Down Among the Dead Men (13 page)

“Was he at work, then?” Diamond asked in the car.

“She didn't say. I've no idea what work he does.”

He looked out of the window, “Management, I should think, if he can afford to live here.”

Midhurst is an affluent market town with a rich history and a low crime rate. Diamond assumed this branch of the Mallin family had come up in the world, so it came as a surprise when the car pulled up at the edge of a field on the northern outskirts. There was a gate with a rutted approach that a tractor might have used.

“Are we there?”

“This is where the sat nav brought us,” their driver told them.

“Those things aren't infallible.”

“I can see something white through the hedge,” Georgina said. “Take a look, Peter.”

He was wary. As a townie, he mistrusted fields. You never knew what they contained. Something white could be one of those enormous Charolais bulls. He thought about delegating the job to the driver who had brought them to this unlikely spot, but perhaps it wasn't enough to make an issue about. He stepped out and looked over the gate.

The white was a static caravan alone in the field. Grey breeze blocks had been used to stabilize it. A wooden set of steps was in place in front of the door.

The Mallin residence?

He opened the gate and went over.

A woman answered his knock. About fifty, blonde, overweight, anxious-looking. “You'll be from the police? Come right in.”

“Hang on. I'll fetch my boss.”

In this compact home they didn't need to be detectives to tell no one else was in. “Barry won't be long. I called him,” Cherry Mallin told them after they'd made themselves known and perched on stools in the kitchen area. “When you called I was hoping you might have news of Joss, but you say she still hasn't been found. We're at our wits' end.”

“Does she have a mobile?” Georgina asked.

“Turned off.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“More than five weeks.”

“Where does she live?”

“Here with us. I thought you knew.”

“We're not from the local lot,” Diamond said. “Does she have her own room?”

She pointed to a door. “It's poky, but we manage.”

“May we look?”

“Go on. The ones in uniform already went through it and took some stuff away, like the laptop. Nothing left, really.”

She was right. It was a minimal, impersonal space with a bed and hanging canvas storage space with six shelves which housed the rest of Joss's possessions, make-up, clothes, shoes, a few paperbacks. Diamond could imagine how Hen would feel if she saw this pathetic little collection.

“After the divorce, Barry insisted she moved in with us,” Cherry Mallin said. “She wasn't able to support herself. We had a nice house in Pretoria Lane. We sold it and bought this box on wheels and paid for everything, the divorce, the rehab and the repayments. She'd borrowed heavily from loan sharks.”

“What's Barry's job?” Diamond asked, thinking the man couldn't be all bad.

“Pest control. He's out in the van all day killing things.”

“You need a strong stomach for that.”

“I don't know about his stomach, but Barry's strong-minded, that's for sure.”

“And is Joss his only daughter?”

“From his first marriage. He prefers Jocelyn, by the way.”

“Thanks. And what does she prefer?”

She gave a faint smile. “Joss. Barry associates the word with joss sticks and the hippy life we want to wean her away from.”

Diamond added narrow-minded to his mental dossier on Barry. “I hadn't thought of that. She was quite a rebel as a teenager, I gather.”

“She had a difficult start, her mother dying when she was only twelve. Barry met me about a year later and we married quite soon, which wasn't easy for Jocelyn to accept.”

“I understand. Who'd choose to be a stepmother? How do you get on these days?”

“Reasonably well. She calmed down a lot after we all moved here.”

“It can't be easy, three of you in a confined space.”

“Everyone who lives in a caravan has to face that.” She seemed to have accepted the change in their lifestyle remarkably well.

“So what do you think it was that caused her to take off?”

“We're not sure. She didn't say anything to me. There wasn't an argument. The police seem to know what it was about—I mean the ones who searched her room—but they weren't saying much. Barry has heard since that his sister Henrietta is in some kind of trouble and it's connected to that. We can't understand why because Barry hasn't seen Hen for twenty years and neither has Jocelyn.” She stopped for the sound of a vehicle outside. “This will be him.”

So much of Barry's reputation had preceded him that there was quite a frisson of tension while they waited for the door to open. Short, pale and skinny, he didn't live up to his billing until he spoke in a clipped, aggressive tone with a tilt of the jaw. “What's all this, then? Any news?”

Georgina decided to assert herself. “If you mean news of your daughter, no, we've heard nothing more.” She went through her usual ponderous introduction. “Thank you for taking time off, Mr. Mallin.”

“It had better not be time wasted,” he said. “I've had it up to here with police people treating us as if we don't have a right to know why my own daughter is missing.”

“We're all agreed on the need to find her urgently,” Georgina said.

“So you issued a warrant for her arrest. What's that about?”

Georgina cleared her throat. “Haven't you been told? Her DNA was found in a car used to transport a murder victim.”

“I was told that much. This was all of seven years ago. Why this sudden interest in Jocelyn?”

“It comes from information that only recently came to light.”

“You're telling me her DNA was found in this car in 2007 and you've only just done anything about it?”

Peter Diamond was getting impatient. This was all wrong. Georgina shouldn't have been on the receiving end of the questions.

“There was a delay in tracing the DNA to Jocelyn,” Georgina said.

“Oh, come on. A delay of seven years?” Mallin said. “How much confidence can be placed on evidence that's been lying around all that time?”

Diamond chose now to say to Georgina, “If I may, ma'am.” And without waiting for an answer, he turned to Mallin. “Let's deal with what concerns us all—your daughter's disappearance. Your wife has said Joss—Jocelyn—gave no hint to her that she was leaving. Just for the record, can you confirm the same?”

“I've been through this with your people already,” Mallin said.

“First, they're not our people. We're acting independently of the Chichester police. And second, be aware that you're assisting a high level murder enquiry.”

The few choice words had a seesaw effect on the exchanges. “You've got to make allowance. I'm under stress,” Mallin muttered and then said, “Ask whatever you want.”

“I already did.”

“About Jocelyn leaving? We had no clue. I gave her a lift into town to the job centre and arranged to meet her at lunchtime and she didn't turn up. I waited almost an hour, tried calling her phone. Nothing.”

“How was her state of mind?”

“No different from usual.”

“Did you speak in the car on the way to Chichester?”

“Very little. She was listening to her iPod.” As if he'd given the wrong impression he added, “It doesn't mean we're not on good terms. You can ask my wife.”

“So when did you report Jocelyn as missing?”

“The same day, about eight in the evening. There was a time when she would stay out unexpectedly, or come back very late, but that was years ago. When she came to live with us after the divorce, we came to an understanding. These days if she's not home by early evening there's cause for concern.”

“When you say ‘came to an understanding' you mean you made rules?”

“They were necessary.”

“But she doesn't always keep them, right?”

Mallin glanced at his wife. “There was one incident about three years ago.”

“The fight outside the club?”

“An isolated event.”

“It must have been serious for her to have received an official caution. That's when the DNA was taken. And you're going to tell me you don't understand how it took three more years for her to be linked with the murder case. That's why the assistant chief constable and I were called in.”

“I was led to believe my sister Hen is implicated.”

“Who told you that?”

“One of the detectives who came here. He said she's been suspended.”

“We've spoken to your sister, Mr. Mallin, and I can assure you she's as concerned as you are for your daughter's well-being. She's helping in every way she can. Getting back to Jocelyn, do you know of anyone who might wish her harm?”

He shook his head. “We've thought and thought.”

“Her ex-husband?”

“That bastard? He married again and moved to some tax haven. If you ask me, he wouldn't be back unless there was money in it, and he got most of mine at the time of the divorce. One look at Jocelyn's present circumstances and you wouldn't see him for dust.”

Diamond had been watching Barry Mallin for any sign of what was really going on in his head. Here was a controlling man who had raised a daughter who had rebelled, got into trouble and turned his world upside down. He'd sold just about everything he owned to rescue her and pull her back into line. Now he was faced with another huge family crisis. How had he dealt with it? Was he responsible for the disappearance of Joss?

“Do you think she decided to go into hiding now that the DNA evidence has come to light?”

“What are you suggesting—that my daughter is a murderer?”

“I'm suggesting she's frightened of what might happen now.”

“She has no reason to be if she's innocent.”

“This is the crux of it, Mr. Mallin. We don't know if she's innocent. The car with the body inside was stopped on a road near Chichester. The driver claimed he'd stolen it in Littlehampton and saw the driver walk away—a figure in a hooded jacket. Could that have been Jocelyn? We don't know, but we can't discount it. Did she wear hooded jackets at eighteen? A lot of youngsters did.”

“I can't remember that far back.”

His wife said, “To be honest, she did go through a hoodie phase about that time.”

Mallin glared at his wife and said, “So did a million other teenagers. It doesn't mean a bloody thing.”

“I expect you gave a description to the police.”

“We did. She won't be wearing the same stuff now.”

“She's five foot five and really slim,” Cherry Mallin said, at pains to be more helpful than her husband. “She has red hair that she usually wears in a ponytail. And she always has a silver ring on the second finger of her right hand. It's not valuable, but it belonged to her mother.”

Her husband said, “They're not interested where it came from.”

“Are you self-employed?” Diamond asked.

“What's this about? I pay my taxes, same as anyone else.”

“But you work for yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Dealing with all kinds of pests from fleas to foxes?”

“I don't see what this has to do with Jocelyn.”

“You carry your equipment in the van I see outside? The usual poisons, I suppose? Traps? Bait? Do you have a gun?”

Barry Mallin frowned.

“It's not unreasonable,” Diamond said. “You'd need to kill gulls and pigeons. We can check for a firearms licence on our computer if you'd rather not say.”

“A twelve-bore I rarely use.”

“In your van?”

“Inside a locked cabinet of regulation size. Is that all right with you?” Mallin said in a spasm of anger. “Now can we talk about what you're doing to find my daughter?”

“You haven't met your sister Hen in twenty years, I was told,” Diamond said.

“That's a family matter.”

“We're here to discuss family matters. Hen is under suspension because she failed to follow up the DNA report linking Joss—sorry, Jocelyn—to the murder we were speaking of. You may not have been told this, but she put her job on the line for Jocelyn's sake. She can't believe her niece was involved in the shooting of a man everybody seems to have liked and respected. I'm telling you this because I think you should know she refused to let the family feud stop her from doing what she perceived as the right thing. Her employers perceive it as the wrong thing, of course.”

To his credit, he looked surprised, if not humbled. “I didn't know that.”

“But my colleague and I have to keep an open mind, which is why we ask awkward questions. Here's another one: did you own a gun in 2007?”

He frowned. “Long time ago.”

“Mr. Mallin, I want an answer.”

Now he gave an impatient sigh. “I was in a different job then, trading in antiques.” He paused. “Okay, there was good weekend shooting to be had at Goodwood. I can't afford it any longer.”

“So you kept a gun and your daughter might have had access to it?”

“That's ridiculous. She wouldn't have the faintest idea how to use one.”

“It's not rocket science,” Diamond said.

“This is not just ridiculous, it's offensive. She's done stupid things in her time, but she's not a murderer.”

“Pity she isn't here to tell us herself.”

14

M
el couldn't possibly tell the others. They'd cut her into small pieces if they found out. She'd had a suspicion ever since the first day back that something had gone hideously wrong and now she was on the trail. Miss Gibbon was officially a missing person and she felt driven to find out more.

Logically, she needed to start in school. The problem here was that the person in the know was the head who insisted staff matters were not to be discussed with students. No use asking her why Miss Gibbon had left. A more subtle approach was needed.

On Monday mornings the head actually did some teaching, the one fixed point on the timetable, RE to the year sevens. The memory of those dreaded lessons was seared on Mel's brain. It was all about discussing what the head called “issues” and even the shyest children were expected to have an opinion and contribute. She'd suffered. When the finger pointed your way there was no escape.

But year seven's misfortune was Mel's opportunity. The school secretary, the well-named Mrs. Bountiful, known as Bounty throughout the school, dealt with every enquiry she could while the head was teaching.

“I'm afraid she isn't available until later, dear,” she said when Mel looked into her office. “Is it something I can help with?”

“That would be brilliant. I'm hoping to get in touch with Miss Gibbon, who taught me art, but she left.”

“Miss Gibbon?” Her face changed from the usual ever-present smile to a guarded, almost pained look. “What's it about?”

“We didn't get a chance to thank her for all the things she taught us.”

“Well, that's a lovely thought, but it won't be possible now.”

“I was wondering if you could let me have her address.”

“I'm not allowed to give addresses to anyone.”

Mel needed a stronger reason. Think, think. “She was especially kind to me.” In desperation she came out with a statement that was pure invention. “She lent me a book on perspective and I didn't have the chance to return it.”

“What a shame.”

And now she had to embroider the lie if it was to serve the purpose she needed. “It's a beautiful book signed by the author, who must have been one of her college lecturers, I guess, because it has a nice inscription, ‘To Connie.' I think that's her name.” Under this pressure, Mel was discovering creative talent she hadn't dreamed she possessed. “There's a personal message with it.”

“How unfortunate. Between you and me, Melanie, we don't know where Miss Gibbon is now, or I'd offer to send the book on for you. Let me see.” Bounty worked her keyboard. “No, all I have is her last address and we know that isn't current because mail has been returned from there.”

“Could you let me have it?”

“I just explained. She isn't there any longer.”

“So you won't be breaking any rules if you pass it on to me.”

“What use is an old address?”

“Someone there may know. I feel so guilty hanging on to the book.”

Bounty sighed. “This is in confidence, my dear. The head was faced with an impossible situation at the end of last term. Miss Gibbon left at short notice and hasn't been in touch since.”

“Should I speak to the head about it, then?”

“Absolutely not. That's the worst thing you could do. Don't speak to her or any of the staff.”

“What am I to do, then?”

“Take it from me, you're not going to find Miss Gibbon.”

“But it won't hurt for you to give me her old address. Please.” Mel started edging around the desk for a sight of the computer screen.

“What on earth . . . ?” Outraged, Bounty grabbed the screen and twisted it out of range, eyes blazing. This was a side of the so-called unflappable school secretary Mel had never seen before. “Get out of here, girl, or I'll report you.”

The unpleasantness in the office left Mel shaky and troubled. It had been out of all proportion to the simple request she'd made. True, she'd overstepped the mark trying to see the address, but Bounty's reaction had been totally over the top. It only added to the mystery and made her more concerned about Miss Gibbon. What was the “impossible situation” the head had been faced with?

One thing was clear: it was no use asking for help from anyone in school, staff or students. They were united in opposition to the poor woman.

Better think again.

Meanwhile the rest of the A level group were still fixated on one topic.

“How old do you think he is?” No need for Ella to say who she was talking about.

“Under thirty.”

“That's obvious. I'd say twenty-six maximum.”

“Ask him.”

“Get real. You can't ask a teacher what age he is.”

“Does it matter?” Mel said.

“Of course it matters. We know almost everything else about him from his website, like where he went to art school and stuff, but there's nothing about his age.”

“Ask Ferdie, then. He won't mind telling us.”

“Perfecto. Great suggestion. He's friendly. I'll ask him Saturday.”

“While you're at it,” Ella said, “ask him when the next party is.”

“He told me,” Jem said. “It's when there's a full moon.”

“Like when the werewolves come out?”

A chorus of howling started up.

“He was winding you up.”

“He wasn't, I'm abso-fucking-lutely sure. He's honest. He tells you straight when you ask him.”

“What parties are these? I haven't heard about them,” Naseem said.

“They're not for the likes of us,” Jem said. “Regulars only.”

“Why? Are they, like, doing drugs?”

Jem shook her head. “When Anastasia told us about the parties I asked if they smoked pot and she was really shocked. Then for a laugh I asked if they were into orgies, and she was like, ‘If they were, I'd stay away.'”

Shrieks of laughter.

“I'd stay away as well,” Mel said. “Imagine an orgy with Geraint.”

“If it's not sex or drugs, that doesn't leave much to be secretive about,” Jem said. “I guess it's just heavy drinking.”

“Do they think we don't drink?” Ella said.

“This is about Tom's job, most likely. He'd be in deep doo-doo if the school got to hear we were drinking. I don't blame him. You can be sure one of us would get rat-arsed.”

“Ella,” somebody said at once, and got laughs.

Ella spun around. “What do you mean? I can hold my drink.”

“Like you did at the last prom when you threw up over that boy's shoes?”

“Give me a break. That was yonks ago. Wouldn't it be wicked to crash one of the parties?”

Nobody spoke. Just because someone says jump in, you don't want to be the first.

Finally Jem said, “Like put it on Facebook and get thousands of kids along?”

“That would be so uncool,” Ella said. “I'm not suggesting we should be mean to Tom. I'm thinking just ourselves. After they've had a few drinks they won't care who turns up.”

“What would you wear?” Jem said. “Your goth gear?”

“Naturally.”

“Count me out,” Naseem said. “This could be so embarrassing.”

“How about you, Jem?”

Jem shook her head. “It's not my scene.”

“Nor mine,” Mel said.

“We know that, scrubber,” Jem said quick to deflect any criticism. “Your scene is some greasy-spoon caff in the back streets of Bognor.”

No one was brave enough to come to Mel's defence. The put-down, like so many others, seemed to speak for everyone.

“What a load of wimps,” Ella said. “Haven't you ever crashed a party before? Sounds like I'm on my own.”