‘Manchester . . . but it might as well be Australia. Dad hasn’t seen him in twelve months. He made a flying visit on Sunday because he wanted to know what was happening with the house . . . but he wasn’t prepared to sit with Dad.’ She fiddled with the clasp of her handbag. ‘He said he didn’t have time because he had to be back in Manchester by seven.’
‘Leaving you to shoulder the responsibility as usual?’
The woman nodded.
‘That can’t be easy, not when you’re working a forty-hour week and trying to have a life of your own. Do your brothers know how hard it is to keep track of what your father’s doing?’
Amy Tutting was no pushover. She raised suspicious eyes to Beale’s. ‘What’s Dad been saying?’
Beale hesitated. ‘It’s more what he hasn’t said, Ms Tutting. He seems to be in a continuous loop of anxiety which involves a repetition of three phrases . . . “Mustn’t open the door” . . .
“Don’t tell Amy” . . . “Been a silly old fool”.’ He folded his hands on the table and stared at the woman. ‘We think the person he’s afraid of is you.’
Her mouth turned down immediately. ‘Only because I told him I was going to have him certified and put in a nursing home. I’m fed up with it. He’s in arrears on his council tax . . . sitting on fuel bills that haven’t been paid since the last quarter.’ She took a rattling breath through her nose. ‘He expects me to cover them, but I don’t see why I should.’
Beale agreed with her. ‘Is he living on a state pension?’
‘Plus what he gets from his contributory pension, but he won’t tell me how much that is. He worked as a printer for forty years, so it won’t be peanuts.’ She looked understandably angry. ‘He keeps all his papers locked away to stop me finding out . . . but there’s never enough to pay the bills. I’ve been trying to persuade him to grant me power of attorney and all he says is—’ She came to an abrupt halt.
Beale let the silence drift, gambling that her own irritation was motive enough to keep speaking.
‘It’s ridiculous. The only other way for me to manage his affairs is to put him into receivership through the court of protection, but I need a medical certificate declaring him incompetent for that, and his doctor won’t give me one. He says Dad’s only in the mild stages of dementia and might stay that way till he dies.’ She paused. ‘It’s not worth wasting time on anyway. My brothers will object as soon as the court notifies them that I’ve put in the application.’ She fell silent again.
‘Why?’
Amy gave a bitter little smile. ‘They’re only interested in what they’re going to inherit. It’s no skin off their noses if Dad squanders his pension, but the house is worth about twenty times what he paid for it in 1970. They don’t care how difficult it is for me as long as their inheritance isn’t sold to pay for a nursing home.’
Beale eyed the unhappy slump of her shoulders, wondering how blunt he could be. ‘Has your father told you what he’s spending his pension on, Ms Tutting?’
Either she misinterpreted the question or the tentative note in Beale’s voice suggested he knew the answer already. A look of resignation crossed her face. ‘Will it get into the newspapers?’
‘I can’t say at this point.’
‘It’s so disgusting. Why would an eighty-two-year-old man want to do that kind of thing? It’s only a couple of years since Mum died.’
‘Maybe that’s why,’ said Beale.
‘I suppose he’s told you he doesn’t do anything with them . . . just wants a chat now and then because he’s lonely.’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘It’s not true. They all know the more they play with him the richer they’ll be. I’ve found mugs with sperm in them. It’s revolting.’
‘Difficult for you.’
‘He’s so senile he forgets if he’s paid them. All they have to do is ask for money upfront and money at the end . . . and he just keeps opening his wallet. He must be the easiest touch in Bermondsey. I told the doctor, Dad’s become a free banking service to every little tart in the area . . . and do you know what he said?’ The resentful lines around her mouth scored deeper into her skin. ‘It’s probably good for his prostate.’
Twenty
FOLLOWING HER FIRST HOUSE call of the evening, Jackson went on the attack about Daisy. As ever, Acland was lounging against her car when she returned. ‘You look like shit,’ she said severely, abandoning her earlier attempts to persuade him to talk about Jen. ‘It doesn’t do my image any good to drag an unshaven gorilla around with me.’
He stroked his stubble. ‘I’d have frightened Daisy if I’d appeared looking like this.’
‘She says you’re acting like a stalker.’
‘I know. I heard you arguing in the kitchen yesterday morning. That’s why I thought you needed some time to yourselves.’
He had an answer for everything. ‘You shouldn’t have listened.’
‘I didn’t have much choice,’ he said mildly. ‘Daisy’s voice goes into overdrive when she’s angry.’
‘This isn’t easy for her.’
‘Only because the boot’s on the other foot for once.’
Jackson frowned at him. ‘Meaning?’
‘I’m spending too much time with you, and that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. She’s jealous.’
Jackson gave a surprised laugh. ‘Of you? Give me a break! She’s been jealous of the odd woman in the past . . . but it wouldn’t cross her mind to be jealous of a man.’
Acland came close to a smile. ‘It’s nothing to do with sex . . . it’s about being the centre of attention. The only interest you’re supposed to attract is fear when she calls on you to act as a bouncer. She’d see off a dog if it wagged its tail too vigorously every time you came home.’
‘So now you’re a psychiatrist.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m happy to stare at her tits all day if it’ll make your life easier. It’s what every other bloke in the bar is expected to do.’
‘She doesn’t do it for fun,’ said Jackson, irritably popping the locks and dumping her medical case in the boot. ‘It’s good for business.’
‘End of discussion, then.’ In what appeared to be deliberate provocation, Acland opened the driver’s door. ‘I’ll jog back to the pub and join the fan club.’
Jackson glared at him as she eased herself behind the wheel. ‘Get in,’ she said crossly, jerking her head towards the passenger seat. ‘I’d rather have you attached to my hip than scaring the life out of Daisy by ogling her breasts.’ She waited while he walked round the bonnet and climbed in beside her. ‘What’s the deal on this? What’s she done to make you dislike her?’
‘Nothing. It’s the other way round. She dislikes me.’
‘You’re as bad as each other,’ said Jackson with a frustrated sigh, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
Acland gave another shrug. ‘If you want the truth, she scares the shit out of me. I don’t feel comfortable with the way she dresses . . . I don’t feel comfortable when she plays with her hair . . . and I sure as hell can’t stand the way she puts her hands on people.’
Jackson turned to look at him. ‘Would you do anything to hurt her?’
‘I might if she tried to touch me,’ he said truthfully, buckling his seat belt. ‘That’s why I’m avoiding her.’
*
DI Beale tapped on the glass panel in Ben Russell’s door to attract the superintendent’s attention, then waited outside for Jones to appear. He caught a glimpse of one of his uniformed colleagues
taking notes by the window, and a full view of his boss’s irritable expression as the door closed behind him. ‘The kid’s giving yes or no answers and the bloody solicitor’s protecting him at every turn. He threatens to pull the plug every time the miserable little wretch yawns.’ He moved away from the door. ‘Tell me some good news.’