A Reason to Kill (16 page)

Andy shook his head. ‘Not really. I remember Alan from school and Mark too. Alan actually stayed on and took some exams. Can't remember what. Mark left first chance he got and he wasn't there much anyway. When I was a kid living on Newell Street, our mam would only let us play up the posh end and we were allowed to go down to the promenade and on to the beach but woe betide if she found out we'd gone down the lower end. I had a friend lived in the housing association houses and he was allowed to come up to us but I was never allowed to go to his. His mother had a right go at mine, one time. Reckoned she was a right snob.'

‘And was she?'

Andy laughed. ‘Well, yeah, a bit. But she was always worried about Dowling's lot. She said that some kids were born bullies and that he was one of them.'

Mac looked up at the Dowling house. Edwardian, he guessed, red brick with a gravel drive and surrounded by a tall laurel hedge. It sat oddly in the landscape. The brick had mellowed a little with the years but still struck a strident chord. Mac was growing fond of the look and feel and pallor of the local stone.

‘You worried about this?' he asked. ‘Bearding the lion in his den?'

‘No,' Andy scoffed. ‘Course not.' Then, when Mac allowed the silence to grow, he shrugged. ‘Well, maybe a bit. When you've spent half your life avoiding someone it feels a bit odd deliberately confronting them.'

Mac nodded. ‘But you think he's capable of having done it?'

‘Oh yes,' Andy said softly. ‘Damn right I do.'

The front door was opened by a middle-aged woman. Her dark brown hair struck a harsh note against the white of her skin, as did the overly bright red of her lipstick. She had once been pretty, Mac guessed. Her bone structure was good and her blue eyes a very intense forget-me-not. Age had not been kind. Lines that he did not think were due to laughter cobwebbed out from her eyes and channelled deeply beside the bright slash of a mouth.

‘Mrs Dowling?'

‘Yes?' She scrutinized the identification, then shrugged. ‘You want Mark, he's upstairs,' she said. ‘Second door on the left of the landing.' Then she left them, disappearing into what appeared to be a sitting room off to the right of the large hall.

Mac raised an eyebrow. ‘OK,' he said slowly. ‘Well, up we go.'

Mac led, aware of the nervousness exuded by his younger companion. It wrapped them both in a miasma of uncertainty and Mac felt the illogical desire to hurry ahead, escape from its penetrating influence.

Music filled the upper floor, greeting them on the landing and leading the way to the second door designated as Mark's room, which turned out to be a surprisingly long way down the corridor and towards the rear of the house.
A deceptive property, as the estate agents would say
, Mac thought. From the front it had the appearance of something squat and square, when in fact it possessed a surprising depth.

Standing outside the room, Mac could feel the bass beat coming up through his feet. Knocking and hoping to be heard seemed a lost hope. He opened the door and the two of them stepped inside.

‘Who the fuck are you?' Mark Dowling, sprawled across an unmade bed, had to shout over the top of the music. Mac crossed to the stereo and turned it off.

‘Your mother said we should come straight up,' he said. ‘I told her we wanted a word.' He flashed his ID, but was aware that Dowling wasn't looking. He was staring over Mac's shoulder at Andy. Mac shifted position so that he could keep both younger men in view. Andy, mouth pinched and tight, had coloured up, the redness of his face and neck now challenging the brilliance of his hair.

Dowling was smiling now. ‘Oh, I know who this is,' he crowed. ‘You. A bloody copper? That desperate, are they?'

‘Mr Dowling.' Mac drew his attention away from the blushing probationer. ‘Where were you last Thursday night?'

Dowling scowled. ‘How the hell would I know?'

‘Last Thursday, into Friday morning. There was a murder, Mr Dowling, and your name came up with reference to our enquiries.'

Mark Dowling laughed and tossed back the thick black hair that had fallen across his face. It needed a wash, Mac noted, and it looked as though the length of it was due more to lack of a good cut than a desire to be unconventional.

‘What's that got to do with me?' He got up off the bed and crossed to where Mac stood, ignoring Andy now, though Mac was sure he'd noticed how the probationer took an unconscious step away as he passed by. He was as tall as Mac, but not as well built. He had a wiry, agile frame, and a feline, dangerous quality to the way he moved. He stank. Sweat, beer, a faint sweetness that might have been cannabis. Mac breathed shallowly.

Dowling was naked apart from a pair of designer underpants and the heat coming off his body transmitted his scent across the few inches between them. Dowling either had no regard for personal space or he had every regard for the usefulness of ignoring it. Mac didn't move.

‘I said, what's that to do with me?'

‘We're following up on information received. So, where were you last Thursday night and into Friday morning?'

Dowling shifted position, scrutinizing Mac closely; he moved in even closer. Inconsequently, an image from one of the
Alien
movies popped into Mac's mind: Ripley being sniffed by the Alien queen.

‘I was with a girl,' Mark Dowling said.

‘I'll need her name. She'll confirm this, will she?'

Dowling laughed as though Mac had cracked a really impressive joke. ‘You can bet your life she will,' he said.

Paul had said nothing during either of their two after-break lessons and when the lunch bell rang he was out of the class faster than George could gather his things. Desperately worried, George piled his stuff into his bag and took off after him, struggling down the corridor against the crowd now headed for the dining hall. He almost lost him by the rear entrance that led out on to the playing field, caught a glimpse as he rounded the side of the building, heading back towards the small side gate. The gate would be closed at this time of day, George knew. It was locked except first thing in the morning and at home time when it was opened up for those students who lived on that side of the town. But George also knew it was climbable and he realized suddenly what his friend was planning to do.

‘Paul!' He ran after him, turning once to glance back towards the school, wondering what were their chances of being seen. Empty classrooms faced out over the field, as did the kitchens and the kitchen store, but no one there would be looking out of the window at this, their busiest time of the day.

‘Paul, wait.'

‘Get lost,' Paul shouted back. ‘Ain't you done enough?'

Panting, George caught up with him at the little gate. ‘Maybe,' he agreed. ‘Maybe I did, but I was trying to help. You gotta believe that. You can't run away from it.'

‘Just watch me,' Paul told him.

‘It don't work, running away. Paul, I should know. Look at me and me dad. We run away halfway across the country and he still found me.'

Paul turned and looked at him and George remembered that he hadn't told his friend this. He'd been too shocked at Paul's news about the murder. Too aware that his own problem must seem small in comparison.

‘What d'you mean?'

George sighed. ‘I saw him. I'm sure I did. Last Friday when you weren't here.'

Paul said nothing but it had at least given him pause and George was grateful for that. ‘They'll know we've gone,' he said. ‘Soon as next lesson starts. The register will show it up.'

‘We?' Paul said. ‘I never said I wanted you to come with me.'

‘You think I'm going to be left behind? You got any money? Anything?'

Paul shrugged.

‘Thought so. Well, I do. I've got me bank card with me. Karen makes me put money in the bank and makes me keep me card with me. She says you never know.'

Paul shrugged again and began to clamber over the gate but he no longer objected to George following. George sensed that he was secretly relieved not to be alone. But this was still a daft thing to be doing.

‘We could go back now,' he said hopefully. ‘No one would know.'

‘And catch the bus home?' Paul was scathing. ‘He'd be waiting for us, you know he would. Waiting for me anyway.'

George sighed but could think of no words to confound his friend's argument. He'd set things in motion now. Told Karen. Karen would have told the police and, of course, Paul was right, Mark Dowling would still be out on the streets, not locked away on the grounds of anyone's say so, and he'd have guessed that Paul had been the one to tell on him. Mark would be waiting. Paul was right. He couldn't go home and while he couldn't, neither could George. He should have left well alone.

George dropped down on the other side of the gate and trotted off after his friend, catching him at the end of the road.

‘So, where do we go now? We need to keep out of sight till home time.' The school had a serious policy about truanting and even the local shop keepers had been given the number to ring should they see kids in uniform roaming about during school hours. Those that had a legitimate reason to leave had to apply for a letter from the principal and be sure to carry it with them.

‘We'll find somewhere,' he said. He stopped and pulled his coat on over his uniform.

George did the same. It was cold out and he shivered, wished he'd brought gloves. He slung his backpack across his shoulders and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, hoping that wherever they found to hide it would at least be somewhere inside.

‘So, what now?' Andy said as they returned to the car.

‘We check out his alibi – which, of course, will be confirmed – then we chase up known associates and interview them. We put the pressure on and keep it there and hope forensics come up with something useful.'

‘Think we have enough to apply for a search warrant?'

Mac shrugged. ‘I think we should let Inspector Eden take care of that. He's more likely to know who to approach; I'm still sorting out who's who.'
And I've got a lot of that to do before he retires
, Mac added to himself. ‘But I'm hopeful, let's say. If the blood found at the scene is a match, we're ninety per cent there.'

Andy started the car but made no move to put it into gear.

‘Got a problem?'

‘Yeah. I do. I behaved like a big girl's blouse, in there, didn't I?'

‘Not that I noticed,' Mac told him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Andy sneak a sideways glance and open his mouth as though he'd like to say more.

‘Look,' Mac said. ‘No sense beating yourself up about it. You did fine and you'll do better next time. We've all got our Mark Dowlings. We all have to learn to face them down. Now, where does this so-called girlfriend live?'

‘OK, right.' Andy nodded emphatically, snicked the car into gear and eased slowly back on to the main road. ‘Trisha Howard. I was at school with her too. Never figured her for Dowling's sort.'

‘Oh? And why's that then?'

‘Because she always had more than half a brain,' Andy told him. ‘Just goes to show.'

T
risha Howard wasn't home. The next-door neighbour informed Mac that no one would be in until later – and what did the police want anyway? The Howards weren't trouble makers. Mac was getting used to this kind of treatment on the Jubilee Estate.

‘Just want to ask her a few questions,' Andy said. He smiled at the woman. ‘It's Mrs Norman, isn't it? You remember me; I used to go to school with your Alison.'

The woman scrutinized him closely. ‘Andy Nevins,' she said. ‘Never figured you for a life of crime.' She laughed at her own joke. ‘I thought your mother wanted you to go off to university.'

Andy shrugged. ‘I thought about it,' he said. ‘But I'd had enough of school. Mam always fancied I'd be a lawyer or some such but I didn't think I'd got the brains, to be honest.'

A burst of laughter from Mrs Norman. ‘So you became a copper instead. Not so many brains.'

Not thought that one through, Andy
, Mac thought. But he said nothing, deciding that the woman, having got the better of the local police, might open up about Trisha Howard.

‘Our Alison went to university,' she said.

‘I heard. Doing OK, is she?'

‘Oh, she's doing very well. First of our lot to get a degree, she will be. So, what did you want with young Trisha?'

‘Just a few questions,' Mac said. ‘Her name was mentioned in connection with our enquiries.'

‘Oh?' She took a step towards him.

She's almost salivating
, Mac thought. ‘Nothing serious,' he said. ‘But she might be able to confirm something for us. What time is she likely to be home?'

‘About five,' the woman said. ‘I always told my Alison, keep away from that girl. She's a bad lot.'

‘I thought she and Alison got on OK at school,' Andy said mischievously.

Mrs Norman scowled. ‘She had to get along with her, didn't she, seein' as how she lived next door. Anyway, she wasn't so bad then. It's since she took up with that other lot.'

‘Other lot?'

‘Oh, you know. She's been hanging round with that Dowling boy. Now there's one that was never any good. Not even as a little kid.' Her eyes narrowed. ‘It's about him, isn't it? What's he been up to now? Is that girl involved? As if she hasn't put her mother through enough. I always told my Alison—'

‘So, about five then,' Mac said. ‘Thanks for your help.'

Andy grinned broadly. ‘Say hello to Ali, won't you?' he said and followed Mac back to the car. ‘It'll be round the whole estate before Trisha gets home,' he said. ‘Mrs Norman will be waiting on the doorstep for her. Always was a right gossip. Y'know, we should send uniform to do the follow-up call. I mean, not me. I mean, proper uniform.'