Tastes Like Fear (D.I. Marnie Rome 3) (22 page)

‘Did the man have a name?’ Marnie walked away from Toni Shepherd, who was trying hard to hear what was being said over the phone. ‘Was it Romek Malis?’

‘No name, but Amos gave me a description. Thirties, tough-looking, shaved head. Tattoos on his fingers. One of the tattoos was a bird of some kind.’

‘A hawk.’ Marnie turned to catch Noah’s eye. ‘It was Jamie Ledger.’

‘Ledger’s on my list,’ Colin said. ‘We took a statement at the scene. Do you want his address and contact number?’

‘Text it to me. I’m going to see if he’s working today. Thanks, I’ll call you back.’

‘Developments?’ Toni said, her eyes working hard at Marnie’s face.

‘Please stay outside this room, and keep it locked. DS Jake?’

In the security cabin, two men were drinking tea from a Thermos. Both looked bored when Marnie showed her badge. Neither was Jamie Ledger or Romek Malis.

‘Romek’s on nights. Haven’t seen Ledge in a couple of days.’

The other man agreed. ‘Skipped a shift yesterday. Not like Ledge, but it got me a bit of overtime, so …’ He shrugged.

‘Can I see the rota?’

‘Help yourself.’ He nodded at a clipboard of pages, tea-stained.

Signatures, scribbled. Times in and out, illegible in places. ‘J. Ledger’ was printed on the list for yesterday’s shifts, no times or signatures. Earlier in the week, he’d signed in and out for a number of shifts, including the one during which May’s body was discovered.

‘Is there an electronic version of this?’ Marnie asked.

‘Ask Aaron, he’s in charge.’

‘Where can we find him?’

‘Riverside,’ a jerk of the head, ‘taking deliveries.’

‘Ledger is down for a shift this afternoon. What time would you expect him?’

‘Any time now. He eats lunch here, uses the bog before he gets started.’

Something in the man’s voice made Marnie ask, ‘That’s unusual?’

‘He scrubs up here, carries his stuff around in bags like his missus kicked him out.’

‘Did she?’

A shrug. ‘He doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t talk about much. That’s Ledge.’

The foreman, Aaron Buxton, had a similar story. And a gripe. ‘He dumped us in it when he didn’t show up. We’ve tightened security just like we promised. We need him here.’

A barge was unloading breeze blocks from the river. Buxton’s broad face was shiny with sweat under a hard hat. He wore a business suit with steel-toed boots. Short, stocky build but his hands were thin, almost womanly.

‘Did he call in sick?’ Noah asked.

‘No, not a dicky-bird. Walked off site just after you finished questioning him and he’s not been back. I was going to report it if he didn’t show up today, but he still might.’

‘Do you have a contact number?’

‘In the files, sure.’

‘Did you call him when he failed to turn up to work yesterday?’

‘Personally? No. I’ve got my hands full. But the agency will’ve chased him for sure.’

‘We’ll need a contact at the agency.’

Buxton took out his phone and thumbed through a list for the name and number. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’ He eyed the barge, shifting his weight between his feet, looking harassed. The whites of his eyes were lemon-tinged, like a drinker’s. ‘Only we’re behind schedule.’

‘We’ll wait,’ Marnie said, ‘to see if Ledger clocks on. I’d like a contact number for another of the security crew. Romek Malis.’

‘The agency …’ Buxton looked distracted. ‘They’ll have details. At least Malis is reliable. He’s on nights, hasn’t missed a shift yet.’ He slipped his phone back into his pocket. ‘Neither had Ledger, until now.’ Eyeing Marnie and Noah as if they were to blame for his diminishing workforce. ‘A thing like this makes people twitchy. I didn’t think Ledger was like that, what with being in the army. He must’ve seen worse, stands to reason. And he needed the work more than most. Just as well the agency’s got plenty of names on its books. I liked Ledger, but we can’t hold jobs open for long. We need reliable people, like Malis.’

‘Why did Ledger need this work more than most?’

‘He was in a hostel, trying to get back on his feet. This job was good for him, that’s what he said. But we can’t hold jobs for people who don’t show when they’re expected. Especially not now, with security the way it is and running behind schedule.’ He nodded towards the barge. ‘Sorry, but I’m needed. Stuff to sign. Call me later, if you need to.’ He reeled off a number, which Noah logged in his phone. ‘Let’s hope Ledge shows up for his shift.’

Marnie and Noah waited another twenty minutes, until it was evident Ledger wasn’t going to clock on. They’d put a call through to the agency and were expecting a message back from the woman who’d chased Ledger when he failed to show up on site yesterday. The phone number he’d given in his police interview wasn’t working.

‘He’s gone. Don’t you think?’ Noah turned up the collar of his coat against the wind pushing in from the water. ‘He found the body. He was told to stay in touch. But he’s gone.’

‘Let’s wait in the car.’ Marnie walked away.

Noah followed. ‘You spoke with him on the night. Did you pick up any vibe?’

‘Anything to suggest he might run, or have a reason for running?’ Her voice was terse. ‘No.’

She was blaming herself, Noah thought, but he knew she wouldn’t have let Ledger go if there was even the smallest suspicion that he was their killer.

Her phone rang as they reached the car. ‘DI Rome. Yes, that’s right … I see. Can you tell me which number you tried to reach him on?’ She unlocked the car and got in. ‘Thank you, and the address you have? No, go ahead. Stockwell. Yes, I’ve got it. No, he didn’t turn up for work. Yes, I’m sure Mr Buxton will. Thank you.’

She ended the call, and started the engine. ‘They haven’t been able to get in touch with him. They have the same number he gave us. Same address, too. Paradise House in Stockwell.’

‘A hostel?’ Noah asked.

‘Let’s find out.’

32

Paradise House was a converted paper mill with narrow windows repeated at intervals, too many for much privacy inside and each one caked with the city’s dirt. Not a place Marnie would have wanted to call home.

Noah must have felt the same, saying, ‘Christ,’ as they climbed from the car.

Marnie buzzed to be let into the hostel, showing her badge to a CCTV camera in case it wasn’t as dead as it looked. After eight seconds, the door opened and they went inside.

Mould, was the first impression. Creeping green and black patches on the ceiling, and on the carpet tiles. Spores in the air. Her lungs didn’t like it. Somewhere underneath the damp was the dry scent of papyrus from when the building housed paper instead of people.

A door banged at the end of the corridor and a woman strode out. Blonde hair swept into a French pleat, navy suit, heels. She flashed a smile at Marnie and Noah but didn’t stop, leaving the building by the front door, disappearing up the street. At first glance Marnie had mistaken her for a member of staff, but she was a resident. Her smile was the giveaway: a chipped front tooth and too much breath freshener. How many more of the residents could pass for professional people? Jamie Ledger had fooled Marnie during their conversation on the day of May’s murder. Smoking coolly, scoping her out like a piece of kit. No clue that he was homeless. No chipped teeth or bad breath.

‘Can I help you?’ A man in his fifties came down the corridor towards them, his face schooled to an expression somewhere south of helpful. Short and round-hipped, with dishwater-blond hair, fleshy cheeks and lips. In a green body-warmer over a red shirt, bleached jeans, hi-top trainers. His lanyard ID said simply,
Staff
.

Marnie showed her badge, introduced Noah and asked if there was somewhere they could talk in private. The man’s expression didn’t alter. ‘Which one is it, Arkinstall?’ He walked them to an office. ‘He hasn’t been here in two nights. We reported it to his probation officer.’

‘Did you?’ Marnie waited to see what else he’d say.

The office was small, smelling as bad as the rest of the place, a black fan of damp on its ceiling. Filing cabinets locked with a vertical bolt, a desk with a computer and a wire tray for post, orange plastic chairs with scuffed seats, moth-eaten carpet the colour of bile. The man sat behind the desk, pointing Marnie and Noah at the other chairs. ‘Residents are issued with a tenure agreement and a set of house rules. The rules are there for a reason, not for our amusement.’

‘Which rule did Arkinstall break?’

‘No smoking except in their own bedrooms.’ He pointed a finger to where a laminated copy of the house rules was pinned next to a poster for an addiction support group.

Had he laminated the rules himself? A labour of love, perhaps.

‘How many bedrooms do you have here?’ Noah asked.

‘Thirteen for men. Seven for women.’ A first flicker of emotion curdled his face. Distaste, or just inconvenience? ‘Segregated, of course.’

‘I imagine that makes it tricky.’

‘Arkinstall didn’t think so. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

Marnie said, ‘I’m sorry, we didn’t catch your name. Mr …?’

‘Welch.’

‘We were hoping to speak with one of your residents. Jamie Ledger.’

His eyes widened. ‘Ledger? That’s why you’re here?’

‘That surprises you?’

‘If he’s in trouble. I didn’t think he was the sort.’

‘You saw a lot of him? Enough to form a good opinion?’

Welch scratched at his cheek. ‘He was quiet, followed the rules. We didn’t see a lot of him, but that’s a good sign, generally speaking.’

‘Is he here now?’

‘Might be. We don’t ask residents to sign in and out, unless they’re on probation.’ No curiosity in his face. No questions, not wanting to know why the police wanted to see Ledger.

Marnie said, ‘How many staff do you have here?’

‘A minimum of two, plus a night security officer.’

‘Could you show us to Mr Ledger’s room? We’d like to speak with him.’

Welch gathered up a set of keys on a numbered ring and led the way down the corridor, where the mould was having a field day. Marnie saw Noah’s face pinch shut, his profile narrowing. ‘You have a problem with damp,’ she told Welch.

He didn’t argue, just quoted from the rulebook again: ‘This is only ever meant as a temporary step on the way back. The aim is always independent living.’ As if the mould was doing the residents a favour by giving them an incentive to step up, get out.

Ledger’s room was locked.

Welch knocked, waited, knocked again. Then called, ‘I’m coming in.’ He unlocked the door, pushed it wide with his arm at full stretch, keeping his feet firmly in the corridor. Another house rule? Protecting Ledger’s privacy, or anticipating trouble?

The room was empty. Thin curtains pulled shut, a small table and a single bed made with military neatness. No wardrobe, not even a locker. Holes in the skirting board had been filled with plaster and bits of raw wood. The light bulb hanging from the ceiling was red. No lampshade, just a cobwebbed black cord. Imagine lying on the bed – a sagging divan, stained up its sides – trying to read, with the room lit red and the damp curling the paper away from the walls. Marnie couldn’t have done it. She thought of the efficient way in which Ledger had rolled his cigarettes, smoking each one to a shred of paper. Standing with his shoulders back, sweeping her with his stare, all watchful attention. Precise, orderly. No doubt he’d slept in worse places than this, but from choice?

I’d forgotten what a pit London is.

What had it done to his dignity to call this place home? To check in and out with the addicts and ex-offenders? Just another face for people like Welch to blank, stripped of his identity, all notion of comradeship obliterated by a tenure agreement dictating when he could and couldn’t lie under a red bulb breathing in mould spores. No control over any of it, after his life had been all about control, routine, orders. Just Welch’s house rules, no smoking except in your own room.

Ledger hadn’t smoked in here. No trace of tobacco, no shreds of paper. Nothing.

Marnie hadn’t expected to find him here, but she’d hoped for some clue as to where he might have gone. She was out of luck. ‘Was he friendly with any of the other residents? Someone who might know where we can find him?’

‘I’ve never seen him talking with anyone. Mind you, he isn’t here much of the time. Comes and goes, keeps himself to himself, knows better than to get comfy here.’ Welch’s tone said he wished more residents shared Ledger’s attitude. ‘He spoke with the volunteers sometimes.’

‘Do you have many volunteers?’ Noah asked.

‘Quite a few. I can get you a list if you need one.’

‘Thanks. And we’ll need to see the contact details you have. Ledger’s next of kin and so on.’

Welch nodded. Even now he had no questions, his face the same empty mask he’d worn when they’d arrived. Perhaps it was a necessity. His camouflage against intimacy, or pity, or aggression – any of the things that might make his job more difficult, more human.

‘He isn’t here much of the time,’ Marnie said. ‘What did you mean by that?’

‘Just what I said. He’s here enough to justify the room, but he doesn’t
live
here.’

‘So where is he living?’

‘No idea.’ Welch looked surprised by the question, but uninterested in its answer. ‘Just glad he’s got the good sense not to try and put down roots here. That’s the thin end of a fat wedge.’

And a short route to aspergillosis.

‘One last question,’ Marnie said, ‘for now. Is there anywhere else on the premises where residents can leave their belongings? Lockers, or a safe?’

‘This is it.’ Welch indicated the stripped-down room. ‘If it’s not in here, he took it with him.’

33

Aimee

See that row of windows to the right of the power station, the place with the flat roof? That’s a hostel. I spent a couple of nights there, before I met May. The whole place stank of damp and I stayed up all night with my bed jammed against the door in case someone decided they liked the look of me. You can laugh, but plenty of people liked the look of me, before Harm.