Missing Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘No, we use a laundry service.’

  ‘There’s something we hadn’t thought of,’ said Mariner, as he and Jesson left the hotel. ‘Our washerwoman might actually be a washerwoman, or man.’ On their way to the car Mariner told Jesson what he’d found below ground level.

  ‘So at the right moment it would be pretty easy to get someone, or something, into a vehicle without being seen,’ she said.

  ‘Tailor-made,’ said Mariner. ‘The bad news is that the hotel’s security arrangements at the back of the building are crap, so in practice anyone could get in or out.’

  Ricardo lived not far from the city centre — in a terraced house in a seventies development just off Sherlock Street — so it made sense for Mariner and Jesson to go directly there. Inside, the compact house was meticulously clean. They arrived while Ricardo was in the shower and he came to the door wrapped in a thick robe. ‘I’d like to get dressed,’ he said.

  ‘Agreeing to that might have been a bad move,’ said Mariner, as he disappeared upstairs. ‘Gives him time to work out a story.’

  ‘He’s very keen on cleanliness,’ observed Jesson. ‘Isn’t it meant to be next to godliness?’

  ‘Perhaps we should have brought Charlie,’ said Mariner.

  Ricardo joined them moments later in a lounge that was an extravaganza of leather and animal print.

  ‘You know that we’ve found Rosa?’ Mariner said.

  He looked genuinely upset. ‘I do,’ he said, crossing himself. ‘I keep thinking of that poor little girl without her mamma.’

  ‘So you’ll understand that we need to ask a few more questions. When you left work on Saturday night, did you come straight home?’ Mariner asked him.

  ‘Not right away,’ said Ricardo. ‘I was meeting a friend in the Piccolo bar on Hurst Street.’

  So definitely not straight home then, thought Mariner. ‘Will your friend be able to corroborate that?’ he asked.

  Ricardo flushed. ‘I don’t know. I think maybe he was going out of town for a few days.’

  ‘Do you have contact details for him?’

  His colour deepened further. ‘I think I might have mislaid them. The staff in the Piccolo can tell you I was there. I go in there pretty often after work.’

  ‘Tell me a bit more about this incident with the guest a few weeks ago,’ said Mariner. ‘Can you remember anything at all about this man?’

  ‘He was not a nice man,’ said Ricardo. ‘That I remember.’

  ‘Can you describe him to me?’

  ‘He was pretty tall and big — yes — with very round face and a little beard.’ He brought his thumb and forefinger together under his chin to signify a goatee.

  ‘You said it was a group on a work’s night out. Do you know which company they were from?’

  ‘Yeah, was one of those betting shops.’

  ‘Do you remember which one? William Hill? Coral? Sceptre?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Ricardo. ‘Sceptre.’

  ‘Do you remember anything else about the man or the incident that you think could be important?’ But Ricardo couldn’t help.

  ‘Who knew you’d be such a connoisseur of betting shops?’ said Jesson as they left Ricardo’s house.

  ‘Put it down to a misspent youth,’ said Mariner. ‘Shit, I’ve got to get a move on,’ he said suddenly. He turned to Jesson. ‘I need to go and fetch Jamie. If I drop you off, can you write up the notes for all of this?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Chapter Twenty

  In every other circumstance a shining example of a law-abiding citizen, Mariner drove out to Manor Park breaking all the rules, though only when he was certain he could get away with it. He’d driven this same route out to North Worcestershire so many times now that the exact positions of the speed cameras were imprinted on his mind, and he knew exactly the short stretches of road where he could exceed the speed limit with impunity. He was going to be late anyway. Skidding through the gates and into the main drive, Mariner saw Jamie wandering around the lawned area to one side, while Izzy, one of the staff, lounged on a bench alongside the entrance, keeping a discreet eye on him. She turned her wrist, pointing at an imaginary watch and shaking her head, as Mariner pulled up a little way off.

  ‘Sorry,’ Mariner mouthed back. ‘Hello, Jamie,’ he called, getting out of the car, and just about caught the ‘Spectre Man’ greeting that Jamie muttered in response.

  ‘Why does he call you that?’ asked Izzy. Like a number of the staff at Manor Park, she was Australian and the twang of her accent was strong. No more than mid-twenties, her blonde hair was cut short and she wore the staff uniform of jeans and polo shirt.

  ‘Because when we first met, his sister called me Inspector Mariner, and that was the best he could make of it,’ Mariner explained.

  ‘Inspector? You’re a copper? I didn’t know that.’ She seemed amused by it.

  ‘No reason why you should,’ said Mariner. ‘How’s he been?’

  ‘Good. Jamie’s never any trouble — are you, mate? Just had one little incident, but entirely our fault. We took him swimming and he must have got water up his nose. He went completely nuts for about twenty minutes. Next time we’re going to try him with goggles and a nose-clip.’

  ‘Well, good luck with that,’ said Mariner, knowing how resistant Jamie was to anything new. While they were talking Jamie had loped over to the car, and now Mariner opened the passenger door for him. Izzy started up the steps towards the building before turning back. ‘Oh, nearly forgot. Message from Simon: looks like we’ve got a permanent vacancy coming up soon. He’ll let you know.’

  Mariner got the distinct impression she’d enjoyed saving that ’til last. ‘That’s great,’ he said. ‘Any idea which days?’

  Izzy shrugged. ‘Full-time, I guess. He didn’t say any different. Have a good week, guys.’

  Christ. What a difference that would make to Mariner’s life. As they drove back to the city, he felt a sudden lightness. ‘I know it’s only Monday night,’ he said. ‘But how about a takeaway?’

  ‘Fried rice,’ said Jamie.

  * * *

  When Jesson got up to the incident room she found Charlie Glover hunched over his computer. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘What have you been up to? The boss was trying to get hold of you.’

  ‘Oh, I was just going back over a set of old statements,’ said Charlie. ‘Checking nothing has been missed.’ He didn’t see Jesson roll her eyes. ‘How about you? Anything new?’

  Jesson told him about the underground car park and about the encounter with Ricardo. ‘Looks like the next step is Sceptre Betting. Great.’

  ‘Sceptre?’

  ‘Yes, do you know it?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it,’ said Charlie. ‘Do you want me to go?’

  Jesson looked at him anew. ‘OK, thanks. Never my favourite places to visit.’

  * * *

  On Tuesday morning Mariner and Jamie were back to Declan and the day-centre routine, but somehow, knowing this might soon be coming to an end, it didn’t feel quite so bad. Jamie safely dispatched, Mariner picked up a text from Stuart Croghan, letting him know that Grace Clifton was ready for formal identification by her parents. Jesson was on her way to the Belvedere with a couple of uniforms to lead a more thorough analysis of their staff and guest data. As for Charlie, once again Mariner wasn’t sure where he was.

  * * *

  As promised, first thing on Tuesday morning, Charlie Glover phoned the head office of Sceptre Betting plc and spoke to one of the admin staff. He reminded her of a recent night out at the Belvedere Hotel.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ she said. ‘I was there. It was a great night.’

  ‘Not for everyone,’ said Charlie. ‘I understand one of your colleagues had a bit too much to drink and assaulted one of the bar staff.’ The line went quiet. ‘It’s all right,’ said Charlie. ‘Unless the hotel or the individuals involved decide to press charges, which they don’t wish to do, we can’t take any action. But I wou
ld like to speak to the man involved. What’s his name?’

  ‘It was Mark,’ she said. ‘Mark Kent. He’s the deputy manager of our Corporation Street branch.’

  ‘Will he be at work today?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘No reason why he wouldn’t be.’

  * * *

  Mariner went to see Stuart Croghan ahead of the identification to ask about the toxicology report. ‘High levels of Rohypnol in the bloodstreams of both women,’ said Croghan. ‘Essentially they’ve both been sedated — a lot. And the absence of water in the lungs means that they were dead before being submerged in water.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mariner. He’d keep those details to himself.

  Grace Clifton’s parents had aged ten years and seemed to respond to everything he said in slow motion. ‘You do understand that we have a positive identification for Grace from DNA and that we are in no doubt that this is her,’ Mariner reminded them. It was important to make that absolutely clear. He didn’t want the Cliftons, least of all Grace’s mother, clinging to any misguided hope that there might still be some element of doubt, that her daughter might still be alive.

  ‘We just want to say goodbye,’ said Councillor Clifton.

  They steeled themselves, Clifton gripping his wife’s hand tightly. Had there been any uncertainty as to the identity of the dead girl, the reactions of her parents put paid to that. There were no histrionics, just a harsh intake of breath, a flicker of anguish in the eyes before the tears began to flow quietly and uninhibited. The FLO had come along for support and afterwards brought hot drinks, allowing the couple a few minutes to begin to process what they had seen. When she felt it appropriate, she fetched Mariner to come and sit with them. They were dazed and disorientated. From his inside pocket, Mariner took the gold chain in its polythene packet. ‘You may remember I mentioned to you that Grace was wearing a necklace when we found her. This is it. Do you recognise it at all?’ he asked.

  Two pairs of eyes stared blankly at it, numbed by grief, and Mariner wondered if they were capable of recognising their own names right now. ‘I’ve never to my knowledge seen that before,’ said Mr Clifton, eventually, his voice raw.

  ‘Who is P?’ her mother asked.

  ‘We were hoping you might know,’ Mariner said. ‘As Grace was wearing this necklace when we found her. We thought it might be significant to her.’

  ‘If it is — if it was, then I don’t know why,’ her father said. ‘But then, the more I’m asked about my daughter, the more I realise there are plenty of things about her I didn’t know.’

  ‘Thank you, anyway,’ Mariner said. ‘And I’m very sorry.’ As he got up to leave Councillor Clifton followed him out.

  ‘We’ll try and think about who this P might be,’ he said. ‘It’s just that at the moment . . .’

  ‘I understand,’ said Mariner. ‘It’s difficult enough coming in here today for this.’

  ‘Oh, we would have been here this morning anyway,’ said Clifton, absently. ‘My wife’s father was brought in during the middle of last night again with breathing difficulties. It makes all of this doubly distressing for her.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mariner. ‘I didn’t know he was unwell.’ He wished someone had told him.

  ‘Emphysema,’ said Clifton. ‘He gets these attacks. Usually he’s in here for a couple of days on oxygen, then when he’s stable again, they discharge him. But the episodes have been getting more frequent, and this time it doesn’t look good. I think the stress of what has happened to Grace . . .’

  ‘I hope things work out,’ said Mariner, inadequately.

  * * *

  Exiting through the back of the mortuary, Mariner walked around to the main hospital entrance to get some fresh air. On the way he put a call through to Jesson at the Belvedere. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘As yet, we’ve got no staff common to all three dates,’ she said. ‘And there’s no one who’s been on our radar before, unless you count minor traffic offences and one caution for shoplifting four years ago. We’re working back through the guests at the moment, but no one stands out so far. I’ll let you know if that changes.’

  Before leaving the hospital Mariner climbed the stairs to the first floor to see if Ellen Kingsley was about. While he didn’t exactly regret his behaviour on Saturday night, he had left himself vulnerable and Jesson was right. However peripheral Dr Kingsley might be to the case, getting involved with her while it was going on had not been a good idea. And it wasn’t what Suzy deserved either. As he walked, again unchallenged, into critical care, he could see Ellen through the window in Lomax’s room, supervising a young nurse as she checked the equipment currently keeping him alive. She turned to say something, and at the same time saw Mariner. Breaking into a smile, she gave a final word of instruction to her colleague, before emerging into the central concourse to meet him. ‘Can’t keep you away,’ she observed.

  ‘There was something else I had to attend to here, so thought I’d stop by. Have you got time for a coffee?’

  ‘Sorry, there’s no one permanently covering Dee’s absence yet, so I can’t leave this area. Is there any news?’

  Mariner shook his head. ‘Nothing yet.’

  She hugged her arms protectively around her. ‘I heard that you’d found the other two women.’

  ‘They’re still searching,’ Mariner said. He hesitated a moment, both of them suddenly awkward. ‘Look, I suppose I really came to apologise. I wasn’t entirely honest with you the other night. There is someone, but it hasn’t been going well, mainly because it hasn’t had the chance to. I was feeling sorry for myself.’

  ‘Ah, well.’ She looked him up and down. ‘Disappointing, but no harm done.’

  Mariner nodded towards Private Lomax. ‘No visitors today?’

  ‘At Buckingham Palace,’ Ellen said. ‘His unit are being honoured for bravery. They rescued some aid workers a couple of months back, before all this happened.’

  ‘Can’t they wait until he’s well enough to accept it himself?’ She flashed a wry smile and Mariner understood. ‘They don’t know that he ever will be,’ he said.

  ‘It will be collected on his behalf and brought back to him here. Something for him to wake up to. And all the details of the occasion will be recorded.’ She held up a scrapbook. ‘With luck, someone will have taken photographs too that we can add in.’

  ‘That doesn’t look very NHS,’ said Mariner.

  ‘It’s not, but nonetheless it’s an essential part of the recovery process. Dr Hayden introduced them. We keep a kind of log book of exactly what happens to each patient while he’s in here. What treatment he’s received, but also who’s visited and so on. It helps to fill in some of the gaps when they regain consciousness. Most of them read and re-read it to try to make sense of things when they get back into the real world. They tell us it’s a lifeline. Dee would normally be keeping Lomax’s up to date, but in her absence it still needs to be done, so I’ve been completing it.’

  ‘Could I have a look?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘I don’t see why not. There’s nothing confidential written in them.’ She handed him the book. Like a child’s scrapbook, it was decorated on the outer cover with photographs and cuttings. Opening it, Mariner turned the pages until he found the day of Dee’s disappearance. The entry for that afternoon read: 3.30 p.m. emerging. Dr Hayden came. Stayed two hours, but not ready.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Well, I was in surgery at the time, but from what Dee has written here, it looks as if Lomax began showing signs of regaining consciousness at about three thirty. That’s what this coding means here.’ She pointed to the page. ‘She will have paged Dr Hayden straight away. According to what Dee told me later, shortly after that Craig came round fully, as expected, but almost immediately went into crisis.’

  ‘Meaning what exactly?’

  ‘He got very agitated and distressed. It’s an intense cocktail of fear, disbelief and anger that hits some men very
hard and very quickly. There would have been no option but to sedate him again.’

  ‘Is that unusual?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘Not at all. If anything, it’s commonplace. That’s why we’re always prepared for it.’

  ‘And Dee would have been there, during all this?’

  ‘Yes. I understand she and Dr Hayden bore the brunt of Lomax’s aggression. They had a rough time in there for a while. Then between them they took steps to make him comfortable again.’

  ‘Put him under.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And this Dr Hayden, she’s one of your team?’

  ‘He,’ Ellen corrected him. ‘Yes, very much so. Leo’s an essential element.’

  ‘So what exactly does he do?’

  ‘He’s a clinical psychiatrist, specialising in post-traumatic stress. When Dee first realised that Craig was regaining consciousness she will have contacted Leo and he would have got here as soon as he could. It’s standard procedure. Leo’s skilled in rapidly assessing a patient’s state of mind, and their capacity to cope with dramatically altered circumstances. We knew that when Lomax came round it was likely to be harrowing for him and Leo has techniques for dealing with that. It was Leo who recognised that it was too soon for Lomax, and it will have been his decision to put him under again.’

  ‘Does Dee often work with Dr Hayden?’

  ‘Well, we all do,’ said Ellen. ‘But I guess you could say that Dee’s quite often Leo’s right-hand man when he’s here. They get on well. Holistic care, I suppose you’d call it. One treating the physical, the other the emotional.’

  Mariner thought again about Paddy Henderson. ‘Was there anything between them?’ he asked, carefully.

  ‘Well, there’s a bit of banter, of course,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s a very necessary part of the job, to relieve tension. You know that. But Dee and Leo are both utterly professional.’ Although Mariner couldn’t help noticing her failure to meet his eye as she said this.

  ‘Would it be possible to talk to Dr Hayden?’