The Truth Will Out by Jane Isaac Page B

lap.
    “What do you think, Karen?”
    “I think nothing,” she said. “Nothing!” Her voice was filled with anger, but her face looked like she wanted to cry. “They split up a couple of months ago. And he had nothing to do with her murder. He just isn’t capable.”
    ***
    As they approached the alley that led to the car, Pemberton stopped to light a cigarette and cast her an inquisitive glance. He looked as if he expected to be berated, especially in view of the fact that she had recently given up. But Helen was not about to pass judgement. Instead, she checked her phone. There were two missed calls: one from Dean, which she deleted, the other from Spencer. She dialled him back.
    He answered on the second ring, as if he was waiting for her call.
    “Hi, Steve. Any news?”
    “Yes. A slight breakthrough.”
    Helen’s stomach lurched. She could hear the sound of an engine purring in the background. “What is it?”
    “Some of the victim’s friends said Naomi went on holiday to Milan with her best friend, Eva Carradine, a week or so ago.”
    Helen felt a rush of adrenalin. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Pemberton tilt his head to get her attention. She lifted a hand to silence him. “Where are you now?”
    “I’m just heading back to the office. We managed to get her address from the spa at Memington Hall where she was a member. Want me to head out there?”
    “Where is it?” Helen retrieved her notebook and scribbled as he spoke. “No, don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll take that one. And Steve?”
    “Yes?”
    “Well done.”
    ***
    The engine hummed as they drove out of the estate. Helen considered Jules, Karen and Naomi: the love triangle. The difference between Karen and Naomi struck Helen. From what she’d learnt of Jules Paton, Naomi’s background seemed more similar to his own. But she could see why Karen caught his eye.
    They pulled out onto the main road leaving the rabbit warren behind, and passed an industrial estate encased within a six-foot high brown fence that was in dire need of a paint job. From the road, only the tops of the buildings were visible but, having visited there on many occasions, Helen knew these units housed garages, printing firms, engineering factories and even a recruitment office.
    As Pemberton slowed to join a line of cars waiting at the traffic lights, Helen’s gaze fell on an imposing Victorian building painted entirely in black. The sign read Black Cats. Straddling the corner of Henderson Street and Albert Road, on a Saturday night the queues to enter the nightclub ran almost down to the entrance of the rabbit warren estate itself. A pair of chilling, green cat’s eyes were painted on the black background above a neon sign, which lit up red when the club was open.
    The bald headed, gaunt face of Chilli Franks entered her mind. She recalled Dean’s earlier words, ‘we’ve found nothing to suggest he is criminally active now.’
    Helen thought back to Chilli’s release from prison. He’d taken his nephew, Nate, under his wing. She remembered Nate from her early years in the force. The accident baby of heroin addict, Sheena Franks, Chilli’s youngest sister. As Sheena suffered from postnatal depression, a psychosis that deteriorated into manic depression that dogged her life, she rejected Nate at birth. For the majority of his early years, he was passed around family and friends with intermittent periods back with his own mother who clearly lacked interest. Finally, she took an overdose, slashing her wrists in a hot bath when Nate was just nine-years-old.
    Helen was one of many cops who’d been called to his school for several violent incidents before he reached the age of eleven. He struggled academically, was a loner and Helen remembered there being something odd about him, an uneasiness she couldn’t place. She recalled that Nate moved in with his auntie Petra, Chilli’s older sister, after his mother’s death. But it was no secret Nate