Dead Wrong - [10]

There were tales of folly and bravery, of interrupted weddings and miraculous escapes. Hundreds of people were still unable to get to work, to visit their businesses, retrieve their cars, return to their homes. I read it all.

On page eight a headline caught my eye. MYSTERY WOMAN AT BELLE VUE SUICIDE SCENE. I recalled the look of shock on Mrs Grady’s face, the ominous sound of flies busy at the corpse.

Local resident, Mrs Grady, 62, claimed she’d been alerted by a mystery caller ‘She wouldn’t say who she was or what she was doing there. She wouldn’t have her photograph taken. I thought that was a bit odd at the time. I’d no idea who she was. She left as soon as she could.’ I groaned. They’d had to put a spin on it. Rather than just relate the facts of Mr Kearsal’s death they’d spiced it up with a whiff of intrigue.

Mr Kearsal, 68, was found hanging at his Belle Vue home on the evening of Thursday June 13th He had not been seen since the previous Thursday. Mr Kearsal, who lived alone, leaves a sister in Harrogate. At this stage police do not suspect foul play; a note was found at the scene.

It was a non-story. Of course the police knew who I was, and a call to them from the reporter would have established that immediately, unless the police were being awkward about it. I groaned again. All I needed was some bright, bored reporter determined to uncover my identity, and the whole thing could blow out of all proportion. Local notoriety would be disastrous for my business. I needed my anonymity.

I could see it now. PRIVATE EYE HOUNDS BROKEN MAN. IS THIS WOMAN ON YOUR TAIL?

I hoped to God it would fade away.

I’d just topped up the bath for myself when I heard the phone. I let Ray answer it, hoping it would be for him. Wrong.

‘It’s Debbie Gosforth,’ her voice said, high with strain. ‘He’s here now, across the street.’

Shit.

‘Can you come?’ She was breathless.

‘Yes. Listen, I won’t come to the house -that might alert him – but I’ll wait down the street and try to follow him when he goes. What’s he wearing?’

‘His suit. He’s by the alley, where I showed you.’

‘How long’s he been there?’

‘I don’t know. I only saw him just now when I went to close the curtains upstairs. He wasn’t there earlier.’

‘I’ve got a mobile phone,’ I said. ‘I can ring you to let you know when he leaves. Stay inside. Try and keep your phone clear.’

I hate working evenings and nights but it can’t be avoided when surveillance is involved. The call can come anytime. And apart from my personal reluctance, nights are actually easier to arrange than earlier in the day because I can usually rely on Ray being there for the children.

After school can be very tricky, and on more than one occasion I’ve had to take the children with me. They’re good camouflage for short periods. Who suspects a woman with two children of being an investigator? But they are definitely time-limited as far as eating crisps and playing I-Spy in a stationary car goes.

I pulled the plug on the bath then checked with Ray and left details of where I was going.

‘Nothing risky, is it?’ he asked.

‘No. Someone else is being stalked; all I need to do is tail him home when he’s had enough. Long as I make sure he doesn’t cotton on, I’ll be fine.’

It was almost dark now, the streetlights turning from red to orange. I could feel excitement building as I drove west towards Chorlton. Surveillance is mind-numbing, utterly, crunchingly boring, but the prospect of seeing this guy, of hiding from him and tailing him sent shivers of anticipation through me. Like a kid playing hide-and-seek.

I was there in quarter of an hour. I wasn’t sure where my best vantage point would be, and as he was on foot he could walk off in either direction. I cruised slowly down Debbie’s road. Both sides were lined with cars which could be a help or a hindrance. I looked quickly at the alley as I passed but couldn’t see him. I drove round the block and passed again. No man in a suit. I parked round the corner and rang Debbie’s.

‘Debbie, it’s Sal Kilkenny. I’m round the corner but I can’t see him by the alley. Have a look out, will you?’

There was a clatter as she put the phone down and a pause before she returned.

‘He’s gone,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, you were right to call me.’

‘He was there,’ she sounded upset, ‘he was, I didn’t imagine it.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said, ‘I believe you. This sort of thing happens all the time. You weren’t to know how long he’d be there. Does he ever come back? Come and go, sort of thing?’

‘No.’

‘He’s not likely to come back tonight, then?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Ring me if he does. Are you OK? I could pop in for a few minutes?’ -

‘No, I’m fine. I’ve only just got Connor to sleep, his asthma’s bad. He’d be up again if he heard the door.’

‘Well, ring me as soon as you see him again, day or night.’

‘Yeah. OK. G’night.’

I felt deflated. The prospect of bed rather than hours getting cramp in the car was welcome but it was as if I’d been cheated My adrenalin had kicked in and had no part to play. I’d need a good hour to let it subside. At home I prowled around. There was nothing on television (again), I tried reading but found I’d reached the bottom of the page with questions about the stalker weaving through my mind.