He spent two days in that room, not leaving it except to buy a drink or eat a meal. In the end, he took the rattling lift to the ground floor, paid with a credit card and walked out. He got into his car and drove around the area. He drove past Stephen’s former car yard, one more time past the pub where the information he wanted was, and then past where Liz had lived. He turned the radio on loud in the car, remonstrated with himself for his stupidity, for not being willing to let go. He parked the car, locked the door and walked back to the pub, two streets away.
Inside the barman was dispensing drinks.
‘I’ll have a pint,’ Palmer said.
‘I’ll be with you in two minutes.’
‘Jacob not coming in today?’
‘He usually comes in later for a meal and a couple of pints. If you intend asking more questions, I suggest you don’t. People are sensitive around here. A few rogues come in here, some you don’t want to get on the wrong side of.’
‘What if I did?’
‘Then you’re a bloody fool. Don’t get me involved.’
Outside the pub, Bob took stock of the situation. It was clear that no one was going to speak voluntarily. He walked away, heading back to his car. Coming down the street, Jacob, a jaunty swagger about him. The man tried to avoid him, but Bob was not going to be deterred. He grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him into a narrow alley.
‘Now tell me, who are you frightened of?’ he said.
‘You’ll get yourself killed.’
‘The woman with the tattoo, who is she?’
‘She comes from a dangerous family.’
‘The woman killed someone that I was fond of. I need answers.’
‘You need your head seeing to. Thump me if you want to, kick me in the groin and smash my face, but I’ll not talk.’
‘Tell me, I want to know.’ Palmer knew his grip was weakening. He had never hit anyone before, not even at school when he was being bullied. Not because he had been the smallest or the weakest; only because he had been a coward.
‘You may have little value for your life, but I do for mine,’ Jacob said.
Palmer released his hand from the man’s collar. ‘If you won’t tell me, someone else will.’
‘Not around here, they won’t.’
Free of the crazed man, Jacob scuttled down the road and entered the pub; he needed a stiff drink. He made a phone call. He wasn’t going to forfeit his life due to a misunderstanding.
Chapter 24
It took Larry almost twenty-five minutes to get to Bedford Gardens, not that it mattered because twelve minutes after Wendy had spoken to him, a man came out of the back door of the house. He was dressed in a heavy coat, a scarf around his neck.
Mr Stanford,’ Wendy said, ‘it’s good to see you. What are you doing here?’
‘A man has got a right to check his assets.’
‘Maybe he has, but this is a murder scene. Different rules apply.’
Stanford appeared nervous. ‘I went up to the top floor,’ he said. ‘Not much to see and it’s a long time since I’ve been up there. Your people made a bit of a mess, damaged the paint. I’ll expect recompense.’
‘I don’t see why,’ Wendy said. ‘You were quite happy to let the place be pulled down before. What’s changed your mind? Not many people would want to buy a house that a murder had been committed in.’
‘It’s my decision if I do, not yours.’
It was a brave act of defiance, Wendy knew. The man had crossed the crime scene tape. It was enough to take him into Challis Street and to question him further.
After Stanford had closed the back door and locked it, the two of them went and sat in Wendy’s car. Stanford enjoyed the warmth of the vehicle.
‘Mr Stanford, this makes no sense,’ Wendy said, ‘First you deny any knowledge of the house and the murder, and then we find out that you were in the house some months ago, and on top of that there’s a phone call. Why don’t you tell us the truth so you can go home, mind your own business, and we’ll leave you alone?’
‘I have no more to add. I gave you all that I knew. I was intrigued, and I had to visit the house; it was essential to understand what was so special about it. Why not somewhere else?’
‘And why did someone phone you up, assuming that you would go and discover the body and tell the police.’
‘It’s a mystery to me.’
‘There has to be a connection between you and the dead body, possibly the murderer, and definitely the anonymous voice.’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Maybe you do, or perhaps you haven’t made the connection. Think back over the years to those you’ve met and those you sentenced to prison. Men inside dwell on the reason that they’re there. They don’t consider that they had committed a crime and had been caught. To some of them, it was the person who caught them, but mainly it’s the person who sat in front of them, a wig on his head, a gavel in his hand.’
‘Yes, I know all this. I’ve had one or two threaten me as they were led out of
