Blood Symmetry (7 page)

Her gaze slipped out of focus. ‘She told me not to speak about that.'

‘It might help us find her.'

‘Simon doesn't even know.'

‘But things are different now, aren't they?'

Her fingers gripped the handle of her teacup. ‘When she comes home, you mustn't say I told you. She'd be so angry.'

‘We won't, I promise.'

‘I've never met him, but his name's Sam Travers. He lives in Islington.' She looked regretful about her disclosure as Angie scribbled the name down, as if she'd betrayed her friend.

‘You've done the right thing, Denise.' I touched the back of her hand.

Her eyes latched on to mine again, full of anxiety. ‘When can I see Mikey?'

‘I promise to let you know.'

We were about to leave when the living-room door swung open. Simon Thorpe was a very different physical specimen to his wife: medium height, thin, with black hair and penetrating blue eyes. Everything about him was hard-edged and definite, the opposite of her dreamy softness. His pallor and the shadows under his eyes suggested that he spent most of his days indoors. It was only when his smile animated his features like a light bulb that I realised why his wife had been drawn to him.

‘Sorry, I've been with a client. Did you want to see me too?' He had a soft West Coast American accent.

‘Your wife's helped us already. She's answered all our questions.'

‘Nothing I can do?'

‘Not today, but thanks for the offer. We'll come back if we need more information.'

‘To be honest, we were upset about Mikey not staying here. He needs to feel safe until Clare's found.' His face tensed with concern.

‘We can't allow that yet, I'm afraid,' Angie said.

‘We want the best for him.' His gaze intensified. ‘Please keep us informed. He should be with people he loves.'

‘Of course, but I promise he's getting excellent care,' I replied.

The couple looked anxious as we prepared to leave. Denise's fingers clutched mine tightly as we shook hands goodbye, her husband's expression sober. It interested me that the couple hadn't made eye contact once during the exchange, and I guessed that their relationship was being tested by Clare's disappearance. It made sense that they would be frantic about the disappearance of such a longstanding friend, and anxious about the welfare of her child. The abduction was having a ripple effect; the people closest to Riordan touched in different ways by her absence.

Angie called in the news about Sam Travers immediately, as if he was bound to be the culprit. She talked nonstop on the drive back, updating me on her private life. She was waiting for the results of her detective inspector exams, her husband's construction business was booming, and they were planning a holiday to Mauritius. I was an expert on Angie's home life by the time she dropped me at London Bridge, but why Clare Riordan had been taken remained a mystery.

B
urns was hunched over his desk when I found him that afternoon. His tie was slung over the back of his chair, dark hair in need of a comb, his jaw rimed with stubble. I did my best to ignore the jolt of attraction that arrived out of nowhere.

‘I hope you called me here for something urgent, Don.'

He rose to his feet. ‘You wanted to see Clare Riordan's sister. She's not best pleased about being brought in again.'

‘Has anything else happened?'

‘We've had three more sightings of a couple by the copse where Riordan went missing.'

‘Reliable witnesses?'

‘A teacher, a nurse and a fitness trainer, all out walking their dogs or jogging. They were too far off to give much detail; but we know a man and woman in dark clothing were hanging round the spot when Clare was taken. They were seen inside the copse, sitting on a bench.'

‘Life just got more difficult then. Couples are harder to spot; they can pass as normal so easily. You heard the news about Riordan seeing someone called Sam Travers?'

‘Tania's chasing it.'

‘Have you got anything on her sister?'

He glanced at a computer printout. ‘Clare took an injunction out against her this summer for harassment.'

‘Never a great sign of affection.'

Burns updated me as we walked to the interview room.
Tania's team had been busy checking the records of Clare Riordan's patients to see if any had complained about malpractice, but nothing had emerged yet. The IT boys were still checking her phone and email records, and Angie had been sifting her professional and social contacts for likely suspects. She had also tracked down the six staff Clare had sacked at the Royal Free, but they had scattered across the country looking for work. All except one had firm alibis. Angie had made an appointment for us to interview the only one still living in London at the end of the week.

I shifted my attention back to Eleanor Riordan's fact sheet while I waited in the corridor. She was thirty-nine, a freelance sales consultant living in south London, a stone's throw from where I'd grown up; she owned a flat in the Paragon, an elegant sweep of Georgian houses on the edge of Blackheath. The file shed little light on her conflict with Clare, sparking my curiosity when the door finally opened.

Eleanor Riordan looked so eerily like her sister that I did a double take. She had the same sleek brown hair drawn into a ponytail, oval bone structure, and amber eyes that reflected the light. It looked as if she'd been at a business meeting; a well-tailored suit hung from her slim frame. Despite their difficulties, Clare's abduction seemed to have ruined her peace of mind. Everything about her looked brittle, facial muscles stretched tight over high cheekbones.

‘Thanks for coming, Ms Riordan.'

‘I don't know why I'm here.' She shot me a hard stare. ‘They've questioned me already. I've got nothing more to say.'

‘Mikey's very upset at the moment; I'm keen to talk to people close to him. Perhaps you could tell me about his relationship with Clare?'

‘How would I know? She stopped me seeing him last year.'

‘Can you explain why?'

‘She told the police I was bothering her, but I just wanted a rational conversation.' Her arms folded tight across her chest. ‘After our mother died, Clare took over her house – lock, stock and barrel. She said it had been promised to her.' The anger in her voice rose with each statement. ‘That's an outright lie. I think she destroyed Mum's will.'

‘But you own a flat in Blackheath now, don't you?'

‘That's irrelevant.'

‘The case has been running for two years?'

‘I don't even know if Michael got my birthday cards. My boyfriend thinks I should let it go, but blood's thicker than water, isn't it?'

Her reference to blood pulled me up short. So far Burns had kept the abductor's grisly calling card out of the news, by issuing the finders with a gagging order. ‘Can you explain why the property means so much to you, Ms Riordan?'

She stared back at me. ‘My sister was always my parents' blue-eyed girl – smarter and more confident. But I loved it there, playing on Clapham Common with friends after school, even though Clare acted like I didn't exist. She did everything in her power to prove she was better than me.' Riordan's nonverbal communication continued in the silence that followed. Her jaw had locked so tight it looked as though she might never speak again.

‘Did things improve as you got older?'

‘Mikey brought us together for a while. I loved babysitting for him, but Clare was already angling for the house, putting pressure on Mum.'

‘That sounds painful.' Her face was tense with anger. ‘Could you tell me about your job, Eleanor?'

‘I advise international pharmaceutical companies on sales strategies.'

‘I bet that keeps you busy.'

‘It does.' She almost managed a smile. ‘My job involves quite a lot of travelling.'

‘Do you still hope to see your nephew?'

‘Of course, but I'd prefer my sister's blessing.' She crumpled forwards in her seat. ‘I'm not stupid, I realise she may not be found. But I won't accept it till there's concrete proof.'

‘That makes sense,' I said, nodding. ‘Is your boyfriend in sales too?'

‘God, no, he'd be hopeless. He's a novelist.'

‘Would I know him?'

‘His name's Luke Mann. He hasn't had the success he deserves.' Eleanor's tone gentled when she spoke of her partner, some of her tension slipping away.

‘Can you give me any more details about Mikey, to help me support him?'

‘He never forgets anything you say, and he's got a mind of his own. Ever since he was small he's wanted to do things for himself.'

‘You've been very helpful. Feel free to contact me if you want to discuss the case. I'm afraid we may need to talk again.' I handed her my card.

‘I don't mind.' Her eyes glistened as she fastened her coat. ‘I want her found as much as anyone.'

‘Thanks again for coming in.'

When I pressed a button on the wall, a fresh-faced uniform arrived to escort Riordan to the exit.

Burns's hands folded across the back of his neck once we were alone. ‘She's more uptight each time I see her.'

‘She knows her sister might not come home.'

‘Why would she care? They hate each other's guts.'

‘Blood's thicker than water, like she said, and unfinished business is hard to bear. Are you sure her alibi's sound?'

He looked sceptical. ‘You think she'd abduct her own sister?'

‘Family members are always top of my list, but I'd like to know more about Sam Travers and the Thorpes. Even if her lover and close friends turn out to be innocent, they can give us insights into her life. But right now Eleanor's our best fit; she seems to be at cracking point. Anxiety about the court case and all that wasted money could have sent her over the edge, or maybe losing access to Mikey made her lash out.'

‘She'd have struggled to hide her sister somewhere, dump the car, then get back to Blackheath for ten a.m. Her neighbours saw her on the forecourt then, briefcase in hand.'

I shook my head. ‘If it's a couple that abducted Clare, her accomplice could have done the dirty work. Does she live with the boyfriend?'

‘He's got a place in Camberwell. But we can't be one hundred per cent sure a couple took her, just because a man and woman were seen nearby. So far we've got no concrete proof.'

‘Eleanor seems obsessive enough to plan a campaign, if she had someone helping. Whoever took Clare knew her routine well enough to forecast exactly when she'd leave the house, and her running route.'

‘You think she hates her sister enough to hurt her?'

‘She's got a high sense of childhood grievance.' I scanned the notes I'd scribbled on my EF1 form. ‘She sees her sister as the aggressor, but she's volatile and caught up in family power issues. Clare's neighbour says Eleanor couldn't control her temper. Maybe something finally snapped her control.'

‘We'll keep tabs on her. She doesn't strike me as strong enough to harm anyone, but with the press crawling everywhere, I can't miss a trick.'

‘Clare seems like a complex character. She didn't socialise at work; her colleagues think she put ambition above personal loyalty.'

His gaze settled on my face. ‘Not like you.'

The abrupt shift of topic pulled me up short. ‘How do you mean?'

‘You work hard, but you make time for Lola, your brother, friends.'

‘But not for you?'

‘You read my mind.' He shot me a grin. ‘Cook for me tonight and all is forgiven.'

‘I'm at the safe house.'

‘Pity.' Burns scanned the wall to check that the door was shut, then his hand closed over my wrist. ‘You'll need this, sooner or later.' He placed a key on my palm.

‘You're giving me an office here?'

He shook his head. ‘It's for my flat.'

I passed it back to him. ‘There's no need.'

‘Take it anyway.'

He dropped it into my pocket, then picked up the phone that was jangling on his desk. I wanted to argue, but the station was the wrong place to debate territory. A queue had formed outside while we'd been interviewing Riordan, and I felt a pang of sympathy. Half a dozen members of his team were waiting to offload their worries.

T
he police presence had lightened when I reached the safe house; just one officer in the squad car outside, immersed in a newspaper. So many uniforms were doing house-to-house in Clapham that every spare human was needed on the streets. The tense expression on Gurpreet's face told me that he was in need of a break. The house's dark walls seemed to have squeezed the last breath of oxygen from the air.

‘He had a rough night,' the nurse said. ‘Bed-wetting and standing by the window for hours. The kid's so tired he can hardly keep his eyes open.'

‘I'll do my first night shift tomorrow.'

‘If you think he's ready. You still want social contact kept to a minimum?'

I nodded. ‘Any demands will put him under more pressure.'

Mikey was hunched in a chair in the lounge, keeping the world at bay; the TV was switched off, no external stimulus to lighten his state of mind. We would need to move to the next level fast, even though he was so vulnerable; if his feelings stayed locked inside, they would fester until his nightmares grew toxic. I knelt on the floor before making direct eye contact.

‘I'd like to stay here tomorrow night, Mikey. If you write down a list of foods you like, we can cook together.' I drew a notepad from my pocket, and a set of playing cards.

The child ignored me, his body folding in on itself.

‘Want to play Solitaire?'

It felt like a minor victory when he gave a minute nod of agreement. I dealt the cards myself the first time, to show him the rules. It seemed as though he'd ignored me, but he laid new cards on the floor with a shaky hand.

‘Good going,' I commented. ‘You're quicker than me.'

I waited until he was absorbed in sequencing the cards before speaking again.

‘It must be hard keeping your feelings to yourself. If you write some of them in the notebook, you'll feel better. I won't make you talk till you're ready. But lots of people would love to visit you: mates from school, your aunt, Denise and Simon.'

His body language changed when he heard the names, shoulders stiffening, the cards spilling from his hand.

‘It's okay. You don't have to see anyone yet.'

‘Not far now,' he whispered.

‘Not far from where, Mikey? Try and tell me what you mean.'

His eyes glazed as he stared at the wall, making me wonder
if the names I'd mentioned had triggered his fear. I carried on talking in a soothing voice, but it had no effect; by the time I left he was hunched in his chair once more, like my visit had never happened. I cursed silently as I got into my car, wishing I could pinpoint what had caused such a strong reaction. His traumatised state had me convinced that he'd witnessed something that might lead the investigation directly to his mother.

I
walked to St Katharine Docks that evening to clear my head. It was after seven when I arrived, the sight of the marina lifting my spirits. There was something heartening about the garish houseboats, side by side in their moorings, tightly packed as pencils in a box. The boat my brother Will and his girlfriend Nina shared had seen better days. The
Bonne Chance
was a Dutch barge in need of TLC, moored at the end of a jetty. When the galley door opened, Nina gave me a tentative smile. We'd seen plenty of each other in the last few months, but she still seemed gripped by shyness. Her knitted dress emphasised her slim build, cropped black hair revealing lines of tattooed script tracing the contours of her neck. She stepped back to admit me to the narrow galley. The space had an overcrowded charm, bright enamelware filling every nook and cranny, simple wooden furniture painted in primary colours.

‘Will was just talking about you,' she said.

‘Nothing scandalous, I hope?'

‘He was speculating about your love life.'

My brother kissed my cheek. ‘You're cold, Al. You'd better sit here.'

Will made room for me by the log burner. He looked in good shape. The shadows under his eyes had disappeared, and so had the ragged beard he'd worn for years. He was almost as clean cut and handsome as he'd been a decade ago,
before his bipolar disorder took hold.

‘Tell us about your new man,' he said.

‘Not till I've had a glass of wine. How's work going?'

‘Pretty good. I can make smoothies and clean toilets with the best of them.'

‘You still like the people?'

He nodded. ‘The juice bar's like the United Nations. I can say hello, goodbye and thank you in Russian, Arabic and Swahili.'