Caught in the Web by Emmy Ellis (most read books in the world of all time TXT) 📗

“Not much, but once he said he would like to have a family of his own. A wife, children, and a pet. He was very insistent about that. And that he wanted to be happy.”

Don’t we all?

“Does he have visitors? Friends and the like?”

I need to build a picture of this fucker. I want to know who I’m dealing with.

“Not that I have seen.” Mr Ustav stroked his barely there chin. “He is what Mrs Ustav, my Letty, said is a loner. She asked him to come for dinner once, but he refused. He was polite about it, and Letty did not take offence, which pleased me as I do not wish her to be upset. Gordon said he prefers to be by himself until he finds a nice wife.”

So he has dreams, a goal. Why kill and put that in jeopardy?

Burgess needed to press on. Find something that would help the case. “Do you know if he goes out much—places where he would find this nice wife he seems to want so much?”

“He does not drink. He says he does not enjoy alcohol because it turns people into her. I do not know who her is, but he does not refer to the woman with a smile on his face. He does this.” Mr Ustav brought his forehead beetles together until they kissed each other. His mouth formed a tight, downturned pout, and his eyes narrowed to the point of almost closing. “And his cheeks, they go so red. He is angry about her, I know this much.”

A former lover?

“Moving to something different now,” Burgess said. “Do you remember the murder of a woman sixteen years ago who was also found in the alley?”

Mr Ustav had lived here for many years with Letty, who had once been the person to operate the dry-cleaning machine. Now, with several shops to their name, she worked in the one down High Street. Another couple of shops were run by managers. Burgess had been surprised the Ustavs didn’t live in a big house, considering their cleaning empire, but Mr Ustav had said they’d come from humble beginnings and saw no reason to elevate themselves up the social ladder. They liked living in flats—it reminded them of where they’d begun.

“Oh, yes, of course I remember that.” Mr Ustav shook his head and stared at the floor, possibly seeing images in his head that replicated the more recent ones of the police crawling up and down the alley in search of evidence. “I thought it a terrible business. I remember how awful it was for Letty back then. She used to work late here and would not leave the shop to go to the flat upstairs until I had come from the branch in High Street. That is when we moved to the flat there. Letty did not like living here—or working here—after the woman was found. She is beside herself that it has happened again. She wants me to close this shop, but it was my first so…” He shrugged. “I am attached to it in here.” He thumped his chest. “This is why I still work in this one. Why I have stopped myself from asking Gordon to manage it.”

“I understand. Now this next question might be pushing it, and it doesn’t matter if you don’t remember. Do you recall the murder of a man thirty years ago—it’s a long shot, I know, but you’ve been here for so long you might remember. He was called William Varley, same surname as me.”

“Ah, yes, and that is strange, because that is an uncommon surname so it stuck in my head—also because of other things I saw regarding that man—and I asked Gordon when he first started if William was a relation. He said he did not know him. I have also wondered if you are a relation to William and Gordon.” He shrugged again. “But I did not like to pry. And why would you or Gordon know William just because you have the same name? Not all Browns know other Browns.” He laughed a little. “I should not be finding humour. Pardon me for that.”

“It’s fine, Mr Ustav. Anything else you remember about that murder? The man’s, I mean.” And the other things you saw? What did you mean by that?

“It is funny you should say that. Not funny but… I am irrelevant again. No, not irrelevant.” He waved one hand. “I cannot think of the word. But I knew of the man, William Varley, which is why I asked Gordon about him. I say I knew him, but he only came in here a few times. First he was like you, bringing in suits and shirts, which is how I knew his name for when he had to collect them. Then one evening he brought in a bedspread and two pillows. He said his son had been sick and his machine wasn’t big enough to wash the bedding. I remember this because my own son had also been sick and we had discussed the virus going around. But what I remember the most is that he sat beside a girl. She must have been about fourteen, someone I would not have thought he would touch like that.”

Gordon’s mother? Touch like that?

Burgess’ stomach rolled over at the idea that his father had sex with a minor. He’d been putting off thinking about it for hours. Had his father dumped her after using her? Left her with a child to raise by herself? For all that Burgess’ mother had insisted William Varley had been a good man, he most certainly hadn’t been.

Mr Ustav went on, “When Mr Varley sat with her, she was just a young girl, which is why I was troubled the moment he touched her thigh and rubbed it like she was not a child.”

Burgess’