Dead Dream Girl (5 page)

Crane glanced at the reporter. He sounded sympathetic, but he’d managed to come up with an image that had left Mahon even more distressed. He’d gone pale, the cigarette smouldering between stained fingers. He wondered if this was the flip side of the Anderson charm. He’d spent untold hours on the story, maybe he was convinced it could only be Mahon. And if Mahon wasn’t going in front of a jury, why not rub it in that the jury of the Willows wouldn’t be a soft touch?

‘I didn’t
do
it, Geoff,’ he gasped. ‘I were crackers about ’er. I wanted ’er to live with me, we could ’ave put us name down for a council flat. It done me ’ead in, just clipping ’er
them one or two times, I felt that bad about it. I couldn’t ’ave done that carry-on at Tanglewood,
couldn’t
’ave. Christ, why won’t no one
believe
me?’

The two men walked across the car park to claim their motors. Crane still wasn’t entirely sure about Mahon’s guilt, though he’d not known a case where the evidence for it stacked up so credibly. No wonder the police had shelved it and moved on, having made every possible check. There was an outside chance the killer was someone who’d covered his tracks too well, but if the police couldn’t get Mahon out of the frame he knew they’d not look further, their resources were too limited. He said, ‘Well, thanks, Geoff. At least I got the measure of the beast, if nothing else.’

‘That stuff about the Abos. I thought it might loosen him up a bit, with him being already in a low state.’

‘There could be a delayed reaction.’ But he was certain there wouldn’t be. Mahon would get over it and the Willows would get over it, because that’s how life went on the estate. And for all his tears, Mahon had shown no anxiety about Crane making a fresh start on the case. That meant he either felt totally secure in his alibi, or might, just might, be as innocent as he protested he was.

Anderson peered round the car park. ‘Hell, what’s happened to my car?’ he said. Then he tapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘I’m losing it. I’m in the office runabout, my wheels are in for repair.’ He opened the door of an elderly Astra. ‘I thought for a second one of Mahon’s low life chums had nicked mine while we were talking to him. They’re full of tricks like that. Keep in touch, Frank.’

Crane muttered, ‘In your dreams,’ as he got into his
Megane. Anderson’s way with people like Mahon weren’t his, though to be fair the reporter had unknowingly given him what could be a very small lead, and so the meeting with Mahon mgiht not have been a total write off.

As Anderson drove back to the city, he knew he had to find some way of keeping tabs on Crane. He needed to know what he was up to every foot of the way and it wouldn’t be easy, as Crane, being ex-CID, would be skilled in fending off crime reporters. And Crane had been one of their best. He studied the angles, thought things through, picked up clues others had missed. And if Crane could come up with anything new on the Donna Jackson story, anything at all, Anderson had to be the first to get his hands on it. There was the big feature he wanted to write, which he was certain would be crucial to his future career. His future career was never out of his mind for very long.

‘
P
atsy?’

‘That’s me.’

‘Frank Crane. I’d like your help. Do you know a bloke called Cliff who was a mate of Bobby Mahon’s, by any chance?’

‘Known him all my life. Cliff Greenwood. He lives nearby.’

‘Wasn’t he Bobby’s best friend?’

‘Never go near each other now.’

‘Why’s that, do you think?’

‘Because Cliff thinks Bobby did for Donna, like everyone else.’

‘But … wouldn’t Cliff have been one of the three friends of Bobby’s who were supposed to have been at home with him that night?’

‘Yes, I’d say that that must mean he
knows
Bobby wasn’t where he said he was.’

‘What kind of a bloke is he?’

‘Cliff? He’s been bad news in the past, like the others. And then he got a really decent probation bloke on his case. Talked him into starting over, got him to go back to his joinery classes. He’s in the double glazing now and going straight.’

‘Would that be why he split with Bobby?’

‘No, they were still best mates even when Cliff started going straight. Bobby didn’t hold it against him. I think he was more than a bit envious, you ask me. I sometimes think if only Bobby hadn’t had Dougie and Myrtle as parents … what chance did he have, poor sod?’

‘I need to talk to Cliff, Patsy. Where does he spend his evenings?’

‘He never goes near the Goose now. They say he’s been seen in the Toll Gate now and then.’

‘Would you do me a big favour? I daresay he’ll still be at home. Could you ring him and ask him if you could see him at the Toll Gate? Tell him your mum and dad are thinking of buying that bungalow and would like an idea on cost for putting in double glazing. Then we could go together, if you wouldn’t mind and you’re free. I could pick you up.’

‘Oh, I’ll be free,’ she said ’in a resigned tone. ‘I usually am.’

The Toll Gate was old, small and cosy. It had chintzy curtains, planters and wall lamps with rose-coloured shades. It wasn’t the sort of place that did pool tables. Cliff Greenwood sat gloomily over a pint of lager, as if nostalgic for pop music and the clicking of snooker balls. He was a near-clone of Mahon and his friends, except that his reddish hair was normal length and neatly combed, and he wore a newish sports jacket and twill trousers. He had a plump, slightly spotty face and grey-green eyes that watched Crane warily as he and Patsy joined him at a circular table with an ornate metal base.

‘Hi, Cliff. This is a friend of mine, Frank Crane.’

He looked startled. It couldn’t have done much for Patsy’s morale, Crane thought, Donna’s plain sister, not known for pulling the guys. Any guys.

‘How do,’ he said grudgingly, not offering a hand. Crane put down their drinks and they sat.

‘I’ve got some leaflets, Patsy. They’ll give Connie and Malc an idea what we do. I can give you a ballpark on price if you can tell me how many windows the bungalow’s got, but I’d need to see it to give you a proper estimate.’

‘Cliff,’ Crane said. ‘Forget the double glazing. I’m a private investigator who used to be a cop and I’m working for the Jacksons to see if I can clear up Donna’s killing.’

‘What’s this bugger’s game, Patsy?’ he said tersely. ‘I’m here about windows and if we’re not talking windows we’re talking nothing.’

‘Look, Cliff,’ Crane said, ‘I needed to see you and I needed Patsy to vouch for me. You do
want
Donna’s killing clearing up, don’t you, if that’s humanly possible?’

‘Look, mister, I did all my talking to the real police. I’m not doing any more.’ He began to swallow the rest of his pint. ‘I’m out of here.’

‘Cliff …’ Patsy put a hand on his arm. ‘You know Mam and Dad. You know how gutted they are about Donna. They’ll not rest till someone gets banged up for it. You don’t need me to tell you who.’

‘I know that, I know that …’ He gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m gutted as well. We all are. She was very special. But I’m not going to
talk
about it any more.’

‘The police believe you’re protecting your best mate, Cliff,’ Crane said evenly.

‘Best
mate
!’ He gave his head a single, disgusted, upward shake.

‘Everyone knows you had a bust up, Cliff,’ Patsy said. ‘And no one really holds it against you for not grassing him, not on the Willows. They think he should have done the decent thing and owned up to where he was. No one believes you were all staying in, playing cards. You know that as well as I do.’

‘Yes, well … see you around.’ He slammed down his empty glass and got up.

Crane said, ‘Cliff, do you understand what perverting the course of justice means? Well, that’s what they’ll think you’ve done if Bobby really wasn’t at home that night. And if it ever comes out that he wasn’t they’re going to lean very hard on you and the others for wasting police time. And if it comes out that Bobby really is in the frame …’

Half turned away, he glanced back at them. ‘I’ll just have to take my chances then, won’t I?’

‘And lose the first decent job you’ve had in your life? And your self-respect? What do you make: four, five hundred sovs a week? Are you ready to walk away from all that?’

His round face took on a troubled look in the gathering dusk. Crane guessed he’d never allowed himself to think as far as that. Agitated, he turned away again.

‘Cliff,’ Crane said quietly, ‘I have police contacts. They trust me. If you helped me I’d put in a good word for you. We could say you’d alibied Bobby under duress. That means you were afraid what the Mahons would do if you grassed him.’

‘Christ, what do you think they’d do if I grassed him anyway?’ he said, so jumpy now he wasn’t guarding his words.

‘They’d never know. I’d keep your name out of everything to do with them. We’re not even having this little chat.’

‘Cliff …’ Patsy said.

Finally, with intense reluctance, he sat down again, staring miserably into space, forehead deeply furrowed.

‘Patsy, would you mind getting Cliff another lager. And another for yourself, if you like.’ He gave her a ten pound note.

As she moved off, from where they sat in a corner of the small bar parlour, Crane said, ‘Look … Cliff, all I really need to know for certain is that Bobby wasn’t home that night. I can take it from there. It’s not worth my breaking sweat if I can’t get that confirmed.’

‘None of us was there,’ he said at last, in a low nervous voice. ‘Except Myrtle maybe. You can give her one at her place or yours, only she charges extra at her place, for the free drinks.’

‘
None
of you?’ Crane found it hard to stay calm.

Patsy put down the drinks, placing the change at Crane’s elbow in a neat little pile. ‘Sure you don’t want one yourself, Frank?’

‘Not just now.’

‘If any of this got out …’ Greenwood’s lips trembled.

‘Cliff, you know you can trust
me
,’ Patsy said. ‘God, with a brother like Marvin never out of bother …’

Eyes flicking from her to Crane, he finally went on.

‘Dougie Mahon … he was working on a big one that night, wasn’t he? He said we didn’t need to be
in
their house, but if we did go out it hadn’t to be nowhere local, and we had to swear we
had
been at their place, just chance he ever got his collar felt.’

Crane sank back on the plush banquette. ‘So that’s it. You were really covering Dougie’s backside?’

The other nodded, a look of near-panic in his eyes for what he was forcing himself to admit. ‘Christ, why did she have to go and get herself topped the same night?’

‘So. Bobby
couldn’t
say he was anywhere else? Even if he hadn’t been with Donna?’

‘It was big, big,’ the other man said, almost in a whisper. ‘Dougie had to have a cast-iron alibi for if anything went wrong. It just meant Bobby had it too. If the two things hadn’t happened together there’d not have been all this bother, would there? Bobby’d be on his own and he’d have to prove where he was.’

‘But Cliff,
murder
!’ Crane said. ‘Surely you must have realized it had all got too big to handle?’

‘No one lets Dougie Mahon down,’ he said, the whites of his eyes briefly flaring. ‘Not even if Bobby had put half a pound of Semtex under the town hall.’

‘Did Bobby do it, Cliff?’

‘He swore he hadn’t. Over and over again. Even to his dad, even though he knew Dougie would never have grassed him. Dougie needed to look after his own arse and he’d always thought Donna was getting to be serious trouble anyway. He has a nose for things.’

‘Do you believe Bobby?’

He shook his head despondently. ‘He’d been me best mate since we were kids, but he was a born liar. Got it from Dougie.’

‘Liar, liar, pants on fire. That’s what they used to shout at him in the playground at school,’ Patsy added.

‘Why get involved in giving Dougie an alibi in the first place, Cliff? When you were trying to go straight?’

He shrugged. ‘Old times’ sake. They were good to me when Mam and Dad split up, treated me like one of the family. Whenever they gave Bobby pocket money they’d give me some as well. Everyone knew Dougie shifted bent gear, it didn’t seem no big deal to say I was there that night.’

‘How big was this big one?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Oh, come on, Cliff, there were rumours all over the Willows,’ Patsy said. ‘It was guns, wasn’t it?’

‘
Guns
?’ This time Crane couldn’t conceal his shock. ‘God, not the IRA! There’s been a ceasefire for years, they’re supposed to be handing them all in.’

Greenwood gave a wry smile. ‘No, not the shamrocks. Antiques. The geezer had a roomful. Dougie set it all up.’

Crane remembered now. A palatial house on the
moorland
fringe of the metropolitan area. A clean job, the guns carefully lifted and just as carefully disposed of. ‘And Dougie was never in the frame?’

‘He knew he would be if it ever came out he’d not been at home. It was the sort of scam had his dabs on, know what I mean?’

‘So where were you that night, the rest of you?’

‘Two of us went to a pub in Otley where they didn’t know us from Elton John, played darts. Bobby … well, he went off on his own. Said he’d been clubbing in Leeds with some French totty he’d picked up in Bradford the week before.’

‘And the totty’s back over the Channel now and he’s no idea where she lives?’

‘Doesn’t even know her surname. Said they called her Nicole.’

‘Nicole from France. He’s going to have to do better than that. Well done, Cliff. You have my word none of this will put you in it. We’ll leave you in peace now.’

He nodded unhappily. They left him hunched over his pint. He was clearly struggling to come to terms with the breaking of the only rule that counted on the Willows: you never grassed
anyone
, not ever, whoever they were, whatever they’d done.

They walked out to Crane’s car; he opened the passenger door for her from the outside. She looked confused. Maybe no one had ever done that before. ‘Thanks, Patsy, you’ve been a great help. I’ll drop you at home, yes?’

‘I don’t live there. I stay a lot since Ronnie legged it, but I have my own place. Conway House.’

He’d once made a call at Conway House. It was a largish two storey building on the edge of the Willows. It had been built to a tight budget and had pebbledash walls and a shallow roof. There was a single communal entrance and small flats ran off both sides of end to end corridors. ‘They’re not much,’ she said, as Crane drew up in front, ‘but they’re cheap. We were supposed to be saving for our own place when he took off. Fancy a drink?’

He didn’t, but she spoke in such a flat, resigned tone as if certain he’d refuse, that he said, ‘Thanks, I wouldn’t mind.’

She looked confused again. He followed her across the narrow, paved front yard and inside. The corridor was dimly lit and carpeted in shabby grey rubber-back. The doors were painted a uniform magnolia and identified by screw-on metal numbers. The flat had four little rooms: bath, kitchen, living and bed, and overlooked a poorly
tended oval of lawn and half a dozen garages in need of repainting, lit by a single overhead lamp.

‘You have to be here five years to get near one of those,’ she said. ‘Ronnie used to go bananas. He thought more of that broken down Escort than he ever did of me and it had fifty thousand on when he bought the bloody thing.’

He sounded to be a true son of the Willows. But she’d furnished the living room imaginatively in a mail order sort of way, with tab-top curtains in a cheerful check, a plain green carpet, a metal-framed uplighter and ceramic is table lamps. There was a tiny three piece and a small dining table with upholstered chairs. ‘Nice place,’ he said.

She coloured slightly. ‘Glad you like it. Ronnie was all for using things from his mam’s till we could afford a mortgage. I told him you’d have to pay someone to take them to the tip. Do you want G and T, like in the pub?’

‘A small one.’

She went in the galley kitchen. Crane took off his jacket and stood at the window. Poor kid. In Donna’s shadow most of her life and then Ronnie, fonder of an old banger than of her. But Crane knew his own reasons for taking a drink with her couldn’t be looked at too closely. He felt sorry for her but he also needed her input. She’d made a first class job of fixing the meeting with Greenwood, and her inside knowledge of what really went on on the Willows couldn’t be bettered. She was a valuable contact. Story of her life: being used.

He gave a crooked grin. If only she’d ditch the ghastly hairdo and the garish make-up. She was a plain woman and whatever she did with her looks she would never have any of the kind of glamour her sister had been given in spades, at birth. He still felt maturity would bring its 
own reward. Maybe one day she’d wake up and realize she’d never be able to compete with Donna’s ghost, and she’d look better for being herself. And if that brought her any kind of self-confidence, well that went a lot further than looks anyway.

‘There you go,’ she said, handing him his drink. ‘Glad you didn’t ask for beer. Looks as if Ronnie took it all when he scarpered. Sit down.’

They each sat in an armchair. ‘Were you and Ronnie married?’