‘Come on lover, how about that drink?’ she said, with what I think was meant to be a sultry pout.
‘Another time,’ I said, finishing my drink.
Her expression darkened. ‘Not good enough for you, am I?’
‘It’s not that. I just need to be somewhere, that’s all.’
‘Well fuck you then.’ She turned away and banged her glass on the counter to get the barman’s attention.
The three young guys were looking at me with downright hostility now, so I decided to beat a retreat. There was a payphone in the corridor outside the main bar with a notice board pinned with business cards just above it. I found the number for a local taxi service and dialled it. There was no way I could risk driving Jane’s car to Pembroke Station, not when it was peppered with bullet holes and with part of the windscreen missing.
An old guy answered on about the tenth ring and I told him where I was and where I wanted to go. He sounded like he’d just woken up but said he was just down the road and would be at the pub in a few minutes.
As I put down the phone, I heard the door to the main bar open and the three young guys who’d been staring at me emerged. The one in the front was the biggest. He was wearing a tight T-shirt and hooded top and looked like he spent a lot of time in the gym.
‘What are you doing in here?’ he demanded, jutting out his chin as he came towards me.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I’m just leaving.’
‘You insulted our mate in there. Who do you think you are, eh? Strolling in here like you own the place.’
As he drew closer, his friends crowding in behind him like school kids egging him on, I stepped back and noticed that I’d automatically raised my arms so my hands were resting on my chest, palms inward. It wasn’t an aggressive gesture, but it was clearly a defensive one.
‘Look, I don’t want any trouble,’ I told him, and started to back away.
‘Well fuck off then,’ he said, coming towards me.
I didn’t like turning my back on them but figured it would be best just to leave as quickly as possible. When I walked out the door into the cool night air, though, I heard them coming out behind me.
‘See, you’re a fucking coward as well, running away like that,’ continued the big guy.
As the adrenalin coursed through me, my mind computed the various possibilities. Out in the open, they’d be able to come at me simultaneously from three sides. Even if I was in top condition, I wouldn’t stand much of a chance; tired, out of shape, and having already had more than my fair share of injuries today, I’d be annihilated.
So I swung round fast, while he was still in the doorway with his mates behind him, and punched him twice in the face with two lightning-fast jabs that surprised me as much as him. He fell back against the guy behind him, but I didn’t stop. Instead, an intense, all-consuming rage seemed to sweep across me, and before he could recover I’d driven him back inside the building and was all over him, landing a rapid succession of blows.
He went down, and his mates both jumped out of the way as he crashed to the floor. I could see he was already beaten. His eyes were vacant and blood was pouring from his mangled nose, but the rage didn’t leave me. I was loving this sudden feeling of power. I wanted to hurt this bastard. To make him pay. So I took a step back and kicked him hard in the face, my shoe connecting perfectly with the underside of his chin, shunting him along the floor.
Now he was no longer moving and, just as quickly as it had arrived, the rage left me, and I stood there panting with exertion. The whole attack – because that was what it pretty much had been, an attack – had lasted no more than ten seconds and been carried out in complete silence as I’d channelled my anger as effectively as possible, like I knew exactly what I was doing.
I turned my gaze on the other two, neither of whom had made any move to intervene, and who both suddenly looked very pale. ‘Either of you two want any trouble?’ I asked.
They both shook their heads.
‘Good. Then get your friend some help, and be careful who you pick your fights with next time.’
This time they both nodded.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ asked one of them in tones that came dangerously close to awe.
‘I have no idea,’ I told him, and left them to it, thinking that I might have made a mistake by drawing attention to myself like that. It was becoming clear to me I had a pretty vicious temper when provoked, and it was something I was going to have to learn to control, and fast.
Thankfully, when I walked outside this time, the taxi had pulled up. I clambered in the back, gave him a friendly smile, and told him my destination.
As he pulled away, I looked back over my shoulder and saw a group of irate and shocked-looking locals pour out of the pub door into the car park. Then, just as quickly, they disappeared as we turned a corner.
It was time to find Tina Boyd.
Eight
‘I’m doing everything I can to find your daughter, Mr Donaldson,’ said Tina Boyd, leaning forward in her office chair and looking the man opposite her directly in the eye so he would know she wasn’t trying to avoid any of the difficult questions. It was only nine a.m. but Alan Donaldson had been waiting for her when she’d arrived that morning with her regular takeaway double espresso and blueberry muffin from the coffee shop round the corner. He was half an hour early. Tina had been hoping to enjoy breakfast in peace in her cramped little office, as she did every morning, but she hadn’t kicked up a fuss or told him to come back later, as she might have done if he’d been anyone else (client or not).
But Alan Donaldson was a broken man. You could see it in the haunted, pained expression in his eyes, in the way the brightness seemed to have left them; in the greying pallor of his skin and the hollowness of his cheeks. He must have been handsome once, Tina was sure of that. There were traces of the easy charmer about him, and Tina had known a few of them in her time. His face was lean and sculpted with the remnants of a strong, well-defined jaw, and he still had the tall, confident bearing that suggested a man used to getting his own way.
But things hadn’t worked out for him. Exactly one week earlier he’d come in to see her and explained how, fifteen years earlier, his wife, tired of his constant infidelities, had thrown him out of the family home. Donaldson hadn’t wanted to go. In fact he’d begged to stay, but his wife had had enough and so, conceding defeat, he’d moved in with the girl he’d been seeing. This had angered his wife no end and, according to his version of events, she’d turned his two children, Ben and Lauren, against him, and his relationship with them had become steadily more distant.
Both kids had ended up going off the rails, although Ben had managed to get himself back on track, go to university and get a law degree, before emigrating to Canada. He hadn’t spoken to his father in ten years. Lauren, though, the apple of her father’s eye (his own description), had gone from one bad relationship to another, her good looks meaning she had no shortage of suitors. She’d had affairs with married men, used them until she grew bored; had been used herself by boyfriends whose abuse of her sometimes bordered on the physical; had fallen in with all the wrong sorts of people, and eventually moved to London. Donaldson had tried to keep in touch but he couldn’t bear to see what was happening to his daughter, and her anger towards him was palpable. She’d make arrangements to see him but be out when he turned up at her flat; she’d ignore his calls. Eventually they’d lost touch.
Donaldson now lived alone, the last of his girlfriends long since gone. His ex-wife – the children’s mother – had died three years ago. Since then, he himself had been diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer, and was a man desperate to make amends and find peace with his children. Except there was a major problem. Ben was still refusing to speak to his father and, more worryingly, Lauren had gone missing.
That was where Tina came in. She was a private detective with a high profile, although not too much in the way of results as yet, but Donaldson clearly had faith because
he’d hired her to find Lauren, and told her that money was no object.
No object or not, Tina wasn’t a miracle worker. She felt sorry for Donaldson. He’d been responsible for his own downfall but, even so, she wanted to do whatever she could to reunite him with his daughter, which was why she’d done the interview in the Mail the other day, insisting that they focus at least part of it on Lauren’s disappearance and publish a photo of her.
‘I’m working on a number of leads at the moment,’ she told him, ‘but it’s never easy finding someone if they don’t want to be found.’
‘I understand,’ said Donaldson, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
‘Did you know that your daughter changed her name by deed poll just over a year ago?’
‘Really?’ He looked shocked. ‘I know she’s still very angry with me but I didn’t think she’d resort to changing her name. What does she call herself now?’
‘Lauren Marano.’
He looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know where she got that from.’
Tina shrugged. ‘Maybe she thought it sounded exotic. It’s interesting because I’ve scoured the net to see if I can find any online presence for a Lauren Marano. It’s quite an unusual name, but there’s no sign of anyone under that name looking like your daughter. And I can’t find her under her old name either.’
‘But Lauren’s always had a Facebook page. She wouldn’t let me friend her but I know she had one.’
‘She doesn’t any more. I’ve been in contact with Facebook trying to find out whether they’ve taken down a page used by a Lauren Marano or Donaldson, and when, but so far I haven’t had any meaningful response, and they’re not obligated to help me.’
‘Do you think it’s a bad sign that her page isn’t up any more?’ Donaldson asked uncertainly.
‘Not necessarily, although it does make it harder to track down her current whereabouts, especially as I’ve got no forwarding address from her last place. I’ve been in contact with all the utility companies trying to track her location down that way but it’s slow work.’
‘Did you manage to get hold of Ben?’
This was where things got more worrying. ‘Yes I did,’ Tina answered. ‘Ben’s been in contact with Lauren periodically over the past three years, but he hasn’t spoken to her since the beginning of April. He had a postal address for her but she left there over a year back, around the time she changed her name. Ben’s tried the mobile number and the email he’s got for her, but the number’s out of service, and she hasn’t replied to his messages.’
Tina saw the pained look in his eyes. ‘Look, Mr Donaldson, it’s important not to worry too much yet. Lauren could have just fallen off the radar. People do that all the time. Did you know that more than a hundred thousand people go missing every year in this country? And most of them just turn back up when they’re good and ready.’
Donaldson nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I did know that. The police were at great pains to point it out to me. But I also know that two thousand of those hundred thousand never turn back up. I’ll be honest with you, Tina. I’m very worried about Lauren. She’s always been a girl who’s easily led, and there are some horrible people out there.’
‘I know that as much as anyone,’ said Tina, smiling to soften her words.
‘I know you do. It’s why I came to you in the first place. You don’t have children, but I know you care. I trust you to do everything you can to find my daughter.’
Over the years Tina had built up a reputation as a maverick operator, someone prepared not only to bend the rules, but to ignore them entirely if the mood took her. At one time that reputation had been at least partly justified, but she’d changed now, and had no desire to further sully her reputation. Having said that, she was prepared to pull out all the stops to find Lauren because she was a lot more concerned about her than she was letting on. She didn’t like the fact that Ben, the one person Lauren had had fairly regular contact with, could no longer get hold of her. Ben was worried too: it had been he who’d initially reported her missing to the police. Tina had spoken to the officer who was supposedly dealing with the case and, though he’d expressed sympathy, he didn’t appear to be trying too hard to find her. After all, Lauren was simply one of thousands.
‘I’m hopeful the newspaper interview will throw up a few leads,’ she told Donaldson now. ‘They used the photo you gave me of Lauren in it, and I’ve had a number of calls from people claiming to know her, so I’m following up on those.’ As it happened, Tina had received far fewer calls than she’d have liked, and most of the callers had either been or sounded like cranks. But one had stood out. A young woman called Sheryl had left a message for Tina earlier that morning saying she’d been a friend of Lauren and had information that might be of help. So far Tina hadn’t managed to track her down, but at least she represented a possibility. ‘I can prepare a full progress report if you like,’ she continued.
He managed a smile. ‘It’s fine. I trust you.’
‘You didn’t have to come in, you know. I know it’s a bit of a journey for you.’
‘I prefer to do business face to face. Would you mind if we scheduled another meeting for next week, in case you haven’t had any news by then?’
Tina nodded, knowing it would make him feel better. ‘Of course.’ She put it in the diary and walked with him to the door.
He paused with the door open and looked at her with an expression that looked a lot like sympathy. ‘You know, I’ve had a lot of regrets in my life,’ he said. ‘There are so many things I’d have done differently. But – and forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn on this – if there’s one piece of advice I could impart, it’s live your life as you want to, take the opportunities when you see them. Don’t wait for life to come to you.’
‘Don’t worry, I have lived the life I wanted to,’ she said, knowing she was lying. ‘I’ll keep you posted about progress.’
They shook hands and she watched as he walked down the road in the direction of Paddington Station, his gait slow and painful.
Once upon a time he’d been a man with hopes and dreams, but circumstances and age had brought him down, and Tina wondered if she too would end up like that. It was obvious he’d seen the sadness that dwelt in her. Either he was very observant or she needed to learn to hide it better.
She dismissed the thought and lit a cigarette, staring out across the street towards the railway lines and the A40 flyover, with the high-rise blocks of the Warwick Estate looming up behind them. It wasn’t an inspiring view. Nothing about her office was particularly inspiring. It was a cramped room on the ground floor of a decaying pre-war terrace in Bayswater about half a mile west of Paddington Station, but it had the advantage of having parking round the back, and it was central. She lived a good forty minutes’ drive away on a good day, in a village just inside the M25 near Potters Bar, and in truth she could easily have worked from home. But, for Tina, home was her sanctuary, a place where she shut out the world, and all the darkness within it, and she had no desire to sully her personal space with the work she did. So this arrangement was the next best thing.
She could hear her office phone ringing. She thought about letting it go but knew she couldn’t turn down work. So, taking a last drag on the cigarette, she stubbed it in the outside ashtray the building’s smokers had clubbed together to buy, then walked back inside.
‘Is that Tina Boyd?’ asked a man’s voice when she picked up.
‘Speaking.’
There was a long pause, and Tina wondered if it was another crank caller.
‘My name’s Matt Barron, and I need you to help me find a killer.’
‘You need the police for that, Mr Barron.’
‘They’re not going to believe my story.’
‘Then talk to a lawyer.’
‘That’s not going to work either. Listen, I know how this sounds—’
‘Good. Because it sounds like you’re wasting my time.’
‘I’m no
t, I promise. But it’s a long story, and it’s one I’d rather tell in person.’
Tina sighed. She could easily have said no. And for a long time afterwards she wished she had. But in that moment she was intrigued because maybe she hadn’t changed so much after all. In the end, PI work was a lot more dull and laborious than she’d been expecting and this, at least, might provide something in the way of excitement. And if this guy was a crank, then she’d break out the pepper spray and the truncheon from her desk drawer and deal with him that way.
‘OK,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘Come here for midday.’
Nine
The world’s a frightening place when you’ve got no one, and no means of supporting yourself. You feel cornered the whole time, as if whichever way you turn, you’re going to encounter some insurmountable obstacle that’ll keep forcing you backwards. The euphoria of escaping my assailants the previous night had now disappeared entirely, replaced by a strong sense of fear and hopelessness, and I was counting on Tina Boyd helping me, because right now she felt like the only thing standing between me and oblivion.
First impressions weren’t that great, though. Her office was in a row of grime-stained terraces in a deserted litter-strewn street, opposite a construction site where the buildings had been thoughtfully levelled to provide a view of the train lines. I guess it was good business sense never to show your potential clients how much profit you were making out of them, but it seemed Tina might have been going a bit too far the other way.
Once I’d paid the cab driver, I was down to my last twenty pounds, which was going to please Tina no end. Not only had I sounded like some kind of loon when I’d talked to her on the phone, I couldn’t pay her either.
But at least I was clean. I’d thought about sleeping rough somewhere after I’d got off the train at Paddington at close to midnight, but had quickly given up that idea when I’d stepped on to the concourse and felt the bite of the wind. I’d found a cheap guesthouse on an adjacent street, paid cash for the room, and had managed to have a warm shower and a short, but thankfully dreamless, sleep.
The Final Minute Page 6
