Murder in Time (11 page)

‘Bail? I don't know no Bail.' He sank heavily on to the bench beside them.

The woman raised her voice. ‘Doctor Gail, I said.' And to Ellie, ‘Deaf as the proverbial.'

‘Doctor Gail Trubody?' said the old man. ‘Why didn't you say so? My sister goes to her. Posh practice, just off the Avenue. Seven or eight doctors, and you take your chance who you see.'

‘That's the one in the new building, sticks out like a sore thumb, innit?' The woman repeated the words to Ellie. ‘All the latest mod cons, but a steep ramp to get to it. Can't be doing with ramps, myself.'

‘My sister likes it,' said old Nick. ‘There's a young doctor there she says would put a spring in the heart of a plastic doll, he he, heeee!' He broke off in a paroxysm of coughing.

‘Thank you,' said Ellie, putting her phone away. This might be the right Dr Gail or it might not, but the bus was coming and she needed to get on it. This bus would take her to the Broadway, and from there she could catch another to North Ealing Station. What kind of man would carry the joke through into adult life?

‘
JACK the LAD
'.

There it was, across the shop front. There was a guitar in the right-hand window.
Not
a classical guitar, but something in Day-Glo paint and sequins, which you couldn't play without an amp, whatever that might be. The entire outfit was probably worth as much as a two-bedroom flat and would produce enough sound to deafen the total population of Ealing: man, woman and child. The guitar was posed in front of a huge poster, showing a man wearing very little except for some tattoos and a pair of tight jeans, surrounded by an adoring group of young teenage girls. The idea seemed to be that if you played this kind of guitar, you got the chicks thronging around you. Or were they called ‘groupies' nowadays?

In the left-hand window there was a miscellany of recorders, instruments for tiny tots, manuals and piles of CDs. The effect was one of a successful niche in the marketplace.

Jack the Lad apparently knew what he was doing.

Ellie entered. An earnest-looking youth was explaining to a pretty girl – fake blonde and piercings, but still pretty with it – that he needed something technical done to his instrument before Saturday. A youngish woman, possibly a music teacher, was trying out a classical guitar under the watchful eye of a middle-aged man. Ellie waited her turn to be served, observing that the shop was kept spick and span and there were even – thank the Lord – some chairs for customers to sit on. She sat.

‘Can I help you?' He sounded doubtful. Hippy type, soulful brown eyes, lumber jacket over collarless shirt, and yes, sandals. This must be Jack. Except that he didn't really look like a ‘Jack the Lad'. Something sharp was flickering at the back of those beautiful eyes.

Remember, Ellie; this man is running a successful business. He may pretend to be an artless bohemian, but that is just a front.

‘I'm—'

He nodded. He already knew who she was. Which meant he'd been warned to expect her. By Dan?

‘Come into my office,' he said. ‘Tea or coffee?'

A superficially untidy office, with a computer, a scanner and a printer, all in working order. This was no paperless office, as there were filing cabinets ranged along one wall.

Sensible, thought Ellie, as both she and Thomas had experienced problems when they hadn't kept up to date with paper records and their computers had broken down.

There were two chairs, upright, and a tray containing equipment for tea and coffee sitting on top of a small fridge.

One window looked on to the shop itself, so that whoever was in the office might observe what was happening there. Another window at the back provided a view of a large workshop, where an elderly man was doing something delicate to an antique mandolin. The workshop walls were hung with a variety of instruments, and several more were in pieces on the worktops. A thriving business, well run.

She settled herself. ‘Tea, please.' And then, ‘Dan rang to warn you?'

J
ack was guarded in his tone. ‘Your visit came as a shock. After all this time. He's not sure what to think, and neither am I. In some ways I wish you'd never gone to see him. Surely he's suffered enough.'

‘And you?'

He put the kettle on, concentrating, not looking at her. ‘I don't like looking back. The last time I talked about it to him was when I gave a short statement to the police. I'd gone long before Dr McKenzie was killed.'

‘Did you tell Dan what happened to Vera, or mention it in your statement to the police?'

‘No, I didn't. What good would it have done? I'm not sure I'm prepared to open up that old wound even now.'

But he'd invited her into his office and was making her a cup of tea. He was sending out contradictory signals: he was saying that he didn't want to talk, and yet he was doing just that.

He said, ‘When Dan rang me, he sounded all stirred up, not his usual imperturbable self. I hope you know what you're doing, Mrs Quicke, throwing a grenade into people's lives like this.'

‘Is that what I'm doing?'

‘You wouldn't like to go back home and forget this, would you?'

‘No, and you don't really want that, either, or you wouldn't have invited me into your den.'

‘Ah. Yes. Dan said you were to be taken seriously. I know who you are, of course. Lady Bountiful.'

‘Hardly.'

He nodded. ‘Lady Bountiful. Good deeds get rewarded, if you're pure of heart.' His tone hovered on the edge of sarcasm. He was not meeting her eye. Or enjoying this. But he was going to be polite and, she hoped, he was going to talk. ‘Milk, sugar?'

‘Milk, a little.'

He handed her a mug of tea and made one for himself, too. And sat. Scratched his cheek. ‘Dan said Vera was being threatened by Abdi. Surely, that can't be right.' His eyes were anxious. Why?

She said, ‘You remember Abdi?'

A non-committal nod.

‘Did you like him? Have you seen him recently?'

‘“Like him?”' A shrug. ‘I could take him or leave him. Not a particular mate of mine. “Seen him recently?” No. Our Abdi moves in different circles nowadays.'

‘Abdi wants Vera's boy, because he can't have any more children of his own. He's paid a private investigator to check that the boy is his and proposes to buy him off her—'

‘What! But that's … Surely not!'

‘Sorry. I exaggerated, didn't I? He's prepared to give Vera a certain sum of money by way of compensation for handing the boy over to him.'

He stroked his chin. His eyes lit up with mischief. ‘From what I remember of her, she wouldn't take kindly to—'

‘No, indeed.' Ellie grinned, recalling Vera's accurately aimed knee. ‘I expect he remembered enough about her, too, to realize he might need more than money. In consequence he employed a private investigator to dig up some dirt on her. The man claims to have discovered a witness to Vera killing the doctor. Abdi says that he'll give the private investigator's report to the police if she doesn't hand the boy over to him.'

A frown. ‘But that's not possible. Or so unlikely that …' Jack shook his head. ‘From what I saw, from what I remember, Vera was in no position to …' He looked away. ‘But perhaps you don't know about that? I mean, if that got out, it could embarrass a lot of people.'

‘By “embarrass” you mean “seriously upset”, perhaps “damage reputations”?'

‘Yes.' He considered his fingernails. ‘I mean, after twelve years. People have moved on. They are in positions of trust, perhaps even standing for election.'

‘Aah. Someone who was involved is standing for election to the council? Or for Parliament?'

He winced, didn't reply.

She said, ‘Yes, I see. There's no statute of limitations on rape, and you don't want to drop any of your friends into it. But, you did agree to talk to me.'

‘Ever since Dan rang, I've been trying to think what to say. I've always felt so guilty about … Perhaps I do need to confess. Oh, not to rape. No, I didn't. Wouldn't have. No way. Only, if I can do something to help Vera, who out of all of us that night … But without dropping any one in it …' His eyes dropped away from hers. ‘Listen to me. I sound like a child … “It wasn't me, missus.” But I cannot tell on the others. They've all got too much to lose nowadays.'

‘Do you think it right that Vera lost so much, and that none of the others should suffer?'

‘Life isn't fair, is it? If only …'

‘If only what? What did you do, exactly?'

He set his mug down, avoiding her eyes. ‘It's what I didn't do that counts. You see, when I got there … Well, it was too late.'

‘Start at the beginning. You were all in your last term at school together. Were you one of those who thought Vera and Dan were mismatched?'

‘Mismatched?' He stared into the past. ‘We all, or most of us, paired off in our last year, but it wasn't supposed to be a lifelong commitment. Mine definitely wasn't. Dan and Vera were floating around on cloud nine, but if I'd thought anything about it – which I didn't – I'd have said their romance probably wouldn't last their going to different universities. It was the same for everyone, wasn't it? I mean, I had fixed myself up with a girl, but by Christmas she'd moved on to someone else, and so had I.'

‘You liked Vera?'

‘What's not to like? She was as straight as they come. Hard working. We called her, taking the mickey, “the Lippy from the Chippy”. She didn't know how to dress, and her accent was definitely “Sarf” London, but she was a bit of all right was our Vera. She didn't deserve what happened to her.' He shook his head. ‘That night changed the course of many of our lives.'

‘Beginning with you?'

A sigh. ‘Not as much as Vera, but yes. I was supposed to go to uni to do media studies but, after I'd recovered, I took a reality check. I was no longer so happy-go-lucky. I realized I didn't want any more years of study. I decided to be practical, instead, and to learn how guitars are made. Eventually, I opened this shop, on a guitar string and a wave of generosity from my father. And never looked back.'

Ellie said, ‘Returning to that night, can you bear to tell me what you saw? I'm hoping that if I can only get enough statements to prove Vera had left long before the doctor was killed, we can tell Abdi to get lost.'

‘I told you, I can't give you names.'

‘I understand, but you've already admitted to feeling some guilt about what happened. I'm giving you a second chance to help her.'

He wiped his face with his hands. ‘You're right, of course. But even so. No names.'

Ellie thought about that. ‘Dan mentioned someone. A Raff Scott. Was he one of those who raped Vera?'

He gasped. ‘Who told you about Raff?' He recovered himself. ‘Dan doesn't know. For pity's sake, don't tell him. They were good friends.' He bit his lip. ‘Ouch. I see. You were just guessing. I'm not saying any more.'

Which meant that Raff had definitely been in on it? ‘What was he like?'

‘All right, I suppose. Not particularly academic, practical joker, curly hair. Fifty push-ups before breakfast, that sort. He always dreamed of going into the Army. The tragedy was that he didn't last long when he got there. Killed in Afghanistan.'

Oh. One down, and how many to go? ‘I believe three boys took part in the rape. Abdi was one. Raff was another. I believe the third was the one who brought Rohypnol to the party.'

‘Nonsense.' But his eyes switched away from hers.

‘Dan says drugs were being sold at the school gates. He said he didn't know who was involved, but I think he did. You knew, didn't you?'

A long sigh. ‘It might have been … Not that I have any proof. This is purely gossip, and I'd deny it if you say I told you. It might have been someone called Spotty Dick.'

‘“Spotty Dick”?'

‘Acne. We called him Spotty Dick. Dick Prentice. He's an accountant, quite high up, works for the council, no children, divorced.'

He'd given up Dick's name without a struggle. Perhaps he didn't like Dick much?

‘What was he like?'

A shrug. ‘No friend of mine. A hanger-on to whatever group would have him. Brilliant with figures. He smelt a bit. Anxiety.' He wrinkled his nose. ‘He used to paw the girls. Ugh.'

She considered his answer. He hadn't liked Abdi much, had he? Or Spotty Dick. And Raff was dead. Jack hadn't minded talking about them, but … ‘There was a fourth?'

‘No, no.' His eyes dropped away from hers.

Ellie thought he knew very well that there had been a fourth and who it must be, but for some reason he didn't want to say. ‘How much of the action did you see that night?'

He didn't mind talking about that. ‘It was a good party. Parents out for the evening, not a bad disco, plenty of beer, plenty of girls. And then, crash, bang and wallop. The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Dan stood up to them. I tried to phone the police and was sent airborne. I tell you, my feet left the ground. I hit my head on something, don't know what, landed in a tangle of bodies. Everyone shouting, disco thundering, Dan yelling for us to get out, girls screaming … hell on wheels. I couldn't see straight. Concussion. Caroline half carried and half dragged me out of the house and into the garden.'

‘Caroline who?'

‘Caroline was my girlfriend at that time. She made me sit down and put my head between my knees. Nice girl. No looker, but kept her head. I could hear the panic in her voice, but she kept it down.'

‘What became of her?'

‘Um? Oh. She's a professor of literature somewhere north, prestigious uni, you know. Durham? I think. I looked on Facebook once, and she was there. Married, two sprogs.'