The Truth Will Out (11 page)

“It’s fine, Karen. You have nothing to worry about. We just want to ask you some questions about Jules. Detective Pemberton here will make a few notes.”

“I told you everything I know over the phone. I saw him last Saturday, when he dropped the kids off. He said he was going away for a while.”

“When will he be back?”

She shook her head. “No idea.”

“What about contact details, a mobile phone number?”

She shook her head again.

“Oh, come on, Karen. Surely you must have something. What would you do if one of the boys got hurt or you needed help?”

“Call my dad.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Does he go away a lot?”

“Yeah. It’s his work.”

“What kind of work?”

Karen gave her a sharp look and twisted the silver, celtic ring on her forefinger. “He buys and sells used cars.”

Helen let the silence linger for a while. “How long is he usually away for?”

Karen shrugged. “Sometimes a few days, sometimes a week, sometimes longer.”

“Where does he go?”

“Wherever the cars are, I guess,” she looked away. “You’ll need to ask him.”

Helen stared at her until she met her gaze. There was something uncomfortable about her. Karen twisted her ring again. The thudding music from next door had stopped. The fridge hummed in the background. Helen recalled Henry Spence’s account of Jules’ relationship with Naomi. One line stuck in her head. ‘… he started to control her, knock her about.’ She angled her head, “How long have you two been separated?”

“Over two years now. We broke up just before Ben was born.”

“That must have been hard.”

Karen’s fingers worked the ring, twisting faster now. “Not really. Mum and Dad help out a lot. And Jules still comes around, takes the boys out.”

“Was he ever violent towards you?”

Karen snorted. “Jules?”

“Yes.”

“Never!” She looked from one detective to another. “Jules isn’t a bad man. Just couldn’t keep it in his pants. Even after we split he still wanted to look after me, kept buying me stuff.” She looked around the kitchen. “He didn’t want us to move here. Said it was too rough. He wanted to keep us in Hampton, in a nice house around the corner from him. But my parents live in Roxten. This is where I grew up. I know he helps, but he’s away a lot and my folks help with the boys.” She turned her gaze towards the garden. “I don’t know how I’d manage without them.”

More silence. Helen could hear the scratch of Pemberton’s pen against the paper.

“It’s because of her, isn’t it?” Karen said.

“Who?”

A shadow crept across her face. “Naomi. She was killed. I saw it on the news.”

“What do you know about Naomi?” Helen asked.

“Not much. Jules was seeing her for a couple of years. Bit stuck up if you ask me, but the boys liked her.” She snorted again, “Not difficult to get a toddler to like you when you buy them things and pump them full of sweets.”

Helen smiled sympathetically. “You didn’t like her?”

“I never said that. Only met her a couple of times.” She cast her eyes to the floor.

“What about Jules?”

Karen looked up sharply. “You don’t think
he
killed her? Is that why you’re looking for him?”

Helen looked down to see a red mark had formed beneath the ring on Karen’s finger.

Karen followed her eyes and tucked her hands in her lap.

“What do you think, Karen?”

“I think nothing,” she said. “Nothing!” Her voice was filled with anger, but her face looked like she wanted to cry. “They split up a couple of months ago. And he had nothing to do with her murder. He just isn’t capable.”

***

As they approached the alley that led to the car, Pemberton stopped to light a cigarette and cast her an inquisitive glance. He looked as if he expected to be berated, especially in view of the fact that she had recently given up. But Helen was not about to pass judgement. Instead, she checked her phone. There were two missed calls: one from Dean, which she deleted, the other from Spencer. She dialled him back.

He answered on the second ring, as if he was waiting for her call.

“Hi, Steve. Any news?”

“Yes. A slight breakthrough.”

Helen’s stomach lurched. She could hear the sound of an engine purring in the background. “What is it?”

“Some of the victim’s friends said Naomi went on holiday to Milan with her best friend, Eva Carradine, a week or so ago.”

Helen felt a rush of adrenalin. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Pemberton tilt his head to get her attention. She lifted a hand to silence him. “Where are you now?”

“I’m just heading back to the office. We managed to get her address from the spa at Memington Hall where she was a member. Want me to head out there?”

“Where is it?” Helen retrieved her notebook and scribbled as he spoke. “No, don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll take that one. And Steve?”

“Yes?”

“Well done.”

***

The engine hummed as they drove out of the estate. Helen considered Jules, Karen and Naomi: the love triangle. The difference between Karen and Naomi struck Helen. From what she’d learnt of Jules Paton, Naomi’s background seemed more similar to his own. But she could see why Karen caught his eye.

They pulled out onto the main road leaving the rabbit warren behind, and passed an industrial estate encased within a six-foot high brown fence that was in dire need of a paint job. From the road, only the tops of the buildings were visible but, having visited there on many occasions, Helen knew these units housed garages, printing firms, engineering factories and even a recruitment office.

As Pemberton slowed to join a line of cars waiting at the traffic lights, Helen’s gaze fell on an imposing Victorian building painted entirely in black. The sign read
Black Cats.
Straddling the corner of Henderson Street and Albert Road, on a Saturday night the queues to enter the nightclub ran almost down to the entrance of the rabbit warren estate itself. A pair of chilling, green cat’s eyes were painted on the black background above a neon sign, which lit up red when the club was open.

The bald headed, gaunt face of Chilli Franks entered her mind. She recalled Dean’s earlier words, ‘we’ve found nothing to suggest he is criminally active now.’

Helen thought back to Chilli’s release from prison. He’d taken his nephew, Nate, under his wing. She remembered Nate from her early years in the force. The accident baby of heroin addict, Sheena Franks, Chilli’s youngest sister. As Sheena suffered from postnatal depression, a psychosis that deteriorated into manic depression that dogged her life, she rejected Nate at birth. For the majority of his early years, he was passed around family and friends with intermittent periods back with his own mother who clearly lacked interest. Finally, she took an overdose, slashing her wrists in a hot bath when Nate was just nine-years-old.

Helen was one of many cops who’d been called to his school for several violent incidents before he reached the age of eleven. He struggled academically, was a loner and Helen remembered there being something odd about him, an uneasiness she couldn’t place. She recalled that Nate moved in with his auntie Petra, Chilli’s older sister, after his mother’s death. But it was no secret Nate idolised his uncle, having visited and written to him in prison. They stayed close after Chilli’s release and rumours were rife in the rabbit warren that Nate unofficially lived with his uncle. For a while, social services kept a close eye. But Nate’s school attendance started to improve, he enrolled at the local boxing club and stayed off the streets and slowly their interest dwindled. Whatever influence Chilli had on his nephew appeared beneficial.

Since his release, Chilli had marketed himself as a reformed character, an honest businessman with a strong influence in the parenting of his nephew. But she struggled to believe that she was labouring under a misconception.

The lights changed. Pemberton turned left, leaving the club and Roxten behind them. They passed a burnt-out car on the grass verge displaying a police aware sign, then scores of housing estates tucked behind lines of tall privet hedging as they pressed on towards Hampton centre.

Helen’s mind switched back to Karen Paton. She considered the photo she’d seen on her fridge, on a night out with the girls. Maybe it was taken at Black Cats. She certainly looked a lot more glamorous and relaxed than she did today, worrying that ring around her finger until it grazed.

Helen turned to Pemberton, “Did she seem frightened to you?”

He briefly faced her, before switching back to the road. “Karen Paton? Like a rabbit caught in the headlights.”

Chapter
Eleven

Hours later, Helen burst through her front door and heeled it closed. Heavy rainclouds had advanced into the skies over Hampton throughout the afternoon and were now emptying their load with a vengeance. She dropped her briefcase down, suppressing a shiver as she unbuttoned her overcoat.

A high-pitched beep sounded twice and she paused to search through her bag. Another message from Dean:
Really need to talk. Have some information that may assist your current case. Could you squeeze in a quick coffee later?
Helen stared at her phone. What information could he have now that he couldn’t share earlier?

Frustration bubbled inside her. For the last few hours the investigation had been thwarted by obstacles: Dark had confirmed with Naomi’s parents that Eva Carradine was one of her oldest friends, but they’d reached a dead end when they visited Eva’s address as a male student answered the door. The spa address records were out of date and Eva hadn’t lived there for the past six months.

In desperation, they approached the DVLA for an updated address, then the electoral role, but they all followed suit. Naomi’s other friends didn’t seem to mix with Eva, not enough to know her address. Why hadn’t Eva updated her records? To add to her frayed patience, the phone company’s computers were down and they were still awaiting Naomi’s call records.

With Eva and Jules both missing, she was starting to wonder if they weren’t both involved in some way. They could check with the Department for Work and Pensions for Eva’s new address, but not until the morning as they were closed. This felt like dead time.

Jenkins’ decision not to inform the press of the details of the murder weapon felt like a noose around her neck. It was normal to hold back information; they shared only what they felt would assist the investigation. But with the press fixated on gun crime, unless they caught the killer quickly, this decision would come back to bite them. Every tick of the clock taunted her.

Helen reread the text message from Dean. As she wrestled off her wet coat, she wondered whether Dean had discovered the location of Jules Paton. Or had he uncovered more background on Karen Paton? Whatever it was, she realised that she couldn’t afford to ignore it. She pocketed her phone and popped her head around the lounge door to find Robert on the sofa, watching television.

“Hi, Mum.” He looked up briefly, before fixing his attention back on the screen.

“Hi, darling.” She rested her hand on her youngest son’s bony shoulder. “How was school?”

“Okay.” His voice disappeared into the television.

“What are you watching?”

“Friends re-run. It’s one of my favourites.”

She nodded and smiled to herself at the depth of his voice, the last remnants of boyhood receding just a few months earlier. “Where’s Grandma?”

“In the kitchen,” he said, eyes glued to the screen, a smile tickling his lips.

She crossed to the kitchen and pushed the door open. Seated at the breakfast table, Jane Lavery looked up from her magazine and smiled. Blue eyes shone out from a wonderfully clear complexion, only gently wrinkled around the eyes and mouth. Her grey hair was pulled back from her face and tied at the nape of her neck. “Hello there!”

Helen smiled fleetingly and glanced around. Her nose twitched at the gentle aroma of garlic in the air. “Where’s Jo?”

“She phoned. Delayed in London, apparently. She’ll be here around nine. How was your day?”

Helen glanced up to check the time. Eight o’clock. “Just about to get longer. I’ve been called out again, I’m afraid.” The lie stung the back of her throat as it escaped.

Jane nodded and stared at her knowingly. “Sorry about that. Do you have time for a bite to eat? I’ve made lasagne.”

After John’s death, committing to a full-time position in the police force as a single mother had presented a major challenge. Helen found resolution in moving back in with her recently widowed mother and over the years her mother acted as housekeeper come childminder. Jane Lavery occupied her life with her grandchildren and the arrangement enabled Helen to balance the unsociable shifts and demanding hours of the police force, whilst she raised her boys.

Inevitably there were clashes, days when Helen loathed her mother’s intrusion in her personal life, days when Jane resented her daughter’s very existence; two women from different generations battling for space and supremacy in a shared home. But generally, the arrangement suited them both in its own way. Recently, they’d moved into this detached house with adjoining flat, giving them both a degree of independence, although her mother still spent the majority of her time in their shared kitchen.

“Maybe later, thanks Mum. You okay?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“Where’s Matthew?”

“In his bedroom.”

Helen headed up the stairs. The first few days of a murder investigation left little spare time for sleep, let alone family, and she took every opportunity to check in with her boys, even if it was only for a few precious minutes. She reached Matthew’s door, knocked once and strode in.

A rather dishevelled Matthew leapt off the bed, hastily lifting a sweater to cover his bare torso. But it was what was underneath Matthew that made Helen gulp. A hand shot out with verve. It swept a mass of long, dark hair away from the face of a girl who sat up and pulled down a skimpy t-shirt over her bare stomach. Helen just caught sight of the blue stud in her navel before it was covered.