Read A Wreath for my Sister Online
Authors: Priscilla Masters
âJust like that?' Even to Joanna's ears Mike sounded disbelieving.
âYeah,' he said. âJust like that. I aren't like Finnigan. Brutality isn't my scene. As I said, I got other tastes. I weren't going to stand by and watch her swell up with a kid I knew weren't mine. But neither was I going to rough her up. She is a bird,' he said, then glanced at Joanna. âWas. I weren't happy about the kid. So I left her to it.'
âDid you harbour a grudge?'
Agnew turned to Joanna. âNo,' he said. âNot really. I sort of felt sorry for her.'
Joanna nodded. âSome men,' she said softly, âmight have been angry with Sharon for going off with someone else.'
âNot me,' he said shortly. âI had an idea why she went. In a way I didn't blame her. Me and her was different.' He grinned. âSexually. So we parted.'
Mike took a step forward. âWhere were you Tuesday night, Agnew?'
He blinked. âI can't remember. You'll 'ave to ask my bird.' He leered at Joanna. âShe'll know. Like a walking bloody diary, Leanne is.'
âYou wouldn't have been in the Quiet Woman on Tuesday night, would you?' she asked quietly.
He shrugged. âDon't know. Might have been.'
âWe have witnesses,' Mike broke in, âwho say you were in the Quiet Woman. Did you see Sharon there?'
Agnew frowned. âDon't remember.'
âHad you arranged to meet her there?'
Agnew gave her the full force of his disconcerting stare. âI haven't arranged to meet Sharon since we split,' he said. âAnd definitely not in the last couple of months. Look ...' He approached Joanna again. âWe finished â completely â about a year ago. If someone says she was there and I was there at the same time they might be right. I can't say.' The scent of unwashed feet and armpits was strong in the small room. âI didn't see her. And that's what I'm tellin' you. All right? Anyway,' he added, âI've found myself another bird now â better. I don't remember seeing her.' He grinned. âI wasn't in much of a noticing mood.'
âToo much dope?' Mike asked.
Agnew looked sulky.
Mike pressed the point home. âSure you didn't follow her out of the pub on Tuesday night?'
Agnew shifted nervously. âNo,' he said. âI didn't. I went straight home to me new bird.'
âAnd smoked another joint?' Mike stood over him like a Goliath. âI thought you couldn't remember.'
âI'm just guessing. Look, I honestly couldn't give a monkey's arse for Sharon no more. She's history, my friend. History.'
He stopped for a minute, swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. âIf you want to find out about Sharon â who got her that night â you want to find out who the bloke was who saddled her with Ryan. He was married. He would have a much better reason than me for wanting her out of the way.'
âSo who was he?' Mike was almost shouting.
âI don't bloody know,' Agnew said hopelessly. âI don't. I've thought about it. Perhaps it was someone she worked with. I don't know.'
âShe must have said something?'
âShe didn't.' He paused. âShe couldn't half keep a secret, Sharon.'
It was the first complimentary comment he had made about her.
Joanna was watching him carefully. âDo you care that she's dead?'
He looked uncomfortable. âYeah â of course ...'
âOK, Agnew,' Joanna resigned herself to getting nothing more out of him. âThat's all â for now.'
She was glad to leave the shop.
As she had expected, Mike turned to her in the car, a mischievous grin on his face. âQuite a description, that.' He stopped. âWhat did he say now? “A nice bird.” “A decent bird.”' He gave a quiet chuckle. âDescribes quite a few women.'
She met his eye in the car mirror, laughed too.
âIt made me wince,' she said.
âI could see that. You looked as though you'd sucked a lemon then had a mouthful of chilli pepper.'
She laughed again. âQuite a description, Mike. But,' she warned, âno leg pulls back at the station, please. Sharon may well have fitted the description of a “nice bird”. I can tell you. I would not find the description flattering.'
âNo,' he agreed with a wry smile. âI don't suppose you would.' His eyes were still on her.
She started the engine. âNow for Finnigan,' she said with a sigh.
But her private thoughts were mulling over what Paul Agnew had said: how had men viewed Sharon Priest? As a nice bird. A decent bird. One who could keep a secret well. Certainly her relationships had consistently broken up because she had met someone else. Finnigan had found her in bed with another man. While living God knows what kind of life with Paul Agnew she had become pregnant. She had had an affair with a married man ... someone rich. Had Sharon been a woman easily bored by comfortable, domestic relationships, always craving excitement? Could that have been the stimulus of the letters, the lure to her last, dangerous assignation?
Joanna frowned and caught sight of herself in the mirror.
And how had women viewed Sharon? Certainly Christine Rattle had been fond of her â admired her â seen her as a loyal friend, a good mother, a young woman who had wanted her youth, to have a good time.
She compared this with the picture she herself had formed of her.
A young woman â quite slim, although her body showed obvious signs of childbearing. Empty breasts with stretch marks silvering pale flesh.
Probably she had been pretty in her cheap, stretch clothes. Diamanté flashing an invitation.
She turned to Mike. âDescribe Sharon,' she said.
He started with her observations. âSlim, probably pretty in a cheap way. Dyed hair. A lot of make-up.' But then his view became more definitely masculine. âI expect she was full of the old “come on”,' he said. âProbably a bit of a tease. Sexy, a bit tarty.' He grinned. âI bet she was good fun, though. The sort of girl that would make a party move.'
She smiled at him. âThank you, Mike,' she said, then sighed. âAnd now I suppose we'd better tackle Finnigan.'
Sam Finnigan was to be found on the top floor of a large Victorian house now divided up into flats. The front garden was weed-smothered, the gate missing. Only the hinges were left to rust. The path was slippery with leaves fallen from the roadside tree. The stone steps leading up to the front door were worn and the porch was lined with chipped tiles.
Mike pushed open the front door. The spacious hall was empty and had a cold, unwashed look, cobwebby and dusty. The smell of stale, rancid fat, old fish and chips mingled with recently applied vinegar.
Varying beats of pop music wafted down the stairs, punctuated by the sad cadence of a violin. Someone in the flats liked classical music.
Joanna glanced at Mike and the two of them ascended to the first-floor landing, passing a window of frosted glass behind which they could see the vague shape of a man urinating. They heard the sound of an old-fashioned flush and then the man emerged. Dirty, unwashed, unshaven. Bleary-eyed, he blinked at the two police officers as though they were offerings from outer space.
âMr Finnigan?' Joanna asked tentatively.
The man looked her up and down in an appraising way, then jerked his thumb heavenwards. âTop floor, my love,' he said, zipping up his flies and pushing past them.
She caught the waft of stale beer on his breath, rolled her eyes at Mike and they clattered up to the top floor.
Two doors faced them, both wearing chipped, brown paint. Joanna instinctively chose the one with the smashed-in panel, and knocked hard enough to tell Finnigan that this was an official visit.
The door opened to reveal another grubby T-shirt half covering a swollen beer belly, more stale beer breath, unshaven face and bleary eyes.
âMr Finnigan?' she said again and he nodded.
âThe law?' he asked.
âThat's right.' She flashed her ID card at him. âI'm Detective Inspector Piercy. This is Detective Sergeant Korpanski. We're investigating the murder of your ex-wife, Sharon Priest.'
Sam Finnigan scratched his head. âI thought you'd get here sooner or later,' he said. âI suppose Rattle's been rattling.'
His eyes suddenly brightened and he gave a loud guffaw at his own wit.
Neither Joanna nor Mike smiled.
âShe was your wife, Mr Finnigan,' Joanna said pointedly.
For one short moment Sam Finnigan looked stung. He took a few deep breaths, glared at the two police officers, then stood back. âI suppose you'll have to come in.'
They followed him into a large room strewn with dirty clothes and empty lager cans. A blanket was rumpled on the sofa, which Joanna guessed doubled as a bed. The atmosphere was stale.
Finnigan picked up a couple of token socks, then, finding nowhere to put them, dropped them in the corner. âSorry,' he said, âbit of a tip. Didn't expect visitors,' he added nastily.
Joanna and Mike cleared a space, sat down and faced him.
âLook,' Finnigan said. âJust because I bloody hit her once it doesn't mean I killed her.'
âI believe you hit her more than once,' Joanna said coolly.
Finnigan glared at her. âOnce on record, and she fucking well asked for it. Not that I expect either of you two to bother believing me.'
Joanna leaned forward. âIt's our job, especially in a murder case, to question everything anyone says to us. Especially ex-husbands. Especially ex-husbands who have a record of violence towards the deceased.'
Finnigan looked as though he was going to hit her. âGive a dog a bad name.'
âNobody's accusing you, Finnigan.' Mike's tone was sarcastic. âYet.'
Finnigan had obviously met his type before. He stared at Mike, his face twisted with dislike. âDon't get fucking smart with me, copper,' he snarled. âYou won't be able to pin anything on me. I'm clean.'
He gave Joanna a hard, defiant look. âClean as a baby's bottom,' he said.
âI'm sure.' Joanna spoke calmly and very politely. Keep the heat out of situations. It was Colclough's war cry. Don't introduce aggression. There'll be plenty on the other side.
Joanna cleared her throat. âJust start at the beginning, Mr Finnigan.'
His gaze rested on Joanna. âWhat do you want to know?' He frowned in a fuddled confusion. âDo I need my solicitor here?'
âNot yet,' Mike said.
âJust tell me about Sharon.'
âWhat?'
âWhat was she like?'
âSexy.' Finnigan grinned and Joanna felt herself flush. âBloody good in bed. That was the trouble. You see, men liked her. She was a randy bitch. Hot.' He gave a lascivious grin. âKnow what I mean, Detective Inspector?'
âI might remind you, Finnigan,' she said, dropping the title, âSharon is dead. Her children â and yours too â are in care.'
âYeah, well, I can't 'ave 'em 'ere, can I?'
âThat isn't the point,' Joanna said. âShe was murdered quite brutally after being raped. Please ...'
Finnigan glowered. âLook, she might be dead.' He sneered. âIt don't alter what she was. Bloody anybody's. Hot and wet with her legs always open and her knickers off. And there was plenty of takers. You asked me, copper. I'm just telling you. That's all.'
He stopped for a moment, then gave a soft burp, crossed the room to a scratched chest of drawers. From the top he took a can of lager, burped again and snapped back the ringpull.
âSorry I can't offer you one,' he said, leering. âI can't go so far as to be hospitable. See?'
He took a long, calm drink, then sat down again can in hand. âOne thing about me,' he said. âI can't pretend. I'm an honest Joe. I did knock her about a bit.'
Joanna nodded.
âI found her in bed with a bloke.'
She leaned forward. âWho was he, Finnigan?'
He blinked. âI thought you'd know,' he said.
âWho was he?'
âA good-looking guy. Sort of muscular.'
âBuilt like Mike here?'
Finnigan considered the Detective's burly frame, then shook his head. âSort of slimmer, but strong.' He peered into his can of beer. âBloody cow,' he said.
Joanna was beginning to feel disappointed. âDon't you know any more about the man?' she asked. âDidn't Sharon tell you who he was?'
Finnigan stood up, his face a picture of fury. âIt was fucking dark,' he said. âDark. Didn't Rattle tell you that? It was the middle of the fucking night. The light was off.' He stopped. âI didn't want to wake the cow. I got in. Don't you thick coppers understand? I got into bed. And there was a bloke there.'
Even after years on the force Joanna was shocked. âNo,' she said softly. âNo one told me. I didn't know it was like that.'
Finnigan sat down heavily and some of the beer slopped out of the can. âI wish I'd 'ave killed her,' he said. âShe's deserved every single thing she's got.' He came to suddenly and focused on the two police officers. âAs I said, I'm an honest Joe.'
And for all the aggressive swagger, she felt some sympathy for the man.
All villains are like this
â another of Colclough's famous sayings â
usually stupid, mostly bad. But there's almost always something pitiable there.
âIf it's any help,' he said, âI thought it was probably someone from where she worked. You know, Blyton's.'
Joanna nodded. âWould you recognize him if you saw him again?'
âNo, I don't think so.' Finnigan pondered the point for a moment. âI ain't never seen him around Leek.'
âDid he speak? Did he have an accent?'
âSort of made a noise,' Finnigan said. âBut he didn't speak. Just gave a shout. That's all.' He grinned. âI think he shouted “Shit!” then he gave a funny kind of scream.'