Many Rivers to Cross

Chapter 9

Lisa Bartlett’s house was on Elmet Court, a residential street branching off about halfway down Elmet Hill and winding its way south. Though smaller than the Myers’s house on Elmet Close, the houses there were Georgian-style semis with bay windows and tiny lawns enclosed by privet hedges. Most had driveways and garages, so there were very few vehicles parked in the narrow street.

Gerry had known Lisa only in the wake of her sexual assault, so she had no idea what she had been like before. Now, several weeks later, she still appeared very much affected by her experience — eyes dull, hair lacklustre, generally fidgety, anxious and unable to look people in the eye. That Saturday morning, she sat slumped on the sofa, legs curled under her, wearing ice-blue jeans and a big woolly sweater whose sleeves covered her hands. Her mother sat beside her, stiff and straight, hands clasped on her lap. Mrs Bartlett was an attractive woman of about forty, Gerry guessed, though the strain of family upheaval was starting to show in tension lines around her eyes and mouth. Though it was a warm day, the electric fire blazed away and Gerry felt herself stifling.

‘Lisa hasn’t been out by herself since the incident,’ Mrs Bartlett said. ‘We’ve had to talk to the school and put off her GCSEs until next year. Even poor Jason’s having a difficult time concentrating on his A-levels. Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?’

Gerry sensed that Mrs Bartlett was reluctant to leave her daughter’s side, though she still felt the need to be hospitable. ‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘Nothing for me.’

‘I can’t imagine what you want to ask her. We’ve been over it all time and time again.’

‘It’s not specifically about Lisa’s case,’ said Gerry. ‘Though that still remains my main concern. We were just wondering if what happened to your daughter might be related to other events around the neighbourhood in the past month or so.’

Mrs Bartlett frowned. ‘Other events? What on earth can you mean?’

‘I’m sure you’re aware of the two suspicious deaths we’ve had in Eastvale recently?’

‘Yes, but one was a drug overdose, and the other was that poor Arab boy. A stabbing, I understand? While it’s not something we’re used to having around here, I gather it’s not exactly unknown. I can’t see what any of it has to do with our Lisa.’

‘Do you know anything about either of these deaths, Lisa?’ Gerry asked.

Lisa just shook her head.

‘Howard Stokes lived on Hollyfield Lane, across Cardigan Drive, just beyond the park. He used to go around in a mobility scooter. He was in his sixties, with long hair and a beard. Did you ever see him?’

‘I don’t understand why you’re asking Lisa all these questions,’ Mrs Bartlett interrupted. ‘This man can hardly have had anything to do with what happened, can he? I mean, if he was on a mobility scooter.’

‘Of course not,’ said Gerry. ‘We very much doubt that he was capable of a physical assault. But Mr Stokes mixed with some rather unsavoury characters, had some dodgy visitors to his house on Hollyfield Lane. I just wondered if Lisa had seen him around the area. More specifically, seen him with anyone.’

‘No,’ said Lisa. ‘I mean, I saw him in the park sometimes, if it was a nice day. He’d just sit on a bench there reading a book. I mean, he wasn’t weird or talking to himself or anything. He never bothered anyone.’

Gerry nodded. ‘Did you ever notice anyone coming in or out of his house?’

‘No. I don’t know which house was his. I was never near that estate. I mean, it’s across the park. You can see it over the trees from up the hill, but not from here.’

‘You never walked through the estate?’

‘I never needed to. I’d come back from school on Cardigan Drive and then cut up through the pub car park.’ She gave a little shudder and wrapped her arms around herself.

Gerry remembered that Lisa Bartlett went to Eastvale Comprehensive, while her brother Jason was a day boy at St Botolph’s. ‘Like you did on the night it... of the attack?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ Lisa looked at her mother. ‘But I haven’t been there since.’

‘It’s OK, Lisa. Had you walked through there after dark before?’

‘Oh, yes. I used to do it all the time. I never worried about it. Nothing ever happened there before, not until...’

Mrs Bartlett grasped her daughter’s wool-covered hand in her own. Lisa snatched it back. Gerry became aware of the loud ticking of the mantelpiece clock, its works exposed under a glass dome. She took out her photo of Samir. ‘Did you ever see this boy around the neighbourhood? Anywhere?’

‘Is he the one... you know...’

‘That’s him,’ said Gerry. ‘He was called Samir. He came here all the way from Syria, by himself.’

‘Where were his mum and dad?’

‘They stayed behind. The family couldn’t all afford to go. They were killed in a bomb attack a few weeks ago. He never knew.’

‘I suppose he was lucky in a way, then,’ said Lisa.

Gerry frowned. ‘Lucky? He was stabbed to death.’

‘I mean he died before he knew his whole family had been killed by a bomb.’

‘I suppose so,’ Gerry agreed. ‘When you look at it that way. Did you ever see him at all?’

‘No. I think I would remember. We don’t get many Syrians around here.’

‘I don’t follow,’ said Mrs Bartlett. ‘If this is the boy you found in a wheelie bin on the East Side Estate, what could he possibly have been doing near here?’

Gerry took a breath and went on. ‘We think he may have been killed elsewhere, then dumped on the East Side Estate.’

‘And you think... the same...?’

‘No,’ said Gerry. ‘I’m not saying we think it was the same person who attacked Lisa who killed Samir. They’re very different crimes. There are just too many coincidences, that’s all.’ She looked at Lisa again. ‘The man on the mobility scooter, the one you saw in the park sometimes. His name was Howard Stokes and he died around the same time as Samir. At least we think he did.’

‘So you think the two are connected?’ Mrs Bartlett asked.

‘We know they are,’ said Gerry. ‘We just don’t know how or why.’

‘And Lisa?’

‘We’re talking to a lot of people in this area, people who might have noticed something. Lisa was a victim of crime in the same neighbourhood where we think two people later died. It would be a pretty sloppy detective who didn’t follow up on that.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Mrs Bartlett. ‘But I still don’t see how Lisa can help you.’

The door opened, and a gangly teenage boy, whom Gerry assumed to be Jason Bartlett, came in.

His mother immediately jumped to her feet. ‘Jason. How’s the revision going?’

Jason shrugged. ‘OK, I guess.’ He smiled at Lisa and touched her chin. ‘How you doing, little sister?’

‘Gerroff, Jason,’ Lisa complained, moving away from her brother’s touch.

‘Now, children...’ said Mrs Bartlett.

Jason flopped down in the free armchair. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ said Gerry. ‘You might remember me from before, when—’

‘I remember you,’ said Jason. ‘Have you lot caught him yet?’

‘No, we haven’t,’ Gerry admitted. ‘Not yet.’

‘So what’s it all about, then?’

‘Jason, mind your manners.’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Bartlett.’ Gerry showed Jason the photograph of Samir.

‘Is that him?’ he asked. ‘You think he’s the one who did it?’ He passed the photo back. ‘He hardly looks old enough.’

‘Idiot,’ said Lisa. ‘He’s not the one.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a darkie, mind you,’ said Jason.

‘Jason!’ Mrs Bartlett reddened. ‘What have I told you? I won’t have talk like that in my house.’

‘It’s our house, Mum. And I was only expressing an opinion. Can’t I do that?’

‘Based on what?’ Gerry asked. ‘Your opinion.’

Jason looked flustered and glanced at his sister. ‘I thought that’s what you said, Lisa. That it was a coloured chap.’

‘I said no such thing! You’re just trying to put words in my mouth.’

‘Lisa,’ said Gerry, ‘do you have any reason to think your attacker was non-white?’

‘No. I... It was him. Jason. He got me thinking it might have been. He says it’s usually people like that who... you know. He got me all confused. But I didn’t really see his hand. I couldn’t tell the colour he was. It was too dark.’

‘Lisa, are you saying you did see your attacker’s hand, but that you just couldn’t see it clearly? You never told me that before.’

‘I... I think I did. I just... I was too upset and confused.’

‘And Jason convinced you that your attacker might have been black?’

‘But it was dark,’ said Lisa. ‘How would I have been able to tell?’

‘Would it surprise you to know that most sexual predators are white?’ Gerry said. She turned to Jason. ‘Did you give your sister any reason to think her attacker may have been black?’

‘I might have suggested it,’ said Jason, slouching deeper in the chair. ‘So what?’

‘But you’ve no evidence?’

‘How could I have? If you lot can’t find out who did it, how do you expect me to?’

‘Jason, that’s enough,’ said his mother. ‘I won’t have you being rude to a guest in our own home.’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Bartlett,’ said Gerry. ‘It’s a version of the butler or the passing tramp. Nobody likes to think it could be someone just like them who’s committed such a crime. Jason’s just angry and frustrated, isn’t that right?’

Jason looked at her with sulky aggression. ‘If you say so.’

‘Did you ever see that boy Samir around here?’ she asked him.

‘No.’

‘Any other boys around Hollyfield Lane?’

‘Sometimes. From Cardigan Drive, like. They’d be coming out of that house where that bloke who died lived.’

‘Howard Stokes? You saw people coming from his house?’

‘Sometimes. Shifty-looking lot.’

‘How did you know it was his house?’

‘Saw him coming and going a couple of times. I mean, maybe he was just visiting like the others, but he did hang out in the park. I just assumed...’

‘What about a fair-haired lad, medium height, sometimes rode a red bicycle?’

‘That’s pretty vague. Nobody stands out. Lots of people ride red bicycles.’

‘Fair enough. Did you see any activity there last Sunday?’

‘No. But I wasn’t around then. I was playing rugby over in Helmthorpe.’

‘Did you ever go to number twenty-six Hollyfield Lane, Jason?’

‘What do you think I am? Everyone knows if you spend too much time over on the old estate you’re bound to catch something.’

‘Did you know the house was used for the sale of drugs?’

Jason turned away. ‘Doesn’t surprise me.’

‘Ever tried drugs?’ Gerry knew she was pushing it, with the mother there, but Jason’s immediate reaction was enough to tell her that he had, and that he was lying if he said he hadn’t.

‘I think we’ve had about enough for now, don’t you?’ Mrs Bartlett said to Gerry. ‘Jason needs to concentrate on his revision, and Lisa needs time to get well again.’ She tapped Lisa’s knee. Lisa flinched.

‘That’s all right, Mrs Bartlett,’ said Gerry. ‘I think I’ve just about finished here for the time being. Sorry if I’ve upset anyone.’

‘It’s not that,’ said Mrs Bartlett. ‘But... well, we’re all a bit over-sensitive at the moment, aren’t we?’

If Zelda was going to carry out her decision of the previous evening, she realised, she needed to make some preparations before heading to the Hotel Belgrade again.

She still didn’t know whether Tadić had spotted her last night when she knocked over her empty glass in her hurry to escape. True, she had felt his attention suddenly shift towards her, but that was probably just instinct on his part, a natural reaction to any unexpected sound or movement. He couldn’t have caught more than a glimpse of her from behind as she made her way through the crowd. He probably wouldn’t even remember. When it came down to it, she couldn’t even be certain that he would still be at the Hotel Belgrade, or if he would come to the bar for a drink. But Faye had said they hung out there, and they were creatures of habit. The place was some sort of centre of operations for the loosely-knit criminal gang. The odds were, Zelda thought, that if Goran Tadić was still staying there, he would show up before too long.

Besides, she had appeared very different then from the way she planned on looking tonight. Her clothes had been baggy enough to make her seem frumpy, especially with the cheap glasses she had worn, and her hair had been a mess. Tonight she was going to be elegant, sexy and enchanting, and to that end, she spent a while in the hotel’s spa, visited a nearby hairdresser, then went shopping and bought a new dress. She already had a nice tan from the trip to Croatia.

The dress was important. It was essential that it didn’t look obvious, tarty, or anything like a hooker. Yes, she needed to be sexy and alluring, but in a subtle way. Nothing was to be overdone. It wasn’t that she thought Goran Tadić was a particularly subtle human being — he wasn’t — but that she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. Subtle but sexy. Casual elegance. The way she planned it, she wouldn’t be out of place at the hotel bar. If she got the appearance right, everything else would fall into place.

She found what she was after in Little Black Dress, a shop where she’d had success before. It wasn’t black, but oxblood, knee-length, bare-shouldered, halter-top style. She also bought new underwear, black and lacy. Finally, she bought a jade pendant on a silver chain to go with the new look, and strappy white sandals, with the heels just high enough to accentuate the curve of her calves. She decided to go bare-legged and spent some time in the bath shaving her legs. Her last port of call was John Lewis, where she bought a set of sturdy kitchen knives.

When she was finally ready, she studied herself in the mirror for anything that seemed overdone. She looked like a woman on her way to meet a date, perhaps for a night at the theatre or a meal at a good restaurant, which was exactly the way she wanted to appear.

‘I don’t do that stuff any more,’ said Tyler Cleary, when Gerry tracked him down to the college pub that evening. The music was loud, and the bar was crowded, but she managed to usher him to a reasonably discreet corner for a chat.

‘That’s good, Tyler,’ she said. ‘This should be very quick then.’

‘What is it you want to know? I want to get back to my mates.’

‘You used to go to a house on Hollyfield Lane to score drugs, right?’

Tyler stared at her. He was a rather slack-jawed spotty youth with a shock of unruly dark hair falling over his eyes. ‘You expect me to admit to that? You must be mad.’

‘Tyler,’ Gerry said. ‘We know you did. We know you were there. It’s a drug house. We found your fingerprints all over the place.’

Tyler picked up his pint and slopped a little over his jeans before he got it to his mouth and swallowed some. ‘I don’t have to say anything.’

‘No, you don’t,’ said Gerry. ‘But it would be best if you did.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because if you don’t, I’ll take you into the station and have a search party down to turn over your flat.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

Gerry stared him out. ‘Try me.’

‘OK,’ said Tyler. ‘Suppose I did talk to you. Are you offering me immunity?’

‘I’m not offering you anything. I will say, though, that I’m not interested in your drug use.’

‘That’s all in the past.’

‘Whatever. Not interested.’

‘OK. But how do I know you’re not recording this? Show me your mobile.’

‘Screw you,’ said Gerry, getting up and taking Tyler by the arm. ‘If you think I’m going to show you my mobile or let you search me, you’ve got another think coming. Come on, we’re off to the station. And don’t forget your sentence is only suspended, not permanently cancelled.’

Tyler struggled, but Gerry’s grip was firm. He bumped into the table and spilled more beer. ‘Hey, wait, wait a minute!’ he said. ‘There’s no need for violence. It’s cool. OK. What do you want to know?’

‘That’s better,’ said Gerry.

They sat down. Tyler rubbed his arm. ‘It’s poison, that stuff,’ he said. ‘Drugs.’

‘I already know that,’ said Gerry. ‘I just want to know how it worked.’

‘How what worked?’

Had this boy actually been admitted to Eastvale College? Gerry wondered. If he had been, there were serious problems with the admission requirements. Talk about unconditional acceptance. You didn’t even need a brain to get into this place, it seemed.

‘The set-up. The drug operation on Hollyfield Lane.’

‘I don’t do it any more.’

Gerry sighed. ‘Tyler. You’re beginning to sound like a stuck record. I’m not after you for drugs, believe me. If I were, you’d be in a cell already. All I want is information. Pure and simple. Of course, if you don’t—’

Tyler put his hand up, palm out. ‘No, no. It’s all right. I’ll talk to you. It’s just that you can’t be too careful, that’s all. Go on, ask away.’

‘Thank you,’ Gerry muttered under her breath, and out loud, ‘How did it operate?’

‘You just phoned this mobile number, like, and put in your order.’

Gerry showed him the number she had copied from the scrap of paper Annie had found in Howard Stokes’s wallet. ‘This number?’

Tyler frowned in concentration. ‘I’m not sure. But it looks about right.’

Gerry put the number away. ‘How did you first find out what number to phone?’

‘A mate told me.’

‘How did he know?’

Tyler shrugged. ‘Dunno. Internet, I think. Facebook, something like that.’

‘How many people knew it?’

‘No idea.’

‘So what did you do next, after you phoned in your order?’

‘You waited until Greg came up with the stuff.’

‘Up from where?’

‘Leeds, I think.’

‘Who was this Greg?’

‘Dunno. I just knew him as Greg.’

‘Go on.’

‘There was this old bloke there as well, but he was always on the nod. I think it was his house.’

‘Howard Stokes.’

‘I didn’t know his name.’

‘How did you know when the drugs had arrived?’

‘Easy. It was all done over the mobile. One line. That’s why they called it county lines.’

‘I know that,’ said Gerry, quickly losing patience. ‘So, as far as you were concerned, you just phoned in your order, then went to pick it up when the delivery came, right? And you made all the arrangements through the one phone number.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What happened? How did it end?’

‘Greg just stopped coming.’

‘How long ago?’

‘About a month ago. I had an order in, but he never turned up with it. Pissed a lot of people off, I can tell you.’

‘Did you meet any of the other customers?’

‘Not that I remember. It wasn’t like a doctor’s waiting room, you know.’

‘But you just said a lot of people were angry.’

‘Figure of speech. I was, so I assumed others must have been in the same boat.’

‘Did you go to Hollyfield Lane after Greg stopped showing up?’

‘Once. I just wanted to know what was happening, like, if they’d made alternative plans. I mean, I wasn’t addicted or anything, but you know... I was used to it.’

‘And who did you see?’

‘Just the old bloke in the wheelchair who lived there.’

‘And what did he tell you?’

‘That there’d been some trouble, and the line was down, but it would be up and running again soon as they sorted out some personnel and supply problems.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘In the end I found another bloke in Leyburn.’

‘What are you taking?’

‘Was. I told you, I’m off it now. Just a little coke.’

‘That’s highly addictive. Are you sure you’ve kicked it?’

‘I was never addicted. Just a snort now and then doesn’t do any harm.’

Gerry didn’t believe for a moment that Tyler had kicked the habit. He was too twitchy, even now. She wasn’t going to take him in, but she would pass on information about a source of cocaine in Leyburn to the drugs squad, if they didn’t already know about it.

‘Was Greg the only one you ever met selling the stuff at Hollyfield?’

‘Yeah.’

Gerry took out the photo of Samir and showed it to him. ‘Ever seen this lad?’

Tyler examined the photo. ‘Isn’t that the kid who got killed last week? Put in a wheelie bin?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Never seen him.’ Tyler passed the photo back. Gerry thought he was telling the truth.

‘We think he was Greg’s replacement,’ she said. ‘Or all set to be. Are you sure you didn’t take any deliveries from him over the past month or so, since Greg packed it in?’

‘No. I told you, I found someone else. In Leyburn. Then I packed it in. Besides, I’d remember if I had met him.’

‘And you never went back to Hollyfield?’

‘No. Why would I?’

‘OK,’ said Gerry. ‘So you’re saying the old man told you things would be up and running again soon, but they weren’t?’

‘Right.’

‘What about the line? The phone number?’

‘Dead, wasn’t it?’

‘And you didn’t get a new one from your mate?’

‘No. Nothing. They just, like, abandoned us all. Just like that.’ He drank some more beer. Gerry finished her slimline tonic and closed her notebook. She hadn’t learned a lot, but it hadn’t been an entirely wasted visit. At least she thought she had managed to add a bit more evidence to the mounting pile that showed Samir hadn’t turned up in Eastvale until the day he was killed. Or if he had, he had been lying very low. And she knew his predecessor’s first name was Greg. But she still didn’t feel any closer to knowing who had killed him.