Never Forget (17 page)

T
he door to Nottingham’s office was open, the DCI sitting behind his desk. The sunlight showed up the grey in his hair. He glanced up as I appeared in the doorway, and smiled at me.

‘Hi, boss,’ I said. ‘You OK? You look like you’ve been up all night.’

‘Come in, Nina. Shut the door and have a seat. Yes, I pretty much have been. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Jake Lloyd. You’re aware that he’s been charged and remanded for his cousin’s murder, plus charged with harassment offences against you? He’s not going anywhere. I’ve no problem with you speaking to Danny and Mark, the interviewing officers. There may be some stuff they can’t tell you, such as why he’s still refusing to admit to posting those photos.’

‘I was thinking about that. Crazy sod probably thinks he’ll get more for some sort of postal telecommunications offence than for following me for decades,’ I said.

This caused an uncomfortable silence between us for a couple of seconds until I continued. ‘Boss, I’ve got loads I need to tell you.’

I watched him shift back in his seat and place his elbows on the armrests, fingertips together. His expression was neutral. An image of a television DCI came to mind, one who would swear, shout, tell their staff to get out of their office unless they’d just nicked the murderer. Maybe that was what he really wanted to do, but, all credit to him, the bloke hadn’t slept yet here he was listening attentively to a detective
he hardly knew. I sat in the vacant chair the other side of his desk, and pulled a piece of paper out of my handbag, realising as I did so that I’d been clutching my bag on my lap. I slid the paper across to him. He studied the handwritten sheet.

‘I wrote this out last night,’ I explained, letting go of my handbag strap to indicate the piece of paper. ‘Someone stopped me in the street late yesterday afternoon. Don’t know who he was but he must have known I was a police officer ’cos – as you can see from my notes – this anonymous source said that the murderer was from somewhere in Europe and is living with a local woman. Also gave the contact number of someone who knew Daphne Headingly.’

‘You’re telling me that you don’t know the source of this information, Nina?’ he asked.

‘No, boss. White male, aged thirty or so, average height, average build, jeans, black jacket. He stopped me in Brewer Street yesterday, market day,’ I said.

‘Brewer Street yesterday, market day,’ he repeated, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

I nodded. He knew as well as I did that it was the borough’s notorious black spot known for its lack of CCTV. Cameras were planned for the next financial year.

‘And you were both on foot?’ he asked, with a hefty raise of his eyebrows this time.

‘I’d driven to the town to go to the supermarket cashpoint. Then I fancied a walk, and that’s when he stopped me and gave me that information and that phone number.’ Leaving nothing to chance, I actually had gone to town on the way back from Annie’s the previous day, in case they checked the cameras looking for my car. ‘He was on foot. Didn’t see which way he went when he left.’ I let go of the paper.

‘OK. Thanks, Nina.’

Then I hesitated. Not wanting to make trouble for Alf but feeling disturbed at having seen him with Tony Birdsall, I weighed up what I was about to say. ‘One other thing, boss. Just saw Tony Birdsall in the building.’

Nottingham looked momentarily puzzled before saying, ‘Amanda Bell’s cousin’s associate.’ He was good. So far we’d traced and spoken to something in the region of four hundred people on the enquiry, and that didn’t include the ones we were still looking for, but with only a second’s hesitation he’d found the information as quickly as the HOLMES computer system could have.

I nodded. ‘He was talking to Alf, the caretaker, in his office. They know each other. Don’t think that Alf’s up to anything. He seemed to be genuinely surprised that Tony had been spoken to by the enquiry team. Thought you should be aware.’

I examined the edge of the desk to avoid his eyes.

‘There’s something else.’ He said this as more of a statement than a question.

‘There is.’ I peered up at him. ‘You gave me a few days off. I’m grateful. But I’ll be back at 8am on Monday.’

He repositioned his fingertips against his desk edge before saying, ‘Don’t be late. We’ve a stack of work, but I want you to speak to Ray about continuing to work on this enquiry.’

I exhaled a little louder than I anticipated, so I stood up, attempting to mask the noise. ‘Oh, and Nina…’ I froze, half-crouching above the seat. ‘Give my best to Stan this evening.’

‘Thanks, sir,’ I said, heading for the door.

As I turned my back to him, I frowned as I remembered that I hadn’t called Stan as I’d promised.

Speaking to the DCI had gone as well as I’d hoped but I still had to contend with Ray. I made my way to the Incident Room to catch up with Wingsy and Laura before fighting my corner with the DS.

As I entered the Incident Room, Ray Hopkinson was standing with his back to me. I heard him say to Laura, ‘Come here, you saucy, goddess. How about I take you home and lock you in my basement?’ Laura’s face broke into
a huge grin and the others nearby began to laugh. My initial reaction was to smile, join in as I normally would. Only the circumstances weren’t normal any more. The instant Laura saw me, her grin was replaced with a sympathy smile. Ray moved to see what had drawn her attention, and the others who had gathered sloped off to do some work or turned in their chairs back to their computer screens. The only one who acted as if nothing was out of place was Wingsy.

‘Nina, you old tart,’ he said. ‘Glad you could make it. What’s with the jeans and Christmas jumper?’ I could have kissed him. In fact, I did.

‘Christmas jumper, you knobhound?’ I said. ‘It’s cashmere.’

Ray, in a quick recovery or total ignorance, said to me, ‘Ah, Nina. Perhaps you could help me out, I was just making a bet with Laura that we’ll have these murders solved within a month. If I lose she gets to peek into my pants; if she loses, she has to get her bangers out.’

‘Sounds like a win-win situation for Laura,’ I said. ‘You making tea, Wingsy?’

‘Looks like I am,’ he said, heading off to the kitchen. I indicated that I wanted Laura to follow us and the three of us piled into the tiny kitchen.

‘How have you been, Nin?’ said Wingsy.

‘I’m OK, thanks, mate. Don’t worry about me, I’m pretty tough, you know,’ I said.

‘Clearly you are,’ said Laura. ‘I had no idea about you and your sister. I’m not prying, but, for God’s sake, when you got those photos through the post you must have been beside yourself.’

I felt exhausted suddenly, and sagged against the sink. ‘It’s the clothing, Lol. That got to me the most. I just need an explanation about how he got it, and if they’re the original clothes we were wearing, or… oh, you know…’

‘Wingsy and I will find out and let you know. It was good that you’ve come back in today to catch up with everyone,’
said Laura. ‘How about the three of us grab a beer tonight and we’ll update you on any progress? Can’t really talk here.’

Wingsy broke off from making the tea, saying, ‘I’ll check with Mel. I’m sure she won’t mind if it’s not a late one.’

‘Good plan,’ I said, ‘I’m at Stan’s for a couple of days but he’ll probably be pleased if I leave him alone for a while.’

‘I’ve never met Stan,’ said Laura. ‘Do you think he’ll fancy joining us?’

‘I can always ask him,’ I said. ‘Not sure he’ll be up to leaving the house, but that’s his call.’

When the tea was made, the three of us walked back into the Incident Room. I felt we’d given them all enough time to talk about me, warn each other not to make further kidnap-related remarks, and take down anything from the boards and walls I wasn’t supposed to see. I risked approaching Ray, who was seated in a corner of the office on a bank of desks, to ask how much longer it was likely to be before the children’s clothes in Lloyd’s cellar could be authenticated.

‘Might be a while. It’s like this, sweetheart,’ said Ray. ‘Backlog at the lab, lack of funding, job’s running over budget and staff going off missing for days on end – like you. When are you back?’

‘Monday. Wasn’t my idea. Rather be here,’ I said.

‘I’d rather you were here too, you little firecracker,’ he replied with a wink.

God bless you, Ray, I thought to myself. Some would call it inappropriate behaviour on his part but I was feeling better than I had in days. There were several people sitting nearby and he was making no attempt to keep his voice down. At least, like Wingsy, Ray was treating me normally. Well, if you called sexual harassment normal.

‘What am I going to be doing? Please don’t stick me in an office. I’ll do whatever paperwork you need but, just for a few days, let me get out and about,’ I said. ‘Catherine checked my availability a few days ago for a MisPer enquiry in Birmingham. That would do – and keep me out of the way.’

I wasn’t going to grovel, but, if they didn’t let me get out straight away, I didn’t know that they ever would.

‘Yes, that’s right. A few of the team aren’t able to go due to other commitments. I’ve checked with Laura and she’s free. Perhaps you can go together and carry out enquiries around this Makepeace fella. Unless you hear otherwise, consider you’re going. Tell you more on Monday.’ He got up as his mobile started to ring, walking away while he spoke.

I saw that Laura was on the phone, scribbled her a note to say I’d call her about Birmingham and about meeting for a drink later, and went off in search of Alf. I really needed to talk to him. I had a feeling something was very wrong with our caretaker, now only five weeks away from retiring to Spain.

A
lf was unlocking his office as I turned the corner.

‘Hiya, Nina. You stalking me?’ he said as he pushed the door open.

‘No, Alf. But can I have a word?’ I asked while he put his keys back into his overall pocket. By way of answer, he stood back allowing me through the door. I felt the warmth from the furnace and figured it must be several degrees warmer in the compact room than in the corridor.

‘Have a seat. I’ll put the kettle on,’ he said, turning his back to me at the sink for a moment. I’d known Alf for years, but still found myself looking around for a wrench or hammer. I’m sure that I’d read somewhere that prolonged stress led to anxiousness producing feelings of paranoia. Explained a lot.

Covering for my wandering eyes, I said, ‘Usually a lot tidier in here. You having a clear-out?’

‘Only got a few weeks so thought I’d better start.’ He saw me apparently look towards a framed photograph
face-down
on the desk. I was actually clocking the claw hammer under it.

‘That’s me and my son, Adam,’ he said. ‘Didn’t see much of him when he was a kid. His mum took him to live up north and later on he moved to Spain.’

‘You mentioned you were going to visit him. How long’s he been there?’

‘Few years now.’ Alf moved to the cupboard, taking out cups and a tea caddy.

‘He come back often to see you?’

‘Not really. Haven’t seen him for three months now, but sometimes I get news of him from his mate Tony. Fella you saw in here.’ He picked up the milk carton from the sink and sniffed the contents. Satisfied it was fit for now, he poured a generous splash into the mugs. ‘That’s how I know Tony – through my son, Adam.’

‘Right, I see. Tony and Adam both live in Spain.’ I remembered Tony telling us that he’d flown in from Malaga.

‘That’s right. Sugar?’

‘No, thanks. Do they work together or…?’

Alf paused with his hand on the kettle and looked up towards the ceiling. ‘Do you know, I’m not really sure how they got to know each other, but I think they had a mutual friend who ran a bar out there. Turned out they came from the same area, grew up near to one another, same schools, that sort of thing. They’ve got a bar of their own there now. Doing really well, too. They’ve just bought another one, Tony was telling me. My boy’s got a villa with a pool. I’m so proud of him.’

I’d come to see Alf to tell him that the DCI would be sending someone to see him about his association with Birdsall, but it was becoming clear that he would have to be spoken to about his son too. Taking the mug of tea from Alf, I asked, ‘You mentioned his mum took him up north. How old was he then?’

Perching on the edge of the desk as I had the only usable chair, Alf held his drink up to his mouth, paused and said, ‘He was seven,’ before taking a sip. ‘It wouldn’t have been so bad, but it’s a long way from here to Birmingham.’

The word ‘Birmingham’ echoed in my brain. Something stopped me telling Alf that I was heading there in a couple of days. It was only a fleeting thought, then it was gone.

The police station tannoy summoned Alf to some sort of plumbing problem in the men’s toilets. Not usually one to leave a drink, whatever its contents, I made to get up.

‘S’alright, love, it can wait a few minutes. Let me show you a couple of pictures of me and Adam when he was growing up. I’ve got one of us in front of the children’s home on the day I went and got him. Best day of my life – apart from the day he was born. I’d taken my camera along. Brand new, it was. Got all that digital stuff now. He was only there for a few weeks, then I heard what the silly bitch had done – sorry for the language, love.’ I shook my head in dismissal. ‘Went to get him and for a short while I had him at home with me. She got him back eventually… but anyway, enough of my life story.’ He rummaged through a drawer and pulled out another framed black and white picture. It had faded slightly but showed a younger, grinning Alf with a young boy, gappy grin, terrible tank top, hair flying in the breeze. They both looked deliriously happy. The imposing Victorian two-storey building behind them, complete with turrets and a water tower, didn’t conjure up images of groups of kids playing musical chairs and painting rainbows.

The tannoy once again announced that Alf was needed immediately – presumably before we all drowned, such was the urgency of the voice. I thanked Alf for the tea and, at the door, mumbled that someone would probably speak to him about Birdsall. Some days I was such a coward.