Nothing but Trouble (30 page)

‘I’ve got nothing to say. For God’s sake, why are you bringing all this up again? It’s ancient history. Haven’t you got anything
else to write about? I had enough of you lot back then. It’s over and done with.’ A sigh rolled down the line. ‘Why can’t
you leave it alone?’

Jess felt her eyebrows shifting north. For a man who claimed to have nothing to say, he didn’t seem to be doing too badly.
She wasn’t sure if it was anger she was hearing or simply exasperation. ‘It’s not what you think,’ she said quickly, hoping
that he wouldn’t hang up on her. ‘There have been some developments. I understand you knew Donald Peck, and I was wondering
if I could come and talk to you.’

‘What sort of developments?’

But Jess didn’t want to say too much. ‘I think a face-to-face meeting would be more useful than discussing it over the phone.’

‘I’m sure you do, Ms Vaughan, but I’ve got better things to
do with whatever limited time I have left on this earth than to waste it in pointless resurrections of the past.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time, sir.’

‘It would appear you are already doing so.’

‘Okay, just let me ask you one question and then I’ll leave you in peace.’ She left a short pause, then said, ‘Are you absolutely
convinced that Donald Peck was guilty of murdering Minnie Bright?’

There was a distinct hesitation on the other end of the line. ‘The jury believed him to be so.’

‘With all respect, sir, that wasn’t what I asked. What was
your
opinion?’

‘My opinion is irrelevant.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Jess said. ‘Please could we meet up? I assure you I’m not some scandal-mongering hack. But I do have important
new information and I’d really value your take on it. I mean, your professional and your personal take.’ Jess pulled a face.
Was she being too obsequious? ‘You’re one of the few people who actually knew Donald, so I’d like to hear your thoughts.’

Masterson thought about it for a moment. He might have been flattered by her comments, but more likely he was just curious.
‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘I suppose I can spare half an hour. Why don’t we say ten o’clock tomorrow morning? Would that
suit?’

‘That would suit me just fine,’ she said. ‘Thank you. Should I come to your place or would you rather meet somewhere else?’

‘I think we’d better meet here. It’s hardly the kind of subject to be discussed in public. I take it you have my address?’

Jess glanced at the computer screen, where his details where still on display. ‘Twenty-four, Banner Road? Is that right?’

‘It is indeed. I won’t ask how you got it. I’m sure you journalists have your methods. And you’d better give me your phone
number in case I need to contact you.’

Jess recited the number of her new mobile and said, ‘Tomorrow morning then. Thank you again.’

‘Please don’t be late. I may be old, but my time is as precious as anyone else’s.’

‘I won’t. I promise.’ Before he could change his mind, she quickly said goodbye and ended the call, then laid the phone down
on the table, feeling pleased and relieved that he’d agreed to see her. Perhaps she was finally making some progress. The
positive feelings didn’t last for long. She suddenly found herself thinking about Becky Hibbert’s kids, two children who would
grow up without a mother. Maybe Dan Livesey had murdered Becky, or maybe he hadn’t. She was more inclined towards the latter.
The cops, she suspected, had got it wrong.

Valerie Middleton looked up at the clock on the wall. It was getting on for nine o’clock, time to call it a day. The evening
shift was already in full swing, dealing with calls and chasing up any leads that came in. The news appeal had produced hundreds
of so-called sightings of Dan Livesey, from Glasgow to Plymouth and plenty of places in between. Some of those claims were
being investigated, but she wasn’t holding her breath.

She had, however, been holding it in a more literal sense when she’d attended Becky Hibbert’s autopsy late that afternoon.
The smell still lingered in her nostrils, harsh and distinctive. No amount of disinfectant could completely erase the stench
of death. And the results had only confirmed what they’d already suspected – that Becky had been strangled by the scarf she
was wearing. There wasn’t any useful material under the fingernails, no blood or tissue, but there were some cotton fibres.
She must have clawed at the scarf in her last few seconds of life. Valerie thought about the panic she must have felt, the
sick and horrifying fear as she helplessly succumbed to her assailant.

She was sitting at a desk opposite Kieran Swann, who was humming something tuneless while he tapped the end of a pen against
his jaw and stared at a computer screen.

Neither of them had spoken for the last fifteen minutes, but she knew that he was trying to put the pieces together just as
she was.

‘Livesey used her scarf,’ she said, ‘so maybe it wasn’t premeditated. He couldn’t have known that she’d be wearing it. Maybe
he went to the estate to confront her, they got into a row and he lost his temper.’

Swann glanced over at her. ‘Confront her about what?’

‘The fact that she was moonlighting as a tom. According to Lister, Paige Fielding reckoned there were rumours going around.
If they were true it would account for all that cash Becky had stashed away.’

‘Or maybe he wanted a share of the proceeds and she wouldn’t play ball.’ He smirked. ‘So to speak.’

Valerie frowned at the pun. ‘But if it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, then I don’t get why he went home and cleared out his
flat. I mean, yes, you’d go back and pick up some stuff, the bare essentials you’d need if you were going to make a run for
it – but you wouldn’t hang around any longer than you had to. You’d be out of there as quickly as you could in case someone
discovered the body. But PC Bennett found lots of things – bills, food, old payslips and the like – in the outside bins.’

‘Which suggests that he
did
plan
the murder and had a good clear-out before he went to meet her.’ Swann smirked again. ‘He wouldn’t have wanted to leave anything
lying around with that junkie living downstairs. Even murderers don’t want their identities being nicked.’

‘But if he did plan it, then he must have been aware of the camera out on the street, so why didn’t he wear something that
would obscure his face?’

‘He could have forgotten about it. Or he could just be bloody stupid. Maybe he didn’t think anyone would recognise him.’

Valerie could just about go along with that. If it hadn’t been for DC Lister’s eagle eyes, they could still be trying to work
out the identity of the man on the CCTV footage. ‘And then he doesn’t take his car. Or get a cab so far as we know. So how
did he get away? Either somebody helped him, or he hasn’t gone far.’

‘Yeah, he could still be on the manor, lying low until the heat dies down.’

‘We need to check out all his known friends and work associates. I’m sure Chris Street and his daddy will be none too pleased,
but the quicker they cooperate the sooner they’ll have us off their backs. I don’t suppose they’ll want a police presence
in their clubs and bars. It won’t do much for trade.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Swann said. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, exposing two damp patches in the armpits
of his white shirt. ‘But for now I’m going to hit the Fox and have a pint. Fancy one, guv?’

Valerie shook her head. She could have done with a drink, but in the crowded confines of the pub there would be no escape
from Swann’s perspiration or his interminable musings on the state of the world. ‘No thanks. I’ve got a couple of things to
finish up and then I’m off home. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Swann yawned and stretched and then stood up. He took his jacket off the back of the chair and flung it over his shoulder.
‘Okay, see you tomorrow. Night, guv.’

‘Night.’

After he’d gone, Valerie sat for a while, her mind still focused on Dan Livesey. She tried to construct in her head a scenario
for what had occurred last night. Had Livesey arranged to meet Becky at the entrance to Haslow House, or had he simply turned
up unannounced? More likely the latter if he had
intended to kill her. He wouldn’t have wanted to take the risk of her telling someone else about the meet.

‘And then what?’ she murmured to herself. If no one else was around, it would have been easy for him to grab Becky and push
her away from the light and into the shadowy gloom beneath the stairs. Under the influence of alcohol her reactions would
have been slow. Before she’d barely realised it, he could have pulled the long scarf tight around her neck and …

Valerie rubbed hard at her temples. It was all conjecture, when what they needed was good hard proof. Livesey’s presence on
the estate, although highly suspicious, was circumstantial and wouldn’t be enough to convict him. They were still waiting
on forensics. Becky Hibbert’s clothes had been sent for testing – it was even possible to lift prints and DNA traces from
fabric these days – but it all took time. And of course, if Livesey had planned it, he would have been wearing gloves.

She had no doubt that they would eventually catch up with him. It wasn’t easy to stay on the run unless you had large sums
of money, a smart brain or excellent contacts. Any withdrawals from an ATM would give away his location. If he’d gone abroad
it would make him more difficult to find, but something in her gut told her that this was unlikely. He was a local boy, born
and bred in Kellston, and in all likelihood wouldn’t stray far from his roots.

Valerie lifted her preliminary report out of the tray and leafed through it again. At least with Livesey in the frame she
no longer had to worry about that complicating Minnie Bright connection. However, Harry Lind had been a great cop with excellent
instincts, and she couldn’t afford to dismiss the information out of hand. Even though it didn’t seem to have any bearing
on the case, she had logged his comments and sent a copy to Superintendent Redding.

Thinking of Harry immediately reminded her of Jessica
Vaughan and their meeting a few hours earlier. It had been a short if not entirely sweet interview. Valerie, even though she’d
been aware of behaving unprofessionally, hadn’t made much of an effort to hide her antagonism. She’d been stressed, under
pressure and not especially interested in what Vaughan had got to say. Maybe the girl had been the target of an arson attack
last night, but so what? That didn’t mean there was any link to the death of Becky Hibbert. Reporters, like police officers,
must make lots of enemies.

Valerie could have, maybe
should have,
got someone else to talk to Vaughan, but a rather perverse curiosity had prevented her from doing so. It was a few years
since they’d last had any contact and she’d wanted to take another look. The bottom line, and she wasn’t especially proud
of it, was that she’d been checking out the competition. Although neither of them had mentioned Vaughan’s new status as Harry’s
temporary flatmate, it had been forever present like a big fat elephant in the room.

Jessica Vaughan, she thought, wasn’t Harry’s usual type – that tended more towards the classic leggy blonde – but perhaps
she had qualities that Valerie had yet to grasp. The girl was moderately pretty, intelligent enough and certainly possessed
a streak of determination, but what did she have that Valerie didn’t? She knew it was pathetic making comparisons like these,
but somehow she couldn’t help herself.

Valerie released a long and weary sigh. Perhaps what irked her most was that Harry hadn’t told her about his new guest. One
simple phone call was all it would have taken. And yes, okay, so it had only happened last night, but he could have given
her a ring in the morning to let her know what was happening. Instead, she had had to find out by default. How long would
it have taken him to tell her if they hadn’t discovered that business card in Becky Hibbert’s flat? And he hadn’t exactly
volunteered
the information even when he’d come to see her. He’d only mentioned it when she’d said that she’d call Jessica herself.

Snapping the file closed, Valerie leaned forward and dropped it back into the tray. It was time to go home, to head back to
Silverstone Heights, make herself something to eat and recharge her batteries. Trying to second-guess Harry Lind was utterly
pointless. She had lived with him for years and still wasn’t sure what make him tick.

She rose to her feet and put on her coat. It would help, she thought, if she could come to a decision about what she really
wanted. The professional side of her life was sorted but the personal side was a mess. If she wasn’t careful, their on-off
relationship could drift on for years. Before she knew it, she’d be drawing her pension, unmarried and childless and still
waiting for Harry to make a commitment.

On impulse, she sat down again and picked up the phone. She dialled the number before she had too much time to think about
it. It was picked up after three rings.

‘Wetherby.’

Valerie could hear music and voices in the background. She had a moment’s hesitation – should she? Shouldn’t she? – and almost
hung up.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi,’ she said brightly. ‘It’s me. It’s Valerie.’

He sounded pleased to hear from her. ‘Ah, my favourite inspector. How’s things? Everything okay? Oddly enough, I was just
thinking about you.’

‘Oh yes? Thinking what? Or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’ He gave a light laugh. ‘Hang on a sec, I’m just going to go outside. I can’t hear myself think
in here.’

As she waited, Valerie wondered if he was with a woman, someone he didn’t want eavesdropping on the conversation. She
heard the sound of a door opening and closing, the noise of the music replaced by a dull drone of traffic before he came back
on the line.

‘Sorry about that. It’s mayhem in there. One of the lads just got promoted, so we’re having a few pints. It’s always good
to have something to regret in the morning. But enough of that. What can I do for you?’