Kennedy 02 - A Darker Side (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Max sat in his car outside Lilac Cottage for a moment. Whenever he drove away, he always thought how wrong it was. They should be together. That Jill lived here in Kelton Bridge was madness. They were made for each other. Even Jill must admit that they’d been great together.

Yes, he’d been unfaithful to her, but there were valid reasons for that. She called them ‘lame excuses’ and he called them ‘valid reasons’. He’d been working too hard and drinking too hard, and Jill had been having nightmares because Rodney Hill had committed suicide. Between them, they’d been unable to cope with the pressure. Very few couples would have coped.

As a means of a brief respite, Max had spent a few hours with someone else . . .

With a sigh, he fired the engine and drove off. It was pointless going over and over the same ground. They should be together. End of story.

His phone rang and he hit the button.

‘Max, I don’t know if this is someone taking the piss or not,’ Dave, currently manning the desk at headquarters, told him, ‘but I’ve spoken to a bloke who calls himself are you ready for this? Accrington Stanley.’

‘That’s all I need. What a bloody day! Yes, it’s genuine,’ Max told him. ‘To you, Accrington Stanley is a football team, the pride of Lancashire. To me, he’s a pain in the arse who occasionally, very occasionally, gives us some good info. His name’s Stanley and he originates from Accrington. Hence Accrington Stanley.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Clearly, Dave was none the wiser. ‘Anyway, he said he had some gen on Martin Hayden. Told you to meet him at the usual place.’

‘Thanks, Dave. I’ll find him.’

There was no ‘usual place’, but Max guessed that Accrington would be at The Red Lion or The Nag’s Head, and Max would have to go through the usual cloak and dagger routine to hear what he had to say. Among Accrington’s many faults was a penchant for old cops and robbers shows like
Starsky and Hutch
or
The Sweeney
.

Max tried The Red Lion first, but there was no sign of him. He struck lucky at The Nag’s Head.

Accrington was propping up the bar, an almost empty glass of Guinness in his hand. They made eye contact and then Accrington shuffled away from the bar.

While Max waited for the barmaid to finish talking on her mobile phone, he looked around him and tried to tot up the numbers of years the customers had spent in various prisons. A lot.

‘A pint of Black Sheep, please,’ he said, when the young girl finally deigned to serve him.

He handed over his money and stood at the bar to drink what was an exceptionally good pint. The service was poor, the glasses never looked particularly clean, and the customers were small-time crooks, but at least the landlord kept a decent pint of beer.

Max was halfway down his pint before Accrington looked around him, put his glass on the bar and made a show of saying goodnight to a few people.

Max had to wait five minutes not a second less before following him. Yes, it had to be a case of too much
Starsky
and Hutch
. Still, Accrington did provide them with useful information now and again, so Max had to take part in the charade. Accrington refused to speak to him any other way. ‘Walls have ears,’ he’d say.

Max gave him ten minutes it wouldn’t hurt him to wait and then left the bar and walked to the alley at the back where Accrington was smoking one of his hand-rolled cigarettes.

‘How are you doing, Accrington?’

‘You weren’t followed, were you?’

‘Followed? Me? Don’t talk daft.’ Who he thought might be interested enough to follow him, Max had no idea. ‘So what have you got? Something to do with the Hayden boy, I gather.’

‘Yeah. I’ve seen those pictures of him on the telly and I’ll tell you this.’ He broke off to look around and make sure they weren’t being overheard. ‘That George Hayden I know him and that young lad isn’t his son.’

Max was disappointed. They already knew that.

‘That boy looks nothing like his dad,’ Accrington went on, his voice low. ‘Not that that accounts for much,’ he admitted. ‘I look nothing like my dad. He’s a right ugly bugger.’

Accrington had a large bulbous nose sitting on a red, flabby, unshaven face. His ears made cauliflowers look like exotic orchids, and his many chins wobbled with each word. And his father was the ugly one?

‘I saw the lad’s mother’s photo,’ he said, his voice a whisper now, ‘and I’ve seen her’ Again, he stopped to look around him. ‘I’ve seen her with the lad’s real father. And I know he’s the real father because the lad’s the spitting image of him.’

‘Wait a minute. You’ve seen Mrs Hayden with Martin’s real father? Recently?’

‘Twice I’ve seen ’em together.’

‘Where, Accrington? And when?’

‘Churchyard,’ he whispered. ‘I mows the lawns at St Saviour’s and keeps the place tidy.’

Max knew that. Accrington would rob his own grandmother, except of course his own grandmother was probably laid to rest at St Saviour’s, but he’d been mowing lawns there gratis for years.

‘And?’‘

There’s a bench where all the old graves are. It’s a very deserted spot. No one’d see you. I only see ’em because I heard something and went to have a gander. They was sat there as large as life. Heads bent. Talking. I couldn’t hear what they was saying, mind.’

‘When was this?’

‘I go every Tuesday afternoon to tidy up a bit. They was there last Tuesday and the one before that.’

‘Last Tuesday?’ The day before Martin Hayden was killed? ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. I would’ve told you before, Max, but it only came to me today. As I said, I knows George Hayden, but I’d never seen his wife, or his son. Her picture was in the paper today and I recognized her from St Saviour’s. I knew then why the lad that was murdered looked so familiar. I tell you, Max, he’s the image of his real father.’

Well, well, well.

‘The thing is, Max,’ he whispered, ‘when there are them sort of skeletons in the cupboard, well, it strikes me, your killer’ll be close to home.’

Good point, Accrington.

‘Mm, thanks for that.’ Max took a twenty pound note from his wallet and handed it over. ‘You’d better have a drink on me. Oh, and if you see them again, let me know, will you?’

‘You can count on me!’ Accrington tapped the side of his bulbous nose and strode off.

Max walked back to his car, deep in thought.

Last Tuesday, Brian Taylor met up with Josie Hayden for at least the second time. On Wednesday Martin was murdered. On Thursday, Taylor very conveniently left for Italy.

But he was due back in England this evening. In fact, his plane should have touched down by now. Max would be very interested to hear what he had to say . . .

So deep in thought was he, Max had driven past Asda when he remembered he’d meant to stop and buy some Scotch and wine. His mother-in-law bought all the groceries they needed, but she was hopeless when it came to keeping the alcohol cupboard stocked.

He drove on to the roundabout, doubled back, and then parked in Asda’s car park.

It didn’t take long to pick up a couple of bottles of Scotch and half a dozen bottles of wine, and he was standing at the check-out, the one for baskets only, wondering how people could cram so much into one small basket, when an incredibly sexy voice said, ‘Having a party, Max?’

He turned around to see Ms Lord with a well-filled trolley. Even sex goddesses, it seemed, needed groceries. Looking at the contents of her trolley, Max guessed she was something of a fitness freak. There was no sugar or sodium to be seen. Lots of fruit and vegetables, several bottles of water that would taste no better than tap water, but no chocolate, cakes or biscuits.

‘’Fraid not,’ he said, smiling. A party for two didn’t sound like a bad idea, though.

She was wearing a short black skirt, a white, breast-hugging blouse and ridiculously high heels. No wonder her legs looked so long.

‘I saw you at the school today.’

‘Really? I didn’t see you.’

‘I was stuck in a classroom overlooking the car park.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’

‘Here?’

‘Why not?’

At this rate, he’d never get home. But a coffee wouldn’t take long. Besides, this was business.

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘Great. Give me a couple of minutes there are just a few things I need and I’ll meet you as soon as I’ve paid for it all. Mine’s a latte.’

He watched her walk back to the deli counter. Her legs looked longer than ever. Phew, it was a tough job being a copper.

When she breezed into the cafeteria, however, his job was the last thing on his mind.

She parked her trolley by the side of the table and sat opposite him.

‘Thanks,’ she said, picking up her cup. ‘After fighting my way round here, I always need a coffee to revive me.’

Max nodded at his carrier bags. ‘I always need something a little stronger.’

Her lips were full and covered with a glossy pink lipstick. Other than that, she didn’t wear a lot of make-up. She didn’t need to.

‘Are you on your way home?’ she asked.

‘Yes. To two boys and two dogs.’

‘It was good to see you on Sunday. I didn’t know you and the psychiatrist socialized.’

The psychiatrist? Jill would love her for that gem.

‘Only now and again, but we used to be close.’ Until I was daft enough to spend a night with someone far less appealing than you, he added silently. The memory of that night, of how low he had fallen, still sickened him.

‘You must get lonely,’ she murmured, taking a sip of her coffee.

He laughed at that. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were chatting me up, Ms Lord.’

‘You know perfectly well that it’s Donna. And I am chatting you up.’

‘Then I’m flattered. Donna.’

‘So you should be,’ she said, laughter dancing in her eyes. ‘I’m very fussy about my conquests.’

With a body like that, she could afford to be.

‘What were you doing at the school today?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘Talking to a couple of people. Typing up loose ends.’ He shrugged. ‘Nothing exciting or important.’

‘You were talking to Geoff Morrison for one,’ she said. ‘What’s poor Geoff done wrong? He has nothing to do with Martin Hayden’s murder, does he?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’ He considered asking her about Morrison, but thought better of it. ‘Do you enjoy your work?’ he asked instead.

‘Love it,’ she assured him happily. ‘I get on better with children than adults. We have fun.’

‘It’s the boys I feel sorry for. If I’d had a teacher like you, I would have struggled to concentrate.’

She laughed. ‘Some of them do struggle,’ she admitted. ‘Didn’t you fantasize about your teachers when you were at school?’

‘Hardly! Of the only female teachers I remember, one was built like a tank, another was the envy of the boys because she had a moustache and the third was ninety if she was a day.’

Donna spluttered with laughter. ‘Ah, poor Max.’

She gazed at him for long moments, and he wondered what she was thinking. He gazed right back, and he knew exactly what he was thinking. There was nothing remotely professional about it, either.

‘Here.’ She reached inside her handbag and scribbled her phone number on the back of a business card. ‘If you get too lonely, give me a call,’ she said, handing it over. ‘We could meet up for a drink or something.’

The front of the card advertised Harrington’s fitness centre.

‘Thanks. I will,’ he promised. ‘But I’d better be going now.’

‘Don’t forget to call me,’ she said.

‘I won’t. See you.’

As Max walked back to his car, he wondered what the appeal was. It wasn’t purely sexual. Yes, she had a terrific body but so did countless other women.

He tucked the card she’d given him safely in his pocket. It was unlikely he’d use it, but he’d hang on to it just in case.

Chapter Seventeen

Brian Taylor lived in a four-bedroomed, executive detached house on Chase Gardens. The houses, twenty-four in a cul-de-sac, were identical. Boxes. Very nice boxes, admittedly, but not to Max’s taste. He preferred something older, something with more character. Still, each to his own.

‘It’s number four, Fletch,’ he said, as Fletch drove past and, for some reason, pulled up outside number ten.

‘Is it? Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ Or he had been sure until Fletch put the doubts in his mind. ‘You need more sleep, Fletch? How are Sandra and the new addition by the way?’

‘They’re great.’ Fletch’s face had a distinctly dreamy expression as he reversed the car along the road. ‘I know I wanted a boy this time, but girls are great, aren’t they?’ He grinned at Max. ‘And the new addition’s name is Chloe.’

‘I knew that,’ Max lied.

‘Right, number four,’ Fletch announced. ‘It does look more promising I mean, with a silver BMW on the drive and everything.’

‘It does,’ Max agreed drily.

‘I still can’t understand why you don’t bring him in, guv. He has to be number one suspect.’

‘Oh, he is. But we’ve got nothing to pin on him. And he’d be sure to want a brief there. We’ll see how it goes here first.’

Max preferred to see people on their own territory. He always had and he always would.

They had nothing with which to charge Taylor. To all intents and purposes, Brian Taylor’s son had been murdered. There was nothing to suggest that he was in any way involved. Only a lot of coincidences.

They rang the doorbell and Taylor answered almost immediately. He was talking into his mobile phone, but he gestured for them to step inside. Whoever was on the other end of that phone was struggling to get a word in.

He was a good-looking man, fair-haired and dressed casually in jeans and a crisp blue shirt. His suntan said he hadn’t spent all his time in the office while in Italy. He wore glasses and a thin gold chain, very similar to the one Max wore, around his neck.

While he spoke on the phone, and Max gathered it was a business call, he ushered them into a huge lounge. Apart from two sofas in spotless white leather, a massive TV, a tiny hi-fi system, and a glass coffee table, the room was empty. It looked like a showroom rather than a living room. Max thought of his own house and wondered where these people kept their clutter. Perhaps people like Brian Taylor didn’t accumulate clutter.

Try as he might, Max couldn’t imagine this man in the throes of passion with someone like Josie Hayden. It was obvious that there had been passion at some point, however. As Accrington Stanley had said, Taylor was the adult version of Martin Hayden.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said, snapping his mobile shut. ‘I’m working from home today and, having been away for a few days, there’s a lot to catch up on. The voice mail’s on now so we won’t be disturbed.’ He gestured to one of those spotless sofas. ‘Please, sit down. What can I do for you?’

Fletch sat and, after only a brief hesitation, Max did, too. White leather. Who in hell’s name had white leather? Someone who didn’t have two boys and two dogs, he supposed.

‘As you know, we’re investigating the murder of Martin Hayden,’ Max began.

‘Yes. It’s dreadful, isn’t it?’ He sat down on the other sofa. ‘I imagine you know he’s my son?’

Max nodded. ‘Did you ever meet him?’

‘No.’ He wore a slightly wistful expression but didn’t seem too concerned about that. ‘No, I never saw him. Ah, that’s a lie. I saw him once when he was about a year old. At the time, the last thing I wanted was children. I certainly didn’t want Josie’s child. She was happily married, and so was I. Well, I wasn’t
happily
married, but the last thing I needed was that complication. But I saw him with Josie in town when he was about a year old, and I knew then that he was mine. He looked very much like me, you know.’

‘Yes, the resemblance is striking,’ Max agreed. ‘Did you make any attempts to see him?’

‘Recently, yes. I suppose that, as you get older, family means more. I often think that, if I killed myself on the motorway tomorrow, I’d leave nothing behind. So yes, I wrote to Josie about a month ago asking to see him.’

‘What was her reaction to that?’ Max asked.

‘Nothing. She didn’t answer my letter or call me or anything.’

‘I see. So what did you do then?’

‘I’m sure she’s told you all this.’ He sighed, somewhat dramatically. ‘I phoned her and told her that if she didn’t meet me, I’d turn up at the farm and see Martin for myself.’

‘And she met you?’

‘Yes. I’m afraid I didn’t give her much choice. The last thing she wanted was me turning up on the doorstep. So yes, we met this sounds silly, but we met in the graveyard at St Saviour’s. No chance of anyone seeing us there, you see.’ He frowned at Max. ‘But I’m sure Josie has told you all this.’

Max ignored that. ‘How many times did you meet?’

‘Twice.’ He twisted a watch, a Rolex by the look of it, around his wrist a couple of times. ‘The second time was last Tuesday, a week ago today, the day before young Martin was murdered.’

‘Why twice?’ Fletch put in.

‘The first time, she was being awkward about me seeing Martin. I said I’d meet her there the next week give her time to think about things, you know. She’d calmed down a bit by then and seemed to accept that I had a right to see him. She was resigned to it, I suppose you’d say.’ He sighed. ‘I went off to Italy and, the next thing I knew, Martin had been murdered.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

Taylor thought for a moment. ‘I’d be lying if I said I was devastated,’ he admitted. ‘I never knew the boy. He’s a stranger was a stranger to me. I suppose I feel cheated, to tell you the truth. It seems a cruel blow. Selfish, I know, but just when I wanted to see him . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Very selfish of me.’

‘How would you describe your relationship with Mrs Hayden?’ Max asked.

‘Past or present?’

‘Both.’

‘Seventeen years ago, I found her amusing,’ he explained. ‘She was very naive, especially sexually. She’d never been unfaithful to that husband of hers.’

‘I see.’

‘To be honest,’ he went on, ‘it was just a bit of fun. You know, some afternoon entertainment. I had no idea that Josie thought it was anything more.’

‘Have you had many affairs?’ Fletch asked.

‘A few. I’m a salesman which means I travel about a bit, and hotel rooms can get pretty boring, believe me. It’s nice to have something to alleviate the boredom.’

‘And Mrs Hayden was something to alleviate the boredom?’ Fletch guessed.

‘It sounds callous, but yes. Yes, she was.’ He thought for a moment. ‘My first marriage was heading for the divorce courts at a fast pace.’

‘What about now?’ Max asked. ‘How do you get along with Mrs Hayden now?’

‘She was very cool with me,’ he replied. ‘Cool, angry. Hurt probably. I’m not her favourite person, not by a long way. She talked a lot about Martin. She said he was like me in looks and temperament.’

‘Really?’ How odd. Josie Hayden wasn’t a fan of Brian Taylor, yet she thought her son was like him in temperament. Which part of that temperament had young Martin inherited?

‘How did you hear about his death?’ Max asked.

‘The oddest thing. When I was in Italy, I called my brother. Nothing unusual about that as we often speak on the phone, but just as we were ending the call, he jokingly said something about a murder in Harrington. Said the victim, a young boy, looked just like me and that I should watch out. I asked the name and he told me. Of course, he doesn’t know that Martin was my son.’

They spoke for another half-hour, but nothing new came to light. Brian Taylor seemed a damn sight more open and honest than Josie Hayden.

Max was on the point of leaving when his phone rang.

‘Excuse me.’ He walked over to the window to answer it.

‘Max,’ Grace greeted him breathlessly, ‘you won’t want to hear this.’

He’d already guessed as much. When Grace called him Max instead of the usual guv, he knew something serious had happened.

‘Go on.’

‘We’ve got another dead body.’

Max felt the world shift slightly. ‘Not another’

‘No,’ she cut him off, guessing he was expecting it to be another pupil from Harrington High. ‘It’s Josie Hayden.’

‘Suicide?’ But he suspected the answer to that was something else he’d picked up from Grace’s tone.

‘No, guv.’