Missing Without Trace

by P. F. Ford

  I thought about using the phone to call him, but we needed to catch up anyway, and I could do with some fresh air. It was only ten minutes’ walk.

  ‘I’m trying to remember,’ said DB, concentration creasing his face. ‘Although I was living here, I was still working up in London when Simon disappeared. I started working here a few weeks later. So the investigation had been running for a few weeks by the time I started looking into it. I was always playing catch-up.’

  He paced up and down the kitchen, trying to recall the events from thirty years ago. I swear I could hear his brain working.

  ‘I seem to remember Brian Mallory left the bus company just a couple of weeks after the boy disappeared. I remember asking Nash about it. I asked him if he thought it was a coincidence, and I’m sure he told me Mallory had an alibi and had been excluded from the investigation.’

  He paced a bit more and then sat down. ‘That’s it. I remember now. He told me I was barking up the wrong tree and Mallory was definitely not involved. He was adamant.’

  A grim smile appeared on his face. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘back then there was no internet and it could be difficult to get hold of information. Things are different now. Let me spend a few hours online and I’m sure I can learn a lot more about our Mr Mallory.’

  ‘You quite like the internet, don’t you?’

  ‘I certainly do,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m way too old for chasing around after people, but you don’t need to be young and fit to find information online. You just need to know where to look.’

  I left him to it. He was like a dog with a bone and didn’t need me getting in his way. On the way back home, I couldn’t help wondering if we were really going to find something important that might help us work out what happened, or if we were just going around in circles. Surely the police would have done all this research at the time. What could we learn that they didn’t already know?

  Later that evening I was summoned to join DB for breakfast.

  Chapter Eight

  Positive Pete had also been summoned, so there were three of us for breakfast. DB had some news for us, but it was his habit to make us welcome, settled, and comfortable. No matter how impatient we were to hear his news, we would have to wait until he was satisfied we were comfortable.

  I turned to him impatiently. ‘So what have you discovered?’

  There was a look of dismay on his face. ‘Whatever happened to patience?’ He shook his head. ‘The world isn’t going to stop turning if you have to wait a few minutes, you know.’

  He continued to shuffle around the kitchen, settling us at the table with bacon sandwiches and cups of tea. I’m sure the old devil was taking longer than usual so he could enjoy the fact that he was in control.

  Eventually, he sat down facing us with a broad smile on his face.

  ‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ said Pete. ‘This must be good. But please can you tell us what it is? The suspense is killing me.’

  ‘Okay, okay. I’m not sure what I’ve discovered actually makes any difference to anything in the end, but it certainly raises some questions, and former Detective Inspector Nash does not appear to come out of this very well.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve been busy,’ I said.

  ‘Indeed, I have, and what I have discovered is…’ He struggled for the right word. ‘Shall we say, disturbing.’

  He shifted in his seat and consulted the notes he had made. ‘To start, it was a little confusing. At first, it seemed as though Brian Mallory had appeared out of thin air just a year before he started his job with the bus company, but then I realised that was because Brian Mallory was not the name he was born with.’

  He had an annoying habit of embellishing stories with dramatic pauses for effect. He even did it in the pub when he was telling a joke, and this was what he did now. I was about to tell him how annoying it was but he continued just in time.

  ‘He had changed his name a year before this all happened. He was originally christened Brian Nash.’

  ‘That’s a weird coincidence,’ said Pete.

  ‘Oh, it’s no coincidence.’ DB paused for more dramatic effect before he continued. ‘He’s Tommy Nash’s younger brother.’

  There was a stunned silence as that little bombshell settled into our minds.

  Pete let go of the breath he had been holding. ‘Bloody hell.’

  I began to get a bad feeling about where this was going. ‘Why did he change his name?’

  ‘Brian Nash was convicted of molesting a little boy and served time in prison. It seems when he came out of prison he changed his name and moved down south from Manchester so he could be near his older brother.’

  ‘Or so his older brother could keep an eye on him,’ I suggested.

  An uncomfortable silence fell upon the room as we thought about what this might mean and where it might lead.

  ‘But even so,’ I said. ‘Didn’t the guy have an alibi for that afternoon?’

  ‘Well, did he?’ asked DB. ‘All we were told is that he was off sick that day and Tommy Nash ruled him out of the enquiry.’

  ‘Are you saying Nash was wrong?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Dry Biro. ‘Don’t forget, he always seemed evasive when I asked him about the bus driver. He would always dodge questions and start talking about his only suspect, Mr Rooke.’

  ‘You think he was covering up for Mallory?’ asked Pete.

  DB shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘But why do you think that?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe I’m wrong.’ He sighed. ‘And I certainly don’t have evidence to prove my suspicions, but listen to this.’ He picked up his notes again although it was obvious he didn’t need them.

  ‘When I started to check out his employment record at the bus company, I found he got the job on the strength of one particular reference. That reference came from none other than the local police, namely Detective Inspector-’

  ‘Tommy Nash,’ I finished.

  DB nodded sadly. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Holy shit!’ exclaimed Pete. ‘So Tommy Nash recommended his brother for a job driving a school bus, knowing he had a liking for little boys...’ His sentence tailed off in disbelief.

  The conclusion was obvious, but I stated it anyway. ‘So Brian Mallory would have to have been a suspect. Even Tommy Nash would have been able to see that. But there seems to be no doubt he was deliberately steering the enquiry away from him.’

  ‘And straight towards David Rooke,’ said DB, ‘who couldn’t escape the accusations and eventually killed himself.’

  ‘And then,’ Pete added, ‘a couple of weeks after the event, Brian Mallory quits his job and disappears. It’s all very convenient, isn’t it?’

  There was an uncomfortable silence as we absorbed the enormity of what we seemed to have uncovered.

  It was DB who broke the silence. ‘He did disappear too,’ he said. ‘Into thin air. I can find no trace of him anywhere after he quit his job.’

  ‘So he could have literally got away with murder,’ said Pete, ‘aided and abetted by his older brother.’

  It’s a funny thing – up until that point, I hadn’t really thought about the fact that we were investigating a murder. I mean, I’m sure we all accepted that poor little Simon Younger had possibly, maybe even probably, been murdered, but we didn’t really know it for sure, and no one had actually come out and said as much before. Now the very idea seemed to fill the room with an oppressive darkness.

  Once again, DB was first to speak. ‘We’re going to have to tread very carefully. At the moment, all we have are our suspicions. We have no proof. Once Tommy Nash knows we’ve found out this much, who knows what will happen. I’m sure his son will be on the warpath.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘But I’m also sure we’re getting close to finding out what happened, and I’m not stopping now. I’m going back to see Tommy Nash. Let’s stir up the hornet’s nest and see what happens.’

  Ch
apter Nine

  Next morning, I made the journey back out to see Tommy Nash for a second time. I hadn’t bothered phoning to arrange an appointment. He had made it quite obvious last time that I wasn’t going to be made welcome, so I thought it might be best to arrive unannounced.

  I rang the doorbell and waited. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a beaming Tommy Nash, but the smile vanished as soon as he realised who I was.

  ‘What the bloody ‘ell do you want?’

  ‘I was wondering if you could spare me a few minutes,’ I began.

  ‘I told you before. Bugger off and don’t come back.’

  He started to close the door but I had been expecting that, and my foot was wedged in place before he had even started.

  ‘I’ve said all I’m going to say, so you’re wasting your time,’ he snarled. ‘If you don’t take your foot away, I’m going to call the police.’

  ‘Like you did last time?’ I asked. ‘Nice man, your son. Has a very nice line in threats. Chip off the old block is he?’

  ‘You’ll find out if you don’t piss off.’

  He was leaning heavily against the door, trying to crush my foot. It hurt like hell but I wasn’t going to let him see that.

  ‘What about your brother, Brian? He wasn’t like you and your son was he?’

  For a moment, he looked as if he’d been slapped, but he quickly recovered. ‘I don’t have a brother.’

  ‘Sure you do. He changed his name to Mallory after he got caught with a little boy. You must remember that, surely?’

  ‘I told you before, it was that teacher bloke. No doubt about it.’

  ‘You ruined that man’s life, Mr Nash, do you realise that? He didn’t do it.’

  ‘Of course he did it. I’ve-’

  ‘Got a nose for these things, yes you said,’ I finished the sentence for him. ‘The thing is, your nose was wrong.’

  ‘No!’ he cried.

  ‘David Rooke has an alibi,’ I said. ‘He was with Miss Goodie. You remember her don’t you? Surely you must have interviewed her?’

  ‘She never said!’ shouted Nash.

  ‘You never asked her, did you? David Rooke told her to keep quiet because he didn’t want his wife to know he was with her.’

  ‘No!’ He was still shouting, his face red and angry. ‘If it’s true, why didn’t she say at the time?’

  ‘You could have found that out if you’d tried, but you didn’t want to, did you?’

  Suddenly, he stopped shouting and pushing on the door and a look of shocked realisation crossed his face. Then he leant inside behind the door, emerging a second later with a cricket bat, which he raised above his head with both hands.

  ‘If you don’t piss off, right now,’ he threatened, ‘I’ll break your bloody arm.’

  I had my hand on the door frame, making my arm an inviting target. I just managed to get out of the way as the bat whooshed down, narrowly missing me. I’d only just recovered from one broken arm, and I didn’t fancy another one just yet, so I took a step back.

  ‘I’m going to call the police and make a complaint about you,’ he threatened, triumphantly. ‘Then we’ll see how bloody clever you are.’

  ‘You do that, Mr Nash,’ I said. ‘But don’t think I’m going to stop now. I know what you’ve done and you’re not going to get away with it.’

  He slammed the door so hard I almost expected it to come flying down the path at me.

  I walked back to my car, congratulating myself on another successful interview. On the plus side, he hadn’t really tried very hard to deny it, and I was now convinced we were on the right track and getting closer to finding out what had happened.

  However, I seemed to have racked up a few negatives getting this far. I’d definitely allowed myself to get carried away and said much more than I had intended. I had even accused him of a cover-up. I figured accusing a former DI of perverting the course of justice probably wasn’t the most sensible thing I’d ever done.

  I had no doubt Tommy Nash would indeed make a complaint of some sort, and I was equally convinced it would be his son who would be investigating that complaint. As I drove away, I wondered when I could expect another visit from that nice man Nasty Nash…

  But I didn’t dwell on that thought for too long because it was Friday. How could I? Tonight, the gorgeous Sophia was cooking dinner for me...

  Chapter Ten

  It was just before eight o’clock. Nearly time to leave. I had agonised for hours over what I should wear. I had been through my entire wardrobe trying to imagine what Sophia would expect. This was my chance to make a good impression, and I so wanted to get it right. But I needed to be comfortable enough to relax... Arrrggghhh!

  In the end, I decided I had to be true to me. I had made the mistake many times before of trying to make a good impression and failing miserably because I was trying to be the person I thought people wanted me to be and not who I really was.

  I reminded myself I had left that old life behind. These days, I was me and if people couldn’t handle that, well...

  So, here I was in jeans and a good shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had to admit, I scrubbed up fairly well, although I figured George Clooney wouldn’t be too worried by the competition. But then again, I was pretty confident Sophia wouldn’t have invited him tonight anyway. His loss, of course

  I was just sliding my arms into a jacket when the doorbell rang. I wondered who it could be at this time on a Friday evening, but before I could open the door, someone began to pound upon it and a familiar voice shouted out.

  ‘Police! Open the door!’ It was Nasty Nash.

  I opened the door with a big smile on my face. ‘Inspector! How nice to see you…again. Unfortunately, I’m just going out.’

  ‘Oh no you’re not!’ He shoved a folded sheet of paper into my hand as he barged past me. ‘This time, I do have a search warrant.’

  Half a dozen assorted police officers followed him through the door and began to disperse through my flat as Nash directed them.

  ‘And I want a thorough search,’ he shouted. ‘Every cupboard, every drawer, even under the mattresses.’

  An unhappy-looking Detective Sergeant Slater was the last one to enter my flat.

  ‘What are you expecting to find?’ I asked him.

  He shrugged helplessly.

  ‘Stolen goods,’ boomed Nash from behind me.

  ‘What?’ I gasped. ‘What stolen goods?’

  An evil grin spread across his face. ‘You’ve been associating with a known criminal.’ He was obviously enjoying my discomfort. ‘I have reason to believe-’

  Before he could finish, there was a loud crash from the kitchen. I ran to see what had happened. The kitchen looked as though a pack of gremlins had run wild. All the drawers had been tipped out on the floor, the contents of the cupboards had been added to the pile, and then, to finish it off, a clumsy constable had dropped an armful of plates.

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ I started to say.

  A smiling Nasty Nash peered over my shoulder. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Tut, tut, Constable. How very clumsy of you.’

  More sounds were coming from upstairs as they systematically trashed my flat. I could see where this was going, and it seemed there was nothing I could do about it. But there had to be something, surely.

  ‘Going somewhere nice were you?’ asked Nash, evidently trying hard to make me feel as bad as possible.

  ‘Just next door for a meal with my neighbour, if you must know.’

  ‘Desperate for company, your neighbour?’ he sneered.

  I could quite happily have rammed his search warrant down his throat, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of winding me up. I could do better than that.

  Slater was looking distinctly ill at ease, so I decided to try and ignore Nash and turn my attention on him.

  ‘So tell me, Sergeant, what reason do you have for suspecting you will find stolen goods in my flat?’

  ‘Like I
said,’ interrupted Nash. ‘You’ve been associating with a known criminal, and we’ve had a tip off. Understand what I’m saying?’

  I kept my eyes on Slater, but his face told me nothing. My mind was racing. Strictly speaking, it was true; I had been associating with a known criminal, but would Nugent have dropped me in it? I didn’t think it was likely.

  I knew from experience that baseball bats and a dark alley were more his style if he wanted to teach someone a lesson. Besides, he had told me himself that he didn’t like Nash.

  ‘This is about me speaking to your father, isn’t it, Inspector?’

  This time, it was clear Slater had no idea what I was talking about.

  ‘Keep quiet,’ snapped Nash, but there was no way I was going to stop now.

  ‘Didn’t the inspector tell you, Sergeant? He’s a bit annoyed because I’ve been investigating an old case that was never solved, and it looks as though his dad-’

  I didn’t get to finish the sentence because Nash had me pinned against the wall by the throat. His face was purple and it looked like he was going to burst a few blood vessels.

  Everyone had stopped what they were doing and were staring at us.

  ‘Guv!’ shouted Slater in alarm, grabbing Nash and pulling him away from me. ‘Calm down, come on.’

  Nash was glaring at me, his eyes boring into me. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet,’ he hissed.

  The doorbell rang, breaking the tension. I looked at Slater.

  ‘Am I allowed to answer my doorbell? Or is that against the law now?’

  He was still holding onto Nash, who was trying to stop me answering the door, but he managed to nod his head.

  ‘Yeah, go ahead. Just don’t do anything stupid.’

  It was Sophia. Like a light in the darkness. Despite everything that was going on around me, I found time to congratulate myself for choosing the right clothes. Sophia was wearing a pair of jeans that highlighted her lovely figure, and an expensive-looking blouse. Well, come on, people. I am a man, and she did look fabulous!