The Lost Girl (Brennan and Esposito) (11 page)

‘J
ason Lansdowne. Local bloke. Address in Essex. He matches. Result.’

Imani – and the rest of the room – looked at the young officer who had just made the announcement. The atmosphere had changed in the room, the surge of energy palpable. Like they’d all suddenly taken a jolt, become electrified. She knew what they were all thinking and feeling: breakthrough.

‘Brilliant work, DC Matthews,’ said Beresford, then turned to the room. ‘Let’s keep going. DC Matthews, come and tell me what you’ve got.’

Red-faced, he stood up, walked to the front of the room. Imani noticed just how young he was, how small. No, not small, compact. Neat. Everything in proportion, just waiting for life to fill him out. His suit was uncreased, sandy hair short and conservative, no stubble on his smooth face. He looked as if he didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or arrogant about his discovery.

‘Right,’ said Beresford, sitting down at his desk and looking up, ‘let’s be having it. What you got?’

He didn’t introduce Imani so she did so herself.

‘Detective Sergeant Imani Oliver, West Midlands. Here temporarily.’

‘Detective Constable Simon Matthews.’

They shook.

‘Waiting,’ said Beresford.

Matthews cleared his throat. ‘Jason Lansdowne. Address 46 Holloway Crescent, Leaden Roding. That’s in Essex, sir, near Chelmsford.’

‘I know, DC Matthews, keep going.’

‘Apparently he’s been missing a few weeks now. His wife notified the local force but because they live on the border with Hertfordshire there seems to have been a mix-up and the information went there.’

‘Why?’ asked Imani.

‘He, er…’ Matthews was flustered. ‘He worked in Bishop’s Stortford. Over the line. He spent most of his time that way. His wife said he’d probably be there. It was only recently that we got involved.’

‘Has he vanished before?’ asked Imani.

‘He’s got a history of it, apparently. Gets drunk and disappears for a few days. At first his wife didn’t think anything of it. But when he’d been gone for longer than a week she called it in.’

‘Tolerant woman,’ Beresford commented. ‘Has she been contacted?’

‘Not yet. We’ll have to inform her.’

Beresford sighed. ‘Hate informing the families. But I suppose as senior officer in charge —’

‘I’ll go,’ said Imani.

Beresford frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Well, you’ll be needed here. I could take DC Matthews with me. I’ve got to do something to be useful. May as well be that.’

Beresford actually looked disappointed, Imani thought. Usually a copper would jump at the chance not to have to be the bearer of bad news. So why did he seem so put out?

She studied him further. Something about him made her uneasy. A few minutes earlier, when the rest of the team had been adrenalised by Matthews’ discovery, she had glanced at Beresford and he didn’t seem to be sharing in the exultation. His reaction was more of trepidation, she thought. And that couldn’t be right. He had hidden it well, but from his expression it seemed as if he hadn’t wanted the information to be discovered and was putting a brave face on it.

She dismissed the thoughts as ridiculous. She was imagining it.

And yet he had wanted to do the death knock…

‘Fair enough,’ Beresford said, although his eyes said a different thing. ‘Off you go.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s getting late. Once you’ve done that, call it a day. I’ll want you in here bright and early tomorrow. You got anywhere to stay?’

‘Haven’t had time to sort it. I’ll find a B and B on the way back.’

Beresford nodded. ‘Go on, then.’

Imani turned to Matthews. Smiled. ‘Get your coat, mate. You’ve pulled.’

It was worth it just to see his expression.

Matthews drove. His car, some kind of Toyota, Imani noted, seemed as shiny and compact as he did. Even though it wasn’t new it seemed to have a new car smell. Same as Matthews, thought Imani, then felt slightly guilty. But only slightly.

Off they went down the A12. Patches of countryside were interspersed with industrial estates and railway lines. At times the railway ran alongside the main road, as if the cars were being invited to race the trains.

Matthews had asked her why she was there, what was her part in the investigation.

‘Phil Brennan,’ she said. ‘He’s my boss over in Birmingham. He disappeared this morning.’

‘So I heard. You think there’s a connection between that and the case we’re working on?’

‘That’s what I’m here to find out.’

They drove on. Matthews had the radio tuned locally. An Essex-accented DJ playing songs that should have been in a nursing home. She tuned out. Matthews held the wheel rigidly. It seemed like he hadn’t exhaled since he got in the car.

‘What’s he like?’ asked Matthews eventually.

‘Who?’

‘DI Brennan. He was before my time. But we heard a lot about him. Made a name for himself. One way and another.’

‘Bit of a trouble magnet, you mean?’ Imani smiled.

‘Yeah,’ said Matthews, relaxing slightly.

‘As a boss? Good. Really good. Encourages you to think outside the box, you know? Be creative. Follow procedure, but not slavishly. Be inspired. And he’s a nice guy, too. As far as I know him.’

Matthews nodded. Said nothing.

‘How’s Beresford?’ asked Imani.

Matthews hesitated before answering, seemingly choosing his words carefully. ‘He’s… well, he doesn’t sound much like DI Brennan. Quite the opposite, actually.’

‘Not much of a maverick?’ said Imani, smiling again at her choice of words.

Matthews barely smiled. ‘By the book, all the way.’ And said no more. Though from his expression, Imani guessed there was more he wanted to say.

Eventually they turned off the main road, went round winding, tree- and bush-lined country ones. The satnav directed them.

They pulled up in a small cul de sac of red-brick houses, fifties, Imani guessed, all looking ex-council, now with uPVC windows and front doors. A fair few of them had white vans parked outside them.

‘Thought that was an urban myth about Essex,’ said Imani.

Matthews frowned.

‘The white vans,’ she pointed out.

‘Lot of blue-collar workers live round here,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘Electricians, builders, that sort of thing.’

‘Right.’

He turned to her. He still hadn’t loosened his seat belt, she noticed. ‘Can I say something?’ He looked concerned.

‘Sure,’ she said.

‘Before. In the office.’

‘Yeah?’ Imani had no idea what he was on about.

‘“Get your coat, you’ve pulled.” I just wanted you to know that I’m married. That I… I don’t do things like that.’

‘Fine,’ said Imani, not knowing whether to actually laugh out loud.

‘I’m sure you meant it as a joke, but I just… didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. That’s all.’

‘Fine by me, and yes, it was a joke.’ She pointed to the door, opened it. ‘Shall we?’

He looked at her once more. This time there was fear in his eyes. ‘Can we just stay here a few minutes and go over what we’re going to say? Please. I don’t… I… this is a bad time for his wife. He may have a family. I just want to get this right. I want to make sure they have as little distress as possible.’

He looked really worried. Imani closed the door again.

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Let’s get it right.’

M
arina waited for Caitlin to continue.

‘Fiona was – according to the reports – a bright girl. Exceptionally so, in fact. It was picked up on straight away.’

‘What does that mean?’

Caitlin studied her mug, looked back up again. ‘Even the bright ones don’t always make it. Not from here, or places like it.’ She leaned forward, eyes imploring. ‘This is off the record, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘I mean, we do what we can. And there are success stories. But sometimes intellect isn’t enough. Heart isn’t enough. Drive isn’t enough. For most of the kids who go through care homes just making it to adulthood, getting a regular job, having a planned family is a result in itself.’

Caitlin’s eyes drifted away past Marina. Past the room.

‘And Fiona Welch?’ prompted Marina.

Caitlin blinked, back with her. ‘Exceptional. Like I said. She loved school. Couldn’t wait to get there.’ A small laugh. ‘Something else that marked her out. We did all we could to push her. Encourage her. And it was going well.’

Caitlin stopped. Marina picked up the cue.

‘Until?’

Caitlin’s tone changed. Harder. What warmth there had been when talking about the hope for Fiona Welch now all but gone. ‘There was another girl, apparently.’

Marina nodded. ‘A disruptive influence? Always the way.’

‘Not disruptive, no.’ Caitlin searched for the correct word. ‘More… malign. Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Malign.’

Marina leaned forward. A surge of excitement ran through her. This was it. She was on to something. This was what she had come to this place hoping to hear. She tried not to let her excitement show too much in case it led Caitlin, made her sense the way Marina wanted to hear the story, tailor it that way. Even unconsciously. She had known it happen before – experienced it – and the testimony ended up being worse than useless. ‘Malign? A kind of leader–follower thing? Like one wouldn’t have turned out the way she did if she hadn’t met the other one?’

Caitlin frowned, looked at her mug once more. As she looked up she caught Marina with a grim smile. ‘This is the trouble, isn’t it? The unreliable narrator.’

Marina was slightly taken aback by the words. Not what she had expected to hear. ‘What? I would never have called you that. I’m sorry if I’ve…’

Caitlin shook her head. ‘No, no, I didn’t mean it that way. Not you. Or me, for that matter. Well, all of us actually. I was speaking generally. We try and summon up the past, pull out our memories, thinking we’ve got a perfect grasp of the facts as they happened, we’ve remembered things perfectly. Our memories haven’t been coloured by our emotions. But they have. Or we’ve allowed the emotions of others to do the colouring. So everything’s subjective. We’re all unreliable narrators, really. In our own way.’

‘But if you’re… I don’t get it. If you’re worried about telling me something that may turn out to be incorrect, why not just check the files?’

‘I don’t have them. All I have to go on is the rumours and stories that did the rounds at the time of Fiona Welch’s death.’

‘Where are the files, then?’

‘Child Services. At the council offices. I’d have to check with them, see if they’d would allow those files to be released.’

Marina took a deep breath. Saw Phil’s face swim into her vision. Felt a tremble within her as it did so. An urgent reminder of a ticking clock. She damped it down, continued. ‘Could you phone over? See if I could look at these files?’

‘Why is that so important?’

Marina scrutinised the woman opposite her. Wondered how much she could trust her with. Came to a decision. Tell her. That way she might put her in touch with someone who could help or… ‘There’s been a woman impersonating Fiona Welch.’

Caitlin leaned forward, interested now.

‘She… long story short. She’s killed and… and abducted someone.’ Marina paused. She didn’t need to know everything. Just enough to get her onside. ‘And I’m part of the investigation looking for her. Fiona Welch was seen as a way in.’

‘Right.’ Caitlin nodded, taking the information in. ‘Right. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to put in an official request. No way round it, I’m afraid.’

‘But this is —’

‘I’m sure it is. But we can’t just let confidential records out to everyone who asks for them. There are protocols. Even in cases like this. Especially in cases like this.’ She glanced at her watch.

Marina picked up on the signal, sensed she was losing her. She leaned forward, made one last attempt. ‘Is there anything, anything at all you can remember?’

Caitlin sighed. ‘Wish there was. Sorry. As I said, most of this was before my time. My information was second-hand.’

‘Who did you get that from? Could I talk to them?’

Caitlin stiffened. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well… it’s difficult, I’m afraid.’

‘In what way?’

‘He… left under something of a cloud. He was in charge when Fiona Welch and the other girl were here. We’ve been instructed, collectively again, not to have anything to do with him. You’ll have to find some other way to communicate with him.’

Marina started to protest. Caitlin checked her watch again. Stood up. ‘I’m sorry, but…’

Realising she would get no more, Marina took the hint and left.

On the way out, Marina noticed a woman trying to pretend she wasn’t looking at her. Older than Caitlin, she looked like she worked there. Marina didn’t know whether to take any notice of her or not. The woman made her mind up for her.

‘Wait,’ she called, glancing round as Marina reached the door, checking no one else was in earshot.

Marina turned, waited for the woman to catch up with her. ‘Yes?’

‘You been in there with Caitlin? Asking about Fiona Welch? You looking for Michael Prosser?’

‘Who?’

‘Used to run this place.’ She smiled. It was even more weary than Catlin’s. ‘I worked here then, an’ all. Should have been me you talked to.’

‘Why, what would have told me?’

‘Michael Prosser’s address.’

A shudder of excitement ran through Marina. ‘Was he the one running the home when Fiona Welch was here? Caitlin said he left under a cloud.’

Another laugh. ‘Putting it mildly.’

‘And he can help me? Where can I find him?’

‘Here,’ she said, slipping a piece of paper into Marina’s hand. ‘Address.’

‘Thank you.’ Marina frowned. ‘Why are you helping me?’

‘Because I want you to give him a message.’

‘OK. What?’

Another laugh. ‘Tell him Mary hopes you rot in Hell, you fucking paedophile cunt.’

And with that she walked off.