Race to the Kill, page 5
‘No, that wouldn’t suit Lizzie at all.’
‘She’s more natural, flowing. A delphinium, maybe.’
‘If you say so.’ He was glad they were off the subject of his dad. ‘Is it busy up at Halsworth Grange?’
‘It is in the garden. The visitor numbers are picking up, now the weather’s better.’
‘How’s Bill?’ Sean asked. He liked Chloe’s boss, a large, old-fashioned Yorkshireman. He’d been good for her, taken her on and trained her up in the gardening team.
‘He’s all right,’ she said. ‘Yeah, he’s good. How’s things with your work?’
He thought about telling her about his application for CID and the interview, but he hesitated. The fewer people who knew, the better. Then if he’d failed, it wouldn’t be so embarrassing.
‘Okay, got the whole weekend off, which makes a change. What about you?’ he said. ‘Are you staying here for a bit, or have you got other plans?’
‘I’ll check Jack’s got everything he needs, then I thought I might get a haircut,’ she said, pulling her ponytail in front of her and flicking through the split ends. ‘Just a trim.’
‘Good idea. Treat yourself.’
He said goodbye and watched her walk back towards the lifts. Outside, beyond the smokers attached to their drip stands, the sun was shining and the sky was intensely blue. He looked back at the hospital and mentally wished his sister well. Then he turned and headed back into the centre of town.
He thought about going to the market and buying something nice for Lizzie. He could surprise her with a fridge full of fresh vegetables and a pair of steaks. He might even look up a recipe and have a go at some cooking. It was ages since they’d had a meal together.
He could smell tomatoes and garlic when he opened the door.
‘Something smells nice,’ he said.
‘I made pasta,’ Lizzie said. ‘There’s some left in a pan in the kitchen, but it’ll be cold by now. Where have you been?’
‘Buying something for lunch,’ he said.
‘I’ve just told you, I made something. I’m going to have to go in a minute.’
‘Go where?’ he said, putting the bag down on the kitchen worktop.
He stood in the door of the living room and watched her, sitting on the sofa, jabbing at the keyboard of her laptop.
‘Autopsy. Lucky to get anyone in to do it on a Saturday.’
‘Is the boss going to be there?’ He wondered if DI Khan would say anything to Lizzie about the application to CID.
‘I expect so. He’s the SIO. Unless he sends DS Knowles.’
‘That’ll be nice.’
‘What’s your problem with Knowles?’ She was looking at him now, a tight frown line, like an exclamation mark between her eyebrows.
Sean shrugged. ‘Nothing, just a joke Gav made.’
‘Go on.’
‘Forget it.’
Somehow telling her that Ivan Knowles was known as Ivor Biggun didn’t seem very funny now.
‘He’s a bloody good detective,’ she said, ‘which is more than—’
She stopped herself, but the rest of the sentence hung in the air between them.
‘Damn you,’ he said, quietly, and immediately wished he hadn’t.
He retreated to the kitchen. He should tell her about the interview. He should tell her about being at the hospital with Jack and Chloe. But he didn’t. He took out a frying pan and peeled off one of the steaks he’d bought on the way home. When the fat was hot, he dropped it in and listened to the sizzle of the flesh searing. He looked at the other steak, soft and red against the butcher’s plastic bag. An image of the man in the school flashed through his mind, his face a mangled mess of soft, bloodied meat.
He heard her go through to the bedroom and the sound of the wardrobe door opening and slamming shut. He turned the steak over and opened the bag of salad. The second steak lay in the plastic bag on the worktop. He was thinking about putting it in the bin. Lizzie came back into the kitchen and he changed his mind. He dropped the second steak into the frying pan. He wasn’t going to waste it out of spite. He could manage both of them.
‘I’m off, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’
Olive branch, he thought. Should he take it?
‘Okay,’ he said, and shifted the frying pan on the hob. ‘What about the guy we picked up? Homsi? Anything on him?’
‘A lot of blood on his T-shirt, but it looks like expiration, as if he was leaning over the victim after the injuries were inflicted, but while the victim was still alive. The blood on his hands may be from the floor. The tread pattern in his boots matches some of the marks on the floor, but there are other shoe smears, muddying the waters. Anyway, Khan’s going to try and keep him in for as long as possible. Ivan interviewed him, and apparently he’s saying he heard shouting and hid, then went to see if his friend was all right.’
‘Why didn’t he leave, like the others?’
‘He told Ivan he had nowhere to go.’
‘Gav thinks I should push for him to be charged with assaulting a police officer.’
‘Did he, though?’
Sean shook his head. ‘He missed, from less than a metre away. So he wasn’t trying very hard.’
‘Pleased to hear it,’ she said.
‘What about his trousers?’
‘What about them?’ she said.
‘You were looking at the pattern of blood spatters, the killer would have the victim’s blood on their trousers. His looked clean.’
‘Thanks, Sean,’ she said. ‘I do know how to do my job.’
‘So?’
‘So, nothing visible to the naked eye, but obviously all his clothes have been sent off for analysis.’
‘Obviously,’ he said and turned his attention to the steaks, to hide the feeling he’d been slapped down.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you later.’
He flipped the steaks onto a plate and put a handful of salad next to them. He should have put some chips in the oven, but it was too late now.
‘Looks like I’m on the Atkins diet,’ he said.
He looked at her, but she wasn’t smiling.
‘See you later,’ he said. ‘I’d better eat this before it goes cold.’
She turned and left the flat without saying goodbye. Sean took his food into the living room and sat down to watch the football. It was a European match, Poland–England, and he’d been looking forward to it, but tiredness overwhelmed him before he’d finished eating. He rested the plate on the floor and his head sank back against the settee. He heard the commentator’s voice saying something about a foul, Pazdan guilty of a high boot on Walcott, and talk of a penalty, but he didn’t hear the outcome.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saturday afternoon
The market was busy. Chloe worked her way in from the edge to find the hairdressing stall, next to Stan’s Vinyl. It hadn’t been open long and she’d seen a piece about it in the local paper. The price was within her budget, so she hoped they could do a reasonable job. On the side where the counter would have been, the stall had been modified, its original shutters covered with three framed photos of glamorous hair models, two women and a man. The rest of the woodwork was painted gloss black. A door at one end opened onto a tiny two-chair, hairdressing salon. There was a girl in one of the chairs, twirling a long strand of hair round her finger, gazing into the mirror as she pinned it to the top of her head. Chloe waited until the girl noticed her.
‘He won’t be long,’ she said, jumping up. ‘He’s just gone to get his lunch. Have a seat.’
Chloe sat down in the chair nearest the door.
‘Got an appointment?’ the girl said, flicking open a diary on the narrow shelf behind the chair.
‘No. Do I need one?’
‘Not really,’ the girl giggled. ‘But I’d better do it properly.’ She assumed a voice: ‘Let me see if I can fit you in, madam. What name is it, please?’
Chloe gave her name and the girl wrote it in the appointment book. Chloe looked around the cramped space. It was a hair salon in miniature, like being in a shed, or a child’s playhouse. In front of her, on a shelf beneath the mirror, there was a stack of flyers.
Chasebridge Greyhound Stadium, Grand Re-opening. Two-for-one offer, burger and drink included.
She picked one up. The date was today. Jack would have liked this, but there was no chance of getting him out of hospital. She ran a finger over the picture of the greyhound on the cover, black and sleek, he was beautiful. She’d love a dog like that.
‘D’you fancy it? A night at the dogs?’ The girl was standing behind her.
Chloe shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘Here, take a couple, bring your mates. That’s my family’s place.’
‘Lucky you,’ Chloe said, ‘having all those dogs around you. I love dogs.’
‘I don’t actually live there,’ the girl said. Her smile vanished and Chloe wondered if she’d said something wrong.
Neither of them spoke for a minute, while the girl picked up a dustpan and brush and bent down to sweep up a pile of clippings.
‘What was it you wanted doing?’ she said.
‘Just a cut and blow dry,’ Chloe said.
‘You’ve got nice hair,’ the girl said, straightening up. ‘It’s very natural.’
She tipped the dustpan into the bin and wiped her hands on a paper towel.
Chloe wasn’t sure what to say. Her hair always seemed lifeless to her. Straight and brown and uninteresting. She caught the girl peering thoughtfully at the back of her head. She was young, Chloe thought, no more than fourteen or fifteen. This must be her Saturday job. The girl’s hair was curled and pinned on top of her head, as if to make her look older.
‘I’d put a bit of colour in, if I were you,’ the girl said. ‘Highlights.’
‘Another time,’ said Chloe. She didn’t want to say that she didn’t have the money. ‘A cut and blow will be fine today.’
‘Good morning, good morning!’ a voice called.
The mirror framed an image of a man with a leathery tan, standing in the doorway. He had very dark lashes, or was wearing eyeliner, Chloe couldn’t decide which. He wore a tight V-neck jumper over a crisp white shirt and pinstriped trousers that clung to his hips and thighs.
‘What can we do for you today?’ he said. His smile appeared to fill the tiny space.
He listened to what Chloe wanted, and pursed his lips.
‘I think we can do better than that, can’t we? What about a bit of layering at the side and then we can work that into the fringe.’
He ran his hands through the hair on either side of her face. Lifting it and letting it drop.
‘Just a trim,’ she said. ‘Two or three inches off the bottom. Not much. I need to be able to tie it back for work.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ he said. ‘It’s a shame not to frame that face a bit more.’
‘I’m sure,’ she said.
He rested his hands on her shoulders for a moment longer than was comfortable. Behind him, reflected in the mirror, the girl stood watching.
He dampened Chloe’s hair with a fine water spray and combed it through. His hands worked quickly with the scissors.
‘Mel, darling,’ he said to the girl, ‘can you pop over to Gayle’s and get me a bottle of water? I’m dying of thirst. There’s a pound in the drawer. Do you want anything love?’
Chloe shook her head.
Once the girl had gone, the hairdresser started asking Chloe about herself. She told him she worked as a gardener and he picked up one of her hands to study it.
‘What a shame,’ he said. ‘Such lovely skin.’
He lifted her hand and she thought for a moment that he was going to kiss it, but then the girl burst back into the cramped space holding a bottle of mineral water.
He finished cutting and let the girl blow dry Chloe’s hair, while he watched. Then he stood behind the girl and reached round her, placing his hand over hers to guide her hand on the roller brush. The girl nodded.
‘Like this?’
‘That’s better, we’ll make a stylist of you yet.’ The man smiled at her in the mirror.
Chloe looked at the curled ends of her hair and the way it stood out from the top of her head, like a wig, she thought. She fought an urge to brush it back to normal. The girl, Mel, offered to put it up for her.
‘Yeah, why not?’ Chloe said, eventually. ‘Yours looks nice.’
Mel beamed and filled her mouth with pins. When it was all done, Chloe looked like someone else, a girl from one of the hair magazines. Her hair was gathered up from the nape of her neck and curls fell by her face.
On the bus back to Chasebridge, Chloe took the two flyers out of her pocket and unfolded them. It would be lovely to go and watch the dog racing, but she had nobody to go with. There wasn’t much point in a two-for-one offer, if there was only one of you.
The bus stopped opposite Asda and three people got on. An elderly man, a teenage girl and someone Chloe knew well. She watched as the woman fumbled for her bus pass and exchanged a joke with the driver. When she turned to make her way down the bus, Chloe gave her a little wave.
‘Hiya, Maureen,’ she said, almost too quietly, but Maureen had spotted her.
‘Chloe, love,’ Maureen grabbed the rail and swung into the seat beside her. ‘Doesn’t your hair look nice?’
Maureen was Sean’s grandmother, but not Chloe’s. She shared a dad with Sean, but their mothers were different, both dead now, and the one probably never even knowing the other existed. Despite not being a blood relative, Maureen had been trying to get her to call her Nan, but Chloe wouldn’t. She tried with Mrs Casey at first, but Nan wasn’t having that, so they agreed on Maureen as a compromise.
‘What have you got there?’ Maureen reached for one of the flyers. ‘Ooh, I love a night at the dogs. Two for one and a burger included, that’s a good deal, isn’t it? I heard they’ve done the place up. Shall we go?’
‘I’ve never been. My mum always preferred the horses. What’s it like?’
‘It’s a right laugh, great atmosphere. Less crowded than the horses.’
‘Oh, good.’ Chloe chewed her lip. ‘I don’t like big crowds.’
‘Right then, it’s a date. You can show off that fancy new hairdo.’
Chloe thought about how easy that was, suddenly to go from feeling alone, to the two of them making plans for the evening.
‘And we can see if Lizzie and Sean want to come too,’ Maureen said.
Chloe wasn’t sure it would be Lizzie Morrison’s scene, but she didn’t say anything to Maureen, who was gathering up her shopping bags and ringing the bell.
The bus arrived at Winston Grove and they got off.
‘I’ll phone Sean,’ Maureen said. ‘See you later.’
Chloe waved goodbye and watched her cross the road by the shops, in the direction of her semi on Clement Grove. Chloe turned up Darwin Road towards the Eagle Mount flats. The sky behind them was bright blue and the sun glinted off the windows. Things didn’t seem so bad when the sun was out. She caught her reflection in the library window and smiled at her new hairstyle.
CHAPTER NINE
Saturday
Sarah was in the kitchen. Despite having the door to the car park propped open with a fire extinguisher, it was hot in there. She was beginning to regret the rush of getting up and skipping her shower. Lou was doing the accounts at one of the cafe tables, from where she could keep an eye on Sarah and the Polish girl, Agnes, through the hatch. She sat with a tea towel on the table beside her to throw over the accounting books whenever she was interrupted. Lou O’Connor was a good boss, kind enough when the mood took her, but there was something steely about her, under her soft frame. Her husband, Derek, was a wiry little man with dyed black hair, plastered thinly across his narrow head. Jack Spratt and his wife, Sarah had heard one of the trainers call them. Not to their face, of course, they wouldn’t dare.
At exactly midday, Derek burst into the cafe.
‘Where are those lazy-arsed bastards when I need them?’ He yelled. ‘Joe and Tommy, where are they? I can’t get any lights turned on in the new kennels. I’ve had the guy from the National Grid out, and he won’t turn us on while there’re cables in an open trench.’
‘What about the Chuckle Brothers, I can’t remember their names,’ Lou said. ‘But the two you’ve had on-site all month?’
‘Didn’t bloody turn up,’ Derek said. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have paid them till it was all over, but they were bleating on about having debts to pay. Bloody typical. They’ll be off on some other job, no doubt. If I find out who’s employed them, I’ll ring their bloody necks.’
‘What’s this got to do with Joe and Tommy?’ Lou said.
‘I need a bit of muscle,’ he said. ‘You don’t expect me to do it, do you?’
Agnes looked towards the hatch, as if she was about to speak, but Sarah reached out and held her arm. She would be the one to help out, it was more appropriate. She might not be family, but she lived on-site, while Agnes just came in on race days, and while Sarah might be an outsider, Agnes was an actual foreigner.
She went through into the cafe and cleared her throat.
‘They’re in the yard,’ she said. ‘Joe said something about doing a repair on the lure mechanism.’
Derek swung round, as if he’d forgotten he employed two people in the kitchen, but his face softened when he saw her.
‘Ah, Sarah, love,’ he said. ‘What would we do without you? Eh, Lou, how did we ever manage before this one turned up?’
Lou didn’t answer. The truth was that Sarah took far more of Lou’s workload than Derek realised. It was Lou who couldn’t manage without her. Derek slid past her with a pat on the shoulder and a wink.
‘Good lass,’ he said, like she was one of his greyhounds, and scurried through the kitchen and out of the back door into the car park.
‘Why did you say that?’ Agnes whispered. ‘About the lure? It’s not true. Mechanical hare is not broken. Tommy was testing on the track, just maybe half an hour ago. It’s working fine.’
