Inspector Dave McDonald rubbed his tired eyes. Three more hours of his shift to go. Things were quiet and he was catching up on paperwork. Filing reports on stabbings and robberies wasn’t the best fun but at least he wasn’t rushing around after gangs that seemed to multiply in members by the minute.
Shirley Palmer, his sergeant, popped her head over the top of his computer, her short dark hair styled to the side.
‘Tea?’
He smiled shyly.
‘I’ll get it,’ he said. ‘You got it last time.’
‘Nah, I’ll make it. I know how I like it.’
‘So do I!’ he said. ‘Two sugars and a centimetre of milk.’
‘There’s an art, there’s an art.’
He rolled his eyes. She always made his tea too weak but he would never say. He would quietly drink it. Working on the go had made him learn to like tea made any which way. There was only one greasy spoon that did it right, run by gangsters, and made the traditional way.
He tried not to watch Shirley’s legs disappear to the kitchen. He had a strict rule to treat her like a man. If only her eyes weren’t so deep and thoughtful. He reasoned with himself. They would never be an item, it was good to work with someone you like, and thoughts like that were for the bedroom only. The bedroom alone at night while she was probably out with a sexy lesbian having a great time.
As he filed the mug shot of a drug dealer, the phone rang to say there was a job. An elderly lady had gone missing. Poor woman, she most likely had Alzheimer’s. They’d find her wandering up the motorway, or more likely run over.
Shirley came back with the weak tea.
‘Only a pinch of milk, just how you like it,’ she said.
‘Thanks Shirley. Looks lovely,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a case come through. Elderly lady missing. Disappeared to go shopping and never came home. The warden at the sheltered accommodation called us.’
‘Aw,’ said Shirley. ‘It’s sad when that happens. She probably had a heart attack on the way home.’
‘Something like that,’ said Dave.
They drank their tea without saying a word, then headed out to visit the warden.
The sheltered accommodation was roomy. The warden showed them the communal areas.
‘Each flat has its own kitchen as most residents aren’t completely disabled. It’s mostly people whose families won’t take them in when they get too old to run a house. Some of them, between me and you, are a little cantankerous and you can sort of see why they’re not with their children.’
He nodded at Dave.
‘And Mrs Mckinckley? Is she known to be that way.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to say, not without knowing where she’s got to.’
He nodded at Dave.
‘Did she show any sign of dementia?’ asked Dave.
‘Oh no!’ said the warden. ‘Not at all. In fact she was bright as a button. She was finding it difficult to walk that was the only thing. Which is why we’re all so worried.’
‘She might have fallen?’ asked Shirley.
‘I’ve called all the hospitals,’ said the warden, ignoring Shirley and talking to Dave. ‘There’s no sign of her. And it was so strange, the way we found her shopping trolley round the corner, all full of shopping, and no sign of her.’
‘Why is that strange, in particular?’ said Shirley.
‘Well,’ he said, looking at her for the first time. ‘She couldn’t walk without it. It was a shopping trolley that acted as a Zimmer, you see. It’s just so peculiar. Where could she have got to?’
Dave looked at the ground. It did seem unusual.
‘There’s a bit of scrubland nearby, isn’t there?’ he said.
‘Yes, except it is cordoned off where they’re about to build some flats. It used to be open with trees but they’ve cut them all down now. They’re ready to build.’
‘We’ll take a look,’ said Dave. ‘Thank you for your time.’
Dave and Shirley headed over to the scrubland, which was now a building site, surrounded by wooden boards to keep out the public.
‘So she walked from Camberwell shops. She got here. And then she abandoned her Zimmer and disappeared without her shopping. Does it seem like a robbery to you? Perhaps if she was as difficult as the warden seemed to say, then she stood up to a thief and got herself hurt. Do you think?’
‘Might be worth checking the CCTV.’
They looked up to see that the CCTV in that part of the road had been taken down for building works.
‘There’s one on this corner,’ said Shirley. ‘We could check her movements from the shops to here.’
‘Good idea,’ said Dave.
Dave called the station and asked them to get the CCTV ready for their return. They jumped back in the car and made their way back to the station.
The CCTV showed Mrs Mckinckley walk slowly from the shops, around the corner, and then no further.
‘So we’re looking for possible muggers,’ said Dave.
They watched a couple of people pass her and carry on.
‘If only she wasn’t such an early riser. Everyone else is just thinking about shopping. They’re not coming back again already.’
‘Wait,’ said Shirley. ‘Watch this van.’
‘Oh my God. It seems like it is following her,’ said Dave.
‘Then look. It stops. And fast forward, the next we see it, it drives off the same way it came.’
‘And it came from the exact spot where there’s no CCTV, the exact spot where Mrs Mckinckley’s shopping trolley was found. Let’s get the reg.’
They zoomed in but the image was blurred.
‘Can you make out that registration number?’ asked Dave.
‘Nope,’ said Shirley. ‘And London is full of vans exactly like that one. It’s the most popular make.’
‘Do you think it’s a set up?’ asked Dave. ‘Family? The warden said she wasn’t friendly with her family.’
‘Inheritance perhaps?’
‘Why else,’ said Dave. ‘Bloody families.’
As he said it, his personal mobile rang.
‘And here we go,’ he said. ‘My mother is ringing.’
Shirley smiled.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said.
Dave answered.
‘I’m just at work at the moment, Mum,’ he said.
‘Well, when am I meant to catch you then? You seem to work all hours.’
‘Nature of the job I’m afraid,’ he said.
‘You know about next Tuesday?’
‘No, what is it?’ he said. ‘Look I haven’t got long.’
‘It’s the anniversary of your brother’s death. We’re lighting Chinese lanterns in the park.’
‘Oh Mum, you know I won’t be there.’
‘But he was your brother.’
‘He was a no good heroin addict who died the way he was meant to.’
His mother went silent.
‘I’m sorry to say it, Mum. I know he was your son, but as far as I’m concerned there’s nothing to celebrate about his life. I just want to get on with my life.’
‘What life? You’re divorced. You work all hours. You haven’t got a life.’
‘Can’t argue with that. Look I’ll call you next week. Hope it goes well with the lanterns and all that. I’ve got to go.’
Dave hung up. He tutted to himself. He didn’t want to hurt his mother but she needed to realise Stephen was dead and that was the way it was meant to be.
Shirley came in and banged a full mug of tea on his desk, spilling it on his paperwork.
‘I heard you,’ she said.
‘About my brother, you mean. Yeah, drug addict, died a long time ago. Overdose.’
‘I didn’t mean that. Lord, if I spoke to my mother like you just did. Well. I don’t know what she’d do. Have respect. She’s your mother for God’s sake.’
‘Sorry Shirley but you have a different family to me. She encourages it.’
‘Poor woman’s lost her son and might as well have lost the other too,’ said Shirley.
‘OK, OK,’ said Dave. ‘I’ll send her some flowers.’
Shirley sucked her teeth.
‘And I’ll call her too. Soon as I get home.’
‘Thank you!’ she said.
Dave sipped his tea, cupping his hand to collect the drips. She was right. Shirley should be his boss not the other way round. There was a silence in the room that made him feel uncomfortable.
‘Don’t you ever miss your brother?’ said Shirley.
‘He got into drugs when he was fifteen. I lost him then. The fact that he died when he was eighteen makes no odds. I don’t ever think of him.’
‘I’m an only child so I wouldn’t know about siblings.’
‘Yeah, you’re not missing much,’ said Dave.
‘Tell you what,’ said Shirley.
‘What?’ said Dave.
‘I’ll buy you a kebab,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I feel bad. I spilt your tea.’
‘Yeah, that’s worth a disciplinary, I can tell you.’
She smiled.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a break and go after a juicy doner.’
Dave nodded and got up from his desk.
At the kebab shop, Dave sat on a red plastic chair and watched Shirley order food. He sighed a deep sigh. Straight girls just don’t strut like that. If only he was a woman.
As Shirley sat down, the kebab shop worker nodded to another customer. Dave watched. It was a signal to him. He was letting the customer know they were police. He raised his eyebrows at Shirley. She nodded and leant forward across the table.
‘Dealer?’ she whispered.
They turned and looked at the customer. His face fell.
‘Laters,’ the man said before walking out and scurrying off down the street.
‘Nah,’ said Dave. ‘Probably a punter with an eighth on him. Dealers don’t run unless they have to.’
‘Ah well, maybe we can eat his dinner,’ said Shirley.
‘Salad and chilli sauce?’
Shirley put her thumb up.
‘Lots of chilli,’ said Dave.
There was quiet again as they ate. A companionable silence now as they concentrated on eating without getting food on their laps. Shirley was better at it than Dave.
‘Shit,’ he said.
He picked up a piece of lettuce dripping in sauce that left a red mark on his grey trousers.
‘What’s next, boss?’ asked Shirley, in between mouthfuls.
‘Ah. We get right inside Mrs Mckinckley’s children. Three girls. All live local. Find out what dosh she had hidden, and who inherits.’
‘Do you really think they may have done something to her?’
‘We’ll probe and see, but let’s first exhaust all the missing person possibilities.’
‘Excellent,’ said Shirley. ‘Sounds like a plan. I’d better tell the Chief what we’re doing.’
‘He’s useless. He’ll sigh and drink more whiskey. He doesn’t care.’
‘It’s procedure.’
‘If you want,’ said Dave.
Shirley rang in to the station.
‘We’re concerned about a missing lady,’ she said.
‘And?’
‘I just wanted to keep you up to date with our movements.’
‘Thank you Sergeant Palmer. Go ahead.’
‘Thanks sir.’
After delivering a short summary Shirley hung up.
‘Was he slurring his words?’ asked Dave.
‘I’m sure that hip flask is a myth. How would he keep his job?’
‘Friends in high places, no less.’
They decided to visit the children in order, eldest to youngest.
‘My money’s on the middle child. Always the middle child,’ said Shirley.
‘Eldest usually inherits. Eldest has more children than the others,’ said Dave.
‘You’ve got inside information!’
‘Yep, eldest has three children, middle has two and youngest has none.’
‘I’m still with the middle.’
Dave and Shirley arrived at a terraced house in Peckham. A woman wearily opened the door.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘Police,’ said Dave. ‘We’ve come about your mother.’
The woman broke down in tears.
‘Have you found her?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Dave. ‘Not yet. I must warn you at this point to expect bad news.’
Shirley drew breath.
‘We are very sorry,’ she said. ‘Often we do expect the worst. Perhaps we can come in to get a few more details for our inquiry.’
Dave followed the two women down a dark hallway and into a spotlighted kitchen.
‘Mum’s great. We all see a lot of her,’ she said.
‘All the sisters get on with her well?’ asked Dave.
‘Yes. She’s a great mum and a fabulous grandmother.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dave. ‘We have to ask this. Did your mother, I mean, does your mother, have any savings?’