The Sister(108)

‘All right, Tony? Anyone seen Billy, he never showed up at the club last night?’

‘No, mate, I haven’t. You know what he’s like when he’s got a few quid. Listen, I heard something. I don’t know if it’s true.’

‘Well, spit it out then, I ain’t got all day!’

‘It’s about Melissa.’

‘What about Melissa?’ he said holding his breath. How does he know? I ain’t told anyone.

‘Oh, f*ck, I hope it ain’t true.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I heard she’s been murdered by that Gasman.’

Lynch paused. ‘Are you sure?’ he said, adding with suspicion, ‘Where are you hearing this?’

‘Err; I heard it from someone who lives down the road to her. Old bill is crawling all over her place.’

The doorbell sounded. He glanced at the CCTV monitor; a man stared into the camera. Kennedy! ‘I’ll get back to you,’ he said as he disconnected. He walked out of his lounge, down the long hallway to the front of the house and opened the door.

‘What can I do for you, Detective?’

He brushed past without waiting for an invitation to enter. ‘Shut the door,’ Kennedy said.

Lynch closed it and pointed to one of the armchairs forming a horseshoe shaped reception area around a glass-topped coffee table. ‘Have a seat. What’s this about?’

The detective remained standing. ‘You don’t know? You surprise me.’

‘I heard about five minutes ago. What are you doing round my place, Kennedy?’

‘When was the last time you saw Melissa Lake alive?’

Blowing air in a tuneless whistle, he said, ‘She came to the club, two, possibly three days ago.’ He levelled his rival with a stare. ‘What about you?’

The DCI returned the stare. ‘It’s not about me, Lynch. It’s about you and you telling me anything you know that might help catch her killer.’

‘They know about you and her, do they?’ The briefest hesitation allowed him to continue. ‘Didn’t think so, or you'd have come with that side-kick of yours.’

‘This isn’t helping, Lynch. Wouldn’t you like to see us catch the person who did this?’

‘The Gasman?’ His expression grew dark. ‘Do me a favour. Let me catch him before you do, eh? And while I think of it, have you seen Billy Wharton lately?’

‘Why would you ask me that?’ Kennedy said, trying to look unperturbed.

That look just confirmed it. Lynch thought. ‘Nothing, just wondered, that’s all.’

Kennedy turned to leave. Lynch called him as he reached the door. ‘Kennedy, don’t you feel anything? She’s dead, and it’s like you never knew her.’

‘I was just thinking the same about you.’

He stepped out through the front door, raised his eyes momentarily to the heavens, and then walked away.





Chapter 93



Sunday, 25 March





Kennedy had many unanswered questions. Why would the Gasman kill her and not his other victims? He’d moved on to another one straight after her, and he didn’t kill her. Was it an accident? Had he starved her of oxygen just too long? Her safe was opened. Did she catch him robbing her, regaining consciousness after he’d gassed and raped her, so he’d gassed her again, overdosing her?

Lynch was wrong about Kennedy. Although he kept outwardly calm, inside he was disconsolate. Because of the nature of his relationship with her, he had to keep it to himself. Apart from losing one of his parents, there wasn’t much worse that could happen to him. He sat in the quiet of his office, comparing the loss to the pain he felt, when he first learned of his mother’s incurable illness, but this was different. He still had his mother, and anyway, he reasoned, he didn’t love Marilyn. She was an infatuation.





When he’d first found out about his mother’s illness, he bought himself a personal mobile phone. Only his parents had the number. He kept it tucked away, set to silent in the inside breast pocket of his jacket, and he carried it everywhere, transferring it from his pocket to the coffee table at home and then to his bedside at night. He tested it to make sure he’d feel it when it rang, hoping he’d not feel that insistent vibration for a long time. He smiled, remembering the day after her diagnosis. His dad had left her to go shopping. She could no longer get about under her own steam for fear of falling over. The phone buzzed urgently in his pocket. He fumbled for it quickly, fearing that this was it – the emergency call.

It was his mother; he could hear her softly crying.

‘Mum...Mum? What is it?’

‘Oh, Jack, I didn’t want to bother you, but I can’t get back in bed, I’ve been trying not to be a bother to anyone, but I’m cold and your father’s gone shopping, he never said when he was coming back’

He looked at his watch; it was almost lunchtime, he would, for once, take a break. ‘I’ll be round in a minute.’

By the time Kennedy arrived and let himself in, she’d somehow managed to get herself back into the bed.

He sat in the armchair looking at her sternly. ‘I told you I was on my way, didn’t I? You could have fallen and hurt yourself.’ She burst into tears and looked at the floor; he realised she hadn’t been out of bed at all. He transferred himself onto the bed next to her and put an arm round her shoulders, shocked by how thin she’d become, and as he held her hand he could feel every bone beneath her parchment-like skin. He pulled her into his chest, resting his chin on her head. ‘It’s all right, Mum,’ he said, patting her back as if she were a child.