The Doll's House

123

‘First things first, I don’t want my name anywhere near this. I’ve got enough problems as it is.’

‘Of course. We won’t publish anything you don’t want us to.’

Emilia had told this little white lie many times in her career. Oddly this time she actually meant it – if this lead proved important in cracking the ‘Bodies on the Beach’ case then her source would get the royal treatment. Emilia surveyed the woman opposite her. She guessed she was in her early fifties but she looked older. She had a drinker’s face – bloodshot and jowelly – and the yellow fingers and teeth of a smoker. Her voice was deep and she was slightly overweight, but there was something in the eyes – a low cunning, a spark of wicked humour – that nevertheless drew you in. If she met this woman on the street, she would hold her purse tight and move on quickly, but Emilia had her professional face on today and looked only too pleased to be seated with her in this grim backstreet pub.

‘Another drink, Jane?’

Jane Fraser nodded and soon Emilia was back, clutching a pint of Best and a double Jameson’s. The woman threw the whisky back in one go, then got stuck into the pint.

‘So tell me about the tattoo?’

‘How about a little down-payment first, eh?’ Jane said swiftly.

Emilia had been expecting this and immediately slid a brown envelope across the table.

‘Five hundred pounds. Best I can do for now.’

Jane paused, giving Emilia a filthy look. For a horrible moment, Emilia thought she was going to get up and walk out. But then she picked up the packet and started leafing through the notes and Emilia knew she was fine.

‘The tattoo, Jane.’

Jane pocketed the money, sniffed unpleasantly, then replied:

‘She got it done when she was eleven. She and her brother went to the parlour together – probably half-inched the money from me – and they both got it done. A poxy little bluebird on their shoulders. Just right for those little lovebirds.’

Emilia eyed up the prodigious display of tattoos that covered Jane’s arms and shoulders. They were not cute – they were aggressive and highly sexual in their content.

‘Why a bluebird?’

‘God knows. Never asked. Perhaps they wanted to fly away together?’

She laughed unpleasantly, before the coughing started up again. Once the fit had relented, she lit up. It was banned in here of course, but no one in this hole was going to stop her.

‘What happened to her?’

‘My Summer died, didn’t she. Heroin overdose. Ben went looking for her, when she didn’t come home. Found her in the park. Covered in vomit she was, her eyes clamped shut. Silly sod thought she was asleep. Had to be prised off her by the police in the end – he was convinced she’d wake up and be back to normal any second. Wouldn’t let go of her, they said.’

‘Ben? He’s your son?’

Jane grunted a yes.

‘Was he an addict too?’

‘God, no. Her brother didn’t have the balls for that and he was only small when she died. Twelve or so.’

Emilia scribbled this down and considered her next question.

‘What happened to him?’

‘Stuck around for a bit, but he and I had never got on, so after a few weeks, he took off.’

Emilia had a bad feeling they were winding up to a massive dead end.

‘And you’ve not seen him since?’

‘Didn’t say that, did I? Saw him a few months back – in town, you know.’

‘So where does he live?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Come on, Jane. You just said -’

‘He wouldn’t tell me. Didn’t want me hanging about, I guess.’

Emilia didn’t push it – she could tell more was coming by the sly look on Jane Fraser’s face. She pulled Emilia in close, so close she could smell the stink of stale tobacco on her breath as she whispered:

‘But I do know where he works.’