A Killing Resurrected (27 page)

Paget was almost afraid to ask. Almost everyone they had spoken to had done their best to distance themselves from Barry Grant. Hardly surprising, perhaps, since no one wanted to be associated with the boy who had confessed to being part of a gang that had killed two people.

‘How well did you know Barry?' he asked Loretta.

‘Well enough to know he was a bad influence,' she said. ‘He was always showing off, talking about things he'd done or was going to do. He was such a cocky kid. I just didn't like him, and I didn't want him anywhere near my son, Tony. Barry was two or three years older than Tony, and Tony thought he was wonderful. Followed him around every chance he got. Fortunately, that ended when Barry went off to university. Although . . .'

Loretta fell silent, leaving the word hanging in the air. Paget was about to ask another question, but held back, sensing there was more to come.

Loretta drew a deep breath, and there was sadness in her eyes as she said, ‘Perhaps things would have been different if Barry
hadn't
gone away. At least Tony wouldn't have gone looking for someone to take his place, and he might still be alive.'

Sam Bergman reached out and took his wife's hand in his own. ‘You did the best you could, my dear,' he said soothingly. ‘Please don't blame yourself.' He looked across at Paget. ‘Tony was a good boy,' he said quietly, ‘but he was easily led. After this Grant boy went away, Tony got in with the wrong crowd; got into drugs, and died of an overdose a couple of months later. He'd just turned seventeen. Loretta didn't know anything about it until it was too late.'

Loretta withdrew her hand and looked at Paget. ‘Sorry,' she said. ‘It's just that when you mentioned Barry Grant, it all came back again. Why are you asking about him?'

‘Because he is the person I mentioned at the beginning. The one who drove the van in each of the robberies. He left some notes behind when he died, but they never came to light until a week or so ago and, as I said, he didn't name any of the others, so—'

‘He's dead?' Loretta asked sharply.

‘That's right. You didn't know? He committed suicide a couple of days after the robbery.'

Loretta shook her head. ‘No, I didn't know,' she said, with a questioning glance at her husband.

Sam shook his head. ‘I don't remember hearing anything about it,' he said, ‘but if I'd known at the time that he was one of them, I'd have killed the murdering little sod myself!'

It seemed strange that neither of them had known about Barry's death, but thinking about it now, Paget could see how that could happen. Sam and Loretta would have been preoccupied with their own problems, and the suicide had not been given a lot of play in the local media.

Grace looked at Paget, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. He caught the look and nodded for her to go ahead. ‘You mentioned David Taylor, Mrs Bergman,' she said. ‘You said that Barry used to “hang around” with him. Do you remember any other friends of Barry's . . . or of David's?'

Loretta thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘I wouldn't have known that much about Barry if it hadn't been for Tony,' she said. ‘I had to keep an eye on him right from the time he was quite small, because he was far too trusting; he would go along with anyone and do almost anything they suggested, so I always tried to make sure I knew who he was with, but it became almost impossible as he grew older. As for young David, when I said Barry used to hang around with him, it always seemed to me that David would like to be rid of him, but couldn't quite bring himself to see him off. David always struck me as a nice boy, quiet, always polite, and his brother was much the same.' She smiled. ‘I think that must have come from their mother's side,' she said, ‘because they certainly didn't get it from their father.'

‘George was all right,' her husband protested. ‘I know you thought he was a bit coarse at times, but he was a good friend.'

‘I'm not denying that, Sam,' Loretta said softly, ‘but you have to admit he was pretty hard on the boys; they could never live up to his expectations, and he was even harder on them after Lydia died.' Loretta saw the question in Grace's eyes. ‘Lydia Taylor, George's wife,' she explained. ‘She was the buffer between George and the boys, and I think it literally wore her out in the end. She died when they were in their teens. Cervical cancer.'

‘You knew the family well, then?' said Grace.

Loretta shook her head. ‘I wouldn't say that,' she said, ‘but I lived just up the street from the bakery. After my husband died, I sold the house and Tony and I moved into a flat above the tobacconist's on the corner. I first met Lydia at an art course we both attended when the children were small, and we became quite friendly. But then Lydia stopped coming, which was a pity, because she had talent. Apparently George thought it a waste of time and money, so he told her to drop it, and she did. I used to talk to her in the shop quite regularly, but it was never the same after that. It was almost as if she was afraid to spend time talking in case George disapproved. And George was just as hard on the boys after their mother died.'

Sam was shaking his head. ‘Be fair, Loretta,' he said. ‘It can't have been any picnic trying to raise two teenage boys after their mother died, and run a business as well, especially a bakery. He told me Lydia had always been too soft with them, and they needed discipline.'

‘Discipline is one thing, Sam,' Loretta said, ‘but those kids worked hard in that bakery, and yet he was never satisfied. You know how he used to yell at them, Sam. We could hear him out there in the lane when they were loading the vans. It didn't seem to matter what they did, he would always find something to grumble about. And the way he went on and on about Kevin when he took up with the Bradshaw girl because of her father . . . I mean it really was ridiculous!'

‘What was that about?' asked Paget before Bergman could reply.

Loretta looked to her husband, silently passing the question over to him. Sam shrugged. ‘It was just that he felt Ed Bradshaw had betrayed him,' he said.

‘Betrayed him in what way?'

‘George and Ed had been friends ever since they were kids, so when Ed took on a case for the owner of a café who was taking George to court over some tainted Cornish pasties he'd received from George's bakery, George was furious. And when he lost the case, that was the end of their friendship as far as he was concerned. So, you can imagine how he felt when he found out that Kevin was going with Ed's daughter.'

‘But he should never have—' Loretta began heatedly, only to be cut off by Paget.

‘Can either of you think of any other friends of David and Kevin Taylor and Barry Grant?'

Sam shook his head. Loretta thought for a moment, then shook her head as well. ‘I'm sure there were others,' she said, ‘but I can't remember anyone in particular.'

‘Right, then,' said Paget, glancing at his watch. ‘I know you have a busy day ahead of you, and I do thank you both for your patience, but before we leave, I must ask you, Mrs Bergman, about your hours of work in the shop back then. I know you worked there part-time, but I'm told that you normally worked there on Saturdays, and yet you weren't there on the day the robbery took place. Would you mind telling me why?'

T
hey left Cambridge early the following morning, deciding to take the scenic route back to Broadminster.

They stopped for an ice cream and a leisurely stroll down the mile-long High Street in Henley-in-Arden, admiring the timbered houses and shops that lined the street. But the sun was almost at its zenith, and the street was filling rapidly with cars and tourists, so they decided it was time to leave.

‘I suppose they
could
have been telling the truth about why Loretta wasn't there that morning,' Paget said as they got in the car. ‘But there's no way of checking their story now.'

Grace smiled to herself as she buckled up. ‘I wondered how long you could go without talking about the case,' she said. ‘For what it's worth, I thought she was telling the truth. She said she'd worked more than the usual number of hours that week, because they were taking inventory, and she'd worked late on Friday, so she was taking Saturday off, and I imagine Rogers would have checked her story at the time. As for the idea that the target could have been Emily, and the robbery was staged to cover the killing, I can't see it, myself. First of all, how would someone like Sam Bergman or Loretta go about finding someone willing to do all that? Secondly, even if they did, they would be laying themselves open to blackmail for the rest of their lives, and I certainly didn't get the impression that they were being bled dry. Did you?'

‘You're right,' he said as he started the car and set off. ‘But I would like to know what their relationship was before the robbery. I mean for Bergman to marry again so soon after his wife was killed in such a brutal way . . . I just don't understand how anyone could do that.'

Grace remained silent. It had taken Neil a long time to come to terms with the death of his wife, Jill, who had died a violent death herself, and it had taken him even longer to allow himself to love and be loved again without feeling guilty, so she could understand why he felt as he did. But not everyone would react in the same way. Sam had lost his wife and Loretta had lost her husband and her only child. And working together every day in the months following the robbery, it wasn't hard to imagine why they might decide to marry and begin life again in a new place.

Driving back from Leominster that evening, where she had spent the day with her lifelong friend, Jane Thomas, and Jane's five-year-old daughter, Melissa, Molly had all the windows open, but she still felt as if she were burning up. She slid her fingers under the shoulder-straps of her sundress to ease them away from her skin. She should have known better than to spend so much time with her god-daughter, Melissa, in the large inflatable pool in Jane's back garden, and now she was paying the price. She'd worn a floppy hat to shield her face, but her neck, shoulders and upper arms were a fiery red by the end of the day.

Young Melissa, slathered in sunscreen, didn't seem to be bothered at all. But then, she'd been playing outside all summer, and neither she nor her mother seemed to be much affected by the sun.

Molly winced, and tried not to think what her shoulders and neck would be like when she returned to work in the morning. Better stop and try to find some soothing cream on her way home, and get an early night so she would be ready to tackle Sharon Jessop once again tomorrow.

She hadn't really thought about it before, but it suddenly occurred to Molly that Sharon would be at work tomorrow, and it could be awkward trying to talk to her there. Which meant she would have to wait until tomorrow evening to talk to Sharon. Or she could get it over and done with tonight by stopping in Peel Street on her way home.

Twenty minutes later, Molly was knocking on Sharon's door, conscious that three women two houses down had stopped talking, and were watching her. Molly knocked again, harder this time, then stepped back into the street to look for movement at any of the windows.

‘She's not there,' one of the women called, then turned to listen as one of the other women tugged on her arm and said something. The woman nodded, then left the others to approach Molly. ‘You the one who was here before?' she demanded as she drew near.

‘That's right. You say Sharon's not in? Do you know where she is or when she might be back?'

The woman sniffed. ‘
If
she comes back,' she said. ‘She didn't look too good to me when they carried her out this morning, and I wouldn't give much for her chances. Face all battered, bones broke. He did a right job on her.'

‘Who did a right job on her?' asked Molly sharply.

‘That husband of hers. Always has been handy with his fists, that one. Always coming round for money, but with Sharon losing her job and all, she wouldn't have none to give, would she? So he beat her up.' She took cigarettes from her apron pocket and lit one. ‘It's a good job the kids weren't in the house at the time, is all I can say. So what do you want?'

‘I
did
want to talk to Sharon,' Molly said. ‘But tell me more about what happened. You say she was taken to hospital this morning, and the children weren't in the house. Why weren't they there?'

‘You're a copper, aren't you?' the woman said, ignoring the question.

‘That's right, but . . .'

‘So why don't you know about this?' the woman demanded. ‘We had the other coppers round.'

‘I was away over the weekend,' Molly explained. ‘I just got back. Now, about the children?'

Instead of answering, the woman motioned for one of the other woman to come. ‘Over here, Vi,' she called. ‘She wants to know about the kids and why they weren't at home when their dad beat up their mum. You had 'em; you tell her.'

‘That's right,' said the woman called Vi. ‘Came round yesterday evening. About nine, it was. Asked me to take the kids. Had 'em with her. Said it would only be for a few hours, but I told her they might as well stay the night.'

‘Did she say why she wanted them out of the house?'

‘Not really. She was sort of excited and maybe a bit scared, so I knew right away it would be Al coming round to take money off her again. Not that he would get very far this time with her being given her cards on Friday. She was in a right old state then, I can tell you. Crying, and going on about what she and the kids were going to do.'

‘So what happened after you took the children?' Molly asked. ‘Did you see Al Jessop come to the house?'

Vi shook her head. ‘Not when he arrived. Stay out of it is my motto,' she said firmly. ‘But I heard his van start up and saw him leave.'