Dead Dream Girl (17 page)

Crane nodded, knowing the effort it had cost him to say
those words, after the months of effort he and the others had put in on the case, which Crane appeared to have sorted out in a couple of weeks. But Crane knew he’d had luck apart from skill. And he couldn’t forget that harmless old Ollie had been dreadfully injured, and Hellewell almost certainly disposed of, before he could deliver a killer to the police. As anything to do with murder nearly always was, it had been a Phyrric victory.

They sat motionless in their tiny cluttered living room. Malc’s hand shook on his glass of whisky, and tears slid once again down Connie’s face.

‘He spent the whole evening with us,’ Malc said, in a low raw voice. ‘Making notes for what he’d put in the paper. About her life and when she was growing up. He couldn’t have been more sympathetic. Mam and me, we couldn’t stop filling up, and he’d comfort us. He’d
comfort
us, Frank! And it was
him
. Dear God …’

‘It couldn’t have come as a bigger shock, Malc,’ Crane told him.

‘And then, when I heard you were working together, I said, “We’ve got two grand lads on the case, Mam, two grand lads.” Weren’t those my very words, Mam?’

‘And he’d been going out with her,’ Connie said, in a voice little more than a whisper. ‘A nice, well spoken boy like that from a good home. I can’t weigh it up, Frank, I can’t weigh it up at all.’

‘If he’d just
confessed
!’ Malc cried. ‘It wouldn’t have made it no better, but to carry on as if it weren’t nothing to do with him.’

‘He’ll go inside for a very long time, Malc. He’s going to plead not guilty and that’ll mean a long expensive trial.
The judge won’t overlook it when it comes to sentencing him.’

‘Well … we know the truth now,’ Connie said, dabbing her eyes. ‘We can’t thank you enough. You put yourself in such a lot of danger. He could have killed you too.’

‘We couldn’t bear not knowing, Frank. You’ve done wonders,’ Malc said, his own eyes now wet with tears. He reached out blindly to grasp his daughter’s hand. ‘And we’ve got our Patsy. I don’t know how we’d have got on without our Patsy, bless her.’

Patsy reddened slightly. Crane felt that at least some kind of closure was in sight. They’d never forget their golden girl, but she could finally be laid to rest. Maybe now it would be Patsy’s turn to receive some of the love and attention she’d always anyway deserved so much more than her calculating, beautiful tramp of a sister.

‘How much do we owe you, Frank?’ Connie said in a more collected tone. ‘We got the insurance cheque through the other day.’

‘Don’t you worry about that now, Connie,’ he said gently. ‘My lady at the office will sort it out presently.’ He got up. ‘Need a lift, Patsy?’

‘I’ll stay with Mam and Dad tonight, Frank.’

He kissed Connie’s pale cheek, took Malc’s trembling hand in both his own. At the door, Patsy said, ‘I’ll be back at the flat tomorrow night. Will you come for a drink?’

The others sat together, but she sat in a corner, alone. The Glass-house seemed to have a subdued atmosphere without Anderson laughing and joking from the chair that had always been reserved for him at the head of one of the central communal tables, not very long ago.

He sat down with her. She gave him a pale-featured smile. The contrast couldn’t have been sharper with the rosy cheeks and the impish grins he’d known before. ‘Thanks for coming, Frank.’

‘My pleasure, Carol. Drink?’

‘No thanks, this one will do me.’ She passed a hand through her curly black hair, her green eyes meeting his with a clouded look.

‘I’m very, very sorry about Geoff, Carol.’

She nodded, giving an impression of fatigue, as if she’d not slept much recently. ‘I need your advice, Frank.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘It wasn’t Geoff. You must know that as well as I do. This is madness! You have police contacts, haven’t you? I need to speak to someone. It’s very urgent.’

He watched her in silence for a few seconds. ‘I only wish it wasn’t Geoff. I liked him. That’s the problem when someone you like does something dreadful. But the evidence—’

‘But it’s all circumstantial! Every bit of it.’

‘Maybe about Donna’s actual killing, yes, but when all the other things come out in court.’

‘Where was he supposed to be the night she
disappeared
?’

‘These are police matters now, Carol. I can’t say too much as I’ll be a prosecution witness. You know how it is.’

‘He was at the Raven, wasn’t he? I bet they’re making out he was with her. Well, he wasn’t! He was with me!’

He sighed, gave her a wry glance. ‘The waitress
identified
—’

‘It was me, Frank. I wrote it in my last year’s diary.’

‘When? Last night?’

‘Don’t be such a shit.’

‘Look, Carol, I don’t want to upset you more than you already are, but you must have known he was seeing someone else around the time she died. Women always know. And you know he’s never been the same with you since. And that’s because he’s never got her off his mind.’ He put a hand on hers. ‘I know what you’re going through. And it won’t be any consolation, but you were exactly right for him: in the business, well educated, outgoing. And you’ve always been there for him, hoping he’d be back one day as the Geoff you used to know. Well, you’re going to need that level head of yours, and the way you feel about him, because in the end he’s going to need you like he’s never needed anyone in his life. If you’re prepared to wait.’

Her cheeks were suddenly flushed, her eyes blazing with anger. ‘Don’t patronize me, Frank. Just tell me who I need to speak to at the station. Just give me a name.’

‘It won’t get you anywhere. They’ll accuse you of wasting police time and they’ll get very angry. Girlfriends are always trying this on, Carol, believe me.’

‘Just give me a name.’

‘Benson. DS Ted Benson. And don’t mention my name.’

‘You could help me if you wanted to. You know it’s not Geoff.
Geoff
? He’d give you the shirt off his back. His father’s a professor, a
professor
, for Christ’s sake. His mother’s a doctor and a JP. He couldn’t have done it.’

He sighed again. Connie Jackson had already pointed out his impeccable middle-class credentials. ‘It doesn’t always follow, Carol, you know it doesn’t. You should do, you’re a journalist.’

‘If it wasn’t for you the poor sod wouldn’t be on remand,’ she cried bitterly. ‘I wish to Christ he’d never set eyes on you.’

‘I can understand that, but let’s not forget there’s an eighteen-year-old girl involved here, who had her entire life in front of her. And if he’s guilty, and proved to be guilty, he’ll have to serve his sentence.’

‘He … is … not … guilty,’ she said, spacing the words with trembling lips. ‘And if some arsehole of a counsel tries to … to manipulate everything so it
seems
he is I’ll never stop searching for the truth. I’ll hire a proper
investigator
and I’ll never give in, never, never, never …’

She burst into tears. There was nothing he could do to calm her, as she wouldn’t listen or let him touch her. She was still weeping when he got up to go, her friends anxiously crossing from their table to hers.

He was middle-sized, slender and dark haired, with brown eyes. He had a warm and easy smile. ‘How do you do, Mr Briggs.’ Crane shook his hand. ‘Sit down and tell me how I might be able to help you.’

‘I’ll not waste your time,’ he said. ‘Mind if I call you Frank? I’m Henry.’

‘Go ahead, Henry.’

‘It’s about a girl called Donna, a reporter, a dodgy photographer, a wealthy lesbian, an abusive boyfriend and a man who owns a garden centre, whose body police divers are searching for in Scamworth reservoir even as we speak. And the reporter is in the frame.’

‘You another journalist? How do you know all this?’

His smile had the breezy look he’d so often seen in Anderson. ‘Come on, Frank, an old China hand like you
wouldn’t expect a London investigative reporter to reveal any sources, would you?’

‘It would depend on what you wanted from me.’

‘Frank, there’s a powerful scent coming out of Bradford. It’s the scent of one of the best crime stories of the decade. It’s got the lot: a dead beauty, a crime the police can’t solve, a man who puts his hand up when he’s not guilty, a PI who teams up with the reporter to find the real killer, and a reporter who works the clock round on a murder he committed himself.’

‘He’s not stood in the dock yet.’

‘Agreed, but the feeling is, with that lot stacked against him, he’d better start getting used to prison food.’

He’d got it all right, but Crane was saying nothing to any reporters that might one day prejudice the case. He smiled. ‘No comment.’

‘Frank, this is nothing to do with routine reporting. All the papers, are circling for that particular kill. I’m talking the paperback here, that’s going to be rushed out the minute the verdict’s in place. You know, that’ll be in every supermarket and petrol station, every airport and chain store. But it’s no deal unless I can get your input.’

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you.’

‘There’s an advance involved,’ he said. ‘I’ll split it with you and give you a small percentage of the royalties. That gives you two and a half grand in your back pocket. All you do is talk to me. I do the rest; writing, promoting, publicity.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Crane said firmly. ‘It’s tempting, but if there’s one thing I price above rubies it’s my anonymity. It would get the punters twitchy. They might think I’m getting too big to chase a debt for them or a husband who’s running loose.’

‘No one’s going to know about our private deal. And I’ll write it as if I’ve dug out most of the detail on my own, while paying due tribute to you for “the valuable help you gave me.”’ He put fingers up to indicate quotation marks for the last words.

Crane hesitated. He could find a good use for the money.

‘It might even run to a film or a teleplay . You’d be down for a piece of that too.’

‘The trouble is, Henry, I’ve got to know Donna’s parents very well. They’re two really decent types and they worshipped the kid. If this book had a big success they’d have to live through losing her all over again, when they’re just beginning to get their heads right.’

‘I understand that. I’ve got a kid sister of my own. But the thing is, it won’t just be me thinking there’s a book in this. Some very mangled versions could find their way into the pipeline. If you and me were to cooperate it’ll be the exact truth, sympathetically told. Once the rest know I’m getting it from the horse’s mouth they’ll back off.’

Crane watched him. He couldn’t argue with that. Whatever he did he was never going to be able to protect them from having to keep reliving Donna’s short life and appalling death.

‘All right,’ he said cautiously. ‘I’d need approval of the final draft. I mean that and I’d want it in writing.’

‘Agreed. I’m currently on leave and staying at the Norfolk. I’ll be spending the time getting a feel for the area: the Willows, the SOC, the clubs and so on. If we could spend a couple of evenings talking it through on tape, that’s all I’d need. Anything else, I can ring you.’

‘I can make it tomorrow evening and probably the one after.’

‘Great. We can have a meal sent up to my room.’ He held out his hand. ‘Thanks, Frank, I’ll give it my best shot.’

Crane held open the door of his little office for him. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘if you were absolutely obsessed with a
beautiful
hooker and she made you so angry you topped her and then managed to cover your tracks, would you have so much printer’s ink in your veins you could then try to turn it into the biggest story of your career?’

He smiled the engaging smile again that was so
reminiscent
of Anderson’s. He didn’t nod. But he didn’t shake his head either.

That evening, as his car was idling at traffic lights, Crane saw a billboard outside a newsagent’s. It said: BODY FOUND IN SCAMWORTH RESERVOIR.

There were fresh flowers in the tiny flat and the window stood open on the warm still evening. He said, ‘We could go for a meal. We never did have a chance to celebrate your promotion.’

‘We could … eat in, if you like,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’ve brought some things from work I can put in the oven.’

‘Fine by me.’ He sipped a little of the gin and tonic she’d made him.

‘I could do with a quiet evening.’

‘Hard day?’

She nodded, smiled. ‘Robert’s looking after me. He’s the manager in charge of my section. He’s nice. Keeps us at it, but he works very hard too.’

‘Good. I hope you’re giving the impression you’ve got your eye on his job when he gets his next promotion.’

‘Oh, Frank …’

She wore a lemon cotton shirt over skinny black pants,
and her smooth hair gleamed in declining sunlight. He thought again of the woman she’d been on that first evening: fright hair, wrinkled clothes, sunk in an apathy she’d not bothered to conceal. He knew she was now a woman who was going somewhere. She was beginning to get on and she liked it, liked it a lot. He could see her in ten years, a valued senior employee, her plain looks enhanced by maturity. He wondered again if he really had been responsible for any of that. He’d given her a word or two of encouragement, involved her in that tortuous search for her sister’s killer, but the rest had been all her own doing.

‘I’m not going to charge your folks for the work I’ve done, Patsy. They can’t afford it and apart from that I’ve had an unexpected windfall.’

‘You can forget that,’ she said briskly. ‘I know you’re trying to be kind, but there’s no way they’ll let you work for nothing.’

‘Right, I’ll send them a bill and when they pay I’ll give you the money. Add that to the money of Donna’s the police will be returning to you and give the lot to your mum and dad to help with the deposit for the bungalow. Say you’ve touched a win on the Lottery.’

‘No, Frank, you’re not a charity.’

‘I agree. I’m not normally in the habit of letting anyone off a penny, whatever their station. But your people are different. They’ve suffered too much and they deserve a break. And I can assure you it’ll not leave me out of pocket.’