Ramsay 04 - Killjoy (24 page)

‘She didn’t give you any idea where she was going?’

Prue Bennett shook her head. ‘But I had the impression that the whole quarrel was manufactured and that she’d already planned to meet him. She wanted an excuse to go, an excuse to get back at me. But I wouldn’t have stopped her going out with John. I don’t particularly like him, but she’s old enough to make up her own mind. She didn’t have to go through all that. I don’t know what’s got into her.’

‘Perhaps she’s growing up,’ he said. ‘ Very quickly. After a slow start. Isn’t that how teenagers are supposed to be? Moody, confused, rebellious.’

‘I suppose so. I can never remember being like that.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘ Nor can I. Perhaps we were unusually sensible.’

She smiled for the first time, then her mood changed again suddenly.

‘I’m so frightened,’ she said. ‘Gabby was playing Abigail Keene and now she’s dead. What if the same has happened to Anna?’

She looked at him, desperate for reassurance.

‘I don’t see,’ he said carefully, ‘ how the play could have anything to do with it.’

‘Really?’ she said. ‘Really?’ He hoped he could live up to her trust.

‘Have you tried phoning the Powells’ house?’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘ I never knew John’s number. And they’re ex-directory too.’

‘I know the number. Do you want to ring them? Or would you like me to try?’

‘You do it,’ she said. ‘ I wouldn’t know what to say.’

He stood in the cold and dusty hall and dialled the number but though he let it ring and ring there was no reply.

‘Evan must be away,’ Ramsay said. ‘I know he’s got a weekend off work. If he were there he’d have answered it.’

‘That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘ That John’s not there. It means they must be out together. A party, something like that. At least Anna’s not on her own. She’s not phoned because she wants to prove she’s independent.’

She was brighter. Since Ramsay’s arrival she had lost the desperate, haunted look. Now she seemed almost optimistic. Perhaps he was right and it would do Anna good to be rebellious for a change.

Ramsay was noncommittal.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘I think you should get some sleep.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘ I couldn’t. What if Anna turns up? If she phones and needs a lift.’

‘I’ll be here,’ he said. ‘ I’ll wait until morning.’

At last she allowed herself to be persuaded and left him in the rocking chair, thinking. He tried to make sense of Anna’s disappearance. How did it fit in with the theory he had put together over the weekend? It was the last thing he would have expected. Then he saw there was a connection, a common motive at least, even if Hunter would never have recognized it. Now he could see how all the major players in the piece were driven.

When Ramsay arrived at work Hunter had already persuaded the superintendent to authorize a search of the Pastons’ bungalow and was in the process of putting together a team to go. He was triumphant.

‘I told the old man I had your blessing,’ Hunter said, looking up from his phone. Then: ‘By, man, you look dreadful. A night on the tiles, was it?’

‘Something like that,’ Ramsay said. He wasn’t going to tell Hunter he’d spent the night with a murder suspect.

‘Do you want to come?’

‘No,’ Ramsay said. ‘I’ll be tied up here all morning. I’ll leave you to deal with it. But be discreet. We don’t want the local lads saying we cocked up an operation on their patch.’

‘Man, they’ll never know I’ve been there.’

Alma Paston never missed her cooked breakfast. She thought it set her up for the day. She was sitting at the kitchen table eating a last slice of fried bread when the doorbell went.

Ellen was standing by the sink, running cold water into the frying pan. Her face was flushed with the cooking.

‘H’ way then, hinnie,’ Alma said impatiently. ‘It’ll be one of the bairns. I heard the cars out racing yesterday. Let’s see what they’ve got for us.’

Ellen left the pan in the washing-up bowl, wiped her hands on her apron, and looked out of the living-room window to see who was there.

‘It’s a policeman,’ she shouted back to her mother. ‘Not the tall one that came here. The other one, Hunter, who was at the Grace Darling. What does he want?’

‘Well, we’ll not find out while he’s standing there. Let him in. He’ll have some news about Gabby likely.’

Alma heaved herself from the chair and stood, almost wedged in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall to watch what was going on. She thought there was the chance of a bit of banter. She was looking forward to putting the young policeman in his place.

‘Come on in, young man,’ she called over Ellen’s shoulder. ‘ What’ll the neighbours think if they see I’ve got a gentleman caller?’

‘There are three of them,’ Ellen said rudely.

‘All the more reason to bring them inside, then. I’ve my reputation to think of.’ And she began to laugh so her body heaved and she choked as if she were having some sort of fit.

‘Come on in, then, pet,’ she said at last to Hunter. She was wheezing, trying to catch her breath. Hunter stared at her with horror. ‘And what do they call you?’

He gave his name and nodded to his colleagues—a young woman in uniform and a second detective—to follow him. They all stood ridiculously crushed in the small space of the hall.

‘Well now,’ Alma said, laughing again. ‘This is cosy, like. You’d better come into the front room and tell me what it’s all about.’

It was all very different from what Hunter had expected. When Ellen had opened the door to him he had thought it would be easy. He could sense her fear and unease. But Alma’s confidence, her jolly good humour, made him wonder if he had made a mistake. He was frightened of making a fool of himself.

‘Why don’t you put the kettle on?’ Alma said to Ellen. ‘Take Mr Hunter’s friends into the kitchen and make them some tea while I find out how I can help him.’

Ellen stamped away crossly and Hunter found himself alone with Alma Paston.

‘I’ve got a search warrant,’ he said.

‘Have you now?’ She raised her eyebrows and pulled a face in mock horror. ‘Do you think that bothers me?’

‘I think it’ll bother your daughter,’ he said.

‘Oh, Ellen!’ She dismissed the woman. ‘She never was up to much. Not like Robbie. Now there was a lad!’

‘Is that when all this started?’ Hunter said. ‘When Robbie was a lad?’

‘All what?’ she demanded. She looked at him with a theatrical disappointment. I’d thought better of you, she seemed to be saying. I thought you’d have realized I was too canny to be taken in by a trick like that.

He was affronted by her impudence. ‘We have reason to believe that you are in possession of stolen goods,’ he said angrily. ‘We have a warrant to search these premises and I’ll ask my colleagues to begin the search now.’ He went to the door and nodded through to the kitchen where they were standing awkwardly, watching Ellen make tea.

‘Reason to believe!’ Alma said. ‘ Who’s given you reason to believe? I hope you’ve something better to go on than rumours. You can get into trouble making false accusations. You never know, I might sue. For defamation of character.’

Her tone was light but she looked at him intently. He thought he had not misjudged the situation after all. Alma Paston had something to hide and she wanted to know who had informed against her.

‘You had a lot of visitors here yesterday,’ he said. ‘Could you explain to me please the purpose of their visits?’

‘Bairns,’ she said. ‘They were just bairns. They know I can’t get out and they came to keep me company.’ She leaned forward and thrust her face towards his. ‘There’s a lot written in the papers about the Starling Farm, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘You’d think it was a den of wickedness. But they’re the salt of the earth, the people on this estate. They look after their own.’ She smiled at him, not caring whether he believed her or not.

‘Don’t mess me about,’ he said, losing his patience at last. ‘We were watching the house. Most of the lads that came here yesterday were convicted criminals. They weren’t here to make your tea and weed your garden. I can give you a list of their names if you like…’

There was a pause. He realized that she was intelligent and that she was coming to terms with the fact that he knew more than she had suspected.

‘Why not?’ she said quietly. ‘Why don’t you do that, Sergeant? And at the top of the list why don’t we put a special friend of mine. Such a nice lad. Well brought up. From such a good family. And bright too. Bright as a button. You’ll never guess some of the schemes he’s dreamt up to make himself a few bob.’ She leaned forward again. ‘If you’ve been watching the house, Sergeant, I’m sure you know who I’m talking about. You’ll know his father.’

She laughed triumphantly and he understood now what lay behind her confidence and good humour. She had no anxiety about her own future. She did not care at all what would happen to her if she were caught. All that mattered was that John Powell was brought down with her.

‘Is this what all this has been about?’ Hunter demanded. ‘Revenge?’

‘Evan Powell took my son,’ she said. ‘I’ve taken his. In a way.’ She levered herself to her feet and lumbered to the door.

‘You’ll find what you’re looking for in the loft,’ she shouted out to the two police officers who had begun to search her bedroom. ‘No need to wreck our home, is there? It’d upset Ellen, you see. She’s that houseproud. And the money’s in the commode by my bed.’ She walked back to Hunter and patted his hand. ‘The Red Cross brought it but I never use the thing,’ she said. ‘I’ve still got all my faculties.’ She laughed again.

‘You’ll have to come to the station to make a statement,’ Hunter said sullenly, withdrawing his hand. He knew he’d been used.

‘That’ll be a treat then, hinnie. A ride in a police car. I’ve always wanted one of those. Will you let me start the siren?’

She returned to her chair and stared at Hunter through narrowed eyes.

‘I could say that it was all young Powell’s idea,’ she said. ‘That I was just keeping the stuff for him, that he bullied me into doing it.’

‘How did you get him involved?’ Hunter asked. He knew this was out of order. He should wait to begin the interview until they were in the station, with the tape-recorder running, a WPC present, but he knew damn fine that Alma Paston would say nothing in front of witnesses unless she felt like it and she was well able to look after her own civil rights.

‘He involved himself, hinnie,’ she said. ‘I’m not a witch.’

‘Who brought him here?’

‘A friend of mine,’ she said. ‘A lad from the estate.’

‘What’s his name?’

She shook her head. ‘You’ll not expect me to tell you that,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you. It was a friend. A good boy.’

‘Why did John Powell do it?’ Hunter cried. ‘A lad like that with everything to lose.’

‘It was the excitement,’ she said. ‘The danger. My Robbie was just the same. I could tell that the minute Johnny was in the house. I recognized the signs. It was like my Robbie all over again. I knew once he started he’d never be able to stop.’

‘So you encouraged him to steal cars?’

‘I bought what he had to sell,’ she corrected him. ‘Mostly radios, of course, but you’d be surprised the stuff that gets left in cars.’ She shut her eyes and continued in reminiscence. ‘I did a nice little line in designer raincoats and jackets for a while: Burberry, Berghaus, you know the sort. You can get a good price for a famous label if it’s in decent condition, even secondhand. The lads and lassies around her appreciate quality.’

‘How did you sell it on?’ he asked. ‘You never leave the house. Did the customers come here?’

She opened her eyes and looked at him disapprovingly. ‘I’d not be such a fool,’ she said.

‘Sarge!’ There was a shout from the hall. The DC was standing on a short stepladder with his head stuck through a square hole in the roof. ‘I think this is what we’re after!’ He descended, wiping the dust from his hands, and Hunter took his place and shone a torch into the roof space. There, neatly piled in boxes on the floor, was a variety of stolen goods. Most of the boxes contained radios and cassette-recorders, but there were briefcases, ladies’ handbags, leather gloves. He could see boxes of wine, jewellery, small electrical household items. Alma was standing at the foot of the ladder.

‘It’s a canny storeroom, isn’t it?’ she said with satisfaction. ‘That’s all Ellen’s work. I can’t get up there myself.’

‘Where did you get the toasters, then?’ Hunter shouted down. ‘And the booze? The kids’d not have found that in stolen cars. Not all of it at least.’

‘No,’ she conceded. ‘Well, we found we’d saturated the market with in-car entertainment—that’s what they call it you know, the radios and cassettes. So we decided to branch out.’

‘The ram raids,’ Hunter said. There was a grudging admiration in his voice. She had nerve, you had to give her that, and she’d been conning them all for years. ‘ Was Powell involved in that too?’

He climbed down to join her.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I think you can say that Johnny was the leading light behind the ram raids. The moving force.’ She touched Hunter’s arm conspiratorially. ‘The attack on the Coast Road hypermarket on the night Gabby died,’ she said. ‘That was all his own work. I wasn’t pleased about that. I thought the timing lacked respect. But he’s always had a flair for organization.’

‘You were telling me how you get rid of the stuff,’ Hunter said.

‘Was I?’ She was teasing him, pleased by his interest. ‘ Perhaps I’ll let you work that one out for yourself. We don’t want to make it too easy for you.’

‘You’ll stop mucking me about,’ he said.

‘I run a sort of franchise,’ she said proudly, not intimidated in the least. She had wanted to tell him anyway. ‘I suppose that’s what you’d call it. I have agents who do the selling for me. I take a commission.’

‘That bloke who was in court on the afternoon Mrs Wood died,’ Hunter said. ‘Tommy Shiels. Was he one of your agents?’

She nodded. ‘Not one of the best, though, hinnie. You mustn’t think I only deal with the losers.’

‘At least he kept his mouth shut,’ Hunter said. ‘He never let on he was working for you.’