‘ It was really nice to see you after all these years,’ Robert Neville said with a wave. ‘Sorry I couldn’t help you.’
‘ That’s fine,’ Danny said, trying to mask her disappointment. It had been a wasted journey because Neville had no idea where the first Mrs Lilton had gone after she moved away from Osbaldeston. He had just been glad she had gone.
Danny walked away from Neville’s house towards the CID car, giving a quick backward glance and saying, ‘It was nice to see you too, Bob.’
‘ There is one thing that might help, actually… it’s just come to me.’
Danny tried not to let her shoulders droop. It had been an effort to get away from this man who had been divorced about six years, seemed to be leading a fairly solitary existence, and was reluctant to let the sight of a skirt leave his house without giving it a good long ogle. She turned, firmly believing this to be a delaying tactic.
‘ Yeah, there is one thing. I seem to remember that when the Liltons split up, she got a fair percentage of the business. They had a few of those shops that sell everything dirt cheap — toiletries and stationery, stuff like that. They had five shops and I think she got two of them, one in Accrington and one in Burnley. She had to change the name of them, though.’
‘ Can you remember what they were called?’ Danny smiled sweetly.
Neville wracked his brains. ‘Something like, “Everything You Need” or “Just the Ticket” or “Cheep ‘n’ Cheerful”. I’m not sure, sorry. Something tacky. I think the shops are still there. The one in Accrington is on Broadway, I think.’
At five-fifteen in the morning it could only be one person calling the office. Myrna lunged for the phone on her desk and picked it up before the first chirp had been completed. Tracey moved, disturbed by the noise. She did not wake.
‘ Karl?’
‘ Yeah, it’s me, Myrna. How ya doin’?’ came the voice from 3000 miles away, loud and clear.
‘ Good,’ she whispered into the mouthpiece. ‘Can you hear me okay?’
‘ Yeah — but you sound like you don’t want anyone else to hear.’
‘ I don’t. Just hold the line while I transfer you.’
She put the call through to Steve Kruger’s office and slipped across the hallway, closing the door behind her. It was a strange sensation to sit in Kruger’s chair, but she felt comfortable and warm doing so, almost as if he was still there and she was sitting on his knee. She picked up the phone. ‘That’s better. Now I can talk.’
‘ What can I do for you, Myrna? I passed on that last piece of information you gave me to a detective I know in Lancashire Police.’
‘ Thanks, Karl. This is about him again, Charlie Gilbert.’
Donaldson did a quick calculation in his head re time-zones. ‘In that case this must be important if you’re phoning at this time of day.’
‘ It is, I think. I want to get something moving, only I’m not sure how. I reckon I need your knowledge.’
‘ I’m flattered. Shoot.’
‘ The cops in Lancashire have dug up a body, young girl, maybe a week ago now, I’m not sure. It made national headlines because it was found by a man and a woman having sex.’
‘ I read about it.’
‘ I got some information which points to Gilbert as the perp.’
Ahh, the word ‘perp’ made him smile nostalgically. ‘Offender’, which they used in England, was just so… dull.
‘ Gilbert? How good is the information?’ Donaldson wanted to know. ‘I don’t want to bother the cops with gossip.’
‘ It’s better than information, Karl.’ Myrna declared her hand. ‘It’s a witness. I’ve got one here who says she knows for sure it was Gilbert. I believe her, and from what I know of Gilbert I’d believe he’d easily be capable of murder. I just don’t know how to take this forwards… and there is a further complication.’
‘ Yep?’ He tried to sound positive.
‘ The girl will only talk to one person. It’s a cop she met a few years ago, some guy called Danny Furness.’
And that ‘guy’, Danny Furness, was at that very moment strolling through the rather grimy streets of Accrington, an East Lancashire town with great tradition but little else to show the modern world. Broadway was the main shopping street, now pedestrianised with the open market on one side and shops on the other.
The one Danny was looking for was at the end of a row of shops. Its huge plate-glass window was garishly covered in brightly lettered words which declared brashly, Everything-U-want — under 1 roof and that everything was permanently reduced. Danny went in and walked directly to the first member of staff she could identify. She flashed her badge and warrant card and asked to speak to the manager. She was led to the back stairs and up through an assault course of stock boxes to a first-floor office, where she was introduced to a woman who she immediately recognised as the former Mrs Joe Lilton.
The woman looked like Danny felt. She was a mess. Her stringy bleached hair was pulled back into a pony tail; her blotchy skin, puffed up around the cheeks, looked like too much alcohol had taken its toll; the smell of booze was one of the things Danny recalled from her previous encounter with this woman. She had a mouth which was permanently turned down at the corners and the skin around her thin lips was corrugated with age.
‘ You probably don’t remember me,’ Danny said, presenting her warrant card which the woman peered at suspiciously.
‘ No, you’re right. I don’t.’
‘ Look.’ Danny glanced quickly round the room. ‘I’m really sorry to barge in on you unexpectedly, but I’d like to talk to you. I need about half an hour of your time, but I don’t think talking in here is appropriate.’ She indicated the office. It was no place to sit and talk, particularly as Danny knew it would be a conversation of great delicacy. The room was a complete mess of papers, invoices and more stacked-up stock. And there was only one chair and a phone which rang constantly.
‘ I’m busy,’ the woman barked sharply.
Danny held her hands up placatingly. ‘I know you are, but so am I; I’m here doing some enquiries about the murder of a young girl in Blackpool. Her name is Claire Lilton. Her stepfather is your ex-husband, Joe Lilton.’
‘ I won’t make any apologies for this. He was a complete, utter, fucking bastard.’ She leaned over her cup of tea and hissed the words across to Danny. They were sitting in a cafe in the shopping centre, facing each other at a corner table. Danny had learned that since her divorce from Joe, the woman had reverted to her maiden name, Turner.
‘ In what way, Jackie?’
‘ Used to really slap me about. I should’ve got out years before, but the money was good… y’know?’ she admitted. ‘The money was hellish good.’ She sniffed.
‘ Why did you split up?’
Jackie Turner shifted uncomfortably, did not reply.
Danny saw she had struck some sort of chord. ‘What happened after the divorce?’
‘ He was a right bastard, but I screwed him as best I could.’ She lit a cigarette and Danny took a light from the match. ‘We had six shops then, all selling rubbish, mind, but little gold mines they were. He made sure I got the two least profitable ones and I even had to change the trading name, f’God’s sake. I sold one immediately, and ploughed the money into this one which has turned into a real good ‘un; I also got the house, but I couldn’t afford to keep it on, so I sold that and got myself a bungalow instead — in Wilpshire. Nice ‘n’ snobby… haven’t managed to find a bloke with much money yet, but I do all right.’ She gave a wistful smile. Danny warmed to her.
‘ And the kids?’
A shadow crossed her face momentarily, then cleared. ‘Kid — my daughter Julie.’ Danny’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the name. Then: ‘She’s twenty-four, married, got two kids of her own now, but it’s a marriage made in hell, if you know what I mean?’