‘How could you tell she hadn’t?’
‘Her hair was still dry. Usually it was a bit damp at the ends. Like she hadn’t bothered to use the hairdryer. And there wasn’t that smell of chlorine about her.’
‘Thank you.’ Vera gave him her biggest grin. ‘You should think of joining the police. You’re wasted here.’
Then she was off on the prowl again. No Karen on reception, of course. She was at home mourning her son. A skinny young woman who recognized Vera sat in Karen’s place and let her through without a word. She found Ryan Taylor in his office.
‘You’ll have heard about Danny Shaw.’
‘Of course.’
‘What’s the word in the hotel? They’ll all be talking about it.’ Vera perched on the corner of his desk. Looking down on his small round head, she saw his hair was thinning at the crown.
‘They’re scared,’ Taylor said. ‘Mrs Lister’s death, that was a bit exciting. Nobody really knew her. It’s like watching a horror movie on the telly, isn’t it? I mean, you quite enjoy being scared, but you know it’s not real.’
‘But Danny’s death was real?’
‘Yeah, we didn’t all like him, but we knew him. I suppose people are wondering who’ll be next. We’re all selfish bastards at heart, aren’t we?’
‘Anything else unusual here?’ Because something about his manner had made her suspicious. A bit like the young waiter, he was weighing up whether he should talk to her or not.
‘Lisa didn’t come in this morning. She was due in at eight. She rang in sick. I can’t remember the last time she was ill. Probably a coincidence.’
‘Sure,’ Vera said. ‘Bound to be.’ But that sent her on the move again. Back to her car with Lisa’s address on a scrap of paper in her hand. Another trip east towards the city.
Lisa lived with her mother in a small red-brick house on a council estate in the west end of the city. There was a view from the end of the street across a business park to the Tyne. Perhaps the father still technically lived there and was in prison, or perhaps he’d moved out. In any event there was no sign of him. Half the houses in the street were empty, boarded up, and it looked as if kids had been inside setting fires. Some of the gardens were piled with rubbish. But Lisa’s home was spotless. The grass on the small patch of lawn had been cut and there were pots along the path, planted with primulas. Inside, a smell of furniture polish and disinfectant that hit Vera as soon as the door was opened.
A woman stood there. She had Lisa’s small features and her hair might once have been blonde. Now the colour came out of a bottle and it hadn’t taken properly. Blotchy and uneven, the result was piebald, part chestnut and part brass. But who was Vera to criticize?
‘Is Lisa home, pet?’
The woman was only small, but she stood her ground like a fighting dog. She could smell police a hundred yards away.
‘She’s at work.’
‘No, she’s not.’ Vera let her tiredness show in her voice. The sugar rush and effect of the caffeine had worn off. ‘I’ve just come from there. Don’t piss me about; I’m not in the mood. Tell her it’s Vera Stanhope, and then let me in so that I can take the weight off my legs.’
And perhaps it was that last phrase that worked the magic. Lisa’s mam recognized the exhaustion of the working woman, stood aside and showed Vera into the smart front room, never used during the day except for visitors. At the same time there were footsteps on the stairs and Lisa was there. She’d been listening in. She was pale and thin.
‘I didn’t do it,’ she said. The words were out before she reached the foot of the stairs, spoken through the open door of the living room. ‘I didn’t kill Danny Shaw.’
‘Oh, pet, I didn’t think for a moment you had.’
‘I heard it on the news, and I thought everyone would believe it was me. Want it to be me.’
Vera saw then that this had been a wasted trip. Lisa had thrown a sickie because she couldn’t face the accusations of her colleagues. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’ll arrest the killer, then they’ll have something else to talk about.’
‘Will you? You know who it is then?’
Christ, Vera thought, what can I say? ‘Another couple of days and it’ll all be over.’ She hoisted herself to her feet. Lisa’s mother was talking about tea, but Vera had a sort of promise to keep and she didn’t have the time. On the doorstep she paused and turned back to Lisa.
‘It was Danny Shaw doing the thieving, wasn’t it?’
Lisa nodded. ‘I saw him once in the staffroom. He didn’t know I was there.’
‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’
She only shrugged, but Vera knew the answer anyway. Lisa had been brought up not to grass and, anyway, who would believe her?
Vera was getting into her car when her mobile rang. It was Joe Ashworth to say that Connie still hadn’t returned home and he was starting to worry.
Chapter Thirty
Joe Ashworth spent most of the day trying to track down Connie and Alice. First he went into town and found Frank, Connie’s ex, at work in the theatre close to the Quayside. Sarah had dragged Joe there to see a couple of plays before the arrival of the kids and he’d usually had a good time despite himself. And despite the arty clientele hanging around in the bar, posing before the show.
Frank was sitting outside with a group of other people smoking. He was dark and thin, with the sort of brooding good looks that Sarah went for. When Joe asked for a word in private, he stubbed out his cigarette and took Joe inside. They sat in the back row of the theatre itself. The stage was being dressed for a play and occasionally someone would wander on to shift a bit of furniture, but the stagehands took no notice of the two men in the audience.
‘So you haven’t heard from her?’ Ashworth couldn’t tell what the man beside him was thinking. He seemed to be preoccupied and Ashworth wondered if his mind was more on the production than on his ex-wife and daughter. Certainly his attention was fixed on the stage.
‘Not since I phoned her to tell her about Jenny Lister. Alice was going to come to stay with me and Mel this weekend.’
‘And you have no idea where she might be?’ Ashworth thought if his wife and kids had disappeared, he’d be a bit more concerned than Frank seemed to be.
‘She’s only been gone for a couple of hours, hasn’t she? She could be anywhere. Shopping. Coffee with a mate.’
And Ashworth realized that he was the one behaving strangely. It was true after all. He was over-reacting. ‘Could you let me have Connie’s mobile number? We didn’t get it from her.’
Now Frank did turn towards him to stare. Ashworth felt uncomfortable under the gaze, almost as if he’d been caught propositioning Connie. Perhaps he should explain that his interest was purely professional, but that would make the situation even more embarrassing. He would be seen to be protesting too much. Frank jotted a number on the corner of a sheet of paper torn from his notebook. ‘The press made her life torture,’ he said. ‘And now the media circus is back again. You can hardly blame her for wanting to escape for a while.’
‘Could you give me the names and numbers of people who might be putting her up,’ Ashworth said. ‘We need her to identify a suspect. If she gets in touch, tell her we’ll be discreet.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Frank obviously had little faith in the discretion of the police. ‘Just like last time, when you threw her to the wolves and then did nothing to protect her.’
For the rest of the day Joe tried calling Connie whenever he had a moment free. Her landline at the cottage and her mobile. Knowing, after the first few attempts, that it was a waste of time, but still giving it a go in a way that was almost superstitious. The mobile was either switched off or the battery had run down. The first few times he left a message. After that he didn’t bother. He didn’t want her to feel cornered by him too. There was no answering service on the landline. He let it ring for ten seconds each time, then replaced the receiver.