The Merchant's House (26 page)

‘Missing Sergeant Peterson?’ Steve asked suggestively after a few minutes’ silence.

Rachel had known that Steve’s exemplary behaviour had been too good to last. She didn’t answer.

‘Like him, do you?’

She looked him in the eye, challenging. ‘Yes, I do. He’s a nice bloke. What’s your problem?’

‘He’s a bloody graduate. They always come in over us, get the best jobs.’

‘And he’s black?’

‘That and all.’

‘I’m warning you, Steve, if Gerry Heffernan hears you say anything like that, you’ll be out of CID so fast…’

‘Okay, point taken.’ He sat back resentfully and drained his glass.

‘Just watch yourself, that’s all. We’ve all got to work together as a team. We can’t afford your stupid prejudices. If you don’t change your attitude …’

‘Okay, okay. Forget it, all right.’

For the first time Rachel thought she might just have got through to him. He sat for a few minutes, sulking in silence.

The place was filling up as Steve bought a second round. The predominantly male clientèle seemed to consist mainly of workmen and fishermen, some drinking silently, some having animated discussions about sport. At the bar, Steve, after glancing over at Rachel to see if she was watching, decided to try his luck.

‘Is Chris Manners in tonight?’ he asked the barman, trying to sound as casual as he could. ‘A mate of mine said I might find him in here.’

The barman shook his head. ‘Don’t know him, mate. Sorry. Can’t know everyone’s name, can I?’

Steve returned to Rachel with the drinks. He felt eyes on him. He turned and saw a group of men at the bar watching him. As he looked they turned away.

‘What did you say to the barman? That lot have been watching you like a load of hawks.’ Steve looked sheepish
and didn’t answer. ‘I don’t feel very comfortable in here,’ Rachel continued. ‘It’s not where I’d usually choose to spend a Saturday night.’

‘So where would you choose, then?’

Rachel, sensing a chat-up line, didn’t reply. She was watching the door. A man had walked in: mid-twenties, dark, with an earring … rather good-looking. He went up to the group at the bar and they said something to him, quietly. He looked over at Rachel and Steve warily and began to walk slowly out of the pub.

‘That’s him, Steve,’ Rachel hissed at him. ‘I’m sure it is. Come on.’

She stood up and walked towards the door, Steve following behind. Out in the street they saw the man disappearing towards the Butterwalk. Steve began to run and the man’s pace quickened. Steve was catching up with him, Rachel trailing behind. The man looked back and began to run. The pavements at that time of the evening were fairly empty, but it was Chris Manners’s bad fortune to collide with a middle-aged woman who had three Irish wolfhounds on long leads. His feet tangled with leads and excited dogs of huge proportions, Chris Manners lay on the pavement defeated as Steve Carstairs bore down on him.

The dogs seemed to be enjoying themselves. As their owner tried to calm them and release Chris from the tangle of leather, Steve stood over him, showing his warrant card and grinning.

‘Mr Manners, I presume. Could we have a word down the station?’

Sludge and Donna didn’t mind baby-sitting. When the bloke in the next caravan had asked them if they’d look after little Daniel while he met some people down the pub who could put a bit of business his way, they’d agreed. They’d seen little Daniel loads of times playing outside the caravans. He was a sweet kid, he’d be no trouble.

Daniel lay fast asleep in the spare bed. Donna found herself wondering what had happened to the bed’s previous occupants, that Australian couple. Funny they should have disappeared like that. But people came and went on the
travellers’ site. She and Sludge were thinking of moving on soon themselves; Glastonbury maybe.

She wondered if Sludge should have given the kid that cider, but he’d seemed to like it and it made him fall asleep. She sat watching the child, the sweet-scented smoke from her oversized hand-rolled cigarette curling upwards towards the caravan roof. Sludge had retired to bed. He’d be waiting for her.

Chris was late.

Rachel and Steve had brought their suspect in and made him feel at home in the interview room with a cup of tea – probably preferable to the beer in the Anchor, thought Steve.

Gerry Heffernan, summoned from an evening in front of the television, lumbered into the interview room, announcing his presence to the tape recorder.

‘I didn’t know they were stolen.’ Chris seemed to have his story thought out. ‘This bloke I know supplies the stuff and I just sell it on.’

Heffernan looked at him. He was medium height, dark hair fairly long, even features. The man was good-looking, there was no doubt of that, but there was a hardness to his mouth, a calculation in his eyes. He could see why he had such a hold over Sharon. This one wouldn’t be easy.

‘I’ve not come to talk to you about the building materials, although we might want to question you about those at a later date. What I’m more interested in is what happened to your girlfriend. Sharon Carteret was your girlfriend, wasn’t she?’

Chris swallowed and looked away.

‘Was she or wasn’t she? We’ve got enough witnesses who’ll swear that you lived together …’

‘Yes. She was my girlfriend. And I know she’s dead but I had nothing to do with it.’ He’d decided on the direct approach. Heffernan felt an alibi coming. ‘We were living together in Morbay. I went to stay with a mate and when I came back she was gone … just disappeared. Then I heard that a body had been found but they said it was someone else. I thought she’d just done a runner till they said the
body was hers.’ There was emotion in his voice for the first time.

‘So why didn’t you contact the police?’

‘I didn’t want to get involved. I just moved out of that flat. I didn’t want to be reminded of her.’

‘You could have helped to catch her killer.’

‘How? It was just some maniac, wasn’t it?’

‘We don’t think so.’

‘Well, you can’t pull me in for it. Check my alibi. I wouldn’t harm her, I loved her. We were making a new start…’

‘With the child?’

‘Yeah. How did you know about that?’ He looked up, worried.

‘When you stayed with this mate, when Sharon was killed, where was the kid?’

‘With my mum. I took him to my mum’s.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘With some mates. They’re looking after him. But I’ve got to get back …’

‘Tell me about your son, Mr Manners.’ Heffernan sat back, prepared to listen to the proud father.

‘He’s two. Me and Sharon couldn’t look after him till a few weeks back, then we got a place, the three of us. He’s a great kid.’

‘And he’s yours?’

‘Of course he’s bloody mine. She wasn’t no slag.’

‘Why didn’t you live together before this, Chris? Why leave it so long to play happy families?’

‘I worked away a lot. And Sharon had her job. It just never played out that way.’

Heffernan leaned forward. ‘So where has your son, Jonathon …’

‘Daniel… it’s Daniel.’

‘Daniel. Where has Daniel been for the past two years?’

‘With my mum.’

‘Can we have your mother’s name and address?’ We’d like to confirm this.’

Chris meekly gave the required details – too meekly,
the inspector thought. It would be an unusual mother who wouldn’t lie for her son.

‘Is he with your mother now?’

‘No. I thought I’d only be out for an hour or so. He’s with the couple in the next caravan, on the travellers’ site in Neston. That’s where I’ve been living.’

‘Why did you move there? Running away?’

‘The flat got too dear. And there were too many things to remind me of… oh God, I hope you get whoever killed Sharon. If I got my hands on him I’d …’ For the first time, Chris Manners seemed genuinely distressed. He was becoming aggressive. Heffernan knew the signs. ‘Why the hell are you wasting time with me? Why don’t you go out and find the maniac who killed her? My kid’s without a mum and you waste your bloody time on asking me bloody stupid questions. You’re useless, you lot.’

Heffernan leaned forward. ‘This isn’t helping, Mr Manners. Just calm down and we might get somewhere.’

Chris Manners breathed deeply and sat back.

‘Have you any idea who’d want to kill Sharon? Anyone at all? Had she any enemies?’ Chris snorted in derision and shook his head. ‘Was she blackmailing someone?’

Chris looked up at him, shocked. This had touched a nerve.

‘There was a sum regularly paid into her bank account, and a large sum in a deposit account.’ Heffernan sat back, waiting for an explanation. Experience had taught him that expectant silences always provoke witnesses to talk.

Chris succumbed to the ploy. ‘I don’t know nothing about it.’ Heffernan again said nothing. ‘I knew she had this money, but I don’t know where it came from. I thought she’d inherited it from her dad or something. I don’t know, honest.’

Something told Heffernan that he was lying – or at least not telling the whole truth. But he’d had tougher cases. A night in the cells would do wonders.

‘And Daniel is your son? Would you be prepared to take a DNA test, just to put our minds at rest?’

Chris nodded. Heffernan thought he looked a little relieved.

‘By the way, Mr Manners,’ he threw in casually, ‘was Sharon upset when she found she couldn’t have any more children?’

Chris Manners stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘I don’t know what you …’

Heffernan terminated the interview, returned to his office and rang Social Services. Someone had to think of the child.

Sludge had dropped off to sleep. Donna wished he didn’t have to snore quite so loudly. He’d wake the kid if he wasn’t careful. She sat on the end of the bed, watching the child sleeping. A sleep so deep, so innocent; so unlike Sludge’s chemically induced slumbers. She reached out her hand and ran her fingers through his hair, surprised at herself; she had never been the maternal type. She turned the dark hair over in her hand; rich brown; a little gold underneath. She gently kissed his soft forehead. He was beautiful. She wondered if she and Sludge should … No. Sludge would make a lousy father.

Her thoughts, her uncharacteristic dreams of motherhood, were broken by a soft tap on the caravan door. Chris … it must be Chris back. She felt almost disappointed.

The long-haired, long-skirted woman who stood at the door wore earrings that outjangled even Donna’s. She announced herself as Lynne Wychwood, Social Services. She had come about Daniel. Donna, resentful, stood aside to let her in.

Chris had eaten a good breakfast, or so the sergeant on duty had reported. Gerry Heffernan knew Wesley was picking his wife up from hospital first thing and wondered whether to wait for him to arrive or to proceed with the questioning without his sergeant’s assistance. He decided on the latter course of action; he’d had a team of officers out checking the information the suspect had provided since seven o’clock that morning. Everything had been confirmed. Why waste time? He asked Rachel to sit in on the interview.

‘You’ll be glad to know that everyone confirms your statement, Mr Manners. We’ve contacted the friends you were
staying with at the time of Sharon’s death and your mother. They all back up your statements.’

‘What about Daniel… is he okay? Is he still with …’

‘Your son’s being looked after, Mr Manners. I think Social Services might want a word with you, but I can assure you …’

Chris Manners stood up. ‘You’ve not gone and taken him away. He was fine with Donna. He’s not been…’

‘Sit down and keep calm. Daniel has been seen by the duty social worker and she says he’s all right where he is. He seemed to be well looked after. But they’d still like a word with you, see how you’re going to cope.’

‘Does that mean I can go?’

Heffernan saw hope in the man’s eyes. ‘You’ll be charged with receiving stolen goods. Has the duty solicitor told you the procedure?’ Chris nodded. ‘Then I don’t think we’ll have any objection to bail. We’ll get the formalities out of the way, then you’re free to go.’ He put his face close to Chris’s. ‘But don’t forget we’ll want to talk to you again, so stay put. If we’re going to catch whoever killed Sharon, we’ll need all the help we can get. Right?’

Chris nodded, all his cockiness gone. Heffernan gestured to Rachel, who rose to follow him out of the room. Halfway across the threshold, the inspector turned round. ‘You’re still willing to take that DNA test, are you?’

“Course I am. I told you.’

‘I’ll arrange it, then.’

Rachel looked at her boss and wondered what he was up to.

I did baptise my son Thomas before he died. As I held him in my arms I did hear Jennet cry out in her pain from her chamber. I did not dare to go to her nor did I desire to in my grief. Elizabeth’s tears do burn into my soul.

Jennet was delivered of a healthy boy. I did go privily to her chamber to see the child. As I looked at him I saw my Thomas. It was then I knew what I must do. But it must be done privily.

Extract from the journal of John Banized,
25 February 1624