The Sister(63)

‘Well actually, sir, you might like to know that the second hand shop we ran in the High Street? We made a profit when we liquidated the stock.’

Kennedy shot him with a look that wiped the smile from his face, adding, ‘For someone so allegedly smart, the remarks you come out with are stupid at times.’

Tanner followed up quickly with a theory. ‘You know I was thinking, sir, none of the stuff he’s stolen has come to light anywhere. It could be he’s got his own smelter at home, or maybe he doesn’t do it for the money.’

Tanner’s last remark had Kennedy thinking.

‘But why else would he do it? From what we know, he gets some gratification from the act itself, but he gets his real kicks playing with the victims afterwards, like he...’ Kennedy trailed off, biting his lower lip in deep concentration. A small piece of the jigsaw looked like a fit; he tested it from a number of different angles.

‘You were saying, sir?’ Tanner prompted.

Kennedy held his hand up, indicating he didn’t want his thoughts disturbed. Although they had known each other for a long time, Kennedy insisted that he called him ‘sir' in the office. Outside of work, it was John, but Tanner called him ‘sir' all the time, rather than risk forgetting. In the office, Kennedy allowed only Theresa and his superiors to do that.

Kennedy stared at Tanner, who shifted in his seat. ‘Sir, you were saying?’ Tanner repeated.

Returning to focus, Kennedy said, ‘It doesn’t matter. Have we checked out links with organised crime, what about Danny Lynch? He uses pubs and clubs as a front for all kinds of illicit activities – nothing there?’

‘Nothing so far, Lynch has been squeaky clean for months, sir.’

Kennedy scratched his chin. ‘That means he’s up to something…’ Looking at his watch, it was almost six o' clock. Where does the time go? ‘I don’t know about you, but I could do with a beer, what do you say?’

Tanner shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sure, why not?’

‘I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes. How are we getting on with the leads from Crimewatch, by the way?’





Chapter 49



When Melissa lost her job as a tenant liaison officer at the local civic centre, she wasn’t unemployed for long. She remembered a promoter handing her a card at a carnival event, where Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were twirling around on a float as it passed by. Also on board were Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra, Jackie and President Kennedy, they had one thing in common; they were all look-a-like impersonators.





She met the agent in a bookstore near the town centre, and he took her through the back, into the dingy office where he worked. The desk was a mess of paperwork. ‘Don’t touch nothin’,’ he said, ‘I know exactly where everything is.’

‘You know when I first saw you; I came back here, and I said to Manny, you should see this girl. She looks just like Marilyn, and she isn’t even trying.’

‘Who’s Manny?’ she asked him.

‘He’s my dad, came over from New York after the war and started this bookstore with my mom.’

‘Are you an American?’

He leaned in as if divulging a secret. ‘Half-American when my dad’s around and when I’m round my mum, half-English.’ He winked at her, pointed and made a gun cocking noise with his mouth. She noticed he switched accents halfway through the sentence.

‘Can you get me any work?’ She smiled, hoping he’d say yes.

He looked her up and down, and stroked his chin. ‘Hmmm, now that depends a lot on you.’

She felt her cheeks redden. ‘Are you propositioning me?’

Taken aback, he blustered. ‘No, no, that’s not what I meant at all,’ he said into his fist. ‘I was just saying if you were to pad your top out or even better, have a boob job – I could get you lots of work.’

Max delivered assignments exactly as he’d promised and just as he’d said; her career really took off after she had the enhancements. By this time, she’d created her own website and taken to calling herself Marilyn Mooner.

It wasn’t long before she found more lucrative work for Monroe impersonators, but for that she had to make herself available for private hire. Booked to appear at a party arranged by CID officers to make the fortieth birthday of one of their colleagues ‘special', she was to sing one song, then mingle with guests afterwards. As she sang 'Happy Birthday to you', she sashayed towards the birthday boy, pausing twice on her way over to him, spreading her arms wide, making little up gestures with her hands, to rouse the guests into cheering louder. Literally making a song and dance of it, she pushed him down onto a chair and sat on his lap stroking his hair as she drew out the final 'Mr President'. The party went wild.

It marked the beginning of a torrid affair with the birthday boy, whose name was by a strange quirk of fate, John Kennedy.

She also did appearances with ‘Frank Sinatra’, ‘President Kennedy’ and other impersonators. Hamming it up for other people’s entertainment, she loved it.

Soon she was mixing with people on the fringes of the performance world, getting invites to parties attended by B-list celebrities. She loved the champagne and cocaine, the lifestyle and the glamour, and she discovered a love of money she’d never had before. It seduced her into surrendering her values, chipping away at them bit by bit.