And yet, Carol couldn’t resist the idea that she had to try. Even though Tony thought it wasn’t what he wanted, she needed to do her best for him. It wasn’t easy to go against his wishes, but his reaction the night before had persuaded her she was right to swallow her doubts. She was convinced that the information she’d been able to garner about Arthur Blythe had meant something positive to Tony. But there was still so much to discover. She wanted to know where Blythe had been before he popped up in Worcester and what he had been doing. She assumed he’d been in Halifax, where Tony had grown up in his grandmother’s house. It was where Vanessa’s recruitment and training consultancy was still based. Carol wondered how she was doing in a job market that seemed to be contracting daily as the global recession bit deeper into every area of employment. If anybody was likely not merely to survive but to come out ahead of the game, it was Vanessa Hill.
Going head to head with Vanessa was not something Carol relished. But there was no escaping the fact that Tony’s mother was the primary source for information on Arthur Blythe. No detective worth their salt would put her anywhere but number one on the list of people to talk to about Arthur’s history. Sure, you’d take everything with a pinch of salt, but you couldn’t ignore her potential.
So first thing, she’d told Kevin Matthews to cover her back if Blake came looking and set off to drive over the Pennines to Halifax. The motorway route might have been quicker, but it was almost twice the length of the cross-country drive. Carol hesitated to call it the pretty way; there were too many remnants of the area’s polluted industrial past scattered across the dramatic landscape to qualify it for that description. But there was no denying the dramatic approach into Halifax, a long spiral down from the high ridge of the moors to the dark sprawl held in the bowl of the valley.
Vanessa Hill’s company HQ was a squat brick building on the outskirts of the town. Carol parked in a visitor’s slot and had barely turned off the engine when her phone rang. The display told her it was DS Matthews. ‘Bugger,’ she said, opening the line. ‘Kevin, what’s happening?’
‘Paula’s just been on. She’s at a Northern Division crime scene. Anonymous tip, looks like Daniel Morrison. They want to punt it over to us.’
Duty dictated that Carol should turn round and drive straight back to Bradfield. But she’d come this far and she suspected her interview with Vanessa Hill wasn’t going to take long. And Northern Division’s patch was at least on the right side of Bradfield. ‘OK, Kevin. Text me directions. I’ll be there soon as I can. Tell Paula to hold the fort. You get over there now, make sure we’re in the loop. And when they get a positive ID, I want you to go with the FLO to tell the parents.’
‘Got it. Do you want me to alert Tony?’
A routine inquiry, because her team knew that Tony preferred to see the body where it lay if there was any possibility of it being a case where they could use his expertise. But Tony was off limits now. And probably on his way to West Mercia to work for someone who was allowed to appreciate his skills. ‘No, that’s fine. I’ll see you shortly.’
With a fresh sense of urgency, Carol walked up to the steel and glass doors, where she was brought up short by the need to announce herself via the intercom. She hadn’t expected that. Nothing for it but to go for the full pomp of rank. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Carol Jordan to see Ms Hill,’ she said.
There was a long silence. Carol imagined consternation followed by consultation. ‘Do you have an appointment?’ a female voice crackled at her.
‘We don’t normally consider an appointment necessary,’ Carol said as frostily as she could manage. Another silence, then the door buzzed. She found herself in a vestibule that led to a small reception area furnished with discreet comfort. The woman behind the desk looked startled. Carol read her name badge and smiled as she said, ‘Good morning, Bethany. I’m here to see Ms Hill.’
Bethany cast a swift look over her shoulder towards the door that led into the main part of the building. ‘Can I see your ID?’ she said, a spasm of a smile flashing across the lower part of her face.
Carol fished it out of her bag and held it up for Bethany to see. Before she could react, the door swung open and Vanessa Hill swept in. At first glance, she hadn’t changed much since Carol had last seen her. She was still keeping the years at arm’s length, thanks to a hairdresser with a discreet hand on the golden brown dye and her own good eye for the judicious amount of make-up. She remained slender, her figure flattered by a beautifully cut suit whose narrow skirt revealed legs still shapely. However, the lines on her face that had revealed her less than generous nature seemed to have been smoothed out. Botox, thought Carol, marvelling again at the vanity that would persuade a woman that injecting poison into her face was a good move.
‘It’s the police to see you,’ Bethany said, apprehensive as a menopausal shoplifter confronted by a store detective.
Vanessa’s mouth curled in a contemptuous smile. ‘This isn’t the police, Bethany. This is my son’s girlfriend. Nothing to be worried about here.’ Wrong-footed, Carol struggled in vain to find a response. Seeing her discomfort, Vanessa carried on. ‘Come through, Carol. Let’s not discuss family business in front of the staff.’
Bethany looked relieved. Grateful not to have committed some unwitting gaffe, Carol thought, following Vanessa through the door into an open-plan office. Clearly bustling with focused activity. She couldn’t see a man in the place, and none of the women even glanced up from their computers or their phones as they passed.
Vanessa’s office was at the far end of the room. It was smaller than Carol expected, and more functional. The only trace of luxury was an electric massage pad attached to the chair behind the desk.
‘I’m not Tony’s girlfriend,’ Carol said as Vanessa closed the door behind her.
Vanessa sighed. ‘Of course you’re not. More’s the pity.’ She passed Carol and settled into her chair, waving at a comfortless visitor’s chair opposite. ‘Let’s not pretend we like each other, Carol. What are you doing here?’
‘Edmund Arthur Blythe.’ At the sound of his name, Vanessa compressed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Undaunted, Carol continued. ‘Tony wants to know more about him. How the two of you met, what he was doing in Halifax, that sort of thing.’
‘No, he doesn’t. You might want to, but Tony’s got no interest. He’d have been happier if you hadn’t interfered in the first place. Letting him sign Eddie’s estate over to me would have been the best thing for him.’ Vanessa squared her shoulders and folded her hands on the desk.
‘Apart from the small matter of, what - half a million or so?’
Vanessa made a noise that might have been a laugh. ‘If you think my son gives a toss about money, you know a lot less about him than I gave you credit for. Trust me, you sticking your nose in our business has led to nothing but grief for Tony. You don’t understand the first thing about him. Whatever he might have told you, I’m the one who knows what’s best for him because I’m the one who knows what makes him tick. I shaped him, not you.’ She stood up. ‘Now, if that’s all that’s on your mind, I think it’s time for you to sling your hook.’
‘Why won’t you tell me? It’s ancient history. It’s no skin off your nose now. It’s not like you can sink any lower in my estimation. What’s the big secret? Tony deserves to know why his father didn’t want to stick around.’