This one was well-presented and spacious, for a two-bed semi.
The interior smelled of lavender and polish and had been well-maintained.
She took off her coat, placing it on a hanger on the wall in the hallway. Her bag, she placed over the coat, rather than take up any more of the hooks. The last thing she needed was for Steadman to find it cluttered.
The houses’s appearance mattered. Her appearance mattered.
In the hall mirror, she straightened her skirt and adjusted her hair before checking the time. Ten minutes early, enough time to freshen her lipstick and think about Will. She worried about him. What would he do when she could no longer accompany him to his appointments? How would his first serious relationship go?
Michael accused her of mollycoddling him. She hated that word. A word invented to install doubt in mothers. A word to curb the maternal instinct. It made her sad, and it made her afraid to be herself.
The doorbell chimed, and she jumped, having forgotten where she was.
He reeked of cheap cologne and wore a wide tie, picked up from a charity shop, or else dug out from the bottom of his wardrobe. An ill-fitting suit and greased-back hair completed the effect. She realised, with a quiet sadness, that he had made an extra effort today.
“Mr Steadman.” She held out her hand.
“Mrs Harries.” He took it, holding on until she coloured and pulled it away. She wanted to run, not looking back.
He smiled at her. His tobacco-stained teeth, and receding gums, had her returning her eyes to her clipboard.
“Did you receive the details for this one?” Her eyes perused the paperwork.
He nodded. “I did. It looked promising on paper.”
“Then, we’ll start, if that is okay? We’ll go round the inside and then I’ll show you the garden.”
He grinned. “After you.”
The way he looked her up and down, gave her goosebumps. As she led him up the stairs, she could almost feel his eyes on her rear. She felt exposed. Unsafe. Her mobile was in her bag. She quickened her pace on the stairs.
“It’s small.”
Though he was still at her back, she sensed his nose wrinkling. She narrowed her eyes. Here we go…
“I’m not sure there’s enough light coming down this stairwell.”
“There are light switches at the bottom and top of the stairs.” She forced the cheerfulness in her voice as she took him to the bedrooms.
In the first room, he said not a word.
She dreaded showing him the second.
“Call this a bedroom? I’ve had hamster cages bigger than this. How did they get the bed in?”
“Didn’t you say you’d be living alone?” Her voice remained calm.
“I need an office.”
She cringed at his churlishness. “Perhaps, a foldaway desk?”
“What about a drink?”
“Sorry?”
“I’d like to take you for a drink, sometime. Is that allowed?” He smoothed a hand over his hair, his demeanour changing from a petulant child to an adult unsure of himself. Nervous, even.
Kate shook her head. “I’m married, Mr Steadman. Happily married.”
She gazed towards the window, eyes glazed over. Was she? She thought of Michael and his judgement of her helping Will. And what about Max, using her to do his laundry and send him money? When did they enquire about her well-being, or her happiness? When did they still to listen? Talking to them was often a one-sided affair. They gave her half an ear if that. Or else, they’d cut across her sentences with their own. She was like an armchair or a pair of comfortable shoes. Would they even notice if she didn’t go home? They would, at dinnertime.
“Are you okay?”
A hand on her shoulder took her by surprise. His fingernails need a good clipping.
She extricated herself from his grasp. “I’m fine. Where were we?”
“You were about to show me the back garden.”
18
Scarface
Scarface, real name Earl Casey, sat back in the chair, arms folded across a wide chest that strained his black t-shirt.
It had taken them two hours to drive to Brecon station, in South Powys, to interview him. Dewi had taken his time along the winding route. Black ice had dogged them for much of the way. Her sergeant agreed to wait for her in the main office.
She took her seat, next to DCI Roberts, head of Brecon Drugs Squad.
The DCI levelled the first questions, Yvonne happy to observe until it was her turn. Brecon’s operation had taken the best part of seven months. Earl Casey was just one player amongst many, in their high-level op. She wouldn’t have dared tread on their toes.
Talking to Casey was like talking to lump. A thing, unmoving and uncooperative. As she observed him, she had to remind herself to breathe.
When it was her turn to question him, she held little hope of getting much. “Mr Casey, as DCI Roberts mentioned, I’m DI Yvonne Giles-”
“Do I know you?”
“No, I don’t think so-”
“I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
“I’ve got a common face.” She shrugged. “People often mistake me for someone else.”
His forehead creased in a frown.
“Did I babysit you, when you were little?” She meant it as a joke. A way in.
“Yeah, right?” He sneered, throwing his head back and tutting. He leaned forward. “You from Solihull?” He uncrossed his arms.
“No.”
Muscles in his face flickered. His eyes bored into her. “A smart mouth can get you into trouble.”
“Earl, I’m looking for a missing person. Actually, it’s a group of missing people.” She studied his face.
Nothing.
“Does the name William Harries mean anything to you?”
“No.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Never met no Will Harries.”
“Really?”
His eyes returned to her. “Really.”
“Then why did you call him Will?”
“What?”
“You referred to him as Will. That’s what he’s known as. I referred to him as William.”
“That don’t mean nothing.”
“Will and his family are missing. Can you tell me where they are? Maybe you've seen them?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he appeared to find the ceiling fascinating.
“There's evidence that puts you and Will together. We're aware you’ve at least talked to him.”
“I don’t remember the names of everyone I talk to. I chat to many people. That’s how I roll.” He curled the corner of his lip. “I bet you don’t remember the names of everyone you’ve ever talked to?”
DCI Roberts stepped in. “The young lad… Jono, the one in the car with you-”
Scarface put his arms on the table, leaning forward. “What about him?”
“He’s sat on the station toilet.”
“So?”
“He’ll be there for as long as it takes.”
Scarface scowled.
Roberts continued. “That boy is refusing to eat. Doesn’t want to take a dump. Why’s that Earl?”
“He doesn’t like pigs. They make his bum pucker.”
“Or, he fears what will come out?”
Casey glared at the DCI. "If he’s got anything inside him, it’s nothing to do with me. Just 'cos we’re in the same car, doesn’t mean I saw if he swallowed something. That’s his business, innit?"
“You sure? See, we think you’ve been running Jono, and others like him, as drug mules, making them swallow your stash so you walk free.”
Earl crossed his arms.
“Where’s the sim cards for your phones?”
“No idea.”
“Why would you carry two phones on you, neither of which contain sim cards?”
“I got to get new ones. Contracts have run out.”
“We couldn’t find any contracts in your name, or associated with your account. You’re a pay-a
s-you-go man. You know that. We know that.”
“You don’t know shit.” Earl stamped his foot beneath the table.
“We know more than you think.”
Yvonne cleared her throat. “Earl, did you harm the Harries family?”
“No.”
“So, where are they?”
“No idea.”
“Could they be hiding from you, for any reason?”
“You’d have to ask them.”
“Interview suspended, twelve-fifteen pm.”
19
Evans and Harries
Barry, site foreman, stared up at the glass office and Clive Evans, working at the desk. He witnessed the strained expression, the hand-combing, the pacing. Evans was a man on the edge.
He downed his clipboard. “Keep on it, lads. I’ll be back, shortly.”
He climbed the metal risers and banged on the manager’s door.
“Come in, Barry. What can I do for you? I’m pushed at the moment. I’m-”
“When will you tell them the truth?”
“Who?”
“The police. They will find out, you know that.”
Clive pushed the hair back from his face. “Do I need to? It wouldn’t change anything.”
“You should.”
“It will hardly make any difference now, will it? We've got too much on. There's an order to fulfil.”
Barry hesitated.
“Well?”
The foreman turned on his heal, heading out of the office and down along the factory floor, fumbling for his mobile. He paused, his thumb above the keypad.
“Barry?” One of the lads shouted.
Sweat beading on his upper lip, Barry pocketed the phone.
❖
Yvonne’s mobile went off in her jacket pocket. She shot a look at DCI Roberts. “Sorry.”
He nodded as she left rose to take the call outside.
“Ma’am?” Callum was hyperventilating.
“What up?”
“I’ve spoken to Karl Klinsmann from Lebensraum.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t Michael he negotiated with. It was his business partner, Clive Evans.”
“Well, we already knew Evans sent the completed paperwork to them.”
“Yes, but this was before the paperwork. This was setting up the whole thing. Klinsmann reckons Evans was keen.”
Yvonne pursed her lips. “I see…”
“Do we get him in again?”
“Not yet, Callum, wait till I get back. I would like to speak to him myself. If he’s been deliberately misleading our investigation, we may have enough to bring charges.”
“Exactly, ma’am. What was he trying to hide?”
“Ask uniform to do a drive-by. If he leaves the factory, I want him followed.”
“I could tail him, ma’am.”
“Thanks, Callum.”
“Everything all right?” DCI Roberts asked as he joined her outside the interview room.
“I must go.” Yvonne grimaced. “Can you let me know if you get anything from Casey, regarding the Harries’s?”
“Sure, but the clock is ticking. Even if Jono poops his stash, we may not tie it to Casey. As it stands, we don’t even have him on a misdemeanour.”
Yvonne pursed her lips. "We need those sim cards."
“Well, we’ve got him for another hour. We’ll keep working on it. He’s using these boys, it’s only a matter of time until we prove it.”
20
Confession?
Michael Harries strode into the office.
“What?” Clive Evans stopped what he was doing.
“We can’t buy that company, that’s a crazy idea.”
“The price is a steal compared to their first offer.” Clive stood, a pained expression on his face.
Michael glared at him, legs apart, hands on hips. “It’s still too much for us. You know it is. Not only would we be in considerable debt and risking our business.” He jerked his head in the factory worker's direction. “It’s their livelihoods. Our livelihoods. And what about fulfilling the orders? The level of debt would mean we couldn’t afford to take on the extra staff necessary to meet the contracts.”
“The bank would give us more finance, once we show them the orders.”
“Would they? Listen to yourself.”
“We’d make it back.”
“And if we didn’t? We’ve still got wages to pay, and it’s not long till Christmas.”
“They need an answer by the close of business on Monday, next week. Please, Mike, have a think about it.”
Michael turned on his heal. The door slammed shut.
❖
Clive had come in under his own steam, head bowed as he entered the station.
He gave his name in a quiet monotone before they took his fingerprints.
“Interview room one,” Dewi barked to the desk sergeant.
Yvonne was the last to arrive.
Clive requested a duty solicitor, who shuffled papers while advising his client.
As the DI entered, she clocked the loose tie, mussed hair and dark shadows under Evans’ eyes.
Dewi introduced everyone for the recording.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you for coming in, Mr Evans.” She took her seat next to Dewi, opposite Clive and his solicitor.
“We spoke to you a few days ago, regarding an argument you’d had with Michael Harries. This was before his family’s disappearance. We noted that, in your version of events, Mr Harries had wanted to purchase the business of the German pod company, Lebensraum.
Clive grunted, his eyes on his forearms.
The DI continued. “You told us you resisted the deal, because you thought it too risky.”
He chewed the thumbnail on his right hand.
“Michael was the reluctant one, wasn’t he? Something worried him about the deal.”
“Yes,” Clive said, without looking up.
“Can you tell me why you hid that from us? May I remind you, you are under caution and that this interview is being recorded?”
Clive sighed. “I kept thinking Mike would reappear any day. I thought he’d chosen to disappear for personal reasons. He wasn’t against the idea in totality, he worried about the possible fallout, the worst-case scenarios. We decided he could think about it. I had to give a decision by the end of the following Monday. That much was true. What I hadn’t told you, was that I had been the main driving force behind the deal.”
As he finished, he looked up at her. “A business can’t afford to stand still in today’s world. Stand still and you die. Simple as that. Mike knew that. There’s always the next company coming up on your coat tails, to steal your ideas and the market. To stay ahead is key. Our pods were a revolutionary design, but we already had imitators coming up behind. If we expand, we stay ahead. Yes, we would be in debt. That’s all part of a thriving business. Michael’s issue was that it might be too much, too soon. With him missing, I had to decide for us all. I had to make the deal and give us a chance to get ahead, or miss out on that deal and keep us in the firing line of those coming up behind.”
“You lied to us.”
"When Mike didn’t reappear, I knew you’d find out. I’d been wrestling with myself about coming here to get it all off my chest."
Yvonne studied the bags under his eyes. “I can see you’ve had a few sleepless nights.” She sat back, shifting position, to get more comfortable. “You said, a few moments ago, that you thought Michael may have disappeared for family reasons. What did you mean by that?”
Clive leaned forward, shaking his head, as though pained by his memories. “He’d been moody over the last couple of months. He wasn’t himself. I suspected, he had argued about the deal because he wasn’t a happy man.”
“What do you mean, moody? What was he doing?”
“He was touchy about little things. I mean, we couldn’t banter with him how we would normally do. He snapped Barry’s head off a few weeks ago for putting sa
lt in his coffee. The lads stuff us up and we all laugh about it. We let off steam. It reduces stress after we've achieved a large order and difficult deadlines. We need the light relief. Michael would have taken it all in good part, even six months ago. Well, that day, he lost it. He lost it with Barry and threw hot coffee at him before storming off. It cut Barry up. He's a sensitive bloke, and he hadn’t intended upsetting Mike.”
“Barry the foreman?”
“Right.”
“What happened next? Were Michael and Barry okay with each other, following that incident?”
“Barry is easy going. Michael came back an hour later and apologised to him. The two of them got on with it. But, Michael was quiet for a while. I could see something was troubling him. I suspected it was problems at home.”
“You mean Will?”
“Yes, that, and his relationship with Kate was under strain.”
“What makes you say that?”
“A few months before he disappeared, I asked him about Kate. He seemed to close right up. I mean, I got grunts and one-word answers. At one time, he would have talked for several minutes about what they’d been up to at the weekend. It’s like he was closing down.”
“Did you think his marriage was breaking down?”
Evans nodded. “I did, and I got the impression it was around the situation with Will.”
“The situation being?”
“Well, Will’s difficulties with his mental health and drug use.”
“Did Michael tell you that?”
“Not in so many words, but he gave us snippets of what was going on.” Clive shrugged. “We felt that that, together with his mood swings, was at the root of his odd behaviour.”
“You say we. Who are you including in that?”
“Well, myself and the lads. You know… we talk.”
Yvonne tapped her pen against her front teeth. “So, if we speak to your workers, they’ll corroborate what you have just told us?”
Blood Lost Page 8
