by Mark Timlin
‘Probably nothing. I’m not pointing fingers, Louis. I’m not apportioning blame. I don’t have that right. I’m as much to blame as anyone. Probably more so. All that matters is that we find Judith and her friend safe and well. We can do any sorting out that needs to be done after that. I’m only sorry that Laura thought that I might know where they were and not tell her.’
‘She was upset.’
‘I know. Listen. If you hear anything overnight, let me know, it doesn’t matter what time it is. I probably won’t get much sleep anyway. If I don’t hear from you by morning, I’ll call again. And naturally if I hear anything I’ll get right on to you.’
‘OK, Nick,’ said Louis. ‘I’ll put you back to Laura.’
There was another pause, then Laura spoke again. ‘Nick,’ she said. ‘She will be all right, won’t she?’
‘Course she will,’ I said reassuringly, or at least I hoped it was reassuringly.
Laura wasn’t convinced. ‘You just read such dreadful things . . .’
‘Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. She’s probably hanging out at a mate’s.’ But even as I said them, I knew how empty those words were.
‘No,’ said Laura. ‘She’s gone.’
‘Then we’ll get her back.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Count on it. Call me if you hear anything and I’ll do the same.’
‘All right, Nick.’
‘And don’t worry.’
More empty words.
‘Goodbye,’ said Laura, and she put down the phone.
I stood holding the receiver until Dawn took it out of my hand and put it back on the cradle.
She gave me a drink and I got back on the dog. Next I called Gipsy Hill police station. Jack Robber was in, as he always seemed to be. I don’t think he’s got a home to go to. He answered the phone on the first ring.
‘Robber,’ he said.
‘Nick Sharman,’ I said back.
‘Sharman. I’ve been expecting a call from you. I’m sorry to hear about your trouble.’
‘Thanks. I’ve just had a pair of your officers here.’
‘It’s usual in cases like this.’
‘I don’t think PC Blair was too enamoured with me.’
‘Did you expect him to be?’
‘It’s not me I care about. It’s Judith. And her friend. And their safety.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, I hope that the way you lot feel about me won’t affect the way you look for them.’
‘Don’t be stupid. It’s not your girl’s fault who she’s got for a father. We’ll look for her the same way we’d look for any missing kid.’
‘Jesus, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘This is starting to get to me. There’s no news, I suppose.’
‘Not so far. And I’m keeping an eye out for anything that comes in.’
‘I appreciate it. Will you call me if you hear anything? Anything at all, and any time.’
‘I will.’
‘Thanks, Mr Robber.’
‘Don’t bother . . . and Sharman . . .’
‘What?’
‘Don’t go going off half cocked. Keep out of this. Leave it to us.’
‘That’s what Blair said.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘That if I don’t hear anything by tomorrow, I’m going to start looking for her myself.’
‘You’ll be wasting your time. If we can’t find her . . .’ He didn’t finish the sentence.
‘I can’t just sit here doing nothing.’
‘I know, son,’ he said. He’d certainly never called me that before.
‘I thought you were up for retirement.’ I changed the subject.
‘Still am. I’m just hanging on as long as possible.’
‘Frightened of your sister?’
‘You’ve never met her. If you had you’d be frightened of her too.’
‘And you a big strong copper.’
‘She’d frighten the Marine Corps.’
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I’d better get off now. Just in case . . .’
‘Sure. And try not to worry.’
I knew he meant well but they were just more empty words.
‘I’ll try,’ I said, and put down the phone.
Finally, I called my old mate Chas, a journalist who now works for a big Sunday tabloid out of Wapping and who was best man at Dawn’s and my wedding. He’s helped me out on a couple of cases in the past and is about as close to a real friend as I’ve got. He was at home. I explained what had happened.
‘Sorry, mate. That’s a bastard,’ he said. ‘What can I do?’
‘Anything.’
‘I’ll see if I can get something into the daily paper about it.’
‘That’s what I’m scared of. I’m worried that they’ll dig up my past again.’
‘It goes with the territory.’
‘It might make things worse.’
‘If it does, it will anyway. At least I might be able to do a damage limitation.’
‘Yeah.’ I wasn’t totally convinced.
‘Look. It’s my day off tomorrow, but I’ll shoot into the office and see what I can see. I’ll get back to you. But if you hear anything first, let me know.’
‘I might not be around tomorrow. If nothing turns up tonight I’ll probably fly up to Aberdeen in the morning.’
I saw Dawn raise her eyebrows.
‘Will Dawn be around?’ asked Chas.
‘Yeah.’
‘Then I’ll check in with her.’
‘Do that, Chas. And thanks.’
‘Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything yet.’
‘Even so. Thanks.’
‘OK, Nick. And take it easy.’
‘When don’t I?’
‘You want a list?’
‘No.’
‘Right. See you soon.’
‘You will.’
And we both hung up.
‘Will you go to Aberdeen?’ asked Dawn when I’d put the phone down.
‘If there’s no news by tomorrow. It’s a place to start. Don’t mind, do you?’
‘Course not. Don’t be silly. I’d do the same in your shoes.’
‘And you don’t mind staying down here and holding the fort?’
She shook her head.
‘Thanks, love,’ I said. She came over and sat next to me on the sofa and put her arm round my shoulder. ‘Are you going to get some sleep?’
‘I’ll stay here,’ I said. ‘Try and take a nap. I need to be close to the phone.’
‘Then I’ll stay too.’
And she did.
I didn’t get much sleep. I was too edgy. And by seven I was up, showered, shaved, dressed and drinking my first cup of coffee. At three minutes past I called Laura. She answered on the second ring, so I assumed there was no news and that she hadn’t slept much either, but I asked anyway.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘Right. I’m coming up.’
‘There’s no need . . .’
‘Isn’t there? I think there is.’
‘She’s probably closer to you than to here.’
‘But at least I can get a better idea of what happened. It’s a start.’
‘The police–’ Once again I didn’t let her finish her sentence.
‘Sod the police,’ I said. ‘I’m coming. I’ll see you later this morning.’
Then I phoned London airport. BA did a walk on, walk off shuttle service and I could buy a ticket at the airport. Dawn drove me straight over. By nine-fifteen I was on a plane and just before eleven I walked through the main entrance of Aberdeen airport and grabbed a cab.
I’d never been to Laura and Louis’s place before and I was impressed. It was a big, ranch-style house in its own grounds just outside of town. There were three cars parked on the U-shaped drive. A Volvo estate, a Golf GTI and an official-looking dark blue Ford Sierra bristling with aerials that just screamed Old Bill.
I let the car go and walked up the wi
de, grey stone steps to the front door that looked like it had been pinched from the House of Usher. I rang the bell and Louis opened the door. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of years and he wasn’t weathering early middle age well. Too much money and booze in general and too little sleep over the weekend in particular, I guessed. He was dressed in baggy jeans, a white polo shirt and a navy blue cardigan. He was putting on weight, especially in the face, and his hair was grey and thin-looking. It made me feel loads better.
‘Hello, Nick,’ he said. ‘Long time.’ He didn’t offer to shake hands and nor did I.
‘Louis,’ I said.
‘You’d better come in.’ As if I’d travelled all that way to stand in the porch and communicate by semaphore.
He stood back and I entered the wide hall, moodily decorated in muted colours. ‘Laura’s in the lounge,’ he said. ‘That way.’
He pointed to the left and I walked through another wide door into a room that resembled a set decoration for a BBC production of Vanity Fair. All regency stripes and uncomfortable straight-backed armchairs. Not much like the place Laura and I had shared during our marriage, or where I lived now for that matter. No wonder Judith had done a runner. Louis didn’t come into the room. Maybe his and Laura’s marriage was in a particularly bad shape, or maybe it was just a bad time. Or maybe it was me.
Laura was sitting on the arm of a sofa smoking a cigarette. That was new. A big, burly geezer in a black Burberry was sitting in an armchair balancing a cup on his knee. Laura stood up as I went in.
‘Nick,’ she said, and came over and embraced me briefly. I hadn’t seen her for over a year either, but she looked pretty good, although the cigarette and the tremor in her voice as she’d spoken weren’t good signs. But then maybe that was me again.
‘Any news?’ I asked.
‘No. This is Inspector Todd. He’s from the local station. Inspector, this is Nick Sharman. My ex-husband. Judith’s father.’
The geezer in the mac nodded, but that was all.
I directed my next question to him. ‘You’ve heard nothing at all?’
‘No. But we’re working on it.’
‘Do you want a coffee, Nick?’ asked Laura.
‘Please. Then I’d like to see Paula McGann’s parents if that’s possible.’ I looked at Todd as I spoke.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Because they might know something.’
He shrugged. ‘And it’s parent by the way. Her mother, Margaret. The old man left about a year ago. We’re trying to trace him, but no luck. She thinks he might be on a rig. But we’ve drawn a blank so far.’
‘Bloody people,’ said Laura, and left the room.
‘She’s not taking this too well,’ I said.
Todd put his cup on a spindly-looking table and got up. He was about my height, but much bigger built, and the raincoat he was wearing added to his bulk. As I looked at him, I thought that I wouldn’t like to meet him in a detention cell on a dark night. Or at high noon for that matter.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But you must have seen that kind of reaction before. You were in the Met, weren’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I spoke to a couple of people who knew you. Know you.’
‘And?’
‘And this is my ground. I don’t want you trampling all over it.’
‘I’ve come up here to find out what happened to my daughter, Inspector,’ I said. ‘That’s all that matters to me. Your sensibilities don’t have anything to do with it.’ It was a stupid thing to say and I regretted the words as soon as I’d uttered them.
‘You’re not in London now, Sharman,’ he said. ‘My sensibilities have everything to do with it. I sympathise with what’s happened, but don’t mess me around or you’ll be in trouble.’
‘OK, Inspector,’ I said. ‘Fair enough. This whole deal is doing me in. I’m sorry. I’ll try and keep my mouth shut from now on.’
He nodded, and seemed to relax a little. I didn’t know who he’d spoken to or what he expected. Me to draw a revolver and shoot out the china figures on the sideboard, maybe. Or challenge him to an arm wrestle to see which of us was toughest. Whatever it was, he was going to be disappointed.
‘So what can you tell me about Paula McGann?’ I asked instead.
He walked over to the window. ‘See those?’ he asked, and pointed his finger.
I followed him to where he was standing and looked in the direction that he was pointing. Over the roofs of the houses across the wide road opposite, the top storeys of a couple of tower blocks could just be seen in the distance.
‘Yeah.’
‘The Grace Darling Estate. That’s where the McGanns live. It’s about as different from here as could be. The people who live in those blocks may look down on these houses, but the people who live here look down on them more.’
I knew the deal. It was the same in Dulwich.
Laura came back with my coffee. I drank it and smoked a cigarette. In the time it took me to smoke that one, she lit four and stubbed them out again. I felt sorry for her, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to communicate that, so I just shut up.
When my coffee was done, Todd offered me a lift to the McGann residence. I accepted.
All three of us walked out to the blue Sierra. I told Laura I’d be back soon. Todd told her he’d be in touch if he heard anything, but that she could call him at any time. I thought that was decent of him. He and I got into the motor. He started it and we pulled away leaving Laura standing in the driveway looking like a little girl whose puppy just died. I knew how she felt.
Todd steered the car down some increasingly mean streets until he pulled up outside a semi-detached house in a row of identical semis with that certain air of neglect that tells you they’re council houses where the tenants haven’t taken up the right-to-buy option.
‘Twenty-two,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the most dilapidated house in the street. ‘That’s Maggie’s place.’
The front fence, this side of the square of mud that an optimist might call a front garden, was bowed with the weight of the three young children leaning against it. The front gate was missing, and a rusty tricycle sat on the narrow concrete path that led to the front door.
‘Want me to come in?’ asked Todd.
‘No,’ I replied.
‘Probably best,’ he said. ‘We’ve never been popular in that house. Shall I wait?’
‘No thanks. I’ll find my own way back. It’s not far.’
‘Good luck then.’
‘Cheers,’ I said. ‘I expect we’ll talk again.’
‘Expect so,’ he replied, and I got out of the car and waited as he put it into gear and drove off.
The three kids looked at me and I looked back.
‘You live here?’ I asked.
No response.
I shrugged, and walked through the gap where the gate should have been and up the path, avoiding the tricycle, and on to the porch.
There was no bell, so I knocked hard on the paint-stained translucent square of glass set into the door.
A dog barked somewhere in the house.
I looked back at the kids who had turned and were regarding me steadily, as you might someone who’s just stepped out of an alien spaceship.
I turned round and knocked again. The dog barked once more and I heard a woman call out to it, then a figure appeared behind the glass and the door opened.
The woman who answered my knock was small, barely five foot tall I guessed, and pretty much the same wide. She was about thirty-five with long brown hair, and she wore a tight jumper and jeans that didn’t suit her figure. Her face was bare of make-up and showed signs of recent tears. In one hand she held a cigarette, in the other a chocolate biscuit.
‘Mrs McGann?’ I said.
‘Aye.’
‘My name’s Sharman, Nick Sharman. I’m–’
‘Judith’s daddy,’ she said, and her face split into a grin, which lit it from within, and for a moment
I saw the attractive young girl she must once have been. ‘I’ve heard all about you. Come on in.’
She held open the door and I walked into the hall. If I’d expected the interior of the house to match the exterior, I was wrong. It was spotless. And although the carpet may have been a bit thin in parts, it was obviously regularly hoovered.
‘Come on through, we’re in the kitchen,’ she said.
I followed her down the corridor into a fair-sized kitchen which was as clean as the hall. In one corner was a dog basket filled with a pooch who was as fat as his mistress. He looked up at me through the one eye that wasn’t hidden by a greying fringe, growled softly, then decided I wasn’t worth worrying about, closed the eye, yawned and went to sleep. At the huge kitchen table that dominated the centre of the room sat a girl of about fifteen, with a cup of tea in front of her and a chocolate biscuit of her own, which she popped into her mouth as I entered.
‘This is Clare,’ introduced Margaret McGann. ‘One of Paula’s pals. She’s come round to keep me company. This is Mr Sharman, Judith’s daddy.’
‘Nick,’ I said.
‘Nick,’ echoed Paula’s mother. ‘Sit down, will you.’
I did as she said and she sat opposite me. ‘Are you all right, Mrs McGann?’ I asked.
‘Call me Margaret,’ she said.
I nodded. ‘Margaret,’ I said.
‘As well as I can be with what’s happened. When I get hold of Paula I’ll tan her backside, big as she is.’
I turned to Clare. ‘Do you know Judith well?’
She shrugged. ‘Fairly.’
‘Do you know where they are?’
She shook her head, then said, ‘I’d better be off, Mrs McGann, I should be at school as it is. But I was worried about you.’
‘You’re a good girl, Clare,’ said Margaret. ‘Better than my own. Be off with you now, you don’t want to be getting into trouble with the headmaster.’
Clare smiled at her, then me, got up and went through the kitchen door into the back garden and round the side of the house.
‘School,’ said Margaret McGann bitterly. ‘What a waste of time.’
‘I don’t think Judith’s mother would agree with you on that.’
Margaret McGann looked up at me through the fall of her hair. ‘Oh, your Judith’s different. She goes to a good school. The girls round here go to a dump of a comprehensive that’s rotten with asbestos and should have been pulled down years ago. The teachers haven’t got a clue and hardly ever last longer than a term. There’s drugs sold like sweeties, and if the girls get to be sixteen without getting pregnant it’s a miracle.’
