“She never mentioned any problems, did she? Nuisance phone calls? Any threatening emails? Strange people hanging around.”
“We have a security guard to make sure strange people don’t hang around here.” Helen said. “And no, she never mentioned anything like that. Why are you asking all these questions, you know who killed her. Hannah McShane.”
“It’s all just routine, Mrs Trent.” Hazel said
“It’s all just foolishness. If you’re after new evidence I can’t tell you anything I didn’t tell that other detective.”
Yes, and Hazel knew what she thought of him.
“No, I don’t know of any threats, strange people, harassment….we don’t get those things here. Or we didn’t. Sometimes I think this place should be gates as Carandini Court is. They never get trouble there.”
Hazel was inclined to believe Carandini Court never got any trouble because the local gangster, Victor Monk had a house there. “Thanks for your time, Mrs Trent. If I need anything else I’ll know where to find you.”
Hazel left, feeling unsatisfied. Neither witness was entirely reliable. Helen Trent was better, but not by much. She stood in the road and watched a dark red Range Rover with tinted windows roll by. She made a note of the licence plate. It was similar to the one she’d seen the other day.
Someone was very interested in her investigation.
* *
Hannah McShane watched the cars drive away. She stepped out from behind the low wall where she had been crouched. Hannah was a small, slightly built teenager. Very pale skinned and blonde hair so fair it was close to colourless. She wore thick spectacles, though not as a disguise. She could barely see beyond her own nose. She hadn’t worn them in court because she didn’t like the glasses. Ever since she was twelve she had to wear the bloody things.
She wore a thick, fleece lined khaki anorak with the hood down. This city had Godawful weather. All the time. Her skirt was short and she wore knee length boots because that’s what she believed was sexy. Hands deep in her pockets she contemplated what she had seen.
In truth she hadn’t seen anything. A cop she didn’t know was checking up on people she had never met. Hannah knew all the police round here. That woman hadn’t been like any she’d seen before. Well she had Victor Monk’s people after her.
Hannah tried to work out what that meant. Probably that Monk didn’t know who killed Gloria and was keeping an eye on the cops. Monk scared her, though she’d never seen him. She did know some people who worked for him and they were creepy. At least none of them had come looking for her. She’d kept her ears open but there was no one looking. No one even interested.
Bernadette had said that would be the case. Hannah hadn’t been too sure at first. People said a lot of stuff that wasn’t true. They said they’d do stuff but they never did.
Bernadette McLaren was different. She didn’t lie to you. She didn’t say she’d do something, then not bother. Hannah knew she could trust Bernie. Sure she was a bit strange, but she was religious.
On one level Hannah was more scared of Bernadette McLaren than she was of Victor Monk. Not because Hannah believed in Heaven or Hell. In any case Bernie never talked that way to her. Or anyone that she knew. Bernie was scary because, if she did think Hannah was guilty, she’d turn her over to the police in a heartbeat.
Still, Bernie didn’t believe she was guilty. Had fixed her up with a lawyer and everything. Even got her off. OK, Hannah was innocent anyway, but Bernie had probably helped get the right result.
With any luck she’d also told the cops to keep off Hannah’s back for a while. Or Monk had. Hannah didn’t know who the cops were more scared of. Monk or Bernie.
Now there was this new cop. Hannah didn’t like the look of this.
She moved away from The Keys. Maybe it would make sense to keep a low profile until it all blew over.
Hands in her pockets, head down against the threatening rain, Hannah McShane moved away.
WOTR C6
CHAPTER SIX.
Gloria Kelsey’s home was just like all the others here. Even the police tape had been removed. She watched the Range Rover roll slowly down the street and round the corner out of sight. Then she walked up to the front door and fished a set of keys from her pocket.
Hazel let herself in.
The house was clean and smart. It looked very modern and was tastefully decorated. The photographs on the walls were of recognisable local scenery. Once outside the city the surrounding countryside was very scenic. Hazel assumed Gloria had taken the pictures. Most were colour but there were a couple of atmospheric black and white prints. Gloria had been a really good photographer. Also a lucky one to find so many days when it wasn’t raining.
Hazel wandered through to the main living room. Her first thought was there was a lot of unnecessary wood and stone on show. The place looked old fashioned. As if Gloria had been trying to recreate a scene from a Victorian book or film. The lighting was dispersed around the walls. Candle shaped frosted bulbs that probably gave a softer more diffused light. The fireplace had the most amount of stone. Hazel ran her hand over it. Real stone too. Grey and pink. It looked elegant…well it looked, to Hazel, a touch decadent and not in keeping with the rest of the house. There was a lot of brass too.
Hazel didn’t care for brass. It was a dislike she had inherited from her mother. Brass meant cleaning. Housework was time consuming enough without collecting more.
She felt the huntsman’s horn and horseshoes were a bit much.
Idly Hazel wondered if Gloria had any connection with the local hunt. She tried to remember who was connected with it, but it was a long time since she’d policed the hunt. These days the hunt was a drag hunt and she couldn’t recall if they had ever caught anything in their whole history. Hazel didn’t know much about fox hunting. Probably all the local foxes had moved into the city where they could happily rifle through the bins. Their numbers were kept in check by cars.
She made a note about that.
The curtains were the next thing to interest her. They were expensive looking purple velvet with gold trim. She felt them. Very thick.
The television set was in a stone alcove and connected to the usual boxes to record and play various media. The television was large and looked expensive.
Next to it was a media player. It was a modern retro style. A lot of wood and ornamentation wrapped around twenty first century electronics. Hazel opened a wooden cabinet and studied the dvds inside. Gloria, it seemed, liked rom coms and musical comedies. A lot of the movies were very well known.
Hazel looked back at the fireplace. Traditional stone look aside the fireplace was very modern and electronic. A white sheepskin rug was in front of it. Actually there were several rugs. Three more. All sheepskin. Two brown and one black. The sofa was leather, brown and looked well worn. It was also very large. There was a recliner near the television. Beyond that There was no other furniture.
Hazel left the room and tried another door. The kitchen.
This was more like it. This was in keeping with the overall style of the house. Very modern.
As she looked around, a door opened and closed.
It was a very audible sound, and not one that was concealed. Hazel pushed her jacket back slightly and rested her hand on the mark one Sestra Taser on her belt. She stepped into the hallway.
“Hello, Sergeant Vernon. I’ve not seen you for at least a month. I hope you have all the right warrants to be here.”