a little taller than you, smartly dressed for a teenager. He had nice hair, though, he was forever running his hand through it. I’m pretty sure he had a girl waiting outside. She was on her phone chatting rather loudly to her friend.’
Morgan rushed back to the computer and brought up Instagram and searched for Harrison Wright’s page. After scrolling through the list, she found him. The woman came over and stared at the screen.
‘Looks like him, but I couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure of it.’
She found a picture of Harrison and Bronte. ‘What about her, did you see her?’
‘Hard to say, she’s similar but I wouldn’t want to say for definite. I’ve been off for ten days. This is my first day back in work, and my memory isn’t as good as it used to be. To be honest, after all the gin and tonics I consumed, half of my brain cells are probably dead. Sorry, I’m not much help, am I?’
Morgan smiled. ‘No, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you.’
She walked back to her car. She’d pass all this on to Ben as soon as she’d hunted down Stan.
Forty-Five
Morgan drove at a snail’s pace through Rydal Falls, keeping an eye open for Stan. With his drunken shuffle he wouldn’t be too hard to find. Turning into Harrison Street, she stopped outside Carol’s terraced house. She’d been here twice in four years and it had been twice too many, but needs must. This wasn’t about her and Stan, it was about the O’Briens and the Potters. She owed it to both families to try and figure out what the hell went wrong and why so many people had died in the same house.
Opening the rusted gate, she walked along the short path and knocked on the broken front door. A dog began to bark inside; she could see it through the yellowing net curtains as it tried to jump at the window to get to her. It was an ugly thing that looked like some kind of pug crossed with a bulldog. She heard the click-clacking of Carol’s heels as she tottered towards the front door. Morgan stepped back, unsure what kind of mood the woman was going to be in or whether her ugly dog would come pounding out of the front door.
The door opened a couple of inches and one of Carol’s eyes stared at her through the crack.
‘Oh, it’s you. What do you want?’
‘Is Stan here?’
‘Piss off, Spot.’ Carol screamed at the dog so loud Morgan thought her eardrums had burst.
‘Mangy dog, it never shuts up barking. Always the same whenever he’s not here.’
‘Who, Stan?’
There was a bang as the front door slammed shut, what sounded like a full-on scrap from inside and then another loud slam as a door inside was closed. The front door opened a lot wider this time and Carol smiled at her. Morgan smiled back.
‘Christ, sorry about that. I can’t hear myself think with its constant yapping. Where were we? Oh yeah, Stan. He’s got a nerve your dad, he thinks he can do what he wants whenever he wants.’
Morgan nodded, and thought to herself same old Stan. ‘Is he here though?’
‘Sorry, love, I’ve had enough of him. Chucked him and his stuff out a few days ago. I tried, you know, to put up with him. But there’s only so much lying and stealing I can take. Is it important?’
‘Yes, I need to speak to him urgently about a work matter.’
‘Oooh, finally got himself in trouble with the cops, has he? I’m amazed it’s taken this long to be honest.’
‘He’s not in trouble, I just need to find him.’
‘Try the pubs along the high street. He was spending more time in that little crappy one, The Kings, that’s full of the heavy drinkers like him, than he was anywhere else. If not, I don’t know where else to suggest really; the homeless shelter maybe? If they’ll have him that is.’
‘Thanks, Carol, I will.’
Carol slammed the door shut, no ‘goodbye’ or ‘take care’. Morgan turned and walked out of the gate. The dog was still barking and slobbering all over the already filthy net curtains.
The Kings was next on her list.
She walked inside, and her stomach churned at the lingering smell of stale lager that hung in the air. She looked around, couldn’t see Stan and was about to walk out when the barman shouted: ‘What’s up, who you looking for?’
She walked towards him. ‘Stan Brookes, do you know him?’