“I think it was a few days before he called me. He dropped off some shopping… He’s a good boy.”
She smiled. Everyone’s good when they’ve gone missing. Everyone. She wiggled the pen between her fingers, quickly trying to dispel some of the energy in her body. Suddenly a missing person becomes a saint. All their annoying and destructive character flaws are overlooked. Happens every time.
“How often did you talk? Did he call a lot?”
“Maybe two or three times a week, just to check on me.”
Nodding, she asked, “I understand you’ve already contacted his employer to see if they know where he is?”
Mrs Jarvis nodded as she wiped her nose. She had pulled out another tissue; the reality had hit her. She was officially declaring her son missing, a son she might never see again.
“They said he’s at a conference in London till Friday. Normally he works from home a lot. I’ve called his mobile, but it just goes straight to the answer machine.”
Blinking at the realisation of what the woman had just said, she made a note of his contact details before slowly closing her notebook. As much as she wanted to voice her true opinion, she felt sorry for the frail old lady in front of her.
Annabelle Jarvis pulled a set of keys from her handbag, pushing them into her hand.
“These are his spare keys. Please just take a look for yourself. It’s not right. Something’s happened to him.”
She saw the pleading in the old woman’s eyes and felt immediate guilt for the distress there. In silence, she watched Annabelle Jarvis leave the room and hoped she would never have to see her again.
She barely made it back to her desk before Helen’s voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Virginia!” Helen nodded to the open doorway before exiting through it.
Mentally rolling her eyes, she grabbed her jacket. “Where are we going?” She tried to put the thing on and walk down the stairs simultaneously.
“We are scouring the streets for Slim Jim,” Helen offered as she checked her phone.
“Who’s that? Did you, by any chance, have anything to do with his nickname?”
“I can’t take that honour, I’m afraid.”
She turned, giving Helen one of her best Oh really? looks as she crammed her notebook into her pocket.
With a grin, Helen relented. “I’m sure you’re aware of what a Slim Jim is,” she said and continued without waiting for an answer. “Yes, well, this particular chap has a penchant for sleeping in other people’s cars when it’s cold. He always carries some form of Slim Jim on him to make that possible, hence the name.”
“And people don’t mind this?” she asked, a little shocked. She knew full well what her reaction would be if she found a smelly tramp asleep in her car.
“I wouldn’t say people are in love with the idea, but he’s harmless. He doesn’t steal anything. He just wants somewhere to kip down for the night.”
Helen led the way to the small car park.
“I’d better drive, after yesterday’s fiasco.” They approached the black Volvo.
Looking up to the sky, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She wondered how long she could stand this so-called promotional secondment. The smug grin on Helen’s face was infuriating as she got in the car.
“Any news on the neighbours yet?” Helen asked as they pulled out of the car park.
“Uniform are still out checking. I got hold of Doreen Platt’s daughter; she’s on her way back today. I’ll call around to see her today or tomorrow.”
She slumped into the passenger seat for the third time in an hour. In her opinion, they were wasting their time looking for some deadbeat who probably didn’t even know what day it was, let alone anything about a possible murder. She snuck a quick look at Helen, who, annoyingly, looked as relaxed and serene as possible, although her eyes were firmly fixed on the wing mirror, no doubt scanning for her trampy informer.
A knock on her side window nearly sent her through the sunroof.
“What the fuck!”
“Calm down! It’s just Jim,” Helen said under her breath.
“Fuck! Is that a man or a fucking bear?” She just managed to resist the urge to lower her window to shoo him away.
The grubby man just stood there, oblivious to the reaction he had caused. He looked like a cross between Teen Wolf’s dad and Animal from The Muppet Show. Dressed in dark, heavy clothing, his holey, woolly hat tamed what looked like a lion’s mane of hair.
“You’d look like that if you lived like he does. I’ve seen his opposable thumbs; he’s not all bad.” Helen’s low voice broke the silence in the car.
“Really? Coz he looks pretty bad from here.”
“Calm down, Virginia. You’ll give him a complex.”
“Give him a complex? What about me?” she said to Helen’s back as she exited the car. Watching them both walk to the back of the car, she lowered her window and took out her notebook to take down anything pertinent. As if.
“Who’s that?” Jim asked as she saw Helen appear in her wing mirror next to the dishevelled man. Straining her ears, she was surprised by the shabby man’s voice. It was sharp, not local at all. Sleeping in cars had obviously saved him from the gruelling effects of rough sleeping.
Helen’s shoulders rose and fell as she sighed. “New colleague. Have you heard about Sandy?”
Jim nodded, looking at his hands.
“I’m sorry, Jim. I know you two were friendly. When did you last see him?”
She readied her pen, only to be disappointed.
“Not seen him for a couple of weeks.” Jim shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you know his full name?” Helen asked.
He shook his head.
She blew out a long breath as she clicked the top of her pen. Without a formal ID, it was going to be hard going in terms of getting a handle on Sandy’s background.
“What happened?” Jim asked as he wiped at his nose.
Getting out of the car, she made her way over to join them.
“We’re not sure yet. Waiting for the doc to get back to me. I need to find his trolley. Can you help me with that? It’ll help us find who out how and where it happened.”
“I thought he died in a house fire,” Jim replied with a frown.
“That’s where he was found. Have you ever seen Sandy without his stuff?” Helen questioned.
She heard the caution in Helen’s words, careful about what she shared with Jim; they didn’t even know the full story yet.
Watching Jim closely, she spotted a barely noticeable shake of the head. The slight bunching of skin between his eyes told her the cogs were obviously turning.
“What do I get?” Jim enquired, obviously realising there was a profit to be gained from this discovery.
She had to look away. She knew she was grinning at the grifter.
“If you find it,” Helen clarified, “what are you in the market for?”
Turning back out of curiosity, she followed Jim’s line of sight to the shabby boots on his feet.
“New shoes. Nikes. Blue ones.” Jim spoke in an excited bluster.
“No problem. Size ten, right?” Helen confirmed with a smile.
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing from this fashion-conscious vagrant. She stepped halfway in front of Helen, sick of all the pussyfooting and bargaining going on. “Do you know how to drive or hotwire a car?”
Jim glanced in her direction, as if he was actually considering her question.
Helen released a frustrated breath. Maybe she shouldn’t be muscling in on her boss.
Holding her ground, she waited for Jim’s reply. The heat of Helen’s eyes was burning into the side of her head. She took the vague shake of his head as his answer. Stepping back, she decided not to enquire where he had been around the time of th
e murder, not that they even knew when, let alone where that was, right now.
Helen leaned forward and handed Jim a card.
“Remember, if you find it, don’t touch it. Just call me, okay?”
She balked as Helen walked back to the passenger side of the car, effectively ending the conversation.
She frowned as she watched Helen get in the passenger seat of her own car. I guess I’m driving us back. She caught the wry grin on Jim’s face as she made her way to the driver’s door.
Helen waited till they were both secured in the car before she began to vent, her voice loud in the confined space.
“What the hell was that all about? You really think Jim’s a murderer?” Helen asked as she tossed the car keys into her lap.
Snatching them up, she rammed them home as her irritation grew.
“What? He could have done it. He sleeps in cars all the time; he had opportunity. Maybe they argued about something. He saw him passing by and snapped.”
She had to admit she didn’t have the background knowledge that Helen had, but people flipped out all the time, why not Jim? She angrily pulled out into the line of traffic, suffering a beep from the driver behind.
“Do you actually listen to what you’re saying?”
“What?” Her irritation, growing by the minute, matched her boss’s anger. Couldn’t this woman be objective towards one of her so-called informants?
“Okay, pull over!”
“What?” She asked wondering where this was going.
“You heard me, DS Wolfe. Pull over!”
Helen’s words were drenched in authority, forcing her to reluctantly comply. She swerved over to the side of the road, her annoyance evident in her harsh movement as she pulled up on a residential side street. She saw Helen grip onto the door as the car lurched to a stop.
“Are you always this angry?”
“What?” she asked in confusion. She was just trying to do her job. Looking straight ahead to the empty street beyond, angry didn’t even scratch the surface. She was furious with herself for getting into the position she now found herself in. What was she doing? She didn’t belong here. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Helen turn towards her a little.
“Look, forget that I’m your boss for a minute. Let me give you a bit of advice.” Helen took a breath. “I know you’re pissed off about being sent away from your regular post, out to the back of beyond. I don’t know what your last boss was like, but for me, policing is essentially the same wherever you are. It’s community based; you need to get the support of the locals. They are the eyes and ears of any place—town or city—and from what I’ve seen so far, you’re not exactly a people person. Maybe you could actually learn something from being up here.”
She opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by Helen holding up her hand to stop her. “Please don’t say what again or we’re potentially going to have a Pulp Fiction moment here, and in case you haven’t seen the film, it doesn’t end well.”
Some of the tension left her body. She relaxed back against the seat. Why did her new boss have to have such a good sense of humour? How could she stay angry, faced with such wit? She realised how unfair she was being—none of it was even Helen’s fault. The lopsided grin on Helen’s face was already improving her mood.
“I’m sorry, Guv. I overstepped. I’m just finding it difficult adjusting to a slower pace of life, I guess. I’m not used to such civic-minded individuals.” She made a stab at returning the humour. Her mouth now loosened, she continued to vent. “This case is driving me crazy; there’s no CCTV, no phone or bank account to track. I don’t know where to start.” They had no sequence of events to follow, no formal identification, or next of kin.
“How do you know he didn’t have a bank account? Just because he didn’t have the same life as everyone else doesn’t mean…” Helen’s words trailed off as she took a breath. “In my experience, people often jump to the wrong conclusion about people and their private lives. People like Sandy become invisible to onlookers; they disappear into the background, with no expectations that they have a life. That’s the city for you, Virginia. Makes you jaded. A few months with the wholesome people of Warner might just set you straight.”
She released a laugh. I doubt it. It’s not like it had worked for Helen, had it?
“Maybe you’re right, although that’s a pretty big ask. I think it’ll take more than that to set me straight.” She relished the chance to make a covert reference.
Helen rewarded her with a quick raised eyebrow. “Listen, I don’t want to teach you how to suck eggs, but if you want people to open up to you, maybe you need to be less accusatory when you’re talking to them. It’s not enough to be as hard as nails like some of the men of our profession. We need to be better, smarter, if we’re to get noticed.”
“Yes, Guv.”
“We’re not all Okies from Muskogee. You need to give us a chance.”
Helen’s phone rang, and she sighed as she saw the name on the caller ID. “Sorry. I have to take this.”
Curious, she adjusted her body to get a glimpse of the name—Dr Thomas Oaks. Was Helen sick? She wondered.
Helen got out of the car before accepting the call. Standing on the pavement, she moved to shelter under the nearest tree as light rain started to fall.
After watching Helen’s animated arm movements as she spoke—she wished she’d learned how to lip-read—she then turned away to give Helen a little privacy. She took some deep breaths, needing to decompress from their argument. She was doing a pretty good job of royally fucking things up, but she had to make this work, to fit in. It was only for six months. The alternative wasn’t worth thinking about.
Unable to resist any longer, she lowered the window a notch, hoping to pick up on the conversation Helen was having. A few words floated her way as the wind changed, something about medication being refused and a meeting later that night. She quickly clicked up her window as Helen ended her call.
“Sorry about that.”
Helen settled in the passenger seat, massaging both eyes with her thumb and forefinger for several seconds before speaking. “What I was trying to say was we’ve all got a past; it’s how you move forward that counts. Maybe it’s time to make this a fresh start.”
She let Helen’s words sink in rather than bounce off her body armour as advice usually did. “Yes, Guv.”
“And by the way, Virginia, listening to other people’s private phone calls is not polite.”
“Yes, Guv.” The colour rose to her cheeks as she drove back to the station.
It was almost eight when she finally jabbed her key at her front door. She was still getting used to the quiet blackness of the countryside at night. After several attempts, the key slipped in the lock, and she sighed in relief when the catch snapped open. Her hand fumbled along the wall for the light switch. Click. Nothing. She tried again, as if that was going to help; still nothing.
“Shit!”
Pulling out her phone, she tapped the flashlight app, illuminating her dark hallway. Deciding it was too late to eat, she headed for the kitchen for a drink before bed. The beam of light moving along the wall reminded her of being in the fire-damaged house. It made the cottage look dingy; the only thing missing was the water running down the walls.
She tried the kitchen light in the hope it was just a blown bulb.
Nothing.
“Bollocks!” Her voice reverberated in the small space.
For some reason, she thought the light from the fridge might help, till she opened the door and the stupidity of that sank in. She gulped from the chilled two-litre bottle of water, then a knock at the door made her jump and spill water down herself. Wiping her chin with the back of her hand, she peered down the hallway. The glass top panels in the door gave little away of the darkness beyond. She hesitated until a second knock came. At the thou
ght that it might be Helen with updates in the case, she picked up her phone, made her way to the front of the house, and pushed her booted foot behind the door, opening it to prevent it from being pushed open further. Just in case.
The light from her phone exposed a short, balding man with a transparent carrier bag in his hand. The dim light made it impossible to make out its contents.
“Hi, I’m your neighbour from just along the way.” He waved his arm in the direction of the house next door but one. “Garry Burton.” He offered his hand.
She stared at it for a moment before releasing her hand from behind the door to shake his. “Kate, Kate Wolfe.”
He grinned at her. “I saw you come home. I figured, as you’d just moved in, you might not be prepared for a power cut just yet.” He offered the bag in her direction.
“Uh, thanks.” On closer inspection, she could see a small selection of candles in the bag. “Is it usual around here?” She wondered why he was so prepared.
“Power cuts?” he confirmed. “Afraid so. Didn’t you get the letter from the electricity board?”
“No.” She inwardly groaned at the thought of this being a regular occurrence.
“Oh right. It was probably before you moved in. They’re doing some work on the power grid or substation, updating it apparently, over the next couple of months. There’ll be regular blackouts while they work on it.”
“Oh.”
Great! Not only am I live in the middle of nowhere, there isn’t going to be any electricity either.
What was next? Contaminated water?
Jesus Christ. I’ve never been more thankful that I’m a city dweller. How the hell do people do it? It’s like being back in the Stone Age.
“Didn’t the landlord tell you?” Gary asked, clearly unhappy at being the bearer of bad news.
“No. He may have neglected to mention that when I signed the rental agreement.”
“Oops!” He grinned again. “Bastards probably won’t even give us any compensation or discount for the trouble.”
Payback Page 5
