Jack didn’t answer; instead he continued with the questions he needed to ask.
‘Can you tell me about the time you lived at The Grange in 1995, please?’
Ester sat back again. ‘Fucking disaster waiting to happen. I mean, a murderess, a fraudster, a gunrunner, a druggie and a couple of whores trying to open a kids’ home! I assume you know everything about each of us already, so I doubt I’m telling tales. Julia and Gloria might have been looking for a new start to their shitty lives, I suppose. Connie and Kathleen were looking for someone else to make the decisions — useless bloody pair. I was looking to scam Dolly Rawlins out of her cash.’
Geoffrey entered with what looked like afternoon tea for two on a silver tray. He handed Jack a garish, flowery side plate with scalloped embossed edges and instructed him flirtatiously to help himself to anything he liked the look of. He then poured two cups of tea, handed Ester her plate and left the room.
‘Delightful, isn’t he?’ Ester grinned as she loaded her tiny side plate with three different types of cake. She ate with no regard for the fact that she was also talking. ‘He was one of my first customers at The Grange back in the eighties. He would only see me, which was very flattering. He’s supremely loyal. Thirty-odd years on and he still adores me.’
‘This is his place?’
‘Well, it sure as shit ain’t mine, is it, my darling? Have some cake, Jack — I’ve decided I’m going to call you Jack.’
‘That’s fine,’ Jack replied as he put his side plate down and sugared his tea.
‘Geoffrey’s a Switch. Do you know what that is, Jack?’ Again, Ester didn’t pause for a response. ‘It means that sometimes he likes to be the Dominant and sometimes he likes to be the Submissive. Clearly, he’s a Sub this week — which is the only time I get the housework and baking done, so you’re lucky there. If you’d popped round last week, you’d have found me shackled to the bed... You wouldn’t think it to look at him, would you?’ And she filled her mouth with a pink square of Battenberg.
Jack hid his snigger in his cup, which made Ester laugh out loud.
‘We can’t hide who we are, Jack. So why bother trying?’
‘You said that Dolly Rawlins gave you cash?’
‘She bought The Grange from me for £200,000, which was £100,000 less than it was worth, but it released me from some big debts and gave me the freedom to do what I wanted to do. Only problem was that I didn’t know what I wanted to do, so I stayed at The Grange until I decided. I ate well, drank well, fucked Julia. And then, one day, four suits from the council rolled up unannounced to do a spot check. They wandered down to the basement and caught me and Julia going at it in the sauna — not the sort of image they had in mind for a kids’ home, so they pulled Dolly’s funding. She blamed me entirely and told me to get out.’
‘So, you shot her?’ Jack asked cautiously, certain there was more.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ Ester said, as though her reaction of murder had been a perfectly sane one. ‘No? Well, lucky you to have always had something to live for, Jack. It was the second time in my life that I saw red and thought, Fuck this. She betrayed me first, Jack. She screwed me on the money because she knew I was out of options. Dolly Rawlins was a prize bitch. How she’d survived into her forties without being shot by someone is beyond me.’
Jack’s next question was not on his list, but he felt compelled to ask, ‘When was the first time you saw red and thought, Fuck this?’
Ester smiled. She didn’t mind Jack’s overly personal question and she even liked the fact that he was brave enough to ask.
‘When I was twelve and my uncle Derek forced himself into me for the first time. I thought, Fuck this, Uncle Derek, and I stabbed him in the ball sack with a pair of scissors.’ Ester howled with laughter. ‘ “What doesn’t kill you...” as they say.’
‘Do you remember the train robbery of ’95, Miss Freeman?’
‘If you don’t call me Ester, I shan’t answer another one of your questions.’
‘Do you remember the train robbery of ’95, Ester?’ Jack repeated obediently.
‘I remember your lot tearing The Grange apart at some ungodly hour. We didn’t know what it was about at the time, but I was flattered when I found out! I’ve never been accused of anything so clever before.’
Jack went on to ask a few more questions, but Ester’s recollection aligned with Bill Thorn’s, and the statement she had given back in 1995. He was already getting the feeling that interviewing all of The Grange women was going to be a waste of time, but it had to be done.
‘I don’t suppose you know where Julia Lawson, Connie Stephens and Angela Dunn are now, do you?’
‘Have you tried prison? They’re probably there. Too stupid to stay out, those three.’
‘They’re not in prison.’
‘Oh. Well then, Julia will be in a gutter or a mortuary somewhere — just can’t leave the “nose candy” alone or, more accurately, it can’t leave her alone. Connie will be lying on her back underneath some violent, possessive dickhead — it’s all she knows and she’s never had an original thought in her life. And... who else?’
‘Angela.’
‘Oh yes, her. I don’t know. I recall her being a worse maid than Geoffrey, so I doubt she’ll be doing anything that requires intellect. Thick as pig shit, and that’s being rather unfair to pigs.’
Jack sat on the sea wall with fish and chips and a pint. The sea was out and some of the closer boats now lolled on the seabed. He looked at the horizon and tried to imagine where his parents were and what they were doing. He smiled as he pictured his dad losing in the casino, and his mum placating him with a cocktail in her hand that she didn’t even know the contents of. She’d have simply chosen a name she liked — she did exactly the same with the horses in the Grand National.
He checked his notes on the three remaining women from The Grange. He considered Ester’s opinion of Connie as a woman who’d never had an original thought in her life and he wondered...
He called Laura. ‘Do me another favour, please?’
‘ “Hi, Laura. How are you?” ’ she interrupted sarcastically, then quickly added, ‘Go on.’
‘Connie Stephens. Can you see if there’s a B & B in Taunton called The Grange?’
Jack could hear Laura tap-tapping away on her keyboard. She spoke the words as she typed them, which was a habit of hers that he hated.
‘Oh, by the way,’ she said as she waited for the search results to show up, ‘Arnie Fisher died in 2012 from AIDS. And Tony Fisher’s in Pentonville for manslaughter. He’s got four years left.’ Then more tap-tapping.
Before Jack could thank Laura for her help, he heard Ridley’s distant voice at the other end of the phone.
‘How are the Fishers connected to our murder victim at Rose Cottage?’
Leaving Laura to stumble her way through a half-remembered response about the Fishers’ connection to Dolly Rawlins, Jack leapt off the sea wall, binned his fish and chips and grabbed the first person he came across.
‘Where would I find a taxi, please?’
‘Ryde train station’s your nearest taxi rank — an hour’s walk that way. But John at the post office sometimes...’
Jack raced towards the post office, phone clamped to his ear.
Ridley was asking about B & Bs in Taunton.
‘Jack had a hunch that Connie’s B & B in Taunton might be called The Grange, so I’m seeing what’s registered and cross-referencing...’ Jack heard her tapping the keyboard.
Ridley interrupted her. ‘Why’s Jack got you doing it? Is that him?’