Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle (18 page)

‘Of course, we don’t know that it was blackmail,’ she pointed out. ‘Maybe he’d been to the bank and deposited the contents of his money belt.’

‘No. We checked.’

Max realized they weren’t alone in the wood.

‘I’ve never been here without bumping into him,’ he muttered beneath his breath as he spotted the other person in Black’s Wood. ‘He spends all his time here.’

Jack Taylor was heading straight for them with not one but two collies. His back stiffened when he spotted them and Max half expected him to do an about turn. He didn’t.

‘Hello, Jill,’ he said pleasantly.

‘Is Archie all right?’ she asked, nodding at the two dogs.

‘Yes, he’s fine. Well, as fine as he’s likely to be. He has good days and bad days. Some days, you’d never believe there were owt wrong with him. Others, like today, well, I said I’d give Jess a good walk for him.’

He nodded curtly at Max. ‘How’s it going, Sherlock?’

‘Badly,’ Max said truthfully. ‘It would help, of course,’ he added sarcastically, ‘if people could remember where they were on the day in question.’

Jack seemed to find that amusing. ‘Ah, it’s a bugger when your memory goes.’

‘It is,’ Max agreed, knowing Jack’s memory was as sharp as an unused razor blade.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve remembered, have you, Jack?’ Jill asked him. ‘It would be a great help if the police could eliminate a few more people.’

‘Me? Oh, yes. I was in Rochdale that day.’

‘Then why the hell didn’t you say so?’ Max exploded.

‘You didn’t ask, lad.’

‘What? I’ve asked you countless times.’

‘Ah, but I didn’t remember until last night and you haven’t asked me today.’

‘Right,’ Max said, teeth gritted. ‘As you’ve remembered you were in Rochdale, perhaps you’ll be able to give me the names of any witnesses who might be able to corroborate your story.’

‘Story?’ He chuckled at that. ‘It’s no story. I’d gone to get a battery for my watch.’ He pulled back the sleeve of his overcoat to reveal a watch that was older than Moses. It had been made long before they ran on batteries. ‘Not for this one,’ Jack added, noting Max’s disbelief, ‘but for my spare. I expect I’ve still got the receipt. The date might be on that.’

‘I’ll have a look at it.’

Jack nodded slowly. ‘I’ll have to see if I can find it.’

‘Either you find it, or I’ll have you on a charge of obstruction,’ Max informed him.

‘Oh, dear. We wouldn’t want that, would we, Sal?’ he murmured to his dog.

‘We wouldn’t.’ Max could cheerfully throttle the bloke. He’d often wondered what drove people to commit murder. The answer was standing in front of him. ‘So when will you be at home?’

Jack looked at his watch again. ‘I’m taking Jess back to Archie’s, then stopping off at the butcher’s. About sixish, I reckon.’

Max needed to be in the incident room for a briefing at six. ‘I’ll see you at about seven thirty,’ he told him. He should be finished by then.

‘Let’s hope Jess hasn’t eaten it. She’s a devil, this un.’ He nodded at Archie’s dog as she raced around nearby trees at a breakneck pace.

‘It takes one to know one,’ Max muttered.

‘So it does,’ Jack agreed. ‘Now, is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘Not for the moment,’ Max replied.

‘Right.’ Jack called the dogs. His own collie raced to his side, but Archie’s dog was still running around the trees in a demented fashion. ‘See what I mean?’ Jack said. ‘Come here, Jess. Jess!’

Reluctantly, Jess heeded the call and Jack Taylor carried on his way with both dogs trotting beside him.

Max expelled a frustrated sigh as he watched them. ‘Why does he enjoy pissing me off so much?’

‘I’ve no idea, Max,’ Jill replied with amusement.

They walked on and Max tried to picture Jack Taylor as a killer. It simply didn’t seem feasible. It even seemed unlikely that he had anything to hide. So why did he enjoy pissing him off?

‘Do you think he does know something?’ she asked curiously.

‘I don’t know. Yes, I do. Instinct says yes.’

‘If it’s blackmail we’re talking, and I suppose we assume it is, his granddaughter would be an ideal candidate.’

Max had considered that. So far, though, it looked as if Hannah Brooks had never so much as parked illegally.

‘Let’s face it,’ Jill went on, ‘parliamentary candidates can have their futures ruined over nothing. Sleeping with the wrong person. Smoking a joint at uni. Making innocuous remarks about Africans, Asians, the young, the old—’

‘True.’

‘On the other hand, would her grandfather know about it? She idolizes him. I’m not sure she’d want him knowing something of which he might disapprove.’

‘I still think Tom McQueen’s involved somewhere. Just why did he have dinner with Bradley Johnson?’

‘You don’t believe McQueen’s story that it was a coincidence then?’

‘If that bloke told me my name was Max Trentham I’d have to hunt out my birth certificate to check.’

It was almost eight o’clock when Max knocked on Jack Taylor’s door. A light was shining in the hall so Max assumed he was in. No dog barked, though, so that wasn’t encouraging.

He knocked again, harder this time, and was about to give up when he heard a muttering from the other side.

The door was finally opened.

‘Ah, Sherlock, I thought it might be you.’ Jack looked out. ‘Another blustery night.’ He considered things for a moment. ‘You’d better come inside before you catch your death. What you need, lad, is a good, thick overcoat.’

‘It’s at home,’ Max told him, adding a muttered, ‘along with the deerstalker.’

Jack smiled at that and finally stood aside to let Max enjoy the warmth of his home.

They went into the kitchen where Jack had been polishing brass fire irons. An old newspaper was spread across the table and a couple of blackened cloths, old pillowcases by the look of it, sat on that.

Would a man worried about an imminent visit from a copper sit and polish brass? Max didn’t think so.

He’d never thought of Jack as worried, though. Stubborn, tight-lipped and highly principled, but not worried. All the same, if he did know something, he’d take that knowledge to the grave with him if he so chose.

‘Would you like a brew?’ he asked Max.

‘I’d love one,’ Max said, surprised by the offer. ‘Thanks, Mr Taylor.’

‘The name’s Jack.’

Awkward, stubborn, determined to waste Max’s time—yet Max couldn’t help liking the old sod.

Max sat at the kitchen table and gazed at his distorted reflection in a brass coal shovel.

‘You’ve done a good job,’ he remarked.

‘I like brass.’ Jack’s hand rested on the huge teapot. ‘You need to clean it regularly, and do a thorough job, but it’s worth the effort. It’s a rich, warm metal. Not like silver.’

Max had never thought of it like that, but he knew exactly what he meant. He was about to say so when he saw Jack reach up into a cupboard and bring out a bottle of Famous Grouse.

He poured a generous measure into both mugs, then looked to see if Max was watching him.

‘I often have something about now,’ he explained. ‘You need it this weather. It keeps out the cold.’

‘A medicinal dram?’

‘If you’d rather not …’

‘No,’ Max said quickly, having visions of his drink going down the old ceramic sink. ‘You’re right, it’ll keep out the cold. Besides, I’m not on duty.’

‘Is that a fact?’ Jack chuckled. ‘I bet there’s something somewhere that says you can’t question me if you’re off duty. You coppers have gone soft,’ he added, sitting opposite Max and putting their mugs in front of them. ‘The other day, outside the bank, there were a couple of young lads, no more than fourteen, mouthing off at two coppers. The coppers treated them like bloody royalty. Why the hell didn’t they belt ’em one?’

‘Because they’d have been on an assault charge before you could say “hello, hello, hello”,’ Max informed him.

‘Pah. Gone soft, they have.’

‘It’s not us coppers,’ Max argued. ‘It’s society as a whole. Everyone has rights, these days, even scum.’

‘Rights,’ Jack scoffed. ‘If you cause a disturbance, do damage, pinch something—well, you should lose all rights. It stands to reason.’

Max couldn’t agree more.

‘It’s the same in schools,’ Jack went on. ‘In my day, you spoke when you were spoken to and not before. Step out of line and a few lashes meant you couldn’t sit down for a week. These days, kids are abusive to teachers. Violent even.’ He broke off to shake his head in bewilderment. ‘We’re in a sorry state. If there were a war tomorrow, I shudder to think what would happen. A bloody disaster, that’s what.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. There’s a lot that’s wrong with the country admittedly, but there’s a lot of good around, too.’

‘Hm.’ Jack wasn’t convinced.

Max took a swig of his tea and was surprised to find that it tasted good. He’d never laced tea with whisky. Coffee, yes, but not tea.

‘You make a good cup of tea, Jack.’

‘I thought you’d appreciate it, lad.’

‘Are you trying to grovel your way into my good books?’ he asked suspiciously, and Jack laughed.

‘No. I’m trying to get you drunk so that I can bash you over the head and drag your body into Black’s Wood. I reckon I’d make a good killer. What do you think, Sal?’ he asked, fondling the dog’s ears.

‘Talking of murder,’ Max began, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve managed to find—’

Before he could finish, Jack left the room and returned with a tiny scrap of paper that he handed to Max.

It was a receipt for a watch battery costing three pounds ninety-nine pence. The time shown on it was 4.45 p.m., which, if it belonged to Jack, put him in the clear.

‘You could have found this anywhere,’ Max pointed out.

‘I could,’ Jack agreed nonchalantly, ‘but I didn’t.’

‘How do I know that?’

‘You’ll just have to take my word for it, won’t you?’

‘Come on, Jack, if I took everyone at their word, I’d never make an arrest.’

‘You mean people lie to you? Tut tut. Whatever next?’ He put down his mug and leaned, elbows on the table, towards Max. ‘I’m not lying to you,’ he said seriously. ‘I swear on my life, on my dog’s life even, that I was in Rochdale getting that battery.’

Max believed him.

‘You know something, though, don’t you?’

‘Like what?’ Jack demanded.

‘Ah, if I knew that, I’d be as wise as you.’

‘I know nothing that’ll make any difference to anything,’ the old man vowed.

Which meant he did know something.

The collie had moved nearer to Max’s feet and he leaned down to stroke her.

‘Tell me about your granddaughter, Jack,’ he suggested, straightening.

‘What the hell does my Hannah have to do with anything?’ Jack’s good mood was slipping.

‘I’d like to know if Bradley Johnson ever attempted to blackmail her.’

‘Why would he do that? What’s she ever done?’

‘I don’t know,’ Max replied, ‘but we know he wasn’t above a spot of blackmail.’

Jack shrugged as if the subject was of no interest to him whatsoever.

‘I’m sure we’ve all done things we wouldn’t want the world to know about,’ Max pushed on, ‘and someone in Hannah’s position would make a prime target for blackmail. Personally, I don’t care who our politicians sleep with, or if they’re drunken drug-takers, so long as they do the job we’re paying them to do.’

‘I quite agree with you.’

‘But other people do care. If Hannah experimented with drugs at university or had an affair with a married man—well, it could jeopardize her future.’

‘I expect it could,’ Jack agreed.

‘So, as far as you know, Johnson didn’t attempt to blackmail her?’

‘Why the bloody hell should he?’ he demanded again.

‘I don’t know. I was hoping you’d tell me.’

‘Bloody nonsense. And don’t you go pestering Hannah,’ he added darkly. ‘She’s just lost a baby, you know.’

‘Yes, and I’m truly sorry about that.’

‘Have you got kids?’ Jack asked.

‘Two boys. Harry and Ben.’

‘Then you’ll understand that she’s had a rough time of it.’

‘Yes.’

Had Hannah Brooks done something to attract Johnson’s attention? And like what? As far as they could tell, she’d never so much as thought twice about anything that might smear her spotless character.

‘Another cup of tea before you go?’ Jack asked, and Max nodded.

‘Thanks. Easy on the tea though, Jack, eh?’

Chapter Eighteen

Tessa Bailey, Muhammed Khalil’s alleged girlfriend, had proved elusive. She was well known by the other girls working the streets, but no one had known where she was. That wasn’t surprising, Max supposed. Once word got out that people were looking for her, she would have done a runner. Extensive inquiries into Muhammed Khalil’s murder hadn’t brought up her name and she hadn’t come forward. That wasn’t surprising, either. People like Tessa didn’t come forward.

However, unluckily for her, she’d been found in Blackburn. She was still working as a prostitute and after what, judging by the dark circles around her eyes, was a profitable night, she’d been seen going to Asda for a pack of cigarettes early this morning.

She sat facing Max now in interview room three. It was cold in there and Max didn’t begrudge the mug of tea that was currently warming her hands.

‘Right,’ he began, ‘what do you know about Tom McQueen?’

Her face, pale and grubby, registered shock. ‘Eh? What the—? Now you look here, I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

Whatever she’d been expecting to be questioned about, it wasn’t that.

‘Liar.’

‘I don’t. Why the ’ell should I?’

‘Because your ex-boyfriend knew him.’

‘Which ex-boyfriend?’

‘Muhammed Khalil.’

‘Who says he were my—?’

‘Don’t play games, Tessa. We know you lived with him.’ Max didn’t want to alienate her. That would get him nowhere. ‘McQueen won’t know you’ve spoken to us, I promise.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says me.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

She sat back in her chair, and Max watched some of her natural confidence return. In her early twenties, she probably scrubbed up well. When she bothered. Her dark hair was long and lank, her teeth were yellow, and there were still traces of yesterday’s make-up round her eyes, but her figure was good and her skin was clear.