable.

‘What do you mean “finished talking?”’ Lucy demanded suspiciously. ‘We have finished.’

‘Not quite,’ Peter took Lucy by the elbow, and propelled her into the corridor. ‘I think the Inspector would like a word with you about Marissa Smith.’

Lucy’s voice pitched high. ‘I don’t know anything.’

‘Neither do I,’ Ally echoed.

Trevor stood back for a moment. He watched the constable signal up the stairs. Another uniformed officer came down. Together they helped the old woman up on to the next floor. He looked back at Peter who was shepherding both girls towards Dan. He hesitated for a moment before following the constables.

The forensic team, dressed like so many snowmen in their white paper suits and caps, were hard at work on their hands and knees, taking samples from the worn carpet in the living room of Kelly’s grandmother’s old flat. Kelly had been moved into the empty living room of the flat next door in a wheelchair that the second paramedic had brought up.

‘Kelly … oh my God! Your face is all bruised and swollen …’ Lucy ran towards her. Dan blocked her path.

‘Best not to talk to her for the moment. Let the paramedics do their job.’

‘She needs a friend.’ Lucy sidestepped past Dan and stood in the doorway.

‘She needs to go to hospital,’ Dan said.

‘Kelly, you want me to go to the hospital with you, don’t you?’ Lucy said. ‘It’ll help to have a friend with you.’

‘She has someone with her at the moment.’ Peter indicated Sarah who was standing beside the chair, holding Kelly’s hand.

‘I know all Kelly’s friends. She’s not one of them,’ Lucy countered.

‘She’s a police officer,’ Dan informed her.

‘Kelly needs a
real
friend, not a copper with her.’ Lucy insisted. ‘Kelly, tell him, you want me to go with you.’

She looked at Kelly. White faced, Kelly looked back at her. After a few moments she nodded.

‘See,’ Lucy crowed. ‘I look out for her …’

‘Constable,’ Dan hailed a uniformed officer who was standing at the end of the corridor. ‘Watch these young ladies, would you, and see they don’t disturb Miss Smith here.’ He led Peter away from the girls.

‘After talking to Kelly, I’m not sure if she knows who threw her sister out of the window. But what I do think is that we won’t get anything out of her that we can put in front of a judge. You and Trevor have any luck with those two?’

‘Trevor’s working on it,’ Peter hedged. He had seen Trevor follow the constables up the stairs.

Dan frowned. ‘Where is Trevor?’

‘Not far.’

Dan sighed. ‘I can’t even blame those girls for not helping us. Look at this place and this estate. They never stood a chance. And still don’t. If the brutes who threw Marissa Smith out of the window don’t get them, some other thug will. We can’t police these places every minute of every day.’

‘No we can’t. But two of those kids are hardened prostitutes,’ Peter reminded him. ‘And I’m not talking about their age. Look into Lucy and Ally’s eyes.’

‘I see junkies,’ Dan agreed, ‘but you can’t just write off people.’

‘Watch me. And none of this bloody pontificating is getting us any closer to finding Daisy. We need to go to the casino and shake down Darrow.’ Peter showed the first signs of his short fuse since he’d been told that Daisy had disappeared.

‘Most of the local manpower is tied up here. I’ll ring another force. It won’t hurt to bring Damian Darrow in for questioning again under the auspices of the investigation of Jake Phillips’s murder. And before you ask if you can sit in, the answer is no. Until Daisy Sherringham is safe and sound, you and Trevor are taking a holiday,’ Dan ordered.

‘The hell we are. Give me twenty-four hours.’

‘To do what?’ Dan asked suspiciously.

‘Shake down Eric Darrow and get him to admit he’s behind the sale of the formula of Black Daffodil.’

‘And if he has nothing to do with it? He’ll complain and if there is a leak coming from inside, they’ll know that the operation hasn’t been shut down. And then they could carry out their threat to kill Daisy. That, is a risk I am not prepared to take.’

‘I can’t sit back and do nothing while Daisy is missing,’ Peter snapped.

‘We’re all agreed that “they” could be watching us. On that basis the best thing you and Trevor can do for Daisy and Andrew is drive to your hotel and pack as publicly as possible. Keep ringing down to reception for bell-boys, packing materials and demand to have your bills sent up. I’ll put someone in the foyer to see if anyone is watching the activity.’

‘And then?’ Peter asked. ‘And don’t say drive back to our station.’

‘Daisy could be close to home. It’s where they snatched her. In my experience of similar cases they won’t have taken her far.’

‘I hope to God you’re right and she is still alive,’ Peter said fervently.

Daisy wasn’t sure whether she’d been asleep or not when she heard footsteps again. A lock sprung above her head. She was lifted up, blankets and all, and stuffed into a tight, confined space. Something pressed down above her, pushing down her head and closing out what little air there was. She sensed movement and listened hard, trying to picture what was happening around her but the blankets muffled most of the sounds.

She thought she heard gulls again but couldn’t be sure where the noise was coming from – perhaps it wasn’t gulls at all but the squeak of wheels that need oiling beneath her. The movement stopped. The lid opened, she was lifted out but the sacking wasn’t removed from her head. Something cold slipped beneath the plastic ties on her wrists and ankles, it jerked. The ties cut painfully into her skin then fell away.

More footsteps, then bolts being slammed home and keys being turned in locks.

She thought of Peter again. The cavalier way she had dismissed Dan’s offer of security. How angry Peter had been until she had managed to talk him around to her way of thinking.

She knew he’d look for her. But would he find her here?

She had been stupid. Taking him and her life for granted. Assuming that they had all the time in the world.

And now – now they had no time left – no time at all.

Trevor stood in Dolly Jenkins’s flat and watched the white-gloved and booted, uniformed officers methodically carry out their search.

He looked around. The wooden mantelpiece over a glassed-in gas fire was crammed with dust-coated, small china dogs. The fitted carpet was a swirling pattern of orange brown and green. The rug in front of the gas fire a muddy brown that might have once been beige.

The three-piece suite was covered with yellow cracked vinyl. The sideboard … he took a pair of thin rubber gloves from the box one of the officers had left on a chair, snapped them on and opened the doors. The cupboard was stacked high with photograph albums.

He removed them and piled them on the carpet. When the cupboard was empty he pulled out the bottom drawer of a bank of three set beside the cupboard.

He had to tug hard. It had been crammed full of envelopes. Unopened, most bore the logos of insurance and credit-card companies. Junk mail, all carefully stored. A veritable rain forest. In the second drawer, below yet another layer of mail he found boxed sets of dainty silver forks and spoons. The top drawer held a jumble of elastic bands, defunct and leaking biros, old spectacles, rusting scissors and batteries.

He sat back and looked at the photographs on top of the sideboard. A young couple, he dressed in 1950 Teddy-boy fashion, she in a ballerina length white length dress stood in a church doorway. There were several photographs of children, standard yearly school shots. Black-and-white ones from the fifties and sixties. Newer ones from the eighties in colour. His thoughts turned to his son. People – that was all anyone really had to show for a life.