by DS Butler
Victoria rifled though her makeup bag and pulled out her eyeliner. She stuck her tongue out as she drew a line across her top lashes, concentrating on getting it straight. She had to look perfect today. She glanced down at her stomach. Shame about those extra two pounds.
***
An hour later, Victoria wrapped her long-sleeved cardigan tightly around her waist and walked into the wind. It was a warm morning, but this alleyway was a wind trap. Hell, it was making her eyes water. She was going to turn up at the audition looking a right state.
She felt a flutter of panic building in her stomach. She didn’t even know what she would have to do for this audition. The man on the phone didn’t tell her whether they wanted a singer or a dancer, and she’d been too overwhelmed by the phone call to ask sensible questions. She hoped it was a dancer they needed. Singing wasn’t her strongest point, but she was taking lessons, trying to improve.
Victoria tugged at her sleeves, making sure they came right down to her wrists. Think positive, she ordered herself. She’d be all right. Of course, they would want her. They might even offer her the job on the spot. She smiled and drifted off to a daydream where she was the most famous dancer in the world, where she would be in such high demand that…
Damn. Victoria caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. She sucked her stomach in. That bloody brownie had added at least an inch to her waist. No dinner tonight, that was for sure.
When Victoria left the alleyway, she looked around in surprise. She didn’t know this area. It didn’t look like the sort of place to have a theatre or a studio. In fact, the buildings around here looked abandoned.
She looked down at the piece of paper in her hand where she had quickly jotted down the man’s instructions. She must have made a wrong turn. This couldn’t be it, surely. She read through the directions again, then she shrugged. She hadn’t made a mistake. She’d followed his directions perfectly.
She walked on, passing an old, red brick wall that was crumbling with age. The noise from the traffic, now several streets away, was a muffled hum. Victoria’s confident smile faded. The moaning wind blew a few yellow leaves past her feet, and Victoria shivered as the sun slipped behind a cloud.
She continued up to the old, grey stone building, which according to her hastily scrawled notes, was her destination. The building was surrounded by a mesh fence. Victoria blinked up at the dark windows. This couldn’t be where they were holding the auditions. It didn’t feel right. The building looked as if it had been marked for demolition.
A fluttering movement caught the corner of Victoria’s eye. A white sign, attached to the fence with a plastic cable tie, moved in the breeze. Victoria walked forward and grabbed it to stop the sign blowing upside down.
The word “Auditions” was printed in black capital letters next to an arrow, which pointed to a pathway along the side of the building.
There was a small gap in the fence. Victoria squeezed her way through, hitched her bag up onto her shoulder and set off down the path, which was scattered with dead leaves and straggly weeds. Victoria quickened her pace.
At the end of the trail, she stopped and looked up at the back of the huge building. Then a movement and a slapping noise sent Victoria’s heart pounding.
She was ready to run when she saw it was only a startled pigeon. She shook her head, and tried to laugh it off. Why was she so jittery? It was only an old building. She looked at it again. See, she told herself, it’s just a pile of old bricks, nothing to be scared of.
She walked closer, moving towards the cracked, stone steps that led up to what must once have been a grand entrance. She shrugged. What did it matter what the building looked like? It wouldn’t make any difference to her audition.
Victoria plastered on her performance smile, opened the door and walked through the arched doorway.
12
On the positive side, Mackinnon’s nose didn’t hurt that much, but unfortunately, he looked as if he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
“What the hell happened to you?” Collins asked when Mackinnon walked into the open plan office at Wood Street Police Station.
Mackinnon’s hand automatically went to touch his nose, and he winced.
“Christ, did Chloe do that?”
“No, of course she didn’t,” Mackinnon said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh.” Collins raised an eyebrow. “Walked into a door, did you?”
“As a matter of fact … Oh, forget it. Is DI Green in yet?”
“Yes, but he’s in a meeting with the superintendent.”
Mackinnon frowned. That didn’t sound good. In fact, Mackinnon was pretty sure it meant this case was going to be taken off their hands sooner, rather than later. Mackinnon picked up his coat again.
“Are you not staying?” Collins asked.
“I’m going to check out the coffee shop where Anya worked.”
“Now? But I thought we were going to do that…”
“Better to do it now, Mackinnon said. “Rather than wait to hear the superintendent has reassigned the case to MIT officers only.”
“He wouldn’t,” Collins said with feeling.
“Of course, he will, Nick. It’s not just a missing persons case anymore. Henryk Blonski has been murdered.”
Mackinnon left before Collins could argue. It was ridiculous to think the super would be happy for them to plod on with the case. It would be assigned to the Major Investigation Team as soon as officers were available.
Anya Blonski worked at a branch of Starbucks on Cheapside. Cheapside used to be the main market in the City of London. Streets nearby had names like Poultry Street. Bread Street and Milk Street. They were all named after the goods that used to be sold there. In the last few years, the whole area had been completely redeveloped, with a fancy shopping mall and restaurants owned by celebrity chefs taking up the old market space. But the old street names remained, including Wood Street, where the headquarters of the City of London Police was located.
Mackinnon often walked past the coffee shop where Anya worked, but he had never been inside.
The coffee shop was set out in a standard way. Wooden tables and chairs took up the middle area of the shop floor, and grey velvet-covered sofas and armchairs were set back against the walls. It was quiet when he entered. There were only two tables occupied and no one waiting to be served.
The guy behind the counter wore a black polo shirt under a green apron. He was almost bald, save a few stray, fair strands. Despite that, Mackinnon guessed the man was only mid-twenties. He looked up as Mackinnon approached.
“Hey, what can I get you?”
Mackinnon showed his warrant card and the employee’s smile slipped off his face.
He swallowed. “Is this something to do with Anya?”
Mackinnon waited for a moment, to see what else he might say. Sometimes, if you let them, people would volunteer more information on their own. Questions often made people clam up, even if they had nothing to hide.
But the man behind the counter didn’t say anything else. He picked up a marker pen and fiddled with it.
If something had happened to Anya, nine times out of ten, the person responsible would be someone she knew.
“Yes, it’s about Anya Blonski,” Mackinnon said. “I’ll need to talk to you and the rest of the staff.”
He nodded. “Of course.” He left the counter and poked his head around the door behind him.
Another customer entered the shop, a woman in a sharp business suit.
“Mind if we do this one at a time?” the man said, nodding at the customer.
“Sure.”
A heavy-set girl came out of the door behind the counter, carrying two large cartons of milk. She had thick, dark eyebrows, which almost met in the middle when she looked at Mackinnon and frowned.
The man asked, “Can you cover?”
She nodded.
They headed over to a table while the girl served the customer.
�
�What’s your name?” Mackinnon asked.
“Jim … Jim Meadows. Has something happened to Anya?”
Mackinnon waited.
“I only ask because she hasn’t shown up for her shifts, and her brother was in here on Wednesday asking after her. He seemed really worried.”
“Wednesday? What time was that?”
“In the morning. Around eleven. Anya didn’t show up for her shift. She was supposed to start at eight thirty.”
“How long have you known Anya?” Mackinnon asked.
Jim Meadows shrugged. “Around ten months. Since she started working here.”
“Did you get on well?”
“Sure. I mean we don’t socialise out of work, but she’s a nice girl.”
“Did she confide in you? Tell you anything about her personal life?”
“How do you mean?”
“She’s a pretty girl. Did any of the customers go a little too far with their flirting? Or did she have problems with a boyfriend?” Mackinnon kept his expression friendly.
Jim shook his head. “She never mentioned a boyfriend. I think she was too caught up in all that performing arts stuff.”
“Performing arts? You mean her dancing?”
“Yes. She takes classes.” Jim Meadows smiled with a dreamy expression on his face. “I reckon she’d make a good dancer. She’ll probably be on TV one day. Or in a show in the West End. You know, then I can say I knew her before she was famous…”
Mackinnon nodded and waited for him to continue.
“She has this kind of grace about her. She’s beautiful.”
“That must attract a bit of attention around here.”
Jim shrugged. “Well, sure. But she’s oblivious to it. Never seems to notice.”
“So there were no regular customers who flirted with her?”
Jim Meadows thought for a moment. “A couple maybe, but I don’t think there’s anything in it.” He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “The worst flirts are the married ones.”
“Really?”
Jim nodded. “They come in with their rings clearly visible on their fingers and flirt like crazy. But they do that with Milly as well.” Jim turned behind him to face Milly at the counter. Her bushy eyebrows lowered as she scowled at them. “Like I said, there’s nothing in it.”
“When was the last time you saw Anya?”
“Tuesday, when she worked her normal morning shift. She likes to keep her afternoons free for her dance classes.”
“Did you ever meet any of her friends from those dance classes?”
“No, she doesn’t really talk about them either. I mean, she talks about the classes, but not about any of her friends there. I get the impression she doesn’t make friends all that easily.”
“But you like her?”
“Yes. She is a sweet girl.”
Mackinnon took a few more details from Jim Meadows. He wrote down the name of the performing arts school Anya attended, which matched the information Collins had already unearthed yesterday.
Jim Meadows watched Mackinnon note down the address.
“I think we’re done for now,” Mackinnon said. “Could you ask Milly to come over next?”
Jim Meadows pushed back his chair, licked his lips, then said, “Do you think something has happened to Anya? Her brother seemed really worried.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Anya’s brother, Henryk Blonski, was killed.”
Jim Meadows clapped a hand over his mouth.
“We are still trying to locate Anya.”
Jim Meadows blinked rapidly. “Oh, God. Poor Anya.” He stood up and walked back to the counter.
Mackinnon watched his reaction carefully. The shock, the emotion, could it all be an act? One thing was for sure, Jim Meadows liked Anya. Did he like her too much?
Milly bustled over, wiping her hands on her green apron. She sat down and didn’t wait for Mackinnon to speak first.
“I’m sure I can’t tell you anything that will help,” she said, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t exactly close to Anya.”
“I’d like you to tell me what you can about Anya.”
“What do you want to know?”
Mackinnon leaned forward. “Tell me everything. I want to know everything.”
13
When Mackinnon got back to the station, he headed straight over to Collins’ desk. Collins had been working with a Polish translator to break the news to the Blonski family back in Poland. Collins’ face showed the strain.
“You managed to get in touch with the parents?” Mackinnon asked.
Collins nodded. “Yes, through the Polish Policja.”
Collins nodded in the direction of the door. “DI Green wanted you to update him as soon as you got back.”
Mackinnon nodded and shrugged off his jacket. “I’ll go and see him now. You coming?”
Collins shook his head. “I’ve already seen him.”
The heating was on in DI Green’s office, despite the fact it was July and London was in the middle of a heat wave, with temperatures hovering around the ninety-degree mark during the day.
DI Green appeared oblivious to the heat. He invited Mackinnon to take a seat and listened as Mackinnon filled him in as quickly as he could.
When Mackinnon finished, DI Green nodded slowly and pulled the red plant pot, containing a squat cactus, on his desk towards him, peering down at it.
“I had a spider plant before this one,” DI Green said. “I thought a cactus might be easier to look after, but it’s not looking good.”
Mackinnon looked at the spiky plant. He didn’t know much about cacti, but it looked all right to him.
“The thing is, Jack,” DI Green said, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands together behind his head, “I’ve got some bad news.”
Mackinnon waited for him to continue.
“I suppose you’ve heard about the incident at the Towers Estate?” Without waiting for an answer, DI Green continued. “There’s a hostage situation, and MIT are snowed under at the moment, which means it’s still me heading up the Blonski case for now.”
Mackinnon nodded.
“It won’t be for too much longer, just until MIT get the situation under control. So that means you and Collins are going to be doing a lot of the leg work today.”
Mackinnon didn’t mind that at all. He wanted to move to MIT, and he knew Collins had similar ambitions. “Just tell me what you need us to do, sir.”
DI Green smiled, opened his desk drawer and pulled out a list.
After he’d finished with DI Green, Mackinnon found Collins grabbing a coffee from the vending machine.
“So what did DI Green say?” Collins asked. “Did you have a nice chat about how I royally messed up?”
“What? No, of course not,” Mackinnon said. “He gave me a list of things we need to do.”
“Well, when I went to see him, he was definitely hinting I screwed up. And he wasn’t very subtle about it.”
“You’re being paranoid, Nick.”
“Really? Well, it sounded like that to me. He went on for ages. ‘Why on earth haven’t you done this yet? Do I have to think of everything myself?’” Collins said, mimicking the detective inspector and putting on a voice uncannily like DI Green’s.
Mackinnon had to smile.
“He thinks it’s my fault, Jack.”
Mackinnon shook his head.
“He does,” Collins insisted. “He’s been looking at me like I screwed up, like I missed it.”
“Nick, you haven’t missed anything, but if you don’t get a grip, we might do.”
Collins took at deep breath, then nodded. “Yeah, right. Sorry. So what did you find out at the coffee shop?”
“Jim Meadows. He works with Anya at Starbucks, and I think he had a thing for her.”
“Yeah?” Collins brightened. “Fancy him for it?”
“Too early to say, but he’s one to watch.”
Collins took a cou
ple of gulps of coffee, then sighed. “She’d only been missing a day, Jack. How was I supposed to know? I’m not bloody psychic.”
Mackinnon could keep telling Collins it wasn’t his fault until he was blue in the face. It wouldn’t make any difference. Collins had to work it through for himself.
“Jim also mentioned the dance classes Anya attended. We need to check out this dance academy place as a priority.”
Collins nodded. “All right. What about Henryk’s place of work?”
Mackinnon nodded. “We can split up, cover more ground. Which would you prefer? Academy or Henryk’s work place?”
“I think it might be better if we check out this dance place together. Then we can check out the bar where Henryk Blonski worked.”
“All right.” Mackinnon picked up his coat. He wouldn’t say anything yet. Collins didn’t want to go alone because he’d lost his confidence. It wasn’t DI Green who was blaming Collins for missing something. Collins was doing an excellent job of that all by himself.
14
Victoria heard the hinges on the door squeal, then the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind her.
This was a creepy place. She couldn’t wait to finish the audition so she could get the hell out of here. She waited in what looked like a reception hall for a few moments, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She glanced upwards at the vaulted ceiling. There were no lights on.
There was a desk near the door, but no phone, or computer. She moved over to the desk and touched it with her index finger, leaving a trail in the dust.
She had to be in the wrong place. This was seriously freaking her out. Why didn’t she ask for the man’s number when he called? She realised her mistake and dialled 1471, but that hadn’t helped as the telephone number had been withheld.
She walked a little further into the large hall, her footsteps echoing against the chipped, dirty tiles. She spotted another door at the other end of the hall. She decided to have a quick look inside. If no one were there, she’d go home, run a hot bath and write off the audition. There would be other chances.
She strode across the hall to the mystery door, twisted the handle and pushed. It didn’t budge. Victoria exhaled the breath she’d been holding and let her hand slip from the handle. That was it then, time to admit defeat and go home.
