Shades of Evil (4 page)

‘Nothing in particular.’

‘I can’t imagine so,’ Max said, ‘but, until we know a bit more about it, it might pay to be extra cautious.’

Most of the houses in Bank Street had been bought as investments and several, including number three, had been turned into flats. Max hoped the rents were suitably low.

Wallpaper that had probably been stuck on twenty years ago was giving up the fight and peeling away to reveal large damp patches. Carpets were threadbare. Furniture was barely serviceable.

‘Is there any coffee going?’ he asked her.

‘Eh? Er, yeah, if you like.’

They left officers to finish in Lauren’s room and went into the kitchen where Jo took a dirty mug from a pile in the sink, washed it, thoroughly he was relieved to see, and hunted through cupboards for a jar of instant.

She was probably about the same age as Lauren, but had dark, almost black hair. Reed thin and pale, she looked as if she, too, was familiar with drugs. She was wearing jeans that needed a good wash, a grey baggy sweater and a huge pair of black boots.

‘So,’ Max said, as they waited for the kettle to boil, ‘what can you tell me about Lauren? Been friends long, have you?’

‘No. That is, we’re not. I mean we weren’t friends at all really.’ The kettle boiled and she filled it. ‘Oh, sorry, I don’t think there’s no milk.’

‘That’s OK, I take it black. What do you mean, you weren’t friends?’

‘When I split up with the boyfriend, I needed a cheap place to live,’ she explained. ‘Lauren had put an ad in the local shop window.’

‘When was that?’

‘Six weeks ago. I was the first to see it and moved in that same day.’

‘I see. So you didn’t know her well?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘You got along OK though, did you?’

‘I suppose so,’ she said, ‘but she was a bit stuck up. God knows why. I mean, living in a dump like this didn’t give her much to shout about, did it? But she always thought she was better than everyone else. Reckoned her dad had loads of money. Always said he’d give her anything she wanted. I used to ask her what she was doing living here then, but she never gave me a proper answer.’

She hadn’t lied about her father’s wealth. As partner in the thriving Cole and Dawson company, he was more than comfortably off.

‘She was on heroin, wasn’t she?’

Jo chewed on a finger. ‘Dunno about that.’

‘What about her friends? Did you know any of them?’ he asked, changing tack.

‘No. She didn’t bring any of them here.’

‘Her father said she had a boyfriend. Did you know him?’

‘No.’ She looked genuinely puzzled.

‘Someone called Ricky?’

‘Oh, him.’ She nodded. ‘He didn’t last long. She dumped him.’

‘What was his surname?’

‘No idea.’

‘Do you know anything about him? Where he lived? If he worked? Who he hung out with?’

‘I only saw him twice,’ she said. ‘Once, he came back here and spent the night on the sofa. The other time was after she dumped him. She wouldn’t let him in and he started hammering on the door and shouting through the letterbox.’

‘What was he shouting?’

‘Called her a prick tease, if you must know. Accused her of using him. Still, that wouldn’t surprise me. She did use people.’

‘Can you give me a description of him?’ Max asked, not holding out much hope.

She thought for a moment.

‘Quite tall and dark. About the same age as me and Lauren, I suppose. No older than twenty-five at any rate. Bad teeth. In fact,’ she added with a grin, ‘I always reckoned a dentist did his hair and a barber did his teeth. Hair was all shaggy and half his teeth were missing.’

Not Ricky Marshall, surely. Marshall would fit that description and, if Max’s memory served him correctly, and it usually did, he was currently on probation.

‘Like I said,’ Lauren went on, ‘I only saw him twice. And the second time was when he was hammering on the door. I was watching him from the window and I thought he’d have the bloody door bashed in.’

‘But he went away?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And you didn’t hear anything about him after that?’

‘No.’

‘How long ago was that?’

‘A couple of weeks.’

The flat was cold and damp. There was a clothes airer in the corner of the small kitchen and three pairs of wet jeans were draped over it. Without some heat in the room, they wouldn’t be dry before the new year.

‘There was someone else, too,’ she remembered. ‘Josh his name was, but I never saw him. At one time, when I first came here, he was texting or phoning her a dozen times a day. That soon stopped, though. Lauren went out and bought a new sim card for her phone so he wouldn’t know her number.’

‘What did she do with the old card?’ Max asked.

‘Binned it, I suppose.’

They’d found Lauren’s phone in her car. She was on Pay As You Go and, with no contract, it would be almost impossible to get records from the old sim card.

‘Why did he call so often?’ Max asked.

‘Dunno. They’d always argue, though, and more often than not, she’d cut him off.’

‘And you don’t know anything about him?’

‘No. Sorry.’

‘What did Lauren do with her time, Jo? Where did she go?’

‘Dunno really. She walked her dog a lot. What’s happened to him then? The dog, I mean?’

‘He’s being looked after at the kennels,’ Max told her. ‘Where did she walk him?’

‘All over the place. The thing was spoilt rotten. He used to sleep on her bed and on the sofa. Sometimes, if I went to sit down, he’d growl at me. He was only a little thing, but he could be mean. He hated the postman, too. Every time he saw a postman, he went mad. He’d lie in wait and pounce when something came through the letterbox.’

Most dogs hated postmen. Quite right, too, really. Dogs thought it their duty to protect property and it must seem to them that postmen tried to break in on a daily basis.

‘Charlie liked his walks,’ Jo went on. ‘You only had to change your shoes and he thought he was going for a walk. It was always easier to take him than put up with him running around and yapping. She could never tire him out though. She used to take him miles over the hills and he’d still be ready to go again five minutes later.’

Max knew all about that. He shared his home with three dogs and two of them would run all day every day.

‘I heard she was on heroin. Is that right?’ Max tried again.

‘Dunno about that,’ came the same response.

‘Where might she have got it?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’ Jo looked everywhere but at Max.

‘Where do you get yours from, Jo?’

‘Me? Oh, no, I’ve never touched the stuff.’

‘But if you did, who would you get it from?’

‘Dunno, do I?’

Max wasn’t getting much of use from Jo. They needed to find Ricky and, if it wasn’t Ricky Marshall, that was going to be tricky. Officers would have to ask after a man with bad teeth and a dodgy haircut. Still, at least they had a description of sorts. They didn’t even have that for Josh.

He handed Jo a card.

‘If you think of anything else, Jo, anything at all, will you call me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Anything at all. If you remember anything about her friends, where she went, where her boyfriend, Ricky, hung out – anything at all, OK?’

‘OK. What about the rent on this place? Can I get someone in to share?’

‘You need to discuss that with the landlord.’

‘Does he know? About Lauren I mean?’

‘He does, yes.’

‘I’ll ring him up then and ask if I can put an ad in the shop window.’ With a plan in mind, she looked happier, more relaxed.

It was as if her flatmate had already been forgotten.

The day wasn’t going Jill’s way. She should have been in court as an expert witness in Jason Lyle’s case. Lyle had been stealing cars from the age of nine. Now, thirty years later, he’d stolen a BMW, driven it straight through a shop front in Harrington, stolen thousands of pounds worth of electrical equipment and, while speeding away from the scene, had caused a traffic accident in which a man died. His defence was planning a plea of diminished responsibility and it was Jill’s job to convince the jury that he was simply an habitual criminal. At the last minute, however, after Jill had spent days preparing for it, Lyle changed his plea.

At least it gave her time to catch up on her other work and she had a fairly productive morning. At two o’clock, she was about to exchange her office for the canteen when her plans were thwarted yet again.

‘It’s me,’ Max greeted her when she picked up her phone. ‘I’m going out to Kelton to speak to Steve Carlisle. Can you spare an hour or so to come with me?’

‘Steve? Why? He’ll have heard the news and he’d have been in touch if he’d seen anything.’

‘Will you come with me?’ Max asked again, ignoring that.

‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but I don’t see much point.’

‘The point is that he was seen running from the scene.’ Without waiting for a response, he said, ‘My office in five minutes?’

‘Right.’

Bang went lunch. She grabbed her coat and bag, left her office and went to the machine on the ground floor.

DS Fletcher had beaten her to it.

‘No Mars bars,’ he said in disbelief.

Jill, whose own lunch would have been a Mars bar, laughed at the expression on his face.

‘I thought you were on a diet, Fletch.’

‘Only at home.’ He put coins in the machine and, after a great deal of deliberation, hit the button to send a Crunchie bar falling down the chute. ‘I need an energy boost.’

‘Me, too.’

Jill chose a Crunchie and a Twirl, put them in her bag and went to Max’s office. He was ready to leave. He grabbed his jacket, checked his pocket for car keys and led the way out of building.

Someone had made a half-hearted effort to clear the car park of snow. What they’d actually done was pile it up against the walls where it sat attracting dirt.

As soon as they were in the car, Max turned the heater on full blast and, within a few moments, Jill felt a hint of warm air coming through.

‘Tell me what you know about Carlisle,’ he said as he drove them out of the car park.

‘He’s lived in the village all his life,’ Jill began. ‘He’s been married to Alison for around twenty years. They both worked in sales, him in the construction industry and Alison in cosmetics. Alison seems to be doing OK but Steve lost his job about a year ago. A recession always hits the building industry first.’

Max nodded at the truth of that.

‘There are rumours in the village,’ she went on, ‘and I’ll stress that they are only rumours, that he’s started drinking a bit.’

Jill had thought those rumours unfounded, but she’d seen Steve a couple of mornings recently, and guessed he’d already had a drink.

‘That’s probably understandable,’ she said. ‘He’s heading towards fifty, he’s lost his job and, a year on, he still hasn’t found another. It must get him down.’

‘So his wife’s the breadwinner?’

‘I’ve no idea. She might be, although they seem pretty well off. He’d been with the same company for around twelve years though, so I expect he got a decent redundancy package.’

Jill thought for a moment and realized that, although she liked Steve, she’d never really taken to Alison. She didn’t dislike the woman, but she couldn’t warm to her.

‘I imagine Alison is a good saleswoman,’ she added. ‘She’s charming and very confident. Steve is less confident but, presumably, as he kept it so long, he was good at his job. If I was buying a used car, though, I’d buy from Steve rather than Alison.’

‘Are they happily married?’

‘As far as I know, yes.’ Outwardly, they had the perfect relationship. What went on behind closed doors, of course, was anyone’s guess. ‘Yes, I’d say so. They go out as a couple. To the pub, restaurants, shopping, church and suchlike. They’re quite religious, I gather, and go to the Catholic church in Harrington.’

The traffic lights changed to green and they were out of the town and heading over the moor to Kelton Bridge. On the brow of the snow-capped hill, the wind turbines were spinning. A couple of horses stood in the lee of a wall, smart blue jackets on their backs as protection from the wind.

‘Where’s Mason’s Cottage?’ Max asked as he drove into the village.

‘Carry on past the church,’ Jill said, ‘and then take a right by the newsagent’s.’

The main street was quiet today. With the weather so cold, people were staying indoors. Jill didn’t blame them.

‘It’s along here?’ Max asked.

‘Yes. Just there.’ She pointed to a large house at the end of the road. ‘The one with the silver car outside.’

Max stopped the car outside Mason’s Cottage where the perfectly smooth driveway had been cleared of snow. Jill supposed that, as he was at home all day, Steve liked to keep on top of jobs like that. At least the postman wouldn’t be breaking an ankle and suing him. At Jill’s cottage, people walking up her icy drive took their lives in their hands. But the Carlisles’ drive was tarmac whereas hers was gravel.

‘Is he expecting us?’ she asked, and Max nodded.

‘I phoned him.’

Steve must have been watching for them because he had the door open before they were halfway along the drive.

‘Hello there,’ he called from the doorway. ‘Come in, quick, out of this awful wind.’

‘Hello, Steve,’ Jill said. ‘Bitter, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve been out in the garden at the back trying to clear the path,’ he explained, ‘but my hands are so numb I can’t feel what I’m doing.’

After they’d wiped their shoes on the mat, he led them through to the large sitting room where his greyhound was sprawled out on a leather armchair.

‘Hello, Cally.’ Jill gave the dog a stroke.

Cally stretched, climbed down from her chair, gave Jill’s hand a lick, inspected Max, decided she couldn’t be bothered with company, and went back to bed.

‘It’s a dog’s life, isn’t it?’ Steve said, smiling fondly at the animal.

‘It certainly is,’ Max agreed.

‘Sit down,’ Steve said. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?’

They declined, although Jill wouldn’t have minded a coffee.

This morning, Steve didn’t look as if he’d been hitting the bottle. In fact, he looked in good shape. He wasn’t one of those to lose his job and then sit around feeling sorry for himself. He must keep himself fit. Tall and slim, with neatly cut brown hair, he was an attractive man.

The room, thanks to a stove that made Jill’s look like something from a doll’s house, was deliciously warm.

The house had been built around 1870, later than Jill’s home, but instead of a small cottage this was an imposing dwelling. In this vast sitting room, the stonework had been exposed to two walls. The leather suite, glass and chrome coffee tables and cream carpet were too modern for Jill’s taste, and out of character with the house, but the room could easily have featured in a glossy magazine. There were no books lying around and no CDs. No clutter at all, in fact.

‘We’re sorry to bother you, Mr Carlisle—’ Max began, only to be cut off.

‘Steve, please.’

‘Steve,’ Max said. ‘I gather one of our officers has already spoken to you?’

‘Yes, early this morning.’

‘I just wondered if you’d remembered anything more about Monday morning.’

‘No, I’m sorry. Only what I told him.’

‘We know you took your dog for a walk—’

‘I did,’ Steve agreed. ‘I walk that way most days. But no, I didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. Had I known then what I know now, of course, I would have paid more attention. That poor young woman. Dreadful to think of something like that happening here. You hear of such things on the news, but you can’t quite believe it when it happens on your own doorstep, can you?’

‘You can’t,’ Jill agreed.

‘Did you know Lauren Cole?’ Max asked him.

‘That’s the poor woman’s name, isn’t it? It was in the paper. No, I’m afraid I didn’t know her.’

‘You probably saw her walking her dog,’ Jill said. ‘She was twenty years old, five feet five with long blonde hair, and she had a small, white dog called Charlie.’

Steve shook his head. ‘I can’t think of anyone like that.’

Max had brought along a photo of Lauren, one that he’d got from the girl’s father, and the same one that had been in the press. It had been taken about a year ago, but was the most recent the man owned. He showed it to Steve.

‘No, I don’t recognize her at all,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Going back to Monday morning,’ Max said, ‘would you mind telling me exactly what you did? From the moment you left home to the moment you returned.’

‘Of course. I left here at a few minutes after nine. I leave at the same time most mornings. I listen to the news headlines on the radio, you see.’

‘And you heard them on Monday morning?’ Max asked.

‘I did. And then I walked down past the church before cutting along the track by Wilf Appleby’s farm. I walked by the stream for a while and then turned round and headed for home.’

‘Did you go into the spinney?’ Max asked him.

‘I didn’t, no.’

‘Up Flat Top Hill? By Clough’s Shelter?’

‘No.’

A phone rang, but Steve ignored it.

‘The answer machine will get it,’ he explained.

‘Did you see Wilf that morning?’ Jill asked him.

‘Wilf? No.’

‘He saw you,’ Max said. ‘Apparently, he and the farrier were in the yard at the farm.’

‘Oh? No, I can’t say I noticed them.’

‘Yet you walked past his farm twice?’

‘That’s right, yes.’ Steve smiled a little self-consciously. ‘I enjoy walking, more than Cally does in fact, and I tend to daydream as I walk. It’s very relaxing.’

‘Relaxing,’ Max murmured. ‘Hm. The thing is, Wilf Appleby says he saw you running back on Monday morning. Would that be correct?’

‘Running?’ Steve looked from Max to Jill as if she might have the answer to this particular conundrum. Then his frown cleared. ‘Ah, yes, that’s right. I was. You know how you sometimes worry that you’ve left the house unlocked? I did that on Monday. I couldn’t remember locking the door, you see, and it was really bugging me. That’s why I decided to turn round and head for home. I couldn’t settle. By the time I reached Wilf’s farm, I’d managed to convince myself that burglars were helping themselves to anything they wanted.’

‘So you ran home to check?’ Max asked.

‘Yes. And, as you might guess, all was safe and secure. It’s just habit, isn’t it, locking the door, I mean? It’s such a subconscious act that you don’t remember if you’ve done it or not.’

‘I suppose it is,’ Max agreed.

‘The same thing happened the week before,’ Steve went on. ‘As I walked, I grew more and more convinced I’d forgotten to switch the cooker off. The hob, you know? I had visions of the house burning to the ground. Of course, when I got back all was safe.’ He smiled as he added, ‘I seem to be having more senior moments than my fair share at the moment.’

‘I have them all the time,’ Jill said.

‘I hear you sometimes collect tins and bottles while you’re out walking?’ Max said.

‘I do. I suppose that sounds silly, but the amount of litter that people leave around really annoys me. It’s not exactly difficult to take it home, is it? So yes, I sometimes take a couple of carrier bags and fill those up. Mind,’ he added, ‘when the council starts charging us by weight for our waste, I won’t be doing it.’

‘What else do you collect when you’re out?’ Max asked.

‘Collect? Why nothing.’ Again, his frown suddenly cleared. ‘Ah yes, sometimes I bring a bit of wood back.’ He nodded at the stove. ‘This thing eats wood so, if I find some lying around, I bring it back. Usually, it’s fallen branches, but you wouldn’t believe what I find out there. Someone had dumped a small table and four chairs once. God knows why. It would have been easier to take it to the tip. But there, people seem to take pleasure in dumping stuff. I chopped them up and brought them home.’

‘Chopped them up?’ Max queried.

‘I certainly did. I noticed them in the morning so, in the afternoon, I took a saw along and began bringing bits home. I couldn’t have carried them in one go,’ he explained.

‘So you sometimes take a saw with you?’ Max asked.

‘I don’t take it on the off chance.’ Steve smiled at the idea. ‘But if I see some wood lying around, I’ll take it with me the next time I go out.’

‘Can we see this saw?’ Max asked.

‘See it? Well, yes, of course you can. It’s in the shed.’ He got to his feet. ‘You’ll have to be careful how you walk, I’m afraid. As I said, I was trying to clear the path at the back.’

They followed Steve through a huge kitchen that gleamed with gadgets to the back door. What he called a garden, Jill would have called a field. It was huge. By the house was a wooden store filled with logs. At the far end was a shed. There was also a greenhouse.

‘The shed is mainly a wood store,’ Steve explained at they approached it. ‘As I said, you wouldn’t believe how much wood we get through.’

He took a small key from his pocket and undid the padlock. When he opened the doors, they saw, filling one side, a tall, neatly stacked pile of logs.

‘There’s my saw,’ he said, pointing.

It was hanging on two hooks on the opposite side of the shed, along with three spades, a fork and various other garden tools.

Max picked up one of the logs.

‘You didn’t use a saw on this,’ he said.

‘Good Lord, no. Sadly, I don’t find enough wood on my walks. I have to buy most of the wood. These logs came from the garden centre in Harrington. Two pounds a bag. Not bad value.’

To Jill, who’d just paid three pounds for a bag of logs, it was excellent value.

‘Do they deliver?’ she asked Steve.

‘Yes, so long as it’s twenty bags or more.’

As they walked back to the house, Jill made a mental note to put in an order. At least this visit hadn’t been a complete waste of her time.