Nothing but Trouble (29 page)

Kirsten face, already pale, went ashen. She dropped the
spoon into the saucer with a clatter. ‘What did you tell them?’

‘Don’t worry, love. I didn’t say it was you that gave it to her. The last thing you need is the filth knocking on your door.
It’d be all over the tabloids the next day. Not the kind of publicity you want, huh?’

Kirsten worried on her lower lip. She picked up her cup and then put it down again. Her right hand fluttered up to her face.
‘Where did you say it came from?’

‘I didn’t, did I? Said I didn’t know nothin’ about it. They seem to have the idea she might have been on the game, so if no
one tells them any different … Course, I’ll be in the bloody shit if they ever find out I lied to them. Perverting the course
of justice, that is. They’ll probably put me in the slammer.’

Kirsten’s voice went up a pitch. ‘They won’t find out. Why should they?’ She looked anxiously round the surrounding tables
in case anyone was listening. ‘Why should they?’ she asked again.

Paige gave a shrug. ‘No reason,’ she said slyly. ‘But I’ve put my neck on the line for you. I reckon I deserve something in
return.’

‘Like what?’

She smiled back smugly. ‘Five grand should do it. I reckon that’s fair. Yeah, five grand and we’ll call it quits.’

‘For God’s sake,’ Kirsten hissed. ‘Where am I supposed to find that kind of money? You and that fat cow have already had two
K off me. Why should I give you any more?’

‘That
dead
fat cow,’ Paige reminded her. She stared at Kirsten’s designer clothes, at the Gucci bag lying on the table, and made a quick
mental assessment of what they must be worth. Jesus, a few grand was nothing to Kirsten. ‘You owe me big time and you know
it. I’ve covered your lying little arse for you. And if my memory suddenly comes back, I might just recall why you really
gave her that cash.’

Kirsten glared at her, her teeth bared. ‘So I’ll tell them I lent it to her, that she was in debt, that I was doing her a
favour.’

Paige leaned forward so that her face was only inches away. ‘Yeah, right. You just bunged a grand to some woman you haven’t
seen for fuck knows how long. They’re really gonna believe that. Especially when I tell them a much more interesting story.’

‘You can’t do that,’ Kirsten said defiantly. ‘If you do, you’ll have to admit that you lied to them in the first place.’

‘So? Maybe I’m willing to take that chance.’ Paige smirked. ‘Or maybe I could get in touch with that reporter and tell her
what she really wants to know.’

Kirsten pulled in a breath and her eyes blazed momentarily. Then, as if she knew she was defeated, the light suddenly went
out of them.

‘Think about it,’ Paige said, rising to her feet. ‘But don’t take too long. I’m not the patient sort.’

It was five thirty by the time Jess got back to Station Road. First she called in at Mackenzie, Lind to present Lorna with
a large bouquet of flowers and thank her profusely for what she’d done. ‘You’re an angel. I don’t know how I’d have managed
without your help. All those clothes and everything. It was so kind.’ She rooted in her pockets and took out some of the money
she’d withdrawn from the bank. ‘How much do I owe you?’

Lorna flapped a hand. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that now. It came out of petty cash and Harry has all the receipts, but there’s
no rush. The main thing is that you’re still in one piece.’

‘Just about.’

‘And you didn’t need to do this,’ Lorna said, sniffing appreciatively at the roses. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate. They’re
lovely. I can’t remember the last time anyone bought me flowers. I think Mac’s forgotten what a florist is.’

As if on cue, Mac came out of his office. When he saw Jess, he gave her a brusque nod and retreated back inside.

‘Don’t mind him,’ Lorna said. ‘He’s got a lot on his mind at the moment.’

Jess, who had seen the expression on Mac’s face, suspected that his coolness was down to something more personal. Still, that
was hardly surprising. On the trouble front, her record left a lot to be desired. She wondered if Harry had told him about
her investigation into the Minnie Bright case. As an ex-cop, Mac would probably be none too pleased about that either.

Jess repeated her thanks to Lorna and then, laden with shopping, trudged up the stairs to the flat. Inside, she dumped the
carrier bags on the table and sat down wearily in a chair. It had been a long day, but at least she’d begun the process of
sorting things out. Having to deal with the practical stuff, with the bank, the insurance company and the replenishing of
her wardrobe, had been a temporary distraction, but when she’d gone down to Cowan Road police station, she’d had plenty of
time to think about Becky Hibbert again.

Despite having arranged an appointment for four o’clock, Jess had been made to wait for over fifty minutes before Valerie
Middleton had deigned to put in an appearance. And even then she’d been about as welcoming as Mac. She had looked Jess up
and down, pursing her lips as if Jess had been found wanting in some fundamental way. Granted, the woman was up to her ears
in a murder inquiry, but a little politeness wasn’t too much to ask. Instead, the DI had been decidedly offhand, as if Jess
was one of those familiar time-wasters who had to be listened to but who no one took particularly seriously.

Jess shook her head, not wanting to think about it any more. She’d done her duty and told the inspector about her article
and her association with Becky Hibbert. What Valerie chose to do next was up to her. After waiting all that time, Jess had
been in and out of the interview room in less than fifteen minutes.

Rising to her feet, she picked up one of the bags and took it through to the kitchen. She emptied the contents – milk, pizza,
salad and wine – into the fridge. Then she returned to the living
room and took the rest of the bags through to the bedroom. Her clothes shopping had been fast and furious. Normally she’d
have spent hours choosing new jeans, but today she’d bought the first pair that had more or less fitted. She had new trainers
too, as well as a smarter pair of black shoes, underwear, shirts, T-shirts, trousers, a simple black dress and a black jacket.
She hung some of the garments in the wardrobe and put the rest, apart from the trainers, in the chest of drawers.

The final carrier bag contained a wallet, cosmetics, a cheap watch, a handbag, phone, notepads and pens. She sat on the edge
of the bed, took the phone out of its packaging, inserted the battery and plugged it in to charge. Earlier, she had called
Neil from the mobile that Harry had lent her, telling him that her phone had broken down. She hadn’t mentioned the fire or
the murder of Becky Hibbert or the fact that she was currently staying at Harry’s place. He would only feel obliged to rush
back, and she didn’t want that. There was no point in disrupting both their lives. He’d be home at the weekend and she’d explain
everything properly to him then.

Jess gathered up the receipts from the bottom of the bags, wincing as she thought about the hit her credit card had taken.
Hopefully the insurance wouldn’t take too long to come through, or she’d be living off bread and water for the foreseeable
future. She went back into the living room and stood by the window. She was glad to be alone, needing the time to get her
thoughts together. Harry had called her in the afternoon, saying he could get someone to cover his surveillance if she’d like
some company tonight, but she’d told him she’d be fine. Was she fine? Well, she was at the moment, knowing that Lorna and
Mac were still downstairs, but she wasn’t sure how she’d feel when they left and it got dark.

Not wanting to dwell on that too much, she turned and walked into the kitchen. What she needed was food and
alcohol. Food for energy and a few glasses of wine to take the edge off her fear. She still hadn’t really faced up to the
fact that someone had tried to kill her last night – the same someone who in all likelihood had murdered Becky Hibbert. And
she couldn’t shake off the thought that she had been in some way responsible for Becky’s fate, her constant pushing and probing
a catalyst for what had come next.

She reached into the fridge, took out the pizza, unwrapped it and put in it in the microwave. While it was heating up, she
opened the bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. Returning to the living room, she switched on the TV and found the local
news. There were pictures of the Mansfield Estate and a report about the murder. Detective Inspector Valerie Middleton, with
professional ease, gave a brief statement saying that they were searching for a man called Dan Livesey – Becky Hibbert’s ex-boyfriend
and the father of her children – to help with their enquiries.

Jess took a sip of her wine as she stared at the mugshot on the screen. She frowned. If this Livesey guy
had
killed Becky, then there was no obvious link to the Minnie Bright case. She understood now why the inspector had been so
offhand with her; if the police already had a suspect, they wouldn’t be interested in pursuing what probably seemed like an
unlikely connection to events from the past.

But Jess didn’t like coincidences. Becky had been murdered on the same night as someone had set fire to her flat. That couldn’t
just be chance. She refused to believe it. And if the cops weren’t going to investigate, then she would damn well do it herself.
The thought of what this might mean – there was clearly someone out there who would stop at nothing to preserve the secrets
of the past – sent a small shiver through her. But fear was no excuse for cowardice. She was the one who had lit the fuse
and it was down to her to deal with the explosive consequences.

The microwave pinged and Jess switched off the TV. She retrieved the pizza and took it back to the table. She’d intended to
have a salad with it, something healthy to balance out the fat and calories, but lethargy got the better of her. She couldn’t
even be bothered to open the packet.

While she ate, she booted up the laptop and connected to the internet. The one sensible thing she had done was to save most
of her notes and research to an external vault. She also had Harry’s hard copy of all the press cuttings connected to the
Minnie Bright case. It was time to get back to work.

Two hours later, Jess was looking again at the timeline for the day Minnie had died. Her head was starting to ache, a combination
of too much screen-staring and too much wine. She sighed and sat back. The remains of the pizza lay congealing on a plate.
Wrinkling her nose, she leaned forward again and pushed it away. The trouble with comfort food was that it came with a mighty
dollop of guilt – and her guilt levels were already in overdrive.

Fatigue was tugging at her bones. The day, despite a few hours’ kip in the morning, had been a long and stressful one. She
blinked twice and yawned, thinking how nice it would be to have a hot bath, curl up in bed and go to sleep. But she refused
to give in to the temptation. Placing her elbows firmly on the table, she shook her head and tried to focus on the job in
hand. What about Hannah Bright, Minnie’s mother? No one seemed to know where she’d gone to, or when. Surely that was worth
following up.

She did a search on the internet, checking out the social network sites. She came up with a few hits, a few other Hannah Brights,
but not the one she wanted. Next she tried the electoral register, but she got no joy there either. It was what she’d been
expecting. If Hannah was still living the same kind of life as she had been, she’d be one of those people who slipped under
the
radar, not paying tax or insurance, probably not even in possession of a computer.

The next person she thought about was Clare Towney, Donald Peck’s niece. As a teenager, her life had been turned upside down.
Her uncle had murdered a child and her mother had borne the brunt of local protest. Clare had moved away but had been forced
to come back. Yes, that woman had every reason to be angry.

Jess jotted down Clare’s name in her new notebook and then moved on. It was Lynda Choi’s phone calls that were still really
bugging her. Why were they important? So important that nobody wanted to talk about them. Except David Choi. And he’d had
his card marked, been threatened, told to stop. But why? None of it added up. So Lynda had gone back to the house, seen a
light go on and off, banged on the door, got no response and left. There was something wrong about it all, but she couldn’t
work out what.

Staring down at her timeline, Jess read through the details again. When she’d reached the end she went back to the beginning
and started to wonder about Donald Peck’s testimony. What if he hadn’t been lying? What if he hadn’t killed Minnie Bright?
She needed to talk to someone who had known Peck, someone impartial who had nothing to gain or lose by telling her the truth.
Her eyes alighted on the name of his ex-probation officer, Ralph Masterson, who had given evidence at the trial. Of course
there was no saying that he was still alive. He’d already been retired at the time of the trial, and that had been fourteen
years ago. That would make him in his late seventies or early eighties now. And even if he was still around, would he be living
locally? Well, there was only one way to find out.

Jess checked out the electoral register for Bethnal Green. Bingo! There was a Ralph Masterson of the right age living in
Banner Road. She cross-referenced the information with a phone directory and came up with a number. Taking a quick breath,
she dialled and waited. It was answered after a couple of rings.

‘Hello?’

‘Is that Mr Ralph Masterson?’

‘It is.’

The voice, although she’d only heard a few words, sounded elderly but strong. ‘I’m sorry, this is going to seem a little strange,
but are you the Ralph Masterson who used to be a probation officer?’

‘I am. And who are you, may I ask?’

‘I’m really sorry to bother you. My name’s Jessica Vaughan. I’m a freelance reporter. I’ve been looking into the Minnie Bright
case and I was wondering if—’ She didn’t have a chance to finish before he interrupted her.