Vera Stanhope 06 - Harbour Street (27 page)

She fell silent and looked around her. Joe wondered if she was expecting a round of applause for her expert summing-up. Holly stuck up her hand.

‘How does this move the investigation on, boss? It was a long time ago. How many people still around knew that she was on the game?’

Oh, Holly!
Joe thought.
When will you learn? You don’t question Vera Stanhope when she’s on a roll.

But Vera must have been feeling generous and today there was no cutting put-down. ‘This is still relevant, Hol. Because you’re a babe-in-arms you don’t understand how the dim and distant can come back to haunt you. Maybe Margaret wanted to go public about her past before she died. To set the record straight. And there were respectable people – ex-clients – who didn’t want her to do that.’ She paused. ‘How did you get on at the Haven?’

‘One of the residents there claims that she lived in the house in Harbour Street at the same time as Margaret.’ Holly looked at her notes. ‘Susan Coulson. She’s a bit confused, and was talking about having had a child that was taken away from her. But she did say that she knew Margaret’s boss.’

‘Okay. That’d be Malcom Kerr. Or his father, Billy. Let’s get Malcolm in tomorrow. I can’t believe that he didn’t know how Margaret was earning her living at that time. He’s always seen himself as some sort of confidant. I don’t see him as a pimp, though. Anything else?’

Holly looked again at her notes. ‘Not from the Haven, but I spoke to Enderby’s wife.’

‘And?’

‘She confirmed that she’s left him. Posh Diana has fallen for a guy who runs the stables where she keeps her horses.’ Holly grinned. ‘He’s very fit apparently. She went into some detail . . . And I asked Enderby if we could take the outdoor clothes that he was carrying around in his wheelie suitcase for testing.’

‘How did he seem when you asked him?’

‘Hurt. “How can you believe that I would do something like that?” He didn’t kick up too much of a fuss, though.’

Vera looked around the room. ‘Anyone else like to contribute to this investigation? Or is this just a case being run by the women on the team?’

Joe slowly raised his hand.

‘Yes, Joe. You and Charlie have had a nice day out in the country visiting our professor.’ She pointed to Mike Craggs’s name on the board. ‘What did you get from him? He was knocking around in Mardle at the time. A young research scientist. Was he one of Margaret’s customers, do you think?’

‘Craggs admitted that he admired her,’ Joe said. ‘But nah, I don’t think so. He was already married to his wife then, and you can tell that he loves her to bits.’ He saw that Vera was about to sneer – any talk of romance and she pretended to puke – so he moved on quickly. ‘Craggs did pass on one interesting bit of information, though.’

‘Get on with it, Joe man.’

‘The Kerrs were in financial difficulties in the Eighties. They owed money all over the town and when the office building burned down, it seemed a bit too convenient. Rumour had it that it was an insurance scam.’

Joe could see Vera processing this and dismissing it as unimportant. He suspected that she’d developed a theory of her own. That would explain her excitement. She was just waiting for the right moment to share it. Still he persisted. ‘Margaret would have known the Kerrs’ financial position. She kept their books, after all. If she was planning to come clean about the past, maybe she was going to talk about that too.’

‘That’s petty stuff. I don’t think anyone would give a toss so many years later.’

So
, Joe thought,
that’s put me in my place
.
Vera might have given the idea at least a moment’s consideration
.

She moved forward, a star preparing to step into the spotlight. ‘Could the professor tell you anything about Pawel Krukowski, the husband?’

‘Nothing. He was already off the scene by the time Craggs got to know Margaret.’ Joe was going to offer up the photo album to Vera, but thought that the mood she was in now, elated and carried away with some theory of her own, she would only mock him for implying that it had any significance.

There was a silence. Vera looked out at them, and Joe saw that at least she was gearing up to share her grand idea. ‘I don’t believe that Pawel suddenly disappeared off the face of the Earth,’ she said. ‘Margaret could have been hiding more than the fact that she sold sex for a living.’ She looked around her and again she seemed to be expecting applause.

‘You think that she killed her husband?’ Joe thought Vera was entering the realm of fantasy now. Margaret Krukowski wasn’t a killer, but a victim.

‘I don’t know
exactly
what to think at this point.’ She glared at him. ‘We’re telling stories. Creating theories. But tomorrow we need to check some facts.’ She was back at the whiteboard and she wiped out a bare patch and started making notes. ‘Pawel Krukowski. What’s happened to him? I’m betting that he’s dead and, if he’s still alive and living happily in Warsaw, then I’ll be buying the carry-outs for the next five years. Charlie, you take over tracing him. First thing in the morning. Get our European colleagues to help out. Hol, you see if you can find any record of the fire at Malcolm’s yard, but don’t waste too much time on it.’

She stopped, her hand raised, holding the marker pen. ‘This Susan Coulson, did you meet her when you visited the Haven, Joe?’

Joe reeled back his memory and saw a grey-haired woman stirring soup, the tears rolling down her cheeks. He’d thought she was odd, overreacting to the death of a virtual stranger, but if she and Margaret had been friends for more than thirty years that would make more sense. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I met her.’

‘Chat to her. Away from the hostel, if you can manage it. Jane Cameron’s a control freak. It takes one to know one. And I don’t want her listening in.’ Vera paused again. ‘Bring her back to Harbour Street. Buy her a fish-and-chip dinner or a port and lemon in the Coble. See if you can jog any memories.’

‘I really don’t think she’d be an admissible witness, boss. Any defence brief would eat her for breakfast.’ Holly had jumped in again. Joe wondered if she was resenting the fact that her witness had been taken away from her, though he knew Holly would have little patience with Susan, who was old and confused.

Vera kept her voice mild. ‘At this point I’m not worrying about the court case, Hol. I just want to know who killed these two women.’

When Joe arrived home the kids were looking out for him. Sal’s parents had taken them to see a panto at Whitley Bay Playhouse and the two oldest were full of it. Michael had been onstage and a clown had pulled a
live
rabbit from his ear. They were full of wonder, even Jessie, who claimed that she was a bit old for magic these days. He wondered how he would cope with her as a teenager, stroppy and defensive, and remembered again the schoolgirls he’d seen in the Metro on the afternoon Margaret Krukowski had died. Simpering and playing up to the boys. It was hard to imagine that they’d ever been excited by a pantomime.

In bed, he found it difficult to sleep. He was planning how he might carry out Vera’s instructions to get Susan Coulson away from the Haven. He’d been intimidated by Jane Cameron, and he could hardly kidnap the woman. And something about the picture of the older woman, her eyes streaming with silent tears, seemed very moving to him. He wasn’t sure now if she was weeping for Margaret Krukowski or for the child that had been taken away from her. Later he replayed his conversation with Michael Craggs, anxious because he felt that he’d missed something important. The last image in his mind, just before he slept, was of the elderly couple leaning over their garden gate, their arms around each other and waving goodbye to him.

When he woke, it came to him, almost as part of a dream, that he hadn’t passed the photo album on to Vera.

The next day was clear and frosty and Vera was in Mardle before it got light. It felt like truancy. She should be in her office coordinating the actions, supervising. An inspector’s role was strategic. Except that she’d always been seduced by the detail. She told herself she’d be back at the station before lunchtime. It was time to reel in Malcolm Kerr. He’d been playing silly buggers with her, and she hated being taken for a fool.

The first stop was Percy Street. The curtains were drawn, so she assumed that she’d find Kerr in, but when she knocked on the door there was no response. An alley ran along the back of the houses, separated from the gardens by a wooden fence. The street light caught the frost on the overgrown grass and when she went in, there was ice on the concrete path. She banged on the kitchen door and again there was no response. When she tried the handle it was locked.

A man came out of the house next door. He wore an anorak and a Newcastle United knitted hat and matching black-and-white striped gloves. He was on his way to work and he regarded Vera with suspicion.

‘What do you want?’

‘You don’t happen to know where Malcolm is, do you, pet? Only I can’t get an answer.’ Her breath came as a cloud in the strange, white light.

He was in a hurry and now he had Vera down as someone official. ‘I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.’ And he rushed away before she could ask anything more from him. She was tempted to try to get into the house. There’d probably be a spare key somewhere, under a flowerpot or the back doormat, but if Malcolm Kerr was inside sleeping off a hangover she’d be caught in the act of breaking in. Anyway something about the stillness of the house made her think it was empty, that Malcolm was probably at his yard. She imagined him there in his shed, wrapped in an old overcoat, dreaming of the love of his life. He’d have done anything for Margaret Krukowski and Vera thought now that the man could have killed Margaret’s husband, or at least helped her to dispose of his body. That was one of the theories she was working on, which had been spinning around in her brain all night. She wanted to get Kerr safely into custody, but without frightening him. The present murders could be the result of fear, she thought. Of a man trapped into a corner and fighting to save himself.

When she arrived at the boatyard it was locked and padlocked. The street behind her was beginning to come to life, but there was no sign that anyone had been into Kerr’s secret domain. The hoar frost on the pavement was undisturbed. Now her anxiety increased. She saw Malcolm Kerr as a lost and friendless man with nothing to lose. Bad enough if he’d killed himself. But, again, she thought that he was desperate and that he might try to fight back. She wanted no more violence. She ran through the options for action. She could get a warrant to search his house and the yard. Any evidence was circumstantial and based on the fact that he’d lied to them, but with two women dead it should be straightforward. A phone call to Holly would set the process in train. Still she hesitated. She knew it was illogical, but she had a fellow-feeling for Kerr. She’d known him since she was a child. She wanted the chance to talk to him before he was labelled a killer.

On impulse she walked back to the Harbour Guest House. She saw that George Enderby was eating breakfast in the dining room, at his usual table in the window. She’d forgotten that he’d told her he was staying an extra night. He glanced out and saw her and looked suddenly anxious.
I have that effect on people wherever I go.
She waved to him and smiled, then climbed the steps and knocked on the door. Kate Dewar answered. It seemed that she was in the middle of a conversation and something had made her laugh. She was still smiling when she saw Vera.

‘Inspector?’ A little wary, but not worried. Vera hadn’t seen her so happy. Then she noticed Stuart Booth standing in the shadow just behind Kate. The woman had been talking to him when Vera had arrived. Vera guessed that Booth hadn’t told her about his earlier relationship with Margaret Krukowski. Sensible. Vera had always thought honesty was an overrated virtue. Except during a police investigation.

‘Is your son in, Mrs Dewar?’

Now Kate was suddenly worried. ‘Why do you want Ryan? What’s he done?’

‘Nothing!’ Vera smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way. ‘I’m looking for Malcolm Kerr, who seems to have gone AWOL, and I thought Ryan might have some idea where he might be.’

‘The kids are both downstairs having breakfast. We’ve just finished.’

‘Is it okay if I go down? You come along too.’

The kitchen was the warmest room in the house and, after being outside, it felt like walking into a greenhouse. Chloe and Ryan were at the table. It was laid for four, all very proper, milk in a jug and marmalade in a bowl. Perhaps it was running a guest house for all those years that meant Kate couldn’t cope with cartons of juice, butter still in its wrapper. Or perhaps she was still trying to impress her lover. Vera was surprised that the kids were up at all. Teenagers in the school holidays – shouldn’t they still be in bed at lunchtime? Or perhaps Ryan was planning to work for Malcolm again today.

‘The inspector has some questions for you.’ Kate’s voice was a warning.

Ryan was reading a music magazine and had toast in his hand. He looked up. ‘What is it?’

‘Malcolm Kerr.’ Vera sat down. The toast smelled wonderful and she was suddenly a child in Hector’s house again. Toast was one of the few things he could cook well. ‘I’ve been to his house and to the yard, but I can’t find him. Any idea where he might be?’

‘Sorry.’

‘Had you arranged to work for him today?’ She couldn’t keep her mind off toast, dripping with butter, and the sharp fruitiness of marmalade, spread very thick.

‘Yeah, but not until a bit later.’

‘Have you any idea where he might be?’ This time she directed the question towards the girl too. She was sitting with her elbows on the table. Vera thought how young she looked, but too serious for a girl of that age. Troubled. Someone else burdened with secrets. A looker. When she was older you might mistake her for that photo of Margaret Krukowski on her wedding day.

The boy shrugged again and his glance slid back to the magazine. Hector would have slapped him for that.
Show a bit of respect, boy.