Staying Power (28 page)

‘So you have to work very hard, or there'll be trouble. What sort of trouble, Nigel?'

‘Nigel?' Kate prompted.

He pushed to his feet and headed for the window.

‘Nigel?'

‘You know what happens!' He could have been in tears.

‘If I did, I wouldn't be asking.'

Although it wasn't yet three the heating had been turned off long since and the shabby room was getting cold. It was a dispiriting place for a major chunk of this kid's personal tragedy to be played out.

Bill was on his feet. ‘Come on, kid. It's getting late. And your mum'll be getting worried. I think it'd be a good idea if we went back to Brum and sent a car to get her, don't you?'

‘She can't come. She can't come.' His voice rose to a scream. ‘Christ, don't you fucking pigs understand anything?'

Kate and Bill withdrew to the corridor and left him to stew, just as if they were in fact giving him a formal interview.

‘My instinct is to turn him loose and start again tomorrow morning,' Kate said, pulling her lip. ‘I'm certain that woman's at risk if he comes home late. What do you think?'

‘Are you sure Sanderson won't do anything to harm her this evening?'

‘It's more likely if we delay Nigel. Tell you what, let's see what he says.'

‘Risky.'

‘It's all risky. Look, what do we want to get out of this? That Sanderson's at the heart of a nasty money-making empire. You and Ben are well on the way to doing that. That he makes his son forge E's. To do that we've got to interrogate the son and get a confession that he forges the E's. And I don't fancy doing that without a solicitor present. Which would delay things and make him late back home and put his mum at risk.' She traced a circle in the air. ‘Back where we started.'

‘There's one other thing Lizzie said you wanted out of this. To prove that Sanderson killed Grafton.'

She pushed her fingers through her hair. ‘You know, I'd lost sight of that.'

‘All this hassle – come on, we'll talk about that back in the car. Let's put this lad out of his misery.'

Nigel had bitten hangnails back far enough to draw blood. He was inspecting his efforts when they returned, as if surprised his hands belonged to him.

‘What time do you need to start home to get there at the usual time?' Bill asked bluntly.

‘In about ten minutes.'

‘OK. And if you don't get home, your dad'll take it out on your mum?'

Nigel nodded.

‘Can you tell us how, Nigel?'

‘She won't talk about it. Tells me not to get upset.'

‘But you do get upset. Do you get upset because he takes it out on you, too?'

Nigel found loose skin round another nail, and started on that.

‘I think we take that as a yes,' Kate said quietly. ‘Nigel, we're going to want to talk to you again. We think you have a lot to tell us. But I'd like it to be at a time when your mother can be present, and, preferably, a solicitor as well. In the meantime, don't say anything to your mother, because we don't want to worry her further. And obviously, you won't be telling your dad about this conversation. Just tell me one thing: why did they sack you from your last school? Just for the record.'

Nigel smiled briefly. ‘Not a bad scam. Not really. I dried some grass and flogged it to these kids: said it was cannabis.'

‘Neat idea. Selling them something quite legal by pretending it wasn't,' Bill said, smiling.

Nigel returned the smile.

‘Except you know even that's against the law, don't you?'

The smile was replaced by a horrified stare.

‘OK, son. Off you go. And remember, this conversation's just between the three of us. For now.'

‘Do you think there's any hope for him?' Bill asked as they drove home, having dropped Nigel at his bus stop.

Kate thought of Simon. ‘Others have had bad parents and come through as decent adults. But he's got it so damned cushy, hasn't he? And a role model who says it's OK to treat women badly and con school-kids out of their pocket-money.'

‘But he loves his mum!'

‘Even so, they say patterns of violence get replicated from father to son. Tell you what, Bill, the sooner that paper-work tells us we can pick up Sanderson, the happier I shall be.'

‘It's not just the paper-work, Kate, is it? It's Them Upstairs. Not to mention the DPP. Can you imagine a worse scenario than shaking him up nicely and then sending him home to inflict more of the same on his wife. The only thing is, what is it that he inflicts?'

‘I thought you'd died or something, it's so long since you came,' Cassie said. ‘You call this stuff gin and tonic? More like weasel's pee.'

If Kate had sunk it, she'd have been reeling; but she stiffened it a good deal more and placed it in Cassie's outstretched hands. Both hands. So Cassie was losing ground. Kate bit her lip. Yes, Cassie might well think she was being neglected, even if it was only a matter of a few days since she'd made time to come. But one of the reasons for Cassie's withdrawal to this home was supposed to be readily available company. She always said she didn't expect Kate to be able to dance attendance on her. That was theory, of course. Kate couldn't blame her if it was different in practice. The old woman couldn't possibly understand Kate's work schedule, which would all too soon include those inspector's exams.

Perhaps she should risk a gin herself. Not in this heat, though. She'd already dumped her coat. Now she stripped off her jacket. What did they want to do to all these old people, bake them alive?

‘This weekend,' she said, pouring a great deal of tonic on to a minute amount of gin and sitting down, ‘I promise I'll take the camera all round the house so you can see how it looks. The kitchen's magic. Absolutely magic. I've got these lovely wooden cupboards, and the green of the working surface picks up the green in the flooring.'

‘And aren't your walls green? It must be like living in an aquarium.'

Could you shove a gin glass down the throat of someone who needed two hands to hold it safely? Kate took a deep breath.

‘And the carpets are down in the living rooms, too. One of these days I'll give that table of yours a really good polish.'
Not tactful. Try harder
. ‘It suffered a bit with all the plaster dust.'

‘Hmph. What about the garden? Did you get up all the leaves? You'll have very acid soil if you don't – no good for anything. I used to enjoy scraping them all up – and those from the front garden, too – and having a bit of a bonfire.'

‘Not yet. I've been a bit busy.' There was no point in reminding her that there was nothing she could call a garden, yet. And that local authorities were no longer keen on people having therapeutic bonfires.

‘So one of your young men said.'

Young men? Kate slopped her drink. Colin would have told her, surely, if he'd been.

‘That Graham. You know his mother-in-law's moved in here. He comes to see her. When he has to. And he leaves his wife with her and sneaks in here. Can't say I blame him.' She leaned closer. ‘Have you met the woman? Mrs Nelmes?'

Kate shook her head. ‘I met her daughter once.'

‘Once would be enough if she's like her mother. My goodness me, she's a rum one. Moan? Nothing's good enough for Lady Muck. It's fetch this, do that, every time she sees a what' sit – care assistant, whatever they're called. You'd think she was the only one with aches and pains.'

‘What do you make of her daughter? Graham's wife?'

‘
She
doesn't come to see me! Oh, no. Graham reckons the old woman would blow a gasket if she thought her daughter was wasting precious time seeing anyone else.'

Kate took a breath. ‘Do you know what her name is?'

‘Mrs Nelmes? May, I think.'

‘No. Her daughter. Graham's wife's name?'

Cassie opened her mouth but shut it. At last she said slowly, ‘Do you know, I don't think I've ever heard him use it. He always calls her “my wife”. Always.' She took another swig, and giggled. ‘Do you suppose it's like in the old books, like Mrs Bennet always calls him Mr Bennet? Do you suppose they call each other Mr and Mrs? “Come here, Mrs—” What's their name? Ah, Harvey, that's it! – “Come here, Mrs Harvey, I fancy a bit of how's your father”!'

Kate laughed. Had to. Apart from the fact that Cassie's giggles were infectious, she couldn't let the old lady get a hint of her shock. What a fool – she'd always thought of him as some poor, sex-starved man with a frigid wife. She'd never imagined them in bed with the sort of joy and gusto she and Robin had shared, the woman in the twinset and Graham with his well-cut suit.

The man who'd let her down today. Twice.

‘Tell you what,' she said at last, ‘you could always do a bit of detective work yourself. So long as you keep me completely out of it, mind. Next time you find your zimmers clashing, you could find out what her daughter's called. Mrs Harvey. Just as a matter of interest.'

Cassie's laugh was positively joyous. ‘Oh, I shall enjoy that. Not a hint that you're interested, of course not. And I shall find out all about her for you. And him, with a bit of luck. Mind you, she'll be biased. Tell you what,' she added, holding out her glass for a top-up, gin, not tonic, ‘I know he's a friend of yours – and he always speaks well of you, mind! – but he's a bit of a grumpy-boots, isn't he? Doesn't crack his face very often. Mind you, with a mother-in-law like that … Or perhaps he isn't persuading Mrs H to have a spot of how's your father often enough. Nice-looking man, if you like them doleful: you could always try and cheer him up.'

‘Only one problem,' said Kate, economising with the truth, ‘I don't think Mrs Nelmes would approve. Or Mrs Harvey. Tell me, how's Rosie these days?'

‘How would you be with a split lip and a broken tooth? I've tried to talk to her myself, don't think I haven't. She said you gave her something but she lost it.'

Kate fished in her bag. Could anyone really lose a lifeline like that? A psychologist would no doubt make hay.

‘Here. Give her this. And tell her to act now: see a solicitor, Citizens' Advice, even her friendly neighbourhood police. And tell her – tell her in a relationship like that, things can only get worse.'

The evening air smashed across her face as she left the cosy fug of the home. Thank goodness for an efficient car heater and the promise of central heating. She left the engine running while she scraped ice from the windscreen. That was better. The rear screen was thawing nicely, but she gave it a helping hand. There. So long as it didn't freeze while she was driving. It was cold enough: she'd lost the feeling in her hands already.

Simon! On a night like this!

Surely on a night like this Simon would have headed for a hostel. No, she couldn't risk it. No point in just turning up. She'd have to take him something practical. She zapped off home.

Cassie had left behind in her shed a little greenhouse heater. There was the arctic weight sleeping bag Robin had once used, and his silk long johns. Bundling the lot in the car, she set off for Selly Oak. At least the main road was both gritted and fairly clear of traffic. Now for his unmade road. Main beam on, she urged her car down it, dodging the worst of the hardening ruts. Leaving the engine running and the lights on, and ignoring the electronic warning whine this caused, she scuttled to Simon's squat. No padlock.

She banged on the door. There was no response but she went in anyway, opening the door with care. No light, of course, except that from her headlights. But she could sense the place wasn't deserted – the smell of underwashed young man, perhaps. And another smell. Blood. She zipped back to the car for her torch, slipping as she went. And then returned. Blood, yes. Fresh. And urine. Also fresh.

And – huddled in the far corner – Simon.

The paramedics were there before she could have believed it, and her local colleagues. And the heater and sleeping bag, not to mention her first aid training, had been useful, the woman paramedic said. ‘Thing is, he's not all that badly hurt. But what with him being malnourished and tonight's big chill, well, I doubt if he'd have seen the night out. What made you come down here?'

Kate gestured at her token effort. ‘I didn't realise how cold it was. And then I thought of him. Come on, let's get him moving. I'll follow you.' Leaving her name and number with the local officers, with the strongest instructions to preserve what little was left of the scene, she turned the car and prepared for a long wait in A & E.

It was only when she'd got a coffee and a couple of biscuits inside her that she thought of protocol, and how Graham regarded it. As a major issue. Well, she had Lizzie's number and Graham's, too. Bugger Cope. Standing in the bitter wind outside, she tried Lizzie first, and got a chirpy message saying there was no one at home in the Rossetti household. She left a more sober one. Then, taking a deep breath, she punched Graham's number.

The anonymous wife replied.

Formal to the point of punctilious, Kate asked for DCI Harvey, explaining they had an attempted murder on their hands. Mrs Harvey was too well bred to sniff, but Kate was left in no doubt about her feelings. It would have been nice to know what her own were. ‘My husband is not in, Sergeant. I'll pass on the message when he returns.'

Was she telling the truth? Kate had to believe her. She could always phone into work and get him bleeped. Which she did.

Returning to the fug of the waiting area – five hours to see a doctor, the electronic display said – she settled down for a long wait. She wouldn't be going anywhere until she knew how Simon was. And it would be interesting to see how soon Graham responded to his bleeper.

Could she go and look in on Simon? She'd left that to the Bournville Lane nick constable who'd responded to her initial summons. Better not – they didn't need extra people milling round. But she couldn't stop herself.