Read A Wreath for my Sister Online
Authors: Priscilla Masters
Joanna gave an inadequate murmur, sat down on the sofa opposite Christine and accepted a mug of coffee.
âYou can help us now,' she said, when Christine had come back from the kitchen. âIt'll help you, too â take away the feeling of guilt.' She knew she was supposed to offer counselling. But in her experience the guilt could be used to advantage in the investigation. Use vengeance in a constructive way because it was a potent energy source. So she prepared to spend as long as it took listening to Christine, whatever direction her thoughts took.
Christine gave a wry smile. âI wasn't much bloody use to her, was I?' She closed her eyes wearily. âYou know, it was me what suggested she put that stinking advert in the paper?'
Joanna nodded.
âAnd it was probably him who killed her.'
âHe could have known her anyway,' Joanna said cautiously.
âYou think it's someone local?'
âAt the moment we're working on that assumption.'
Christine took a long drag at the cigarette, seemed mesmerized at the bright red glow on the tip.
âTell me,' said Joanna. âWhat did Sharon think when one of the letters came back addressed in her name?'
âBloody bowled over. Then she thought me or Andrea Farr, her pal at work, had let on to someone that it was her ad. You know.' Christine laughed. âSort of blind date, really.'
âAnd had you?'
âWell, I can't speak for Andrea,' Christine said, âbut I certainly didn't. Not a soul.'
âDid Sharon ever say anything about the ... contents of the letters he wrote to her?' Joanna was watching Christine closely for a reaction.
âWhat do you mean?'
Joanna took a deep breath. âSome of them were a bit suggestive.'
Christine seemed unmoved. âYeah, she told me sometimes he came over a bit ... strong.'
âA bit
strong
?'Joanna frowned. âIt was more than that.'
Christine flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette and refused to meet Joanna's eye. âI did warn her,' she said, and Joanna felt the vaguest tinge of disquiet. There was something strange in Christine's face â as if she were withholding something.
Joanna decided to change tack. âWho was the man Finnigan found her in bed with?'
âSomeone from her work, I think.' She stopped and thought. âI never knew. She never told me.'
âWhere did she work?'
âShe was just a cleaner.' Christine rubbed her face with her hands.
âWhere?'
âShe used to do a couple of evenings at Blyton's Engineering.'
âAnd the man?'
âI don't know,' Christine said. âI don't know. I don't think it was anyone serious. I mean, she'd been out with him once or twice. She took him back to her place.'
âAnd Finnigan caught them.'
For the first time in a couple of days, Christine laughed. âThe bloke â whoever it was â shot out leaving his trousers behind. Kept the street gossiping for days. You 'ave to laugh,' she said. âThey was livin' in the next street then. He threw her out. So she gets Jubilee Road. He loses his place and ends up in a flat.' She chuckled. âBloody lucky it wasn't the prison.'
She gave Joanna a quick look. âHe broke her jaw, you know. He was very violent ... always threatenin' her and after that things got worse. Much worse. You know he hung the trousers out of the window.' She stopped. âThey were there for days. Poor old Sharon. She was too damned frightened to take them in again. Anyway, after that Finnigan threw her out. Poor old Sharon,' she said again. âNever had much luck.'
âHad Finnigan been violent before?'
Christine thought for a moment before answering. âNot so much violent,' she said slowly. âMore unpredictable.' She looked candidly at Joanna. âKnow what I mean? He'd lash out for nothing. Sometimes after he'd hit her she'd come round here and think about it. “What did I do?” she'd ask me. I couldn't tell her, could I?' Christine sighed. âAfter that business with Sharon he changed. He'd always had a temper. But after that he got nasty, devious. He stopped going out so much, and when he did he'd get into fights and arguments, as though he had a grudge against ...'
âWomen?'
Christine nodded.
âAnd what about Agnew?'Joanna asked casually. âWhat was he like?'
But she knew however carefully she worded these questions Christine was shrewd enough to guess exactly where they led.
âA bloody waster.' Christine was not going to mince words. âYou obviously haven't met Paul, have you? No, there's no need for me to tell you about him. Go and see him yourself. But I warn you, he's a very peculiar person.'
âHe was at the pub the same night that Sharon was killed,' Joanna said.
âHe was?' She looked up.
âYes.'
âMind you ...' She bit her lip. âThere's one thing about Paul. He's in a world of his own most of the time. You never know with him what he's thinking. He dreams and then says such weird things.' She watched Joanna. âIt's possible he was at the pub and so was Sharon and he never saw her. He's spaced out â when he's got the money.'
Unexpectedly tears started into her eyes. âYou don't think it was him, do you? I wouldn't like to think it was Paul.' She leaned forward and spoke earnestly. âYou see, he isn't like Finnigan. I mean, Finnigan's violent â nasty. I can picture him batterin' Sharon to death. But she wouldn't have met him at the pub and gone off with him somewhere. She knew what he was like. And Paul, well, I know to you he's a lawbreaker, but there's no harm in him. He just dreams.' She paused. âYou know, he used to live across the road, with her. When she was pregnant â showing â you know â about four months he just told her to get out. I found out he was living with this girl and went round for Sharon to ask him why. He just laughed, said the baby made it difficult for him to stay.'
âThat doesn't necessarily mean it wasn't his baby,' Joanna pointed out.
âSharon had already told me he wasn't the father.'
âWhere is Agnew now?'
âStill with Leanne.'
Joanna paused for a moment, frowning.
âLeanne Ferry,' Christine said helpfully.
That name. She had heard it somewhere before.
âChristine.' She put her cup down on the flimsy wine table. âHow did Agnew know Ryan wasn't his baby?'
Christine stared for a moment out of the window before answering. âYou'll have to ask him that,' she said.
âDidn't Sharon ever tell you?'
Christine shook her head.
And now Joanna had stopped believing her. She paused for a moment before speaking again. âWhat about the married man?' she said. âThe one she had an affair with?'
âI don't know ...'
âJust tell me what you do know,' Joanna said. âIt doesn't matter if it seems unimportant. Anything.'
âI don't know who he was.' Christine looked around the room. âI only know bits about him. You know, odd things she told me. I know he was rich. And I know he was married. And I know he gave her money for Ryan.' She stared at the police woman. âHonest, Joanna, that's all I know about him. Sharon could keep her cards close to her chest when she wanted. She never let out a beep. It was only when I asked her outright who Ryan's dad was that she told me that much.'
âThe money he gave her,' Joanna said. âWas it a cheque or cash?'
âIn notes. I saw it. She'd been out with him not long before Ryan was born. And he gave her the money. She showed it to me.'
âHow much?'
âFour hundred pounds,' Christine said. âIn fifty-pound notes.'
âAnd after Ryan was born? Did he give more?'
âI don't know ... honest.' Christine flushed. âI never asked her. They had a big row when Ryan was a few weeks old.'
âWhat about?' Joanna said quickly.
âAbout Ryan.'
âWhat
about
Ryan?'
Christine's face collapsed. âI think he wanted him.' Joanna stared at her. âWhat?'
âWell, Sharon just said she felt used.' She stopped. âI took it to mean he wanted Ryan.'
The shoe had become an object of fascination to him. He would take it out of the box, unbutton his shirt, cradle it against his naked chest, press the long, slim heel hard against him, feeling the prick of the point. Then he would finger the sharp toe. When he closed his eyes he could imagine the long, shapely leg leading up from the shoe to its dark junction. Sometimes he dressed the legs in the current shades of stocking, in Monsoon or Desert Sand, Tornado or Sirocco. Usually he chose Sirocco, a dark, mahogany colour that reminded him of black girls' legs.
And the diamanté bow flashed at him, winked at him with a titillating knowledge. But his fetish for the shoe was a dangerous fascination. Because if Lizzie ever found it there would be hell to pay.
After last time she had sworn there would be no more. No more giggling girls on the end of the telephone. No more âstaying overnight on business'. No more nights when her husband arrived home stinking of cheap scent. No more disgusting discoveries in the car.
Never again, she had said. And this time he really believed she meant it.
So he packed the box away at the back of the garage on the top shelf of a little tin cupboard. But simply knowing it was hidden away, waiting for him, was enough to stir him, knowing it waited â like him â for a safe opportunity.
Was any opportunity ever safe? Never mind. It waited and winked when he brought it out into the light. And it gave him quiet satisfaction from inside its box. But when Lizzie was visiting her mother. That would be when the fun began.
Joanna decided it was now time to meet the chief protagonists in this tragedy. She had learned about them from Sharon's best friend and from her mother. It was time to fix her own opinions. She and Mike decided they should first descend on Paul Agnew.
The oatcake shop had a grubby, modest and unattractive exterior, flaking sky-blue paint and steamy windows. They sat in the car, watching the two assistants through the window â the scruffy, slim man with straggling hair and the plump blonde girl.
Joanna glanced at Mike. âReady?'
He nodded.
She already felt she knew Paul Agnew. Christine had done a good job describing him. As she and Mike squeezed into the small, stuffy shop with its scent of cheese and warm cooking oil he looked up and met her eyes. For a brief moment he stared at her. Then he broke his stare, wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand and looked away, down at the floor.
They waited their turn, watching the girl tip the mixture on the griddle, wait for a moment before neatly flipping the pancakes over. Then it was their turn and Agnew was staring at Joanna again.
âPaul Agnew?' she said steadily.
He looked up, nodded.
âWe want a word with you.' Mike could never quite keep the aggression out of his voice. Result: already Agnew looked threatened.
âIs it about...?' For comfort he looked at Joanna. She nodded.
Agnew turned to the girl at his side. She smiled sympathetically, gave the two police officers a look of dislike, jerked her thumb towards the door beyond.
They followed Agnew in.
It was a store room. Flour and milk, two big plastic bottles of oil. There was nowhere to sit and it was dark.
Agnew stood in the corner, like a boxer facing his opponent.
âI'm Detective Inspector Piercy,' Joanna began. âThis is Detective Sergeant Korpanski. We're investigating the murder of Sharon Priest.'
Agnew's eyes flipped from one to the other.
âTell me about her,' Joanna said.
He shrugged. âWhat do you want to know?' he asked stiffly. âThere ain't a lot to tell really. We was livin' together, but not for long. She was all right. We got on OK. No great problems.'
âYou were fond of her?' Mike's voice was gruff.
âYeah,' Agnew said hesitantly. âI was. I was fond of 'er. She was a nice bird. A decent bird.'
Joanna felt her hackles begin to rise at his words. She took in a deep breath. Mike grinned across at her and she knew he would pull her leg about this when they had left the shop.
âFor how long did you live with her?'
âFew months. I don't know exactly.'
âDid you get on well with the kids?'
He looked surprised at that. âYeah,' he said again. âThey was nice kids. I did like 'em.' He stopped and thought. âThey was OK.'
âSo you like kids, Paul?'
He shuffled his feet. âYeah.'
âSo why did you throw her out when she got pregnant?'
Agnew looked around the room like a trapped animal.
âShe was pregnant, Paul,' Joanna said. âWas the baby yours?'
Agnew stared at the floor and shook his head.
âIt wasn't?'
Again he shook his head. âNope.'
âHow did you know it wasn't?'
Agnew's face seemed to change. A look of cunning crossed it, then he took a step towards Joanna. And although Mike was there she felt the faintest pricking of fear.
âI got my tastes,' Agnew said, and she smelt the sweet tang of marijuana on his breath. âI likes certain things.' He stared at Joanna. And this time it was she who broke the gaze. â
Different
things,' he said and swallowed.
âPut it like this. She weren't co-operative.' He swallowed again. âThat's how I knew. The kid weren't mine. Understand?'
Joanna glanced at Mike. He was glaring at Agnew as though he could throttle him. âSo if it wasn't yours, Agnew,' Mike said, âwhose was it?'
For the first time Agnew looked angry. âYou bloody well tell me that,' he said. âYou're the fucking detectives. All I know is that it weren't my kid.' He stopped. âSo I left.'