by Mark Roberts
‘I called our girls but they hadn’t heard from their dad,’ said Lydia. ‘I started to get really worried so I called Norma Maguire on her home number. I asked her if everything was OK with Daniel.’
‘What did Norma say?’
‘She was quiet, didn’t say a word for a few moments. But then she said, Daniel wasn’t in work today.’
‘Norma Maguire said, Daniel wasn’t in work today?’ Clay double-checked, as the vivid memory of him opening the office for her with a set of keys played out in her recent memory.
‘Yes, she did. Is there something wrong with that?’
‘No, no, I’m just checking, Lydia. Go on.’
‘She told me he’d booked leave and Daniel had said to her we were going away for a break. I couldn’t believe my ears. I asked if she was sure he’d said that. She told me she was one hundred per cent positive. I asked her was anything wrong? Had he been having problems in the office? I was crying at this point and she tried to reassure me that everything was fine, everything was normal, no problems other than the niggling little things that happen all the time. There was nothing going on in his working life that could make him want to behave strangely and disappear.’
Lydia took a sip of water and Clay made a pointed mental note. Norma Maguire had not only misled Lydia Ball about Daniel’s presence in the office during the previous day, she’d failed to mention the fact that the police had descended on Maguire Holdings, and had made informational demands on her husband.
You’re a liar, Norma, thought Clay.
‘What was her tone like with you, Lydia?’
‘She sounded worried for Daniel and sorry for me.’
Clay noticed the red veins in Lydia’s eyes and the sourness of her breath.
‘I phoned him every ten minutes but his phone was off. It was the same for the girls.’
‘And me,’ said Janine.
‘I phoned round all the people in our address book but no one had seen or heard from him.’
‘Before you last saw Daniel, did he ever say anything about former employees of Maguire Holdings?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Did he ever talk about people who’d quit Maguire Holdings?’
She frowned and thought about it. ‘Richard Ezra was the biggest fish who jumped from the pond. There were others, I’m sure, but I couldn’t tell you who they were. Daniel worked there for a long time.’
‘Could you do me a huge favour, Lydia. Could you dig down deeper into your memory for the names of anyone who quit working at Maguire Holdings?’
‘It’ll take my mind off things, I guess. I’ll try.’
Lydia Ball rubbed her eyes hard with her fingertips and Janine wrapped an arm around her sister-in-law’s shoulder.
‘It’ll be OK, Lydia.’
‘Did you do anything else to try and find him?’ asked Clay.
‘We drove to his favourite place, hoping to find him, but he wasn’t there.’
‘What was that place, Lydia, Janine?’
‘Otterspool Promenade. Every so often, he used to drive down there at night. He loved the sound of the river.’
Clay focused on Janine, who looked as if a deeply buried family secret had just been leaked on the internet.
‘And it was well-lit, the prom… I told myself to start gearing up for the worst possible news. Maybe he had taken himself down to the prom and thrown himself into the river.’
‘Was he or has he ever been on prescription medication for his mental health?’
‘He’s never had a problem with his nerves as such.’
‘Has he ever gone missing before?’
The women looked at each other.
‘Yes,’ said Janine.
‘No, he wasn’t really missing,’ defended Lydia. ‘It was a blip, a bit of a mid-life crisis. He kept in touch when he went to find himself, didn’t he, Janine?’
‘When did this happen?’ asked Clay.
‘Last August,’ replied Lydia.
‘What happened after you couldn’t find him on Otterspool Promenade?’
‘We just had to sit it out, fear the worst and hope for the best,’ said Lydia. ‘Then round about half-eleven, the phone rings and it’s Daniel.’
Lydia started crying and, Clay guessed, they were tears of jagged relief.
‘And how was Daniel?’ asked Clay, focusing Lydia, dragging her back on track.
‘He sounded terrible, like he’d been drinking heavily and didn’t quite know the time of day.’
‘Tell me, as accurately as you can, what was said, Lydia. The detail you offer could make a massive difference.’
‘He said, I love you and I’m sorry for what I’ve done but I don’t know what else to do. I asked him if he was in trouble and he told me he didn’t know. I asked him for more detail but he said he couldn’t. And then he mentioned your name. Detective Chief Inspector Eve Clay. He said he wanted to get in touch with you. He mentioned your name over and over, as if it was stuck in his head like a scratched record. One moment he wanted to talk to you, the next he didn’t know if he could do it. It was like he was talking in riddles. I tried to calm him down by asking him simple questions. Where are you? Are you with anyone? Have you had anything to eat? Have you got somewhere to stay? But all he came back with was how conflicted he felt.
‘I asked if he had your number. He told me he did have it. I asked him why he had your number? He told me the police had been into the office over Francesca Christie’s disappearance. I thought maybe that’s the thing that’s pushed him over the edge. Francesca. He said he was going to hang up. I told him, you must get in touch with DCI Clay. You haven’t done anything wrong. She’ll help you if she can. I insisted. I made the point over and over. Then he hung up and I haven’t heard from him since.’
Clay refilled the glass from the water jug and Lydia downed it in one.
‘So, he had been in the office despite what Norma said,’ concluded Lydia. And she didn’t even mention the police calling in. What’s she playing at?’
‘I’m not sure. Thank you so much for coming in and telling me. I know how difficult this must have been for you.’
She placed the glass down on the table, held on to the edges with a claw-like grip.
‘Is he in trouble with you, DCI Clay?’
‘No, not as far as I’m aware.’ Clay drank in the woman’s profound unhappiness as they engaged over the short expanse of a wooden table. ‘I want you to do something for me, Lydia. If Daniel does get back in touch with you, I want you to keep hammering home the message that he must call me directly. Reassure him that you’ve spoken to me and that he’s not in trouble. Tell him I very much want to help him. But he must make that call.’
Lydia nodded and Clay read unspoken words in the heaviness of her eyes and the lines on her face.
‘If I turn the audio recorder off, Lydia, anything you say to me can be treated in confidence as long as it doesn’t relate to a criminal offence.’
Clay pressed pause, keeping her left index finger ready to take off the pause depending on what came next out of Lydia’s mouth.
‘Is having a mid-life crisis a criminal offence?’
Clay tried not to smile too broadly at the question, the absurdity cocooning tragedy.
‘In itself, not at all. If the crisis involves criminal offences, then yes it does.’
‘I’m pretty sure…’ Lydia looked down at the desk.
‘At the moment, Lydia, the machine’s not recording. I sense you have a personal problem of an extremely sensitive nature.’
She looked up. ‘Yes! Yes…’
‘Woman to woman,’ said Clay. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Francesca Christie. I think my husband is in love with her. It was just the way he was when he spoke about her. I could tell. There. I’ve said it.’
‘What do you think, Janine?’ asked Clay.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, with an expression on her face that told Clay she would have much more to sa
y under different circumstances.
‘Maybe, Lydia,’ said Clay, ‘the mid-life crisis isn’t the sole domain of men. Women have problems when they hit middle age. Looks fade, figures fill out, regrets for what could have been mount up as possibilities for what could be diminish. You met Francesca?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was your view of her?’
‘Young, pretty, an absolute sweetheart of a woman in her prime.’
‘You in your twenties, then?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Just because Daniel fell in love with you all those years ago doesn’t mean he’s going to fall in love with a version of your view of how you used to be. I think you’ve been tormenting yourself over phantoms. Mistrust your doubts. Your husband loves you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have called you tonight.’
Lydia was quiet for a long time.
‘I think you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, DCI Clay.’
‘If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know, Lydia.’
A smile appeared on Lydia’s face like a pale moon forming in the sky on a clear winter evening.
‘I’m glad it’s you he wants help from.’
***
In reception, as Clay watched Lydia and Janine Ball walk through the main doors, she called, ‘Janine, have you got a minute?’
‘Back in a tick, Lydia.’
Janine walked back inside Trinity Road police station and Clay asked, ‘What’s going on?’
She looked around and, Clay guessed, was checking to make sure no one could overhear.
‘Daniel’s got a problem. His sexuality’s all over the place. It kills me to tell you this but I’m telling you because if he’s in trouble, you need to know the truth. I’ve known him since he was a baby and we’re close. He’s been massively oversexed since he hit puberty. He’s been playing around behind Lydia’s back since the day they met. He confesses to me. Yes, he goes with women. Yes, he goes with men. Yes, he goes with prostitutes. And, yes, he had a massive, massive thing about Francesca Christie. He didn’t have to tell me that last thing. Whenever she came up in conversation, I could see it in him. I’m his big sister. I know more about him than his wife does. I love him. I love her. I’m in the middle of an ongoing nightmare. He refuses to seek it out but he needs help, DCI Clay.’
‘Thank you for being so candid with me, Janine. I appreciate how hard this must’ve been for you.’
‘He needs a lot of help. Something’s got to give with Daniel.’
103
3.05 am
The silence inside the abattoir amplified the erratic beat of the rain as it crashed on the roof of the building. In the ceiling, fluorescent lights blinked into life as the site manager, Christopher Paisley, guided Detective Sergeant Terry Mason and Sergeant Paul Price towards the changing rooms.
‘The boss sends his apologies for the no-show. He’s delegated it down to me. He’s been at a Masonic dinner and he’s had a few too many sherries to drive over here.’
The huge bunch of keys jangled in his hands as he walked ahead of Mason and Price.
‘Edgar McKee?’ Christopher sounded puzzled. ‘It’s definitely his locker you want to look into, right?’
‘That’s right,’ said Price.
‘We’ve got some right scallywags working here. He’s not one of them. He’s one of them pillar of the community types. Ask anyone who works here. What’s he in trouble about?’
‘I can’t tell you,’ said Mason. ‘Sensitive investigation, early stages.’
Christopher turned his head and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Gotcha.’
Without looking, the site manager selected a single key from the crowded forest on the ring and stuck it into the lock of a plain white door. When he opened it, the smell of bleach and stale sweat was undeniable. He turned on the light to reveal a row of wooden benches down the centre of the space and metal lockers lining the walls on both sides.
‘I’ll open his locker with the master key.’
Christopher walked the line of grey metal doors, each labelled with the name of the person assigned to it.
‘As we speak, is he in police custody?’ asked the site manager.
‘Yes, but that’s as much as I’m going to tell you,’ said Mason.
Christopher stopped at a drab door, turned the master key and the door creaked as it opened into another corner of Edgar McKee’s world.
‘Christopher.’ The site manager turned and Mason showed him a search warrant on his iPhone. ‘The duty magistrate issued this an hour ago. Is this the only locker Edgar McKee has?’
‘Yes. Staff are only allowed one.’
‘Is there anywhere else on the site where he could keep other possessions?’
‘No, absolutely not. Health and safety’s God Almighty in this place. Has to be. The only personal possessions are stored in the lockers in the changing rooms.’
Mason looked at the row of shower cubicles at the far end of the changing rooms, the adjoining toilets, and the wisdom of the abattoir written on a laminated poster on the wall.
A CLEAN WORKER IS A SAFE WORKER
‘I’ll sit on the bench here as you go through his stuff.’
‘No. Can you please wait outside the door? Sergeant Price and myself may have to exchange sensitive information during the course of our search.’
The site manager got up reluctantly and walked towards the door with profound disappointment stamped in his slumped shoulders.
‘Christopher. The warrant allows us to seize his property and take it away for forensic investigation. You understand? Please close the door as you leave the room.’
Price opened a large black holdall containing a stack of evidence bags as Mason snapped on a pair of latex gloves.
They looked into the locker at the small haul of Edgar McKee’s clothing.
Price opened a pair of large evidence bags and Mason knelt at the foot of the locker. He picked up a pair of worn and scuffed white wellingtons, the letter E painted crudely on the left boot and M on the right.
‘Light them up, Pricey,’ said Mason.
Price shone torchlight inside the left boot and said, ‘It’s riddled with all kinds of matter.’
‘Wait until we get deeper into the boot, from the end of the heel to the tips of the toes.’
Price repeated the illumination in the right boot and said, ‘Same.’
‘What was the first thing I said to you, Pricey, day one when you joined me?’
‘There’s so much evidence that can be picked up from the head and the feet.’
‘Let’s bag them, one boot in each bag. Thank you.’
Price placed the evidence bags on the wooden bench and shone light on the empty floor of Edgar McKee’s locker.
‘I’ll lint the whole interior when we’ve emptied it,’ said Price.
Mason stood up and from a hook on the right-hand side of the locker lifted a white leather apron with a brown fibre lining. Price opened a large evidence bag and the apron was secured inside and placed alongside the bagged boots.
There were three shelves. Mason took a small stack of plain white T-shirts from one shelf, a few pairs of white boxer shorts from the middle shelf and from the bottom shelf a thin blue nylon jacket and a bundle of white hairnets.
‘What do you think?’ asked Price as they bagged the clothing. ‘Do you think we’re going to get anything from this?’
‘If we do it’ll be the boots or the hairnets that come up trumps.’
Price explored the empty surfaces with his torch.
‘This place gives me the creeps. I bet it’s full of bustle and noise during the day but now it feels like a haunted house,’ said Price.
‘Don’t overthink it, mate. We’ve been in better places, we’ve been in worse. I’ll hold the torch. You lint the interior.’
Price tore a strip of four sheets from the lint roller and placed them on the ceiling of the locker. He ripped them off and Mason shone light on the stick
y surface, where there was nothing other than particles of rust.
It took three minutes and the best part of a roll to print the inside of the locker.
‘We’ll do the outside of the door even though it’s going to be heavily contaminated by McKee’s workmates,’ said Mason.
Outside, the rain slackened but the wind picked up and wrapped itself around the almost deserted abattoir like a celestial fist.
‘Done?’ asked Mason. ‘Let’s get out of this place.’
104
3.44 am
Clay looked through the observation slot in the door of Edgar McKee’s cell and stared into the darkness. She made out his form, lying under a blanket on the bench, and he was completely still, apparently asleep.
‘Eve.’ She turned her attention to the whispering of her name and saw Poppy Waters standing nearby. ‘Sergeant Harris said you’d be here.’ She carried an evidence bag in each hand, one small, the other medium-sized.
Clay closed the observation slot with dismay. In her experience of watching what happened in the closed eye of night, the guilty paced while the innocent slept. She walked towards Poppy and together they walked away to the automatic doors leading to the staircase.
‘What have you found on Edgar McKee’s computer?’
‘It’s riddled with the most horrendous filth. I haven’t seen it all. I’d be watching until Christmas and beyond to check it all out. I didn’t find anything that showed a preference to overt violence towards women. There was a lot of rough sex but it cut both ways, men dominating women, women dominating men.’
‘How about his phone?’
‘The same.’
Their voices and footsteps mingled and echoed against the glass walls that housed the staircase as they ascended to the incident room.
‘Here’s the big one, Poppy. Has he been on any internet dating sites?’
‘No. I’ve been through his history on both devices stretching back to last June, including the evidence he’s deleted from the surface of his hard drive. On the evidence I’ve seen, he’s never been on an internet dating site.’
