Nothing But Trouble, page 20
part #11 of Jessica Daniel Series
‘Not necessarily . . .’
‘So tell me about Eric Maudsley.’
‘I don’t know the name.’
‘Sure?’
They stared at one another but Jessica couldn’t tell if Natalie was telling the truth. If she wasn’t, she was a good liar, not a flicker of movement among her features. ‘I can look it up for you.’
Jessica smiled sweetly. ‘No need. We already know the details.’
It was a half-truth, with Jessica hoping for a reaction. She got none.
Jessica’s shift had long since finished when she found herself in an upstairs office at the police’s main Newton Heath headquarters, the lone woman among Superintendent Jenkinson, two assistant chief constables whose names she couldn’t remember, Assistant Chief Constable Aylesbury, DCI Topper and Josh from Serious Crime. There was a resigned atmosphere until one of the assistant chiefs passed around a bottle of Scotch and told everyone they could get taxis home on expenses. It was the most generosity she’d seen from upper management since the time she’d followed one of them to the tea machine and they’d accidentally forgotten to pick up their change.
She’d still not had time to look into Annie, the woman who’d stolen money from her next-door neighbour.
‘There’s going to be a press conference tomorrow,’ Aylesbury said, his apparent solution to everything. Jessica didn’t know why she was there. He took a swig from a glass generously filled with Scotch. Rustling up the bottle was one thing but the appearance of the glasses meant they were probably having much more fun at headquarters than anyone was willing to let on. ‘We’re going to appeal for calm,’ he added.
Jessica wasn’t drinking; she wanted to go home and be done with it all.
Josh had the same weary expression that she did, catching her eye and offering a small shrug, the look of a man who’d spent too much time in meetings over the past few days. Someone said his name, so he turned away from her, back into professional mode. ‘There’s still nothing official to indicate this is a gang war,’ he said.
Topper interrupted, passing on the information Jessica had found at the prison, which brought a few guffaws and more clinking of glasses. It wasn’t just Scotch, there was ice too. There must be a hidden bar somewhere.
Everyone turned to Josh, who was absorbing the information. ‘Carter was already on the suspect list, precisely because of this sort of thing. We hadn’t made the connection from Priestley to Lypski within the prison but there was no particular reason for us to do so. It wouldn’t surprise me if Carter’s behind this but he is traditionally more hands-on than some of the others – he worked as Harry Irwell’s right-hand man and is used to getting his hands dirty. We’ve not been able to pin anything on him. As far as we can tell, he draws a salary from Casino 101 and meets once a month with Irwell’s widow, Barbara. We still think it’s a front for laundering but it’s difficult to get into the accounts and the business has definitely been scaled back since Irwell overdosed.’
One of the nameless assistant chiefs was filling his glass for a second time. ‘We should talk to him again.’
Aylesbury’s gaze flickered to Jessica and away towards Josh. ‘What do you think?’
Josh shrugged. ‘Like before, Serious Crime can’t officially be involved. We’re putting together a laundering case, so it’s down to you.’
The first time Jessica was officially acknowledged was also the time she was officially stitched up.
Aylesbury turned back to her. ‘What do you say, Inspector?’
What could she say? No? As if.
‘Is there any point in me constantly talking to someone like Carter?’
She was met by a sea of nodding faces. Aylesbury spoke for the group, rim of the glass pressed to his lip: ‘Good point – we’ll send you in with surveillance.’
Anything that meant he didn’t have to get his hands dirty.
30
It was almost dark by the time Jessica got home but Bex was still up, legs curled under her on the living-room sofa, drinking a can of pop and watching cartoons. She looked tired herself, skin paler than usual, hair unwashed.
‘Long day?’ Bex asked.
‘Ridiculous.’
‘Are you going to bed?’
Jessica sat next to her on the sofa, not needing to be a mind reader to know what Bex was really asking. The curtains were still open, allowing the greying wash to seep through the window, dousing the living room in semidarkness. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘I want my life to be sorted one way or the other before my course starts in September . . .’
‘That sounds sensible.’
‘. . . but I still don’t know if that means I should see my mum.’
Bex reached for Jessica, resting on her shoulder. For a few minutes, the only sound came from the television.
‘I can’t tell you what to do,’ Jessica said. She put an arm around the other woman and then turned towards the window, where someone was pacing past, momentarily casting a shadow.
‘I can’t decide by myself,’ Bex said. ‘I want everything to be fine, but . . . there’s so much bad stuff there. Things have been going all right and I don’t want to be that fourteen-year-old kid again.’
‘You’ve never met my mum, have you?’ Jessica said.
‘No, I think she was round a few times while I was out.’
‘She’s in a residential home a few miles away. I visit when I can but, God, she’s annoying.’ Jessica laughed softly, not really meaning it. ‘My dad died two-and-a-half years ago and she was left alone. She got a bit of money from the life insurance, but that’s not the type of thing you want to talk about. I’m their only child and she didn’t want to stay in the village I come from by herself, so she was looking for somewhere down here. I half-thought she wanted us to move in together, but I ended up helping her get the spot in the home.’
‘Is it an old people’s home?’
‘Sort of, the youngest person’s probably fifty-odd but they’re pretty much all fit and able-bodied. They’re more active than I am, but I still feel guilty about leaving her there.’
‘Isn’t she happy?’
‘I think so but that doesn’t stop me feeling guilty that I basically left her there.’
Bex said nothing for a moment as someone else strode past the window, hands in pockets. They were wearing a dark top with the hood up. Was it the same person from a few moments before?
‘It sounds like it was your mum’s choice too,’ Bex said.
‘If you listen to her, she’s practically running the place but we’ve always had an awkward relationship. I was always a daddy’s girl, wanting to chase after him and get muddy. Mum wanted to stay at home, or close to the car. She was always safety first. I thought, sod that, let’s try something and see what happens. We’re opposites.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing, I suppose. The truth is, she had to end up somewhere like that, or we would’ve sent each other crazy. If she’d found a place by herself, she’d have been over here all the time: cleaning up, wanting to cook, going on about my weight or my friends. She’d have a field day if she knew who you were and that I’d invited you to stay.’
Bex twiddled her eyebrow bar. ‘Sorry . . .’
‘I didn’t mean it like that, but that’s how different we are. It’s why I can’t give you the advice you want. The stories you tell about your mum aren’t things I can relate to. When I was nine years old, we went to the village’s summer fete. I’d spotted this bloke juggling with fire and thought it’d be fun to learn.’
‘You were nine?’
‘Exactly – I just thought, “Fire, ooh, that’s interesting”, and off I went. I couldn’t even juggle, let alone with fire. I ended up in this area at the back of a massive tent where everyone assumed I was meant to be there, like I was the daughter of one of the other entertainers. I was pestering this guy to teach me how to juggle and, the next thing I know, there’s a voice on the tannoy giving my description and asking if anyone’s seen me. This guy looks me up and down and says, “Isn’t that you?” I remember thinking, “Oh, yeah, I wonder what’s wrong?” He took me to the lost property counter and it was only then I realised over an hour had passed. My mum was half-upset, half-angry, saying I shouldn’t wander off. She didn’t stop crying for ages. My dad was there, hands in pockets, shaking his head as if he didn’t know what all the fuss was about.’
‘Did you used to wander off a lot?’
Jessica coughed a snigger. ‘Some would say I’ve never really stopped.’
Bex sat up, laughing at first, before her face sank. ‘I can’t remember anything good that happened to me when I was nine. There were needles in the bathroom and different men in and out of our flat.’
‘It’s your choice,’ Jessica said.
‘When your mum was angry at you for running off, what did you feel?’
Jessica didn’t need time to think, it was a long time ago but as fresh in her mind as if it had been that day. ‘I was sorry I’d upset her. It wasn’t nice to see her crying.’
Bex nodded slowly, clinking her tongue piercing into her teeth. ‘That’s how I want to feel.’
‘Upset?’
‘At the moment, when I think of her, I don’t feel anything. I’m not even angry, she’s just someone who was once there, a person who’s nothing to do with me. If I see her now, even once, maybe I’ll know if she means anything to me?’
‘If that’s how you feel.’
‘Will you come with me tomorrow? The note says she’s free every morning, all I have to do is call.’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘What about your work?’
Jessica shrugged: the Hydes, Carter, Niall O’Brien and everyone else could wait. ‘Some things are more important.’
She stood, crossing to the window to close the curtains, noticing someone in a dark hoody hurrying along, glancing quickly towards the house and then continuing past.
31
Bex’s mother lived in a block of flats not far from Hyde Road, close to the greyhound and speedway stadium. Away from the main road, a pair of white buildings faced each other, two storeys high, a communal lawn in between. At either end were signs saying it was a drug- and alcohol-free zone, listing the names of the groups and charities who were sponsoring the project.
Bex had come to Jessica with the clothes she was wearing and an almost empty bag. Over the following months, she’d found things in charity shops, as well as reappropriating a few things that Jessica never wore. Probably because Bex had never had any as a child, she hated spending money, preferring to save what little she had just in case. She was wearing tight jeans and a leather jacket, both bought from charity shops, and seemed nervous, constantly fiddling with her piercings as Jessica tried to reassure her.
Bex nodded to a flat on the upper tier. ‘It’s that one.’
The area felt deserted, the gentle hum of traffic conspicuous simply because everything else was so quiet. Across the two blocks, there were thirty-two flats, each spick and span, except for a black bin bag sitting next to one of the doors on ground level. The tips of a pair of trainers were sticking through a hole, with a tatty denim jacket laid on top. Presumably a bag of unwanted clothes.
Bex led the way up a set of stairs until they were on the balcony. They passed one flat, two, Bex’s pace slowing as they neared the centre of the row.
‘I’m here,’ Jessica said softly.
Bex edged towards the middle until she was standing in front of a white double-glazed door. Aside from the number, there were no distinctive markings, nothing visible through the rippled window next to it that might give an indication of the person inside. Bex lifted a hand, forming a fist and resting her knuckles against the plastic. She took a breath, two, and then knocked loudly.
As soon as the door was opened, Jessica saw the resemblance. There were no piercings but Bex’s mother had the same long, straight black hair, narrow face and rounded dome of a nose.
‘Rebecca . . .’
Even their voices were similar, local but husky, though Bex’s mother’s tone was harsher, the years of abuse having worn away at her throat and nasal passage. The woman turned to Jessica. ‘I’m Helena,’ she said.
‘Jess.’
Helena opened her arms for a hug but Bex didn’t move, leaving an awkward gap until the older woman dropped her arms to her side. ‘Do you, er, want to come in?’
Bex nodded, so the three of them headed through the door, directly into a living room. There was a red carpet and clean brown walls, clear of photos or pictures, with a pair of almost empty pine cabinets squeezed either side of a sofa. It felt soulless, as if the flat was there to be passed from person to person, more like a hotel room than a place to live. The only indication of any personality was a pair of fluorescent yellow and white running trainers underneath a radiator.
Helena walked to one end of the room, then turned and started back again, unsure what to do with herself. She was as thin as Bex, bony pointed elbows sticking out through a tight training top. From the leggings and sweaty, tugged-back ponytail, it looked like she’d been running.
‘Do either of you want a drink?’ Helena asked. ‘I’ve got juice, water, Coke, tea, the usual.’
Bex waited for Jessica to sit on the sofa then sat next to her, leaving the armchair free, ensuring there was no room for her mother to get anywhere near her.
‘I’m fine,’ Bex said.
Her mother hovered close to the door that led into the kitchen, bobbing uncomfortably from one foot to the other. ‘I’ll, er, brew up anyway.’ She turned to Jessica. ‘Do you want a tea? Coffee?’
‘Tea, milk, no sugar.’
‘Okay.’
Helena disappeared through the door, leaving it open, the sound of clattering cupboards and running taps drifting into the living room.
Bex had her arms crossed, breathing slowly and deliberately.
‘Are you okay?’ Jessica whispered.
‘I wish she didn’t look like me.’
‘You look like you.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘We wear the scars of who we are. There might be a physical resemblance but that doesn’t mean you look the same. You’re someone with a life ahead of her, someone with hope.’
‘You don’t think Helena is?’
She didn’t say ‘Mum’, not now they’d met again. When she’d used the word at Jessica’s house, it was more of an idea, now Helena was a real person.
‘Maybe,’ Jessica replied. ‘I’ve been around addicts in various states for years. If you ask me, she looks like somebody who’s recovering – you look like somebody already recovered. You’re someone who knows what she wants from life, she’s still trying to figure that out.’
‘Is that why she wanted to see me?’
‘Perhaps, or maybe it’s because you’re still her daughter.’
Helena re-entered the living room, handing a mug to Jessica and then sitting in the armchair, nervously gazing at her daughter. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said.
Bex nodded but didn’t speak, the pair sizing each other up, unsure what to say.
‘What’s it like living here?’ Jessica asked, trying to break the impasse.
Helena nodded enthusiastically, speaking too quickly. ‘It’s quiet – everyone gets a one-year lease as long as they stick to the rules. The people who run it come into the flat once a month to make sure you’re looking after it, plus you get tested every couple of weeks to make sure you’re not back on the booze or the pills.’
‘I was more worried about the needles.’
Bex stared at her mother defiantly and Helena couldn’t maintain eye contact. She looked away, nodding slowly. ‘I know . . .’
‘Do you get help with anything else?’ Jessica asked.
Helena spoke slowly, not wanting to trip herself up again. ‘Not really. If you can’t get a job yourself, the housing company have things that people can do – cleaning, cooking, that sort of thing. That helps you build a CV before you can sort your own thing.’
‘Does everyone get on with each other?’
‘Mostly. There are a few niggles – there’s this brown woman downstairs who stinks the place out when she’s cooking but what can you do? It’s all right apart from that.’
Brown woman? Jessica had heard far worse and it wasn’t the time to challenge Bex’s mother, but it wasn’t the best choice of words.
Helena waited for Bex to peer up from the spot on the wall at which she’d been staring. ‘The people who run the project make you sign a contract,’ she said. ‘You’re not allowed to drink or take drugs. You can’t make loads of noise or create a disturbance. When the year is up, everyone should hopefully have a job and be clean.’
‘Okay . . .’
‘Fiona downstairs only has a couple of weeks left. She’s got a decent job in the city and is making money for herself. She’s clearing out her clothes because she’s ready to start again. That’ll be me in a few months.’
Bex didn’t want to engage. ‘Why are you telling me?’
Helena’s bottom lip pouted out. ‘I dunno . . . I figured you might want to know.’ She stopped to sip her tea, then added: ‘How have you been?’
Jessica knew what was going to happen a moment before it did. Bex’s leg started to twitch and then she lunged forward, finger wagging. ‘How have I been? How do you think? I was fourteen – fourteen! Do you even know I turned eighteen on Saturday?’
‘I—’
‘Course you didn’t, why would you? It was only my birthday. How many have you missed? There’s no point in counting because it’s not as if you were worried when I lived with you. I was fourteen and you let your boyfriend come into my room and watch me sleep while touching himself. When I called for you, you told me off for waking you up.’
‘Did he—?’
‘What? Touch me? No he didn’t but you should’ve asked that then, not now.’
‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Sorry? Do you think that makes up for it?’
