Fearful Symmetry Page 7

  “Okay, sir,” Cryer said. “D’you have any preference for who we talk to?”

  “Yes. Could you talk to the people at number four and five? Kinnear, can you have a chat with the ever-helpful Mr Pleavin. Manikas take number one. I’ll check out number seven…”

  “D’you want us to ask about the pictures?”

  Blake cleared his throat. “Only if you can do it carefully, Manikas. If someone is fixated on me, for whatever reason, I need to take advice on that. If you get a chance to look at their bookshelves or notice anything relevant, fine. Right. Let’s go.”

  Blake turned and headed for number seven Hilbre Grove.

  Chapter 13

  Tightening the straps on her wrist splint for the fifth time, Kath Cryer walked up the cracked concrete drive to the front door of number five. She looked down at the splint; the straps weren’t straight. The Velcro top piece on the first fastening was at an angle and a loose bit stuck out. It wouldn’t do. She pulled it open and smoothed it straight back down. Her heart thumped as she approached the door. It looked ordinary enough; the kind you would see on any suburban bungalow. But then the house she’d been shot in had been ordinary, too. And had a similarly unremarkable door. She squeezed the fabric of the splint, hearing it creak. Taking a breath, she knocked on the door.

  “Will someone get that?” A male voice bellowed from inside the bungalow.

  “Someone? You mean me, you lazy bastard?” A woman yelled back. “You get it, I’m busy!”

  “Honestly! It’s not like I’ve got a day off…”

  Cryer rapped again, cutting the argument dead. The door swung open and she held her warrant card high before anything was said. The man in front of her had three day’s stubble, long, straggly hair and a faded Red T-shirt. His face, which seemed to be losing the fight against forty years of gravity, dropped even further. “DI Cryer, sir, we’re investigating the murder at number two, can I come in?”

  The man stepped aside and allowed Kath Cryer into the hall. The bungalow looked as tired as its occupants. Wallpaper peeled at the corners and dust and dog hairs coated the laminate flooring. An old grey-muzzled sheepdog staggered up to Kath giving her a feeble wag of its tail before turning and heading back down the hall. A woman in a baggy hoody and jeans stepped from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her front.

  “DI Cryer,” the man said sullenly. “Asking about the murder.”

  The woman brushed a strand of greying blonde hair from her worried face. “Come in, Detective… erm… officer…”

  “Kath’s fine, ma’am,” Cryer said, with a warm smile. She’d decided that this woman had enough on her plate without an arsey police officer giving her a hard time. Kath could change tack if she needed.

  The woman ushered her into a large living room which, again, would have benefited from a redecorate and a quick hoovering round. Framed album covers hung on the walls. They sat down. “So, it’s Mr and Mrs Jones?”

  “I’m Gretchen,” Mrs Jones said. She couldn’t help curling her lip. “He’s Graham.”

  “Great,” Cryer said, pulling out her notebook. “You’ll be aware that a body was discovered at the Taylors’ a couple of days ago…”

  “Yes, horrible,” Gretchen said, pulling the sleeves of her hoody over her fingers. “We spoke to the police officer who called round then.”

  “Has there been another discovery?” Graham Jones asked. “Only, there’s a lot of activity around Jean Quinn’s place.”

  Kath Cryer nodded. “I’m afraid we’ve found another body, sir.”

  Gretchen gave a squeak and hugged her knees to her chest. “That’s horrible. How… how long had the body been there?”

  “We don’t know yet, Gretchen,” Kath said. “We’re working on establishing as much detail as possible. I need to ask a few questions. I’m afraid some of them might seem impertinent or intrusive but I hope you understand.”

  Gretchen nodded. “If it helps find the bastard who did this, then ask away.” Graham nodded.

  “So, Dot and Dave Taylor what are they like?”

  Graham shrugged. “Quiet. Dave’s a bit of a blowhard. Always going on about his army days. Dot’s house proud. They spend most of their time polishing and cleaning the house.”

  “Dot always told me they didn’t have much money. So when they finally bought their own place, they were made up. It’s all they wanted,” Gretchen said, giving Graham a sidelong glance. “Content with their lot, is how I’d describe them.”

  “Anyone who doesn’t like them?”

  Gretchen and Graham shook their heads in unison. “We’re not a close bunch,” Graham said. “Not in and out of each other’s houses…”

  “Not physically, anyway,” Gretchen muttered.

  “This is more of a wave to each other as we put the bins out sort of place,” Graham finished off, ignoring Gretchen.

  “When did you ever take the bins out?” Gretchen said.

  “How about relatives?” Cryer asked, heading off any argument between them. “Has anyone visited the Taylors’ house recently who seems suspicious?”

  Gretchen shook her head. “Nah. Like I say, they’re a lovely couple. Their son visits every now and then and their grandson pops round more often. Nice people.”

  Kath nodded. “Great. Thanks.”

  “I dunno what you’re worrying about the Taylors for,” Graham said, staring out of the front room window at the busy scene playing out in the Grove. “It’s that Pleavin, fella, I’d be looking at if I were you.”

  “Graham!” Gretchen snapped.

  “Yeah, well, it’s true. The man’s a flippin’ weirdo.”

  “He’s not a murderer though, is he?”

  “I’m sorry,” Kath Cryer said. “If there’s information, however trivial or irrelevant it seems to you, you really must share it with me.”

  “Pleavin,” Graham said, darkly. “He makes himself out to be a pillar of the community but he’s a pervert…” Gretchen snorted and looked pointedly at Graham, who blushed. “I don’t go round groping other people’s wives, Gretchen!”

  Kath raised her eyebrows. “Are you saying that Mr Pleavin has assaulted someone in the Grove?”

  Gretchen shook her head and sighed, her face and neck reddening. “It was years ago. Honestly. When we first moved in, we thought it would be a great idea to throw a barbecue for everyone in the Grove. We all had a lot to drink.”

  “He was a bloody animal. Slipping his hand up your skirt every time you went past him. You had to slap his face.”

  “Well, it wasn’t a great party. Paul and Tina got drunk and a bit loud. Dave had an argument about BREXIT with Graham…”

  “Bloody idiot,” Graham muttered, then held up his hand. “Sorry…”

  Kath leaned forward in her chair. “Assault is a serious allegation, Mrs Jones. If you wanted to take that further…”

  Gretchen shook her head again and scowled at Graham. “Nah! I put him in his place. Men, eh?”

  “Apart from the party, has Don Pleavin caused any other kind of trouble in the Grove?”

  “We had some washing go missing from the line,” Graham said. “Gretchen’s smalls, tights, that kind of thing. Paul White at number four reckoned he’d seen Pleavin in our back garden while we were out one day. It really wouldn’t surprise me. He’s always sniffing around Jean Quinn, too. Acting the he-man protector.”

  “Okay,” Kath said, scribbling down notes. “Do you think Mr Pleavin might have a key to Ms Quinn’s house?”

  “Possibly,” Graham said. “I wouldn’t give him our key, I’m telling you. He’d be through Gretchen’s smalls drawer like a ferret up a drainpipe…”

  Gretchen looked pained. “Don Pleavin is a bit of a nuisance,” she admitted. “But I can’t imagine him killing anyone.” She looked over at Graham. “Mind you, he’s not the only one on the Grove with certain… proclivities…”

  “Gretchen don’t,” Graham said.

  Kath sat up. “What do you mean?”

&nb
sp; Gretchen drew a breath. “The Whites at number four. Tina and Paul are quite the exhibitionists.” She gave Graham a sidelong glance. “You’d be amazed what they get up to in their back garden and who I caught watching them…”

  “I didn’t… it wasn’t like that,” Graham muttered and stared at the carpet. “They were just having fun…”

  “Yeah, right. So were you, by the look of it…”

  Graham clamped his mouth shut and glared at Gretchen.

  Kath raised one eyebrow and made a note. “Unless you make an actual complaint about that,” she said. “There isn’t much we can do. Getting back to the Grove. What about, deliveries, vans, cars? This is a pretty quiet cul-de-sac, you obviously notice unusual activity.”

  “He does,” Gretchen muttered. “I’m too busy.”

  Graham winced and scratched the stubble on his chin. “Vans come and go all the time. What is it they say? If you want to stay invisible, wear a hi-vis jacket and sit in the passenger seat of a white van. Nobody notices you.”

  “Mind you we’re out working most of the day,” she said. “So who comes and goes then, I couldn’t say.”

  “And what is it you do?”

  “I work in a nursing home,” Gretchen said.

  “I’m a musician,” Graham said. “Local gigs and YouTube mainly but…”

  “Graham’s an IT technician at the local high school,” Gretchen said, firmly. “So, we’re both out all day.”

  “Thanks,” Kath muttered, making a note.

  “Come to think of it, there was a chimney sweeps van parked outside Jean’s last week,” Gretchen said. “The trouble is, the Grove is a cul-de-sac so people don’t always park directly outside the house they’re visiting. I didn’t think much of it.”

  “When was this?”

  “Monday or Tuesday, I think,” Gretchen said. “Jean’s on holiday for two weeks. Not back until Saturday.” Gretchen put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. Has anyone told her?”

  “We’re getting in touch as soon as we can. Do you know of any family she might have? Anyone who might break the news gently to her?”

  Gretchen shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anyone. She lived there, looking after her mother. When she passed away, Jean was left on her own. She never mentioned any brothers or sisters.”

  “Used to see her wheeling her mother around the Grove,” Graham said. “Other than that, she always seems to be alone.”

  “You don’t really know people, do you?” Gretchen said. “I mean, you think you do but it’s not true is it? I suppose we don’t know half of what goes on round here.”

  “Clearly,” Graham said, sitting back.

  “This van,” Kath said. “The chimney sweep. Can you remember anything about it? The registration number or maybe a name on the side? Anything that might help us track it down?”

  “Chimeree,” Gretchen said. “Yeah, Chimeree. That was the name on the side. I thought it odd, you know. A bit Mary Poppins.”

  Kath Cryer closed her notebook and stood up. “Well, thank you for your time. That’s been very useful,” she said. “If you do think of anything that might help, just let me know.” She passed them a card. As she left the house she looked next door at number four and thought about what Gretchen Jones had told her about the Whites. This was going to be a curious interview.

  Chapter 14

  Against her better judgement, DS Chinn climbed out of the car and strode back over to the Happy Homes Cleaning office. The woman she’d seen at the window was in immediate danger and needed help. Calling in for back-up, she gripped the expandable baton handle, hoping she didn’t have to use it.

  Heather Joynson’s eyes widened as Vikki Chinn came back into the office. Vikki noticed that the big man was no longer in his chair. “I thought I made it clear…”

  “Mrs Joynson, I have reason to believe there is someone being held against their will in the upper storeys of this building…”

  The huge man burst through the door at the back of the office and gripped Vikki’s wrist tightly. Vikki felt her grip on the baton weaken. Fumbling in her jacket pocket with her free hand, she found what she needed.

  The man bellowed in surprise as the pepper spray took effect. He clawed at his eyes, rubbing and cursing in a foreign language. Vikki pushed him towards the chair he had sat on, and swung his arm behind his back, quickly cuffing him. “Stay down!” She barked.

  Joynson cowered behind the desk. “Keys,” Vikki snapped. “Now.”

  Flinching at the sound of distant sirens, Joynson snatched up a bunch of keys and slid them across the counter. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I didn’t want to do this. I was in debt so much. They threatened me…”

  Vikki snapped open the baton, more for effect than anything else and pointed to the back door behind Joynson. “Lead the way,” she said.

  The door opened into a large, empty warehouse. A metal staircase led up two flights. Joynson fumbled at the lock and looked pleadingly at Vikki one last time. “It wasn’t my idea, honest.” She pushed the door open. “They made me do it.”

  The smell of stale sweat and long-confined bodies struck Vikki. In the dim light she saw five women sitting on mattresses on the floor. They looked terrified and confused. “It’s okay,” Vikki said, holding up her warrant card. “Police.”

  One woman’s eyes widened and she sprang up trying to barge past Vikki, almost knocking her over. Another one shouted something in a language Vikki didn’t know but sounded eastern European and the struggling woman shouted back, angrily. Vikki pushed the girl back. “It’s okay, I’m here to help!”

  The sirens were loud now and another of the women looked out of the grimy window. Vikki could see the ‘HELP’ sign discarded on the floor. The woman at the window said something else and the one struggling with Vikki, slumped and fell back down onto the mattress, weeping.

  Vikki Chinn turned to Heather Joynson as the sound of police officers barking orders drifted up from downstairs. “Heather Joynson, I’m arresting you for False Imprisonment, you do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand the caution?”

  Heather Joynson nodded wearily.

  *****

  Don Pleavin handed DC Andrew Kinnear the plate of biscuits. “Help yourself, son,” he said. “You’ll need the energy.”

  Kinnear smiled and nodded. Never a truer word was spoken, he thought. Pleavin had regaled Kinnear with numerous stories about previous occupants of Hilbre Grove and how they’d been a cut above the current riffraff. The man had an endless supply of pointless tales. Kinnear balanced the plate on the arm of the sofa. “Thanks,” he said, thinking ruefully about the gym membership he wasted every month and the tightness of his belt. He’d been trying to keep off the biscuits for the last five days, but they were a weakness of his. His partner, Chris, would start nagging him about the pounds he was putting on if he didn’t do something soon. “If I can get back to the investigation, Mr Pleavin…”

  “What? Ah, right. You’ll have to forgive me. I lost track, there. So how is the investigation going? Have you tracked down all those van numbers I gave you?”

  Kinnear shifted in his seat. “We have a team working through them as we speak, Mr Pleavin, thanks. Can you tell me who might know that Dot and Dave, and Jean Quinn are on holiday?”

  Pleavin frowned. “You mean locally? Most people on the Grove. I make a point of alerting other neighbours when houses are unoccupied, so they can keep an extra-special eye out. Possibly not Albert at number one. He keeps himself to himself.”

  “What about family, friends?”

  “Well, Dot and Dave have quite the social life; Bingo on a Thursday evening, bowling on a Tuesday afternoon, they’re always down at the British legion Club. They could have told anyone there. They were chuffed to bits about winning the holiday…”

  “You seem to have quite a comp
rehensive knowledge of their weekly schedule, Mr Pleavin,” Kinnear said.

  Pleavin almost preened himself. “It’s part of the job, isn’t it officer? No point being a Neighbourhood Watch Coordinator if you don’t know the comings and goings of the neighbourhood, right?”

  “Quite, sir. What about Jean Quinn? Who might she tell?”

  “Nobody, I should imagine. She lives alone. No family,” he sat back in his chair. “She’s particularly vulnerable. At risk, I think you might say?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Pleavin levelled his gaze on Kinnear. “Well, an older single lady. Living alone. Prime target for any scumbags looking for a quick burglary or theft, wouldn’t you say?”

  “So, Miss Quinn doesn’t go out much?”

  “Not that I’m aware of and very little gets past me…”

  Kinnear couldn’t help himself. “Apart from the two murders in the houses opposite…”

  Pleavin’s cheeks coloured and his toothbrush moustache twitched under his nose. “I try my best, DC Kinnear. I can’t be here all the time and my wife is somewhat lacking in observation skills.”

  “Where is Mrs Pleavin, by the way?”

  “She’s in the garden, putting some washing out. Why?”

  “Well, I just thought it would be useful if I spoke to you both at once, to save time and resources.”

  “Do you have to speak to her? She doesn’t really notice things. Better in the kitchen than anywhere else, if you see what I mean?” Pleavin gave a ratty grin which Kinnear didn’t return.

  “I think I’d like to have Mrs Pleavin here, too, please.”

  “Suit yourself,” Pleavin muttered. He stood up and headed for the door, swiping the plate of biscuits from Kinnear’s side and taking them out with him. Kinnear pursed his lips, having just decided he would take one.