Unti Peter Robinson #22 (5 page)

“Did he say
where
he was going on this job?”

“No.”

“Was that unusual?”

“No, not really. He doesn't always give a full account of his comings and goings. I don't expect him to. I find that sort of thing can stifle a relationship, don't you?”

Chance would be a fine thing, thought Annie. “And he said after that he might drop in on his father, even though they were on bad terms?”

“Yes.”

“Has he done this before? Stopped out all night?”

“No. Not like this. I mean, once or twice he's stopped over at his father's, if they've had a few drinks, like, and got to talking, or if it's really late. But he always phones or texts.”

“Not this time?”

“No, nothing. I've tried ringing him, and texting, but I got no response.”

“No need to worry,” Annie said. “His mobile's probably run out of power.”

“It's always doing that. Like his camera. He's not very good with keeping his stuff charged.”

“Which mobile provider does he use?”

“Virgin pay-­as-­you-­go.”

“Did you phone the farm? I noticed Mr. Lane has a landline when we were there earlier.”

Alex glanced away. “Yes. His father just grunted, like, said he hadn't seen him. Then he hung up.”

“You said that Mick Lane and his father still have a problematic relationship.”

“Michael. Yes.” Alex paused. “I can see you're both a bit confused. I think I know what you're thinking. I don't mean to be rude, but you're police, and you have a very narrow way of seeing things. You saw that Michael was on probation, that he did community ser­vice for the stolen car, and then you found out he was living with me, an older woman in a council flat, with an illegitimate child and a conviction for shoplifting. Well, you put two and two together and make . . . I don't know what. Bonnie and Clyde, maybe? It's only natural. I don't blame you. Michael's dad's the same. But it's not like that at all. I don't deny I've done some bad things, and I got caught. I don't know how I sank so low, but I did. I've had to face up to that. But ­people can change.”

“What happened?”

“Ian's father walked out on me when Ian was little. I was flat broke. Lenny took everything, even emptied Ian's piggy bank, the miserable bastard. We were hungry. They were taking ages to process my benefits. So I went to the Asda in the shopping center and started filling up my pockets. It was either that or sell my body, and I hadn't sunk that low, though don't think I hadn't received a few offers from ­people who should have known better. You soon find out who your friends are when you reach rock bottom. I thought I was being careful, you know, but they had CCTV, store detectives, the lot. Took me in a room in the back and scared the wits out of me, pushed me about a bit, threatened me but stopped short of hitting me, then they called the police. Wanted to make an example of me.” She gave a harsh laugh. “A ­couple of hundred years ago they'd have sent me to Australia, and there's some countries in the world today where they'd chop my hand off, but all I got was probation. I was lucky, I suppose. Child Care were round like a shot, of course, but I managed to hang on to Ian, if only because his dad had no interest in taking custody of him. God knows what I'd have done if I'd lost Ian. It was a bad time in my life. A very bad time. But it's over now. I only needed the one lesson.”

Pity that doesn't work for everyone, Annie thought, feeling some of her skepticism slough away. “And now?” she asked.

“I'm doing a part-­time course. Travel and tourism. Eastvale College. Ever since I was a little girl I've dreamed of seeing the world. I've got a part-­time job at GoThereNow—­you know, the new travel agency in the Swainsdale Centre—­just taking bookings for stag weekends in Prague or Tallinn and stuff. There's not much money in it right now, but when I've finished the course, if I do well, I'm hoping to start leading some tour groups of my own. Today's my day off.” She picked up a thick book about the history of Rome from the low coffee table. “Just doing a bit of homework. The history of the Coliseum.”

“Won't you be away a lot?” Annie said. “If you're leading tours. What'll happen to Ian?”

“I'll take care of Ian, don't you worry about that. Michael and I will. We'll work it out. Maybe they can come with me? Michael can take photographs for travel magazines.”

“Sounds ideal.”

Alex shrugged. “Besides, there's school, and the neighbors are great. Well, most of them. Michael helps a lot, too, of course.”

“How did you meet Michael?”

“It was a year ago. He was up at the college seeing if he could get into a photography course through the back door. He likes taking pictures. Drawing, too. He's very good at both, got a real eye. He did those.” She gestured to the photographs and drawings on the wall that Annie had thought were bought prints. The castle ruins at night. Someone, Mick's father perhaps, shearing a sheep. The river falls in full spate. A charcoal head-­and-­shoulders sketch of Alex. Annie had an eye for good art and photography herself, and these were very good indeed. She told Alex so.

“Thank you, but to be honest, he might have the talent, but he doesn't have the qualifications, not even A levels, so they turned him down. He spent too much time off school helping out around the farm when he was a young lad. He doesn't have the right equipment, either. All Michael has is an old Cyber-­shot. About six pixels. They're up to sixteen or more these days. He needs a better camera, a DSLR, with all the lenses.”

“You understand about that sort of stuff?”

Alex cocked her head and gave Annie an appraising glance. “Of course. I'm not stupid. Look, we're poor but we're not destitute, you know. We both work, when we can. We're careful with what we have—­have to be—­but he'll get a new and better camera soon, especially if he gets into college and I make some progress in my job.”

“So you met at the college?”

“Student pub. He was a bit depressed when he came in, and I was serving behind the bar—­my previous part-­time job. The place was nearly empty. I was revising for my exams. We got talking over a ­couple of drinks. He told me about his mum leaving and how miserable he was up at the farm with his dad, how he'd gone off the rails a bit, stolen a car, he didn't know why. Didn't know why he was telling me, either. Neither of us really came on to the other. . . . It just . . . you know . . . happened. It felt totally natural. I was lonely, too. I've been here with Ian now for about six years. We got the place when I was still with Lenny and Ian was two, but these past four years we've been on our own. One thing led to another. Funny, but we never thought about the age thing. ­People say I look younger than I am, and Michael looks older than he is, more mature.”

Annie glanced at the photos on the mantelpiece again. Alex was right. They made a handsome ­couple, seemed natural together, and no casual viewer would notice an age difference. “Where's Lenny now?” she asked.

“God knows. Or cares. Last I heard of him he was working on the ferries from Immingham to Rotterdam. Up to something, no doubt, some scam or other. Lenny was a loser, but it took me a long time to realize it.”

“I presume that if Michael does a lot of digital photography, he's got a computer, right?”

“We share mine. I've had it for ages, since before we met. He's just about computer illiterate. I pretty much had to teach him everything he knows. He hadn't used a computer before we got together.”

“Not even at school?”

Alex shrugged. “Maybe. He never spoke much about school. He certainly didn't know his way around a computer, anyway.”

“We might need to examine it later.” It was a delicate situation. Annie knew the rules on computers. No one but a qualified techie was supposed to touch one, and only then after it had been photographed from every angle, including what was showing on the screen and where the various devices were plugged in at the back, front or sides. Although this wasn't a crime scene, if any information gleaned from Michael Lane's computer indicated that a crime, or crimes, had been committed, then its value in court would be greatly diminished if Annie and Doug Wilson had been interfering with it first. On the other hand, she wasn't at a point in her investigation where she had any reason to bring in the CSIs and have it removed. If there was incriminating information on it, there was nothing to stop Alex from erasing everything after Annie left. She decided to have a quick look before then, with Doug Wilson and Alex Preston present as witnesses. She asked Alex if that was all right.

“It's fine with me,” said Alex. “Now?”

“Later will do. We have a few more questions first. Does Michael have a steady job at the moment, or has he managed to get into a photography course?”

“He's doing his A levels at night school, so he has a better chance of getting in college next year, if he does well, but he's still unemployed. And it gets him down sometimes. He does odd jobs to help make ends meet.”

“What sort of odd jobs?”

“Farming stuff, mostly. That's all he knows, apart from drawing and photography. But there's plenty of it about, depending on the time of year. A lot of it's unskilled, of course. Casual manual labor. Harvesting and such like. But he's got a real knack for sheep shearing, and that makes good money sometimes. But it's all so seasonal. Why are you asking me all these questions? Has something happened to him? Has he had an accident? Or done something stupid?”

“Why would you think that?”

Alex studied the backs of her hands. Annie noticed how long and tapered her fingers were, how nicely manicured and clean the nails. “He can be a bit hotheaded sometimes, that's all. When he gets frustrated. I don't mean with me or Ian. He'd never lay a finger on us, and I'd never stand for it. Not after Lenny. So what is this all about?”

“It's nothing to worry about, really,” said Annie. “His father's neighbor's farm was broken into on Saturday night. A valuable tractor was stolen.”

“Beddoes?”

“That's right. Do you know him?”

“I've never met him, but Michael mentioned him sometimes.”

“In what way?”

“He said Mr. Beddoes never liked him. Used to chase him off his land. Called him a layabout and a retard. Michael said Beddoes seems all right on the surface, but he can be a nasty piece of work when he's got a mind to be.”

“Like?”

“He told me Beddoes hit him once.”

“John Beddoes hit Michael?”

“That's right. Clipped him around the ear, was how Michael described it. Said it didn't hurt. He didn't even bother telling his dad. And once Beddoes thought Michael had been upsetting his precious pigs, chucking stones at them or something. Beddoes threatened to drop him in the sty and said they'd eat him. Michael was just thirteen or fourteen. He was terrified.”

“I see,” said Annie. “But that was a long time ago, wasn't it?”

“Not to them, I don't think. Long memories. They bear grudges.” Her eyes widened. “Maybe he's done something to Michael? Beddoes. Maybe he blamed him for stealing his tractor?”

“It's unlikely,” Annie said. “Mr. and Mrs. Beddoes didn't get back from holiday until late last night. The first thing they did when they noticed the tractor missing was call the police.”

“Well, maybe you should talk to them again? Search the premises, or whatever you do.”

“Don't worry,” said Annie, “we'll be thorough. Has Michael ever threatened Beddoes? You said John Beddoes terrified him when he was younger. Do you think he might have wanted revenge?”

“You think—­”

Annie held her hand up. “I don't think anything yet, Alex. I'm only asking. Michael's father was tending to the farm while the owners were away. I talked to John Beddoes, and he mentioned a ‘tearaway' son. His words, not mine. Frank Lane didn't speak so highly of his own son, either. Or of you. He said he'd never met you, that Michael had never brought you home for tea to meet him.”

“Ha!” said Alex. “As if we were ever invited. He knows nothing about me. To him I'm just the scarlet woman. A tart.”

Annie let a few seconds go by. “I just want to talk to Michael,” she said. “That's all.”

Alex gave Annie a disappointed glance, and for some reason, it hurt. “You're all the same, you lot. Just because someone's made a mistake once, you think they can never put things right, don't you? Well, me and Michael are doing just fine. OK? And he was here with me on Saturday night, all evening and all night, but I don't suppose you believe that, do you?”

“Why wouldn't I believe you?” said Annie. “You say you last saw him on Sunday morning?”

“That's right.”

“Do you think he might have another girlfriend, and that's where he is?”

Alex reddened, and her lower lip trembled. “No,” she said, squeezing her fists together and putting them to her temples. “What are you saying? Why are you saying horrible things like that? What are you trying to do to me? I'm already going out of my mind with worry. Stop this.”

“I'm sorry,” said Annie, “but we have to know what's going on.”

“Why don't you just do your job and go out and find Michael? He might be lying hurt somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I don't know. Just somewhere.”

“OK, I'm sorry. Calm down, Alex. We'll get to the bottom of this.”

“You're more interested in a missing tractor than in what's happened to my Michael. Admit it.”

“That's not true.”

Alex leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “Then help me,” she said. “Please help me find Michael.”

THE FRONT
gates stood wide open and a young uniformed constable waved down Banks and Gerry Masterson as they approached the airfield. Gerry came to a halt, and the officer asked for their identification. Banks didn't blame him. The young PC wasn't from Eastvale HQ, and there was no reason he should know who they were. The officer noted their names down carefully on his clipboard and waved them through. Three patrol cars and Winsome's Polo were parked willy-­nilly on the cracked concrete outside the hangar, five officers leaning against them chatting, two of the men smoking. When Banks and Gerry flashed their warrant cards, the officers all straightened up, and the smokers trod out their cigarettes. Banks glanced down at the smudges on the wet concrete, then back at the culprits, who looked at him sheepishly.