by John Harvey
She hadn’t told Gary about that. Not any of it. The social worker, visit to the doctor, none of it. It would only make more trouble. He couldn’t stand it, Gary couldn’t, not ever, every Tom, Dick, and Harry coming round from Social Services, barging into the place as though they owned it, telling him how to bring up his own kids.
“Get us a decent place,” that was what he’d said last time. “Get us a decent place and then we’ll bring ’em up decent, you see.”
But what if they don’t, Michelle had wanted to ask? What if we have to stay here? What then?
“Michelle? You coming or what?” When she got back into the room, he had switched off the television, turned out the light, pushed the settee closer to the fire. He was leaning back against the far end of it, legs stretched out, slightly parted. Those jeans on, no way she couldn’t tell he was excited.
“Well?”
Forcing a smile on to her face, she started towards him; if only she could get the memory of him hitting Karl out of her mind, it might be all right.
He was kissing her, tongue pushing against her teeth, one hand reaching under her sweater when Lynn Kellogg knocked sharply on the door.
Lynn had talked to Dana earlier, back at the station, drinking tea and trying not to mind that the smoke from the other woman’s cigarettes kept drifting into her face, irritating her eyes. What is she, Lynn thought? Six years older than me? Seven? One of those round faces, not unlike her own, in the right circumstances they were full of life; dark eyes with an energy, a glow. But sitting there, on and on about Nancy, the same details, facts, suspicions, what Dana had looked was heavy-featured, exhausted, her face flabby and pale.
“Isn’t there a friend you could stay with?” Lynn had asked. “Just for tonight. Rather than being on your own.”
But Dana had insisted, she had to be there, by the telephone when Nancy rang, by the door when she walked back in.
“You think she’s all right, don’t you?” Dana had said suddenly, clutching Lynn’s arm. “You do think she’s all right?
It wasn’t yet twenty-four hours; there was still time for her to turn up unannounced, unharmed. A postcard. Phone call. I just had to get away, Sorry if you were worried. Chance came along and I took it. It happened all the time. People taking off on an impulse, a whim. Paris, London, or Rome. Those weren’t the incidents Lynn had to deal with, not closely, not often. The twenty-four hours would stretch to forty-eight and if there’d been no word from her by then, no sign … Well, there was still time.
Although the lights seemed to be out, she could hear voices inside; reversing her gloved hand, she knocked again.
“Yeh?” It was Gary who finally came to the door, still pushing one side of his shirt back down into his jeans. Behind him, Michelle had switched on the light.
Lynn showed Gary her warrant card and asked if she could come in.
“What’s this about then?”
“It might be easier if we talked inside.”
“Easier for who?”
“Gary …” Michelle began.
“You keep out of this!”
In the center of the room, involuntarily, Michelle flinched, a spasm of fear passing across her eyes.
Lynn set one foot on the scarred boards inside the door.
“Who said you …?”
“Gary …”
“I thought I told you …”
“Better we talk here,” Lynn said, “than back down at the station. Surely?” Gary’s head dipped and he stepped away. “You’ll not want to let too much cold in,” Lynn said. “Night like this.” And she pushed the front door closed.
“I was going to make tea,” Michelle said.
“She’ll not be here that long,” Gary said. “This isn’t going to take all night.”
“A cup of tea would be nice,” Lynn said. “Thanks.” She smiled and Michelle headed off for the kitchen, glad to be out of there and leave the two of them alone.
Except that the settee had been moved, nothing seemed to have changed since Lynn was there the day before. The same squares of worn carpet, oddments of furniture that had come from Family First. Two or three Christmas streamers, held in place with pins. A few Christmas cards. Mold in the corners, damp on the walls. Despite what was left of the fire, it was cold enough for Lynn to think twice before taking off her gloves.
“Well?” Gary lit his cigarette, then dropped the spent match on the floor.
“Where were you last night?” Lynn asked.
“You know bloody well where I was last night.”
“After you were released.”
“Where the hell d’you think I was?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
“Here, of course. Where d’you think I was going to fucking go?”
In the doorway, Michelle bit her tongue; if only Gary didn’t lose his temper all the time.
“So you were here all evening?”
“Yes.”
“From what time?”
“Listen, I want to know what all this’s about.”
“From what time were you here?”
“From right after you bastards let me out!”
“Which would be when?” Lynn said. “Eight? Half-past eight?”
“It was twenty to nine,” Michelle said. “Almost exactly. I remember.”
Gary looked as though he was going to tell her to keep quiet, but he scowled instead.
“And you didn’t go out again?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well …” Coming towards her now, past the edge of the settee, right up close, “… that’s exactly what I’m saying now. I came in and I never went out. Not till this morning. Right?”
Lynn could smell his tobacco breath, warm on her face. Dinner. Beer.
“And Nancy Phelan?”
“Who?” But she could tell in his eyes that he knew.
“Nancy Phelan.”
“What about her?”
“You do know who I mean, then?”
“Course I know.”
“And did you see her?”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“You know bloody well …”
“Not at the Housing Office. Later.”
“When?”
“Any time.”
“No.”
“You didn’t see Nancy at any other time?”
“No.”
“Not that evening? Later yesterday evening? Christmas Eve?”
“I told you, didn’t I? I never went out.”
Michelle was hovering in the doorway. “How d’you want your tea?” she asked.
“How d’you think she wants it? In a bastard cup.”
“I mean d’you want sugar?”
“One, thanks.”
Gary turned away disgusted. He’s a kid, Lynn thought, younger than me. Stuck in this place with a wife and a couple of kids. Except she isn’t even his wife. And what is he? Nineteen? Twenty? Twenty-one? Is it any wonder he needs to shout? And at me. If Divine had come round instead, she thought, Kevin Naylor, he wouldn’t be carrying on like this. At least, not while they were here. The anger, he’d bottle it up for later.
She remembered the flinch of pain on Michelle’s face. Karl’s bruising.
Injuries consistent with the mother’s story that he had run smack into a door.
“I’ll give a hand with the tea,” Lynn said.
“No need,” said Gary, but he did nothing to stop her going into the kitchen.
Michelle poured in the milk first, UHT from a carton, then the tea. One tea bag, Lynn reckoned, for a large pot.
“How are the children?” Lynn asked.
“Sleeping, thank heavens. They got so excited earlier, you know, presents and everything.”
“And Karl?”
Michelle paused in sugaring their teas, spoon tilting in mid-air.
“How’s Karl?”
“The doctor said …”
&
nbsp; “I know what the doctor said.”
“Well, then. That’s it, isn’t it? He’s fine.”
“He was hurt.”
“It was an accident. He …” Michelle’s eyes flicked towards the door in response to a sudden noise: the television had been switched back on.
“The sugar,” Lynn said.
“What?”
“You’re spilling the sugar.”
Lynn took the spoon from her hand and began to stir one of the mugs of weak tea.
“I never told him,” Michelle said in a rushed whisper. “I never told him anything about it.”
“Never told me anything about what?” Gary said from the hallway, stepping into the room.
“Here,” Lynn said, handing him a mug. “Your tea.”
“Never told me anything about what?” Ignoring her, staring at Michelle.
Michelle’s hand went to her throat.
“When I was here yesterday …” Lynn began.
“I never knew you was here yesterday.”
“That’s what Michelle meant,” Lynn said.
Gary was all but ignoring her now, intent upon Michelle. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. When you came home I was so pleased, I suppose I forgot.”
“How could you forget something like that? Bloody law …”
“It wasn’t important,” Lynn said. “I just dropped by, tell Michelle where you were.”
Gary had put his mug down and now he snatched at it, splashing hot tea across his hand. One taste and he had dashed it down the sink. “What the hell d’you call that? Like bloody dishwater!”
“I’ll make some fresh,” Michelle said, reaching for the kettle.
“Don’t waste your time.”
Between his sullen shout and a fanfare of television sound, came a whimpering from upstairs.
“It’s the baby,” Michelle said, setting the kettle back down.
“When isn’t it?” Gary grumbled.
“Gary, that’s not fair.”
Gary didn’t care; he was on his way back into the living room, leaving Natalie to cry upstairs. Michelle looked at Lynn uncertainly.
“You go up,” Lynn said. “I’ll see to the tea.”
When Lynn came in from the kitchen, three mugs of fresh tea balanced on a breadboard she was using as a tray, Michelle was sitting in an easy chair with curved wooden arms, the baby restless against her breast. Gary was on the settee, pretending to watch the TV, sulking quietly.
Lynn drank her tea, chatting to Michelle about Natalie, keeping things as light as she could. She would have liked to have gone upstairs, taken a look at Karl, but sensed that if she asked Gary would object. Better to have another word with the social worker, let them do what they were trained to do.
When she got up to leave, Michelle went with her to the door, Gary grunting something from where he slouched that could have been goodbye.
Moving past Michelle at the door, Lynn said quietly, “If you need someone to talk to, get in touch. Phone me. All right?”
Michelle stepped quickly back inside, shutting out the cold.
Later, as she lay curled away from Gary, listening to the suck and whine of his breathing, Michelle was unable to sleep, thinking about it. Not what Gary had said only minutes after Lynn had gone, about keeping things from him; not the ache in her ribs where he had punched her, low where it wouldn’t be seen. Not those, but what he’d said when she’d asked him, the policewoman, if he’d gone out again that night, Christmas Eve. Why he’d lied.
Thirteen
“Kevin?”
“Shhh!”
“What time is it?”
“Early. You go back to sleep.”
“The baby …”
“I gave her a drink and she went off again.”
Debbie rolled on to her side, face to the pillow. It was dark in the room, even the gap at the top of the curtains, where they refused to meet, offering no light.
“You’re on an early.”
“Yes.” Dressed in all but his jacket, Kevin sat on the edge of the bed, close to her bare arm.
“I’m sorry, I forgot.”
Lightly stroking her shoulder, Kevin smiled. “Doesn’t matter.”
“You used to hate that.”
“What?”
Slowly lifting her face, a thin skein of spittle stretched from the pillow to the corner of her mouth until it snapped. “When I used to forget your rota, which hours you were on.”
“I used to hate a lot of things.” Her mouth was damp and warm and musty from sleep. “Love you,” he said.
“I know,” Debbie said. She brought her other arm around him, crook of her elbow tightening against his neck. One breast slipped free from the Snoopy T-shirt she wore in bed.
“I’ll be late.”
“I know,” Debbie said.
She kissed him hard and let him go.
Pulling the front door shut and stepping out on to the street, the same, now familiar feeling closed cold around his stomach: how close he had come to losing this, all of it, letting it go.
Resnick had woken something short of four, finally got up at five. When he had opened the garden door to Dizzy, the black cat had entered with sprung step and hoisted tail as if there were nothing new in this. Below freezing outside, Dizzy’s fur was sleek and tinged with frost.
Resnick warmed him milk in the pan, testing the temperature with his finger before pouring it into the dish. The cat’s purrs filled the kitchen as it ate and Resnick sipped hot black coffee: a secret between them, no one else awake.
The first news of Nancy Phelan’s disappearance would go out on the local news at six, would possibly rate a minor mention on the national network an hour later. Jack Skelton had called a meeting for nine. The evidence, such as it was, would be assembled, evaluated, broken down; assignments would be made, which interviews warranted following up, which gaps had still to be filled. Her father’s pain and anger on the phone. Doing everything we can. He remembered the way Nancy had looked in the otherwise empty CID room, red coat unbuttoned and loose at her shoulders. Later that evening, the voice that had seemed to come from nowhere, silver of her smile, breath that had hung between them in the air.
“Very well, ladies and gents, let’s come to order if you please.”
The new DCI wore his Wolverhampton Polytechnic education like a thin veneer; a supercilious smugness which his Black Country vowels disavowed. Recently promoted over the pair of them, Malcolm Grafton was ten years younger than either Resnick or Reg Cossall—as Reg never failed to remark.
“Jesus, Charlie! You don’t think he wore those for his interview, do you?”
As Grafton had resumed his seat on the platform, one leg had crossed high over the other, revealing a sock that looked, as Reg Cossall remarked, as if it had been dipped in a late-night curry disaster, then hung on the line to dry.
Resnick grunted and kept his own counsel, only a while back he had noticed he was wearing odd socks himself, dark blue and maroon. No wonder he hadn’t pinned down the color of the car waiting to drive Nancy Phelan away.
“For the present, we’re looking at three areas for the possible abductor …” Jack Skelton was on his feet now, gesturing towards the boards to his right, “… boyfriends, men friends, call them what you will, that’s for starters; guests at the hotel on Christmas Eve—initially that’s those at the same architects’ do as her, but ultimately anyone and everyone who used the place that evening.” A groan from the assembled officers at this. “And lastly, at the moment no more than an outside chance, this man, Gary James.”
Heads swiveled to where Skelton was now pointing and Gary’s whippet face stared back at them, full-on, from between twin profiles, left and right.
“As most of you’ll know,” Skelton continued, “there was an incident at the Housing Office the same afternoon, James became violent, offered threats to various personnel, including the missing woman, Nancy Phelan, whom he kept a prisoner in her office fo
r a time. The initial grudge he has against her seemed to stem from an argument over the housing allocated to James, his common-law wife, and their two children. Whether, as a result of anything that happened yesterday, it’s gone beyond that, we don’t know.”
Skelton stepped back, seeking out Lynn Kellogg through the rising haze of tobacco smoke. “Lynn, you saw him yesterday, I believe.”
Slightly self-conscious, buttoning, then unbuttoning the front of her jacket, Lynn got to her feet.
“I spoke with James yesterday, sir. Claims he was home the later part of the evening and his wife, Michelle Paley, that is, she supports him in that.”
“You think he’s telling the truth?”
“I’ve no reason not to think so.”
“But you’re not convinced.”
A pause. “No, sir.”
“The woman, Michelle, she’d lie to alibi him?”
Without hesitation, Lynn said, “She’d be frightened not to.”
“Knocks her about, does he?”
“No direct evidence, sir. No obvious signs. But he’s got a temper; flares up out of nothing. And there are the injuries to the little boy.”
“I understood we’d cleared that up?” Skelton was looking towards Resnick now. “Clean bill of health.”
“According to the doctor,” Resnick said, half out of his chair, “bruising and swelling tallied with the mother’s story. Accidental injury.”
“But you think it could be something else?”
Resnick shrugged. “Possible.”
“The situation’s being watched?”
“Social Services, yes.”
Skelton nodded gravely, pressing the tips of his fingers tight together; Resnick lowered himself back into his seat. Lynn was still on her feet.
“Yes?” Skelton said.
“I was wondering, sir, whether that was enough. The whole situation there, I don’t know, it’s like something waiting to explode?”
“We’ve heard, Social Services are keeping an eye …”
“Even so, overstretched the way they are …”
“And we’re not?” There was more than a touch of anger in Skelton’s voice.
“But if James is a strong suspect …”
