by Luca Veste
‘This looks right,’ Murphy said, pulling into a side road of more recently built houses. ‘Not bad at all here. MPs must get nice pensions.’
‘Alongside all the money they make in business on the side.’
Murphy didn’t bother replying. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to get into a discussion about politics with Laura Rossi. Even he wasn’t that stupid.
‘How are we approaching this?’ Rossi said, turning to Murphy as he stopped the car outside the house. ‘Are we going to go with the premise that he’s missing and presumed in danger, or missing of his own accord . . . or just buggered off for a long weekend and neglected to mention it to anyone?’
Murphy shook off his seat belt and took out the car key. ‘Let’s see what they have to say first. They’re the ones who want to keep things quiet, more than his actual work colleagues, or whatever we call them. They must have a reason for that, which means there’s something not right. Usually if someone in the public eye is a victim of crime or whatever, their face would be plastered over every newspaper and TV news channel within hours.’
‘I guarantee someone will speak out soon enough. Then it’ll be everywhere.’
Murphy opened the car door and waited for Rossi to exit the other side. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it and then try not to jump off the damn thing as well.’
They walked up the driveway, not for the first time admiring a house from the outside. ‘It always fills me with some kind of weird feeling when we see houses like this in Liverpool,’ Murphy said, enjoying the sight of the house. I guess even though I live in the city I still expect everywhere to look like it’s about to fall down, like it does on the telly.’
‘With some of the places we’ve seen, are you really that surprised?’
Murphy lifted his hand to knock on the door but didn’t get the chance to. It was opened inwards, almost knocking back the person inside with its swiftness.
‘Hello, detectives,’ the man filling the doorway said. ‘I was told you’d be arriving at some point today. Detective Inspector David Murphy and Detective Sergeant Laura Rossi, I guess?’
‘Pretty good guess,’ Murphy replied, giving a sharp glance at Rossi. ‘Do you need us to come inside, or do you know how the rest of the day is going to go as well?’
‘Sorry, my preparedness can be off-putting sometimes. It’s something my wife complains about also. Please, come in.’
Murphy stepped inside, Rossi following behind him. They waited for the former MP to show them which way to turn. The hallway was suitably grandiose, matching the house’s facade. The aforementioned former Member of Parliament wasn’t keeping himself in as good a condition as his dwelling, however. Murphy remembered some of the more cutting depictions of the man back in the eighties. A rotund man, with wrinkled skin and a comb over, he was the Eric Pickles of his time. He was even larger now with jowls that flapped when he spoke, although from a quick glance Murphy thought some attempt had been made to live a healthier life.
‘Just through here,’ Arthur Byrne said, extending an arm to his left as he faced them. ‘Mary will be joining us presently. Can I offer you some refreshments?’
Murphy shook his head. ‘That’s OK, Mr Byrne,’ he said, walking into the room that had been indicated and taking stock. ‘Sit anywhere?’
Arthur came in behind Rossi and nodded his head, the folds of skin under his chin wobbling around as he did so. Murphy thought of that Churchill dog from the adverts and suppressed a laugh. Rossi stopped short, then continued to walk into the room, looking around the room with widened eyes. Murphy tried to ignore the various ornate pieces and headed for a seat.
‘As I said, Mary will be with us shortly,’ Arthur said, standing as he waited for Murphy and Rossi to take up opposite ends of an uncomfortable sofa. He stood before them with his hands clasped together in front of him. ‘I’m sorry to meet with you in these circumstances. I have followed your careers with much interest. You have done much for the city and its community. I do hope you know how that is appreciated.’
Murphy looked towards Rossi who was still staring at the furniture in the room. He followed her gaze to a particularly well-carved, deep-brown bookcase, the pattern at its top edges remarkable in its design.
‘Doesn’t need saying,’ Murphy said, tearing his eyes away and back to Arthur Byrne. ‘Just doing our job. Nothing more than that.’
‘On the contrary,’ Arthur said. Murphy half expected him to add my dear chap to the end of the statement. ‘I believe you two and your team go above and beyond the call of duty on many an occasion. That’s why I asked if you were available.’
‘Really, that’s interesting,’ Murphy replied, shifting his bulk on the sofa and gaining Rossi’s attention. ‘I guess you believe Sam hasn’t just neglected to mention a short trip?’
‘No, Detective Inspector Murphy,’ Arthur replied, looking towards the hardwood floor beneath his feet. ‘I believe he’s at a critical point in his life and would not leave at this time. I am extremely worried about his safety, given the amount of time he has been out of touch. When we were informed at the weekend that he hadn’t arrived into the office on Friday, we didn’t think much of it. When we couldn’t get a hold of him over the weekend well . . . let’s just say it’s inexplicable behaviour from Sam. I contacted DSI Butler personally this morning, asking for your assistance. Four days is just a little too long.’
‘Tell us a little more about him,’ Rossi said, finally finished with admiring her surroundings and joining Murphy in conversation. ‘He’s young for an MP, or should I say prospective MP, isn’t he?’
Arthur looked up, then made his way to a chair opposite them and carefully settled his bulky frame upon it. ‘Sometimes we find our calling early. Look at that young Scottish woman. I can never pronounce her name, but she was still in university when she was elected. Never mind that it’s representing that party from north of the border who would see the union split, she is still representative of a shift in politics. She could do with a bit more life experience, of course, but that’s the generation we’re left with now. Sam is older than her, but I think he could have got elected at any point. He has something about him, which I imagine he inherited from me. He knows how to work a room, how to make people believe in him.’
‘He’s winning at the moment,’ Rossi said, opening her notebook as Murphy sat back a little in the sofa and allowed her to continue. ‘By some margin, as well. Not very easy in our city, coming from your particular political affiliation. I don’t think you ever stood within Liverpool, did you?’
‘No, I don’t think I would have been an MP for as long as I was if I’d stood in Liverpool, Ms Rossi,’ Arthur replied, a chuckle escaping from his lips.
Murphy tensed as Rossi bristled beside him. He was DI Murphy, she was Ms Rossi. Sometimes you can boil the prejudices of a generation down to a simple act.
‘Has he always been interested in politics,’ Murphy said, speaking before Rossi could make a remark back. ‘Or was that something he followed you in doing? The family business, if you will?’
‘He needed some guidance, especially as his exam results failed to live up to expectations. He was sent to the best private school we could afford, but whilst we wanted him to move onto Oxford or Cambridge, he couldn’t quite live up to that. We were happy he made it into the City of Liverpool University. He hasn’t looked back since.’
Murphy inwardly shuddered at the mention of the university. A place he would rather not think about too much. Another case, another time.
‘Of course,’ Arthur continued, resting his hands on his substantial stomach, ‘we had hoped he would be amongst a different crowd, but Sam has a way of standing out. He excelled in debates, worked very hard and achieved what was needed.’
‘He wasn’t always working hard,’ a voice said from the open doorway. Murphy turned to see Mrs Byrne appear in the room. ‘Spent many a night getting up to all kinds in those clubs in town. I blame those friends of
his. They led him astray far too often.’
‘Mary–’ Arthur began to say, before his wife cut him off.
‘No, they need to know everything. If you ask me, detectives, he will have got himself into some kind of trouble. Always easily led. You want to find Sam, look at who he was spending time with and they’ll give you the answer. It’s not like he is unfamiliar with the unsavoury aspects of life.’
Six
Murphy refused a drink once again, as Mary waited in the doorway having asked if they’d like tea or coffee. Murphy, worried that accepting would break the flow of conversation, was pleased Rossi also turned down the offer of refreshments.
‘My wife, Mary, detectives,’ Arthur said, standing up and waiting for Mary to join them. Murphy felt compelled to do the same, leaving Rossi still sitting on the sofa. ‘As she says, Sam did enjoy his time in university, as youngsters are wont to do. He still graduated with a first class degree, however.’
‘In politics, though, dear,’ Mary said, lowering her eyes at her husband before turning back to Murphy and Rossi. ‘Couldn’t even talk him into doing a combined degree. Something in economics, perhaps, or even history. I suppose it doesn’t matter much now.’
Murphy sat back down, letting his eyes rest on Mary for a second before moving away. She was much as he’d expected. Immaculately turned out, her make-up freshly applied, she looked to be around mid- to late-forties, but Murphy guessed she was almost a decade older. Compared with her husband, she was aging well.
‘Yes, detective, I don’t look my age, thank you for noticing so vividly.’
Murphy felt the blush rise to his cheeks, but shook his head and carried on. ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Byrne. I’m sure your husband has informed you already who we are.’
‘Of course,’ Mary replied with a wave of her hand. ‘Always an odd boy is Sam. I’m sure this is another one of his games. I hope it is, anyway, or I will be very cross.’
‘Games?’
‘Not important,’ Arthur cut in, giving his wife a look of admonishment she took with a roll of her eyes. ‘What is important is that we make sure my son is safe, isn’t that right?’
‘Of course,’ Murphy replied, trying to hide his enjoyment of the pairing. Something bugged him, though: the difference in the reactions of the two to their son’s disappearance. He filed it away for later scrutiny. ‘Which means we need to know as much as possible about Sam’s life now, in order to discover what’s happened.’
‘I know the way these things work. I listened to a whole one of those podcast things recently about missing people. Some crime writer or something hosted it. Was very interesting. Anyway, that means I know how it’s usually nothing bad that has happened and that the missing person turns up within a few days or so. Still, Sam is not your normal everyday type of person. He’s . . . important.’
‘Quite,’ Rossi said, scribbling something Murphy couldn’t see on her notepad. ‘Sam left university and went straight into politics then?’
Arthur cleared his throat. ‘Yes, something like that. I had to place some calls to get him some experience, of course, but he moved upwards quickly. Became a councillor and then began this journey into being a fully fledged Member of Parliament. Quite the rise, you would say.’
‘I wouldn’t say anything, Mr Byrne,’ Rossi replied, giving him a flash of a sneer and looking down again before Murphy could give her his own look of admonishment. ‘Has he always been a good boy, or has he been into any kind of trouble growing up?’
Murphy looked back at Arthur, expecting him to be annoyed with Rossi, but he seemed to have brushed it off. He was slightly disappointed. It would have been fun to watch Rossi make him squirm.
‘He got himself into some scrapes as a teenager, but who doesn’t at that age?’ Arthur said, speaking before his wife had a chance. ‘He’s been concentrating on his future since then. He knows it wouldn’t do for him to be getting into any kind of trouble if he wants to fulfil his ambitions.’
Murphy glanced over at Mary who still had her mouth open as if to speak. She caught his eye and looked away quickly. He watched her absent-mindedly brush away a little dust on the side table next to her chair.
‘How about now?’ Murphy said, moving his gaze back to Arthur. ‘Any kind of threats or unwanted attention?’
‘You know how things are these days, detective. All that internet nonsense and so forth. I’m sure he receives all kinds of abuse on there every day. However, the internet has also been hugely important for the campaign. He is young and privileged, but not a Jacob Rees-Mogg type. He’s not taking his “nanny” out with him when he canvasses. He’s just like them. Only not like all those lefty types the universities seem to be breeding these days.’
Murphy sensed Rossi tense up again.
‘Cazzo,’ Rossi said under her breath. Murphy knew what the word meant and hoped Arthur and Mary Byrne didn’t.
‘Anything specific you can think of?’ Murphy said, when it didn’t seem as if the pair had taken any Italian language lessons in their retirement. ‘Something out of the ordinary he may have mentioned?’
‘Not that I can recall . . . Mary?’
Mary was still looking away from the group, quiet since her initial outburst. ‘No, nothing like that. I’m sure he would have told us if there was.’
‘How about friends? Do you know the names of them at all? We don’t have many contacts for him at the moment.’
‘Oh, yes, he has many friends,’ Arthur said, sitting back, hands now clasped on the arms of the chair. ‘There was a whole group at university he was very close to. Can’t imagine they haven’t stayed in touch.’
‘That’s lovely,’ Rossi said, tapping her pen against the notepad on her knee. ‘Any names at all?’
Arthur glanced at Mary again, pursing his lips and grimacing. ‘Erm . . . Mary, what was the name of that one chap, with the hair?’
‘Simon. Simon Jackson. I think he’s from Manchester originally. We don’t have any phone numbers. I’m sorry. Not the done thing these days, I suppose.’
‘That’s fine,’ Murphy said. ‘Any other names you can provide to us would be great.’
‘I know a few first names, but that’s about it. We weren’t especially involved in that part of his life.’
Murphy waited as Rossi wrote down an array of names, each more middle-class sounding than the previous one.
‘Sorry we can’t help you more on that,’ Arthur said, clasping his hands together. ‘He was far too busy lately with the campaign, so I’m sure he didn’t have much of a social life anyway. Just the way of things. I’m sure you’ll be able to work some of that computer magic and find the people from the information Mary has given you. I can’t imagine there being a need to bother any of them, however. I’m sure his disappearance will be connected to what is happening in his life now.’
Rossi raised an eyebrow at Murphy and gave a slight shake of her head.
‘OK,’ Murphy said, shifting forwards on the sofa so he was perched on the edge. ‘Well, at the moment we’re investigating various avenues of interest. We’ve been to his house, but we didn’t exactly get much of a sense of him from there.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Mary said, smoothing down her skirt as she spoke. ‘We don’t go there much, but we’re always telling him to make it more homely. Find someone to start courting and have a family. That always played well for Arthur. Everyone knew he was a family man, which helped immeasurably in getting him re-elected so often.’
‘He still has it,’ Arthur said, his voice booming across to Murphy and Rossi. ‘Only a month until the by-election and he is considerably ahead of the Labour candidate. Not a surprise, really, given the mess that party is in right now.’
Murphy held up a hand to stop Arthur going further into the politics. ‘Is there anything at all you can think of, any reason why he might have left now, or may be in danger?’
Arthur and Mary exchanged glances and waited a few seconds to reply.
; ‘Nothing would make him suddenly take off in the middle of a campaign such as this,’ Arthur said as Mary sat open-mouthed again. ‘He has been brought up correctly and understands his obligations perfectly well. Something must have happened to him for him to disappear in this manner. I would very much like for you both to find out what that is and bring him back to us, Detective Inspector Murphy.’
‘We’ll do our best, sir,’ Murphy replied, standing up and at once towering over the pair. ‘If you do think of anything,’ he continued, trying to catch Mary’s eye, ‘please don’t hesitate to get in touch. I’m sure you know how to do that, but here’s a card with our relevant information on it anyway.’
Murphy produced a card from his back pocket and laid it on the coffee table in front of Mary. She leant forwards and made it disappear before Arthur had chance to move.
‘Thank you very much, detectives,’ Arthur said, getting to his feet slowly and with some effort. ‘You have our every trust that you can get to the bottom of this.’
They were shown to the door without further preamble. Murphy glanced back to see Mary still sitting on the chair. She seemed lost in herself now, without the pretence of a show to put on.
Once outside, Rossi finally let rip.
‘Mannagia alla miseria. Politicians,’ she said, spittle flying from her mouth. ‘And Tories at that. Nothing but a bunch of carogna. Did you see the way he spoke only to you, never me. Sexist bastard.’
Murphy continued to walk, hoping to get further away from the house before Rossi really started to shout.
‘Honestly, these types of people run the country and we wonder why it’s in such a mess.’
‘We don’t have to like them to help them.’
‘That should be the official police slogan,’ Rossi replied, reaching the car door and huffing when she realised Murphy hadn’t keyed the automatic locking yet. ‘We didn’t get a single helpful thing in there. Pointless conversation. We’re nowhere with this thing.’
