Hidden Depths

Chapter Eighteen

One time, he wouldn’t have admitted to living in North Shields, Gary thought. Certainly not if he was chatting up a woman, trying to impress. People from outside had a picture of it. All charity shops and boarded-up buildings, Wilkinson’s and Poundstretchers the only stores doing business. Even now, if you waited at the metro, you’d share the platform with teenage mothers and gangs of lads who skipped off the trains whenever the ticket inspector arrived. But it was changing. Now if he said he lived in Shields people nodded, understanding. It was the sort of place where people in his business might live. Still not quite respectable, but interesting. There were new apartments, bars and restaurants on the Fish Quay. A couple of writers had taken up residence. House prices in Tynemouth were so high that people had crossed the boundary, blurring the edges. There was no shame to living in Shields these days. Sunday’s Quiz Night at the Maggie Bank pub was full of lecturers and social workers. Gary had been a regular once, but only bothered going now to catch up with old friends. Even though he could score on the music round, he had no chance of winning.

He lived in a newish development on one of the steep streets between the Fish Quay and the town, a four-storey block of flats, with a Gothic stone Methodist chapel on one side and a carpet warehouse on the other. He’d bought it soon after he split up from Emily; thinking back, he couldn’t remember much about moving in. He’d been pissed when he signed the contract, swore at the estate agent about something that had irritated him. Clive had helped him carry the few bits of furniture they couldn’t get into the lift up the stairs, organized Northern Electric to get the power on, even made the tea. That was the sort of friend he was. He never made a fuss but was there when he was needed. Gary hoped he’d act the same way if the circumstances were reversed, but he wasn’t sure. Now the flat felt more like home than anywhere he’d lived since he was a kid. It would be a wrench to leave.

That morning, he’d given Clive a lift back from Fox Mill. In the car, they’d talked about the dead girl in the pool, tuned the radio to the local BBC station in case it had made the news. Gary had done most of the talking. Clive hadn’t said much, but then he never did. Perhaps that’s why they got on so well: Gary liked a ready-made audience. At school Clive had been a loner. He still didn’t have any other friends. Only Gary, Samuel and Peter. The discovery of the body headed up the news, but there were no details. Nothing about the way she was found or the flowers. Not even her name.

Gary wandered out onto the balcony and looked over the town and down to the river. Upstream the ferry was sliding away from the South Shields jetty. He had his phone with him and leaned on the rail to dial. He was on the top floor and there wasn’t too much noise from the street. He was about to press the buttons when the intercom buzzer sounded and he went inside to see who was waiting in the lobby. He wasn’t sorry to have to put off his phone call. He still hadn’t decided quite what to say.

‘It’s me, pet. Vera Stanhope.’ The detective of the night before. He thought he’d answered all her questions and her presence threw him. At one time he’d have been able to take this in his stride. He’d had the confidence to talk himself into any event, out of any bother. Now, it wasn’t so easy. But he couldn’t leave her there, waiting.

‘Come on up.’ Keeping the voice light, to show he had nothing to hide.

He checked his appearance in the long mirror. Habit. Reassurance. Like spending a fortune on the right haircut, a decent pair of shoes. Then he opened the door of the flat and stood there, waiting for her to appear. He couldn’t hear the lift and was wondering if she’d been called away on more urgent business, when she appeared at the top of the stairs, wheezing, heaving for breath.

‘I don’t like lifts.’ The words came out in quick accusing pants, as if she was blaming him for living there. ‘I’m never quite sure they’ll carry my weight.’ And he realized her appearance was something she was sensitive about. She’d have been bullied at school and the only way to deal with it would have been to get the jibe in first. Surprised that last night he’d been intimidated by her, he leaned back against the door and let her walk into the flat ahead of him.

Inside, he watched her checking out the flat, saw it through her eyes. It would be tidier than she’d expect. He had lots of electronic equipment but it was all boxed and stacked on shelves along one wall. He didn’t mind a bit of mess but he didn’t like chaos. Against the same wall stood a long desk with a PC and printer, a pair of headphones, a pile of audio magazines. In the middle of the room a sofa and coffee table. In the corner a TV and DVD player. A couple of enlarged black and white photos on the wall. One of the river in the centre of town. Dusk. Looking through all the bridges to the Blinking Eye. But there was nothing really personal, he thought. Nothing to give himself away. He’d allowed himself to keep one photo of Emily, but it was on his desk, small, nothing flashy. The inspector wouldn’t notice that.

‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

Her face was red with the effort of climbing the stairs. He didn’t bother with the lift either unless he had heavy gear, but didn’t even have to catch his breath when he got to the top. He told himself not to be such a smug bastard. She was an overweight, middle-aged woman. Hardly competition.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a beer, have you?’ she said. ‘I’m not fussy, pet. Whatever you’ve got in the fridge.’

He found himself smiling. Despite himself he couldn’t help liking her. He brought out two cans of lager, a glass for her. She lowered herself carefully onto the sofa. He sat on the floor, legs stretched in front of him, felt her looking him over.

‘Your file says you’re thirty-five,’ she said. ‘You’ve not worn badly. If I was guessing, I’d say five years younger.’

‘Thanks.’ He was annoyed at himself for feeling flattered. It was an odd thing for her to say, an odd feeling to have her eyeing him up. It occurred to him briefly that women must feel like this all the time.

‘This place must have set you back a few quid.’ She looked out towards the window. ‘A view like that.’

‘Not really. I bought it from new six years ago. Everyone thought I was mad moving to Shields. I’d make a canny profit if I sold it now.’

‘Live here on your own?’

‘Yes.’

I’m not so sad, he wanted to say. Not really sad, like Clive. I was engaged once. To Emily. The love of my life. We were going to live together in a tidy flat in Jesmond. And since then there’ve been women. Not living in, maybe. Not real girlfriends. But I’ve never gone without for long. And now there’s Julie.

She tugged at the ring pull on the can. He slipped a look at his watch. He still had that phone call to make.

‘Expecting someone?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘Nothing like that. Is this about that student who died? I thought you’d finished with me last night.’

She made him wait until she’d taken a mouthful of beer, straight from the can, not bothering with the glass he’d set on the table in front of her. ‘I’m going to ask you a question,’ she said. ‘You’ve heard it before. This time I want you to think about it.’

He was about to interrupt, to tell her she was wasting her time, that he knew nothing about the student’s death. But she waved her can at him to stop him speaking and he did. She had a way of getting what she wanted. Again she waited until she was sure she had his full attention. ‘Does the name Luke Armstrong mean anything to you?’

‘No. I told you last night.’

‘I said think about it.’

They looked at each other in silence. Gary shook his head.

‘He has a mother by the name of Julie. A sister called Laura. Perhaps that jogs your memory.’

He froze, his beer almost to his mouth. ‘Julie’s son,’ he said at last.

‘Aye, Julie’s son. The lad who’s been ill.’

‘I didn’t mean to mislead you, Inspector.’

‘You did, though.’

‘I never met him. Julie talked about him. I know he’d been having a rough time. But the name didn’t really register. I still think of her as Julie Richardson.’ He looked up at her. ‘He’s dead?’

‘Murdered,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you see it in the press?’

‘I don’t read the papers much. I listened to the radio on the way back from Peter’s this morning. It mentioned Lily Marsh, but not the boy.’

‘We’re not encouraging the media to make a connection.’

‘And he was killed in the same way as Lily Marsh?’

‘Not exactly. But there are similarities.’

‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘Julie will be devastated. She said he wasn’t an easy kid, but I could tell she was crazy about him. I mean, she said she loved both her children, but Luke was special. He needed her most. I don’t know what to do. I was just about to phone her when you arrived. I was expecting her to phone me. She said she would. I thought she’d changed her mind about wanting to see me again. Now I understand.’ He paused. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll want to hear from me now.’

‘Typical man,’ Vera said, speaking to herself. ‘A woman’s lost her son and all he can think about is getting his leg over.’

‘No!’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I meant maybe she could use a friend. But probably not me. I mean, she’d be better off with someone who’s known her longer, wouldn’t she? I’d just be in the way. What do you think?’

‘Eh, pet, I’m a detective, not a relationship counsellor.’

He looked straight at her. ‘How is Julie?’

‘Her son’s just been murdered. How do you think?’

He stood up and walked towards the balcony. The door was still open. A couple of herring gulls screamed and squabbled outside. He knew it was pathetic, but he felt sorry for himself. He wasn’t really thinking about Julie at all.

Vera heaved herself to her feet and followed him out. ‘You do know he died that night you were out with her?’ she said.

Gary turned, apparently horrified. ‘Wednesday?’

‘Aye, she got home from the night in town and found him.’ She paused, narrowed her eyes. ‘Some people might say it was a bit of a coincidence. You were chatting up the first victim’s mother just before he was murdered and came upon the second soon after.’

‘I’d never met either of them,’ he said. ‘Honestly.’

‘Tell me how you got together with Julie,’ she said. ‘I mean, were you set up? Some friend saw her, maybe, thought you were her type. Someone pulling your strings?’

‘No, nothing like that. Why?’

‘Probably no reason,’ she said. ‘I was just looking for a connection. It crossed my mind it would be a way of keeping tracks on her. Someone bringing you together would have inside information. But I’ve never been a great one for conspiracy theories.’

Gary found himself telling the inspector about the meeting anyway. He wanted to tell it. It was like one of those stories which become family legends, told to grandchildren. They stood together, leaning on the balcony rail and looking down into the street. ‘It was a chance meeting. Pure chance. I saw her in the other bar. At least I heard her first, heard her laugh. She’s got one of those laughs. You know, infectious. Then something about her was familiar. I’d not seen her since we left primary school, but I recognized her. Amazing, really, after all that time. And suddenly it hit me. That was what I wanted. To get together with someone like that. Someone who could laugh like that. I’ve always gone for younger women. Lookers, you know. But they’ve never stuck around. Thinking of settling down with someone, I suppose it was all part of getting old. Like taking the permanent job at the Sage after swearing I’d never stop being self-employed.’

‘She listened impassively. Aye,’ she said. ‘That’s how Julie told it. But she kept to the facts. Left out the soppy bits.’

‘She told you about me?’

Vera left the question unanswered. ‘Did you tell anyone you were going to meet her that night?’

He couldn’t stop himself grinning. ‘All my close mates. I don’t really do secrets.’

‘All the people who were with you when you found Lily Marsh, they knew beforehand that you planned to meet up with Luke’s mother on the Wednesday night?’

‘Probably. I’d chatted to Felicity about Julie. Then there was a Bird Club meeting on Monday evening. All the lads were there. We went for a pint afterwards. I wanted their advice – how to play it. I probably bored them to death.’

‘I didn’t think men were supposed to talk about things like that.’

‘Yeah, well. I never did the strong, silent thing.’

‘And the others? Do they get touchy-feely too?’

‘We’re close.’ Gary was suddenly serious. ‘Nothing wrong with that.’

‘I should go,’ she said, but she didn’t move. He could tell she was drawn to the view from the balcony.

‘Did Julie tell you what triggered Luke’s illness?’ she asked.

‘Some mate of his drowned…’

‘Down there,’ she said. ‘Just off the Fish Quay. You didn’t hear anything about it?’

He shook his head.

She wandered back into the room, stopped by the desk, nodded to the photo of Emily. ‘Who’s that, then?’

He felt himself blush, couldn’t help it, thought she must be some sort of witch to go straight for the picture. ‘An old friend.’

She stood for a moment looking at the picture. ‘Strange-looking lass,’ she said almost to herself. ‘Pretty enough, if you like them anorexic.’

She was letting herself out of the door when he called her back. ‘What do you think I should do about Julie? Should I phone her?’

She paused for only a second. ‘Not my call, pet.’