by Ellis, Tim
His first port of call was Victoria, which was a straight-forward run of seven stops on the District Line.
The Rochester Hotel was an impressive building overlooking Vincent Square. He walked up the steps and through the arched entrance into a marble and mahogany reception. A man, with black hair and a goatee beard, wearing a dark suit and tie like an undertaker, was sitting at the desk.
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Is it possible that you could ring Mrs Mayell’s room and inform her that a Mr Cole Randall is in reception to see her?’
‘Certainly, Sir. Please take a seat. Would you like coffee while you’re waiting?’
He nodded. ‘Thank you.’ He sat by the window so that he could watch the world hurry past. Boredom was an ancient enemy that he needed to thwart at every opportunity. The slightest crack in his defences and he’d be lost.
There was a young Japanese couple sitting near the door entrenched in a heated discussion. With most languages he could look at the words and make some attempt at saying what he saw, but there were a number of languages that were written in unintelligible characters – when he looked at them they gave him a headache.
A young black man brought a tray holding a cup of coffee on a saucer, a sugar bowl with sugar cubes inside and a matching milk jug. There was also a silver teaspoon and a packet of three custard creams. As he tore open the packet, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a custard cream. They certainly hadn’t been profligate with the biscuits in Springfield Asylum.
After about fifteen minutes a woman in her early forties appeared.
‘Mr Randall?’
‘Yes.’ He stood up, as gentlemen do, shook her hand and shuffled round the table to move her chair out and in as she sat opposite him.
The waiter came up. ‘More coffee, Sir?’
He looked at the woman.
She nodded.
‘Yes, please – for two.’
The corner of the young man’s mouth curled up. ‘And biscuits?’
‘I never say no to biscuits,’ he said.
‘Certainly, Sir.’
Nicky Mayell’s hair was tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before. Some strands of different lengths had been left to dangle over her forehead, and he didn’t know whether she’d spent five minutes or five hours creating the effect. She had large gold rings in her ears, lovely white teeth and was reasonably pretty. Her clothes were expensive chiffon and she wore a lot of gold jewellery.
‘I’m the . . .’
‘I know who you are, Mr Randall.’
‘Yes, I expect you do. I also know who you are Mrs Mayell.’
‘Do you?’
‘You’re the biological mother of Jim O’Connor.’
She seemed slightly surprised and hung her head. ‘Yes I am. Why are you here?’
‘To find out if you had anything to do with his disappearance.’
‘He’s disappeared?’
The waiter returned with the coffee and biscuits.
Randall put sugar and milk in his, Mrs Mayell didn’t. He opened his biscuits, she didn’t. It crossed his mind that if she didn’t want her biscuits he could slip them into his pocket when he left.
‘Him and his wife Colleen.’
‘No. I don’t know anything.’
‘You employed a private investigator . . .’
‘A month ago. I contacted them from America. He followed you because he hadn’t seen anybody else at the house.’
‘They disappeared from the . . . Do you know the Blackwall Tunnel?’
‘Yes . . . I used to live in London.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Of course . . . You must also know that I left my baby at the hospital?’
‘Yes.’
She used a tissue to dab at the tears that had begun to leak from her eyes. ‘I was raped by my stepfather when I was fifteen. My mother wouldn’t hear a word against him. She accused me of lying and threw me out onto the street. What choice did I have? Shortly after that I met an American who liked young girls. It was my way out, so I agreed to marry him and went back to America as his wife. It was a loveless marriage, but he gave me two beautiful children who are all grown up now. My husband died three months ago. I inherited his vast fortune and decided to come back here and see if there was anything left of my old life.’
‘And find your abandoned baby?’
‘I only want to see him. I’m not here to cause any trouble.’
‘He doesn’t know he was adopted. He still thinks that Marvin and Megan O’Connor are his real parents.’ He decided that she didn’t need to know that the O’Connors had claimed him as their own.
‘I’m glad, he’ll have a normal life. You don’t think something terrible has happened to him, do you?’
‘From what I’ve been able to discover so far, I think they engineered their own disappearance.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’
‘If you do find him, will you let me know?’
He hesitated.
‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘It’s not that.’ He took his wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers and passed her one of Athena’s cards – his hadn’t arrived yet. ‘Give Athena a ring and discuss it with her. I don’t see any problems, but she’ll give me hell if I agree and she doesn’t know.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll do that.’
‘What about your mother?’
Her jaw set hard. ‘She’s in a care home. I went to see her. The bitch remembered me all right, but wasn’t the least bit sorry about what she did. She said my stepfather left her within six months of her throwing me out, but she never knew what happened to him. I hope the bastard died a horrible death.’
‘What was his name? I’ll try and find out what happened to him for you.’
‘Victor Moran. The slimy bastard was a lot younger than my mum.’
He wrote the name down in his notebook. ‘When do you go back to America?’
‘Whenever I want to. Who’d have ever thought that little Nicky Hobbley would end up rich?’
He stood up. ‘Ring Athena and sort things out with her. I’ll be in touch when I know anything.’
‘Thank you, Mr Randall.’ She held out her hand.
He shook it. ‘Call me Cole. And seeing as you’re so rich you won’t miss those custard creams.’ He slipped the packet into the pocket of his donkey jacket.
She smiled. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you.’
He made his way outside. There was a freezing wind blowing towards him as he made his way back to the station. The roads and pavements were wet and black slush had been heaped up against the kerbs and building walls. More snow was expected, and the odds for a white Christmas had been slashed by the bookmakers.
Well, that was one lead neatly tied off. Jim and Colleen hadn’t disappeared because of his biological mother. He was still oblivious to the fact that Megan and Marvin weren’t his real parents.
Now he had to catch the train out to Seven Sisters on the Victoria Line.
‘What’s the journey time?’ he asked the fossil in the ticket booth as he was buying his ticket. He guessed that London Underground were keeping people on beyond the legal retirement age.
‘Quarter past three. There’s a clock up there, you know,’ he said pointing to the wall behind Randall.
‘No. How long will it take to get to Seven Sisters?’
‘Twenty minutes give or take.’
‘Give or take what?’
‘I don’t know. What makes you ask?’
The people in the queue behind him were getting impatient. He thought he might ask about an Oyster Card, but in the light of his communication problems he decided against it.
‘Thanks for your time.’
‘Quarter past three. There’s a clock on the wall . . .’
He walked towards the ticket barrier and navigated his way to the northbound platform.
So, who was Beverley Jenkin
s? Was she the person who stopped to pick up the driver of the O’Connors’ car? Would she admit it? Would she tell him what it was all about? Did she know?
What did he have left? There was still the non-existent wine investment companies and the £17.5 million fraud, but he didn’t know where to go with that at the moment. There was the pregnant Ginny and her objectionable relations. It seemed unlikely that Jim and Colleen would devise such an elaborate plan to escape from them, but if he came up blank with Beverley Jenkins then he’d have to check it out. Lastly, there was the fake MoD contract and Project Salamander. What was that all about? And more importantly, how was he going to find out about it?
He’d wait until after he’d questioned Beverley Jenkins. If she told him why Jim and Colleen had gone into hiding, then he probably wouldn’t need to move beyond that. It certainly wasn’t in his remit to start righting wrongs. His job was to find out what had happened to them and report his findings to the parents – nothing more. If they were being hunted by rogue government agents or black-op specialists . . . Well, that was nothing to do with him. He hadn’t been employed to protect them – just find them.
As the train came to a standstill and the doors slid open, he knew damn well that he couldn’t simply walk away, and he had a premonition that it was going to get a lot more complicated.
Chapter Thirty-Five
She was being hauled up by ropes and pulleys from a very deep and dark place. It looked like a circular well. There was green moss and slime on the walls. Hands were grabbing at her, trying to prevent her from reaching the surface. The rope began to fray . . .
‘Gov? . . . Gov? Wake up . . .’
She’d slid down the seat. Her knees were nearly touching the floor. Dribble bubbled out of the corner of her mouth. God, she was a mess.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked as if she knew where she was and had been expecting the wake-up call. She pulled down the visor and used the courtesy mirror to dab at her mouth and eyes with a tissue from her pocket. No wonder she couldn’t get herself a man – what a shit life!
‘DS Estes has just been out. They didn’t find our mneme, or any others either. He said the whole place had been searched by Louis’ killer and looked like a landfill site. He’s going back to the station now to write his report. We should get it tomorrow.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Quarter to three.’
‘I’m starving.’
‘I thought you’d never ask, Gov.’
‘Find somewhere local.’
‘Local?’
‘We haven’t finished here yet and neither has the killer. After we’ve eaten we’ll be coming back. I hope you haven’t got anything planned for tonight?’
‘Ah!’
‘What?’
‘I’d arranged to provide the second instalment later.’
‘You’d better ring and cancel. We could be here all night.’
‘All night?’
‘And I’ll be sleeping, so that just leaves you on stake-out.’
‘Oh, okay.’
He drove along Ebury Bridge Road, turned left at Wellington Buildings and parked up. They walked along the side of the Lister Hospital down to Chelsea Embankment and found the Bagel Factory. The windows were steamed up and they couldn’t see much of a forlorn looking River Thames.
The light was slowly disappearing and more snow had been promised. People were hurrying to and fro, eager to reach their destinations, to snuggle deep into warm houses and batten down the proverbial hatches.
She didn’t normally eat rubbish, but she needed something to fill the hole that had developed and keep her going throughout the night, so she ordered a burger and chips with homemade coleslaw on the side. Tony, as usual, had a full English breakfast with three pieces of toast.
‘No bagels?’ the waitress asked. It was after all a bagel shop.
Both shook their heads and Tony ordered a pot of tea for two.
When they were guzzling the hot tea and waiting for the food to arrive Tony said, ‘You think the killer didn’t find the mneme?’
‘He obviously tortured the professor, who wasn’t going to tell the killer where his precious mnemes were. Then the professor had a heart attack before the killer obtained the location of the mneme. He then had no choice but to search the flat to try and find it.’
‘But he didn’t?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘So, he’s coming back tonight.’
‘What choice does he have? Everything has been about finding that cylinder. Whatever’s inside the mneme, the killer needs it to move forward.’
‘There’s a uniform outside the door.’
‘I’ll persuade him it would be in everyone’s interest if he went home for the night. As you quite rightly point out, the killer isn’t going to come back while a uniform is parked outside. If necessary, I’ll make it an order.’
‘We could keep him just in case?’
‘No, let’s just keep it between us two.’
‘Are we going inside first to look for the mneme?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought so. What about the killer?’
‘He won’t be back until the small hours.’
The waitress brought their meals. ‘Bon appétit,’
Tony squirted lashings of tomato ketchup over his food and prepared for battle.
‘You’re disgusting,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘I know.’
After he’d made significant inroads into the enemy food he said, ‘We’re going to stay in the professor’s flat, aren’t we?’
‘Damned right. I’m not sleeping crushed up in your crappy car again. I should be able to get a couple of hours sleep in a proper bed tonight.’
‘What if we find the mneme?’
‘We’re there to catch the killer, finding the mneme would be a bonus.’
‘Oh yeah, I forgot. And Estes?’
‘He can kiss my . . .’
By the time they’d finished eating it was dark outside. The snow was struggling hard to make another appearance as they walked back to the car.
‘Park along the road,’ Molly said. ‘We’ll walk the rest of the way.’
‘Oh, hello Ma’am,’ the uniform said. ‘I thought you’d left.’
‘And now I’m back.’
‘I’ve had no instructions . . .’
‘Stop panicking, Constable. Why are you here?’
‘To prevent people from contaminating the crime scene, Ma’am.’
‘Am I people?’
‘No, Ma’am.’
‘I’m expecting the killer to come back tonight. If he sees you, he’s either going to murder you or forget the idea. I want to catch the killer, so I’d like you to go home and share some quality time with your wife and children . . .’
‘My wife said I had to choose between the job and her. I was mulling it over, but she left me anyway and took the kids with her.’
‘Get a takeaway and join a dating site then. DC Read and I will guard this crime scene with our lives tonight. You go home and come back at six in the morning. The only people who will know we took your shift are standing here now.’
‘Works for me, Ma’am. Have a nice night. I’ll see you at six in the morning.’
Molly held out her hand. ‘Key?’
He rummaged in his overcoat pocket, handed it over and made his way up the steps to the path.
‘He didn’t take too much persuading,’ Tony said.
‘If it all goes pear-shaped he’ll say I ordered him to desert his post.’
‘I’m a witness . . .’
‘You’re my partner and will be expected to defend my honour.’
‘I suppose.’
‘And I’ll blame you anyway.’
‘Me?’
She smiled. ‘I’m joking. I’ll take full responsibility. It’s hardly the crime of the century, is it?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘And anyway, Estes and Rice were b
eing uncooperative twats. The Chief will give us medals for thinking outside the box.’
Tony grinned. ‘I haven’t got a medal . . . What box?’
Molly unlocked the door.
They let themselves inside.
She switched on the lights. ‘Put the chain on the door,’ she said. ‘We don’t want any surprises.’
‘Like Estes?’
‘Like the killer.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You begin searching at the other end of the flat, I’ll start here. Don’t bother looking in the usual places. If neither the killer nor forensics have found where the mnemes are hiding yet, then they’ve been stashed somewhere unusual. Be systematic – ceiling, walls, floor. Unscrew everything that unscrews; look behind pictures, mirrors, cabinets. Remember, it’s not a tiny hiding place because he said he already owned seven mnemes.’
Tony wandered down the hallway, past the kitchen on his left, the en suite master bedroom and second bedroom on his right, and into the spacious living room.
Behind the front door was a second bathroom. She started in there by pulling off the plastic side panel from the bath, and then had to use the slim line LED torch on her key ring to inspect underneath – nothing. The ceiling had four spotlights attached to it and the walls and floor had been completely tiled. She knocked on every tile with the knuckles of her right hand until they became bruised and sore, then she swapped to her left hand, and then used the tips of her fingers – she had no nails to speak of anyway – nails were for women who had the time and inclination to look after them. There was an electric stainless steel towel ladder attached to the wall, and she felt all round it – including the caps at the ends – but nothing moved. She looked in the cistern, in the cupboard underneath the washbasin, but there was nothing of interest.
Next, she moved into the master bedroom, but before she started searching the en suite bathroom she had a brainwave. From the kitchen she helped herself to a wooden spatula she found in a utensil drawer to use instead of her knuckles and fingertips, which felt like amputated stumps that had been dipped in tar.
She soon made short work of this bathroom with the wooden spatula. Because it was the en suite, it had a shower cubicle as well as a bath, two washbasins and a mirrored medicine cabinet. She found nothing that might be a hiding place for mnemes.
