Missing Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  Afterwards, on the internet, Mariner looked up what Lomax and his unit had done to deserve the accolades. The story was one of a number concerning foreign aid workers, for whom abduction seemed to be an occupational hazard. Mariner couldn’t help but wonder what motivated people to go out there and do that work in such inhospitable environments. The stories that made the headlines were typically rescue missions involving all-out battles with the kidnappers and resulting in casualties. But eventually Mariner found Lomax and three other soldiers named in a mission to recover three French aid workers that had ended peacefully, despite demands for the release of imprisoned extremists in exchange. Alongside pictures of the three women there were links to a further story telling how one of them, Monique Rousse, had subsequently been killed in a later incident.

  As Mariner was coming to the end of the article, his landline rang. It was Simon, the manager of Manor Park, apologising for the suddenness of the call, but letting him know that there would be a full-time vacancy for Jamie, starting from next Monday, if he wanted it.

  ‘Your choice, of course, if you want to have Jamie home for weekends, but we can arrange that as a regular thing, or we can do it as we go along. I’ll email across the contract and financial agreement for you to sign. How does that sound?’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Mariner, with great restraint.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The interview with Paddy Henderson on Wednesday morning turned out to be less than productive. He was distant and lethargic, and they often had to repeat their questions. Here was a man with a lot on his mind, reflected Mariner. But the question was why? Henderson’s assumption when they contacted him was that Dee had been found, but he’d been willing enough to come in to answer further questions. His alibi for the night when Grace had vanished remained less than secure, and was being followed up on, but now Mariner put her photograph down on the table.

  ‘Of course I know her,’ said Henderson, sitting up straight for the first time since they’d invited him to take a seat. ‘She’s been all over the news. She’s one of the reasons I came to you in the first place about Dee — her and that other girl.’

  ‘Is there any chance you could have seen these two women before that, perhaps in the atrium of the QE?’ asked Jesson.

  ‘I might have. I meet a lot of people there,’ Paddy said. ‘If I did, I don’t remember them.’

  ‘How well do you know Dr Leo Hayden?’

  ‘The psychiatrist guy? I don’t know him. I mean, I’ve spoken to him, like. Dee’s always going on about how wonderful he is. I could have done with someone like him when I came back.’

  ‘How often have the two of you met?’

  ‘I don’t know, maybe a couple of times at social dos, Christmas and that.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Bloody hell, I don’t remember — nothing really. I think Dee had told him I’m a plumber. He’s living at his parents’ place and he said the central heating could do with upgrading, like. I offered to give him a quote sometime.’

  ‘And did you?’ asked Jesson.

  ‘No, I’ve never got round to it. Look, what is all this? I want to get home to the kids.’

  ‘How do you feel about Dee working so closely with Dr Hayden?’ asked Mariner.

  Henderson considered his answer more carefully this time. ‘To tell the truth, I weren’t that keen. He was a bit too all over her, like.’

  ‘And you’ve never met Leo Hayden outside of these social occasions.’

  ‘No.’

  After about an hour, Mariner suggested they take a break so that Henderson could go outside for a smoke. They were making little progress and so far the searches of his house, premises and van had turned up nothing. In addition, Henderson’s alibi for the night of Rosa’s disappearance was solid. Nor was there anything in his service record to indicate issues with violence or his relationships with women. To compound all that, after hours poring over footage from the hospital’s CCTV system, Charlie had turned up nothing that put Henderson in direct contact with the two other women. He had enough to successfully identify Rosa and to confirm that she’d been at the hospital on a night when Henderson was there. They stood round to watch as she crossed the atrium to join the queue at a vending machine, but she didn’t go anywhere near Henderson, who was standing about fifteen metres away. She didn’t return to the area again. ‘She must have bought her crossed rifles somewhere else,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Are we making any progress with finding out where the necklaces might have come from?’ Mariner asked Jesson.

  ‘Only the worst kind,’ she said. ‘They’re cheap and mass-produced, sold in hundreds of outlets, online and on market stalls all over the country.’

  Mariner went to see Superintendent Sharp.

  ‘Everything we have is purely circumstantial,’ he admitted. ‘We’re going to have to let Paddy Henderson go. I wondered about possible surveillance.’

  ‘We can’t afford it,’ said Sharp, as Mariner had known she would.

  ‘We could assign him a FLO,’ said Mariner. ‘It would amount to the same thing.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll accept one, after all this?’

  ‘It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ said Sharp.

  ‘I’m going to need to get away for a couple of hours,’ said Mariner. Sharp arched an eyebrow. ‘I’ve managed to get Jamie back into full-time residential care, but there are some things I need to sort out.’

  ‘That sounds like good news,’ said Sharp.

  ‘I haven’t told Mercy, the woman who helps me out with him.’

  ‘But surely she must have known that it was a temporary arrangement?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Mariner. ‘But I worry about her.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll survive, Tom,’ said Sharp. ‘She has done up until now.’

  ‘I want to give her something, like a parting gift, though, and I know the most useful thing for her would be money. But I can’t trust that son of hers won’t get his hands all over it instead of her.’

  ‘That’s her decision, though, isn’t it?’ said Sharp and Mariner couldn’t disagree.

  * * *

  Mary Sutor was back at her CAD station on Wednesday morning when a previously seen name popped up on her monitor with an incoming call: William Alder. ‘My cleaner hasn’t come again this morning,’ he grumbled. ‘She didn’t come last Friday and she hasn’t come again today.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s unwell?’ Mary suggested.

  ‘I told you last week,’ he insisted. ‘She’d have rung me. This is most unlike her. I’m worried, what with these other young women who have been killed . . .’

  Mary rolled her eyes at Linda. ‘All right then, sir. Let me take some details and I’ll see what we can do.’

  Mary was about to contact an area car, when she remembered Charlie Glover. They attended the same church, so she knew him a bit, and also knew that he was part of the Grace Clifton investigation. She’d sound him out first. When Mary’s call came, Charlie was just starting on his third hour of CCTV and was consequently desperate for any kind of distraction. ‘What can I do for you, Mary?’

  ‘We’ve had a couple of calls from an old boy whose cleaner hasn’t turned up. I’ve tried telling him that’s not what we’re here for, but he’s a persistent old bugger. I’m sure it’s something of nothing, but she is potentially a missing woman, and with what’s going on at the moment—’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Glover.

  ‘Not far,’ said Mary. ‘Just up the road in Bournville.’

  It was the excuse Glover was looking for. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Give me the details and I’ll go and talk to him.’

  * * *

  When Mariner returned to the incident room, Vicky Jesson called him over to her desk. ‘Have you seen this?’ Under the headline banner Phantom Surgeon was a tongue-in-cheek article posted on the internet by a worker at the Salvation Army clothing depot. ‘They’
ve been getting matching sets of green surgical scrubs left in clothing banks around the city,’ said Jesson.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, we’re looking at this possible hospital connection, and we know that our man’s probably forensically aware, so what better way to cover up than with scrubs? Anyway, I gave them a call. Turns out they’ve had three lots turn up in the south of the city over the last three weeks, all identical.’

  ‘Identical in what sense?’ said Mariner. ‘I thought scrubs were all the same anyway.’

  ‘In the sense that they are all freshly laundered and neatly pressed, even down to the hat and face mask. If our guy knows his way around the hospital laundry, perhaps he can help himself to those too.’

  Mariner felt the familiar tingle between his shoulder blades that suggested they might be closing in. ‘I’ve got to go out anyway,’ he said. ‘What’s the postcode for the depot?’

  * * *

  William Alder’s bungalow was part of a low-rise sheltered housing complex that consisted of about a dozen dwellings connected by covered walkways and separated by small gardens. Glover parked in a bay beside number sixteen and got out of his car as a woman walked past, carrying a tray. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Are you here to see William?’

  Glover showed her his identification. ‘Apparently he’s worried about his cleaner.’

  ‘Well, I hope you haven’t had a wasted journey,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘He can be a bit of a fusspot, our William.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t do any harm to check these things out,’ said Glover diplomatically.

  Glover had a considerable wait after ringing the doorbell of William Alder’s bungalow, but it was explained as Glover followed the older man through to his living room. He lurched to one side as he shuffled along and held his left arm tucked in close to his body. He’d had a stroke. His slacks and a sleeveless sweater hung loosely on his emaciated frame.

  ‘And you haven’t seen Coral since last week?’ Glover asked, sitting down on the chintz two-seater sofa, opposite Alder’s matching armchair.

  ‘That’s right,’ Alder said. ‘She should have been here last Friday and again today.’ His speech was slurred and sibilant, so that Glover needed to lean in a little to catch everything he was saying. ‘It’s very unlike her,’ William went on. ‘If ever she can’t come she always lets me know. Since I’ve been ill I rely on her to get some shopping in for me. The managers are too busy to do much.’ He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a pristine white handkerchief.

  ‘And Coral cleans for you twice a week?’ asked Glover. ‘Does she clean for anyone else in the complex?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She was already helping me out when I came to live here and it suited us both to carry on the arrangement. She has other people she cleans for, of course: Miss James and Mr Pearson — he lives next door to my old house. And she has a new chap on Thursdays: a medical man.’ He said the name but Charlie didn’t quite catch it.

  ‘Haine?’ he repeated.

  ‘No, Haydn,’ said Alder, making an effort to enunciate. ‘Like the composer.’

  * * *

  Leaving Granville Lane, Mariner drove across to Harborne High Street to his appointment with Paul Jenner, the Barham family solicitor, and administrator of Jamie’s trust fund. It was he who had first informed Mariner, on the day of Anna’s funeral, that he was Jamie’s legal guardian and now Mariner needed Jenner’s authorisation to set up the standing order with Manor Park. It could all have been arranged via phone or email, but the initial elation at the prospect of getting his life back was beginning to wear off a little now, and it seemed only right that there should be a face-to-face conversation about it.

  Jenner saw no issue. ‘Financially Jamie has been very well provided for. We’ve always known that,’ he said, as the two men sat facing each other in his cramped and untidy office. The first time Mariner had come here was following a burglary, when the place had been ransacked, and it was hard today to see any discernible difference. Even Jenner himself looked a little neglected, his receding snow-white hair seeming to slide off the back of his head and down over his collar. ‘As the sole surviving family member, Jamie has inherited from his siblings and parents and the money has been carefully invested, thanks to mechanisms that Eddie, Anna and now you yourself have put in place. He can very easily afford to live at Manor Park, or somewhere like it, for many years to come. In fact, I would venture, ’til the end of his natural life. So I’m not sure what else I can help you with.’

  ‘It’s not just a financial undertaking, though, is it?’ said Mariner. ‘It’s about the quality of Jamie’s life too. It’s a big decision that I’m making on his behalf.’

  Jenner looked surprised. ‘You want me to tell you that you’re doing the right thing?’

  ‘I suppose I do,’ Mariner admitted, suddenly recognising that fact for himself. ‘You’ve known Jamie and his family for much longer than I have.’

  Jenner leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands in front of him. ‘Are you satisfied that Manor Park will meet Jamie’s needs?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Mariner with confidence.

  ‘Then you’re only doing what Anna herself did before you,’ Jenner pointed out. ‘She intended that Jamie’s place at Towyn would be a long-term arrangement. You were concerned about the quality of care he was receiving there, so you removed him. But like Anna, you have a demanding job. What’s the one thing Jamie needs above all else?’

  ‘Consistency,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Which is exactly what I imagine Manor Park will provide for him. It is — if I may be forgiven the vernacular — what my grandson would call a no-brainer. Now, let’s get down to the paperwork, shall we?’

  * * *

  Charlie Glover got back to Granville Lane ahead of Mariner, so was able to check over the case notes and, when Mariner walked in just minutes later, he called him over. ‘I’ve just been out to see this old chap, William Alder,’ Charlie said. ‘CAD asked me to go and talk to him because he reported his cleaner missing.’ Glover saw Mariner’s expression change. ‘I know. Pointless visit — I thought the same thing. But then he let slip that this woman, Coral Norman, also cleans for a Dr Hayden.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Mariner. ‘And she’s been missing since when?’

  ‘At least last Friday.’

  ‘Well, that has to be more than just coincidence. Let’s see what Leo Hayden has to say for himself.’

  * * *

  Mariner rang through to the critical care department of the hospital and asked to speak to Ellen Kingsley. ‘Is Dr Hayden there today?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s at the Gannow,’ she said. ‘The private clinic I told you about.’

  ‘Do you have contact details for him there?’ Mariner said. ‘We need to get hold of him urgently.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’ He could hear the curiosity in her voice.

  ‘We just need to check something out,’ Mariner said neutrally, hoping that she would be content to leave it at that. This was the risk of getting personally involved with someone related to a case. At the time, of course, he’d had no reason to think that she would be anything more than a peripheral player in it all. He hoped that wasn’t about to change. Luckily she seemed, at least for the moment, to sense the need for professionalism.

  After going off the line for a couple of minutes she returned and gave him the address of the Gannow Clinic. Mariner had never heard of it and said so.

  ‘It’s pretty exclusive,’ said Ellen. ‘They handle a range of mental health issues, including addiction. They have one or two quite well-known clients.’

  ‘It’s a rehab centre?’ said Mariner.

  ‘Not exactly. It’s much more than that, but just to warn you, they are likely to be cagey with giving out information.’

  ‘Thanks for the heads up.’

  ‘I hope you get it sorted,’ she said, leaving a number of unasked questions hanging in the air.

  * * *

 
; Instructing Charlie to begin processing the relevant search warrants, Mariner took Jesson with him and drove over to the clinic.

  ‘Well, this place is tucked away,’ Jesson said, as they drove in between two twelve-foot-high hedges. They had passed the centre twice, once in each direction, before she’d eventually spotted the discreet sign partially concealed by the foliage that had grown around it, and which gave absolutely no indication of the nature of the establishment.

  ‘Same old story,’ said Mariner. ‘We like to think we’re more accepting but the reality is we still prefer to keep mental illness out of sight when we can.’

  A sweeping gravel drive widened into a small parking area in front of the Victorian red-brick house that held nothing smaller than a two-litre engine and no vehicle older than last year’s registration, though the personalised plates were harder to date. ‘Staff or patients, do you think?’ said Mariner getting out of the car and eyeing up a top-of-the-range Jaguar SUV.

  Automatic doors ushered them into a thickly carpeted reception area. The lighting was low and discreet, soft music played in the background, and a small font-like sculpture held a tinkling eternal fountain. Behind a reception desk that looked like a cast-off from the Starship Enterprise was a row of seven-by-five-inch glossy photographs of the staff. That was something Ellen hadn’t mentioned — that Leo Hayden was a good-looking bastard.

  Mariner had often thought he must give off a signal that announced exactly what he was and, true to form, the girl behind the polished mahogany desk looked up from her glossy magazine with an expression of wary distaste. Or maybe it was that she’d noticed them draw up outside in a three-year-old Mondeo. They waved warrant cards in front of her. ‘We’re looking for Dr Leo Hayden,’ said Mariner. ‘We need to speak to him urgently.’

  ‘Can I ask what it is regarding?’ the girl asked, playing to type. Mariner had known highly trained guard dogs who were easier to get past than medical receptionists.

  ‘It’s confidential,’ he said. ‘But it is imperative that we talk to him.’