The Backs (2013) (36 page)

‘It really is.’ Goodhew nodded. ‘I can put you in touch with my DI if you’d like confirmation?’

‘Suspicion is too draining, I try to avoid it.’ Carter shook his head. ‘That way of thinking wouldn’t work in your job, I suppose.’ Carter turned away slightly, his attention now focused on the phone call. Goodhew could just pick out the miniature sound of ringing at the other end, then the compressed sound of a man’s voice. But, beyond the first ‘Hello’, it was impossible to hear what he said.

‘Bill? Where’s that storage yard you drop off at?’ Carter listened for a few seconds. ‘No, it’s for art, so I need the same one that Dan and Gerry Osborne use.’ More listening. ‘Yes, I know you’ve told me before. I’ve just forgotten . . . don’t worry, the address is fine . . . Thanks, smashing.’

Carter scribbled on the top sheet of a jotter block, then passed it to Goodhew.
‘Yellow Box Secure Storage.’

‘Phone him back.’

‘Why?’

‘Ask him what’s in it.’

‘I’ve just pretended I wanted to rent one.’

‘Well, unpretend then . . . or give me the number.’

Carter pressed redial on the handset, passed it to Goodhew, then grabbed it back and waved Goodhew away. ‘He won’t know you,’ he hissed. ‘Bill, me again. How much fits into it?’

Carter listened as the other man spoke, then replied. ‘Yes, I need space for a whole collection.’ More listening. ‘Yes, yes, I see.’

Carter finished the call and looked at Goodhew. ‘Wow, if Bill picked something up here, it went into that store. Gerry and Dan have bought nearly every piece.’

‘Both of them?’

Carter smoothed the hair running into his ponytail and considered the police officer’s question. ‘I wouldn’t actually know. But, out of the two of them, only Gerry loves the art and only Dan deals with the money.’

‘Therefore Dan must be the one to know. He would have arranged for the collection and settled the bill with this gallery.’

‘But why would he want to keep a lot of pieces he doesn’t even like?’

Goodhew now felt sceptical; he had previously assumed that Dan worked for Gerry simply because of the enthusiasm that came through whenever he discussed his father’s art. He said, ‘I thought he was a fan.’

‘It isn’t love of the art that fuels Dan’s enthusiasm. I see Lucian Freud written all over Gerry.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Dan seeks his father’s approval, but Gerry’s a man too enamoured with his own art to give his children what they need. That talent for sculpture is Gerry’s golden child.’

Wafting or no wafting, Goodhew was out of his cultural depth now. Carter finished speaking and looked expectantly at Goodhew. It felt as though he anticipated the minimum of enthusiastic agreement, and even possibly a round of applause.

Goodhew shook Carter’s hand. ‘Thank you so much.’ He left the gallery and hurried back to Parkside, reaching for his radio and mobile the moment he stepped outside.

There had been calm since Goodhew left. Jane had photographed the business card with the camera on her own mobile phone before she let him borrow it. She hoped Goodhew would bring it back, but he hadn’t promised to. She understood, and figured she’d lost worse.

As he’d left her house, a wall of summer heat had pushed its way through the front door. Maybe it was only cold and dark within this particular mausoleum. She opened the back door and ventured on to the grass, heading to the sunny patch in the centre. She let the sun warm her right through but went back inside before her jumper left her uncomfortably hot.

As she showered, she found her thoughts constantly settling on her niece Reba. Or, at least, on the thought of a niece. Jane didn’t know if she was in any way maternal, and she had always found the idea of children completely alien. But, even so, the thought of meeting Reba was calling loudly to her.

She checked the time and found it was almost 12.30.

She hesitated, phone in hand; her invitation to meet Reba was set for tomorrow, and she didn’t want to start off badly. But a new feeling of urgency had sprung up and she didn’t want to wait.

She called their number. It was Dan’s wife Roz who answered.

‘Hi, it’s Jane . . . um, Dan’s sister. I was just wondering whether I could drop by. I mean in a minute or two.’

‘Dan’s not here. He’s off with his dad. Sorry,
your
dad, obviously.’ Roz paused awkwardly. ‘Reba’s excited about meeting you.’ In the background, the child overheard heard her name and asked her mum who was on the phone. ‘Dad’s sister Jane.’

‘My new aunty Jane?’

‘That’s right, my love. Sorry.’

That
Sorry
sounded as though it had been aimed into the receiver, so Jane assumed it was for her. ‘It’s OK. I was just wondering whether I could pop round right now. Just to say hello. To break the ice with Reba before we sit down for tea tomorrow?’

Roz gave a little ‘Oh’ of surprise, then spoke to Reba next. ‘Jane says she can come by and say Hi now.’ Reba’s response was a gleeful
Yes.
‘That would be lovely. How soon?’

‘Ten minutes?’

Jane changed into her only remaining clean clothes – black combat trousers and a grey vest – and hurried off to Dan’s house. Another ten minutes after that, she was sitting, mug in hand, watching her little niece cut and shape a plasticine flower. ‘My granddad makes great big sculptures, but not flowers. Do you know my granddad?’

Roz was in the room, but not hovering over her child the way Jane had seen some mothers do. Not sure how much she was allowed to say, Jane looked questioningly at Roz, who nodded.

‘Your granddad is my daddy.’

‘And he’s my daddy’s daddy. Is that why you’re my aunty?’

Jane smiled. ‘That’s right.’

The house phone rang just then. Roz checked the display, smiled and picked up the cordless handset from the table. ‘Hi . . . She’s here right now.’

Roz’s grip on the phone visibly tightened, and Jane pretended to take closer interest in Reba’s bloom. ‘What sort of flower is this, then?’

‘A pink sunflower.’

Roz moved towards the hall. ‘Reba was excited.’ She lowered her voice but the urgent whisper carried more clearly still. ‘Dan, listen, how did I know it would be such a big deal?’

Reba glanced up at Jane. ‘My dad says you’re trying to steal the house but you won’t get it.’

‘Your granddad’s house?’

‘Uh-huh. Granddad doesn’t use it.’ She found herself smiling encouragement at Reba. The little girl didn’t smile back; her tone was now too earnest for that. ‘Daddy says one day we’ll own the whole world, and the people we don’t like will get eaten alive.’

‘Wow, eaten alive!’

‘Don’t worry, Jane, I’ll tell Daddy that I like you.’

From the corner of her eye she saw Roz returning.

‘Well, Reba, I like you too. And you have a lovely house here, much better than that old one I’m staying in.’

Roz put the handset back on its stand. ‘That was Dan.’ Roz looked uncomfortable.

‘I guess it’s not a good time?’

‘I’m sorry . . . something to do with your dad, I guess. If you’re still OK for tea tomorrow, though . . .’

‘Sure,’ Jane replied. Roz was clearly making an excuse, though she doubted it was connected with her father, and she wondered why Dan had a problem with her being here at a time when he wasn’t.

Reba stared up at them both with a frown. ‘Mummy, I was asking Jane about Daddy’s other house. Is it haunted?’

Roz seemed too distracted to pay full attention to what her daughter had just said. ‘There aren’t any ghosts here, darling,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry, Jane,’ she said, and her embarrassment seemed genuine enough.

Jane clambered to her feet, winking at Reba. ‘The best ghosts are in
Scooby Doo
, you know. Will I see you tomorrow?’

Reba grinned. ‘Unless the monster gets you first.’

KADO Employment occupied both floors. Inside the building was an internal staircase joining the two levels, but the fire door at each end had been locked by the police, in order to keep their search of each storey as separate as possible. In fact, downstairs had been handed back to the Daltons late the same morning. Officially they could now reopen and continue trading until the almost inevitable fallout from Marshall’s death brought down the shutters for the last time. But as they hadn’t been left with a single PC, telephone, diary or timetable, opening the front doors was clearly pointless and the shop front had remained locked and unlit.

Upstairs had been handed back in the last half hour, and the Daltons’ subsequent comings and goings had been only via the external rear door, which stood at the top of a rusted-metal fire escape. Kincaide already knew this and had parked at the furthest point away where he still had a clear view of the backs of the Milton Road shops. He would know when anyone left the premises.

Karen and Andrew had arrived in separate vehicles and it therefore seemed logical to Kincaide that one might leave before the other. He’d kept his distance and waited. He didn’t care which of them he got to speak to, as long as it was just one of them.

Now Andrew Dalton was leaving. Kincaide watched him slip out into the traffic without any backward glance towards his wife or the business, his attention focused only ahead. Kincaide pulled out of his parking space and into the rear alley, leaving his car blocking in her Lexus.

The door at the top of the fire escape was still ajar, and he hoped he could make it up there before she spotted him and had the chance to slam it in his face.

In fact, she didn’t notice him at all, and he stood in the doorway for a long minute, watching as she crouched to collect some fallen items of unused stationery.

‘We didn’t leave you much stuff, did we?’

He could sense that he’d startled her, but she calmly rose to her feet and crossed towards him without any sign of nervousness. ‘What do you want?’

‘You and Drew are in the middle of it now. It’s not like last time, and it’s not going away. Don’t think of trying to blackmail me.’

She’d halted just a couple of feet in front of him, pursing her lips. ‘We’ll do what’s necessary to minimise damage.’ She blinked, slow and reptilian, with her lids sliding shut, then pausing a moment before snapping open again.

‘You don’t have the hold on me that you may think you do.’

‘You used our girls, Michael, so—’

‘Stop there.’ He took a step closer. ‘I’m going to be specific here. Yes, I slept with two women who both happened to advertise on your site. I was a new DC who made a small mistake, which you and Drew then used against me.’

‘You phoned us, remember?’

‘Yes, to warn you.’

‘Right, and to make sure your name disappeared from our records. What we did was mutually beneficial.’

‘And now it’s not. So don’t even try to implicate me. When you wanted that evidence destroyed, I thought I’d helped Jackson avoid a life sentence.’ Was she even listening? He raised his voice. ‘I thought he was guilty, but did you know all along that he wasn’t the killer?’

‘Of course not. That card would have pointed straight at us. We thought we were being set up.’

‘So who killed her?’

‘How should we know? But it wasn’t us, and we weren’t going down for it either.’ She smiled, and it was an expression that said
So that’s settled now.

She reminded him of his wife just then.

‘You arrogant fucking bitch.’ He moved closer and grabbed her arm as she tried to step away from him. ‘I’m not altering or destroying anything more for you.’

‘How are you in a better position to negotiate than before?’ She smirked. ‘You still have a career, and it’s still there to be ruined.’

‘You have had –’ he shoved her away with both hands – ‘all you –’
shove
– ‘will have –’
shove
– ‘from me.’ With each push she stepped back, but her expression remained defiant. The next time his hand reached out it wasn’t to push her. Instead he snatched a handful of her hair and pulled her towards him.

He held her close with her face only inches from his own. ‘Are you one of those women who doesn’t know when enough is enough?’ He jerked at the hair closest to her scalp, shaking her and pushing his face right into hers. ‘You and Andrew have fucked it up. Between the police and the tax office, you are losing everything – and you will not take me down with you.’

‘Andrew will kill you,’ she hissed.

‘No, Karen. I am never going to risk what I have. And the second I think you are a threat, I will tell Jackson what you did. He went down to save your skin, not mine. He’ll make you
both
pay.’

He gave her one last push and turned away. She stumbled back against one of the tables. Its feet squealed in protest but she stopped herself from falling. He didn’t look back, though, and the door slammed in his wake.

The din they had created was more than enough to cover the muted sound of the internal door to the staircase being unlocked from the other side. And Karen Dalton was facing in the wrong direction to notice the handle begin to move.

After Jane had let herself back into the house, her hands trembled as she held the kettle under the tap, making ripples spread across the surface of the water that filled it. Then she watched it boil and practised her breathing: in through the nose and gently out through the mouth.

The steam from the spout rose first in lazy ribbons, then started to thicken. It skimmed the wall, the dampness feeding the mould that blackened the grout between the tiles, with condensation forming beads of wet on the painted wall further along. And it was when it passed over the glass front of the crockery cupboard that she saw his reflection. He was watching her from the hallway.

‘Hello, Dan.’ She turned slowly. ‘When did you get here?’

‘I came as soon as I discovered you had been to my house. I invited you tomorrow, not today.’

The kettle clicked itself off. ‘Tea?’

‘No. Actually, I think you should come away from the kettle, Jane. Out of the kitchen is probably best.’ He indicated for her to move towards the front of the house. His tone sounded calm, reasonable even, but from that she knew that she should do what she was told.