‘Yes, Harry, I understand,’ Brock said, weariness creeping into his voice. ‘What about your tenants? Banks, building societies, big stores… there must be dozens of CCTV systems in this place apart from yours?’
‘True, and all different. But I think you’d be lucky to find anyone now with a tape going back to Monday. But we will certainly help you find out. One thing you will discover, I can assure you, is that my team will be behind you all the way.’
‘Many thanks, Harry. As a first step, we’d like to take all your surveillance tapes away for analysis.’
‘But Mr Brock, I just explained. They’ll only go back to first thing this morning, last night at most. I thought-’
‘All the same, Harry, we’d better check them all, just to be on the safe side. Is that a problem?’
Jackson shrugged. ‘No, no problem. We’ve got plenty of new tapes we can use. That right, Speedy?’
Speedy gave a brief nod, and Jackson gave instructions to a couple of his staff to gather up the tapes in boxes.
It was only as they were leaving that Kathy noticed that Speedy’s chair had wheels. She said nothing until they were outside in the underground service road, then she asked Jackson, ‘Speedy’s handicapped, is he?’
‘Paralysed from the waist down, Kathy. Motorbike accident, about five years ago. Hence his name. I’d known him long before then. He’d been a bit of a tearaway in the old days, and when I was at West Ham he was a snout of mine for a while. I fixed him up with this job. Speedy Reynolds is living proof that our company’s disability action plan is more than just pious words.’
Kathy wondered if he was being sarcastic, but the expression on his face was all sincerity. Harry Jackson was that sort of a bloke, it seemed.
‘Hell of a job he’s got,’ Lowry murmured.
‘But it’s as if he was born to it, Gavin,’ Jackson replied. ‘They all take turns at the consoles but he’s the best camera control operator I’ve ever come across. He never loses interest or concentration. I don’t know how he does it, frankly. It would drive me barmy.’
As he took them back along the service road, Brock striding ahead, Kathy heard him say quietly to Lowry, ‘Here’s the number of my mobile, Gavin. Give me a ring direct anytime you think I might be able to help. You don’t need to go through the boss upstairs. Especially if you think you’ve spotted any little problems with the security here, know what I mean?’
Lowry nodded. ‘Rough with you, is she, Harry?’
‘She’s tougher than she looks. Often the way with the ladies these days, eh?’ Harry said, and seeing that Kathy was listening to their conversation, he chanced a wink in her direction. ‘This way, Mr Brock,’ he called out, and led them into a side service corridor, staying this time at the lower level, so that when they finally emerged through a security door into the sudden noise and bustle of the mall they found that they were close to the food court surrounding the tropical forest grove. The thinness of the barrier between the bare concrete and block service areas and the exotic glitter of the public areas was disconcerting, as if to confirm that what passed for reality here was no thicker than a skin of chrome or paint.
It was just after ten and the crowds were now thin, dispersing towards the exits and the wet night beyond. The waitresses at Snow White’s Pancake Parlour, identically dressed in laced-front Snow White costumes and incongruously perched on roller skates, were drooping with fatigue beneath their rosy-cheeked, scarlet-lipped make-up as they cleared and wiped down the tables. The manageress confirmed that Kerri Vlasich had a regular shift on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and had worked both the previous weekend, but, like the girls, could add little more.
While Brock and Lowry spoke to them, Kathy noticed Harry Jackson amble over to two men standing in front of the next unit, a Chinese fast-food counter called the Peking Duck. One of the men was Chinese while the other looked like a caricature of an Italian in a gondolier’s striped jersey and red scarf, presumably from Bruno’s Gelati next door. She followed, picking up their conversation.
‘Two weeks to Christmas, and everybody’s going crazy,’ the gondolier was saying, with an expansive Latin sweep of his arms. ‘It’s all very well for Mr Chang here. He can call in half the Chinese population of east London if he needs help, but I have to make do.’ He gestured at a second gondolier, a weary man who looked too old for the part, wiping down the tables outside Bruno’s Gelati. At closer range the Italian seemed even more theatrical, with a florid complexion, his thick black hair, eyebrows and moustache looking fresh from the bottle.
He caught sight of Kathy moving to Jackson’s side. ‘Who’s your new friend then, Harry?’ he asked mischievously. ‘New security officer? Bit of an improvement on your usual crew.’
‘Not quite, Bruno.’ Jackson introduced Kathy to Bruno Verdi and Mr Chang. ‘There’s a bit of a fuss about a missing girl, worked at Snow White’s. They’ve brought in the heavy mob. Sergeant Kolla here is from Serious Crime Branch, Scotland Yard.’
The gondolier appeared surprised, his bushy eyebrows rising.
Mr Chang said anxiously, ‘They must be real worried. I heard the girls mention that someone had been missing from work today.’
‘Worse than that. They found her this morning, murdered.’
Now both men looked shocked.
‘Murdered!’ Chang shook his head in horror. ‘That’s terrible.’
‘There’s been no positive ID on the body yet, Mr Jackson,’ Kathy warned.
‘Worse still,’ Jackson charged on. ‘They reckon she may have been killed here.’
Verdi seemed suddenly immobilised, the colour fading from his face. He swallowed before finding his voice. ‘What was her name?’ he asked hoarsely.
‘Vlasich, Kerri Vlasich,’Kathy said, ‘and she’s still officially only a missing person. I’ve got a photograph…’ She went to open her shoulder bag, but stopped at a sudden movement in front of her. Bruno Verdi had slumped back onto a chair, so abruptly that at first she thought he had fallen. He sat rigid, eyes wide but unseeing, his face startlingly white now against the artificial jet black of his hair.
‘All right, Bruno?’ Harry Jackson looked at him curiously.
Verdi suddenly blinked and shook his head, inhaling deeply. ‘Sure
… sure…’ he mumbled, shaking his head. ‘It’s okay… it’s nothing. I been on my feet all day, that’s all. I’m okay.’
Mr Chang looked concerned. ‘He has blood pressure. I’ll get you a drink of water, Bruno.’
‘Did you know this girl, Mr Verdi?’ Kathy asked.
‘Girl?’ He blinked at her, looking puzzled, as if he’d forgotten who Kathy was.
‘Kerri Vlasich.’ She showed him the photograph.
He stared at the picture for some time, then said simply, ‘I recognise her, yes.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
Mr Chang hurried back with a plastic cup, which Verdi took and put to his mouth.
‘I couldn’t say,’ he said at last. ‘They come and go, these girls. Come and go.’
Later, as they left the food court, Jackson filled them in on some of the characters.
‘Bruno Verdi is one of our more colourful tenants, and he has a bit of clout, too. He’s the chairman of the Silvermeadow Small Traders’ Association. Very vocal on security and the like. He’ll be useful in helping us organise things, if it comes to large-scale interviews, talking to staff and so on.’
‘I’ve no doubt it’ll come to that, Harry,’ said Brock.
They were walking around the coral shores of the lagoon that surrounded the volcano.
‘What are the centre’s opening hours?’
‘Normally ten till ten for the general public. Management office nine till five, six days, but Ms Seager’s there longer than that. The building shuts down during the night from eleven till six. During those hours the perimeter’s secured and an outside contractor comes on call with dog patrols of the outdoor site. Otherwise our security centre
is manned all the time.’
‘Okay, well I don’t think we can do much more tonight. We’ll be back tomorrow morning at nine. Maybe you could arrange access for us to unit one-eight-four, so we can start to get things organised. We shall certainly be wanting to go round the shops interviewing staff, and we’ll need to organise a search of the centre too.’
‘A search, chief?’
He looked worried. Kathy noticed that he had lapsed into the slang of the force, addressing Brock as if he were his senior officer.
‘Is that a problem?’ Brock asked.
‘Not for me, chief, but it’s a big job. This is a huge place. How close do you want to look?’
‘We need to find where the girl was assaulted and undressed, and we need to find her belongings, her clothes and the frog bag.’
‘If-’ Jackson began to object, but Brock lifted a hand to interrupt.
‘Okay, I take your point about her possibly being assaulted somewhere else and brought in here only for disposal, but we need to check anyway.’
‘Sure. Well, you’ll need plans of this place for a start. I’ll get them organised, shall I?’
‘That would be very helpful.’
As she watched them shake hands, Kathy thought that Harry Jackson seemed on a bit of a high. Maybe, she thought, he misses the grubby world outside after all.
Towards midnight, Kathy drove home the long way, orbiting London on the M25 round to Junction 25, a Diana King tape playing softly. Too late now to meet up with her airline pilot, who was probably packing his boxer shorts for another trip to LA or KL in the morning. Nicole had thought they might have had a perfect relationship, since he would be away most of the time circling the globe, while she would be equally absent poking about in London’s garbage. Ah, Kathy thought, but what about the one weekend in six when they did manage to touch base together? Might they be like the gelati man, unable to handle the shock of reality, discovering that the gloss is only microns thick?
4
K athy returned to the Hornchurch Street station first thing the following morning, and found PC Miriam Sangster in the canteen, eating a meal after coming off night shift. The building seemed less bleak in the wan morning sunlight, and the emergency seemed to be over, gas supplies resumed to the kitchens and the reassuring smell of deep-fat frying heavy in the air.
Sangster struck Kathy as a brisk, intelligent woman, a wary, sceptical set to her eyes.
‘They switched me to nights,’ she said, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Still getting used to it.’
‘I hate that shift,’ Kathy said, spreading butter on toast. ‘Did you hear about the Vlasich girl?’
‘Yes, people were talking about it. Gavin… DS Lowry’s working with you, isn’t he?’
‘Mm. But you were on your own for some of the time when you saw Mrs Vlasich, weren’t you? I thought I’d better go over it with you.’
‘Is there a problem?’ Sangster asked carefully. ‘About what I did? I wrote a fairly full report.’
Kathy sensed the other woman’s caution, just as she had with Lowry, in talking to an outsider. ‘No, no. No problem,’ she reassured her. ‘I’ve seen the report. I just wondered how you felt yourself about the business with the father.’
Sangster shook her head. ‘It was hard to tell without seeing him or the girl. There was a lot of fear on the mother’s side, as if she’d played it out so many times in her imagination, losing Kerri to the father, that when it actually happened she kept swinging from disbelief to absolute certainty. But the company he works for in Hamburg did confirm that he was abroad in Poland, not the UK, working for them on some pipeline project.’
‘Yes, I saw that in your report. But he had other relatives in Hamburg, didn’t he? They could have come over for her, I suppose?’
‘Yes. And there was a Vlasich in the computer, too, with a sex offence on his record, but that turned out to be a dead end. So without any other evidence it seemed simpler to assume she’d gone on her own, probably hitching, and probably to see her dad-she’d threatened to do it. Course, it’s easy to say now…’ she concluded defensively.
‘No, no one’s suggesting you should have done anything differently, Miriam. You spoke to her friends, didn’t you?’
‘I saw two of them at the school, Naomi and Lisa. Mrs Vlasich said they were Kerri’s closest friends, but they knew nothing. They said they had no idea she was planning to run away, and they seemed credible to me. Naomi is the brighter of the two, Naomi Parr-I’d start with her if you want to talk to them. They both have jobs at Silvermeadow, too.’
‘How do they get over there? It’s quite a way.’
‘The centre runs special bus services to bring people in from surrounding towns. One runs right past their school and the estate.’
‘Convenient.’
‘Yes. You’ve seen Mrs Vlasich, have you?’
‘Yes. When we told her the news. She was very shaken up, of course, didn’t say a lot.’
‘You mentioned Silvermeadow, did you? Did she say anything about that?’
Kathy noticed a certain hesitancy in the way Sangster said this. ‘That did seem to shake her, when we mentioned that. It seemed to hit her then. She went to pieces after that. Why?’
Sangster hesitated, then leant forward. ‘Did she mention the others?’
‘Others?’
The constable frowned and lowered her voice. ‘Gavin will say this is rubbish, but there’ve been stories going round about Silvermeadow: young girls going missing, a monster in the mall, stuff like that. Mrs Vlasich had obviously heard them, and she confided in me, after Gavin had left. The idea really terrified her.’
‘Nobody’s mentioned this. It’s not in your report.’
‘No, of course not. It’s just another one of those urban myths. You know, like that tattooed man with the hangman’s noose who’s supposedly been spotted in every other multi-storey carpark between Glasgow and Exeter, or the West African cannibal prince who lives on baby stew and has been seen-really, actually seen -with a baby’s tibia through his nose, by a friend of a friend of half the population of Leicester.’
Kathy smiled. ‘Yes, I know. And you’d heard the Silvermeadow stories yourself, had you? Before Alison Vlasich brought them up?’
‘Yes, I’d heard them, not through my job but from my partner. He’s a schoolteacher, and he was told about them by the kids in his class. He told them that they were just fairy-tales reinventing themselves, like Babes in the Woods, Little Red Riding Hood. But the kids wouldn’t have it. They knew the stories were true. They’d heard them from someone who had actually spoken to someone else who was a close relative of someone who had been there at the time. They were so convinced that he told me about it, and I agreed to check the computer. And of course there was absolutely nothing to it. I couldn’t find a single missing person report that made any mention of Silvermeadow. I told Gavin about it afterwards, and he advised me to forget it.’
‘Had he heard the stories before?’
PC Sangster lit a cigarette, thinking. ‘I don’t think so, not when I first mentioned it. But he spoke to me again a day or two later. He’d talked to someone he knows at Silvermeadow, one of the security people there, and they’d told him it was nonsense.’
‘So they’d heard of it?’
‘Oh yes. Gavin said they were really pissed off about it. They even thought one of their competitors might have deliberately started the rumours. That’s why he said to forget it. Only’-she exhaled a column of pale smoke from the side of her mouth up at the ceiling extract grille-‘when they told me she’d been traced to Silvermeadow, my blood went cold. Really, it did. I wondered what Mrs Vlasich must be thinking.’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘Tell me, when did she die? Do they know?’
‘We don’t know for certain it’s Kerri’s body yet, Miriam.’
‘Oh come off it, Kathy. When did she die?’
Kathy could follow the train of thought, and she loo
ked down to sip from her tea. ‘Some time this week. They’re not certain.’
‘So it could have been Thursday, say,’ the constable added softly. ‘She might still have been alive when I told her mother that it had nothing to do with Silvermeadow…’
‘Miriam, you couldn’t-’
‘And I didn’t do a bloody thing to check.’
‘You phoned the people where she worked, didn’t you? No one had seen her.’
‘Yes.’ Miriam Sangster crushed out her cigarette with a bitter little flourish and got to her feet. ‘Really thorough that was, wasn’t it?’ She swung away, then stopped and turned back. ‘If you can avoid telling Gavin that I told you this, I’d be grateful. We do have to go on working together when this is over.’
‘Sure.’ Kathy smiled reassuringly. There was something ever so slightly self-consciously casual about Miriam’s use of his first name that made Kathy wonder if she and Gavin had ever done more than work together.
At this hour on a Sunday morning the carpark was bare, the building as forlorn as a vast abandoned circus tent in a macadam desert. Kathy parked next to the head of the service road ramp and descended to the striped barrier, where the man at the control window looked up briefly from his Sunday paper, glanced at her ID and nodded her in. She walked along the service road past the first compactor area, its tape untouched from the previous night, and on towards the sound of metallic clanging, men’s voices, a dog’s sudden bark. Turning the corner she saw the blue compactor taken half apart, white overalls crawling over its loosened panels on the ground, a dog and its handler working further along the service road. The man in blue denim overalls wielding the large spanner was presumably the mechanic, talking to a SOCO with hands on hips, whose face Kathy couldn’t see. She was aware of the mechanic registering her, his eyes flicking over to give her a quick appraisal. The SOCO turned to see what he was looking at, and Kathy saw the Indian features and recognised Leon Desai.
There was no reason at all why the laboratory liaison sergeant shouldn’t be there. Brock had undoubtedly insisted on it, and Kathy should have anticipated it. But she hadn’t, and the sudden sight of him there brought the colour up on her cheeks. The last time she had seen him he’d been in a hospital bed, crippled in the line of duty, and they had parted on bad terms. He had lain there in all his martyred dignity and accused her, quite rightly, of not having trusted him. She could remember his words precisely- you’re so bloody determined to trust nobody -as if it had been a deliberate policy on her part, a character flaw, rather than a mistake. She had left under a private cloud from beneath which it had taken her some time to crawl.
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