Authors: Val McDermid
‘Too soon to know. But she’s not Carol Jordan, that’s for sure.’
‘That’s not exactly informative.’
Paula picked up her bag. ‘Later. You have patients, I have my back to cover.’ She stood up, put a hand on Elinor’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll send Torin over. See you when I see you.’
T
he rain had sloped out of a steel sky all day, relentless and depressing. He’d noticed it only intermittently, there being no window in his eyeline at work. Rain would have been a nuisance when he’d been waiting for the last two. There hadn’t been anywhere unobtrusive to shelter. But this time, there was no problem. On the other side of the street from Tellit Communications HQ was a row of fast-food outlets. Subway, McDonald’s, an indie café that promised the best roast in Bradfield. As if. He’d started off in McDonald’s with a cheeseburger and made it last half an hour. Next, he stretched a chocolate chip cookie and a Diet Coke to forty minutes. Where the hell was the woman? Didn’t she have a home to go to?
The irony of that last thought forced him to stifle a giggle. The home he was planning for her was very different from the one she’d be going back to tonight. If she played her cards right, if she made him happy, she could have a new life as well as a new home. If not, she could pay someone else’s debt and join the others. His first one and the one before that, the one who should have been his one and only. Of course, he knew he might not need this latest one. But chance had dropped her in his path and he wasn’t a man who failed to answer when opportunity knocked. He had a feeling the one he had now wasn’t going to measure up and it was as well to be prepared for that eventuality.
He crumpled his napkin into a ball and stood up, about to move on to the café when he spotted her, tripping down the hallway from the bank of lifts. She crossed the foyer with an unexpected spring in her step. Most people dragged themselves wearily out of the office after a long day, but this one had a bounce to her. That was what had caught his eye in the first place, before he even registered she was a perfect fit. She looked like someone who was heading towards something worth waiting for. He made a point of storing that lustrous image away in his memory. That was what she’d have to replicate for him, if she was going to have any chance of survival.
She paused on the threshold, opening a folding umbrella. He pushed through the customers to the door, eyes fixed on his target, heedless of the complaints of the ones who’d been in his way. They were irrelevant. All that mattered was keeping her in view. By the time he made it on to the street, she was halfway to the corner. He moved a little faster, closing the gap, but careful not to get too close. He pulled his beanie hat further down over his forehead, tucked his chin into his scarf and checked the glasses with their clear lenses were still in place. It was amazing how much difference small things made to a man’s appearance. People noticed the externals, not the essentials. Not that he was planning on doing anything that would get him noticed. But there were closed-circuit cameras everywhere in the city centre. He wasn’t taking any chances.
She turned left at the end of the street, into the early evening bustle of Bellwether Square. Again, he speeded up, not wanting to lose her in the crowd. She wasn’t tall and he worried that he might lose sight of her. It wouldn’t wreck his plans, not in the long term. But it would be an inconvenience and he hated inconvenience. He needed to find out where she lived and he didn’t want to waste another evening on something so basic.
She veered off to where the tramlines formed one side of the square and walked up the ramp to a tram stop, closing her umbrella as she gained the shelter of the canopy. He hung back until she’d chosen her spot on the platform, then daringly walked right up behind her. She didn’t even glance at him as he approached, head down against the weather. It amazed him how these women walked in the world with no understanding of the threats that were everywhere. Sometimes he felt he radiated power as tangible as the heat rising from a log fire. How could they be oblivious to him? Dogs bared their teeth at him, cats hissed when he held out his fingers towards them. But women were so out of tune with their environment, they just didn’t pay attention.
She’d pay attention to him soon enough, he promised himself that.
Now he was so close he could distinguish each blonde hair on her head. Sufficiently close to tell that she was a natural. No tell-tale roots here, which was as it should be. If he’d been betrayed by the thinnest line of brown, he’d have walked away. Because he was only interested in perfect matches. He wasn’t some kind of inadequate who would settle for second best. He’d been deprived of what was rightfully his, but that didn’t mean anything would do.
The tram glided into sight, the rain making its blue-and-claret livery gleam under the street lights and restaurant neon of the square. She’d chosen her spot perfectly, right opposite one of the opening doors. He stepped in behind her. She turned left, he turned right and slipped on to a jump seat where he could see her but she couldn’t see him unless she turned her head. He sighed in satisfaction. Soon he’d know everything he needed to.
She didn’t have a clue.
Marie Mather congratulated herself on getting a seat on the tram. She’d spent just over eleven hours inside Tellit Communications. For a first day, she reckoned that showed more than willing. It would probably be gone seven by the time she got in. But unlike most working women, she wouldn’t be dashing home to put dinner on the table. Marie was lucky enough to be married to a man whose Italian mother had compensated for her lack of daughters by teaching Marco everything she knew about cooking. He mostly worked from home these days, designing furniture for an online retailer, so Marie came home to freshly prepared dinners that made her feel cherished every time.
It would be something special tonight, she was certain of that. Perhaps Marco would have splashed out on a leg of lamb or a steak. Or maybe even a truffle to grate over a risotto or a pasta dish. Her mouth was watering at the thought.
She spent the twenty-minute tram ride turning over the day’s encounters in her mind. All in all, not a bad start to a new job. She knew she was there to shake things up and already she could see possibilities for change. But Marie had no plans to rush into anything. She’d feel her way in gently, get under the skin of the organisation and then start a quiet revolution that would leave them reeling. Oh yes, she had plans for Tellit.
The tram drew into the terminus, its electric motor making a sound like a soft moan of contentment. There were only a handful of travellers left on the tram, bunching together by the doors till the tram came to a smooth halt. And then she was off down the platform, heels clattering on the concrete. The rain had finally stopped, she realised as she reached street level. The air still felt thick with damp, but there was no need for an umbrella now.
Marie hurried down the street, her mind on her job, her sense of self-preservation entirely asleep. Then, struck by a sudden desire to finish the evening with a box of chocolates in front of the TV as she passed the newsagent on the corner, she wheeled round to return and almost cannoned into a man who was only a few feet behind her, his head down and shoulders hunched against the cold. Her heart leapt in shock. She’d had no notion anyone was that close.
He barged past her without a word and she was surprised by her relief when she entered the shop.
Silly woman
, she chided herself as she left a few minutes later, reassured by the empty street and the box of Ferrero Rocher tucked into her bag. Nothing more than a typical bad-mannered city encounter; what could be more normal than that?
She rounded the corner into the street where she and Marco lived, completely unaware that the man she’d almost bumped into was standing in the shadow of the house on the opposite corner, taking very careful note of Marie’s destination and wondering how many more times she’d be walking through her own front door.
O
f course there wasn’t a legal parking space in the Minster Canal Basin. Cursing, Paula slotted the car into a disabled slot and propped a sign saying ‘police’ on the dashboard. It went against the grain, but then so did getting soaked to the skin on semi-official business. She consoled herself with the thought that not many disabled people would fancy negotiating the cobbles of the canal basin in monsoon conditions.
As she headed for Tony’s floating home, she wondered fleetingly whether she should have phoned ahead. He didn’t exactly have a vibrant social life, but it wasn’t unusual for him to take long walks through the city. They were, he’d told her, a cross between sociological observation and thinking time. ‘Watch and learn, that’s what psychologists need to do,’ he’d said in an uncharacteristically frank exchange about the way he approached his work. ‘And then you have to apply what you’ve learned to what you observe.’
‘You’re better at it than most,’ Paula had commented.
‘It’s not rocket science. It’s mostly common sense mixed up with a bit of compassion and empathy. You could do it, you know.’
She’d laughed. But he’d continued, absolutely serious. ‘You’re already doing it. I’ve watched you interviewing witnesses and suspects. You might not know the theory, but your practice stands comparison with most of the clinical psychologists I’ve seen in action. Maybe you should think about applying to the national faculty and training to be a police profiler.’
‘No way,’ she’d said. ‘I get my buzz from being on the front line. I don’t want to be a backroom person like you.’
He’d shrugged. ‘Your choice. But when you do get to the point where you’ve had enough of the grind of procedure and the pettiness of the top brass, it’s an option.’
What Tony had suffered in the course of his work cast a bitter light on the conversation now. Paula had seen the destruction at first hand, and she was grateful that she had routine and procedure to cling on to among the wreckage. She wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing by coming here, but her instincts, both professional and personal, had led her inevitably to his door. Or hatchway, she supposed you’d have to call it. At least it wasn’t a late call. Shortly before seven, Fielding had sent the team home. ‘There’s no budget for overtime and until we’ve got something back from the lab and the CCTV, you’re all just spinning your wheels.’ Paula had been stunned. Overtime had never been an issue on her old squad. They got on and did what had to be done when they were in the thick of it. The theory was that they’d take it easier in the quiet spells. Only there never had been any quiet spells.
She stood on the quayside, momentarily flummoxed by the etiquette. When she’d been here before, they’d arrived together and she’d simply followed Tony aboard. But it felt somehow intrusive to climb aboard and knock on the hatch. Logically, it was no different to walking up someone’s path to knock on the door. Yet it felt wrong.
‘Get a grip, woman,’ she muttered, stepping aboard the steel-hulled narrowboat, not quite prepared for the definite movement of the deck beneath her feet. She almost stumbled, caught herself and rapped on the hatch. The top section swung open almost at once and Tony’s startled face appeared below.
‘Paula. I thought you were a drunk.’
Her smile was grim. ‘Not quite. Not yet. You get a lot of drunks dropping by?’
He busied himself with opening up to let her in. ‘Sometimes. Usually later than this. They think it’s amusing to jump on and off boats. It can be disconcerting.’ He spread the doors wide and beckoned her in with a grin. ‘And I wasn’t expecting you.’ His face clouded in a frown. ‘Was I?’
Paula squeezed past him down the galley and into the saloon. The TV screen was frozen in a scene apparently set in a deep mine. A games console lay discarded on the table. ‘No. It was a spur of the moment decision.’ She took off her damp coat and hung it on a hook on the bulkhead then sat down on the buttoned leather banquette that surrounded three sides of the table.
‘Well, it’s always good to see you.’ He sat down opposite her, then stood up almost immediately, remembering the social conventions of dealing with a visitor. ‘Do you want a drink? I’ve got coffee and tea. Orange juice. Some of that Indian lager, goes well with takeaways.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘And white wine and vodka. Though there’s not been much call for those lately.’
Carol Jordan’s drinks of choice. ‘I wouldn’t mind a lager.’
Two steps and he was by the fridge. Tony pulled out two bottles, reached up for two glasses and was back at the table in a matter of seconds. The bottle opener was in a shallow drawer under the table. It was convenient, no denying that. ‘So, what brings you here?’ he said, pouring a beer for his guest.
‘I’ve had a strange day.’ Paula raised her glass. ‘Cheers. And I wanted to talk about it with somebody who understands what I’m talking about. Because I’ve started on a new team and —’
‘And your new boss isn’t Carol Jordan and you don’t have Chris and Stacey and Sam and Kevin to bounce things off.’
‘All of that, yes. And I know you’re not on the payroll any more and I know you don’t owe BMP anything. But I suppose I’ve got used to using you as a sounding board —’
‘Even when the boss says no.’ That wry twist to his mouth again. They both remembered only too well the times they’d sneaked behind Carol Jordan’s back for what they saw as the right reasons.
Paula scowled. ‘OK, I don’t have her scruples about exploiting you. I think if you want to help, we should let you. And if you don’t, all you have to do is say no.’
‘I know. I wasn’t having a go at you, Paula. I’ve got skills and I prefer to use them rather than keeping them nicely polished on a shelf.’ This time his smile was uncomplicated but sad. ‘Besides, you’re the nearest thing I’ve got to a friend. If I can’t help my friend, what’s the point of me?’
Paula shook herself like a dog emerging from a river. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. Listen to us. What a pathetic pair.’
‘We are, aren’t we? Best get some work done and stop auditioning for
Oprah
. So, what’s been strange about the day? Apart from it being the first day on your new firm.’
And so she told him about Torin. About the unaccountable absence of Bev McAndrew and her rescue of the boy from the uncertain clutches of social services. ‘I spoke to the duty pharmacist who did the handover with her last night. Bev said nothing about any plans for the evening other than picking up some shopping on the way home. I’ve tracked down a couple of her female friends. Neither of them have heard from her.’ She ran her finger round the rim of her glass. ‘I’ll be honest, Tony, I don’t like it.’
He leaned back and studied the low roof of the cabin. ‘Let’s consider the possibilities. Not an accident or an incident involving the emergency services.’
‘I told you. I checked.’
‘I know you did, I’m just running through the options. Amnesia? Hard to believe she could have gone twenty-four hours without attracting the attention of somebody who would do the responsible thing. And besides, real amnesia is incredibly rare. Usually memory loss is connected to a head injury which would have landed her in hospital. And you’ve ruled that out.’
‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’
He held up a hand, palm towards her. ‘You jump to that conclusion because it’s what you know. In your world, murder is something that happens on a weekly basis. But that’s not how it is for most of us. Even if you consider six degrees of separation, most of us get closer to Kevin Bacon than we do to a murder victim. We need to look at more likely scenarios first.’
‘Like what?’ Paula’s jaw had a stubborn set. She knew what was coming and she’d already dismissed the other options.
‘A boyfriend – or a girlfriend – she’s gone off with spontaneously.’
‘She’s straight. But everybody I spoke to says she hasn’t been seeing anyone in the last couple of years.’
Tony leaned forward. ‘How likely does that seem to you? You described her as bright, funny, attractive. I’m assuming she’s late thirties, early forties. A bit young to be going for the life of a nun, I’d have thought.’
Tell that to Carol Jordan. How many years have you two been avoiding getting your act together?
Paula kept her face straight and said, ‘What is it the straight women say? By the time you get to thirty-five, all the best blokes are taken or gay.’
‘And by the time you get to forty, the divorces kick in and they’re looking for a second bite of the cherry. I can imagine plenty of reasons why Bev might not be shouting from the rooftops about a new man. Maybe it’s someone at work. Maybe it’s someone who’s married. Maybe it’s one of Torin’s teachers.’
Someone at work? Dan who protested too much?
‘She’d tell her best mate. Women do.’
Unless it was her best mate
…
‘Have you never had a secret love?’
Paula laughed, embarrassed. ‘Of course I have. I’m a lesbian. Half my life I’ve felt like Doris Day. But I always told my best mate.’ Then she caught herself, hand to her mouth. ‘Except when it was her girlfriend. Oops, I’d forgotten that.’
‘See?’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t have a kid. You’re forgetting about Torin.’
‘I’m not. I wanted to remind you that assumptions always have exceptions. You once had a good reason for a secret. So might Bev. But even allowing for a secret, you’re right. It doesn’t on its own account for her disappearing without a word. She wouldn’t abandon Torin without a word. Some mothers would, there’s no getting away from that. But what you know of Bev personally, from her colleagues and from Torin himself, doesn’t make that a credible proposition?’
‘She’d never leave him high and dry,’ Paula confirmed. ‘I’d say that, in some respects, he’s quite a young fourteen.’
‘But if she is seeing someone, that someone might have their own agenda here. And he might have prevented her from contacting anyone.’
Paula took a deep breath. ‘What you’re really saying is that whether it’s a boyfriend gone rogue or a stranger stalker, Bev isn’t on the missing list from choice.’
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. It was a gesture she’d seen many times before. ‘I think it’s inescapable, Paula. I think she’s been taken. What’s the official status of the inquiry?’
‘I processed Torin’s statement this morning. If they do things at Skenfrith Street like we used to do them, it’ll be actioned in the morning. I’ll brief Fielding on what I’ve done so far – she’ll kick my arse for going off on my own, but at least the formal stuff will get started. Like tracking her mobile.’
‘Everybody knows about mobiles these days. If it’s switched on, it’ll be nowhere near where Bev is.’
‘Have you got any bright ideas?’
He shook his head. ‘You’re always looking for the point of intersection. Where did Bev cross paths with the person who took her? Was it a stranger who plucked her off the street? Or was it a sexual scenario that went somewhere she didn’t want to go? Let’s face it, Paula, after
Fifty Shades of Grey
, women are a lot less wary of being tied up by men they don’t necessarily know that well. If you had Stacey, you could get her to go through Bev’s home computer. That would be a good place to start. Can you get Stacey?’
Paula looked disgusted at the thought of what had happened to Stacey Chen, the terrifyingly effective analyst she’d worked alongside in Carol Jordan’s Major Incident Team. ‘They’ve got her working on computer fraud. She says it’s like sending a Lear jet on the school run. All the forensic computer work in CID gets farmed out to private companies now.’
‘She should quit the force and set up in competition to them.’
‘Don’t think she hasn’t thought about it. But running a company would interfere too much with the programming she does in her spare time. That’s where the real money comes from in Stacey world. Besides, if she wasn’t a cop any more, she wouldn’t have the licence to go poking around in other people’s hard drives.’
‘Could you ask for a copy of the hard drive before it goes off to the specialists? Would that work for Stacey?’
‘Good idea. I’ll ask her. And if it was a stranger?’
‘You don’t need me for this bit, Paula. This is nothing but old-fashioned coppering with new-fashioned methods. Interrogating the CCTV, looking for her car on the number-plate-recognition software records, examining her Facebook page and her Twitter feed, seeing who she’s connected to on LinkedIn, checking her phone records. A profiler’s no use to you at this stage. I need data, and that’s what you haven’t got. All I’ve done is confirm your worst fears.’
‘I need a smoke,’ Paula said, standing up abruptly.
‘Just go out the back.’
‘Come with me, would you? I want to take you through the rest of my day.’
‘Will I need my coat and my keys?’
Paula’s smile promised dark mischief. ‘Only if you fancy a bit of transgression.’
Tony grabbed the waxed jacket that was hanging next to Paula’s coat. ‘For a lesbian, your knowledge of the way to a man’s heart is remarkable.