bitch that killed her was one of them. I bet they’re all on drugs. That’s what happens when you help these people. They bite the hand that feeds them People like that don’t know any better you see.”
“I’ll remember that.” Hazel said. But it was an interesting idea all the same. If any girl qualified as disturbed it would be Hannah McShane. “Do you know any of the other people?”
“No, they seemed very nice. They had expensive cars. But who they are and where they come from I don’t know.”
“Did Ms Kelsey have any other regular visitors?”
“She often had people over, but I wouldn’t say regular visitors.”
“There wasn’t a Mr Kelsey then?”
“Her husband. No. He went off with his secretary or someone ages ago. She was probably better off without him.”
“Did she have a regular boyfriend?”
“You know, I don’t know.” For once Helen’s certainly faltered. “She never said anything about anyone in particular. I never saw her go out with anyone in particular.”
“Would she have told you?”
“Probably. We were very friendly and she was sociable. No, now you come to mention it she didn’t have a special man in her life. She was probably too busy working.”
“She never mentioned any problems, did she? Nuisance phone calls? Any threatening emails? Strange people hanging around.”
“We have a security guard to make sure strange people don’t hang around here.” Helen said. “And no, she never mentioned anything like that. Why are you asking all these questions, you know who killed her. Hannah McShane.”
“It’s all just routine, Mrs Trent.” Hazel said
“It’s all just foolishness. If you’re after new evidence I can’t tell you anything I didn’t tell that other detective.”
Yes, and Hazel knew what she thought of him.
“No, I don’t know of any threats, strange people, harassment….we don’t get those things here. Or we didn’t. Sometimes I think this place should be gates as Carandini Court is. They never get trouble there.”
Hazel was inclined to believe Carandini Court never got any trouble because the local gangster, Victor Monk had a house there. “Thanks for your time, Mrs Trent. If I need anything else I’ll know where to find you.”
Hazel left, feeling unsatisfied. Neither witness was entirely reliable. Helen Trent was better, but not by much. She stood in the road and watched a dark red Range Rover with tinted windows roll by. She made a note of the licence plate. It was similar to the one she’d seen the other day.
Someone was very interested in her investigation.
* *
Hannah McShane watched the cars drive away. She stepped out from behind the low wall where she had been crouched. Hannah was a small, slightly built teenager. Very pale skinned and blonde hair so fair it was close to colourless. She wore thick spectacles, though not as a disguise. She could barely see beyond her own nose. She hadn’t worn them in court because she didn’t like the glasses. Ever since she was twelve she had to wear the bloody things.
She wore a thick, fleece lined khaki anorak with the hood down. This city had Godawful weather. All the time. Her skirt was short and she wore knee length boots because that’s what she believed was sexy. Hands deep in her pockets she contemplated what she had seen.
In truth she hadn’t seen anything. A cop she didn’t know was checking up on people she had never met. Hannah knew all the police round here. That woman hadn’t been like any she’d seen before. Well she had Victor Monk’s people after her.
Hannah tried to work out what that meant. Probably that Monk didn’t know who killed Gloria and was keeping an eye on the cops. Monk scared her, though she’d never seen him. She did know some people who worked for him and they were creepy. At least none of them had come looking for her. She’d kept her ears open but there was no one looking. No one even interested.
Bernadette had said that would be the case. Hannah hadn’t been too sure at first. People said a lot of stuff that wasn’t true. They said they’d do stuff but they never did.
Bernadette McLaren was different. She didn’t lie to you. She didn’t say she’d do something, then not bother. Hannah knew she could trust Bernie. Sure she was a bit strange, but she was religious.
On one level Hannah was more scared of Bernadette McLaren than she was of Victor Monk. Not because Hannah believed in Heaven or Hell. In any case Bernie never talked that way to her. Or anyone that she knew. Bernie was scary because, if she did think Hannah was guilty, she’d turn her over to the police in a heartbeat.
Still, Bernie didn’t believe she was guilty. Had fixed her up with a lawyer and everything. Even got her off. OK, Hannah was innocent anyway, but Bernie had probably helped get the right result.
With any luck she’d also told the cops to keep off Hannah’s back for a while. Or Monk had. Hannah didn’t know who the cops were more scared of. Monk or Bernie.
Now there was this new cop. Hannah didn’t like the look of this.
She moved away from The Keys. Maybe it would make sense to keep a low profile until it all blew over.
Hands in her pockets, head down against the threatening rain, Hannah McShane moved away.
WOTR C6
CHAPTER SIX.
Gloria Kelsey’s home was just like all the others here. Even the police tape had been removed. She watched the Range Rover roll slowly down the street and round the corner out of sight. Then she walked up to the front door and fished a set of keys from her pocket.
Hazel let herself in.
The house was clean and smart. It looked very modern and was tastefully decorated. The photographs on the walls were of recognisable local scenery. Once outside the city the surrounding countryside was very scenic. Hazel assumed Gloria had taken the pictures. Most were colour but there were a couple of atmospheric black and white prints. Gloria had been a really good photographer. Also a lucky one to find so many days when it wasn’t raining.
Hazel wandered through to the main living room. Her first thought was there was a lot of unnecessary wood and stone on show. The place looked old fashioned. As if Gloria had been trying to recreate a scene from a Victorian book or film. The lighting was dispersed around the walls. Candle shaped frosted bulbs that probably gave a softer more diffused light. The fireplace had the most amount of stone. Hazel ran her hand over it. Real stone too. Grey and pink. It looked elegant…well it looked, to Hazel, a touch decadent and not in keeping with the rest of the house. There was a lot of brass too.
Hazel didn’t care for brass. It was a dislike she had inherited from her mother. Brass meant cleaning. Housework was time consuming enough without collecting more.
She felt
