The Convenience of Lies (5 page)

‘God,
this is amazing,’ Hoare said. ‘It’s like a photograph.’

Hoare,
three stone overweight, forehead damp and prickling in the humid air, loosened his tie and struggled out of his creased suit jacket.

‘Do
you think Mum could’ve given Ruby a slap so she’s run away?’

‘Maybe…
if we’re lucky.’

‘Meaning
what?’

The
detective’s eyes narrowed as if weighing the risk of sharing his suspicions further. He led Hoare to Etta’s bedroom. It took a moment to adjust to the darkness. Benwick turned up the dimmer switch and a gantry of soft lights came on.

‘Have
a good squint… then tell me I’m wrong to be worried about Ruby.’

The
room looked part brothel, part Satanist’s den. The atmosphere was heavy with stale incense. It clung to the swags of purple velvet curtains and the richly painted burgundy walls covered with prints of waterfalls, forest sprites, winged horses. There were books on witchcraft, the Wicca religion, paganism, mythology. Lumps of sparkling crystal were arranged on an altar-like dressing table alongside a pack of tarot cards, a few black candles and carved images of symbolic Egyptian gods.

But
above Etta’s double bed - and dominating all else - was a huge print of a pentagram encircling a horned goat. Under this were the words
The thoughts attached to the real desire of the seeker will lead us to him and him to us.

‘I’m
guessing Mum’s not big in the Women’s Institute?’

‘And
maybe Ruby’s starting to look like a better story?’

‘Too
right it is. The Sunday red tops would kill to get in here.’

The
detective wagged a cautioning finger. Benwick pulled open the drawer of the bedside cabinet and scattered a dozen or so condoms across the deep red coverlet on Etta’s bed.

‘People,
Mr Hoare… who’d credit what goes on behind their closed doors?’

‘Keeps
us in work though, doesn’t it?’

‘Why
the hell do we bother?’

‘To
pay the rent. But nothing’s illegal here, is it? No law’s being broken.’

Benwick
shrugged then opened the door of Etta’s built-in wardrobe, almost by way of an answer. Hoare saw a hooker’s nurse’s uniform. The DI then emptied a shoebox full of banknotes over the condoms on the bed.

‘That’s
ten grand, give or take a fiver.’

‘So
Etta knew her ceiling professionally… but how does all this help find the kid?’

‘It
doesn’t but maybe it gives us a reason why we can’t.’

*

Benwick said he was late for a meeting so Hoare told him about the phone call he’d had from McCall and of the meet they’d arranged next day.

‘You
know him personally?’

‘Good
pal from way back. Freelance, obsessive, doesn’t do drive-by journalism, only long gropes for the colour supplements and television. His family had connections, not short of a bob or two so he can pick and choose what he works on.’

‘Bit
of a dilettanté, then?’

‘Wouldn’t
say that. He’s broken some half decent stories in his time.’

‘So
why’s he interested in Ruby? No-one else appears to be.’

‘That
could be the reason - a clear field. He’ll want to talk to you, of course.’

‘OK,
I’ll ask around about him,’ Benwick said. ‘I’ll ring you later - and don’t forget to keep the shutters down on what you’ve just seen, even to this guy, McCall.’

Hoare
was left to walk the half-mile to Manor Hill bus station, jacket over his arm in the clammy evening heat. He wasn’t any nearer to figuring out Benwick. If he wanted publicity - not least from an upmarket hack like McCall - it didn’t make sense to blank any mention of Etta’s colourful private life. That was a spread in any paper.

Hookers
began to appear along the street as Hoare passed by, conjured out of nothing
and
nowhere. They leaned their insolent derrieres against the front garden walls of once respectable Edwardian villas, smoking, waiting, painted faces alert for the next trick.

Far
in the distance, London rumbled towards dusk as the sun sank behind the reservoir’s fortress pumping station. Its alien silhouette towered into the sky like a medieval highland keep, dominating and threatening all who dwelt beneath.

Eight

McCall, unable to sleep and up before daybreak, drank tea and watched over Lexie. He still wasn’t entirely sure about her motive in reappearing in his life after so long. She’d always been self-obsessed and impulsive, driven by an almost feline instinct to do only that which made her content.

If
others benefited, fine. If they suffered, she might be upset - but not for long. Lexie could no more change these ways than the colour of her eyes. Against this, her concerns about Ruby seemed genuine enough.

Yet
for all his uncertainty, to lie with Lexie last night had been to disregard the passage of time. She was as she had been in those first insane days - a lover one dreamed about, however changed they’d become, however destructive the memory of their attraction. McCall knew he would do her bidding for reasons far deeper than he would ever admit.

Lexie
murmured something unintelligible and turned onto her left side. The blue bed sheet covering her nakedness slipped a little, exposing the creaminess of her belly till it darkened between her legs. Here was mystery just as it had always been.

He
combed the rounded firmness of her behind with the tips of his extended fingers. She woke and smiled and desired only to yield again as the moon waned and the sun rose and nature reawakened without and within. And all which remained unspoken between them was as nothing.

*

McCall drove to Essex after breakfast. Hoare was at a college in Harlow, lecturing media students about police-press relations. But he was free for a late lunch.

‘Malky,
you old fraud - still not been rumbled?’

Hoare
happily took this as a compliment. They found a wine bar and ordered a bottle of house red.

‘OK,
cards on the table, Mac, what’s your real interest in Ruby Ross?’

‘I
told you on the phone. I want to write a warts-and-all piece on every aspect of a missing child investigation.’

‘Hundreds
of kids go missing. What made you choose Ruby’s case?’

‘Because
I saw the mother and my old mate making a TV appeal to find her.’

Hoare
didn’t look entirely persuaded but trotted out the officially approved line on the Ruby investigation. He omitted the sexiest of angles - Etta being on the game and fascinated by the occult and how that might have a bearing on Ruby’s disappearance. But McCall knew Hoare rather too well.

‘I
didn’t ask for a press release, Malky. That’s for those who’ve never done you any favours in the past.’

‘I’m
giving you the official picture. That’s the truth.’

‘No,
the truth is that being a spin-doctor doesn’t suit you. You’re still a hack at heart and you know a good story when you come across one.’

‘How
do you know Ruby Ross is a good story?’

‘Because
I’ve got friends in low places.’

‘Yeah,
maybe you have but you’ve not got my problems.’

‘What
do you mean?’

‘OK,
I’ll level with you, Mac, but absolutely not for quoting. Agreed?’

‘Sure,
everything’s off the record.’

‘Right,
OK… so this case is being run by a detective inspector called Larry Benwick and on my life, he’s the least likely cop I’ve ever come across in a long march through Fleet Street.’

‘Why
is that a problem?’

‘You
must promise to keep this to yourself but I’ve a pal in the anti-terrorist squad and he’s tipped me the nod that before this Ruby job came along, Benwick had been working under cover for years.’

‘Was
he, by God? So that’s why you fronted the press conference and not him.’

‘It’s
got to be, hasn’t it?’

‘What
kind of undercover work was he doing?’

‘I
don’t know but as sure as the good Lord made little apples, he’s not adjusted to everyday police work yet. There’s an anger in the guy, only just below the surface, like he doesn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.’

‘But
why put a UC like him on a case you say doesn’t amount to much?’

‘Can’t
help you there but I wouldn’t want to cross him, I seriously wouldn’t.’

‘So
you’re accepting there’s a half decent story in Ruby’s case?’

‘You
didn’t hear this from me, but yes… and judging by the little I know, it’s a belter.’

‘Great,
now we’re getting somewhere. So tell me more.’

‘Sorry
Mac, no can do. I just daren’t. I know I owe you big time - ’

‘Then
do me this little service and we’ll call it quits.’

‘It’s
not that easy, old sport. I’m still on my uppers after the divorce.’

‘But
I’d keep your name out of everything.’

‘That
wouldn’t save me,’ he said. ‘Benwick knows about our meet today and that we’re pals. If I anything leaks, I’m out on my ear and with no way back this time.’

*

There had always been something of the monk about Lexie’s ex-husband, Evan, something austere, not entirely joyless but a man driven by a certainty of purpose.

McCall
parked outside his house, a large dormer bungalow behind a screen of willows already shedding their yellow leaves. Evan would be in his study. It looked out across the river slipping between the sloping lawn of his rear garden and the water meadows beyond and in the distance, to the spires of Cambridge where he taught.

But
Evan’s connections weren’t just academic. He had access down corridors where few others ever went.

‘Mac,
it’s been too long. You should’ve rung and I could’ve organised supper for us.’

‘Thanks,
but I can’t stay. I’m on my way home from Essex.’

McCall
was under no obligation to tell Evan that Lexie had reappeared in his life, still less that he’d become her lover again. Yet it felt right that he should, however subconscious his need for approval.

‘I
hope you survive this time,’ Evan said. ‘I wouldn’t want you hurt again.’

His
voice held neither jealousy nor resentment, only the concern of a fellow casualty. McCall told him about Ruby and how Lexie feared she could have been murdered.

‘What
an intolerable strain for her to be under.’

‘It
is, which is why I’ve come to ask if you might help.’

‘In
what way, Mac?’

‘By
making a few discreet inquiries with your anonymous friends about a detective in London called Larry Benwick.’

‘Why,
what’s he been up to?’

‘All
I know so far is that he’s just been taken off long term undercover work to run the Ruby case. I find that interesting.’

‘Couldn’t
he have just finished one assignment and been given another?’

‘Possibly,
but someone in a position to know has told me to keep digging on this tale.’

Evan
nodded but said nothing. McCall left it there. Evan was a source who could join the dots for himself.

They
walked to the front door. McCall still saw no sign of any female presence in the house save for the sterile neatness imposed by a cleaner paid by the hour.

‘Mac,
before you go, I should tell you my news.’

‘What’s
that?’

‘I’ve
bought Staithe End cottage.’

‘Say
that again.’

‘I’ve
bought the cottage.’

McCall
stared at him. After twenty-five years of knowing each other, this outwardly cautious, measured man could still amaze him.

‘How
on earth’s this come about?’

‘I
saw it advertised and I didn’t like the idea of a stranger mucking up our memories.’

‘Lexie
simply won’t believe it. She’ll be overjoyed.’

‘Then
you two should go across to Norfolk and keep the place aired for me. I’ll give you a key.’