by Roberta Kray
‘A small overnight bag, that’s all – enough for a change of shirt, a razor, a toothbrush. It’s missing from the bottom of the wardrobe. It was the one he used when he had to go away to meet suppliers, contacts … you know the type of thing. But he always told me about it. He never just took off and disappeared.’
‘But this time he did?’
Her fingers flexed, spreading out across her knee. ‘It doesn’t make any sense. He always rang me, always, when he had to go away. He’d never leave without a word.’
‘Does he have a passport?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And no, he didn’t take it with him. It’s still here, in the drawer.’
‘Did he seem worried, concerned about anything?’
‘No more than usual.’
‘And the usual is …?’
She frowned. ‘The same as for everyone, I suppose: the kids, the bills, Christmas coming up, but nothing that serious. Al works hard. We get by okay.’
‘So he didn’t seem down or preoccupied by anything?’
‘No.’
‘And he hadn’t been spending more time than usual away from home? I mean, in the evenings or at weekends?’
Her blue eyes narrowed a little and her voice rose in shaky irritation. ‘You’ve been listening to Ray, haven’t you? I know what he thinks – that Al’s taken off with some cheap little tart. But he hasn’t. He isn’t like that. Al’s a family man. Me and the kids – we’ve got two, Jake and Natalie – we’re his world.’ She glanced towards the mantelpiece where a set of gilt-framed photographs were lined up in a row. Along with Al and Denise, a teenage boy and a slightly younger girl smiled down.
Harry nodded and smiled. In his experience the wife was usually the last to know but best not to jump to any conclusions. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I have to ask.’
She chewed on her lip for a second, her eyes becoming moist. ‘Something’s happened to him, hasn’t it? I mean it must have. He must be—’
‘Let’s not jump to any conclusions,’ Harry said briskly. He could see she was on the verge of tears and quickly tried to distract her. Getting out his notepad and pen, he attempted to focus her mind on something more positive. ‘So talk me through the day he disappeared. It was a Saturday, right? Not the one just gone but the one before.’
Denise gave a few sniffles and wiped her nose on a pastel blue tissue. ‘Yeah. There’s not much to tell.’
‘You had breakfast together and …?’
‘He left at the usual time, about half-seven. The market opens at half-eight. He was fine. There was nothing wrong, I’m sure there wasn’t. He kissed me goodbye and … and that was the last time I saw him.’
‘And he went to work?’
‘Yes. I’ve been there. I’ve talked to the others. He opened up the stall and stayed until the market closed. It’s a busy time of year. He does good trade around Christmas.’
‘But he didn’t come home?’
Her lower lip trembled again. ‘No.’
‘What time did you expect him?’
‘About seven,’ she said. ‘Eight at the very latest. On Saturdays he sometimes went for a pint with the lads but he wasn’t a big drinker. And anyway, he didn’t even go that night. He just packed up the stall and left.’
‘Okay,’ Harry said. ‘And you’ve talked to all his friends?’
‘Everyone I can think of. None of them have heard from him.’
‘Perhaps if you could give me their names and contact numbers. It could be useful.’
‘They don’t know anything,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve asked them all.’ But still she got up, took a sheet of paper from beside the phone and passed it over to him. ‘I made a list for the cops. Not that they’ve bothered with it. They don’t give a damn. They’re just like Ray; they think he’s taken up with—’
Before they started going over old ground, Harry promptly said: ‘Does he have a mobile phone?’
‘It’s been switched off since he went. I’ve tried it. I’ve tried it over and over.’
‘And there’s been no news on the van?’
She lifted a hand and let it drop down on her knee. ‘Nothing. I gave the registration to the cops but—’
‘And there’s been no money removed from his bank account?’
‘No. It’s a joint account. He hasn’t taken out a penny.’
Harry made a note of the fact although it didn’t really mean a lot. A trader like Al would do most of his deals in cash. If he had planned on taking off, he’d have made sure he had a hefty wad of readies on him. ‘What about a computer? Does Al use one for his business?’
Denise shook her head. ‘We’ve got one but only for the kids. He barely knows how to turn it on.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ she said, her cheeks flushing red. ‘And I know exactly what you’re getting at. The cops were just the same. You think he was looking for women on the net, right, going into those chat rooms and … You think he was chasing after some cheap bit of skirt.’
‘I don’t think anything,’ Harry said gently. ‘I promise. These are just questions that I need to ask.’
‘He never used the computer. I told the cops all this.’
‘I’m sorry to make you go through it all again. I know how difficult it must be. Only I’m not the cops and I need to have the details too. But believe me, I’m not making any presumptions or passing any judgements. I’m only here to help.’
Denise, staring him straight in the eye, took a moment to consider what he’d said. Then, as if she’d reached the decision that she might be able to trust him, she forced her mouth into a quivering smile. ‘So do you think you’ll be able to find him?’
In situations like these, Harry found that honesty was usually the best policy. He looked directly back at her. ‘I can’t make any promises but I’ll try my best.’
Chapter Eight
Len ordered another coffee and stared dolefully out of the window. She was already twenty minutes late. She wasn’t coming. Damn! Why had he ever believed her? She could be a hundred miles away by now.
He should have stayed and watched the house.
Why hadn’t he?
Because he’d thought it might be smart to put in a brief appearance at the office. Because he’d been sure that she wouldn’t just take off: she had a husband, a home, a life here. Because he’d thought she wouldn’t dare. From the expression on her face, he’d been convinced that she’d keep their appointment.
How wrong could he be?
He looked down at his watch. He’d give her another ten minutes. It was possible that she’d got held up somewhere. After that, he’d go back to the flat and see if there was any sign. If nothing else the husband should be back by six.
Since talking to her last, Len had acquired a new piece of information. A useful but somewhat expensive contact in the Prison Service had informed him that Ellen Shaw had been visiting Deacon for the past six months. That was interesting. At the very least it suggested an ongoing relationship of one sort or another.
His coffee arrived. Len added two sugars, took a sip and wondered where Sharon Harper was living now. He hadn’t seen her around for a while. She had moved away, perhaps, gone to start a new life where there weren’t so many reminders of the child who’d disappeared. Michael Harper had died over eighteen years ago, drinking himself into an early grave. Len couldn’t claim to feel much pity for him; the man had been violent, a brute. Despite an alibi for the day in question, Harper had always remained under suspicion. Quick with his fists and obsessively jealous, there was no saying what he’d been capable of.
But then again, what if everyone had got it wrong? Len thought of those dark eyes and the woman who called herself Ellen Shaw. What if Grace was still alive and …
He scanned the street, searching for that scarlet coat. Every time he saw a flash of red his heart leapt, but each time he was disappointed. She wasn’t coming. There was no point waiting any longer.
‘I’ve got a class,’ she said.
‘What sort of class?’
‘Computer studies. You know, that subject I need to keep up with if I’m going to be constantly doing your research for you.’
Len made a disparaging noise down the phone. ‘Huh? Look, what’s more important – the chance of an “in” on one mighty exclusive or a couple of hours banging away on some bloody keyboard?’
‘Except your mighty exclusive doesn’t seem to be making much progress.’ She paused, sighed and then said: ‘Okay, I’ll meet you but only if you promise to tell me what’s going on – and I mean everything, not just part of it.’
‘Everything,’ he said emphatically. ‘I swear. I’ll see you in The Whistle at half-seven.’
‘If you let me down, I’ll never speak to you again.’
Len put the phone in his pocket, drank the dregs of his coffee and gave one last lingering look through the window. It was twenty to five, too early for Adam Shaw to be home, but it was worth checking to see if there were any lights on. Maybe Ellen was holed up in the flat. What were the chances? Pretty slim, he had to admit, but he was willing to try anything.
He walked along Camden Road, trudging heavily through the slush. A long line of rush-hour traffic moved sluggishly along beside him. He gazed enviously at the warm interiors as his ears and nose turned a glistening shade of pink. Unwilling to lose his parking space he had left his own car in Berry Square and taken a cab to the office and back.
It was another five minutes before he turned into the dim side street that led to Berry Square. Len pulled on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in short nervy bursts. If Ellen had done a runner, would he ever be able to find her again? She could disappear as easily as little Grace Harper.
He was about ten yards in when he heard the footsteps behind him. Casually, he glanced over his shoulder and then his brown eyes slowly widened. ‘What …?’
There was no glint, no light strong enough for the blade to reflect off. He had only seconds to absorb what was happening. By the time he had acknowledged the existence of the knife, the gloved hand was moving too swiftly for him to avoid it.
Chapter Nine
Harry arrived back at the office just before six and parked the car with more care than he had in the morning. He had spent the afternoon on a long, tedious and, as it had turned out, utterly futile surveillance job. Karl Westwood was wise to the ways of insurance companies. After three large claims, all to do with ‘debilitating injuries’, he knew how to keep his head down when some interfering snoop was likely to be loitering outside.
Walking round to the front of the building, Harry strolled into the empty foyer, crossed the threadbare carpet and stepped into the lift. Pressing the button for the third floor, he waited for the doors to close. They didn’t. Harry jabbed at the button again. A red light flickered but the doors remained obstinately open. ‘Come on,’ he murmured impatiently. When it became clear that no amount of encouragement was going to make them shift, he raised his eyes to the heavens and headed for the stairs.
After limping up three floors, he was out of breath by the time he reached the office. One of Lorna’s kids, the older girl, was lounging in the corner with her face stuck in a magazine. She looked up as he stumbled inside. ‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Hi, Maddie. How are you?’
She crossed her long skinny legs and yawned. ‘Bored.’
‘Poor you,’ he said. ‘You should try working for a living.’
‘Oh yeah. And you should try going to school.’
He grinned at her. ‘I’ve done my time, thank you.’ Dropping his briefcase by the drinks machine, he took a deep breath and quickly organized a hit of instant caffeine. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’
‘Waiting for Mum. The sitter’s pulled a sickie again.’
He glanced towards the inner office. Lorna was sitting opposite Mac, busily taking down notes. ‘How long have you been waiting?’
As if time was a concept that only elderly people considered, she wrinkled her nose and shrugged.
‘Where’s your sister?’
‘At a mate’s.’ She stared at the cup of coffee he was raising to his lips. ‘Don’t I get one of those?’
‘What’s the matter – you lost the use of your legs?’ But he poured one for her just the same and handed it over.
‘Ta,’ she said. ‘I’m gasping.’
‘Thirsty work, doing nothing.’ How old was she now? Twelve, thirteen? He couldn’t remember and knew better than to ask. Every time he saw her, she seemed to have sprung up another inch or two. At the moment, for all her adult airs, she still retained a residue of childlike charm but in a year or so she would probably be a holy terror. ‘You not got any mates then?’ he said to wind her up.
‘Not like Kim’s. They’re all boring little kids.’
He took the chair beside her and sat down. ‘And you’re mixing with the more sophisticated types, right?’
Her dove grey eyes gave him a long assessing look. She took a moment as if deciding on whether to share a secret or not. ‘Zane’s my best mate. His grandpa’s a villain.’
‘That’s nice for him.’
‘I don’t suppose you approve,’ she said smugly.
Harry shrugged. ‘None of my business who you hang out with, is it? So long as your mum’s okay with it.’
Maddie widened her eyes as if her mother’s opinion was the last she’d take any notice of. ‘Zane says his grandpa’s been to jail.’
‘Well, that’s where most villains end up.’ Except for the likes of Ray Stagg, he thought resentfully. Some bastards just kept on getting away with it. ‘I take it this Zane doesn’t spend his weekends robbing banks?’
She giggled. ‘Course not. Zane’s not like that. Zane’s cool.’
‘So what’s his surname, this … er, friend of yours?’
‘Why?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Just taking an interest, making conversation.’ He put his half-drunk coffee down on the table, folded his arms, leaned back and yawned. ‘But if you don’t want to talk about it …’
‘Keppell,’ she said.
‘Ah,’ he said. Harry knew the Keppells all right; every copper in London knew them. They were an old East End family, now living out Chingford way. He wondered which of Jimmy’s sons had fathered the incredible Zane. ‘So who’s his dad then?’
‘He hasn’t got a dad. He lives with his mum.’
Harry nodded. He’d forgotten about Angela, the only girl in Jimmy’s tribe of lawless offspring. Still, it could be worse. Angie, as far as he was aware, had managed to keep out of trouble for the past few years.
‘Do you know her?’ she said.
‘Not really. What’s she like?’
‘Oh, pretty cool. She bought Zane a set of drums for his birthday. He’s good. He’s gonna be in a band.’
‘Rich and famous then.’
‘Zane says it’s the music that matters,’ she said, ‘not the money.’
‘Quite. Although he’ll find the money helps when he needs to pay the phone bill.’
As if the concept of artistic integrity was just too deep for him to grasp, Maddie gave a sigh, slowly shook her head and gazed back down at her magazine.
A minute later Lorna came out of the office. She had a pinched expression on her face. As Harry got to his feet, she said softly: ‘I wouldn’t bother. Not if it’s anything he doesn’t want to hear.’
Harry smiled. ‘Don’t worry. He won’t mind this.’
Mac looked up and frowned as he knocked on the door. He beckoned him inside with a cursory wave of his hand. Harry had barely stepped across the threshold when he barked:
‘What is it? If you’re going to have another go about the Stagg case then—’
‘Not at all,’ Harry said. ‘Sorry about earlier. I was out of order. You were right; we can’t afford to go turning down
good clients. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve sorted all the paperwork.’
As if unsure that he had heard correctly, Mac’s frown lines deepened for a second but then gradually cleared. ‘Good. I’m glad to hear it. But what’s with the sudden change of heart? This morning you’d have rather slit your own throat than spend five minutes in Ray Stagg’s company.’
Harry tried to keep his voice neutral. ‘Yeah, well, that hasn’t changed – you know how I feel about him – but I went to see Denise Webster and we had a long chat. I’d like to help her. She seems genuinely worried and it’s not her fault that she’s related to that scumball. So, as far as I’m concerned, from now on she’s the client I’m working for.’
Mac nodded. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Although there is one small problem.’
Mac sighed, a dull weary sound that floated round the office. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s just that … well, with this ongoing surveillance on Westwood, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to give it my full attention. I don’t suppose—’
‘Forget Westwood. I’ll get one of the other boys on to it.’
Harry stared at him, surprised. He’d been expecting to meet some resistance, a brief lecture at least on effective time management or current staff shortages. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t like this connection to Stagg any more than you do. So the faster it’s sorted, the sooner we can all be rid of him.’
‘Okay. That’s great. I’ll get on to it first thing.’
‘And keep me updated.’
‘I will.’ Harry had his hand on the door handle when he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. He hesitated, uncertain as to whether to ask or not.
‘What now?’
‘Is everything all right, Mac?’
That frown hit the older man’s forehead again. ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘I don’t know. I heard a couple of the guys had been laid off.’
‘And?’
‘And seeing as I was the last one to join the firm, I was wondering why …’
‘Why I’d chosen to keep you on?’
Harry shrugged.
