Stalked By Shadows (23 page)

Lucy and Paula were both in the office. Nodding a greeting to Paula, Millie went over to Lucy’s desk. She looked terrible, pale with dark circles under her eyes.

‘Hi,’ said Millie. ‘Great night last night.’

Lucy gave a wan smile. ‘It was, but I’m paying the price today.’

‘Bad head?’ Millie queried.

‘Not just that.’ Lucy lowered her voice so that Paula wouldn’t hear. ‘I haven’t stopped throwing up all morning.’

‘Maybe you should have stayed at home,’ Millie said sympathetically.

‘For a hangover? I couldn’t do that. I’ll be OK. What are you doing here?’

‘The other day, when I was leaving your house, I bumped into the woman who cleans for some of your neighbours,’ Millie told her.

‘A cleaner? Really?’ Lucy brightened. ‘That sounds like a great idea, I wonder if she’d do our house too?’

Millie shook her head. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. She told me she’s full.’

‘Shame. That’s the other thing about having such a ridiculously big house; all the cleaning. Sorry, you were saying?’

‘This woman called me back this morning because two or three weeks ago, she was approached by a tall, scruffy Irishman, who was asking where you live. Have you any idea who he might be?’

Lucy wrinkled her nose. ‘The only Irish I know are Leigh and the guys in the band. Are you sure it wasn’t one of them?’

‘The description doesn’t fit Leigh,’ said Millie. ‘This guy was tall but with short dark hair. Is there anyone who fits that description; one of the roadies perhaps?’

Lucy shook her head slowly. ‘Of course, they come and go, so I might not necessarily know, but the only ones I know are Dec and Rod and neither of them has short dark hair. They’re both pretty average height, too.’

‘This man looked scruffy too, like a traveller. There’s no one else you can think of like that?’

They were speaking normally now and Paula Kirkwood must have heard from across the office. ‘What about Michael Kerrigan?’ she said to Lucy. ‘Didn’t you say he gave you a hard time about the social worker?’

‘Oh, God, Kerrigan, yes, of course. It all makes sense now!’ Lucy seized on the idea enthusiastically. So much easier to contemplate than that her husband or one of his friends might be behind all this
.

‘What happened?’ Millie asked.

‘Kerrigan was waiting for me in the car park one evening a couple of weeks ago. He started yelling at me, shouting abuse, but that was all.’ After the initial fervour, doubts began to creep in. ‘But he’s all bluster, and he’d been drinking. I’m sure he wouldn’t -’

‘If he was waiting for you in the car park he could have watched you get into your car. He could also have followed you, at least as far as the estate. Why was he waiting for you?’

‘To give me a piece of his mind, mostly,’ Lucy said. ‘Part of my job is to go into homes where there’s a newborn, to make sure that the baby is being cared for and that there are no problems in the family. The Kerrigan family is on my caseload. They are settled travellers.’

‘So what was Michael Kerrigan so unhappy about?’ asked Millie.

‘When I did the home visit, I had concerns about his wife. She was very low; I thought she might have postnatal depression. I think the money is a bit tight and there are some issues with the older children attending school, so all in all it seemed a good idea to make a referral to social services. It didn’t go down very well with Mr Kerrigan.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘I suppose I did the home visit about a month ago and would have made the referral straight after that.’

‘So it would be around the same time as the phone calls started?’ Millie said, piecing it together.

‘I couldn’t be sure, but, yes, I suppose it was about then.’ Lucy was warming to the idea again.

‘But how would Kerrigan have got your personal phone number?’ Millie wondered. ‘You’re not listed in the phone book.’

Lucy flushed. ‘I gave it to his wife,’ she confessed.

Paula couldn’t restrain herself. ‘Lucy!’

‘Isn’t that against your professional code or something?’ Millie hazarded.

‘It was stupid, I know, but I was worried about Mrs Kerrigan. I wanted to give her every opportunity to contact someone if she needed to. I thought it was possible that the relationship might be abusive. Michael came in while we were talking and she seemed afraid of him.’

‘Where do they live?’ Millie asked. ‘I need to go and talk to Mr Kerrigan.’

Lucy gave her the address. ‘Should I come with you?’

‘No, that’s fine.’ Millie was resolute. ‘You can leave this one to me.’

But once out in her car again, Millie was torn by indecision. What she wanted more than anything was to solve this case herself and be able to deliver a result to Mariner that she’d achieved all on her own. But she was also a realist. If Kerrigan was a traveller, albeit a settled one, then it was likely that he’d be more forthcoming speaking to a man. And if Lucy suspected him of being abusive towards his wife, then he may be aggressive towards her, too. She recalled the advice Mariner had given her, and recognised this as one of those occasions when she could potentially get out of her depth. First, though, she drove back to Granville Lane to find out whether Michael Kerrigan had a history. He did. Kerrigan’s convictions were mainly for petty theft and burglary, but he had also got himself into some scraps; a couple of assaults that were basically drunken brawls, outside various local hostelries. No arrests or convictions for some years.

Mariner himself was out with Tony Knox but luckily Charlie Glover was available, and what’s more already knew the Kerrigan family, so would be able to smooth the way. And as far as Glover could recall there had never been any complaints of violence against the long-suffering Mrs Kerrigan.

‘He’s a lovable rogue,’ Charlie said as they drove off the station concourse.

Millie liked Charlie Glover. A quiet and unassuming family man, Charlie would have seemed more at home as an accountant or a civil servant than a police officer. Solidly built, with thinning fair hair, he was also solid in a scrape and she was confident that, like the other members of the team, he wasn’t about to try to steal her glory.

‘Do you think he’d be up to stalking?’ Millie wondered.

‘It might depend on how much he thinks he’s been wronged,’ Glover said. ‘And how much drink he’s got inside him.’

The Kerrigan family lived in the heart of the Nansen Road sink estate in one of the larger council houses. Michael Kerrigan was in the garden tinkering with an ancient motorcycle when they got there. Even though it was a cool day, he wore jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, his tattooed arms oily and a grimy bandana tied around his forehead. Pushing fifty he was rangy and strong; not a man you’d want to run into in a dark alley. Millie could understand why Pam had felt intimidated.

But Kerrigan seemed unperturbed to see them. ‘Mr Glover,’ he said evenly. ‘This is a rare pleasure. What can I do for you, sir?’ He picked up a filthy cloth and wiped his hands on it. Though he’d lived in the city for three decades, the Irish accent was as strong as any Millie had heard.

‘I hear congratulations are in order, Michael,’ said Glover pleasantly. ‘You’ve got a new addition to the family.’

Kerrigan beamed with what seemed like genuine pride. ‘I’ve still got it in me,’ he boasted.

‘What did the social services think?’ Glover asked.

Kerrigan’s face clouded. ‘They had no feckin’ business coming here, and that feckin’ nurse had no right to send them in the first place.’

‘She was only doing her job,’ Glover reasoned. ‘Making sure that your wife had all the support she needed.’

‘I give her enough support. She doesn’t want anyone else interfering.’ Kerrigan’s fists hanging loose at his sides, had clenched, the knuckles white.

‘You seem upset about that,’ Glover observed.

‘They have no right to come sticking their noses in, the social. It’s only because of who we are.’

‘It still bothers you, doesn’t it?’

Kerrigan’s eyes narrowed quizzically.

‘Is that why you’re giving Mrs Jarrett a hard time?’

Kerrigan squinted at Glover uncertainly.

‘I heard that you caused a scene outside the health centre a couple of weeks ago,’ Glover continued, and the penny dropped.

‘Yeah, well, she deserved it,’ said Kerrigan petulantly.

‘Did she deserve the phone calls too?’ Millie interceded. ‘Have you been trying to give her a scare?’

‘What?’

‘
You bitch, I’m going to make you suffer
. It’s not very imaginative, Mr Kerrigan.’

Kerrigan directed his confusion at Glover. ‘What the hell is she talkin’ about?’

‘So you haven’t taken it upon yourself to make nuisance phone calls to Lucy Jarrett’s house?’ Glover said. ‘We’ve got a witness who can put you in the vicinity of Mrs Jarrett’s home about three weeks ago.’

‘How the feck?’ Kerrigan seemed mystified. ‘I don’t even know where the woman lives.’

‘You know where she works, though. It would have been easy enough to follow her home,’ Glover pointed out.

‘Oh, and I can run at forty miles an hour now, can I? In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr Glover, I don’t have a car.’

‘It doesn’t mean you can’t borrow one when you need it. Our witness saw someone fitting your description, including the accent, who says you were at Hill Crest three weeks ago on a Thursday at about nine thirty, asking where Lucy Jarrett lives.’

‘I’ve told you,’ Kerrigan insisted. ‘I don’t even know where that is.’

‘Let me refresh your memory then. It’s the estate off the Bristol Road, just down from the college.’

Kerrigan thought for a moment. ‘Ah, I know the one. The big posh houses. Yeah, I was there. Can’t remember when it was, though.’

‘What were you doing there?’ Glover asked.

‘Knocking doors,’ said Kerrigan. ‘We had a load of tarmac, so I was askin’ if anyone wanted their drive doin’. It was ages ago.’

‘Our witness says you were asking for Lucy Jarrett’s house.’

‘Well, your witness is wrong, Mr Glover. It wasn’t me he talked to. There was no one about, the place was like a bleedin’ ghost town, and, anyway, I’m not anywhere at nine thirty in the morning. I don’t get up till all the kids are off to school, maybe ten o’clock.’

‘Is there anyone who can back that up?’ Glover asked.

‘Do you mean is there anyone there in bed with me at that time? Now whatever would the wife think, Mr Glover?’

‘Have you got a computer, Mr Kerrigan?’ Millie asked.

Kerrigan regarded her with suspicion. ‘Aye, the kiddies need it for their school work, but I know nothin’ about the thing.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Millie walked back to the car with Charlie Glover. ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘He’s admitted to being in that area.’

‘But not at that time of day. His kind of lifestyle, I doubt very much that he’s up with the lark. And I don’t think he’s that vindictive.’

‘But he is proud,’ Millie pointed out. ‘I can’t imagine he’d like what it would do to his reputation if it got around that social services had been in. You saw how tense he was about that.’

‘True,’ Glover conceded.

‘Do you think it’s worth an ID parade?’

‘Trouble with that is that he’s admitted being on the estate. Your cleaner might well recognise him, but only because she’s seen him at a completely different time.’ Glover had a point. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t discount him straight away, but you’re going to need more than circumstantial to bring him in.’

Still feeling ill, Lucy Jarrett had left work early and arrived home late on Monday afternoon to find another package on the doorstep. She groaned inwardly. Mostly this was just becoming tiresome now. She picked up the long, narrow cardboard box, which was surprisingly lightweight, its label announcing that inside were flowers from Guernsey. Taking it into the kitchen, she actually considered consigning it straight to the bin, but realised that Millie would probably want to see it. Then she remembered Alice, who had started out with her as a health visitor and had moved to Guernsey just a few months ago; they must be genuine after all. With some relief she snipped open the tape and lifted off the lid. She cried out involuntarily. Inside were six roses, dried, withered and obscene like tiny skeletons lying side by side in a miniature coffin. There was a sheet of paper wrapped around them which she gingerly removed, and on it was one of her own wedding photos, but her face had been obliterated by the frenzied scribble of a black marker pen. The caption typed underneath read:
A flower that isn’t nurtured withers and dies. I’m going to make sure it happens to you. Happy Anniversary.

Bright lights flashed behind Lucy’s eyes and she felt faint, bile rising suddenly in her throat again. Thank God for the downstairs cloakroom.

When the retching had finished, she threw cold water on her face, and looked up into the mirror. Wither and die? It was already happening. Her skin was pale and her cheeks sunken. Lately she’d had to start wearing a belt with her favourite jeans, to keep them up. Last week alone three different people had asked her if she was all right, or told her how tired she looked. When she lifted the phone she was unable to control the tremor in her hand.

Millie had already left, so Lucy spoke to her voicemail.

The message was simple: ‘DC Khatoon, it’s Lucy Jarrett. Something else came today.’

Millie picked up the message first thing on Tuesday morning and went straight out to see Lucy. She looked as grey and ill as she had the day before. ‘Are you sure you’re not sickening for something?’

‘I don’t know,’ Lucy said wearily. ‘I do feel lousy and I’ve been sick again this morning.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in an hour.’

‘You’re not -’ Millie began.

‘Oh, God, no. Could you imagine? I think Will would kill me.’

Millie wondered if she realised what she had just said. Lucy took her through to the kitchen where the box lay on the table.