Blood And Honey (24 page)

‘Because Pelly had another boat before the one he’s
got now. I talked to the harbour master about an hour ago. We’ve got to harden this up but he thinks the boat was on the mooring until around October time. Then it disappeared.’

‘And Pelly?’

‘We’re about to tackle him. He left the scene last thing this afternoon. As far as I know, he’s back here at the home.’

‘And the woman? His wife?’

‘Her, too. Separate interview.’

‘Good. And not before bloody time.’

Willard was back with the revellers. Faraday looked at the phone a moment, then ended the conversation in disgust. Tracy Barber stirred beside him. She’d come over for the interviews. Her day in the Major Crime Suite at Kingston Crescent had taken them no closer to Chris Unwin.

‘They’re buzzing on the Newbridge job,’ she said wistfully. ‘Wall-to-wall champagne. Do you lot always push the boat out like that?’

Faraday didn’t answer her. He was staring at the house across the road, thinking of Pelly in the car. He knew all the time, he thought. And just let us make fools of ourselves.

According to the woman at the door, Mr Pelly wasn’t in. Wednesday nights he normally went over to Ventnor on business. Should be back within a couple of hours. Faraday asked for Mrs Pelly. Said it was important.

‘Lajla?’

‘That’s her.’

The woman disappeared. An elderly resident drifted down the hall towards them, a thin, stooped figure in a threadbare cardigan. Spotting something in the open
doorway, she shaded her eyes, gave them a bewildered smile and a little wave, then came the shuffle of her slippered feet and the
clack-clack
of the Zimmer frame on the bare lino as she changed course and disappeared.

Moments later another figure appeared, hurrying towards them, barefoot, much younger, slight, black jeans and a dark T-shirt. She stepped into the spill of light from the carriage lamp above the door. She had a narrow face, sallow complexion, wonderful bone structure, but it was her eyes that compelled attention. They were a vivid green, flicking quickly from one face to another. Morgan was right, Faraday thought. This was someone you’d enjoy getting to know.

‘Mrs Pelly?’

‘That’s right.’

Faraday introduced himself, showed her his warrant card. Tracy Barber nodded a greeting.

‘You’re police?’ The word carried a heavy foreign inflection. She looked instantly alarmed.

Faraday did his best to soften the moment with a smile. Lajla asked what they wanted. It was her busy time. She had food on the stove. Her daughter was doing her homework.

‘I’m afraid it’s important. We won’t stay longer than we have to.’

She looked at them a moment, those big green eyes, then shrugged and invited them in. She lived at the back. They were to follow her. Faraday and Barber retraced their steps past Pelly’s office. The door was open, the light off. A corridor beyond it echoed to Faraday’s footsteps. Lajla had paused in front of a door at the end. Faraday could hear pop music, suddenly louder as Lajla opened the door, and then a
whispered conversation in a language he didn’t recognise. The music stopped. Lajla glanced over her shoulder.

‘Moment, please.’ She forced a smile. ‘My daughter.’

She disappeared through the door, then the music began again, less loudly. A minute or so later Lajla was back in the corridor, telling them to come in.

The flat was bigger than Faraday had expected. A spacious living room lay at the heart of it. There were smells of cooking through an open door on the far side and a table beside the window had been laid for two. The window was curtained, a blue fabric with a subtle grey pattern, and this colour scheme was echoed in the sofa and single armchair. The walls looked newly painted, a shade of cream that reminded Faraday of Eadie’s bedroom, and the carpet underfoot was spotless. After the dowdiness of the rest of the home, the flat came as a surprise. Take a photo of this room, Faraday thought, and you’d be looking at a shot from a style magazine.

Lajla asked them to sit down. A blonde girl had appeared at the other open door. Faraday recognised her face from their first visit to the home.

‘This is your daughter?’

‘Fida? Yes. Please … come and say hello.’

The girl did what she was told. The touch of her hand was icy cold. Tracy Barber gave her a smile. She didn’t smile back.

‘We’re sorry about your tea.’ Barber nodded at the table. ‘We won’t be here long.’

The girl looked at her, didn’t say a word.

‘You’ve got homework?’

‘Yes.’

‘Lots of it?’

‘No.’

Lajla interrupted, told her daughter they’d be busy for a while. The girl nodded, obviously reluctant to leave, then finally turned on her heel and disappeared into the room across from the kitchen. Faraday glimpsed a big double bed before the door banged shut.

‘How can I help you?’ Lajla had taken a seat at the table, preserving a space between them. She sat bolt upright, perfect posture, her arms folded over her chest.

Faraday began by asking her where she came from.

‘Bosnia. I’m Bosnian.’

‘Have you been here long?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long?’

‘Since 1993. Why do you ask?’

‘It’s just routine, Mrs Pelly. Getting the facts straight. Were you married to Mr Pelly when you came here? Or was that something that happened afterwards?’

‘Afterwards.’

‘When?’

‘1994. The next year.’

‘And your daughter? Fida?’ Faraday nodded towards the bedroom door. ‘Mr Pelly is her father?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why you ask these questions.’

Tracy Barber was studying her notebook. It was obvious that Lajla was extremely nervous about this sudden intrusion into her life and, like Faraday, Barber was curious to know why. The temperature in the room seemed suddenly to have plunged. She felt like someone who’d brought the worst possible news.

‘We’ve received some information …’ she began. ‘And we have to make some inquiries. It may be that
you can help us. We’d be glad if you could.’ Lajla nodded, said nothing. ‘You have a resident here called Mrs Unwin. Is that right?’

‘Mary.’ Lajla nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Has she been here long?’

‘A long time, yes. Lovely lady. Important.’

‘Important?’

‘From a good family. How do you say? Proper?’

Barber made a note of the word, amused, then looked up again.

‘Mrs Unwin has a grandson, Chris. Am I right?’

‘Chris, yes.’

‘He comes and sees Mrs Unwin. He comes in a van, a white van. Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s he like, Chris Unwin?’

The question seemed to throw Lajla. Faraday was watching her carefully. She frowned, relaxed a little, then she began to finger a fleck of something on the tablecloth.

‘He’s –’ she shrugged ‘– a young boy, my age maybe. He comes like you say for Mary, only he calls her Belle. What’s he like? He’s OK. He smiles a lot, brings her presents, us too sometimes. He’s nice. We all like him.’

‘He comes often?’

‘Not so often. He comes when –’ she brushed the fleck away ‘– he can.’

‘When did you last see him?’

She looked up. The question had come from Faraday. She said she couldn’t remember. A long time ago.

‘Before Christmas?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was that strange?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Did he normally come at Christmas? Did he come last Christmas and the Christmas before?’

‘Of course, like I say, with presents.’

‘But this Christmas he didn’t?’

‘No.’

‘Did that make you wonder why not? Why he didn’t come?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Christmas is very busy. We get children up from the school, from Fida’s school. They sing to the old people. We have cakes and the children dance. We have a tree, too. We make it very nice.’ She risked a small smile. ‘Very special.’

‘I’m sure you do, Mrs Pelly. I’m just trying to ask you about Chris Unwin.’

‘You think something’s happened to him? Is that why you’re here?’

‘We don’t know. It’s possible.’ Faraday gestured at the space between them. ‘That’s why we have to try and find out.’

She nodded, looking down at the tablecloth. Her arms were folded again. Tracy Barber had spotted the bedroom door. A tiny crack had opened. She caught Faraday’s attention, her eyes flicking left to the door.

Faraday nodded, adjusting his weight in the chair. Like everything else in the room it felt new.

‘Do you know a local man, Gary Morgan?’

Mention of the name brought colour to Lajla’s face.

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Not really.’

‘What do you mean, not really? Have you ever met him? Is he known to you?’

‘Yes. We …’ She studied her fingernails, refusing to go on.

‘We what?’

‘We … nothing. I met him a couple of times. It was
wrong. I …’ She tipped her head back, looked up at the ceiling, pursed her lips, then shook her head. Whatever line of questioning she’d been dreading, it wasn’t this. ‘He came to the home sometimes. He knew one of the girls. We talked. He was nice. He said he had some Turkish friends. Maybe I’d like to meet them.’

‘And did you?’

‘I tried. I went down to the pub. There were no Turkish friends.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know. He said they didn’t come. Not that night.’

‘You tried again?’

‘Once. My husband was very angry. We were in the pub again. He took Gary outside …’ She turned her head away, evidently distressed.

Barber was watching her carefully.

‘Is your husband a violent man, Mrs Pelly?’ she asked at last.

‘Only sometimes. Then he was. Outside the pub.’

‘What about here? In the home?’

‘Never. He’s never touched me. He wouldn’t.’

‘What about other people.’

‘Other people? I don’t understand.’

‘Gary Morgan says you told him about a row, a fight, between your husband and Chris Unwin. Do you remember telling him that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was it true?’

‘Yes. There was no fight. Just a row. Rob was very angry.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘Yes. Chris said that some of the carers, some of our girls, were being cruel to Mary. It wasn’t true. Mary,
she makes these things up. She makes everything up. She’s like a child. She likes the attention. It’s a game.’

‘And Chris Unwin didn’t understand that?’

‘No. He said he was going to complain. Get the inspectors in. Rob told him to take Mary away, find somewhere else for her if it was that bad. They were shouting at each other. It upset lots of us. I made them stop.’

‘And that was it? Finished?’

‘Of course.’ She seemed surprised by the question.

‘Your husband didn’t talk about it afterwards?’

‘No. It was nothing. Nothing to talk about.’

‘Is Mary still here?’

‘Of course.’

‘And Chris? Her grandson?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s scared to come back.’

‘Why would he be scared?’

‘Some men are like that. My husband … he can make people afraid. It’s nothing, nothing serious, but we do our best for our old people, we really do, and Chris was wrong to say the things he did. He should trust us more.’

Faraday was watching the bedroom door. The crack, if anything, had got bigger and he could just make out the shape of Lajla’s daughter inside, stock-still, listening to every word.

At length he turned back to Lajla.

‘Gary Morgan says your husband beat him up. Is that true?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is your husband a jealous man?’

‘Jealous?’

‘Does he hate you being with other men?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Always.’

‘Why?’

Her head tipped back again and her eyes closed, and watching her body begin to rock back and forth in the chair Faraday knew he wasn’t going to get a reply. Then he heard footsteps coming down the corridor, louder and louder, someone in a hurry. The door burst open. Pelly.

‘What the fuck is this?’ He kicked the door shut behind him with his heel.

Faraday was on his feet, looking him in the eye. Pelly shaped for a headbutt. Serious violence was seconds away.

It was Tracy Barber who forced herself between them.

‘Boys, boys …’ she murmured, easing Faraday back towards his chair. By the time she turned to deal with Pelly, he was bending over his wife, asking her whether she was OK, checking that everything was all right.

‘You’re sure?’

‘
Da
.’ She struggled upright, off the chair, and buried her face in his chest. She was sobbing uncontrollably, an almost animal noise that came deep from within. Finally she surfaced, her face shiny with tears. ‘
Hvala
,’ she kept gasping. ‘
Hvala
.’

Pelly had found a tissue from somewhere, dried her eyes.

‘See what you’ve done?’ He was looking at Faraday again. ‘Go on, take a look. Does that warrant of yours cover this? Does it?’

Faraday knew it was pointless trying to explain. Fida was in the room now, circling the grown-ups in the middle of the floor. Her mother blew her nose, then whispered something and extended a hand. Moments later the three of them were locked together, swaying gently, while Pelly told Faraday to get the fuck out.

‘I have some more questions, Mr Pelly.’

‘Wrong, pal.’

‘Not for your wife. For you.’

‘Wrong again. This is still a free country. You want to talk to me you’ll have to arrest me. Your fucking choice. And even then I wouldn’t give you the time of day. Why don’t you come back tomorrow, eh? Give my wife a chance to feel like a human being?’

Faraday became aware of the lightest pressure on his arm. It was Tracy Barber. She was nodding towards the door. Faraday resisted for a moment and then, with the greatest reluctance, followed her out of the room. Behind him he could hear Lajla crying again.

She was saying something in her own language, something urgent; then Pelly’s voice, same language, trying to calm her down.

Faraday had paused in the corridor. Barber came back for him. He looked at her a moment. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so helpless, so frustrated.

‘You understand any of this?’