Kennedy 02 - A Darker Side (11 page)
‘I don’t believe anyone ever noticed me,’ he insisted. ‘If they did, they didn’t say anything to me.’
‘Did you try to talk to him?’ Jill asked.
‘Never.’
‘Why not? He was your son. Your own flesh and blood. Didn’t you want to hear the sound of his voice? Didn’t you want to know all about him?’
‘Not enough to confront him,’ he said grimly. ‘Yes, I did want to get to know him, but I wouldn’t have done it without going through Josie. I owed her that much at least.’
‘And she said no, didn’t she?’
‘At first, yes. But she was coming round to it. She just didn’t want her husband to find out.’
‘And how would she prevent that?’ Jill asked. ‘Surely, if you’d met Martin, he would have gone straight to his father the man he’d thought of as his father for the last seventeen years.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said.
No way would Josie have let him near Martin. No way!
‘I don’t believe she was coming round to it, as you put it, at all,’ Jill said frankly. ‘I think she would have said no, and kept on saying no. Let’s face it, you weren’t going to pick up the pieces when her husband found out, were you? No, you’d be going back to your lovely wife and your lovely home.’
He looked Jill straight in the eye.
‘We’ll never know, will we?’
He was more calm now. Why? Because he knew they had nothing they could pin on him?
‘What did you and Josie talk about?’ she asked. ‘I know you spent most of your time in bed - hotel rooms don’t come cheap, do they? - but you must have talked of something. You must have got to know each other a little. What about Josie’s past? What did she say about that?’
His expression changed, became very thoughtful.
‘She wouldn’t talk about it,’ he said. ‘As soon as I mentioned her life before she married, she’d clam up. I always had the impression that she’d had a bad childhood. I don’t know. As I said, she refused to talk about it. She’d clam up and get quite edgy about it.’
‘She wouldn’t even tell you?’ Jill scoffed. ‘But she loved you. She would have told you anything.’
‘She wouldn’t tell me about her past,’ he said firmly. ‘And to be honest, I was never interested enough to pry.’
Jill’s head was still aching. Now, she wasn’t sure if that was the alcohol or her frustration at getting nowhere with Brian Taylor.
Max asked him more questions, but they drew a blank. There was nothing with which to charge him.
Yet.
It was just before three o’clock that afternoon when Max drove them to the school.
‘Are we sure about George and Andy Hayden?’ Jill asked, frowning. ‘Are their alibis really as ironclad as they claim?’
‘Seems like it,’ Max said. ‘Fletch and Grace have spent ages talking to them, but there’s nothing odd about it. They were up in Cumbria at an auction. They even bought a couple of items.’
‘What have you managed to find out about Josie’s past?’ she asked him.
‘Not a lot. Mind you, we haven’t put too much effort into it.’
‘I think you should,’ Jill murmured. ‘If Brian Taylor is telling the truth, and something did happen in Josie’s past, it will be worth finding out about.’
‘Do you think he
is
telling the truth?’
‘Yes, I think he is. A shame really, because I can’t take to the bloke at all, but yes, I think he’s telling the truth.’ She gave him a curious glance. ‘Don’t you?’
Max sighed as he turned into the school’s car park. ‘I don’t know what to think.’
The school had a sombre air about it and, without bothering to ask, Jill could see from empty seats in several classrooms that some pupils hadn’t turned up. She wasn’t surprised. If Phil Meredith was right about nothing else, he knew there would be panic in Harrington.
They spoke to a class filled with fellow pupils of James Murphy. All said he was a good sort of boy. He was well liked by the other pupils. They were dazed, nervous.
It was depressing.
They then sought out Geoff Morrison.
‘I’d like to bring him in,’ Max said, ‘but he’d be sure to want a brief there and it’s not worth the effort. Besides, he’s more likely to talk if he thinks he’s helping us.’
‘He won’t talk,’ Jill muttered. ‘He’s too well contained. A bit of a loner really. Oh, I know he lives with his boyfriend, but he’s still a bit of a loner.’
There was a small room next to the school’s gym. It contained a desk, half a dozen stacked plastic chairs, odd pieces of team kit, team jackets and the like. On a notice-board were fixtures lists for the school’s various sports teams.
Geoff Morrison looked as uncomfortable as ever.
‘The choice is yours,’ Max told him pleasantly. ‘We can either have an informal chat here, or you can come down to the station and we can talk there.’
‘There’s no point me wasting my time and yours by going to a police station,’ Morrison told him. ‘I’ve told you before that I can’t help. I didn’t know either boy very well.’
He spoke in the past tense, Jill noticed.
‘What can you tell us about James Murphy?’ she asked him.
‘Good at sport,’ Morrison said with a shrug, ‘very confident, cheeky but only in fun. Nice-mannered, polite.’
‘He’s an only child, isn’t he?’ Jill mused.
‘I believe he is, yes.’
‘Are you an only child, Mr Morrison?’
‘What?’ He laughed in exasperation. ‘As a matter of fact I am. What does that have to do with anything?’
‘Just curious,’ Jill told him. ‘Having had siblings myself, I can’t imagine what it’s like. Is it OK?’
‘I can’t speak for Murphy, of course,’ he answered, ‘but I think you’ll find that being an only child has many advantages. You never have to share, you get a room to yourself, you get your parents’ undivided attention ’‘
But no one to share confidences with, no one to laugh and have fun with, no one to learn about life girls, boys, sex, relationships and stuff like that.’
‘Nonsense. What about friends?’
‘Friends tend to brag about their sexual conquests.
Siblings are honest.’
‘I never had problems.’
‘Martin Hayden used to swim with an erection,’ Jill remarked, smiling amiably. ‘I suppose you noticed?’
‘He did what? Oh, for God’s sake. No, I didn’t notice!’
‘He told his sister you were a pervert,’ she added.
‘I’m not. I’m homosexual and I can’t see that that is anyone’s business but my own. You, Ms Kennedy, are presumably into men. Men, that is. Not boys. Just because I also have relationships with men, doesn’t mean that I’m different, that I like mine younger.’
‘Fair point.’ She didn’t want to anger him unnecessarily.
‘I thought the police force these days was anti gay-bashing, anti racism and all the rest of it,’ he muttered.
‘It is,’ Max agreed. ‘We’ve plenty of gays on the force.’
‘Especially in the uniforms,’ Jill said casually. ‘A uniform attracts both sexes, I suppose. I’ll bet,’ she added, ‘that if you and I watched Richard Gere in
An Officer and a
Gentleman
, we’d both want to sleep with him. I’m not particularly fond of uniforms, but hey, Richard Gere must have done wonders for the recruitment. Am I right?’
‘Probably,’ he agreed, the ghost of a smile touching his face.
‘And DCI Trentham here, I’m sure he’s partial to uniforms police uniforms, nurses’ uniforms, school uniforms.’ She looked Morrison straight in the eye. ‘Do you like school uniforms?’
‘I’m sure Richard Gere would look good in one,’ he retorted, ‘but young boys in uniform aren’t particularly appealing, are they?’
‘Martin Hayden was. James Murphy is a good-looking boy, too. And at seventeen, well, he’s as near a man as makes no odds, isn’t he?’
‘Ms Kennedy,’ he said, speaking with exaggerated patience, ‘I take exception to this line of questioning. I’m more than willing to help the police, as I’ve said many times, and I certainly have nothing to hide. I do, however, have a good, loving relationship and am not looking for anything else not a lover, a friend, a confidant or fun. I get all that from my relationship.’
‘And how long have you been in that relationship?’
‘Three years.’
‘Some people like the steady relationship
and
the illicit affairs,’ Jill pointed out.
‘Some do. I don’t.’ He turned his attention to Max, and spoke directly to him. ‘Look, I know why you’re centring attention on me and I can understand it. I’ve had two boys think wrongly that I’m up to no good. And shit sticks, right? But please believe me, you’re wasting your time. While you’re talking to me, the killer of Martin Hayden and his mother is on the loose. Can you have that on your conscience?’
‘I’ll have to live with it,’ Max told him. ‘Why did you tell me you drove a red car when, at the time in question, you drove a blue one?’
The sudden change of direction threw him momentarily, but he soon recovered.
‘You asked what colour car I drove and I told you.’
‘Where were you yesterday?’ Max demanded.
They spent over an hour with Morrison but he stuck to his story.
‘We may need you to come to the station at some point,’ Max told him as they were leaving.
‘Fine. But as I keep telling you, you really are wasting your time.’
It was late when they left the school, and all the pupils had long gone.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ Max asked, and Jill nodded.
He drove them to Mario’s where they sat close to a radiator and thrashed out what little they had over cappuccinos and chocolate cake.
‘Morrison’s right,’ Max said. ‘We’re wasting time with him.’
‘Maybe, but don’t let this gay-bashing crap get to you. Gay or not, we’re entitled to grill him.’
‘I know that.’
‘Has anything of interest come from Martin Hayden’s computer?’
‘Nope. He wasn’t into chat rooms or emailing loads of his mates. He used it mostly for schoolwork and looking at music sites. He’s interested in guitarists, but that’s as close a link as we can get to James Murphy.’
‘Do we know where he got that coke from?’
‘Nope.’
‘I don’t know if James Murphy is connected to this, Max,’ Jill said thoughtfully, ‘but if he is, it’s not going to be good. The person who killed Josie was very angry indeed. She was hacked about a lot after she’d breathed her last, and that much anger stems from something very deep. As for Martin if our killer felt that Martin’s existence had ruined his life, he’d be very angry. Possibly more angry with Josie for bringing him into the world. Rejection could be another motive. Brian Taylor might kill Josie out of anger. Geoff Morrison could too if he’d been cruelly rejected. Any anger would be transferred to Josie simply because she’d given birth to Martin.’
Max drummed his fingers on the table. ‘OK, but what about James Murphy? Why would our killer go for him?’
‘We don’t know for sure that he’s met the same fate,’ Jill pointed out.
Max pulled a face. ‘We’re both bloody clueless, aren’t we?’
They were.
Perhaps there was someone else. Brian Taylor was a ghost from Josie’s past. If he was innocent, and all evidence suggested that he was, there could be someone else from her past.
Just why had Josie been so reticent about her life?
All Max wanted was to get home to his kids and his dogs. Normality. Few people would use that term to describe his lifestyle but, to Max, it was as normal as it was likely to be. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
On the way, he stopped at the wine bar, Chameleon. It was usually filled with the town’s misfits, and rumour had it that Geoff Morrison was occasionally seen there. Max wanted to see him with his boyfriend.
Some of the kids young adults from the school hung out there, too. That was a gem he’d picked up from Harry.
‘They sometimes get free drinks,’ Harry had said, adding a nonchalant, ‘Some queer bloke owns it. This woman comes up from London to stay with him sometimes. Except the woman’s really a bloke. Her name’s Denise, and the queer bloke reckons he can’t forget her name because all he has to think of is “de knees”. He reckons that’s funny.’
And Harry, thinking nothing amiss in the lifestyle of his fellow Harrington residents, had gone into the garden to kick a football around.
This evening, the Chameleon was quiet. The ‘queer bloke’ didn’t put in an appearance and two young girls were busy serving drinks.
Max had a small glass of wine and stood by a tall table near the window to drink it.
Seeing nothing and no one of interest, he was about to leave when Donna Lord came in. Alone.
She walked up to the bar, shared a joke with one of the girls behind the bar and turned around holding a large glass of white wine.
When she spotted Max, she gave him a broad smile and walked over. Any other man, Max thought, would have been on his knees at such a smile. Max was glad he was immune. More or less immune, anyway.
At the school, she’d been wearing a short, tight black skirt, white striped blouse and high heels. She’d obviously been home to change and now wore white trousers and a chest-hugging black T-shirt that showed off plenty of cleavage and a stunning figure.
‘Well, if it’s not the famous detective,’ she greeted him. ‘Do you come here often?’ she asked with a husky laugh.
‘Hardly ever,’ he told her, smiling. ‘You?’
‘Too often. It’s handy for the gym,’ she explained. The Chameleon was about a hundred yards away from Harrington’s very expensive health and fitness centre. ‘I work out most nights,’ she explained, ‘and a glass of chilled wine goes down well afterwards.’
He wasn’t surprised to learn that she was a member of the fitness centre. She was proud of her body, rightly so, and it stood to reason that she’d take care of it.
‘A glass of chilled wine goes down well most of the time.’
‘True.’
She took a long, slow sip of her wine.
‘Isn’t it terrible about Mrs Hayden?’ she said. ‘My, she’s suffered, hasn’t she? It has to be the worst thing ever, doesn’t it losing a child, I mean?’
Max could think of nothing worse. It went against all laws of nature. Each generation was supposed to take care of the next, and anything that broke the chain upset the equilibrium.
‘Awful,’ he agreed.
‘I only met her twice, at parents’ evenings,’ she went on, ‘but she seemed a nice woman. A bit quiet perhaps but well, fortunately, Martin wasn’t a child who needed pushing. He was ambitious enough to do well. But now the poor woman’s dead. Murdered. How awful for the family.’
‘Tragic.’
‘Sorry, I suppose that’s shop talk as far as you’re concerned. It’s just that no one can think of anything else at the moment.’ She brightened. ‘I shouldn’t be gloomy when you’re trying to relax. We’ll both forget about it.’
Forget about it? Max only wished he could forget it for more than sixty seconds at a stretch. Perhaps it was different if you didn’t have to tell the family that their lovely boy had been brutally murdered, if you didn’t have to look at the photos of his battered body, if you didn’t have to live with the knowledge that, if you’d done something different, Martin Hayden and his mother might still be alive . . .
‘Ah, you’re one of those who doesn’t forget about work,’ she guessed. Her fingers went to the back of his neck, causing shivers to run down his spine. ‘Thought so, you’re very tense.’
Her eyes were alight with laughter as she realized the effect she was having on him. Her hand ran the length of his thigh and he shuddered. ‘Tense thighs, too.’ She tutted. ‘You need a good massage.’
He needed a cold shower.
‘You should relax more and have fun,’ she told him. ‘I’m serious. Stress is a killer.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he promised.
The music was too loud so, when she suggested moving to the far side of the room, away from the speakers, he quickly agreed. Not that he intended staying long. There was a possibility she’d be able to tell him something of interest though and, besides, the scenery was stunning.
‘Is this a meeting place for staff from Harrington High?’ he asked.
‘Hardly. Geoff Morrison comes in occasionally, and some of the sixth formers if they can afford it. That’s about it.’ She grinned. ‘The staff at Harrington High are mostly too stuffy for this place. The men play their golf and the women are busy with their WI projects. Do you play golf, Max?’
‘Nope, I’m with Mark Twain on that one. It’s a good walk spoiled.’
She laughed. ‘So how come you keep in such good shape?’
‘Stress,’ he whispered, and she laughed again, that incredible, husky, sexy laugh.
Max’s mind was wandering. Instead of thinking of Geoff Morrison, he was mentally undressing Donna Lord as if he were a seventeen-year-old.
‘I suppose Geoff Morrison is a member at the fitness centre,’ he remarked, while wondering if he could still unfasten a bra with one hand.
‘He is, yes.’
‘You’d think he’d have enough of keeping fit at the school.’
‘Ah, but exercise is addictive,’ she told him. ‘It releases all the happy hormones.’ She thought for a moment. ‘If all the staff at Harrington High kept fit, they might be a more cheerful bunch. Apart from Geoff, who’s a good laugh once you get to know him, the rest of them tend to moan about the job. Teaching’s not what it used to be, they keep saying. If they hate it so much, I don’t know why they don’t get out.’
‘Are you and Geoff Morrison the only ones who enjoy your work?’
‘We’re the only ones who don’t keep moaning about all the paperwork.’
Her glass was almost empty.
‘Can I get you another?’ Max asked.
‘Please.’ As he walked up to the bar, he couldn’t help thinking what a tough job he had. Still, someone had to do it . . .
‘Thanks,’ she murmured, as he handed her a glass of white wine. ‘Tell you what,’ she went on, ‘why don’t you come along to the fitness centre one night this week? You can come as my guest. You don’t have to do the weights or the machines, but a swim would do you good. It would get rid of some of that muscle tension. The pool’s not too busy in the evening.’
Max had moved on from unfastening her bra and was now imagining her near-naked body in the water.
‘I might just do that.’
‘Might is no good,’ she scolded. ‘We’ll make it tomorrow night. About seven? Who knows, we might even have the pool to ourselves. That would be fun.’
‘OK,’ he agreed, ‘but if Geoff Morrison’s there, I’m not attempting to keep up with him.’
‘Don’t worry. Geoff usually sticks to the machines. In any case, he’s usually too busy with his boyfriend to notice anyone else.’
‘Ah, yes.’
‘You knew he was gay?’
‘It cropped up, yes.’
‘Each to their own, I say.’
‘Indeed.’
Instead of thinking of her half-naked in a swimming pool, he should keep his mind on the case. It was difficult though.
‘Do any of the kids from school go along?’ he asked.
‘Not that I’ve seen. You know what kids are like, though. They’ll play games but they’re happier sitting in front of computers. They’re into internet chat rooms. For the most part that’s harmless enough, and at least they’re socializing.’
‘And as the human race evolves, we’ll be born with a mouse for a hand.’
‘You don’t approve?’
He shrugged. ‘I’d rather see kids talking and having fun than sitting in front of a machine.’
‘Is that what your two do? Ah yes, I suppose they do. Harry’s mad keen on football, I hear.’
‘He is.’
‘He’s in the team, isn’t he? I’ve heard his name read out in assemblies.’
‘Yes. He reckons it beats lessons.’
She smiled at that. ‘What about Ben? What does he do?’
‘Trains his dog,’ Max said fondly. ‘We’ve got two,’ he added. ‘One is an older dog that once belonged to . . .’ he hesitated as he thought of Jim Brody who was currently pleasing Her Majesty, ‘a friend. Ben has a young dog though, and he’s training it. He’s keen to get to Crufts one day.’
He could tell she wasn’t impressed. Why should she be? She didn’t know Ben, unless she’d seen him around the school, and there was nothing more boring than proud parents droning on about their kids. It was on a par with sitting through someone’s holiday snaps.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Any family?’
‘No husband and certainly no kids,’ she told him, laughing at the thought. ‘I have enough of kids all day. I’m the youngest of four three brothers so I have lots of nephews and nieces.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Yeah.’ She nodded.
‘I’d better be going,’ he said, and he was surprised how reluctant he was to leave.
‘Have a relaxing evening,’ she instructed him, ‘and forget work. It does you no good.’
‘It’s difficult to forget.’ He didn’t relish the task of telling James Murphy’s parents that their son had met the same fate as Martin Hayden.
‘There’s not much you can do for poor Martin and his mother,’ she pointed out, ‘and James might be on his way home as we speak.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Sure to be,’ she said. ‘Either that or he’s gone to seek his fortune busking in Venice.’
Max shook his head. ‘He’d have sent a postcard.’
‘If he’s gone to Venice, he couldn’t afford a postcard. Perhaps he’s in London, busking on the underground. You know what kids are like.’
He didn’t. He knew what
his
kids were like. They’d send a postcard. At least, he hoped they would.
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘And don’t forget our date tomorrow night,’ she added, the promise of all sorts of delights dancing in her eyes. She ran her hand across his thigh again. ‘A good swim will get that tension out of your legs.’ She reached up to whisper in his ear. ‘I’ll wear my new costume for you.’
‘You know how to tempt a man,’ he said, resisting the urge to loosen his collar and tie.
She touched a long, perfectly manicured finger to his lips. ‘You’re worth tempting, Max.’
Phew. Max was almost grateful to get out in the fresh air.
