A Good Death

by Chris Collett

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Millie said. ‘So far I haven’t come up with anything. But the good news is that nor have I found anything to suggest that Sam has come to any harm.’

  Gaby sat back, her hand fluttering to her chest, and she almost smiled. ‘Thank God.’ Then the implications of that began to occur. ‘But I don’t understand, then. Where is he?’

  Mariner and Millie exchanged a look. ‘There can be lots of reasons why people choose to disappear,’ said Millie. ‘And in the vast majority of cases, they just turn up again after a few days, with a perfectly rational explanation.’

  ‘Such as what?’ she demanded.

  ‘Sometimes people just take a bit of time out to think things through,’ said Millie tactfully. ‘How is your relationship at present?’

  ‘It’s good,’ she said emphatically. ‘We’re getting married. You already know this,’ she said to Mariner. Then: ‘Oh God!’ She was suddenly aghast. ‘The wedding! What if Sam’s not back in time? There are people travelling from all over the place. What do I tell them? What about the expense?’

  ‘One thing at a time,’ said Mariner. ‘As Millie was saying, most people surface after a short time.’

  ‘But why would Sam do this?’ She was struggling to rationalise it. ‘Where would he go when there’s so much to do? Why wouldn’t he at least let me know where he is, and that he’s all right?’

  Ignoring questions that right now they couldn’t answer, Millie said: ‘What kind of man is Sam? Is he tidy, untidy …?’

  ‘Oh, very tidy,’ said Gaby. ‘Much more than me. We joke that it’s one of the things that will drive him mad after we’re …’ She tailed off.

  ‘I had a look at Sam’s flat,’ Millie said. ‘It was very organised, but there didn’t seem to be much in the wardrobe.’

  Gaby rolled her eyes. ‘It’s something I’m working on. He’s not very adventurous when it comes to clothes. He doesn’t think they’re important. But he’s in such great shape, he could wear anything.’

  ‘Do you go there often, to Sam’s flat?’ Millie asked casually.

  ‘Never,’ said Gaby. ‘You’ve seen how pokey it is. And I think Sam’s embarrassed about it. I mean, I went to see it when we first met. But since then it’s been much more convenient for us to spend time here.’

  ‘So when was the last time, before you were there last weekend?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Oh, ages ago. Months. I can’t remember exactly.’

  ‘Does Sam ever talk to you about past girlfriends?’ Millie asked carefully.

  ‘No,’ said Gaby. ‘I mean, when we first met we did talk a bit about some of the people we had been seeing before. Everyone does, don’t they? Why?’

  ‘We’re just getting some background,’ said Millie barely pausing. ‘I know this might seem an odd question, but what brand of make-up do you use?’

  Gaby looked at her. ‘You’re right, that is an odd question. I don’t very often wear make-up; I prefer a natural look.’

  ‘So you don’t wear lipstick, mascara?’

  ‘No. What is all this?’

  ‘I found those items at Sam’s flat, which might indicate that another woman has been there,’ said Millie. ‘In fact, could be a regular visitor.’ She paused to allow Gaby to process what she was saying. ‘Sam doesn’t work away at weekends,’ she went on. ‘Nobody does that where he works.’

  ‘So where does he go?’ Gaby asked eventually, innocently.

  ‘That’s what we don’t know,’ said Millie. ‘I was hoping you may have some ideas.’

  They could see her mind working. ‘You think Sam is seeing someone else? That’s nonsense. He wouldn’t—’ She broke off, chewing on a nail. The silence went on for so long that Mariner almost wondered if she’d forgotten they were there. Finally, when she did respond, her voice was small. ‘There was someone,’ she said. ‘Someone who had been very important to Sam, in the past. He was quite preoccupied with her when we first started going out.’ She looked up at Millie in distress. ‘Do you think he might have gone off with her?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Millie. ‘Perhaps it’s a question of closure. It would make sense for him to tie up any loose ends before he marries you, wouldn’t it? Did Sam tell you who this woman was?’

  ‘No, he never said her name.’

  ‘What about a nickname? Have you ever heard Sam refer to anyone as “Little Bear”?’

  Her laugh was brief and derisive. ‘No. Sam really doesn’t go in for that kind of thing.’

  As she spoke, they all heard the unmistakable sound of tyres on gravel. Gaby’s reaction was instant. ‘Oh God! Please don’t say anything to my dad about this, he would—’

  ‘What?’ prompted Millie.

  She was beside herself. ‘Well, I don’t know what he’d do. I’ve had to work so hard to convince him that Sam is the right man for me. If he found out—’

  A key turned in the latch and the front door slammed shut, before the bulky form of Clive Boswell appeared. Having seen their car on the drive, apprehension was written all over him. ‘There’s news?’ he asked Mariner, going over to kiss his daughter. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘We haven’t located Sam yet,’ said Mariner quickly. ‘But at the same time, we have no reason to think that he has come to any harm.’ Seeing Gaby’s expression, he left it there. As he introduced Millie, Mariner thought he saw Boswell twitch. Was that because Millie was female or because of her ethnicity? ‘We were just filling Gaby in on where we’re up to and clarifying one or two details.’

  Boswell sat down beside Gaby, taking one of her hands in his. Millie addressed Gaby. ‘At one twenty on Saturday night, Gatso cameras picked up Sam’s car driving out of the city along the A441 towards Hopwood,’ she said. ‘Do you have any idea why he might have been going in that direction at that time of night?’

  Gaby frowned. ‘I don’t know.’

  After a moment, Clive Boswell said: ‘What about Carter’s? Isn’t their place out in that way?’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Millie.

  ‘It’s a waste disposal site,’ said Boswell, when Gaby didn’t respond. ‘One of those that Sam was looking into for the Agency. There were some irregularities, and Sam was trying to gather evidence of what they were up to. He took his camera out there to try and get photographs.’

  ‘He was spying on them?’ said Mariner.

  ‘I didn’t think it was a very good idea,’ said Boswell. ‘I have dealings with some of these people. They’re not a nice bunch. If they caught him at it, they wouldn’t be very pleased.’

  ‘Would he go out there at that time of night?’ asked Millie.

  Gaby was shaking her head. ‘No, he wasn’t involved with that any more,’ she said. ‘He told me, he’d passed it on to his managers, higher up.’

  ‘But Sam told me he was hoping to get more evidence,’ said Boswell. ‘He felt sure they were up to something.’

  ‘Out of interest, what kind of camera does Sam use?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Oh, it’s a good one,’ said Clive Boswell. ‘A digital SLR. And he knows how to use it.’

  ‘And how does he carry it around? Does he have a proper camera bag?’ Mariner was thinking about that holdall.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Gaby. ‘He usually just throws it into the nearest bag he can find.’

  Mariner caught Millie’s eye, giving her a nod to move things along.

  ‘Can I just confirm that after the party at the Glovers’, you both came back here on Saturday night?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Yes.’ They spoke in unison.

  ‘And you were here all evening?’

  ‘I went to bed early,’ said Gaby. ‘I had a really bad headache. Champagne always does that to me. I never learn.’ She looked expectantly across at her father.

  Boswell seemed suddenly preoccupied, as if he was thinking something through. ‘Mr Boswell?’ Mariner prompted.

  ‘Sorry,’ he snapped out of his contemplation. ‘Actually, I went out again. There was a dinner fo
r the Midlands Business Consortium. It went on late.’ He smiled. ‘Isn’t that always how it goes? Weeks without anything and then two social events on the same day—’

  ‘And where did this dinner take place?’ asked Millie.

  ‘At the Hotel Du Vin, in the city centre.’

  ‘And what time was it when you left there?’

  Sensing Boswell’s hesitation, Mariner chipped in. ‘It will save time if we can rule things out as we go along,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ Gaby demanded suddenly. ‘Why is any of this relevant?’

  ‘It’s fine, darling,’ Boswell said, before Mariner could reply. ‘They’re just establishing some facts. If we want to find out where Sam is, we need to help as much as we can.’

  ‘Sorry, yes, of course.’ All the while they’d been talking she was chewing on her fingernails, now, eventually she must have punctured the skin, because she had to go and get a tissue.

  Boswell watched her go. ‘I can’t be very precise about the time,’ he said. ‘Rather a lot of alcohol was drunk. But I think I got back at about midnight. I got a taxi, of course,’ he added quickly.

  ‘I think I heard you come in,’ said Gaby, returning to her spot on the sofa. ‘I sort of half woke up, if you know what I mean. I think it must have been about midnight.’

  ‘And what time did you go to bed?’ Millie asked Gaby.

  Gaby was still watching her father. ‘Early, but I was just dozing really until Sam sent me the text.’

  ‘And that was at eleven, is that right?’

  ‘On the dot.’ Gaby smiled wistfully. ‘Sam is nothing if not precise. Oh God,’ she said again. ‘What about the wedding?’

  ‘Try not to worry, sweetheart,’ said Boswell. ‘There’s still a week for Sam to turn up, then, well …’ He was unable to end the statement satisfactorily, so he turned to Mariner. ‘So where does this leave us; you?’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s not much more we can do at this stage,’ said Mariner. ‘Unless there’s a clear indication of foul play, all we can do is watch and wait.’ He turned to Gaby, who was lost in thought. ‘Do you know who Sam banks with, and what type of credit card he holds, or would Fiona have that information?’

  ‘Why do you need to know that?’ she asked.

  ‘When someone uses their bank or credit cards then it can give us a clue to as to their whereabouts,’ said Millie reassuringly. And if, as time went on, they weren’t used, it would point to the possibility of something having happened to Sam. Clive Boswell looked across at Mariner, though he said nothing. Mariner sensed that Boswell senior had worked it out, but was relieved that he didn’t add to Gaby’s distress by forcing them to make it explicit.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ Gaby revived a little. ‘Well, he banks with HSBC, same as me. I’m not sure about his credit card; Fiona might know.’

  ‘I noticed there was no computer in Sam’s flat,’ said Millie.

  ‘He keeps his laptop with him. It will be in his car.’

  With a signal from Mariner, Millie wrapped things up with the usual undertaking that they would be in touch if there was any news, and asked Gaby and her father to do the same. Clive Boswell walked them out. ‘Did I miss anything important?’ he said.

  ‘Not really,’ Millie hedged. ‘Gaby will be able to fill you in.’

  ‘What do you think is going on?’ he pressed Mariner, his dismissal of Millie implicit.

  ‘It’s really hard to tell,’ said Mariner. ‘It may just be with the wedding coming up that Sam needs some space. How do you get on with him?’

  Boswell stroked the back of his head. ‘Well, to be honest, to begin with I didn’t think he was good enough for my daughter, but then I imagine all fathers feel like that.’

  ‘Was there any special reason?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Truthfully? Early on, I had some concerns about his commitment to Gaby. As time has gone on they seem to be unfounded, but you know.’

  ‘Anything in particular that made you think that?’

  ‘Nothing I could put my finger on,’ said Boswell. ‘It was just a feeling. Apart from anything else, we know hardly anything about him or his family.’

  ‘Everyone we’ve talked to describes Sam as loyal and trustworthy—’ Mariner began.

  ‘So why is he bunking off work, and shirking his responsibilities to his mother and sister?’ Boswell clearly wasn’t in the mood to be charitable.

  ‘It’s early days,’ Mariner reminded him. ‘There’s still time for him to show up and explain himself.’

  On the drive back Millie phoned through Sam’s bank details to Brown. ‘Do you buy that about Sam going to the waste disposal site,’ she checked her notes, ‘Carter’s?’ she said, when she’d finished the call. ‘I mean, why would he, if his part of it is over and the case is being taken up with the agency itself?’

  ‘Good question,’ said Mariner. ‘Clive Boswell seemed keen on that idea, though, didn’t he? And he’s the first person we’ve spoken to who has questioned Sam’s loyalty.’

  ‘So what now?’ asked Millie. ‘You think we’ll have to drop it?’

  ‘Not entirely,’ said Mariner. ‘To tie it up once and for all, it would help to get some background checks authorised. I’ll go and talk to the gaffer.’

  Superintendent Sharp’s concern, as Mariner had known it would be, was the demand this might place on time and resources. She was understandably sceptical about the need for background checks. ‘In the absence of a body we’re on dodgy ground,’ she said, pointing out the obvious. ‘We have to bear in mind data protection. And it’s not as if Sam Fleetwood is in any way vulnerable, is he, or have I missed something?’

  ‘He’s not,’ Mariner conceded. ‘But this behaviour is out of character, given his responsibilities.’

  ‘What about mental health issues or relationship problems?’ Sharp asked.

  Mariner shifted in his seat. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘This is where it gets a bit murky. If Fleetwood was having doubts about his commitment to the marriage there are plenty of people he could confide in, yet he doesn’t seem to have intimated that to anyone. Other than a pushy father-in-law, there don’t seem to be any issues with his fiancée. I saw them together last weekend and they were all over each other. However, there are some indications that despite this, Sam might have rekindled an old relationship.’

  ‘Any ideas on who she might be?’ asked Sharp.

  ‘All we have is a nickname. I understand that in the past, secrecy has been an important factor. All I want to do is put a flag on his financial, phone and online activity. Hopefully it will help to confirm that Sam Fleetwood is OK, and we can let it go. On the other hand, if it should turn out to be something and the IPCC come knocking, we will have covered all the bases right from the off. Plus, these are Charlie’s friends. I feel a certain obligation.’ That was the clincher.

  ‘That seems reasonable in the circumstances,’ said Sharp. ‘It’s been less than a week. Let’s give it until Monday, then see where we’re up to.’

  ‘It’s a sound decision,’ Mariner told Millie back in the ops room. ‘If we’re going to pursue this further, we need to establish absence of proof of life, and demonstrate that Sam Fleetwood has stopped doing the ordinary, everyday things we all rely on, like withdrawing cash and using his phone. Meanwhile we will start a policy book, alongside the fire investigation, to document what we find.’ He looked across at Brown. ‘Are you all right to run those two in parallel?’

  Brown flushed slightly, but didn’t immediately respond.

  ‘You already are,’ deduced Mariner.

  ‘I just thought it might help to set up the MisPer electronic tracking system, so that we’re ready to raise actions.’

  Mariner couldn’t fault him. ‘So then, we watch and wait,’ he said.

  It had been a long and testing week which had left lots of unanswered questions. There was still no definitive evidence of foul play in the Wellington Road fire. Jordan Wright’s alibi was so far standing up, in that his mates had vou
ched for him. So, short of any fresh evidence from either the fire investigation or from Sam Fleetwood’s background checks, there was nothing urgent to attend to and Mariner had no compunction about letting his team go for the weekend. Millie stopped by his office on her way out.

  ‘So how’s it been, your first week back?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Good,’ said Millie, with a grin.

  ‘You look knackered,’ said Mariner.

  ‘That obvious, eh? I’m glad to be getting back to my little man, too.’

  ‘Off you go then. And Millie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s good to have you back too.’

  FIFTEEN

  When Millie had gone, Mariner phoned Fiona Fleetwood to apprise her of the situation. She took it calmly, as he’d known she would, but he could hear the strain in her voice. He then checked in with Gerry Docherty that the situation there was ongoing. All this meant that Mariner left the building late enough to walk out with Superintendent Sharp. ‘How did Millie take it?’ she asked him.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Mariner. ‘She knows how it works.’

  ‘Always good to keep the overtime down too,’ said Sharp, with a wry smile. ‘And is Bingley settling in?’ she asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Kevin Bingley, from uniform.’

  ‘Bingley? Pete Stone told me his name was Brown,’ said Mariner.

  ‘I think that might be Stone’s little joke.’ Sharp waited.

  It took Mariner several seconds, as finally he managed to pinpoint the constable’s accent. ‘Oh I get it,’ he said. ‘Newcastle Brown. Hilarious. But why hasn’t he corrected us? We’ve all been calling him that.’

  ‘I’m guessing he’s just keeping his head down,’ said Sharp. ‘And is he working out?’

  ‘Seems to be,’ said Mariner. ‘He’s done everything that’s been asked of him so far, and more.’

  ‘Good,’ said Sharp. ‘Perhaps we can hold on to him after all.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I understand he was thinking about a transfer before he came up to CID,’ said Sharp.

  ‘Really, why?’

  ‘Getting sick of being Pete Stone’s whipping boy. I’m glad he’s found his way to your team.’