by Tania Carver
Short and round almost in proportion, Detective Sergeant Hugh Ellison looked like he came from a planet with a denser gravity than Earth. Despite being younger than he looked, he appeared to Phil like the kind of detective who was waiting for the seventies to return, with all that decade’s swagger, corruption and political incorrectness. A relic of a bygone age he was too young to remember. Amongst other things, the moustache – clearly not grown ironically for any charitable purpose – gave him away. He was thinning on top, his suit a remnant from when he was a couple of sizes smaller, his shirt collar unable to meet round his neck, his tie overdue for a clean. Eyes darting, shifting. Gambler’s eyes, always calculating the odds, working an advantage.
Seedy.
It had been relatively easy to find out the dead woman’s identity. That was one thing Phil felt he should be grateful for. He had phoned the Missing Persons Unit, asked if they could run a search on women, twenty to thirty, missing fairly recently, with tattoos, one saying ‘Carly’, one an inscription in a foreign language, possibly something Arabic. That in turn led him down to Digbeth nick on the High Street.
When he had first arrived in Birmingham, Phil had been sent to Steelhouse Lane, the main station. Backing on to both the magistrates’ and crown courts, it looked like a faux-Gothic castle. He wasn’t naive enough to think they would all look like that but had nevertheless been surprised at the differing stations in the city. He had been amazed to find that Digbeth was actually a functioning police station. It looked from the road like a closed and shuttered mansion or private school, litter and street detritus gathering in its main doorway, faded posters in the wall-mounted glass display. The blue lamp still hung outside, seemingly never lit since the fifties. But a quick walk round the side showed how deceptive first appearances could be. Patrol cars, vans, people carriers and unmarkeds were all parked up alongside. He had gone in asking for the name of the person he had spoken to on the phone.
Now, in an office that boasted the best of office-surplus chic, Phil was shaking hands with Detective Sergeant Hugh Ellison. The man sat at his desk surrounded by detritus, making Phil think of a spider at the centre of a dirty, cluttered web.
‘Sit down,’ said Ellison, pointing to a black object that had been an office chair in a previous life. He noted Phil’s trepidation. Smiled. His teeth matched the rest of him. ‘Budget cuts,’ he said. ‘Not that glamour boys like you would know anything about that.’
Phil was slightly taken aback. Was that meant to be an insult? Or maybe a test, to see how he would react. He kept a straight face, didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Nothing glamorous about finding dead bodies. Thought we were all on the same side.’
Ellison just shrugged, like he didn’t care if Phil was offended or not.
‘So you want to see me about Gemma Adderley,’ said Ellison.
‘That’s the name I was given.’
Ellison nodded. ‘Think it’s fair to say we’re thinking of the same person.’ He reached forward, grabbed a folder from the desk. ‘Could have just emailed you all the stuff, but here’s a copy of the file. Nice to do it the old-fashioned way sometimes.’ Another smile, another reminder for Phil to book a dentist’s appointment.
Phil took the folder. ‘Thank you. Sure it’s her?’
Ellison nodded. ‘Worked the case myself. Stuck in my mind. Course, the tattoo’s the thing. Soon as you mentioned that, I knew.’
Phil skimmed the notes in the folder. ‘What can you tell me about her?’
Ellison shrugged, looked at the Tesco Value sandwich on his desk. Phil presumed it was a signal for him to leave so the two of them could spend some time alone, but he hadn’t finished so he stayed where he was.
‘Went missing from her home in Hollywood,’ said Ellison when he realised Phil wasn’t going anywhere. ‘About a month ago. Exact date’ll be in there. Without her husband. Disappeared.’
‘Right. Okay.’ Phil was already formulating plans, means of approach.
‘Don’t you wanna know the rest?’ A glint in Ellison’s eye now.
‘The rest? Yeah. Go on.’
‘There was a daughter.’
‘Carly?’ asked Phil. ‘The tattoo?’
‘That’s the one. Found wandering the streets in Digbeth by some students coming out of a club. Couldn’t get much out of her, poor kid. In shock. Had to bring in a professional to help.’
‘Right,’ said Phil.
Ellison grinned. ‘Your missus.’
Phil stared. Said nothing.
Ellison laughed. ‘Yeah, I know who you are, mate.’ He nodded. ‘Your DCI, Cotter, recommended her. And she was good, too, Marina.’ The look on his face and the relish in pronouncing her name indicated that he was making more than a professional appraisal of Phil’s wife.
‘Good?’ Phil barely got the word out.
‘With the kid. Carly. Got her talking. But then when you’ve got kids yourself, you know how to talk to them. I’ve got three.’ He gave a guttural laugh. ‘That I know of.’
Phil didn’t join in.
‘That’s how we found out so much about Carly’s mother. And the father.’
Phil swallowed back everything that the thought of Marina had put into his head, concentrated on Ellison’s words. ‘Tell me.’
‘The kid said they were going on holiday. Just her and the mother.’
‘And were they?’
‘Dunno. Nothing was booked. At least not in her name. Her mobile never turned up either, so we don’t know if she made any arrangements on that.’
‘Just her and the mother?’ asked Phil. ‘What about the father? You questioned him, I take it?’
‘Yeah, we liked him for it. But…’ Ellison shrugged once more. ‘Couldn’t get anything to stick. And we tried. By God we tried. The kid was thrown out of a car. Didn’t get a good look at the driver, didn’t hear his voice. She didn’t think it was her father but we didn’t rule it out. She was in shock. Memory plays tricks.’
‘What about —’
‘Him hiring someone, were you going to say?’
Phil nodded.
‘Nothing in his bank account. But again, that doesn’t rule it out.’
Phil looked at the file in his hands, suddenly anxious to leave. The cramped room was becoming oppressive. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
‘Well, thanks. I’ll be —’
‘One more thing,’ said Ellison. ‘About the husband.’
‘What?’ Phil waited.
‘Still reckon it was him, but…’ Ellison brought his hands together in prayer, looked heavenwards, mock piety in his eyes. Then he looked at Phil, laughed. ‘God on his side. Good luck, mate.’
Phil took that as his cue to leave, and turned, walked down the corridor away from Ellison.
Feeling sure eyes were boring into his back all the way out.
8
Birmingham Airport sat outside the city centre on a flat suburban stretch of land, a collection of huge metal and glass huts with added overhead noise pollution.
Phil Brennan flashed his warrant card on the way in and parked his Audi in the staff car park. He and Sperring asked for directions, then made their way to the administration building.
‘I’m looking for Roy Adderley,’ he said to the woman on the desk. ‘Is he about?’
The woman, small, round and Afro-Caribbean, with perfectly made-up hair, stared up at him, eyes wide in alarm. He knew what she was thinking. Police. Terrorist.
‘Can I ask what this is concerning?’
Phil gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Reassuring, yet hard enough to stop her asking any further questions. ‘I’m afraid it’s a personal matter.’
Head down, the woman began pressing keys, checking her screen. Eventually she looked up. ‘He’s working at the moment.’ Like that was an end of it.
‘Could we see him, please? This is important.’
Again she looked down, then back up. ‘I’ll need to get you an escort.’
‘Thank you,
’ said Phil.
A security guard came to take them across to where Roy Adderley was working. First he checked their warrant cards again and asked the nature of their business. Phil wasn’t very forthcoming.
‘Just take us to Mr Adderley.’ He was losing patience.
The security guard stared at him, clearly not used to having his authority questioned. ‘I don’t have to, you know. If you want to be unpleasant, I can just refuse. We take security very seriously here. Can’t let just anybody wander about.’
Phil turned to him, glared like he wanted to do him some damage. ‘And I take having my time wasted even more seriously. We’re on official police business. We’re doing our job. You do yours.’
The guard reluctantly backed down, led them out of the admin block and across the tarmac, never speaking once, striding so quickly they had to almost run to keep up. Eventually he came to a stop, gestured towards another low-level building, this one with less glass and more metal, of the corrugated variety.
‘He’ll be in there.’
‘Right,’ said Phil. ‘Thank you for your cooperation.’
‘I’ll tell him you’re here.’
‘We can mange,’ said Sperring, wheezing from the brisk exercise.
Phil joined him as the security guard walked away, muttering audibly under his breath.
‘You all right?’
‘Fine,’ said Sperring in between gasps for breath.
‘Don’t exert yourself. Remember what the doctor said. Give your body time to heal fully.’
‘Nothing wrong with me,’ said Sperring. ‘Fuck’s the matter with you?’
Phil bristled. He knew what was coming. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘You know what I mean. Talking to that security jobsworth the way you did. Thought you were going to leather him one.’
‘Officious little twat,’ said Phil. ‘Deserved it.’
Sperring frowned at Phil. ‘What happened to Mr Liberal? Sorry, Detective Inspector Liberal? Usually it’s me doing the bad cop routine and you telling me not to be so hard on him because he’s on minimum wage and his mum didn’t buy him a pet dog when he was little, or some such bollocks.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Phil, looking straight ahead and not wanting to be drawn into conversation. ‘Just the way it is.’
They approached the hangar. It had huge double doors at the front, a glass-fronted entryway beside them. They went into the reception area. Beyond the window was a small room with uniformed people sitting round on worn-out easy chairs. A sink area in the corner. Through another door Phil could see that the main part of the building was full of buses. This was where the passenger transport was coordinated from.
‘Roy Adderley,’ he said to the woman behind the desk, showing his warrant card once more. ‘Detective Inspector Brennan and Detective Sergeant Sperring.’
‘Is this about his wife?’ asked the woman. She was quite young, white, heavily made up, with a figure that had crossed the line between curvaceous and morbid obesity.
Here we go again, thought Phil. ‘Just get him, please.’ His tone perhaps more brusque and irritable than usual.
She turned to the room behind her, gestured. ‘He’s in there.’ She looked between the pair of them, eyes wide, looking scared. She stood up. ‘I’ll go and get him.’
‘No thanks, we can —’
But the woman was off her seat and straight through to the other room. Phil and Sperring followed. They arrived while she was still speaking.
‘Roy,’ she said, ‘it’s the police. They want to see you…’
A uniformed man on the other side of the room stood up. Medium height, medium build, sandy hair, he had once been good-looking, but various forms of self-abuse seemed to be taking care of that.
‘The police, Roy,’ the receptionist said again.
Roy Adderley looked between the three of them.
Then turned and ran.
9
Marina Esposito checked her watch. It was nearly time.
She looked out of the window, up and down the street, both sides, stayed there until she was sure no one was loitering, hiding. Scanned the windows opposite for signs of movement, sudden or otherwise, light glinting off anything behind them. Any unfamiliar cars that she hadn’t seen before, number plates that didn’t match those on the lists she had already made. She repeated this procedure once more before she was satisfied that there was no one in the street who shouldn’t have been there. Then she picked up her keys, checked her pockets and made her way out, making sure she triple-locked the door behind her.
It was her routine, her system.
Still in her gym gear – she barely seemed to be out of it these days – she ran down the road, knowing that the blade was in her pocket, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it but knowing that if she did, she would do so without a second thought. Scanning all the time, alert for any signs of danger.
She reached her destination, stopped running. She was barely out of breath. Her time at the gym and her regular self-defence classes had left her in good shape.
Her route was timed; she knew exactly how long it would take. She also knew how long she would have to spend there – at least roughly; there were always fluctuations that she couldn’t control – and how long the walk back would be. She didn’t speak to anyone else, had nothing to say to them. Sometimes she offered a smile so as not to draw attention to herself. To look as normal as possible. But mostly she just did what was expected of her. Her job, almost.
She stood by the gate until the noise level on the other side began to increase, then readied herself. Another glance round – behind her, to the side, nothing out of the ordinary – and then she turned her attention straight ahead. Locked on, focused, determined to let nothing and no one come between them.
The afternoon school run.
‘There you are, precious.’
‘Hello, Mummy!’
Josephina Esposito-Brennan ran towards Marina, smile on her face like she didn’t have a care in the world. Marina knelt down and hugged her, as she always did. Then straightened up, holding her hand and glancing round, checking. Like she always did.
‘You had a good day, sweetheart?’
Josephina began to tell her mother about her day while they walked. Marina listened, eyes alive for threat all the while.
‘Can Krista come round to play?’
‘Sorry, sweetheart. Not today.’
The little girl looked momentarily sad. She was used to being given that answer but it didn’t stop her from asking. She glanced up at Marina, face expectant.
‘Is Daddy home tonight?’
‘No, sweetheart, I’m afraid he isn’t.’
‘Why not? Why do I never see Daddy any more?’
‘Because…’ Marina sighed. Because he can’t protect us, sweetheart. He can’t keep us safe any more. Not like I can. It wasn’t the first time that question had arisen and it wouldn’t be the last. Marina tried to be honest with the little girl, but there were still some things she couldn’t tell her.
And hoped she would never have to.
‘He’s… still busy. Sorry.’
‘Is he still away?’
‘He is, yes.’ She hated lying but knew she had no choice. She changed the subject. ‘Shall we bake some biscuits when we get home? You and me?’
The disappointment at not seeing her father slid off the little girl’s face, to be replaced by a tentative excitement at what lay ahead when she got back to the flat. She nodded vigorously.
‘That’s my girl. Come on, I’ve got everything we need ready in the kitchen.’
They hurried back to the flat, Marina scanning the streets constantly.
They made it to the front door without mishap. Dodged another bullet, Marina thought, and went inside, checking the lock for signs of tampering. Everything looked fine. Thankfully.
She ushered Josephina into the kitchen, gave her some juice, got her set up for baking.
Always busy, she thought. Th
at was the best thing. Always keep busy. Something to do, someone to protect. Work. Push herself. Don’t stop to think. Because if she did that, she might just fall apart.
‘Right,’ she said, summoning up a smile, ‘chocolate or peanut butter? Or both?’
Before Josephina could answer, Marina’s phone rang.
She excused herself, went to answer it. Checked the display. Work.
‘Marina Esposito.’ Her voice strong, capable.
‘Afternoon,’ said a voice she had come to know quite well in the last month. Know, but not necessarily like.
‘Hello, DS Ellison, what can I do for you?’
‘Hugh, please, I’ve told you. No need for such formality when we’re work colleagues.’
She could imagine the leering smile as he spoke those words and felt a nausea in her stomach.
The Carly Adderley case. Marina had talked to the girl, managed to coax facts out of her about her mother’s disappearance. Comforted her when she had broken down repeatedly in tears. Then tried her best to put her back together again, even arranging treatment to hopefully minimise what she had gone through. If that was possible.
Ellison had been impressed with her work. And, Marina strongly suspected, impressed with her in a less than professional capacity. It happened from time to time. She just ignored it, carried on. Let Carly Adderley break her heart.
‘So what can I do for you, DS Ellison?’ Ignoring his exhortation.
A pause, then he continued. ‘Just wanted to give you a heads-up, that’s all. You might be back on the case.’
‘Which case? Carly?’
‘That’s the one. Her mother’s turned up. Well, her body, anyway. Or what’s left of it.’
A shudder ran through Marina. ‘Oh, God.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ Ellison’s voice sounded anything but empathetic. ‘Murder, they reckon. So I just wanted to let you know that you might be asked for your thoughts.’
‘Right. Thanks. Well, I have —’ She stopped short as another thought occurred to her. ‘Who’s… who’s investigating?’
