Rooted in Dishonour

by Christina James

  “DI Yates wondered if you’d let me go to Spalding to interview the family of the girl who’s disappeared.”

  “Really? Your coppers not good enough, Tim?” Derry cast an amused eye in Tim’s direction.

  “On the contrary, they’re excellent. But, like me, they don’t have much experience of this type of crime. I think Nancy could help them a lot.”

  “I’m sure we could spare you for a couple of days, Nancy, if you want to go. You can probably travel back with DI Yates. I think he’ll be going home later today, if that’s not too short notice. You’d better watch him, though. He can be a bit of a lad, eh, Tim?”

  Tim groaned inwardly at the gibe, and would have taken Derry to task if his attention hadn’t been arrested by the earlier sentence.

  “Going home today?” he said. “Why do you say that? I’d planned on staying until at least tomorrow.”

  “I know you had, old son, but I’ve just had a message for you via Thornton from the police chief in Delhi who’s been handling the investigation into Ayesha Verma’s cousin. As you know, the cousin appears to be being co-operative, but he’s just announced that he’s working away from next week onwards.”

  “Where away?”

  “I don’t know. Wherever it is, it’ll complicate matters if you have to question him in some rural outpost, probably with no local police to help. Much better if you see him in Delhi with the policeman present who’s familiar with the case: the one who got Verma to say he’s willing to be interviewed. You could travel straight from London, I suppose, but you said you wanted to go home first and my guess is you probably don’t have the right clobber here?”

  “No, I don’t; and yes, I must go home first: I promised Katrin that I would.” He turned to Nancy. “Are you able to travel with me today, or is it too short notice? I’d like to introduce you to my colleagues in Spalding myself if I can.”

  “If I can go back to my flat now to pack, I can be ready to leave in less than a couple of hours.”

  “Off you go, then,” said Derry. “But I doubt if DI Yates’ll be ready as soon as that. Won’t you have to go back to Surbiton to pick up your stuff?”

  “I’m not too worried about that. I didn’t bring very much with me. I can leave my things at Freya’s until the next time I visit her.” The thought crept into the back of Tim’s mind that he might be able to get out of the showdown with Freya after all. Then there’d only be Katrin to worry about, for now at least.

  “Should I meet you here or at the station? King’s Cross, isn’t it?” Tim realised that Nancy was speaking to him.

  “Uh? Oh, sorry, I was thinking about something else. At the station might be a good idea. It’ll save a bit of time. I’ll meet you in the Pret-a-Manger café. It’s just opposite the departure boards.”

  “I know it. I’ll see you there in two hours from now.”

  “Out with it, Tim,” said Derry, as soon as Nancy closed the door. “What happened last night?” He wasn’t smiling now, but fixing Tim with the beady look Tim knew he usually reserved for punters.

  Tim briefly put his head in his hands and smoothed back his hair. The bone-deep feeling of weariness returned.

  “Trust me, Derry, nothing happened. Nothing at all. But if Katrin should get in touch and ask you if I spent last night at yours, I’d be eternally grateful if you’d say that I did.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  “I see. Well, I’ve had no reason not to trust you up to now, Tim. And I daresay you’d do the same for me.”

  Tim nodded, but avoided meeting Derry’s eye. He knew that this would not necessarily have been the case in the past. As for the future – he would owe Derry, now.

  “All right,” Derry continued heavily, “if necessary, I’ll do it, though I think we’re agreed that it would be much better all round if she doesn’t ask. There’s just one condition.” The beady look returned.

  “What’s that?”

  “Promise me that wherever you were last night, and whatever you were doing, it didn’t hurt Patti.”

  “I promise you,” said Tim, not knowing whether even this was true. He’d already hurt Patti, as Derry knew. Had last night made it worse? He didn’t think so.

  “And I trust that you saw her back to her hotel, before you went off to do whatever it was?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  There was another pause.

  “Good,” said Derry. “I suppose she’s gone home now? She said she would be leaving today.”

  “Yes,” said Tim. “I think she caught the train this morning.”

  “I don’t suppose you had a chance to put in a word with her for me?”

  “Not really. But I’ll try again next time I see her.”

  “Did she mention me at all? No? Well, time to get on. We’ve got ninety minutes before you have to leave to meet Nancy. Enough time to dig out the photo of your Peter Prance character from the files.”

  Chapter 31

  The small man had managed to sleep fitfully, despite his injuries. He’d woken up late in the morning and set about the painful business of bathing his wounds and rubbing ointment into his bruises. His mouth was particularly painful. He screwed up the courage to examine it in his spotty mirror and was horrified at what he saw. His lower lip had burgeoned like a bud bursting from its calyx. It was an exotic but unlovely mixture of red and purple. The small man wanted to cry.

  He’d have to get on with the job, and do it today if he could, before they lost patience and came after him again. Distraught, he poked among the bundle of rags on the floor which were all that was left of his clothes. Somehow he’d have to patch them up, dust them down, make himself presentable. He set to work.

  Chapter 32

  I call Juliet as soon as I’ve put the phone down on Tim. I’m still fizzing with anger and afraid that Juliet will pick up on it, but Tim’s got me worried about Margie now. I’m afraid that I gave Mrs Sims bad advice. I don’t want to waste any more time.

  “Hello, Katrin. Everything ok? I was just going to call you, as a matter of fact, see if you had some time to spare this afternoon. Did the meeting with Fiona Vickers go well?”

  “Quite well, thanks, but that’s not why I’m calling. I need to speak to you about a girl who’s gone missing. She works for my childminder but didn’t turn up this morning.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a cause for alarm . . .”

  “That’s what I thought. But Mrs Sims, the childminder, says it’s out of character for this girl to let her down; and I’ve just been speaking to Tim, who said I should call you.”

  “Ok, I’ll be right with you. Or would it be better if you came here? Where does the girl live?”

  “I’m not sure. Mrs Sims lives in Haverfield Street. She can’t leave her house during the day, obviously, as she’s got all the kids she looks after there.”

  “Why don’t you come here first? Then we can go and see her together. If you can get away, that is.”

  “Yes, that’ll be all right. There’s nothing urgent here now that I’ve seen Fiona Vickers.”

  I quickly gather my things and step outside into the street. I’m greeted by brilliant sunshine, so bright it hurts my eyes. The police station is only a brisk ten minutes’ walk away and soon I’m climbing the stairs to the open plan area where Juliet works. As I approach her desk I see that she’s talking on the phone. I stand still, not wanting to look as if I’m eavesdropping her conversation, but she waves me over.

  “She’s here now,” she says. She hands me the phone. “It’s Tim.” I manage to smile. I note that Juliet doesn’t respond, but frowns and looks away.

  “Thanks.”

  “Katrin, is that you? Elusive today, aren’t you? I’ve just been trying to get you again at your office.”

  “As Juliet probably explained, we’ve decided to go and see Mrs Sims toge
ther. I told Juliet what you said about not leaving it any longer before we try to find Margie.”

  “Yes, she mentioned it. What I wanted to tell you was that I’m coming home today. I’ll probably be flying to India tomorrow.”

  “That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it can’t be helped. I’ll explain when I get there. I’m bringing one of Derry’s team with me. I’ve asked Juliet to meet her today, so that I can introduce her. Will you still be there?”

  “When will you be arriving?”

  “I’m not sure. Around 4.30, I suppose.”

  “In that case, the answer’s no. I’ll be on my way home with Sophia by then.”

  “Of course, I should have thought of that. I’m really looking forward to seeing you both.”

  “I’m sure that Sophia is looking forward to seeing you, too.” I glance at Juliet, but she has bent her head discreetly over some papers on her desk. If she’s noticed my tone, she doesn’t show it.

  “Ok, well, goodbye,” Tim says awkwardly. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “How are you?” I ask Juliet, after I’ve killed the call and handed back the phone.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing. You seem a bit uptight.”

  I laugh, knowing as I do so that it sounds forced.

  “Tim’s just pissed me off a bit, that’s all,” I say. “I expect I’ll get over it.”

  “Yes, well, he seems to have developed a talent for doing that at the moment,” she replies.

  “Has he done something to upset you?”

  She hesitates.

  “He’s been behaving rather erratically lately,” she says slowly. “And like a fool I’ve let him turn me into a dogsbody. Still, as you say, nothing that I can’t deal with.”

  “I guess neither of us has time to waste at the moment, obsessing about Tim’s behaviour,” I say.

  “You’re right. If another girl’s disappeared, we need to swing into action, and quickly.”

  “Another girl . . . are you connecting Margie with Ayesha Verma?”

  “It seems an obvious conclusion to draw, doesn’t it? Girls don’t disappear in Spalding every day of the week.”

  “You’re right. But I think it’s unlikely that Margie is the victim of an honour killing. From what I’ve heard, her parents take no interest in her whatsoever.”

  “I’m getting a bit tired of all this talk of honour killings,” Juliet snaps back. “I’m far from convinced that that’s what’s happened to Ayesha. As a theory, I think it’s got out of hand.”

  “But you encouraged me to meet Fi Vickers.”

  “I did, and at least partly because I don’t want Tim to make a fool of himself by haring off to India when there’s probably a more logical solution staring him in the face.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When girls do run away, they sometimes do so off their own bat, but often in cahoots with each other. If this girl called Margie really has gone missing, I think we should explore any connections she may have with Ayesha before we jump to more exotic conjectures. And we don’t need an ‘expert’ from London to help us do that.”

  “You mean the woman that Tim’s bringing with him?”

  “That’s exactly who I mean. No doubt some superior female copper who’s done amazing things in the Met and who’s now coming here to show us how it’s done.”

  “Steady on! This doesn’t sound like you!”

  “It may not sound like the me that you know, but it’s a side of me that you’ll probably be seeing a lot more of in the future! Come on, let’s go!”

  Juliet heads for the stairs, and uses an unnecessary amount of energy to clatter down them. I follow more slowly. When I join her at the foot of the staircase, she’s already contrite.

  “I’m sorry, Katrin, you’re right: it’s not like me to over-react like this, and you certainly don’t deserve to have it taken out on you. But sometimes I could kill Tim, I really could.”

  “That makes two of us.” I smile wryly and she smiles back. Unexpectedly, we both burst out laughing.

  Chapter 33

  When Tim arrived at King’s Cross station Nancy was already there, waiting patiently outside Pret-a-Manger. He saw that she’d changed out of the purple tunic and was now wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket festooned with multiple zippers and small chains. The inevitable Doc Martens remained. Her lips and eyelids were painted in deep plum. She was wearing a tiny rucksack that looked incapable of holding much more than a change of underwear and a toothbrush. Tim permitted himself a small mischievous smile as he pictured the likely reactions of his colleagues in Spalding when they met her.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.

  She glanced at the station clock.

  “You’re dead on time,” she said. “Pafologically early, that’s me. There’s a train to Peterborough in ten minutes. I’ve bought my ticket. You should have time to get yours.”

  “I bought a return ticket on Monday, so we’re good to go. Unless you’d like to grab some tea?”

  “Good idea. The platform hasn’t been announced yet, so we’re ok.”

  “Black tea?”

  She threw him a scornful look.

  “I don’t like the green stuff, either,” he said. “My sister keeps on making it for me.”

  “Cat’s piss,” said Nancy dismissively, gazing out across the concourse.

  Tim headed for the Pret counter, recalling only too vividly his party trick of a couple of days ago. He hoped none of the staff remembered him. He didn’t recognise any of them, but that didn’t mean anything: he’d hardly been in a fit state. He took his place in the short queue, returning with two lidded beakers of tea just as the platform announcement was made.

  He was handing Nancy her tea when he spotted a woman with short blonde hair walking towards the barriers, and paused in the act. The woman’s back was turned to him, but he felt sure it was Patti. He wondered what had kept her in London until this afternoon. If she was intent upon catching the same train as he and Nancy, he hoped fervently that they’d manage to choose different carriages.

  Nancy was alert to his hesitation and followed his gaze.

  “You know her?”

  “I . . . yes. At least, I think it’s her: Patti. She’s a Scene of Crime Officer. She works for South Lincs, too. We’ve been on several cases together.”

  “Want to catch her up?”

  “No. No, I don’t know her that well. She’d probably rather have the journey to herself.”

  Nancy didn’t reply, but unless Tim was imagining it, the look she shot him was one of disapproval.

  “We’d best be getting on the train, anyway.”

  She led the way, Tim following in silence. He saw the woman he thought was Patti getting into one of the first class carriages and decided he must have been mistaken. Even if he hadn’t been, there was no prospect of his running into her if she stayed there.

  He and Nancy found a carriage towards the end of the train in which few of the seats had been reserved. She divested herself of her rucksack and tried to heft it into the luggage rack but missed; it rebounded off the tubular steel and hit her in the face.

  “Oh, no! Let me do that,” said Tim, taking hold of one of the straps. She snatched it back.

  “I can manage, thank you.”

  The brief thaw in her attitude towards him seemed to have hardened again. During the journey, she was uncommunicative, gazing out of the window and barely bothering to reply when he attempted some desultory conversation. When they were within ten miles of Peterborough, Tim decided he’d had enough and confronted her.

  “Is something the matter, Nancy? Have I done something to upset you?”

  She shrugged.

  “Come on, I know you’re annoyed about something. I can’t try to put it ri
ght unless I know what it is.”

  “You can’t put it right, anyway. And in any case, it’s none of my business.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “I could spot it a mile off. You’ve had an affair with that woman, haven’t you? The one you saw catching the train. You’ve been cheating on your wife.”

  “Nancy, I haven’t, and that’s God’s honest truth.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Chapter 34

  Mrs Sims opens the door as soon as she sees Juliet and me coming down the street. She’s holding Sophia. Thomas is clutching at her legs.

  “Come in,” she says.

  “Mrs Sims, this is DC Juliet Armstrong. She’s come to ask you some questions about Margie.”

  “Please, come through.” Sophia is holding out her arms. Mrs Sims passes her to me and picks up the boy. She leads us into the room where I first met Margie. The building bricks lie scattered on the floor, but most of the other toys have been tidied away.

  “Sophia’s the only one I’m expecting to keep until the end of the day,” she explains. “Thomas’s mother’s coming for him shortly. If you don’t mind watching them for a few minutes, I’ll make some tea.”

  “Not for me, thanks,” Juliet says brusquely. I’m surprised. Juliet’s well-known for her calm, polite ‘bedside manner’ when it comes to dealing with members of the public. Mrs Sims looks at me enquiringly.

  “It’s kind of you, but we should probably get on with this now,” I say.

  “Right you are,” says Mrs Sims, sitting down on a low armchair. She gestures towards the sofa. Juliet pointedly remains standing. Awkwardly, I scurry past her and perch myself between her and Mrs Sims, dandling Sophia on my knee. Mrs Sims puts Thomas down and he returns to the bricks.

  “Do you know Margie’s address?” Juliet asks.

  “Yes, she lives in Chestnut Avenue. I’ve got the exact number written down. I’ll fetch it for you.”

  “Thank you. Do you have a telephone number, too? And can you tell me Margie’s surname?”