Read Online The Merchant's House by Kate Ellis - Free Book Online

startled secretary looked up. She was hardly what Wesley would have expected an employee of a pornographic publishing company to look like: a bespectacled, demurely dressed lady of mature years, she would have looked at home behind the counter of a suburban public library. Her mouth twitched into a nervous smile. She scented trouble, and when the visitors showed their identification her suspicions were confirmed. Heffernan explained the purpose of their visit, and Wesley watched the woman’s face as she was shown the picture of the dead girl. She shook her head.
    ‘It might have been before my time. I’ve only been here three months.’
    ‘Is there anyone else I can speak to?’
    “There’s Mr Keffer, but he’s out this afternoon.’
    ‘Out where?’
    ‘On a shoot.’
    The inspector had an idea what he’d be shooting, and it wouldn’t be pheasants. ‘Where can I find him?’
    ‘I really can’t say. They tend to move around … different locations.’ She made it sound almost glamorous. ‘He’ll be in first thing tomorrow,’ she added helpfully.
    ‘Have you got his home address?’
    ‘Er…’
    ‘This is a murder inquiry, madam.’
    She drew a card from an index on her desk and wrote down an address.
    ‘We might need to speak to you again, Mrs, er …’
    ‘Webster. I’ve only been here three months …’
    With her pleas of ignorance ringing in their ears, Heffernan and Wesley clattered their way down the uncarpeted staircase.
    Pamela Peterson had had misgivings when her then boyfriend had shown an interest in joining the police force. The nightly portrayal on television of hardened cops with broken marriages and a drink problem had sounded warning bells. She had grown used to the anxiety and erratic hours over the years, but she still felt a stab of anger as she put the phone down.
    She debated whether or not to ring her mother, but decided against it. Then she considered calling Maritia, her sister-in-law. The prospect of talking her problems over with a qualified doctor was tempting. But Maritia might be on duty, or too tired to be sympathetic. Besides, Pamela wasn’t really in the mood to talk to anyone. She had a bath and went to bed.
    How could Wesley let himself get stuck in Manchester tonight of all nights, when tomorrow was so important? Everything depended on tomorrow.
    The bar at the St Dominic Hotel – a name that had attracted Heffernan with its solid monastic associations – added awhole new dimension to the concept of blandness. The walls were laminated, the bar was laminated, the lager tasted as though it had been created in a sterile environment using laminated barley. The greenery, growing up the trellis at the side of the bar, looked decidedly artificial.
    Keffer had proved to be elusive. Twice they had returned to bang on the door of his flat in the up-market modern block with its decorative wrought-iron balconies – probably inspired by the architect’s annual holiday to the Continent. There had been no sign of Keffer or any other human habitation in the carpeted communal corridors. All was silence. So much for Northern neighbourliness.
    Heffernan looked down at his lager, urine-sample gold. He didn’t feel like drinking any more. He had hoped for a paternal drink with Rosemary, but when he had rung to tell her he was up in Manchester she had claimed a prior engagement, a date with some young man – very likely unsuitable. He took another unsatisfying gulp from his glass. Wesley was upstairs on the phone, probably trying to appease an irate wife. Heffernan had been there. Now, as he drained his glass and looked round the lonely bar, he realised how much he missed Kathy. He wished he were up there talking on that phone; he wished he had somebody to appease. He took his glass back to the bar and climbed the stairs to his room.
    They set out early next morning. Producers of pornographic magazines didn’t strike Heffernan as potential early risers, but you could never