The Seagull (Vera Stanhope #8)

by Ann Cleeves

Sometimes it felt as if her whole life had been spent in the half-light; in her dreams, she was moonlit, neon-lit or she floated through the first gleam of dawn. Night was still the time when she felt most awake.

It might be Sunday night but people were still partying, spilling out of the bars and clubs, lingering on the pavements because this was June and the weather was beautiful, sultry and still.

The occupant of the other wheelchair stared back at her. Not with the kind of vaguely polite interest that the rest of her conscious audience had shown, as she walked in to the chaplain’s over-enthusiastic introduction, but with a fierce intensity. He was demanding to be seen. She recognized him at once, despite the withered legs and the bloated face. John Brace. Former Superintendent with CID, before Vera had helped to put him away. Egg-collector, obsessive and dealer in stolen birds of prey. Corruptor of lawyers and poor lads from the estates. Hector’s deputy and one of his Gang of Four, his get-out-of-jail-free card, the reason why her father had died at home and not in a place like this.

She did the talk. Described the recognized aftermath of sexual assault, the guilt and the shame. She explained that even a simple burglary could make the victim feel humiliated. Her audience nodded in the right places, the ones who were mentally fit enough to understand, but she thought humiliation was what had turned many of them on. That sense of power. There were a couple of questions from the floor at the end, but only from the ones who liked the sound of their own voices. If she’d been in the mood, she’d have asked them to talk about the times when they’d felt powerless. She’d have bet fifty quid that most of them had been abused as kids. But she was a cop, not a social worker, and her job was to bring them to court, not worry about what had made them who they were. Besides, all she wanted was for this to be over.

She was about to make an excuse when John Brace appeared in front of her, blocking her way. His legs might not be much use, but he was still a big man. Broad shoulders and thick neck. Still a bully. ‘We need to talk.’ ‘I’m sorry?’ Because she’d never appeared in court. She’d pointed her colleagues in the right direction, helped them build their case, but the prosecutors had decided she’d be toxic. Hector might have been dead by the time Brace was charged, but her father’s involvement with the detective had gone back years. Brace called over to the chaplain, ‘Any chance we could use your office, Father? The inspector and I would like to chew over old times.’ ‘Sure.’ A pause. ‘I suppose you two must be old friends.’ ‘Not quite, Father.’ This was Brace. Oily, confident. That confidence had persuaded his superiors that they could trust him. ‘I knew the inspector’s father, though. I have some information, and I’m sure she’d like to hear it.’ That had Vera hooked, as Brace had known it would. Even as a child, curiosity had been her undoing.

‘Why would Judith lie? After all this time she’d have nothing to lose.’ Vera could tell that Joe Ashworth was impressed by Judith. He was easily taken in by classy women. ‘Only a charge of perjury,’ Vera said. ‘If she’d lied at the time.’ She thought of Judith serving time in prison and gave a little smile. Classy women didn’t impress her at all.

But it was better to have a fantasy of a future with him than the reality of a future without him. Patty had never been much good at facing reality.

Brace smiled easily and wheeled himself towards his cell. Although he waved to fellow inmates on the way and it would have been impossible for them to recognize any change of mood, he knew that he was becoming someone quite different. He had to be a kind of detective again, wily and untrusting. Making things happen. Vera might be determined to discover what had happened that summer night more than twenty years before, but he had to follow his own agenda. He couldn’t let her take control of the situation. There were people he needed to speak to. He needed to gather his friends around him again.

And it was a different time then, you know?’ Holly thought she didn’t really know at all.

‘It must have been investigated.’ Vera wondered why she couldn’t remember the fire. Her dreams of sophistication literally going up in smoke. She’d probably been caught up with something at the other end of the county. But of course Charlie had the details. ‘Sinclair had an alibi. Well, naturally he would. No way he would have done it himself, anyway.’ ‘And the alibi?’ Charlie gave a slow smile. ‘He was at a police fund-raiser with half the force as witnesses.’ ‘Oh, a sense of humour,’ Vera said. ‘I do like a sense of humour in a villain.’

‘How long have you been here?’ ‘As a worker, for five years, but I was first here as a client when I was in my late teens.’ He must have sensed her surprise. ‘Most of the workers here are addicts in recovery. We understand what the clients are going through.’ ‘You can offer the sympathy that people need.’ ‘Often sympathy’s the last thing on offer, though of course we can give support. More importantly, we can be tough. Recovery isn’t just about stopping drinking or giving up drugs; it’s about taking responsibility. Not easy, if you’ve been running away from it all your life. Perhaps we can be more honest than the professionals.’ ‘I’m here to ask about a former client,’ Holly said. There was something about the man that she found compelling. His long fingers and intense face. The complete control. The smile. In another era he might have been a priest.

‘What is it like?’ ‘Sometimes you just have to stick by your people. You should understand that.’ Another silence, because she didn’t have an answer except that her people weren’t villains and, if they were, she wouldn’t stick by them.

He grinned. ‘Sometimes you have to mix with the devil to make ends meet.

Jack leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes and for a moment he could have been sleeping too. ‘Like he was the Pope and Paul McCartney rolled into one. Second only to God bloody Almighty.’ He spoke again, mimicking the accent of the landed gentry in a falsetto. ‘“Did you hear, darling? Guess who’s joining us next week? Only the Prof.!”’ ‘Anything else you can tell me about him?’ Vera wondered what it was about the Prof. that generated such reverence among a group that was usually aware only of its own importance.

She drove to Tynemouth and to the grand crescent where the Sinclairs lived, ignored the signs about private parking, and slipped through the barrier after another vehicle. She almost hoped someone would challenge her, because she was in the mood for a fight.

‘Becca. That was what she called herself. There was something special about her. She was an actor. I could tell that, even while I was doing her interview. She could tell what you wanted from her, and she was willing to give it.’ ‘And what did she want?’ Vera leaned forward, elbows on her knees, not caring that it made her skirt ride up. ‘Danger. Excitement. That was why I wanted to keep an eye on her. She was one of those kids who are on the edge. She could have been a great asset to the business. She was stunning to look at, you know, even dressed for school; and she wasn’t far off eighteen, when we could have employed her in the club, not just the restaurant. But you could tell that it might be a risk to take her on. She had that glitter about her. Needing to be the centre of attention. Desperate for celebrity. And stifled by those parents, who couldn’t understand her at all, so everything was a battle. She was used to a challenge, that was the way she operated.’ Elaine stopped, shrugged. ‘Sorry, that all sounds a bit daft.’ ‘No,’ Vera said. ‘You’re helping me to see her. I’ve known kids like that. Needing extremes. Terrified by boredom.’ The ones who become addicts. Who jump across rail tracks to paint crazy graffiti, and who steal for the fun of it. Or who become decorated soldiers, famous explorers and award-winning entrepreneurs.

Joe thought Vera must be desperate if she wanted to send him to talk to John Brace. So far in this inquiry she’d saved Brace for herself. Her enmity with him was personal and she’d thrived on it.