This is news to me. His brother, Norman, had said Clive had had to move in with their mum because he was having financial troubles. I think of Heather and the fact she was spotted on CCTV in Bristol on the morning of the killings. ‘Do you know where in Bristol?’
She chews her lip. ‘Hmm. I think George mentioned it was in Southville.’
Southville. That was where Heather had been. She must have gone looking for Clive earlier that morning. But why? And if she had, the murders weren’t down to a spur-of-the-moment temporary insanity. They were premeditated. Planned. Jack’s words about Heather beingsome secret assassin come back to me. No. That’s not real life. Heather is a normal suburban wife and mother. Not some kind of hit-woman. Then why?
I glance across at Jack, but he looks bored, his eyes unfocused, as though he’s thinking about something else. I turn my attention back to Netta.
‘And what did you make of Clive and Deirdre when you saw them?’ I ask.
She chews her lip again, thinking. Then, ‘They seemed nice. Particularly Deirdre. I’d see her walking her cute dog on the beach. She was just an old lady. Honestly, it’s dreadful what happened. This woman who the police say killed them – who was she?’
‘I don’t know,’ I lie. ‘And Clive?’ I’m trying to get the conversation back on track. ‘What was he like?’
‘Gruff. Typical bloke. He chatted to my husband but he seemed a bit awkward around me. Wouldn’t look me in the eye, that kind of thing. George said he was just shy. But he wasn’t young. He was a bit … what’s the word? … rough at the edges. He wore sovereign rings and a gold chain around his neck. He had tattoos. You know the type?’ She pulls a face and I’m shocked at her snobbery. I wonder what her assessment would be of me, sitting on her plush velvet couch with my bleached blonde hair and my second-hand clothes.
I rearrange my legs, which are starting to go numb. ‘So, you weren’t aware of any enemies he might have had?’
‘Hmm. Well, the landlord of the Funky Raven for starters. And there might have been others.’
‘What’s the landlord’s name?’
‘Stuart Patterson. He’s a nice guy. Friendly. I don’t know what Clive did to get on his wrong side because, as far as I’m aware, it’s quite hard to piss off Stu.’
I decide that’s our next destination. I stand up. Jack does too, looking relieved to be going.
Netta follows suit, glancing at Jack’s camera fearfully. ‘You don’t want to take my photo, do you?’
Jack grins. ‘No, don’t worry.’
‘Phew. I look a mess.’ She pats her expensively highlighted waves. Even though she’s ill, it’s still obvious she’s an attractive woman.
‘Thank you for your time,’ I say, as she shows us out. ‘And you’re happy for us to name you in the newspaper?’
‘Of course. My fifteen minutes of fame.’ Her gaze goes over my shoulder to Jack. ‘And if you want a photo, do come back another time when I’m in a better state.’ I’m sure she winks at him. Then she closes the door on us.
‘Think you’ve got a fan there.’
He laughs. ‘Well, you’ve either got it or you haven’t. Maybe she likes the vulnerable look.’ He indicates his black eye that’s now turning purple. I’m just about to retaliate when I freeze. There’s a man in Clive and Deirdre’s front garden. He’s bent over a dying bouquet of daffodils, anger on his face, a fluffy dog that looks like a bear at his feet. I prod Jack in the shoulder blades and incline my head towards him. Jack widens his eyes and clears his throat.
There’s only a small wired fence between the two front gardens and the man looks up. He’s tall and lean, with receding grey hair. He’s wearing a scarf wrappedtightly around his neck and a padded black coat. His face is long, thin and weathered.
‘Hi,’ he says, looking a little shifty and leaning back on his heels. ‘I’m not trespassing. My brother and my mum used to live here.’ He indicates the dog. ‘This is Hulk.’
I recognize his voice instantly from the phone conversation we had. He looks older than I imagined, though, and more scraggy. ‘Norman? I’m Jess from theHerald. We spoke last week.’
His eyes light up in recognition and he shakes my hand heartily over the fence. ‘What are you doing here?’
I quickly explain about the card I found with the flowers. ‘So I’ve just been asking the neighbours if they know if anybody had a grudge against him.’
Something dark passes across Norman’s face. ‘And what have they been saying?’
‘Oh, nothing really. That Clive kept himself to himself.’
He seems satisfied with this response. I daren’t tell him I’m on the way to the Funky Raven to ask the landlord why Clive had been barred.
He thrusts his hands into his pockets and toes the lawn with his boot. ‘Yes, well, I think Clive made a few enemies along the way, if truth be told. He got into something dodgy back in Bristol. He didn’t say what – but I got the impression he was running away, hence the move out here.’
‘Do you think the woman who killed Clive and your mum was hired?’ Jack pipes up from behind me. I turn to glare at him. I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions. Why is Jack so obsessed by that ridiculous, far-fetched theory?
