Streetwise (31 page)

DI Valerie Middleton leafed through the results of the autopsy on Jenna Dean. There was nothing unexpected there. The woman, thirty-one years of age, had been in good health at the time of her demise. Time of death: between ten and eleven last night. Cause of death: a single gunshot to the chest. No evidence of any sexual assault or of any kind of a struggle. The bullet had been removed from the body and sent to ballistics.

Forensics hadn’t come up with anything useful either. With all the heavy rain overnight, parts of the green had turned into a quagmire. Mud could often be a good medium for the retention of footprints, but not on this occasion. The piece of ground where the body was found had been churned up first by the dog that had sniffed her out and then by its owner.

She looked across the desk at DS Laura Higgs. Although she had her own office, she preferred to be present in the incident room when a major inquiry was on the go. ‘Anything more on Chris Street yet?’ They had put out an appeal on the lunchtime news, requesting information on his whereabouts. There had been plenty of ‘sightings’, ranging from Portsmouth to Glasgow, from airports to ferry terminals, but nothing solid and nothing that could be verified.

‘I don’t reckon he’s gone that far. He’ll be hiding out somewhere, waiting for the dust to settle. We need to find a way to flush him out.’

‘Such as?’

‘I’m still working on that. If he left in a hurry, he might not have much money on him. He’ll need to find a way to get hold of some. Maybe he’ll get in touch with his father or Danny or Ava Gold.’

‘I don’t know,’ Valerie said. ‘Men like him usually keep a stash at home, a few grand just in case of emergencies.’

‘A few grand doesn’t go far – not when you’re on the run. He wouldn’t dare stay in a hotel – too much chance of getting recognised – so someone’s probably hiding him. And that kind of protection, unless it’s your nearest and dearest, tends to cost a bomb.’

The door to the incident room opened and Jeff Butler came hurrying towards them. ‘Have you heard?’

‘What is it?’ Valerie asked.

‘I just got a call from my mate in ballistics. It was the same gun. The same gun was used to kill Jeremy Squires and Jenna Dean.’

Although the news was a breakthrough, Valerie was irritated by the fact that he had heard before she had. An old boys’ club was in operation in the force, a club from which she felt permanently excluded. ‘Really?’ she said, trying to keep the tightness from her voice. ‘Now that’s interesting.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ If he noticed her annoyance, he didn’t show it. ‘Exactly the same striation pattern on the bullets. No doubt about it.’

‘Why don’t you grab a chair, Jeff?’

Butler looked around, took a chair from an empty desk and sat down beside her. ‘I don’t get it, though. Chris Street kills Jenna Dean. Yeah, that’s straightforward enough. But shooting Danny Street, shooting his own brother. Why would he do that?’

Valerie raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’d probably want to shoot him if he was
my
brother. But, putting that personal prejudice aside, perhaps it was just a mistake. It was dark in the car park and he wouldn’t have had much time.’

‘But why kill Squires anyway? We already know that he’d pulled the money out of the bank.’

‘So maybe he changed his mind, got to Belles and decided that he wasn’t going to pay up after all. Threatened to go to the police and blow the whole blackmail scam out of the water. Danny couldn’t risk that, so he put in a call to his brother and kept Squires talking until Chris had a chance to get to the club.’

Butler nodded. ‘And then Danny took the money before the ambulance arrived, passed it on to Solomon Vale and hey presto, problem solved.’

‘It has a certain kind of logic to it.’

‘It does,’ Butler agreed.

‘Although we can’t be sure that the same person did both the shootings. If that gun belonged to the Streets, it could just as easily have been Terry that finished off Squires.’

‘That guy doesn’t know what day of the week it is,’ said Higgs, glancing up at the other two. ‘When I interviewed him, he kept getting confused, thinking that it was his wife who’d just been killed. He kept saying: “Is Lizzie dead? Has someone killed Lizzie?”
He couldn’t get it into his head that it was Chris’s ex I was talking about.’

Butler gave a nod. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard some rumours. Terry’s been doing a few odd things lately.’

‘For real, you think?’ Valerie asked. ‘Or is it just his way of avoiding difficult questions?’

‘Well, you never know with Terry, do you?’ Butler leaned back and frowned. ‘And where does this leave us with Lydia Hall? It looks like she didn’t kill Squires after all.’

‘Unless…’ Valerie said.

‘Unless?’

‘Well, I suppose it’s not impossible that she dropped the gun at the scene. Solomon Vale could have picked it up, taken it into the club and then given it to Chris Street.’

‘Which blows the Chris Street shooting Jeremy Squires scenario out of the window.’

‘It does. But it would explain how the same gun was used for both of the killings.’ Valerie gave a sigh. ‘Although we still haven’t got a motive for Lydia killing Squires.’

Butler stood up and gave Valerie a nod. ‘I’ll leave you to mull that one over. I’d better get off. I’ve got someone to see. You still on for that drink, later?’

‘Should be. Unless Chris Street pops up in the meantime.’

‘We live in hope.’

After he’d gone, DS Higgs looked over at Valerie. ‘DCI Butler seems to be spending a lot of time here.’

Valerie frowned at her. ‘He’s investigating a murder, a murder involving the Streets. Why shouldn’t he be here?’

‘Oh, no reason. I was just wondering if he prefers the company at Cowan Road to all those big burly guys down at Shoreditch.’

Valerie gave her an icy stare. ‘Meaning what exactly?’

‘Not meaning anything, guv. He’s a nice guy. You could do worse.’

‘What? It’s not like that. There’s nothing…’ Valerie stopped abruptly, realising that she didn’t need to explain herself to the likes of Higgs. But then, fearing that she might be the subject of office gossip, she couldn’t resist adding, ‘It’s a purely professional relationship. He’s married, for God’s sake.’

‘
Was
married. His wife cleared off to Oslo over six months ago. Dumped him for some Norwegian banker. Although banker probably wasn’t the word the DCI used.’

It was news to Valerie, but she tried not to show her surprise. ‘Well, it’s none of our business, is it? His private life is his own. So shall we just get on with the job in hand?’

Higgs gave her a smug smile, before lowering her gaze to the heap of papers in front of her. ‘Yes, guv.’

A few minutes later, DC Preston came over to the desk, loitering for a moment until Valerie raised her head.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve just finished interviewing two of the customers who were drinking in Wilder’s last night.’ He looked quickly at his notes. ‘Jane Wainwright and Tessa Marsden. They were sitting near the door and claim that Guy Wilder left the bar at about ten thirty and didn’t come back until about ten, fifteen minutes later.’

‘They’re sure?’

‘Absolutely sure. They say they remembered because he got back just before closing. And he was wet, guv, like he’d been out in the rain.’

‘You think they’re reliable witnesses?’

‘Seem to be, guv. Neither of them has got any kind of record; I ran a check.’

‘Okay,’ Valerie said. ‘Why don’t you organise a car, get down to Wilder’s and pull him in again.’

As Preston walked off, Higgs stared across the desk at Valerie. ‘You don’t really think he had anything to do with it? Chris Street killed Jenna Dean. He must have done. We should check out those girls properly. Who’s to say that Danny Street or his old man hasn’t paid them to put Wilder in the frame?’

‘We will check them out if Guy Wilder denies it, but let’s hear what he has to say for himself first.’

DS Higgs turned up her collar against the rain and hurried along to the end of Cowan Road where Franny Keats was waiting for her in his clapped-out Cortina. She climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the interior. It stank of dope, fag smoke, lager and sweat.

‘You ever think about cleaning this heap of crap?’ she asked, shifting away the debris at her feet.

‘What’d I want to do that for?’

‘I dunno. So you don’t catch the plague?’

Franny Keats lit a fag and glared at her. He was one of her regular snitches, a junkie off the Mansfield who supplemented his benefits with regular payments from informing on the lowlifes of Kellston. ‘What do you want?’ he asked. ‘Or did you just come here to have a pop?’

‘Got a job for you – that’s if you think you’re up to it.’

‘What sort of job?’

‘The sort that involves drinking lager all night in the local pubs and bars. Should be right up your street.’

Franny took a draw on his fag, releasing the smoke in a long thin stream. He narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s the catch?’

‘No catch. I just want you to spread some news around. I want you to tell every local villain you come across that Chris Street is in the clear over Jenna Dean. I want you to tell them that you’ve heard Guy Wilder’s been charged with her murder.’

Franny thought about this for a while. ‘That true?’

‘What difference does it make if it’s true or not?’ She pulled fifty quid out of her pocket and handed it over to him. ‘Here. This should be enough to keep you going. And don’t fuck me about, Franny, ’cause I’ll be checking up on you. If that rumour isn’t going strong in a couple of hours, I’ll hunt you down and make you pay.’

‘No need to be like that,’ he said sulkily, folding the notes and slipping them into his pocket. ‘When have I ever let you down?’

‘Don’t get me started. Just do it, okay? And make it sound convincing.’

Franny stroked the wheel with the palms of his hands. ‘Fifty quid don’t go far,’ he said. ‘Not in some of the joints round here. What if I run out of cash? Can’t stand there with an empty glass, can I?’

Higgs hissed out a breath. ‘Jesus, I’m not the bloody Bank of England.’

‘Ah, come on,’ he wheedled. ‘Just another score. That’ll see me right.’

Although she’d been expecting the request, she pretended that she hadn’t. ‘A score? You’re taking the piss!’

Franny’s hungry eyes gazed back at her. ‘Ten, then. And I’ll make sure the word gets around real good.’

With a feigned show of reluctance, she pulled another tenner from her bag. ‘You’d better. And you need to get your arse in gear right now.’

‘I’m on it,’ he said, grinning.

Laura Higgs got out of the car, glad to be escaping the stench. She wasn’t under any illusions that Chris Street was suddenly going to come out of hiding when he heard the news, but it might be enough to make him drop his guard. He might take a chance that he wouldn’t normally take. Yeah, one mistake, one tiny slip, and they’d have the murdering bastard.

Fifteen minutes after she’d fallen asleep, Ava was abruptly woken by the sound of her phone. Her eyes blinked open and for a moment, confused, she wasn’t sure where she was. The phone kept on ringing. Quickly she got to her feet, stumbled across the room, found her bag, rummaged in it and snatched up the mobile. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s Solomon,’ a deep voice said. ‘Sol. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.’

‘Oh, Sol. Hi. Yes. A bit tired, that’s all. Sorry, it’s been a long day.’ She gave her head a shake, trying to free it from the bleary daze of sleep. ‘They had me down Cowan Road for two hours.’

‘They didn’t charge you with nothing?’

‘No.’

‘I had the third degree too. Fuckin’ bastards turned my flat over. I mean, how much searching does it take to figure out that a man over six foot tall
ain’t
hiding in the wardrobe?’

‘They make a mess?’

‘Hard to tell. It’s not too tidy at the best of times.’ He laughed. ‘But that ain’t the point. It’s the principle, right?’

‘Yeah, it’s the principle.’

‘So are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Getting there,’ she said.

‘Good.’

Ava wanted to ask him about Chris – she was sure that the two of them must have been in touch or how else would Sol have got her number? – but was afraid of saying too much over the phone. The law could be listening in and it wasn’t worth taking the risk. Just as she was trying to think of a subtle, roundabout way of addressing the subject, the doorbell went. She jumped, thinking it might be the police again. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘there’s someone at the door.’

‘Who is it?’

‘I don’t know. Hang on a sec.’ She walked over to the window, pulled back the curtain and looked down into the square. She saw the top of a fair head and then a familiar face gazing up. ‘Oh no,’ she murmured into the phone. ‘It’s Silver Delaney.’

‘Silver? What the hell’s she doing there?’

‘God knows, but she’s seen me so I’ll have to go down. I’ll get rid of her and call you back, okay? Just give me five minutes.’

Ava hung up. The last thing she needed was company – especially Silver’s company – but there was no way round it. If only she hadn’t looked out of the window… but it was too late for that. There was no way of avoiding her and so she went downstairs and opened the door.

Silver’s face was pinched and tight. She leapt forward, grabbing hold of Ava’s arm. ‘You’ve got to come, you’ve got to come right now! It’s about Chris. Danny needs to talk to you.’

‘Danny?’

‘Yes, you’ve got to come,’ said Silver, pulling at her sleeve. ‘It’s urgent.’

‘Okay, okay, I’ll just get my coat.’

‘You don’t need your coat. He’s only round the corner.’

‘I need my keys, though. Hold on, I won’t be a minute.’ Ava rushed back upstairs, grabbed her coat and keys and ran back down the stairs again. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Danny’s got news. He’ll explain. He’ll tell you everything. But we’ve got to be quick.’

Ava put on her coat as she accompanied Silver across the square, keeping her eyes peeled for the police. Would they be watching out for her, keeping her under surveillance in case she made contact with Chris? But she wasn’t making contact with him so she didn’t need to worry. There was no law against talking to his brother.

‘I knew you’d come,’ said Silver, slipping her arm through Ava’s. ‘I told him you would. I always know these things. I said
Ava’s the type of girl who never lets anyone down.
’

The combination of the winter cold, the rain and her sudden exit from the warm flat, made Ava shiver. Or maybe it wasn’t just that. Silver seemed hyper, charged-up. Had she taken something? Coke or crack was the first thing that sprang to mind. The girl’s red spike-heeled shoes tapped rhythmically against the pavement, a noise that for some reason set Ava’s teeth on edge.

They went up Market Street and turned left on to the high street. Silver began to walk even faster now, pulling Ava along beside her. ‘We’re almost there. Not far to go.’

Ava glanced over her shoulder, but couldn’t spot anyone following them.

‘Don’t worry,’ Silver said. ‘There’s no one there. I checked. I made sure. I looked all around the square.’

They came to a stop outside Beast. There was a closed sign on the door, but Silver took out a set of keys, chose one and put it in the lock.

‘What are we doing here?’ asked Ava as the door swung open. She didn’t understand why Danny would be at the taxidermist’s. And why was the shop closed? It wasn’t even five o’clock yet. She hung back, alarm bells going off in her head. This didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right at all.

Silver grabbed hold of her elbow and dragged her roughly over the threshold. ‘Come on. Quickly! We can’t keep him waiting.’

Before she knew it, Ava was standing inside the shop. It was dark inside, but there was a thin light coming from the back. Silver slammed shut the door and pulled the bolt across. As her eyes gradually grew accustomed to the gloom, Ava realised that the place had been trashed; cabinets had been broken and there was glass all over the floor. Near her feet lay the wretched remains of a red fox, its head almost severed from its neck.

‘What the —’ But as she turned to look at Silver, the words stuck in her throat. The girl was pointing a small black gun directly at her chest.