Текст книги "Dead Dream Girl"

Автор книги: Richard Haley

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‘That stuff about the Abos. I thought it might loosen him up a bit, with him being already in a low state.’

‘There could be a delayed reaction.’ But he was certain there wouldn’t be. Mahon would get over it and the Willows would get over it, because that’s how life went on the estate. And for all his tears, Mahon had shown no anxiety about Crane making a fresh start on the case. That meant he either felt totally secure in his alibi, or might, just might, be as innocent as he protested he was.

Anderson peered round the car park. ‘Hell, what’s happened to my car?’ he said. Then he tapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘I’m losing it. I’m in the office runabout, my wheels are in for repair.’ He opened the door of an elderly Astra. ‘I thought for a second one of Mahon’s low life chums had nicked mine while we were talking to him. They’re full of tricks like that. Keep in touch, Frank.’

Crane muttered, ‘In your dreams,’ as he got into his Megane. Anderson’s way with people like Mahon weren’t his, though to be fair the reporter had unknowingly given him what could be a very small lead, and so the meeting with Mahon mgiht not have been a total write off.

As Anderson drove back to the city, he knew he had to find some way of keeping tabs on Crane. He needed to know what he was up to every foot of the way and it wouldn’t be easy, as Crane, being ex-CID, would be skilled in fending off crime reporters. And Crane had been one of their best. He studied the angles, thought things through, picked up clues others had missed. And if Crane could come up with anything new on the Donna Jackson story, anything at all, Anderson had to be the first to get his hands on it. There was the big feature he wanted to write, which he was certain would be crucial to his future career. His future career was never out of his mind for very long.

THREE

‘Patsy?’

‘That’s me.’

‘Frank Crane. I’d like your help. Do you know a bloke called Cliff who was a mate of Bobby Mahon’s, by any chance?’

‘Known him all my life. Cliff Greenwood. He lives nearby.’

‘Wasn’t he Bobby’s best friend?’

‘Never go near each other now.’

‘Why’s that, do you think?’

‘Because Cliff thinks Bobby did for Donna, like everyone else.’

‘But … wouldn’t Cliff have been one of the three friends of Bobby’s who were supposed to have been at home with him that night?’

‘Yes, I’d say that that must mean he knows Bobby wasn’t where he said he was.’

‘What kind of a bloke is he?’

‘Cliff? He’s been bad news in the past, like the others. And then he got a really decent probation bloke on his case. Talked him into starting over, got him to go back to his joinery classes. He’s in the double glazing now and going straight.’

‘Would that be why he split with Bobby?’

‘No, they were still best mates even when Cliff started going straight. Bobby didn’t hold it against him. I think he was more than a bit envious, you ask me. I sometimes think if only Bobby hadn’t had Dougie and Myrtle as parents … what chance did he have, poor sod?’

‘I need to talk to Cliff, Patsy. Where does he spend his evenings?’

‘He never goes near the Goose now. They say he’s been seen in the Toll Gate now and then.’

‘Would you do me a big favour? I daresay he’ll still be at home. Could you ring him and ask him if you could see him at the Toll Gate? Tell him your mum and dad are thinking of buying that bungalow and would like an idea on cost for putting in double glazing. Then we could go together, if you wouldn’t mind and you’re free. I could pick you up.’

‘Oh, I’ll be free,’ she said ’in a resigned tone. ‘I usually am.’

The Toll Gate was old, small and cosy. It had chintzy curtains, planters and wall lamps with rose-coloured shades. It wasn’t the sort of place that did pool tables. Cliff Greenwood sat gloomily over a pint of lager, as if nostalgic for pop music and the clicking of snooker balls. He was a near-clone of Mahon and his friends, except that his reddish hair was normal length and neatly combed, and he wore a newish sports jacket and twill trousers. He had a plump, slightly spotty face and grey-green eyes that watched Crane warily as he and Patsy joined him at a circular table with an ornate metal base.

‘Hi, Cliff. This is a friend of mine, Frank Crane.’

He looked startled. It couldn’t have done much for Patsy’s morale, Crane thought, Donna’s plain sister, not known for pulling the guys. Any guys.

‘How do,’ he said grudgingly, not offering a hand. Crane put down their drinks and they sat.

‘I’ve got some leaflets, Patsy. They’ll give Connie and Malc an idea what we do. I can give you a ballpark on price if you can tell me how many windows the bungalow’s got, but I’d need to see it to give you a proper estimate.’

‘Cliff,’ Crane said. ‘Forget the double glazing. I’m a private investigator who used to be a cop and I’m working for the Jacksons to see if I can clear up Donna’s killing.’

‘What’s this bugger’s game, Patsy?’ he said tersely. ‘I’m here about windows and if we’re not talking windows we’re talking nothing.’

‘Look, Cliff,’ Crane said, ‘I needed to see you and I needed Patsy to vouch for me. You do want Donna’s killing clearing up, don’t you, if that’s humanly possible?’

‘Look, mister, I did all my talking to the real police. I’m not doing any more.’ He began to swallow the rest of his pint. ‘I’m out of here.’

‘Cliff …’ Patsy put a hand on his arm. ‘You know Mam and Dad. You know how gutted they are about Donna. They’ll not rest till someone gets banged up for it. You don’t need me to tell you who.’

‘I know that, I know that …’ He gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m gutted as well. We all are. She was very special. But I’m not going to talk about it any more.’

‘The police believe you’re protecting your best mate, Cliff,’ Crane said evenly.

‘Best mate!’ He gave his head a single, disgusted, upward shake.

‘Everyone knows you had a bust up, Cliff,’ Patsy said. ‘And no one really holds it against you for not grassing him, not on the Willows. They think he should have done the decent thing and owned up to where he was. No one believes you were all staying in, playing cards. You know that as well as I do.’

‘Yes, well … see you around.’ He slammed down his empty glass and got up.

Crane said, ‘Cliff, do you understand what perverting the course of justice means? Well, that’s what they’ll think you’ve done if Bobby really wasn’t at home that night. And if it ever comes out that he wasn’t they’re going to lean very hard on you and the others for wasting police time. And if it comes out that Bobby really is in the frame …’

Half turned away, he glanced back at them. ‘I’ll just have to take my chances then, won’t I?’

‘And lose the first decent job you’ve had in your life? And your self-respect? What do you make: four, five hundred sovs a week? Are you ready to walk away from all that?’

His round face took on a troubled look in the gathering dusk. Crane guessed he’d never allowed himself to think as far as that. Agitated, he turned away again.

‘Cliff,’ Crane said quietly, ‘I have police contacts. They trust me. If you helped me I’d put in a good word for you. We could say you’d alibied Bobby under duress. That means you were afraid what the Mahons would do if you grassed him.’

‘Christ, what do you think they’d do if I grassed him anyway?’ he said, so jumpy now he wasn’t guarding his words.

‘They’d never know. I’d keep your name out of everything to do with them. We’re not even having this little chat.’

‘Cliff …’ Patsy said.

Finally, with intense reluctance, he sat down again, staring miserably into space, forehead deeply furrowed.

‘Patsy, would you mind getting Cliff another lager. And another for yourself, if you like.’ He gave her a ten pound note.

As she moved off, from where they sat in a corner of the small bar parlour, Crane said, ‘Look … Cliff, all I really need to know for certain is that Bobby wasn’t home that night. I can take it from there. It’s not worth my breaking sweat if I can’t get that confirmed.’

‘None of us was there,’ he said at last, in a low nervous voice. ‘Except Myrtle maybe. You can give her one at her place or yours, only she charges extra at her place, for the free drinks.’

‘None of you?’ Crane found it hard to stay calm.

Patsy put down the drinks, placing the change at Crane’s elbow in a neat little pile. ‘Sure you don’t want one yourself, Frank?’

‘Not just now.’

‘If any of this got out …’ Greenwood’s lips trembled.

‘Cliff, you know you can trust me,’ Patsy said. ‘God, with a brother like Marvin never out of bother …’

Eyes flicking from her to Crane, he finally went on.

‘Dougie Mahon … he was working on a big one that night, wasn’t he? He said we didn’t need to be in their house, but if we did go out it hadn’t to be nowhere local, and we had to swear we had been at their place, just chance he ever got his collar felt.’

Crane sank back on the plush banquette. ‘So that’s it. You were really covering Dougie’s backside?’

The other nodded, a look of near-panic in his eyes for what he was forcing himself to admit. ‘Christ, why did she have to go and get herself topped the same night?’

‘So. Bobby couldn’t say he was anywhere else? Even if he hadn’t been with Donna?’

‘It was big, big,’ the other man said, almost in a whisper. ‘Dougie had to have a cast-iron alibi for if anything went wrong. It just meant Bobby had it too. If the two things hadn’t happened together there’d not have been all this bother, would there? Bobby’d be on his own and he’d have to prove where he was.’

‘But Cliff, murder!’ Crane said. ‘Surely you must have realized it had all got too big to handle?’

‘No one lets Dougie Mahon down,’ he said, the whites of his eyes briefly flaring. ‘Not even if Bobby had put half a pound of Semtex under the town hall.’

‘Did Bobby do it, Cliff?’

‘He swore he hadn’t. Over and over again. Even to his dad, even though he knew Dougie would never have grassed him. Dougie needed to look after his own arse and he’d always thought Donna was getting to be serious trouble anyway. He has a nose for things.’

‘Do you believe Bobby?’

He shook his head despondently. ‘He’d been me best mate since we were kids, but he was a born liar. Got it from Dougie.’

‘Liar, liar, pants on fire. That’s what they used to shout at him in the playground at school,’ Patsy added.

‘Why get involved in giving Dougie an alibi in the first place, Cliff? When you were trying to go straight?’

He shrugged. ‘Old times’ sake. They were good to me when Mam and Dad split up, treated me like one of the family. Whenever they gave Bobby pocket money they’d give me some as well. Everyone knew Dougie shifted bent gear, it didn’t seem no big deal to say I was there that night.’

‘How big was this big one?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Oh, come on, Cliff, there were rumours all over the Willows,’ Patsy said. ‘It was guns, wasn’t it?’

‘Guns?’ This time Crane couldn’t conceal his shock. ‘God, not the IRA! There’s been a ceasefire for years, they’re supposed to be handing them all in.’

Greenwood gave a wry smile. ‘No, not the shamrocks. Antiques. The geezer had a roomful. Dougie set it all up.’

Crane remembered now. A palatial house on the moorland fringe of the metropolitan area. A clean job, the guns carefully lifted and just as carefully disposed of. ‘And Dougie was never in the frame?’

‘He knew he would be if it ever came out he’d not been at home. It was the sort of scam had his dabs on, know what I mean?’

‘So where were you that night, the rest of you?’

‘Two of us went to a pub in Otley where they didn’t know us from Elton John, played darts. Bobby … well, he went off on his own. Said he’d been clubbing in Leeds with some French totty he’d picked up in Bradford the week before.’

‘And the totty’s back over the Channel now and he’s no idea where she lives?’

‘Doesn’t even know her surname. Said they called her Nicole.’

‘Nicole from France. He’s going to have to do better than that. Well done, Cliff. You have my word none of this will put you in it. We’ll leave you in peace now.’

He nodded unhappily. They left him hunched over his pint. He was clearly struggling to come to terms with the breaking of the only rule that counted on the Willows: you never grassed anyone, not ever, whoever they were, whatever they’d done.

They walked out to Crane’s car; he opened the passenger door for her from the outside. She looked confused. Maybe no one had ever done that before. ‘Thanks, Patsy, you’ve been a great help. I’ll drop you at home, yes?’

‘I don’t live there. I stay a lot since Ronnie legged it, but I have my own place. Conway House.’

He’d once made a call at Conway House. It was a largish two storey building on the edge of the Willows. It had been built to a tight budget and had pebbledash walls and a shallow roof. There was a single communal entrance and small flats ran off both sides of end to end corridors. ‘They’re not much,’ she said, as Crane drew up in front, ‘but they’re cheap. We were supposed to be saving for our own place when he took off. Fancy a drink?’

He didn’t, but she spoke in such a flat, resigned tone as if certain he’d refuse, that he said, ‘Thanks, I wouldn’t mind.’

She looked confused again. He followed her across the narrow, paved front yard and inside. The corridor was dimly lit and carpeted in shabby grey rubber-back. The doors were painted a uniform magnolia and identified by screw-on metal numbers. The flat had four little rooms: bath, kitchen, living and bed, and overlooked a poorly tended oval of lawn and half a dozen garages in need of repainting, lit by a single overhead lamp.

‘You have to be here five years to get near one of those,’ she said. ‘Ronnie used to go bananas. He thought more of that broken down Escort than he ever did of me and it had fifty thousand on when he bought the bloody thing.’

He sounded to be a true son of the Willows. But she’d furnished the living room imaginatively in a mail order sort of way, with tab-top curtains in a cheerful check, a plain green carpet, a metal-framed uplighter and ceramic is table lamps. There was a tiny three piece and a small dining table with upholstered chairs. ‘Nice place,’ he said.

She coloured slightly. ‘Glad you like it. Ronnie was all for using things from his mam’s till we could afford a mortgage. I told him you’d have to pay someone to take them to the tip. Do you want G and T, like in the pub?’

‘A small one.’

She went in the galley kitchen. Crane took off his jacket and stood at the window. Poor kid. In Donna’s shadow most of her life and then Ronnie, fonder of an old banger than of her. But Crane knew his own reasons for taking a drink with her couldn’t be looked at too closely. He felt sorry for her but he also needed her input. She’d made a first class job of fixing the meeting with Greenwood, and her inside knowledge of what really went on on the Willows couldn’t be bettered. She was a valuable contact. Story of her life: being used.

He gave a crooked grin. If only she’d ditch the ghastly hairdo and the garish make-up. She was a plain woman and whatever she did with her looks she would never have any of the kind of glamour her sister had been given in spades, at birth. He still felt maturity would bring its own reward. Maybe one day she’d wake up and realize she’d never be able to compete with Donna’s ghost, and she’d look better for being herself. And if that brought her any kind of self-confidence, well that went a lot further than looks anyway.

‘There you go,’ she said, handing him his drink. ‘Glad you didn’t ask for beer. Looks as if Ronnie took it all when he scarpered. Sit down.’

They each sat in an armchair. ‘Were you and Ronnie married?’

She gave a sour grin. ‘A bloke from the Willows? Do me a favour. They all promise to, once you’re in a place of your own. Only problem is, they never seem to hang about that long.’

Crane gave her a sympathetic smile. She at least had those lavender eyes. Decent figure too. Small-breasted and slightly boyish, but it was the sort of figure that stayed where it was when the curvy ones were getting middle-aged and hefty. She sipped her drink.

‘It cuts both ways. If they don’t marry you they can’t take anything when they do a runner. I bought this gear, on the weekly. All he had was that bloody car and I hope he’s living in it.’

‘How do you get to work? Bus?’

‘No, I bought a Fiesta, on the drip, like the furniture. It’s old but it goes. I could just about run to it once I didn’t need to pay for everything, with Ronnie never managing to get his hand in his pocket. I put a lot of overtime in and I’ll always work Sundays.’ The fate of plain girls on the Willows seemed to be that if you could get a man at all he expected to be bought and paid for. Crane’s mobile rang.

‘Geoff here, Frank,’ Anderson said breezily. ‘Just wondered if you’d got any further since we saw Mahon?’

Crane swore silently. He supposed he’d better get used to this, hard as it was for a man like him. ‘Oh hello, Geoff,’ he said evenly. ‘It could be I have made some kind of a breakthrough. I picked up on you asking Mahon where Cliff was. It struck me it might be worth talking to him. I asked Patsy Jackson if she could put me in touch. I’m at Patsy’s place now.’

There was a brief silence. ‘What … made you think he could tell you anything? He was one of those—’

‘Because of their bust up,’ Crane cut him off. ‘I wondered why there was a bust up. Well, it was because Greenwood also believed Mahon had seen off Donna.’ Crane filled him in on the rest.

There was a longer silence. Then, ‘Bugger!’

‘Come again?’

‘I should have seen that. But even if I had I’d never have thought Greenwood would grass him.’

‘I got lucky. Patsy filled me in on his going straight. He’d had a bellyful of being in trouble with the law. It gave me a lever. I also promised him I’d keep his name out of anything.’

Another silence and then Anderson said, ‘I knew you were good, Frank, but there was no need to rub my nose in it.’

He spoke lightly and Crane knew he’d be grinning, but he also knew that Anderson’s professional pride had had a hole kicked through it. This gave him a small smile of his own. He’d got one over on the whiz kid who’d lived with the case since the body had left the water. At the same time, it had gone against all his own professional instincts to let the information on Greenwood go. He just didn’t work that way. Other people could be a distraction, especially a clever reporter who, according to Carol at the Glass-house, had a compulsion to take over and run things. But he had to keep reminding himself that Anderson’s brain was stocked with information about the Donna Jackson affair that could take Crane many hours to assemble.

Anderson’s grin was wiped away as he cleared his phone. How could he have slipped up on a detail like that? He’d been convinced he knew everything about everyone involved in Donna’s killing? Why hadn’t he checked out Greenwood himself: Why had he assumed that none of Mahon’s mates would ever go straight? What else was Crane going to pick up on? He had to know, and know as it was happening, to be able to make that final award-winning feature absolutely authentic, apart from anything else. He wondered how he could get in closer with Crane. But then, why had a man who tended to be as close with information as he himself was, let go the details of Greenwood’s confession? Because Crane was forcing himself into a quid pro quo for what he knew. It gave him an idea and his grin began to return.

‘That was Geoff Anderson, Patsy. We’re pooling information, as he knows so much about the case, possibly even more than the police. He was a bit miffed about me getting ahead of him, thanks to you.’

‘He’s a good looking bloke, that Geoff. They must be queuing up to loofah his back. What will you do now? About Bobby?’

He shrugged. ‘I need to find a way of proving he wasn’t at home that night, without involving Cliff. It won’t be easy, but if I can I can hand it back to the police. If he wasn’t at home he’ll have to prove he wasn’t with Donna, and if he is guilty I don’t think he’ll be able to, the state he’s in just now.’

She sighed, her face in shadow, her hair back-lit in an untidy halo from one of the table lamps. ‘Poor Bobby, he’s been a silly beggar, but it does upset me to see him wandering round the Willows and everyone pretending he’s the Invisible Man. He’d never have done that to her, not Bobby, not if she hadn’t set out to upset him so badly he …’ The sentence dangled.

‘He could be trying to convince himself he hasn’t done it. Too much to cope with. I’ve known it happen. The mind’s a funny thing.’

‘He’s nothing like as bad as they paint him. It’s that crap home life. Fancy another drink?’

‘No, thanks all the same. With the driving …’

She nodded with a small fatalistic smile. Expecting nothing she was never going to be disappointed.

Crane put on his jacket, touched her arm. ‘Thanks for everything, Patsy, you knowing Cliff was going straight swung it for me. I hope you’ll go on helping me, if I need more information.’

She flushed again. ‘I’ll help any way I can. But all I really know is the Willows and the folk on it.’

‘Exactly. No one knows the place like you do.’

When he’d gone, Patsy thought what a great bloke he was. Tall, tough, nothing in the way of looks, but his manner … so polite. Opening car doors for you, praising you when you didn’t think you’d done anything much. She knew he didn’t like her hair, she could tell by the way he’d looked at it back at Mam’s that first time. It had made her angry, really angry. But later she’d thought, well, at least he’d looked. Men on the Willows couldn’t care less what she looked like, if they’d go out with her at all. All they were bothered about was getting her into bed, and they never seemed to think that was any big deal either. She gave herself another drink, looked at herself in a glass, wiped away a tear. If only she could get off with a bloke like Crane. If only she’d never had a sister like Donna …

Crane drove back to his house on Bentham Terrace, put away his Renault. As he left the garage, someone pinioned him from behind. Then someone else jumped in front of him and punched him in the belly. The man holding him had a grasp like a straitjacket, and though Crane kicked backwards he couldn’t locate either of his legs. The fist went into his belly again. Then again and again. Five or six times until his guts felt as if they’d burst into flames.

‘Let it go, mister,’ a soft hoarse voice whispered in his ear. ‘Donna Jackson. Otherwise, next time we’ve finished you’ll have the tooth fairy round. It’ll take her five minutes to pick ’em all up.’

Then they were off, running on soft-soled shoes to some car they’d have parked two streets away. Crane would have run after them except that he could barely walk, let alone run. He limped painfully to the back door, let himself in, slid gingerly down on to the kitchen tiles. He sat for ten minutes until the raging fire in his insides had settled to a steady burn. Then he levered himself up. He’d lie in a hot bath, smooth something on to ease the pain. At least it hadn’t been blows to the head, which could be very bad news, as he knew from his police days.

His mobile rang. ‘Frank … Crane.’

‘It’s Ted. You all right? You sound funny.’

‘I’ve just had a kicking. Some scrotes telling me to lay off the Jackson case.’

‘Go on! How long ago was it? Want me to get a car round?’

‘Don’t bother, Ted. They’ll be long gone.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ He was silent for a short time. ‘Thing is, you needn’t have had it, the kicking. This Mahon. He walked in the station late afternoon. Admitted to topping her. Put his hand up to the lot.’