The Outcast Dead (30 page)

A giant tower.

Clough performs a screeching hand-brake turn worthy of the boss himself. How the hell is he going to get near
the bloody place? Everything’s pedestrianised and cobbled and shut off with bollocking bollards. After driving into two dead-ends he stops, frustrated, in the middle of the road. He’s in the historical centre of Norwich, all boutiques and oldy-worldy pubs. He’s practically parked in the front porch of one such place, a crazy lop-sided building, criss-crossed with ancient beams. A woman is glaring at him from the doorway. Clough raises his hand in apology and starts to back out. As he does so, he looks up at the sign. It shows a deer-like creature bearing the pub’s name upon its curly horns.

The Red Hart.

*

‘I’ve got to go,’ says Ruth.

Frank stares at her. ‘You can’t. Martin wants to shoot the sequence again.’

‘I’ve got to. I can’t explain but it’s about the missing child. My friend’s child. Do you know where Dani’s staying?’

‘Dani? No. Why?’

‘Who would know? Please Frank …’ Suddenly she realises that she’s holding his arm, squeezing it tight. ‘Please. It’s important.’

‘Aisling would know.’ Aisling is Dani’s assistant.

‘Where is she?’

‘Up at the castle I think.’

Ruth is running through the crowd of extras, oblivious to Martin’s furious shouts. She runs back along the bridge and arrives panting at the castle doors. Where can Aisling
be? She’s usually one of those people who’s everywhere at the same time, popping up at Dani’s shoulder with briefing notes, shooting schedules, cold drinks. How can she have chosen this moment to disappear?

‘She’ll be in the production office,’ says a voice behind Ruth. She hadn’t even realised that Frank had followed her.

‘It’s along here. By the make-up room.’

He leads the way into the castle.

*

Nelson hoots his horn impatiently. In defiance of all the signs telling him not to, he has driven across the bridge – scattering startled extras – and has parked in front of the castle entrance. A sign on the wooden door says, ‘Silence. Filming in progress.’ Nelson gets out of the car and looks around disapprovingly. The place seems to have been transformed into bloody Disneyland. There are lights and cameras everywhere. The castle grounds are full of people. Someone is selling drinks and burgers from a van. It’s like the Golden Mile. Don’t they know that there’s a child missing?

‘Excuse me,’ says a voice. ‘You can’t park here.’

Nelson wheels round. An earnest-looking youth with a clipboard is looking at him rather apprehensively.

‘Police,’ says Nelson briefly. ‘Who’s in charge?’

The youth now looks terrified. ‘Martin. He’s the assistant director. But you can’t just …’

‘Take me to him,’ says Nelson.

*

Ruth doesn’t think she has ever run so much in her life. Not since, as an extremely reluctant schoolgirl, she was forced to go on cross-country runs in Eltham Park. She pounds back over the bridge with Frank at her side (not even out of breath, she can’t help noticing) and into the Castle Mall, the modern shopping centre that has sprung up beside the fortress.

‘Shall I get my car?’ Frank had asked.

‘No,’ said Ruth, ‘we’ll be quicker on foot. I know where it is.’ But now she wonders if she spoke too soon. Norwich town centre is a mixture of old and new, the streets turning back on themselves, ancient timbered houses crammed next to modern shop fronts. The shops are shuttered now and the streets are empty apart from a couple of rough sleepers who look at them curiously. Ruth jogs on, looking down at Aisling’s scribbled directions. The Red Hart, near Maddermarket.

They are going uphill now. Who said there were no hills in Norfolk? Ruth stops, clutching her side.

‘We should be close,’ says Frank. ‘She said it was in the old part. These look like fourteenth-century gables. Beautiful.’

But just at the moment Ruth can’t see anything beautiful about the old city. The jutting gables seem oppressive, the little alleyways dark and sinister. She imagines it in the time of the plague, raw sewage running in the gutters and doors marked with a red cross.

‘I think it’s this way,’ she says.

Another cobbled street but this one is blocked by a car
parked diagonally across the road. Ruth swears, trying to edge past it but Frank grabs her arm.

‘Ruth! Look!’

He’s pointing. Shining his torch on an inn sign creaking in the breeze above them.

The Red Hart.

They burst into the reception area and there, clearly berating the woman behind the desk, is a dark heavily built man.

‘Clough,’ says Ruth. ‘What are you doing here?’

Clough hesitates and, not waiting for a reply, Ruth rounds on the receptionist.

‘Have you got a Dani White staying here? Danielle White?’

‘White?’ says Clough sharply.

‘Yes,’ says Ruth. ‘Dani White. I think she’s got Michael.’

‘I can’t just show people into guests’ bedrooms,’ says the receptionist.

Clough gets out a card. ‘Police. Open the room. Now.’

The woman looks absolutely terrified but she takes a key from a drawer and leads the way towards a staircase.

‘Isn’t there a lift?’ asks Clough.

‘It’s a listed building.’

They follow her up three twisting, uneven flights. Clough takes the stairs two at a time but Ruth is out of breath long before they get to the top. Frank is still following her. On the landing, the receptionist fumbles for the right key. ‘Hurry!’ says Ruth. ‘Please hurry.’

Finally the room is open. Clough and Ruth burst
through the door, Frank and the receptionist following. The room is low-ceilinged and attractive, with mullioned windows and floral wallpaper. It also contains a baby’s cot, a four-poster bed and a reproduction of John Sell Cotman’s famous painting ‘The Devil’s Tower.’

Clough turns on the receptionist. ‘So there is a baby staying here.’

The receptionist backs away. She’s young, barely more than a teenager. ‘She said he was her nephew. She was looking after him for a few days.’

‘Don’t you know that a child went missing three days ago? Don’t you read the papers? Listen to the news?’

The girl puts her hand to her mouth. ‘Was that the baby …’

‘Didn’t you ask how she suddenly came to have a child?’

‘It couldn’t be her,’ the girl says, ‘I mean, she’s to do with TV, isn’t she?’

Not for the first time Ruth reflects on the corrosive magic of TV. Dani was trusted implicitly by the hotel staff, just because she was bathed in its reflected glow. Clough looks as if he has more to say on the subject but suddenly Frank shouts, ‘Ruth!’

They all turn towards him. He’s pointing out of the window. Ruth, peering round Frank’s arm, sees a
courtyard, obviously now a car park, and a woman putting a baby into the back of a white car. The woman is wearing a jaunty woollen cap.

‘It’s her,’ says Ruth.

‘Come on,’ Clough bounds out of the room, Ruth on his heels.

Outside, they are just in time to see the white car disappearing around the corner. Clough leaps into his car and Ruth runs around to the other door. ‘Call the boss,’ says Clough, starting the engine. Ruth hasn’t given a thought to Frank but, suddenly, there he is, opening the back door and throwing himself onto the seat as the car lurches forward. ‘Who’s that?’ asks Clough, not looking round.

‘He’s a historian,’ says Ruth.

Clough laughs. ‘Just what we need. A bloody historian.’

*

Nelson is having a trying time up at the castle. The man called Martin, a nervous bearded type, denies any knowledge of Liz Donaldson.

‘I don’t know the names of all the extras. There must be hundreds here tonight.’

‘Someone must know. Isn’t there a list?’

‘Aisling’s got a list. Aisling!’ He looks around rather helplessly. ‘Aisling!’

A woman emerges from the scrum of cameras and people carrying trowels. Nelson recognises her but without much enthusiasm. It’s Shona, Ruth’s nutty friend, wearing an extremely short skirt and and expression of avid curiosity.

‘DCI Nelson! What brings you here?’

‘Business,’ says Nelson shortly. He’s never had much time for Shona and he can see her loser of a boyfriend hovering about in the background. Still, Shona might at least know where Ruth is. He asks. Shona responds with a laugh and a hair toss.

‘Ruth? Oh she was around here somewhere but I think she’s gone off with her boyfriend.’

‘Boyfriend?’

‘Frank, the historian. Have you met him? He’s charming. You’d like him.’

Nelson is wondering how to disabuse her of this notion when his phone rings. Ruth. Thank God for that.

‘Ruth! Where the hell are you?’

Ruth’s voice sounds tight and strained. ‘Nelson, we think we’ve found Michael. Dani’s got him. The producer. We’re chasing them now.’

Nelson leaves Shona standing and starts to run back towards his car. Why the hell did he leave it at the end of the bridge? Once again, he scatters film people right and left. Someone swears as they almost drop their camera.

‘Who the hell’s “we”?’ he pants into his phone.

‘Me and Clough. Oh, and Frank.’

‘Put Clough on the phone.’

‘He’s driving.’

‘OK. I’m on my way. Where are you heading?’

‘Towards King’s Lynn.’

‘Tell Clough to put his tracker on.’

Nelson has reached his car. He is about to put on the siren but has another thought. He calls Ruth back.

‘Ruth, tell Clough to keep it low key. No sirens. It’s just possible this woman may be returning Michael to Judy, like she did with Poppy. We don’t want to spook her.’

There’s a muffled consultation. Then Ruth says, ‘Clough says he doesn’t think she’s spotted us.’

‘Good. Keep me updated. I’ll pick up your route and follow.’

Nelson drives back across the bridge. Parked by the grass he finds the two squad cars that answered his earlier call for backup. Nelson dispatches them both to Castle Rising but tells them not to approach Judy’s house. ‘Just lie low until you hear from me.’ He’s finding these precautions very irksome. His instinct is to get into his car and scorch after the suspect. But it’s over an hour’s drive from Norwich to King’s Lynn, if that’s where they’re heading. He has some time and he must use it. He can’t afford to get this wrong.

Luckily Clough’s car is one of the few in the force equipped with a tracking device. Nelson gets the coordinates from the station and sets off in pursuit. Ruth’s right. They’ve taken the main King’s Lynn road. Using his hands-free, he calls Tanya. He tells her to go to Judy’s and prepare her for some news. He knows it’s a risk sending a police officer to the house because it could spook Dani if she’s watching, but, after all, both Judy and Tanya were present when Poppy was returned. Maybe it’s a good omen.

Once he’s clear of Norwich, the roads are dark and mercifully empty. It’s only eleven o’clock but people go to bed early round here. At this rate he’ll catch up with Cloughie. God, he wishes he was the one doing the chasing. And what will happen when they catch up with the woman? Who’s going to talk her down, persuade her to hand Michael over? Clough’s a good copper but subtlety isn’t his strong point. And he’ll be hampered by the presence of Ruth and Frank. Why the hell has Ruth brought that bloody TV bloke with her? Why is she even bothering with all this TV stuff when she should be staying at home and looking after Katie? It’s irresponsible, that’s what it is, gallivanting about with Americans, leaving her daughter with that nutty Clara (Nelson has reasons of his own for disliking Clara).

He jumps guiltily when Ruth’s name appears on his incoming calls.

‘She’s taken the turning for Castle Rising.’

So Dani is taking Michael home. As long as nothing happens to make her change her mind. Nelson presses down on the accelerator.

*

Cathbad, Darren and Judy are watching television. Thing lies at their feet, occasionally sighing heavily. Thing has developed a real passion for Judy, watching her all the time and whining whenever she leaves the room. Really, thinks Cathbad, he has heard of familiars acting out their master’s wishes but this is ridiculous. He himself is careful never to be alone with Judy. He even tries not
to look at her too much but he’s conscious of her all the time. Now the space between them on the sofa seems charged. Cathbad almost imagines that he can see little pluses and minuses hovering in the air. He knows that if he were just to stretch out his hand he could touch her hair, that strand that has escaped from her ponytail, he could …

He jumps up. ‘Anyone want a cup of tea?’

It seems that over the last three days they have done nothing but drink tea and watch television. The mere action of filling the kettle is comforting, giving the impression that something, at least, is being achieved. Liquid is reaching boiling point, hot drinks are being made. Setting out the cups, finding sugar for Darren, waiting for the water to boil; in those minutes Cathbad allows himself not to think, except about whether he should bring in a plate of digestives. Even being in a separate room is a relief. The kitchen, with its shiny new cabinets, is pleasantly sterile in contrast to the teeming emotions in the rest of the house.

And the television is a life-saver. Sitting in front of the news or a turgid sitcom they don’t have to speak. They watch late into the night – nature programmes, re-runs of
My Family
, Open University tutorials, political discussions, ancient horror films. Cathbad knows that, for himself, they all merge into one, a ghastly stream of consciousness involving Robert Lindsay chasing vampires through the
Question Time
studio. But it’s a hell of a lot better than having to talk. Darren seems to accept Cathbad’s presence
in the house without question. In fact, the whole situation is so horribly surreal that it doesn’t even seem odd that the three of them are there together, sitting side by side, watching endless television. Darren doesn’t seem jealous of Judy’s relationship with Cathbad but, Cathbad reflects sadly, there’s really nothing to be jealous of. Apart from that first moment when Judy had flung herself into his arms she has treated Cathbad exactly as she treats her husband – as if he’s not there. Thing is the only one that she treats with any affection and he responds in kind, leaning against her legs and looking up into her eyes. Most of the time he ignores Cathbad completely. Cathbad feels that he deserves this but it’s hurtful all the same.