Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Penn would swear there was some kind of vacuum device at every entrance to the Hollytree Estate.
It had been bad enough in his early police days, a time when idealistic council workers had still felt that there was a point to throwing regeneration money at it.
When every attempt to improve the estate was met with vandalism, graffiti and anti-social behaviour, those schemes had died away.
By the time he returned to the force from West Mercia, it had turned into the area that time forgot.
The shops on the east side were now all boarded up, and that was the better part of the area.
As you travelled west into the estate, it was like moving further away from civilisation, until you reached the furthest point where the maisonettes backed up to the railway tracks, by far the roughest part.
And that was where he was headed now as he felt those vacuums sucking out every ounce of light and hope from his body.
He drove towards the West End, as the locals called it, trying not to look too closely at the stray dogs milling around or the school-age kids playing in groups, wearing shorts and tee shirts despite the December chill.
In this part of Hollytree, few parents sent their kids to school and very few teachers argued with them.
They simply gave them a piece of paper to sign which absolved them of responsibility and thereby widened the crack that many of these children were allowed to fall through.
Despite their young ages, every single one of them eyed him suspiciously as he passed by. Distrust of unknown vehicles and especially police was cultivated early on Hollytree.
He found the address he was after in the end block of maisonettes with the rail track less than twenty feet away.
He really was at the furthest point away from civilisation in a place where no one would hear you scream.
The words ‘and he was never seen again’ went through his mind as he got out of the car and locked it.
The path from the car park to the block was littered with black bags dumped in the general area of the bin store. Nothing another ten paces wouldn’t have fixed. More hazardous than the bags were the piles of faeces, and he wasn’t willing to bet that it had all come from the dogs.
Warren and Lyra Chance’s place was the second dwelling along. Three rusty bikes leaned against the wall between their property and the next. A carrier bag of rubbish had been tossed out of the front door. The smell of old meat reached his nostrils.
As he knocked on the door, he had never been more thankful for the childhood he’d had and the life he led now.
The door was opened by a man a good five inches taller than him and probably twice as thin.
Penn’s first thought was that his height would have made him quite the imposing figure, demanding money in the darkness. The man pushed his greasy black hair behind a pierced ear before folding his arms.
‘If you’re here to tell us Ash’s dead, we already know. Saw it on the news.’ His stance said that if that was his only order of business, Penn wasn’t getting in the door.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Chance, and I don’t want to intrude on your grief, but could I ask you…?’
‘Fucking hell, me dinner’s getting cold, so you’d best come in,’ he said, leaving the door open.
Penn closed the door behind him and followed the man into a room that had left no surface uncluttered.
Lyra Chance more than filled the single armchair where she sat with a KFC bargain bucket on her lap. Warren took a packet of fries from the bucket before sitting on the only other seat empty of clothing.
Penn picked up a pile of them and placed them on the arm of the other single chair before taking a seat himself.
Lyra regarded him suspiciously as she took a bite out of a chicken thigh. As the grease spread across her lips and a half inch of surrounding skin, Penn wondered if he’d ever be able to buy a KFC again.
‘I’m sorry to intrude on your grief,’ he repeated, although he suspected they were more annoyed that he’d intruded on their lunch.
‘Ask what you’ve come for,’ Warren said, shovelling a handful of fries into his mouth.
Yep, the fries were out for him now too, and he just prayed there wasn’t a carton of beans in that bucket. Looking around him, Penn could see signs of the three kids Stacey had told him about. He couldn’t help wondering if they were at school or part of the feral gangs he’d seen on his approach.
‘Mr Chance, could you tell me a bit about your sister?’
‘Stuck-up cow,’ Warren said, licking his fingers.
‘You weren’t close?’ he asked, already knowing the answer but keen to see the man’s take on the situation.
‘Nah, never. She always thought she was better than me. School, school, school was all she thought about. She had no friends. I was always out with my buddies, I had mates, but she had none. Just stayed in all the time with books. No one liked her,’ he said as though that strengthened his team somehow.
‘Got even worse when she left school and went to college. Stupid, she was, when she coulda gone on the dole and got money for nothing.’
Lyra nodded her agreement, drumstick in her hand.
With a look that said he felt he was being short-changed, Warren leaned over and retrieved a piece of chicken. A couple of chips that had missed his mouth fell off his lap onto the floor. He ignored them.
‘She always wanted more than she should have. After college, she went to bloody university. Thought she was everybody when she got her fancy job straight away. Tried to lord it over us.’
‘How did she do that?’ Penn asked.
‘Buying Mum and Dad expensive presents to show off. Trying to make me look bad. I couldn’t afford to do that, and she knew it. Trying to buy their love. Right up until they died in a car crash. Sickening it was,’ he said as the front door burst open.
Three young bodies tore into the room and stopped dead. The oldest looked accusingly at his parents. Penn guessed him to be around eight. He was sporting what looked like a fresh gash above his right eye.
Neither parent commented on it, as though him returning home with a new injury was nothing out of the ordinary.
‘Bugger off,’ Lyra said. ‘Yer dad and me haven’t had a treat for ages.’
The boy moved his longing gaze to the stranger in the room.
‘None of your business,’ Warren said. ‘Now either out to play or clean your room.’
Without speaking, they all turned and headed back out.
Lyra cackled, revealing the contents of her mouth. ‘Works every bloody time.’
There were so many things Penn would have liked to flag, not least the fact that three kids, likely being supervised by the boy with a cut above his eye, were being allowed to roam free on one of the worst estates in England.
There was no question he was giving child services a quick call after this visit… though he suspected his concern would go nowhere. He was sure the cases on their plate went deeper than being denied access to a bargain bucket and being allowed out unsupervised.
‘Mr Chance, did you see your sister often?’ he asked.
‘Oh yeah, she loved coming round here to slum it with us lowlifes.’
Lyra guffawed between mouthfuls.
‘Did you visit her?’
‘Wasn’t invited.’
‘So, the kids didn’t mix?’
He shook his head as he threw a chicken bone into the ashtray.
‘But she called you sometimes?’ Penn pushed.
‘Just at Christmas. Don’t know why she bothered.’
Yeah, Penn was unsure about that too, but sometimes you had to touch base with the only family you had.
‘You ever call her back?’
‘Nah, got nothing to say to her.’
Or not, in some cases.
‘You saw her a couple of weeks ago though?’
Lyra’s mouth hung open unattractively.
Warren shifted uncomfortably as he lit a cigarette, despite the fact his wife, just inches away, was still eating.
‘You met her after netball. One of the other players saw you,’ Penn continued, to avoid the man issuing a pointless denial just to stop his wife finding out.
‘Oh yeah, I remember now. Just happened to bump into her. Yeah, I’d forgotten about that.’
Penn liked to think he gave everyone a fair crack, but this couple were doing nothing to endear themselves. This was a couple that had fallen into the Benefits Britain stereotype and had no wish to leave it.
‘And she gave you money?’ Penn asked.
‘She what?’ Lyra cried.
‘Just a few quid. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Just for some sweets for the little ones.’
‘Where’d that go then?’ she asked, wiping her face with a napkin.
‘Shit, I can’t remember. It’s been ages. I just bumped into her, and she offered me some pocket money for the kids.’
‘Which they never saw and you never told me about.’
‘It bought you a fucking curry so leave it alone, woman.’ His tone had hardened, and Lyra clearly thought better about pushing it any further.
‘Our witness felt things were a bit hostile between the two of you.’
‘Why’s that?’ he asked. ‘We were just talking. Ain’t nobody gonna prove anything different now, is there?’
‘Did you threaten her, Mr Chance?’
He sat back and smirked. ‘Now, why would I do that? She was my sister and she wanted to give me money. Why would I refuse?’
‘You didn’t feel bad for taking her money when you don’t like her?’
‘Why should I? We’re family, and families share. And she must have been raking it in. She could spare it.’
‘I don’t think her job paid as much as you—’
‘Not just that though, is it? She must have been getting a few quid from the social for her crippled daughter.’
Penn tried to hide his shock at his description of his niece.
The man turned to his wife. ‘Don’t you get more for kids who are—?’
‘Even so,’ Penn interrupted. ‘I’m not sure she was rolling in it.’
‘Two adults working and extra social money for the kid. Gimme a break, they were fucking loaded.’
Penn was about to defend the Reynolds family again when a look he couldn’t decipher passed between the Chances and he decided to move on. The current conversation was not conducive to keeping him calm.
‘Mr Chance, I need to know where you were on Sunday night between the hours of nine and ten.’
‘I was here. I’m always here.’
‘Except for the time you bumped into your sister, also on a Sunday night, by accident?’
‘Yeah, only night I’ve been out in months.’
‘Hmm… and you, Mrs Chance?’
‘I was here as well, waiting for my Chinese.’
‘Why would we hurt her?’ the man asked completely unperturbed by the insinuation. ‘I ain’t gonna get no pocket money for my kids if she’s dead, am I?’
He had a point. But there was something here Penn didn’t like the smell of, and it had nothing to do with the food.
He thanked them for their time and rose.
‘So, what’ll happen to the kid now?’ Lyra asked, eyeing him with interest.
‘Sorry, I don’t get you.’
‘Who’s gonna be her mum now?’
‘I’m sure her father is able to take care of her.’
‘Yeah, but he’s—’
‘I’m sure he can,’ Warren said, cutting off his wife. ‘But two parents are better than one.’
Penn wasn’t sure what they meant, so he just shrugged and headed out the door.
There was something brewing between those two, and he doubted that it was going to be anything good.