Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 (13 page)

Screened from next door by trees and shrubs, I shimmied along the side of the house to the back door and let myself in. I’d borrowed a key on the day of the murder, so technically it wasn’t breaking and entering. Just entering, really.

After giving upstairs the once over, I returned to the room where Helen Porson had met her asphyxiated fate. My legs felt stiff just looking at the floor, but I had no choice. I dropped carefully to my knees and shuffled around the lounge. The net curtains were drawn and the house was set back from the road, but I was worried someone passing by might notice movement inside.

The police had thoughtfully left a body outline on the floor to mark the spot. It took me back to the day I’d found her and how different Helen had looked. The first time I’d ever met her, she’d been full of life, her green eyes smiling beneath vivid auburn hair. Seeing her pale and inert just a day later, it failed to compute. Even allowing for the fact she was dead, it hadn’t seemed like the same woman.

I spotted a picture of her on the sideboard which looked like it had been taken when she was much younger, at some Knobsville Ball, surrounded by the great and good of the time. I rose slightly to reach for it, but just as my fingers touched the frame I heard a car pull up on the road outside. My jerked reaction accidentally whacked the picture off the sideboard. Like a flying fish landing on a boat deck, I body-popped across the floor and got my palms underneath it, but my frantic movement dislodged the glass from its pewter frame. I lay dead still, holding my breath, clutching the newly separated parts. A car door closed, followed by footsteps on the pavement, a pause … then the would-be interloper moved on. I waited several slow minutes, keeping still, and only allowing the occasional shallow breath, before a massive leg cramp forced a change of position.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Saturday – 14:28

Using the fancy brass knocker, I banged hard on the white door to Clegg’s suburban retreat. The place was a grand old Edwardian house backing onto the river and had a prime spot in the
Vale
, Weighton’s most sought-after residential area. Or at least that’s what estate agents put in their blurb to justify two mill price tags.

Clegg himself was a poor-boy made reasonable. His wife was genuine
nouveau riche
, the real un-working class deal. Word had it the house belonged to her.

As metallic clangs echoed around the
Vale
, I prayed to the “God of Lost Causes” that he was home.

I’d been digging around in the shit on this case since day one, so the discovery of the photo was like striking something solid. Not that it smelt any better.

The problem had been what to do next? In chess mode, I’d pondered long and hard before making the next move. I’d considered going back to see Tony Porson – my fingers had toyed with that piece for a good while. He was the obvious choice, but like Karpov would tell you, the move carried risks. In the end I decided I couldn’t trust Tony Porson. I let the piece go and raised my sights instead. Anticipating a bruising end-game, I concluded it was time to be bold, time to take it to the man, time to go a-huntin’ Mayor.

A couple of phone calls had got me Clegg’s address. I wasn’t in a fever to talk to the “Newsround Kid”, but he had his uses. A short scoot later, and I’d arrived in the
Vale
. Somehow I didn’t figure Clegg would be pleased to see me. But hey ho, he still needed to win over the floating vote.

The door opened to reveal a sandy-haired girl who looked about fourteen. Her innocent smile at a beaten-up stranger was proof of a sheltered upbringing and perhaps the real clue to the worth of the estate. The scent of fresh flowers and recently baked shortbread drifted from the house.

‘Hello,’ she said, in that neutered, private school tone.

‘Hi there.’ I tried my best paternal smile. ‘Your Dad in?’

‘Hold on.’ She turned and bounded off.

Clegg came into view, his impassive face turning like lightning to thunder on recognition of his new, detective-shaped door-stopper.

‘How dare you come here!’ He hurtled at me from his hallway, only pulling up when he was toe to toe. ‘If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the police.’ His voice quivered with outrage.

For a politician, he wasn’t big on pleasantries. I turned up the left side of my mouth without actually smiling. ‘Is
Mrs
Clegg in?’

He stared at me polar-cold, knowing I meant business. ‘Why have you come here?’ Each word was over-enunciated, like he thought I needed lip reading practice.

‘Well, it ain’t on account of my health.’ I touched the throbbing mass that passed for my face. ‘This is what I got for coming to see you yesterday.’

Clegg switched to polit-speak in a blink. ‘I can assure you that if the police did this, it is not at my bidding.’

‘No sweat, Mayor. It wasn’t the whoo-whoos. They just talked at me for hours. That I can handle.’

‘So who?’

‘Jimmy Cartwright.’

He blinked rapidly. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yep, I would say I was close enough to make a positive ID.’

‘But why?’

‘Not sure. But like I told you, he’s somehow tied into the blackmail.’

Clegg raised a finger to his lips. ‘Please,’ he said quietly.

I nodded and eased my voice down to the lowest mark on the dial. ‘I know it’s not his style, but I think he was using it to get some leverage.’

Clegg, deflated, gave a slight nod. ‘I suppose I should have guessed.’

He edged out of his door onto the stone tiles and looked more closely at my face. ‘Have you told the police about the assault?’

‘Do I look dopey? Even you know better than that.’

‘Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.’ He tapped his thigh with impatience. ‘So why are you here?’

‘I need your help.’

‘What if I don’t want to give it?’

I put my hands in my pockets and looked down for a second. ‘You know, Mayor, Jimmy Cartwright promised he’d kill me if I spoke to you again. So you can understand why I’m not in the mood for dicking around. Now if you want I should call Mrs Clegg?’

‘You wouldn’t do that.’

I cleared my throat and then raised my voice. ‘It’s Marjorie, isn’t it?’

Clegg’s eyes blazed and the first bubbles of foam appeared at the corner of his mouth.

I carried on regardless. ‘Here’s the thing. Back in your office you said this was out of my league. The way I see it, a death threat from Jimmy C gets me a promotion. What’s it to be?’

Clegg stepped forward and pulled the door behind him. He took a couple of deliberate calming breaths. ‘What sort of help?’

‘Oh, now we have co-operation.’

‘Look, I haven’t got long.’

‘That so,’ I said. ‘Well, you’re in luck, because I only have one simple question.’

‘Go on?’

‘Mrs Porson – did she have a sister?’

Clegg opened his mouth and then hesitated. ‘No,’ he said finally.

‘Whack whack oops! Please try again.’

He eyed me suspiciously. ‘If you know the answer, why ask?’

‘I wanted to see if you’d lie. You did.’

‘I’m getting tired of this.’

‘Oh, and I’m lapping up every minute, am I? If you stopped pissing around, I might make some progress with this thing.’ I folded my arms. ‘Now, seeing as you got that wrong, I do have a supplementary to ask. Did Mrs Porson have a
twin
sister? I can give you a helpful clue.’ I took out the fading picture and showed it to him.

‘Where’d you get this?’ Clegg stared at it, his voice lighter.

‘It doesn’t matter where I got it. Point is: what does it show?’

Clegg drew in a long breath. ‘I’m sorry I lied just now. It was a promise I made to Helen.’

‘Concerning?’

His eyes drifted, as if to pull a memory back and then he started nodding to himself. After a quick glance around the
Vale
, he took a few steps down the drive. I walked with him, side on.

Clegg spoke in a quiet, confidential tone. ‘I remember a day when Helen was very upset. I asked her why, and she said she’d found something of her sister’s. That’s when she told me the story. But she made me promise never to repeat it or mention it again. As far as she was concerned her sister had never existed; she’d wiped her from her memory. She cried a lot when she told me, but after that she never made mention.’

‘What was the story?’

Clegg frowned. ‘I made a promise.’

My cheeks expanded as I tried to hide the irritation. ‘Whatever the story, it can’t harm her now. More importantly, it might help me find her killer.’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘Hey, who’s the detective here?’

After a pause, he said, ‘Okay, I’ll tell you, but basics only.’ His voice became low and coarse. ‘Helen had a twin sister called Elaine. She was a nurse. In her early twenties she went to East Africa on voluntary work service. In her second year there, she got posted to a remote tribal village. The head of the village became infatuated with her, and from what was said, I don’t think Elaine did much to discourage his attentions. Problem was, he already had a wife and a son.’

‘And we know how that goes, hey.’

Clegg ignored the dig and went on. ‘Anyway, as you might expect, the wife took umbrage. She got her brother to make representations to the elders of the village. They became
disenfranchised,
shall we say, with the whole thing. The preference for a white woman brought shame on them.’ Clegg slowed, collecting his words. ‘Helen wasn’t very clear about what happened next. It certainly confused me when she told me. The upshot was that Elaine got killed by a poisoned arrow. They don’t know for sure who fired it, but it wasn’t difficult to guess.’

‘That’s it?’

‘I told you, basics only.’

I tried to look unconvinced but my bruised face wouldn’t co-operate. ‘You want me to believe all that mumbo jumbo?’

‘No. Believe what you like. I’ve only repeated what she told me. I have to admit Helen rambled through it. She wasn’t very sure of her facts, almost as if she didn’t believe it herself.’

‘Jeez. What a shit-fest.’

‘You think it’s of any use?’

I scratched my head. ‘The fact Mrs P had a twin sister might be. I’ll check it out. Do you know Helen’s maiden name?’

‘Taylor, I think,’ he said. ‘Something like that. She only mentioned it once.’ He half-turned toward the house. ‘I’m going back inside now.’

‘One more thing.’

He gave a curt stare and went to move away.

I grabbed his arm. ‘Please.’

‘What?’

‘I need to get into the flat she rented downtown.’

‘You expect to find something there?’