34

‘Sorry for what, boss?’

‘Crystal ball’s in for a service, mate. How’d I know?’ Bev licked cappuccino froth off her spoon. She’d phoned Mac mainly to keep him posted, not to mention kill a bit of time waiting for Stacey to show. Spotting the big lass, even in mufti, shouldn’t be a problem. The corner window table in Café Gio had a great bird’s-eye view on the street, almost panoramic. The indie coffee bar in Moseley was the lawyer’s call. Lived round the corner, apparently. Suited Bev, her place being a ten-minute walk.

‘Don’t feel bad about it though, Mac,’ she said breezily, ‘I just thought it was your time of the month.’

‘What the hell you on about?’

She smiled, could almost see the knotted brow, Elvis lip. Mac did a good flummoxed.

‘Come on, Tyler.’ She teased. ‘Don’t be coy. That one when you’re due a bright idea.’

‘You cheeky git. I’m on a day off here, you know. I’m not even getting paid to be insulted.’

She laughed. ‘Bloody good job you’re not in or you’d be up on a disciplinary. Cheeky git? Get it right – cheeky git, ma’am.

‘Ooh, I’m quaking in my boots.’

‘I should coco.’ Going by the noise of chinking glasses, he was sinking a jar somewhere. ‘Nah, mate, far as Manners’ dying word goes your guess is as good as mine. Well, nearly.’ Bev’s guesswork included: sorry for killing himself; sorry for how crap his life had panned out; sorry for causing his family untold grief. Course, it could be a blend of all three plus any number of reasons they’d never be privy to. The simple fact was, only Aiden knew why he’d written the word ‘Sorry’. The cops would likely never find out the answer – given he wasn’t around to ask.

‘Ready for another, our Bev?’ The offer came from the barrista beaming at her over the counter. Giovanni had a Birmingham accent louder than a Hawaiian shirt shop.

‘Twist my arm any day, Gio.’ She threw in a wink and thumbs up.

‘Twist your what?’ Mac asked, all innocence.

‘You’re so funny, Tyler.’

‘Better be. Got a gig next weekend.’

‘Moving on,’ Bev drawled. ‘ I still think Worcester was worth the trip. Lady La-di-dah made no secret how much she loathed Shannon. If there’s anything dodge going on there I can’t believe she’d have been so vitriolic.’ Or candid, given she’d brought the name up first. Bev mouthed a ‘Ta’ as Gio brought the coffee over.

‘And the husband?’

‘He wasn’t exactly in a mood to take questions, mate. But as I say he’s blind or at least partially-sighted. So go figure. There’s a bro who lives abroad. Might be worth a quick check call.’ She couldn’t see Powell stumping up for a flight to Biarritz. Mind, she couldn’t see the blond subbing the bus fare to Balsall Heath.

Eyes narrowed, Bev clocked Stacey elbowing her way along the pavement. The farmers’ market always brought the locals out in droves. ‘Right-oh. Enough of this jawing. I’ve got people to probe, places to recce. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, pet.’

‘That gives me oyster carte blanche, then.’

‘Come again?’

‘Oyster card. Carte blanche. Geddit?’

‘Bloody hell, Mac.’ Peter Kay can rest easy. ‘I see where you’re coming from, but you might want to work on that a bit.’

‘Thanks a bunch. Hey, give my regards to Stace.’

‘Laters.’ Chuckling, she ended the call while still in a good mood. The boost was mostly down to a spot of retail therapy. Frankie was now the proud owner of a new pan and Bev had bagged not one but two frocks in the John Lewis sale. If Oz Khan played his cards right, she might even christen one tonight. She gave a slow unwitting smile. Come to think of it, he’d already had a bit of luck. If she’d not been at a loose end when he phoned, she’d have told him where to go.

‘All right, sarge? It’s bloody heaving out there.’ A hot and sweaty Stacey stowed a shopping bag full of fruit and veg under the table, flopped onto the next chair and fanned her face with both hands.

‘Peachy, me.’

‘Yeah, the grin was a bit of a giveaway.’ She gave Gio a friendly wave.

‘Usual, bab?’ It was.

‘Didn’t know you lived round here,’ Bev said, slipping the phone in a pocket. Flat just off Wake Green Road, five years she’d been there. They swapped a few favourite haunts and Bev mooted going out for a swift half one night. ‘You single, Stace?’

‘Footloose and fella-free, me.’ She smiled. ‘I might just go look at the cakes. Fancy one? The caramel brownie’s to die for.’

‘Nah. You’re all right.’ She needed to save some room for dinner and she’d already scarfed a load of ginger biscuits. Mind, with the lawyer due in five, Stacey would have to get it down her neck fast. Bev watched her exchange a bit of banter with Gio and the girls. The loose cotton gear did a lot more for her than the serge uni. The pink suited her, too.

‘Sure you don’t want to try a bit?’ Smiling, Stacey plonked herself down again.

‘Go on, then.’ Well it’d be rude not to. Doing her a favour really. They demolished it in three minutes flat.

‘You might’ve saved me a taste.’ The warm Irish accent held the hint of a smile. Bev didn’t need to turn her head to know the legal eagle had landed.

Courtesy of a couple of websites, she also knew what the woman looked like, where she’d been born, what year, degrees held, area of expertise. Dare say with a bit more digging she’d have come up with her bra size. Wiping sticky fingers down her jeans, Bev stood and offered what had to be a still gooey handshake. ‘Ms Riley?’

‘Miriam.’ No doubt about the smile this time. The fact she shook hands without a visible wince earned her a couple of Bev Brownie points.

‘Bev Morriss. This is Stacey, Constable Hardy. Thanks for seeing us at such short notice.’ The brief’s eyes were the shade of a dark rain cloud and Bev had a feeling they didn’t miss much.

‘I’m more than happy you’re looking into the matter. Please. Sit down. Can I get you another drink?’

Orders taken, she walked briskly to the bar. Bev and Stacey exchanged bemused glances. A defence lawyer shelling out on coffee for cops? Quite a turn-up for the law books. She didn’t look your typical brief, either. If Bev had to come up with a word to describe her it would be funky: razor-cut white hair, alabaster skin, slash of scarlet lippie same shade as the linen shift dress. If she didn’t already know Riley’s age – fifty-six – she’d put her in her early forties.

‘Here we go. Help yourselves to a bite.’ She’d exceeded orders: bought another plate of brownies. Bev stifled a groan. At this rate she’d have sod all to wear tonight.

Soon as Riley sat down she offered to kick off. ‘I’m a dab hand at talking and eating at the same time. Years of practice.’

You and me both. God knew how often Bev had scoffed lunch al desko or in the motor, simultaneously chatting up forensics on the phone for an early steer. ‘Be our guest.’

Bev made the occasional mental note but didn’t interrupt the flow. As befitting a brief, the delivery was clear and concise, the argument sound. She backed it up with flamboyant hand gestures, expressive features, and a voice so animated it sounded like it came with italics. Bev had heard the bare bones of the story from Stacey; the lawyer added some flesh. In a nutshell, Hilary Cash was no more likely to commit suicide than Miriam Riley would make next Lord Chief Justice. Didn’t mean she was right, though.

‘I attended the scene,’ Bev said. ‘We both did.’ Stacey was chewing cake or might have added more than a nod.

‘We read the note, saw the empty blister packs. Given the amount of pills she popped, it struck us both she meant business.’

Riley smiled as if in agreement, then: ‘And if that’s what you were meant to think?’

‘Go on.’ They hunkered forward in sync.

‘You’re aware of Tom’s accident?’

‘Fell off a ladder, died from his injuries. I wondered if that’s what maybe pushed her over the edge? Said the same to the daughter.’

‘Hilary never believed for a minute it was accidental.’

Bev started telling her about the police inquiry, the cameras at the footie match.

‘I’m aware of all that.’ Dabbing her lips with a napkin. ‘I know it had nothing to do with the neighbour, but Hilary was convinced she saw someone out there.’

‘And you?’ Bev asked. ‘Do you think the death was suspicious?’

‘The more I’ve thought about it, the more convinced I am they both were. My belief is they were both murdered.’

Thank God Bev didn’t have a mouth full of coffee. ‘That’s quite a statement. Have you got any grounds for it?’ As in motive.

‘That’s more your territory.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry I only have a few more minutes.’

What a cop-out. ‘Have you spoken to the daughter?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

Bev noted the slight hesitation. ‘She’s pretty sure her mum wouldn’t do away with herself. But then, they were very close.’

‘Is that what she told you?’ Riley raised an eloquent eyebrow.

‘Are you saying different?’

Another pause. ‘When it suited Sally they were.’

‘For instance?’

‘When Tom died, Hilary virtually begged Sally to move back home, if only for a month or two. Hilary was lonely, vulnerable, at a low ebb. It wouldn’t have hurt the girl to stay there for a while but she refused. She’d just started living with someone and didn’t want to risk harming the relationship.’

‘She’s back there now, though,’ Stacey said.

Riley’s eyes widened a tad. ‘It’s news to me.’

Bev felt like she had a brand new bulletin to contend with. ‘How did Sally feel when her mum started seeing someone?’

‘Told her she was making a fool of herself. You’d think she’d have been pleased, wouldn’t you?’

Bev turned her mouth down. Maybe thought it was too soon after her dad’s death. Could be she saw the bloke as some sort of gold-digger.

‘Hilary and this guy?’ Bev took the last sip of coffee. ‘You think it was serious?’

‘I know it was. But why not ask him?’ She had a card in her bag ready to hand over. Greg Yeats, antiques dealer. Bev knew the company. He’d not exactly be short of a bob or two. When Bev glanced up, Riley was standing.

‘Let me know how you get on.’

Hold your horses, love. It was a hell of a lot to take in and she suspected the lawyer knew more than she’d let on. ‘Just for the record, Miriam, are you suggesting they were killed for their cash?’

‘As I said,’ – she cocked her head – ‘motive’s your territory. If I can help further, you know where I am.’

Bev nodded. Also knew the lawyer’s speciality was litigation. Mostly family disputes; mainly over wills.

And what was the old saying about money?

Root of all evil, wasn’t it?