A Fatal Deception Page 6

  'Is he the leader of your little gang?'

  'Only because he's got control of the fire. There aren't many places round here you can get warm at night, and he knows it.'

  'Sounds like a nice guy.'

  'He's not all bad. He can be alright sometimes.'

  'Aren't you worried he's gonna figure out you're talking to us and getting the money?' Norman asked.

  'He'll guess I've come after you, but he won't know where I am. If I can keep out of his way tonight, I can stash the money in my savings account in the morning.'

  'You have a savings account?' asked Norman in surprise.

  'I'm saving up to get out of here,' said the boy. 'I don't wanna spend the rest of my life like this. If I can save enough, I can pay to go back to college.'

  'Wow! That's a pretty cool sort of ambition to have,' said Norman. 'I hope it works out for you.'

  'Have you eaten lately?' Darling asked.

  'Living like this, you have to eat when you get the chance.'

  'Think you can manage fish and chips?' asked Norman.

  'Cor, yeah, please.'

  'What's your real name? We can't keep calling you Spiderhair.'

  'Neil. It's a bit dull, isn't it? Spiderhair's a lot more fun.'

  'Hey, I'm a dull Norman. I think Neil is just fine.'

  'Well, I'm stuck with it, whether I like it or not.'

  'Why do they call you Spiderhair?' asked Darling.

  'Tada!' he said, as he whipped his woolly hat off. His hair seemed to spring out in all directions, like coiled springs just released. 'Someone used to tell me it looked like spiders' legs gone wild.'

  Norman grinned his appreciation. His own hair had a similar tendency if he didn't keep it cut short. 'Right,' he said. 'I kinda see what they mean.'

  'That's why I wear the hat.'

  'I can definitely see the need,' said Darling.

  'Yeah, I know her,' said Spiderhair, looking at the photo again. They were sitting on a bench under a street light, a short distance from the chip shop. He stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth and chewed hungrily.

  'How come you know her?' asked Darling.

  'I met her months ago,' he said. 'She called herself Ginger.'

  Norman knew Jenny had used that name when she was living rough. 'That's right, she did. How did you meet?'

  'She was living on the street when I arrived here. Nice she was, although she never took no shit from anyone. She looked out for me, a bit like a big sister. She's the one who christened me Spiderhair. Then one day she disappeared, just like that. Never told anyone she was going. I was bit pissed off, I can tell you.'

  'Did she leave you in some sort of trouble?'

  'Nah, it wasn't that. I just sort of got used to her being there, you know? I think I fancied her a bit as well, not that I had any sort of chance, but a kid can dream, right?' He looked shyly at Norman, who smiled back at him.

  'We've all had dreams like that,' said Norman. 'And it would be a pretty dull life without dreams, that's for sure.'

  'Do you know why she turned up here again?' asked Darling.

  'Now, you've got me there,' Spiderhair said. 'She was like a different person, all cleaned up, wearing nice clothes. Even her hair was its natural colour when I first saw her, you know? Coming back here made no sense to me. When I finally get away from here, I shan't be thinking about coming back, not in a million years.'

  'So you were surprised to see her?'

  'Shocked, more like. She said she'd come back to see me. She had money too. She gave me nearly two hundred quid to put into my savings account.'

  'That was good of her,' said Darling.

  'Yeah. She said it was to make up for leaving me in the shit, like. I said she didn't need to do it, but she insisted. That was the last time I saw her, actually.'

  He had finished his fish and chips and was now slurping his way through a huge coffee.

  'How long ago was that?' asked Norman.

  'I haven't seen her for about three weeks now.'

  'And you have no idea where she went?'

  'Nah, not a clue. It's the same as last time. She just disappeared again.'

  'Do you know where she was staying when she was here?' asked Norman.

  'Nah, she never said.'

  'What about a name? Maybe she was staying with a friend or something?'

  'She did mention a couple of names once, but she liked a joke, you know? I think she was probably taking the piss.'

  'Why's that?' asked Darling.

  Spiderhair laughed. 'How many Ben and Jerrys do you know?'

  'You mean like the ice cream guys?'

  'Yeah, exactly,' he said. 'It's not likely, is it?'

  'She didn't mention a street or anything that might give us clue?'

  'Just Ben and Jerry. I got a feeling it might even have been something from her past. Can I ask a question?'

  'Sure,' said Norman.

  'You know Ginger, don't you?'

  'Yeah,' Norman admitted. 'But I knew her as Jenny. She stayed with a friend of mine for a while.'

  'Oh, right. Well, if you find her, can you tell her hello from Spiderhair?'

  Norman looked at Darling. He was wondering if they should tell him the truth about Jenny. 'Yeah, sure,' he said, after a moment's hesitation. 'If we find her we'll do that.'

  'One more thing,' said Darling. 'I know we already asked, but did you ever see her with a tall, skinny guy with a dagger tattooed on his arm.'

  'No, sorry. I can't ever recall seeing her with a bloke like that.'

  'Okay, Neil, well thanks for your help,' said Norman. He counted out five twenty-pound notes and handed them to the boy. 'This is our contribution to your college fund. Make sure you keep saving.'

  'Oh, wow, how cool is that?' said Spiderhair, stuffing the money into his coat pocket. 'Well, thanks for the food, and for the cash. You know where to find me if you need me, right?'

  He gave them jaunty wave of his right hand, then stuffed both hands deep into the pockets of his coat and walked off into the night.

  'You could have told him,' said Darling as they watched him cross the street and then disappear around a corner.

  'I know. I was in two minds,' said Norman. 'But he lives on the street. I can't believe he doesn't already know someone was found dead.'

  'Maybe he hasn't joined the dots yet, or if he's nursing some sort of fantasy about her, perhaps he just doesn't want to believe it was her.'

  'It could be that,' said Norman, 'or it could be he's just finding out what we know so he can report back to someone else.'

  'D'you think so?'

  'Actually, I hope I'm wrong and he's genuine, and I also hope he saves enough money to get himself out of here. But the cynic in me is telling me he could be playing us so he has information to sell on to someone else.'

  'Since when did you become Mr Negative?' Darling asked.

  'I'm not,' said Norman, 'but I am Mr Realist, and I know living on the street often distorts a person's moral compass. It's a survival thing, I guess.'

  Chapter Eleven

  'Well, whaddyaknow?' said Norman as he joined Darling for breakfast next morning. 'I've just been speaking to Bradshaw. We finally got some luck going our way.'

  'Does he know our mysterious stranger with the tattoo?'

  'No, he has no ideas on that score, but he tells me Jenny's mobile phone has been switched on.'

  Darling stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. 'Wow! Did they get a trace on it?'

  'Yeah, it's in town here. He's sending me a map.'

  'Does he have any idea who's using it?'

  'Wouldn't that be something? Sadly, it was only switched on for a minute or so, and we're lucky to have what we have. They know it's the right handset by its ID number, but it's got an unused pay-as-you-go SIM card loaded so that's no help to anyone. Luckily, they were looking for the actual handset and not her number or they might have missed it altogether.'

  'Doesn't it make you wonder why now?' aske
d Darling. 'It's been weeks since she last used it, and she's been dead for over two weeks.'

  'We always assumed she hadn't used it because she thought there might be a watch on it,' said Norman. 'I even thought she might have dumped it somewhere.'

  'Perhaps she did and someone found it. But if it's whoever murdered her, and he was after information, why wait until now?'

  'Maybe she hid it, and they've just found it,' Norman mused. 'Or maybe someone stole it when she died and decided to wait until the heat had died down.'

  'But why change the SIM card?' Darling asked. 'If they wanted contact details, that's probably where they were stored!'

  Norman shrugged and they were silent for a moment. 'We can sit here and speculate until the cows come home,' he said finally, 'but the only way we're going to find out for sure is to go and find whoever has it and ask some questions.'

  'You know, you're right, Norm. Now I understand why you think you're the boss around here,' Darling said, laughing.

  'Let's just hope we can find that damned phone,' he replied, 'or it won't matter who's the boss.'

  After breakfast, using the information provided by Bradshaw, they used Norman's mobile phone to open the map. Then they drove into town, parked as close as they could to the spot, and walked the final hundred yards or so.

  'It should be just around this corner,' said Norman at last.

  'Damn! This can't be right,' said Darling as they turned the corner and found themselves in a narrow pedestrian alleyway just a few feet wide.

  'It's a good job we didn't bring the car any further,' said Norman. 'We would have looked pretty stupid trying to turn down here!' He squinted at his map.

  'I thought you were an expert with that phone,' said Darling over his shoulder. 'Isn't that what you told me?'

  'And your point is?'

  'The map. Try enlarging it,' she suggested.

  'I knew that,' he said, embarrassed. 'I was just going to.'

  'Yeah, of course you were.'

  He fiddled with the phone, enlarged the map, and studied it again. 'Ah! Don't panic,' he said. 'This leads through to the shopping centre.' He pointed to the wall beside them. 'Maybe the place we want is the other side of this wall.'

  Darling gave him a wry smile. 'Of course, it could be the other side of that wall.' She pointed to the opposite wall.

  'Okay, smarty-pants, maybe it is,' he said with a wry smile of his own, 'but because I'm in charge, we'll try my side first.'

  He led the way down the alleyway until they turned left onto the main pedestrian access to the shopping centre. 'It's gotta be down at the far end there,' he said, pointing off to his left.

  They walked past shops in varying sizes, some huge, well-known names, and smaller, more local shops. As they got deeper into the centre, there were fewer and fewer customers, and the shops seemed to take on a rather tired appearance, almost as if they'd been forgotten by everyone.

  'That's got to be it,' said Darling. 'There, in the corner.'

  On the inside of the grubby shop window, someone had scrawled in wobbly letters the words 'Terry's mobiles, gadjits, vinyls, 'n' stuff. I buy, sell, and repair'.

  'They say the art of signwriting is dying because of technology,' opined Norman, pointing at the sign. 'I suggest illiteracy might just have something to do with it too.'

  'You're out of touch, Norm,' said Darling. 'That's called artistic licence.'

  'Artistic licence my arse. There's nothing artistic about that!'

  Laughing, Darling pushed her way into the shop, Norman trailing along behind her. As the door opened, the incessant, pounding beat of dance music almost drove them backwards.

  A small boy was behind the counter, his back to them as he bent over a side table and worked a keyboard. As he worked, he danced to the music, oblivious to his new customers. Darling thought he was pretty nimble on his feet, even though his timing left a lot to be desired. Norman thought it would be good if someone took a hammer to the source of the music.

  'Why does it have to be so loud?' he complained.

  'I'm sorry, the music's so loud I can't hear you,' she shouted.

  'Yes,' he yelled. 'That's what I was saying! Why does it have to be so loud?'

  The last part of the sentence was shouted into silence as the boy, realising he had visitors, turned the music off. 'Cos it's the only way to listen to it,' he said, turning and smiling at Norman.

  'I'm sorry?' said Norman.

  'So, the music. It's gotta be loud enough to feel it or there's no point, see?'

  'No, I don't think I do. Isn't there a point where it's so loud it damages your hearing?'

  The boy reached his hands up to his ears and removed an ear plug from each ear. 'That's what these are for!'

  Norman scratched his head. 'But wouldn't turning the volume down achieve the same thing without deafening everyone else?'

  'So, then I wouldn't be able to feel it, would I? You gotta have it loud enough to make things shake. That's when you really feel the good vibrations, see?'

  'Somehow, when the Beach Boys released "Good Vibrations" I don't think this was quite what they had in mind,' said Norman.

  'So, who are these Beach Boys, then?'

  Norman was beginning to wish he hadn't started this, and there was one thing that he was finding particularly irritating. 'Is every sentence you utter going to begin with "so"?' he asked, his tone becoming distinctly prickly.

  'Eh?'

  Darling decided it was time to intervene before Norman really got into his stride. She stepped forward and smiled at the boy. 'Ignore my old dad,' she said, turning on the charm. 'He's feeling his age today, and it's making him even more grouchy than normal.'

  The boy grinned back at her. 'It's cool. I get a lot of party poopers. I can handle it. My dad's just as bad, that's why I spend most of my time here in my shop.'

  Norman bristled at the suggestion he was a party pooper.

  'This is your shop, is it?' asked Darling, looking around dubiously. The shelves were mostly empty, and the whole place needed a good clean and a coat of paint.

  'So, I know it's not much yet. I'm still waiting for most of my stock to arrive, but it'll be really cool when I get it cleaned up and done out the way I want.'

  'D'you run it all on your own?'

  He smiled shyly. 'Yeah, it's just me. But even Richard Branson started small, right? And look where he is now.'

  'That's your dream, is it?' asked Darling. 'You want to be the next Richard Branson.'

  'No, not want to be,' said the boy. 'I'm going to be. Just watch this space and you'll see.'

  'What's your name? I need to know so I can watch out for you in the future.'

  'Terry Davey.'

  Darling reached a hand across the counter. Davey hesitated, then reached for it. 'I'm pleased to meet you,' she said as she shook his hand. 'My name's Naomi, and this is Norm.'

  Norman smiled sheepishly and nodded to Davey.

  'How can I help you?' asked Davey. 'If you're looking for vinyl records, that's the one thing I have got plenty of.'

  He pointed to several battered cardboard boxes which appeared to be packed with old vinyl albums. On another occasion, Norman might have been tempted to browse, but they were here for a more important reason.

  'I might come back and look at those another time,' he said, 'but right now what I'm really looking for is a mobile phone.'

  'Ah! So, I haven't actually got any in stock yet,' said Davey. 'The suppliers are messing me around.'

  'I don't want a new one,' said Norman. 'I was rather hoping you might have a used one.'

  'I'm not really open for business right now.' Davey looked puzzled. 'I'm just trying to get the place ready to go.'

  'But you do deal in used phones, right?' asked Norman.

  'Well, yeah, sometimes.'

  'What I'm looking for is a used smartphone.'

  'I can keep an eye out for one, and let you know when I've got it.'

  'I'm looking for a particular one
,' said Norman. 'It's silver, in a pink leather case with a daisy embroidered on the front.'

  Davey eyes narrowed, and he flicked a glance at Darling, then at the door, then back at Norman.

  'You're looking nervous, Davey,' said Norman. 'Now, why is that?'

  'Who, me? I'm not nervous,' he said, his eyes flicking to the door again.

  'Did you steal the phone?' asked Darling.

  'I-I dunno what you're talking about,' Davey stammered. 'Who are you people? I think you should leave.'

  'We're not going to hurt you, if that's what you think,' said Darling soothingly.

  'We just want to know where you got the phone,' added Norman. 'Did you steal it?'

  'No. I didn't steal anything. I don't ever steal stuff. Why do old farts like you think anyone my age must be a criminal?'

  'So you admit you have the phone,' said Norman.

  'I'm not admitting anything, and you can't prove--

  'We know that phone was switched on last night,' said Darling, 'and if you know anything about mobile phones, you'll know it would have pinged the nearest masts. We've had a trace on it for weeks ever since the owner went missing. As soon as it pinged, we got a trace, and we tracked it right here, to your shop.'

  Davey's eyes widened, and he turned rather pale. 'Shit!' he said, his voice almost a whisper. 'Who are you?'

  'We're working with the police,' said Darling. 'The girl who owned that phone went missing a few weeks ago. Obviously if we can find the phone, it might tell us where she is, or at least give us a clue about what happened to her.'

  'I didn't steal it,' Davey insisted. 'Someone brought it in yesterday. He wanted cash for it, but it had a broken screen and it looked a bit battered. I said I'd buy it, but only if he left it with me so I could see if I could fix it.'

  'You buy phones off anyone who walks in?' asked Norman. 'How d'you know they're not stolen?'

  'How can anyone prove it is stolen? You'd be surprised how many phones get lost every day. People bring them to me, I clean them up and then sell them as second-hand goods.'

  'Handling stolen goods is a criminal offence, you know,' said Norman.

  'But I don't know they're stolen.'

  'Oh, I think you do, and I'm pretty sure a jury would think the same.'