No Good Reason (27 page)

“You’re a love.” Sanne planted a sweaty kiss on Meg’s cheek and grinned when Meg shooed her away. “Thank you. I owe you salad.”

Meg picked up a fork and began to scramble the eggs. “I crept in, thinking you were still asleep, and spent over an hour being as quiet as I could. It wasn’t until I nipped to the loo that I realised you weren’t bloody here.”

“I’d have left a note, only I live on my own.”

Meg laughed. “Touché.”

Sanne gave her a little bow. “Can you hold off on breakfast for a few minutes while I phone Keeley?”

“Sure. Anything wrong?”

“No. I just want to pick her brains about something.”

“About what?” Meg’s voice followed Sanne into the hallway. “Crap names beginning with K? How to filch from the system without breaking your false nails?”

“She speaks very highly of you, you know,” Sanne called back. Meg’s hoot of laughter was swallowed up by the whistle of the kettle.

Out of habit, Sanne checked the time before she dialled. It was almost noon—late enough for Keeley to be back from the post office if it was benefits day. The phone rang repeatedly, but just as Sanne had resigned herself to leaving a message, Keeley answered.

“Oh, hey, San. What’s up?”

“Nothing much.” Sanne floundered. She and Keeley usually met on the neutral turf of their parents’ house, where they got along fine for the few hours it took to eat a Sunday roast. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken on the phone. “How’re the kids?”

“Loud, annoying, snotty, and at school. In that order. San, you didn’t call to ask about the kids. What’s wrong?”

“I just…” This time she hesitated for a different reason, unsure whether Keeley would take umbrage. She decided to make her request seem official, hoping Keeley might be flattered rather than offended. “Okay, I need your help on this case.”

She heard the spark of a lighter and, seconds later, Keeley sucking on a cigarette.

“Cool.” Keeley exhaled. “I don’t know nothing, though.”

“Never say never, Keels. We’re investigating a porn link, nasty hardcore DVDs, and I remembered Wayne used to dabble in that kind of thing.”

“Wayne never made pornos!” She sounded outraged.

Sanne winced at her own poor choice of phrasing. Wayne was Kasper’s dad, or was he Kerby’s? She could never keep track. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean he made them, but he sold a few pirated films, didn’t he? He’s not in trouble. I just wondered if he knew anyone local who was dealing in the really hard stuff. Maybe bringing them in from abroad and copying them to sell on?”

“He probably wouldn’t tell me, San. He knows you’re a bobby.” Keeley paused, and the turning cogs were practically audible as she mulled over the pros and cons. “He has been sniffing around a bit lately, though. Maybe if I promised to meet him for a drink…”

“That’d be great, Keels.” Sanne pre-empted Keeley’s next question. “I’ll send you some cash to pay for a meal out. Okay?”

“Nice one, sis.” Keeley took another long drag on her cigarette. “I’ll give him a ring now and let you know.”

She hung up without saying good-bye. Sanne took the handset into the kitchen, where the smell of frying eggs had replaced that of burning.

“Perfect timing,” Meg said. “Grab a plate.”

*

“I think this is one recipe I’ve mastered to perfection.” Full to bursting after two slices of fried bread, Meg was now sipping from a mug of tea. She slid a third slice onto Sanne’s plate and watched her pour on a generous quantity of maple syrup.

“Can’t really go wrong with eggy bread.” Sanne paused, as if considering the myriad ways in which Meg could make it go wrong. “Hmm…”

Riding high on the success of her breakfast, Meg merely smiled. “I think, as adults, we’re supposed to call it French toast.”

“Bit lah-de-dah for us, love.”

Meg sniffed. “I’ll have you know I can be very lah-de-dah when I want to be.”

“My arse! My bloody rooster’s got more decorum.” Sanne laughed as Meg flipped her the bird.

The phone rang just in time to prevent things escalating. Clearing the plates away, Meg listened to a one-sided conversation that culminated with Sanne agreeing on a time and place to meet Keeley. Sanne was still clutching the phone when she came back into the kitchen, and she appeared to be on the verge of dialling again.

“Problem?” Meg asked.

“No. Well, yes.” Sanne sat at the table. “I’m not sure. An ex of Keeley’s knows a bloke who sells legit DVDs on Halshaw market and not-so-legit ones to a chosen few. She doesn’t think he’s got access to the sort of stuff we found at Ned Moseley’s, but her ex reckons he might know who has.”

Meg dried her hands and hoisted herself onto the countertop. “So what’s bugging you?”

“The market’s only on today, and we have no other contact information for this bloke. He’ll be shutting up shop in a few hours. If we miss him, it could be another week before we get a chance to speak to him.”

“Too late in the day to get this authorised by the boss, is that the problem?”

Sanne nodded, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Yeah, and also…I still have some issues with Ned Moseley as a suspect, and I’d like to shore up this link. No one else is really considering this angle. With the surveillance and the searches, there’s too much to do. Keeley said she’d come with me and point out the right stall, but I should tell Eleanor what I’m up to, all the same.”

“Why? What difference would it make? And what if she refused to give her permission?” Meg’s voice rose. Sometimes Sanne’s aversion to taking the initiative frustrated the hell out of her. “Are you going in all guns blazing to arrest him?”

“Well, no.” Sanne put the phone down and then picked it up again.

“And you’re on a bit of a deadline, aren’t you?”

“Obviously, yeah. And it might take ages to obtain this chap’s home address from the market managers and bring him in for questioning, even if Eleanor thinks it’s worthwhile.”

“And that’s if he’s registered the right address. If he’s flogging illegal stuff in his free time, it’s unlikely he’d be forthcoming with his details.”

“True. I don’t even know where Eleanor is. She might be with Josie or interviewing. And after working last night, I’m not expected to be in today, anyway.” She glanced up at Meg. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

Meg flashed a grin. “Want some company on your illicit mission?”

“Keeley’s bringing three of the kids,” Sanne warned her. “And Kerby’s full of a cold.”

“I’m completely immune to germ-riddled children.” Undeterred, Meg ushered her toward the doorway. “Time’s a-wastin’. Go get a shower and find yourself something scruffy to wear.”

*

Fine weather and an appetite for bargains seemed to have emptied most of Halshaw estate onto the market. Young mums hurried around the outside stalls, cramming cheap meat and bumper packs of nappies into prams before they had to go and collect their elder children from school. Vendors yelled their knockdown prices, and the air was thick with the smell of bacon butties, greasy burgers, and cigarettes. As teenagers, Sanne and Meg had both worked on stalls during the long summer holidays, but the place hadn’t been so bedraggled then, nor the shoppers so downtrodden. A few of the older, more established stalls had survived the recession, and Sanne was watching Meg buying crumbly Lancashire cheese from one of them when she heard Keeley’s irate yelling. A thin wail rose above the clattering of plates from the neighbouring cafe.

“Hark, I think I hear the dulcet and loving tones of your sister,” Meg said, dropping the cheese into her bag.

“We’re meeting her at the sweet stall.” Sanne turned toward it, guided by the sound of disconsolate sobbing. She waved at Keeley’s brood as they approached, and Kiera’s tantrum ceased abruptly.

“Hey, sweetie.” Sanne picked her up and blotted the tears from her face with a tissue. “Have you been eating dirt again?”

Kiera chortled, her grubby fists clutching at Sanne’s hair.

Rolling a double buggy back and forth, Keeley tried to keep the older toddlers, Kasper and Kerby, asleep. Her lips smacked together as she chewed a piece of gum. “She wanted jelly babies, but I don’t get paid till tomorrow.”

“Oh, did you get a job?” Meg said brightly.

Sanne shot her a look, warning her to behave. They both knew the likelihood of Keeley finding gainful employment was akin to gold falling from the sky and gilding the pavements of Halshaw.

“No. It’s when my bennies come in.” Keeley’s tone implied that the question had been particularly stupid.

“Ah, right, my mistake.” Meg sighed and offered her fingers for Kiera to chew on. “I guess someone ought to buy you some sweets then, eh, kiddo?”

Leaving Meg to deal with Kiera’s requests, Sanne surveyed the outdoor stalls. “Which one is he on?” she asked. A number of the booths sold CDs, DVDs, and mobile phone accessories. Each was doing brisk business.

Keeley had tucked herself into a corner with her back to the market. When she spoke, she barely opened her mouth. “Third from the end, between the wool and the bloke selling fake leather bags.”

“He can’t hear you, Keels. Hell, from here he can’t even see you.”

“Good. I have to come here every week. I don’t want people to know I set the coppers on to him.”

“I’ll be discreet, I promise.” Sanne crossed her heart. She knew it was hard for Keeley to live on Halshaw and have a sister in the police force. While their mum was nothing but proud of Sanne’s achievements, it must have been difficult for Keeley to gain the trust of friends, though unfortunately, the useless men she fell for never seemed deterred.

“Here.” Sanne fished out a tenner and passed it to her. “Take the kids to the chippy. I’ll come and find you when I’m done.”

The money was in Keeley’s pocket before Sanne could blink.

“You said you’d send some cash for me and Wayne, remember?” Keeley’s eyes were fixed on Sanne’s wallet.

“Aye, I remember.” Sanne gave her another thirty pounds. If Keeley’s tipoff helped with the case, it would be money well spent. “Don’t get too drunk.”

Keeley blew a bubble in her chewing gum and popped it over her grin. “You’re such a goody two-shoes, San.” All smiles now, she took hold of Kiera and cooed at the bag of sweets she held up. “Say thank you to your auntie Meg.”

Not quite adept at speech yet, Kiera waved a beheaded jelly baby instead.

“How much did that cost you?” Meg asked, watching Keeley head for the chippy on the corner of the high street.

“Forty bleedin’ quid.”

Meg whistled. “I think I got away lightly.” She offered Sanne a black-and-white mint. “Fancy a bit of DVD shopping?”

They wandered toward the stall, attempting to remain incognito by detouring via the bakery, where Meg bought Eccles cakes and chattered casually with the cashier. Sanne caught herself tapping her foot as she waited for Meg to count her change. She should have asked Eleanor before she came out here. This wasn’t her investigation to run. She couldn’t just go off tracking down her own leads. She had never wanted to be a loose cannon.

“Oh, hey, have you seen this? It’s supposed to be great.”

Caught by the sleeve, Sanne found herself staring at the cover of a random action film Meg had plucked from the first rack of DVDs. The man behind the counter nodded at them but continued to chat on his phone. Approximately forty years old, he was of slim build, with receding hair, a compensatory beard, and pockmarked skin. She didn’t recognise him, and she hoped that meant he had no idea who she was either. As Meg continued to extol the virtues of Vin Diesel, Sanne scanned the rest of the shelves. She was no expert, but none of the films or box sets looked like rip-offs. Most were labelled as second-hand, and an advertisement above them offered “excellent” rates for used discs.

“These are all old,” Meg said. The stallholder had just finished his call, and she was standing close enough for him to overhear. “Maybe you should ask him about the other stuff.” She elbowed Sanne in the ribs, making the gesture obvious.

The man turned the pages of a tabloid newspaper while using his little finger to pick his teeth, but he was clearly listening. Sidling over to his counter, Sanne didn’t need to act nervous. Her face felt warm, and the inside of her mouth was as dry as sandpaper. He looked her up and down as she approached, his eyes lingering over the curve of her chest. She quelled the urge to slap the leer from his face.

“Our Wayne reckoned you had better films than this,” she said, laying on her thickest Halshaw accent. “Reckoned we had to ask for them special.”

“Did he now?” He folded his arms. “Wayne who?”

“Peters. He’s my cousin.” She took a gamble on his not knowing Wayne except as a casual DVD-laundering acquaintance.

“Ambleside Walk?”

She sidestepped the trap with ease. “Nah, Browbeck. He still lives with his mam.”

“Yeah, Browbeck. That’s the one.” He slapped his own forehead in fake remembrance and lowered his voice. “So, what is it you’re looking for? I can get brand new releases before they’re even in the cinemas over here. Downloads from iTunes and Netflix? Or maybe you and your bird are after something with a bit of kink?”

Wrong-footed by the accuracy of his gaydar, she let the latter comment slide. “What’ve you got in?”

He delved beneath the counter and slid out an indexed box of thin plastic sleeves, each containing a single disc. “Seeing as you know Wayne, I can do you a bit of a deal. Four for five quid.”

Sanne took her warrant card from her pocket and laid it open on his newspaper. “How about I do you a deal instead?”

“Fucking hell.” He stared at the card and then at her, as if trying to reconcile the smartly dressed officer on her ID badge with the scrubber in front of him. “I’ll fucking kill Wayne.”

“I doubt that.” Built like a brick shithouse, Wayne was a nightclub bouncer and more than capable of snapping the man’s neck. “And he only gave me your name to save his own skin. Now I’m going to give you a similar opportunity.”

Her doubts and trepidation forgotten, she slipped easily back into her role as a detective. She’d been dealing with small-time criminals for years—interviewing them, visiting them at home or in the cells, arresting them on the streets. The one thing they had in common was their ability to figure out what was in it for them. The man in front of her was doing that now—studying her face, mulling over her words, trying to determine her angle.