Murder on the Edge (23 page)

*

‘Fifty-nine,
Ullswater Place, Guv.’

DS
Leyton’s reply is in answer to Skelgill’s question about their destination
– for once the inspector is at the wheel; it seems he wants to leave no
trace of his presence at police headquarters.

‘That’s
near the supermarket, Leyton – we crossed the end of it when we walked up
Scotland Road.’

‘Right,
Guv.’

‘Was
he seen actually in the street itself?’

‘I
think so, Guv – want me to check the notes?’

DS
Leyton makes as if to lean into the back seat of the car to retrieve his faux leather
zip-up document wallet.

‘Leave
it – we’ll be there in two minutes.’

Skelgill’s
favoured transport café is just a short distance from the location, and within his
predicted time they pass the supermarket where Barry Seddon’s pick-up was found.

‘I
suppose it
would
be near here, Guv.’

‘Aye.’

DS
Leyton watches through the passenger window – then suddenly he swings
round to face Skelgill.

‘You
Stupid Boy!’

‘Skelgill
throws him a perplexed glance; as if he does not quite get what game his
sergeant is playing.

‘We’re
in the money, Guv!’

‘Come
again?’

‘We
just passed the bookies, Guv – the old lady who gave us the tip –
You
Stupid Boy
– it romped that race on Friday – eight lengths. 
I forgot to tell you – I checked the papers at the weekend.’

‘How
much?’

‘About
forty nicker each, Guv – plus the stake money.’

Skelgill
purses his lips in contemplation of this windfall.

‘I
could get a decent new reel for that.’

What
he doesn’t state is whether he is including in his calculation the ten pounds
he ‘borrowed’ from DS Leyton for his share of the bet.

‘Your
fishing tackle shop’s just opposite Bettoney’s, Guv.’

‘Might
have to pay a quick call when we’re done here, Leyton.’

His
use of the adverb
here
reflects their arrival at the junction with
Ullswater Place.  He turns flamboyantly into the narrow street, where
those residents that own cars observe a sensible convention of parking only against
the left-hand kerb.  DS Leyton ducks towards the windscreen.

‘Your
side, Guv – far end, by the look of it.’

Indeed
number fifty-nine is the third-last house in the long terrace.  There is
no space opposite, and Skelgill steers onto the area of weed-ridden hard
standing that fronts a rank of poorly maintained garages.

‘Doesn’t
look like these are in use.’

‘Nah
– you’ll be fine here, Guv.’

They climb
out of the car and survey the scene.  Opposite the lock-ups is a patch of
waste ground, overgrown with creeping thistles and stinging nettles.  It
is bordered by the modern larch-lap garden fencing of newly built housing, and
there is a tarmac footpath between two properties that provides pedestrian
access into this estate.  An elderly man wanders past, carrying plastic
shopping bags branded in the name of the supermarket.

‘Handy
short-cut, Guv – saves going all the way round to reach the main road.’

Skelgill
nods.  He locks the car and sets off back along Ullswater Place.

‘What’s
the lass’s name?’

‘Kelly
Smith, Guv – age twenty – local girl.’

Skelgill
approaches the property and rattles the letterbox.  Clearly audible from
within is the distressed wail of a small child, and he has to repeat the action
a couple more times before he raises a response.  When the occupant does
finally open the door she is cradling an infant in one arm, and awkwardly trying
to support a feeding bottle with a crooked hand.

‘Police,
love – you were expecting us, I believe.’

The young
woman is tall and attractive, with wide, high cheekbones and pale unblemished skin;
though her lack of make-up and damp long dark hair suggest she has not made any
special efforts for their benefit.  She wears an all-black outfit of
ballet pumps, tight leggings and a low-cut vest top.  She steps back to
admit the officers.  There is something of the bashful schoolgirl about
her, waiting outside the Head’s office for a reprimand of unknown severity.

‘Aye,
come in – sorry about the mess.’

She
lowers her gaze as they squeeze by, whereas in contrast the closely matching
pair of large brown eyes of the baby knowingly observes their passage.  In
the absence of any instructions to the contrary, Skelgill leads the way
directly ahead into a small, shabby kitchen, where there is a
Formica
-topped
table and four chairs, plus a high chair.  On the table is a baby changing
mat with a sealed-up disposable nappy and a tube of cream.  Nostrils
twitching, Skelgill takes the initiative and at arm’s length rather gingerly
lifts the mat down onto the floor, as DS Leyton eyes him with some amusement.

‘Alright
here, love?’

The
girl nods a little apprehensively.  She seems quite shy, and does not
offer them tea or coffee – although perhaps this is a generational failing,
such protocols somewhere having slipped from convention.  Instead she
concentrates on keeping the baby sucking at its bottle, which – given the
din it was making a moment earlier – is perhaps a better use of her abridged
domestic skills.

‘We
won’t detain you a minute, love – can I call you Kelly?’

Again
she nods rather than speaks.

‘You’ve
identified a person whose movements we’ve been trying to trace.’  (At this
she looks even more fearful, as if upon her youthful say-so the outcome of some
great legal case hinges.)  ‘I’d just like you to tell us again what you
saw, Kelly.’

She
shifts in her seat and juggles the baby into a more stable position.  In
doing so she presses it against her bosom and emphasises the shadow of her
cleavage between the milky flesh of the exposed tops of her breasts.  DS
Leyton pointedly averts his gaze, to flick through his notebook, though
Skelgill seems not so easily deterred.

‘It
weren’t much.’  She shakes her head, though perhaps this is simply to displace
strands of hair that have fallen across her face.  ‘I were just pushing
the buggy along and he were coming towards me.’

‘What
made you notice him?’

‘He
were smoking – and I don’t like the baby near smoke – she had a bad
chest infection all winter and right up to last month.’

‘And
what happened?’

‘It’s
a double-buggy I’ve got – it takes up all the pavement – and I were
a bit late and I remember thinking I was in the way – then he moved off
the kerb to let me past.’

‘Did either
of you speak?’

‘I
just said thanks – he didn’t answer me.’

‘How
did he seem?’

‘I
thought he were a bit old to be wearing a hoodie – he had the hood up,
like.’

‘What
about his behaviour, I mean – did he appear happy or sad or relaxed or worried?’

The girl
looks up from the baby.  Her own large dark eyes flick between Skelgill and
DS Leyton, as if she is searching for some cue from real faces that will help
her answer this question.

‘Probably
he were just thinking – like you do when you’re walking about.’

Skelgill
nods pensively.

‘After
he passed you – did you see what he did?’

She
shakes her head.

‘I
didn’t look back.’  Her body language is suggestive of some culpability,
and she huddles protectively over the baby.  ‘I had no reason to suspect owt
– that I should watch him, like.’

 ‘Not
to worry, love – that’s our job.’  Skelgill reassuringly indicates
to himself and DS Leyton.  ‘Can you remember where in the street you
passed one another?’

‘I’d
only just gone out – maybe five or six doors down.’

Skelgill
nods encouragingly.

‘And
you didn’t see him pay any attention to a particular house?’

At
this she shakes her head decisively.

Skelgill
glances at DS Leyton, who is taking ponderous notes in his neat though elementary
hand.

‘And
the time, Kelly – you told our constable it was twelve o’clock? 
That’s very precise.’

Suddenly
her eyes brighten, as though this is something about which she is more confident.

‘I
have to collect Jordan – her brother.’  She nods towards the baby.
‘He’s at nursery, mornings nine till twelve – and like I said I were a
bit late last Monday because I’d had to wake Jade.  It’s only two minutes
round the corner but they like you to be there before twelve.’

‘And
you weren’t?’

‘It
were just – like – a minute to – when I left here.’

There
is a large, rather cheap-looking clock on the kitchen wall, and Skelgill
follows the girl’s glance up to this.  He checks it against his own watch
and nods, seemingly satisfied.

‘This
man, Kelly – he was a complete stranger to you?’

Again
there is a hint of self-reproach that clouds her expression, a little vertical
crease forming between the curves of her eyebrows.

‘There’s
lots of folk use that ginnel – since they built them new houses. 
And we’ve only been here since February.’

Skelgill
nods, and manufactures an understanding smile.  Then he places his palms
flat on the table in a gesture of conclusion, and pushes himself to his feet. 
Immediately the girl’s shoulders relax and she gazes benignly at the baby, who
has now drained the bottle and dozes contentedly.  Skelgill, too, seems intrigued
by this vision.

‘Amazing
what a drop of gin can do, eh?’

The
girl glances up at him – perhaps she is not sure if he is joking,
although there is a conspiratorial glint in her eye, as though he has hit upon
some mother’s secret.

‘I
must try it on my sergeant some time.’

He steps
away from the table, followed by DS Leyton, who grins and tries to look
suitably sheepish.  Skelgill drops his voice to something of a whisper.

‘Thanks
for your help, Kelly – you’ve been very cooperative – we can see
ourselves out, love.’

*

‘Nice kid,
Leyton.’

‘Difficult
not to cop an eyeful, though, eh Guv?’

‘Behave,
Leyton – anyway, I meant the baby.’

DS
Leyton glances suspiciously at Skelgill, whom he must have noticed was not entirely
unmoved by the spectacle of the young woman’s breasts; in any event, Skelgill is
surely the last person to comment favourably about a baby.

‘Where
are we going, Guv?’

Skelgill
has set off in the opposite direction from where their car is parked.

‘The
bookie’s – you stupid boy – round the corner.’

‘But
– Guv – we put the bet on at Bettoney’s.’

Skelgill
shrugs off this protest.

‘To
say thanks.’  He grins back at DS Leyton.  ‘We might even scrounge a
cuppa – seeing as Kelly didn’t put the kettle on.’

DS
Leyton, who has fallen a couple paces behind, scuttles to catch up.  He
fails to appreciate Skelgill’s self-indulgent irony.

‘What
do you reckon he was doing in this street, Guv?’

Skelgill
shakes his head.

‘Your
guess is as good as mine, Leyton – I need to look at a map to see why you
might use that ginnel.’

‘Thing
is, Guv, the parking’s free – and I bet there’s always spaces.  If
you were visiting a house on that new estate and didn’t want to leave your motor
outside, this would be a handy spot.’

‘So?’

‘So
why park at the supermarket?’

Skelgill
nods pensively, and remains in silent thought for a few moments; plainly the
parking conundrum troubles him: it might be highly significant, or it could be
of no importance whatsoever.  He stops and looks about.  Certainly DS
Leyton is correct in that about half of the available kerbside is currently
clear of vehicles.  This is not an affluent postcode, and car ownership is
evidently patchy; indeed, the modest and dated models on display reflect the limited
means of local residents.  The red brick back-to-backs have seen better
days, and in places weeds spring from cracks in the walls.  Skelgill notices
a family of starlings, slick iridescent adults and their drab loutish juveniles,
picking over litter and discarded cigarette ends in the gutter.

‘What
about the door-to-door checks in this street, Leyton?’

DS
Leyton puffs out his cheeks and shakes his head dejectedly.

‘Not a
great strike rate, Guv – it’s not so easy finding folks at home –
especially this time of year.  Spoken to about two-thirds of ’em so far.’