A Killing Resurrected Page 13

  Appleyard had sat back in his chair and eyed them with distaste as they stood in the doorway of his office. He was a big man, heavy-set and fat. Molly remembered thinking his shirt buttons must have been double-sewn, considering the strain they were under. God help anyone standing in the way if one of them ever burst off. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal arms covered in hair, and his trousers were belted tightly beneath a bulging belly.

  He waved a grudging hand towards chairs piled high with books and glossy brochures. ‘Just shove that stuff on the floor,’ he told them, and continued to sit there while they cleared a space to sit down. Tregalles lifted the pile off a chair and set it carefully on the floor, but Molly took Appleyard at his word, and shoved a pile of brochures off her chair and let them spill across the floor. Appleyard had given her a hard look, but she’d ignored it and sat down.

  ‘Get on with it, then,’ he said irritably to Tregalles, ignoring Molly completely as he had throughout the rest of the interview. Not that it had lasted long. The man had pretty much repeated what they had read in the thirteen-year-old report, and it soon became clear that he’d been right about one thing – they were wasting their time with him.

  ‘There were four of them, they were covered from head to toe, they kept smacking those metal bars into the palm of their hands as if just waiting for an excuse to use them, and they took my money along with everyone else’s. That’s what I told the inspector or whatever he was back then, and I told him he needn’t come back unless he had my money with him. So, do you have my money, Sergeant? Because if not, you can stop wasting my time and get the hell out of my office, because I have better things to do than answer your idiotic questions.’

  Tregalles had tried to go on, but Appleyard had simply continued his harangue against the police, until the Sergeant finally gave up in disgust, and it was left to Molly to ‘thank’ the man for his cooperation.

  Peel Street was bordered on both sides by grim-looking council houses, and yet there was an almost festive air about the place. Small clusters of people stood or squatted around open front doors, smoking, chatting, supping beer from cans, cooling down after the heat of the day. At least a dozen children of all ages were playing football at one end of the short street, while a gang of teenagers on roller blades tested their skills on a rickety ramp made of plywood.

  Two women with prams stopped talking to eye Molly suspiciously as she checked the numbers and stopped in front of number 12. They exchanged meaningful glances and continued to watch. Trouble there again, was there? Haven’t seen that one from Social Services before. Must be new. The door opened and Sharon Jessop stuck her head outside to look around, then almost pulled Molly inside and closed the door. The two women exchanged knowing looks, then went on with their conversation.

  ‘Busybodies!’ Sharon muttered as she turned to lead the way down the narrow hall to the kitchen. They passed a closed door behind which could be heard the sound of shooting mixed with the wail of sirens. ‘Like I told you on the phone,’ said Sharon with a nod as they went past, ‘Laura’s in bed and Jimmy will be no bother. Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got to get this ironing done before I go to bed. Seems like there’s never enough hours in the day.’

  ‘Funny you should say that, Mrs Jessop,’ Molly said, ‘because I’ve only just finished mine from the wash I did last Sunday.’

  ‘Just call me Sharon,’ the woman said sharply. ‘Jessop might be my name, but it’s not one I’m proud of, and I’d just as soon not be reminded of it, thank you. What did you say your name was, again?’

  ‘DC Forsythe, when I’m being formal, but just call me Molly.’

  Sharon smiled tiredly. She would be about thirty-one, now, not that much older than Molly herself, but she looked older. Fine-boned and slim, she’d kept her figure, but the wide-set eyes were dull, her chestnut hair looked as if it could do with a trim, and the once-fine lines of her face were beginning to blur. And now that she could see it properly, the shadow beneath Sharon’s left eye looked more like a bruise, as did several marks on her bare arms.

  ‘It’s the kids, mostly, isn’t it?’ said Sharon wearily as she folded a well-worn T-shirt. ‘Not,’ she added hastily, ‘that I’d ever want to be without them, but they do make work, don’t they? Go through clothes and shoes in no time, and they’re so expensive now. You got kids?’

  Molly shook her head. ‘I’m not married,’ she said. ‘But I think I know what you mean. I have a couple of nephews and a niece.’

  Sharon drew a deep breath, set the iron aside, and said, ‘Sod the ironing! I’ve had enough for one day. Fancy a cup of tea?’

  ‘Thank you. That would be very nice. Anything I can do?’

  ‘No. Just sit yourself down while I put the kettle on and put these clothes away, then I’ll sit down and you can ask all the questions you like.’

  They chatted in a desultory sort of way while Sharon made the tea and set out a couple of plates. ‘They’re from Marks and Sparks,’ said Sharon a few minutes later as she offered Molly a biscuit, ‘and me working at Fairways – at least I am for now, but they’re talking about laying off, and I haven’t been there all that long compared to some of the others.’

  She sat down and took a biscuit herself. ‘Don’t seem to have time to bake, these days,’ she said. ‘Besides, they’re just as cheap to buy as make them. Tea all right, is it?’

  ‘Just the way I like it,’ Molly told her.

  ‘Good. Now, then, what is it you want to know?’

  ‘Tell me about the robbery. I’ve read the reports, of course, but tell me what you remember.’

  Sharon looked past Molly to focus on something in the distance. ‘I don’t think I can tell you much,’ she said slowly. ‘It all seems a bit vague, now, as if it happened to someone else rather than to Dad and me. Still, I can go through it again if you think it will help.’

  ‘Please,’ said Molly.

  ‘Well, we had the money out on the table, counting it and tallying up, when these four blokes came storming in through the back door. God! I nearly jumped out of my skin. One of them just swept all the crockery off the dresser on to the tiles. Smashed to smithereens, it was; some of Mum’s best china. It’s a good thing she wasn’t there to see it.’

  ‘Were you facing the door when they came in, or did you have your back to them?’

  ‘Facing them. Scared the shit out of me, I can tell you.’

  ‘You were gagged,’ Molly prompted. ‘Tell me how that was done.’

  ‘They just did it,’ Sharon said. ‘It all happened so fast. They grabbed Dad from behind and stuck tape over his mouth, then suddenly there was this bloke behind me, with an arm around my throat, pulling me out of my chair. Next thing I know he slaps tape over my mouth, then just held me there. He had this iron bar in his hand, and it felt cold and rough against the side of my face. The others had them as well, and I remember the leader and one of the blokes behind Dad kept slapping them into the palms of their hands. They had leather gloves on, and it was like drums beating. Gave me the shivers, it did. And when Dad tried to struggle, one of them pulled his head back with the bar against his throat like he was going to choke him. I tried to scream at them, but I couldn’t because of the tape. Then, suddenly, like there was a signal or something, they slammed those bars on the table so hard that everything jumped around and fell on the floor. I was so scared. It was like a nightmare, except I knew it was real.’

  Sharon went on to tell Molly about the leader holding up a card instructing her father to open the safe. ‘Dad kept shaking his head, so they pushed his head down on the table and started slamming those bars down so close to his head I really thought they were going to bash it in. I was petrified because I knew that Dad could be stubborn, but he gave in, thank God.’

  Even now, after all this time, Molly noted, Sharon’s voice shook as she said, ‘I really think they would have done it, too, if he hadn’t. I really do.’

  ‘How did he manage to convey that to them, with
head down and his mouth taped?’ Molly asked. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, Sharon,’ she added quickly, ‘it’s just that I’m trying to build a picture in my mind.’

  ‘He flapped his hands,’ Sharon said, and suddenly giggled. ‘I shouldn’t laugh,’ she said, recovering quickly, ‘but it’s funny how things like that stick in your mind. I mean they were holding Dad’s head down on the table and hammering away with those iron bars, money was jumping around all over the place, and there was Dad flapping his hands like mad, and all I could think of was how they looked like fish flopping about after they’re caught.

  ‘Then they let him up and he opened the safe,’ she ended soberly.

  ‘Is there anything about these men that stands out in your mind? Size, shape, anything? I know they didn’t speak, but is there anything at all you can . . .?’ Molly broke off as Sharon’s eyes slid away and colour rose in her face. ‘What?’ Molly demanded. ‘What have you remembered, Sharon?’

  ‘Nothing! Honest, it was nothing . . .’ She tried to look at Molly, but her eyes quickly slid away.

  ‘Please, Sharon,’ said Molly quietly, ‘it could be important.’

  Sharon tilted her head, and there was an odd little twist to her mouth as she said, ‘I don’t see how,’ and giggled. ‘I mean it’s not the sort of thing you’re looking for.’

  Molly was disappointed. For a moment she’d thought that perhaps the young woman had remembered something of importance, but apparently not. On the other hand it was best to make sure.

  ‘I’d still like to know,’ she said. ‘Sometimes it’s the smallest detail that makes all the difference.’

  ‘More tea?’ asked Sharon as she picked up the teapot. ‘Mine’s gone cold.’

  ‘No thank you, Sharon,’ said Molly evenly, ‘and I think you’re avoiding the question. Please, just tell me and let me decide if it is useful or not. We really do need help with this if we’re to find the people who committed those robberies and murders.’

  Sharon looked thoughtful as she refilled her cup and dropped in two lumps of sugar. ‘All right, then,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell my dad. OK?’

  Molly eyed her suspiciously. ‘Does it involve him directly? Because if it does, we might have to talk to him about it,’ she warned.

  Sharon, about to take a sip of tea, spluttered. ‘That’s the last thing you’ll have to do,’ she assured Molly. ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  Sharon set her cup aside. ‘I couldn’t say anything about it at the time,’ she said, ‘because Dad would have thrown a fit if he’d known, so I couldn’t tell your lot, either. Not that it would have made any difference.’

  ‘Tell us what, Sharon?’

  ‘About them not saying anything during the robbery. That inspector kept going on about it, and we both said they didn’t. But the one holding me did talk. Well, he didn’t really speak, at least not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but he was whispering in my ear while everybody was watching Dad open the safe.’

  ‘Whispering? Why?’

  The colour deepened in Sharon’s face. ‘Because he was feeling me up,’ she blurted. ‘He had one hand around my neck, and the other one up my blouse. I couldn’t say anything, because I had the tape over my mouth, and he was holding that bar in his other hand, and I didn’t know what he might do if I struggled. Besides, I thought Dad might do something rash if he saw what was going on.’

  Molly eyed Sharon suspiciously. ‘You’re telling me he was fondling your breasts with gloves on?’ she said. ‘Come on, Sharon, I’m not buying that.’

  ‘He took his glove off. Honest to God. I’m telling you, that’s what he did. Took his glove off and slid his hand up under my blouse. I mean why would I say that if he didn’t? And I’ve never told that to anyone till now.’

  ‘All right, Sharon; I believe you,’ Molly said. ‘You say he was whispering. What was he saying?’

  Sharon grimaced. ‘Typical man,’ she said. ‘One-track mind. You know what they’re like. He kept saying something like, “You like that, don’t you, Sharon? I know you do.” His mouth was right against my ear, and he kept saying it over and over again, while his hand was, well, you know, under my blouse, and I wasn’t wearing a bra.’

  ‘Was there any reason why he said those particular words?’ asked Molly.

  Sharon looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’ve told you what he said.’

  ‘With the emphasis on “I know you do”. Why would he say that, Sharon? Why did he say “I know”?’

  Sharon shrugged, but her eyes were everywhere except on Molly’s face.

  ‘Look, Sharon, I’m not here to embarrass you, and whatever you tell me now will remain in confidence, but the man knew your name and it’s possible that you knew the man. Did you recognize his voice or something about him?’

  Sharon lowered her head and clasped her hands in front of her. She remained in that position for some time before looking up to meet Molly’s gaze. ‘I didn’t recognize his voice,’ she said, ‘but it was like I should. Except I couldn’t place it, if you know what I mean. Honestly, I didn’t know who it was, and I still don’t. It was too muffled for that, but it sounded familiar somehow, and I’ve often wondered about it.’

  Sharon glanced furtively from side to side as if she half expected someone else to be listening, then leaned forward across the table and said, ‘Look, Molly, I was no angel when I was growing up, and I’d been out with my fair share of lads, so it could have been someone I’d been out with before. But I couldn’t say anything, could I? I mean, even if I had, it wasn’t as if I could have identified him or anything. Besides, my dad would have killed me.’

  Sharon might not have been able to identify the man, but it would have narrowed down the search considerably if she had told the police to start looking at her old boyfriends. ‘What about his voice, Sharon? Think. Was there anything distinctive about it? You said he called you by name, so most likely he was young, possibly about your own age. What about the way he spoke? Did he sound like a local man? Someone from this part of the country?’

  Sharon sighed. ‘Honestly, Molly, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I was scared, and yet it was sort of exciting as well, if you know what I mean. And he was keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear; just whispering, that’s all.’

  She paused, brow furrowed, lips pursed in thought. ‘Funny, but I never thought of that before,’ she said slowly. ‘He sounded local, but a bit more polished, if you know what I mean.’ Sharon sat back, shaking her head. ‘I just don’t know,’ she said ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘And you’ve never mentioned this to anyone else since that day?’

  Sharon snorted. ‘Would you?’ she challenged. ‘I mean it’s not exactly something you boast about, is it?’ She leaned forward. ‘Look, Molly,’ she said earnestly, ‘I’ll be honest with you. My mother died when I was seventeen, and I just went sort of wild after that. I had this girlfriend, Rachel; her parents were evangelicals, and very, very strict, and when they went away on some sort of missionary thing, she was left home alone. She was supposed to be studying for the same sort of work, but she was so sick and tired of being told that she would go straight to hell if she went to a dance or sang anything but hymns, that she really kicked over the traces, and it was parties and boys every chance we got. We went out looking to get laid. There were so many boys, I don’t even remember their names.’

  ‘Could the man behind you have been Barry Grant?’

  Sharon looked blank. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells,’ she said, ‘but then I never even knew the names of some of the boys we went with.’

  ‘But you do remember the robbery of the jeweller’s later that year, where two people were killed by the same men who robbed the Rose and Crown?’

  Sharon nodded, but looked puzzled by the question.

  ‘Barry Grant committed suicide a few days after that; I’m sure you must have heard about it. He was about your age, and Broadminster i
sn’t that big.’

  Sharon shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘I remember hearing about Mr Taylor being killed along with the woman from the jeweller’s, because we used to get our bread and pies from Taylor’s bakery, so we knew who he was. But I don’t remember anything about a suicide. Sorry, Molly, but I really don’t.’

  ‘What about Rachel?’ she asked. ‘Would she remember some of the names?’

  ‘She might,’ Sharon said without conviction. ‘Haven’t seen her in years, though. She went off with some bloke a couple of months before we were robbed, but I’ve no idea where they went. Haven’t heard from her since.’

  ‘What was Rachel’s last name?’

  Sharon frowned in concentration as she looked up at the ceiling. ‘It was a funny name,’ she said at last. Foreign, like. Could have been German or something like that. Sorry, but I really can’t remember.’

  Later, as Molly drove home and thought about what she’d heard, she couldn’t help wondering about Sharon’s memory, or lack of it when it came to names. She’d been clear enough about the details of the robbery, but couldn’t seem to remember a single name of the boys she’d been with, or that of her friend. And unless she was a much better actress than Molly gave her credit for, the name of Barry Grant had meant nothing to her.

  THIRTEEN

  Wednesday, July 15th

  Lisa Corbett slept in on Wednesday morning. At least it was late for Lisa, who was usually up by six and well into her morning exercises by six-fifteen. But this morning she’d decided this was going to be one of her free days. She did that every so often; giving herself a day off from her normal routine. Oh, she would still do her warm-up stretches and her regular daily run, but she would skip the hour of exercise in what she called her mini-gym that separated her bedroom from Roger’s.