‘What’s your point?’ asked Briggs. He picked the file up.
‘You’ve still got a few hours left on the clock and we don’t like loose ends.’
Don was waiting for me in the reception of Queens Gardens police station, talking to the officer on front-desk duty. I’d taken his advice and called Coleman to arrange reporting the assault. He’d told me to come to the station and, though he’d led me to believe it would be over with quickly, it had taken a couple of hours. When Coleman eventually saw me, I’d kept my composure and answered the questions as honestly as I could. Even though I had nothing to hide, the situation felt like it had been made as uncomfortable and awkward for me as possible. For all that, I was left in no doubt should I learn anything about the murder of Jennifer Murdoch, I was to inform him immediately. Coleman had assured me I wasn’t being treated as a suspect, rather a witness with some useful background information, but I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I didn’t like the situation I found myself in.
I was glad to be out of the building and getting some fresh air. We walked towards a pub close to our office. I needed a drink to calm my nerves. I showed Don the leaflets I’d been given whilst I waited for Coleman.
‘Investigative Officers,’ I explained, ‘cheap detectives, basically.’ The force was recruiting civilians to assist the detectives with interviewing suspects and gathering evidence. It was policing on the cheap.
Don laughed and passed me my drink. ‘Cheeky bastards. Did they tell you anything?’
‘Nothing. I don’t even know how she was killed.’ I’d asked but they’d refused to tell me. They would be releasing details later during a press conference.
‘What about the assault on you?’
‘They weren’t interested.’
Don said he wasn’t surprised and turned the conversation back to Jennifer Murdoch. ‘You’d have thought there would be some forensics, wouldn’t you?’
‘They didn’t tell me if there was.’ We both knew it was only any good if you had a match on the database. I also knew it could take days for the police to confirm a match. They hadn’t asked me for a sample, as they didn’t have the legal grounds to, but they could have asked me to volunteer if they had really wanted to.
Don asked me what I had made of Terrence Briggs.
‘I don’t like him.’
‘He’s still got a bit of credit left; we should see what turns up in that time.’
I agreed. Although we still had the regular bread and butter work of serving legal papers from solicitors, we weren’t that busy.
‘I don’t like him.’ I repeated.
‘Why not?’
‘Rude, unpleasant, take your pick.’ I’m usually a good judge of character and something about Briggs jarred with me. I moved our glasses to one side to allow Don to open the file on Jennifer Murdoch. He started to read to me.
‘Okay, so she’s in her mid-thirties, married and lives in North Ferriby with her husband. Overall salary package is somewhere in the region of £40,000. She’s worked for Briggs for close to ten years.’ He passed the file over to me. There were details of her education and previous employment; father worked the docks, standard education in a local secondary school; nothing unusual.
‘Not such a great employee, though.’ I took a look at the doctor’s notes we’d previously copied from Briggs.
‘Any thoughts?’ Don asked me.
I leant back in the chair and swallowed a mouthful of lager. ‘She’s his accountant, right? She controls the purse-strings. Maybe there had been a falling out between them? Maybe over the money theft?’
Don shrugged. ‘Enough to kill over? I don’t see it.’
Sometimes I’m too inquisitive for my own good. Or rather, our good. Don was good at focusing in on the task at hand. All we’d been asked to do was look at her claim to illness; see if her absence from work was justifiable, and if we could, offer some evidence to her employer.
Don closed the file. ‘I’ll get on with checking her out tomorrow; see what else I can find.’ He looked at his watch and stood up. ‘We’d best hurry up. Sarah’s going to be waiting for us.’
As we walked into the office, Sarah was showing a woman out. The woman wore a head-scarf, partly obscuring her face and didn’t make eye contact as she left. Sarah walked back in and sat down without saying a word.
‘Who’s picking up Lauren?’ Don asked.
‘John.’
I’d not met her ex-husband, but his reputation preceded him. Sarah was in her mid-thirties and hadn’t had much luck with men since. Usually, Don collected his grand-daughter from the childminders if Sarah was held up, but we’d been too busy with Briggs and Coleman. I asked who wanted a drink and busied myself in the kitchen.
‘Potential client?’ I asked, my back turned to them.
‘I think so’ Sarah replied.
I walked across to them with three cups of tea balanced on a tray. ‘What’s her story?’
Sarah opened her notepad. ‘That was Maria Platt. She needs our help to find her daughter.’
Should be a straightforward task, I thought. ‘How long’s she been missing for?’
‘Nearly ten years.’
I sat back in the chair. It’d either be a simple job or a total nightmare.
‘Did you explain our fee structure to her?’ asked Don.
Sarah looked away and said nothing. I looked down at the floor, knowing what was coming.
‘You didn’t, did you?’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘Not really. Look, she’s desperate. I said we’d help her.’ She passed a cheque over to Don. ‘I’ve got this.’
Don looked at it and passed it to me. £200. It wouldn’t go very far in paying the bills.
‘I thought we could see how it goes’ said Sarah, smiling apologetically at us. ‘She’s really desperate.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘She’s dying of cancer.’
Once we’d played out the ritual of Don trying to feign anger with Sarah, we all sat back down together to discuss what we could do to help the woman. I smiled at Sarah. The job wouldn’t make us any money, but I admired her spirit. You could never say her heart wasn’t in the right place. Don also knew that, and being his daughter, he was probably all the more proud of her. Besides, it wasn’t like we were inundated with other jobs and it made life interesting.
‘What’s her daughter’s name?’ Don asked.
‘Donna Platt’ said Sarah. She’d photocopied her notes and passed them across to us. ‘29 years old.’
‘No contact at all?’ I asked.
‘None at all.’
‘Not even birthday or Christmas cards?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
Don looked up from the notes. ‘How about family? Her father?’
‘Died three years ago. Cancer. There’s a brother who’s three years older, but apparently he’s had no contact with her either. I’ve got his details. He’ll talk to us, if need be.’
‘Why did she disappear?’ I asked. ‘What triggered it?’
‘The official line is she wanted to be a singer, so she was going to head off to find fame and fortune. She was in a band with her friend, regulars on the city’s club circuit. We’ve got the name of a friend she sang with, but she wanted bigger things. She’d spoken about moving to London, but we have no idea whether she made the move or not. Other than that, she had a part-time job in a local shop to help pay the bills.’
‘Didn’t her mother try to contact her to tell her about her father’s death?’
‘She put a notice in the paper asking her to get in touch.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I assume she was reported to the police?’ I said.
‘Her husband wouldn’t allow it.’
‘Wouldn’t allow it?’ What kind of father wouldn’t do everything he could to find his daughter, I wondered?
‘I got the impression she was scared of him.�
�
‘It’s going to be a tough task’ said Don. He stood up and walked over to the window. ‘We’ve not got a lot to go on, have we? Or much time to do it, given the financial constraints.’
‘Maybe we should start with the brother and friend? See if we can shed some light on it?’ Sarah suggested.
I looked away. It was going to be a total nightmare. And that was assuming Donna Platt was still alive.
CHAPTER THREE
Don walked over to my desk and placed a pile of print-outs in front of me. ‘Jennifer Murdoch.’
I flicked through them. He’d been thorough, but that was his speciality.
‘There’s more to come, but that should keep you going for now.’
I grunted some form of reply. ‘What do we know?’ I asked him.
‘Not too much more than we already knew.’ He flicked through the paperwork he’d quickly put together and passed me what he was looking for. ‘Take a look at her husband.’
His face was familiar, but I had to scan the text to refresh my memory. ‘Christopher Murdoch.’ He was a local businessman involved in many of the large ongoing regeneration projects around the city. The article I was reading described him as a ‘consultant to the local council’, but as to what he actually did, I didn’t really know. The one thing I was certain about was that he was a major player on the local business scene. If he attached himself to your project, it was likely to be a success.
‘It’s background information’ said Don, reading my mind. From a financial point of view, it suggested Jennifer Murdoch didn’t need to work, but it didn’t explain anything else. I was sure the police would be taking a look at him, though.
‘I’m waiting to hear back from some people.’
It’s surprising how much information is a matter of public record, but we earn our money by uncovering the pieces of information which aren’t so readily available.’
‘Are you helping Sarah?’ he asked me.
I walked over to the kettle and poured myself a re-fill. ‘Meeting her there.’ It’d be a distraction from Jennifer Murdoch, if nothing else.
Don nodded his approval. ‘I’ve got a warrant to serve once we’re through. A rush job, as per usual.’
I watched him gather his papers together as we prepared to head out. I took it as my cue to put my mug down and collect my stuff together.
I sat down next to Sarah, huddled around a small table, legs touching. The pub was hidden away on Bankside, an industrial area situated on the outskirts of the city centre, dominated by the type of light engineering enterprise that employed Gary Platt. The place was almost empty, only a handful of lunchtime drinkers sat at the bar. I’d read the area had at one point been populated by Irish immigrants, though any houses were long gone. Chances were my family had lived in the area.
‘Did your mother explain to you about us?’ asked Sarah.
He stared at us. ‘How much are you charging her?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I don’t like the thought of you taking advantage of her, not in her state. How much are you charging her?’
I took a deep breath and leaned forward. ‘Frankly, Gary, it’s not enough.’ I didn’t want to sound callous, but I wasn’t about to take a lecture from him. Sarah dug me in my ribs with her elbow.
‘What he means, Gary, is we’re working for very much less than our usual rate.’
‘£200, Gary. That’s all’ I said, interrupting. ‘And frankly, if it wasn’t for Sarah insisting we’d help, I would have said no. Now, if you think it’s too much money to maybe find your sister, then fine, we’ll walk away right now. We’ll use the money pursuing other avenues, and when it runs out, which will be very quickly, we’ll draw a line underneath it. Otherwise, you could show us some gratitude and try to help us.’ I was angry but maybe I’d gone too far. ‘Look’ I said, hoping to sound more conciliatory, ‘We want to see if we can find Donna, so your mother finds some peace.’
Gary nodded. ‘I’ll try to help you.’
‘Good.’
Sarah took over the questioning. ‘Obviously we didn’t want to push your mother too hard, so we were hoping you could fill in some of the blanks.’ She opened her notepad.
She’d pre-prepared some questions. I only had one question for him at this stage - why had Donna suddenly disappeared?
Gary shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Was there an argument, or disagreement?’ Sarah suggested. ‘A falling out?’
Gary laughed. ‘There were always arguments. We were a family.’
‘Anything specific around the time she left?’
‘I don’t think so. It’s such a long time ago now.’
‘We appreciate that, Gary. What about her music?’
‘What about it?’
‘Did your dad approve? It must have been difficult for Donna. She wanted to be a singer, but I’m sure most parents would want their children to get a steady job, build a career.’
I wondered if Sarah was talking from personal experience. I can’t imagine Don’s burning ambition for her was to become a private investigator. I picked at my ham salad sandwich. It was disgusting. The lettuce looked days past its best, the bread bordering on being stale.
‘As I said, I don’t think our dad cared for it all that much, and what he said, went.’
‘What did he do for a living?’ I asked.
‘Fuck all. He used to work the trawlers, but when it all went to shit, he couldn’t find another job.’
I knew what he was talking about. My uncle had worked in the fishing industry but that was probably thirty five years ago. Once the jobs disappeared and nobody wanted his skills, he’d worked in factories, making ends meet until he retired. I took the hint that Gary didn’t want to talk about his father, so I asked him if he had any idea where Donna had run to
‘No idea. She’d spoken to people about moving to London, to improve her singing, but I knew Donna, she wouldn’t have made it to London.’
‘Why not?’
‘For a start, she was always skint. She wouldn’t have been able to get to Leeds, never mind London.’
‘What about her other friends?’ I looked at the name his mother had given us. ‘How about Lisa Day, the girl she sang with? Did she know anything, or suggest where she might have gone?’
‘Nobody knew anything. We asked her. I’m telling you, she just disappeared.’
‘And the police were no help?’
‘Said she was an adult and could do what she liked. They fobbed us off with some of those lost-people charities, but they did nothing for us, either.’
‘What about boyfriends?’ asked Sarah.
Gary shook his head. ‘She didn’t have one.’
‘Ex-boyfriends?’
‘Only the one I knew about and she got rid of him. Dad didn’t want her bringing men home, so I can’t really help you there.’
‘Did Donna have a job, other than the band? Any workmates who would have missed her?’
‘She worked part-time in a shop, nothing serious.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I never heard anything from them. I guess they got someone in to replace her.’
I sighed and pushed my sandwich to one side. It sounded like nobody had really made the effort to find her.
Sometimes working as a mixed-sex team is useful. If I’d been alone when I’d knocked on Lisa Day’s door, I doubt I would have got my foot in the door, especially looking like I did. Sarah smoothes the rough edges off and her pleasant manner invariably gets us invited in. Like a lot of council properties, Lisa Day’s house had been neglected to the point of no return. It needed decorating from top to bottom and an overall maintenance upgrade; the gas fire looked like it had seen better days and the thin carpet was worn in patches. Lisa was juggling two children. The one on her lap slept while the other child ran freely around the room. Sarah, as ever, was great with them and helped Lisa keep the older one under control as she asked the questions.
‘It’s been years since I saw
Donna’ she explained to us. ‘I’m not sure how I can help you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to pick the eldest kids up from school soon.’
Lisa was in her late-twenties, around the same age as Donna. I guessed life hadn’t been too kind to her, but I didn’t ask.
‘We know it’s been a long time’ said Sarah. ‘We appreciate your time. Donna’s mum really needs to contact her.’
‘Why?’
Her suspicion was tangible. A mistake. She looked away from us.
I glanced at Sarah. ‘Mrs Platt has cancer’ I said.
‘Bad?’
I nodded. When was it ever not bad?
‘Poor woman. I really liked her.’
‘How well did you know Donna?’ Sarah asked.
Lisa composed herself. ‘We were best friends. We lived next door to each other, went to school together. All that kind of stuff.’
‘Mrs Platt mentioned you sung together?’
She looked embarrassed before answering. ‘Yeah, we had a band. Not a proper band, mind you. It was just us two using backing tapes. We played the local pubs and clubs. It was alright; we made some cash and we had some fun for a bit. We called ourselves 2’s Company.’
I thought I sensed something in her voice. ‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘Frank Salford happened.’
‘Frank Salford?’
‘He was our manager.’ She looked at Sarah and then me. ‘I don’t want to talk about him.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t want to get involved with him again.’
Sarah nudged me. It meant shut up. We’d take a look at him in due course. ‘Did Donna have a boyfriend?’ she asked.
Lisa looked relieved at the change of subject. ‘Nobody she took seriously. There was always one or two on the scene but nothing that was going anywhere. It was difficult for her, living at home. She couldn’t take them home. Her parents didn’t approve.’
Broken Dreams Page 2
