by L M Krier
‘I’m just wondering when to dish up but I expect you’ve just run on. Give me a quick call to say when you’re on your way and I’ll have it on the table ready.’
Nine o’clock and still no word. That wasn’t like him. If nothing else, Trev should be starving by now, the earlier snack a distant memory, his stomach thinking his throat was cut.
Ted turned the oven off completely. He’d just have to flash the meal in the microwave when his partner finally got home. The popty ping as Trev had taken to calling it, now he was learning Welsh from Ted’s mother. He’d loved the quirkiness of the Welsh expression, ping oven, for a microwave.
Ted took the opportunity to phone his mother, reproaching himself that he didn’t do it often enough.
‘Sorry I haven’t had much chance to phone you of late. Work’s been a bit full on,’ he said guiltily when his mother answered the phone.
‘Don’t worry, bach, I understand about your job. Trev phones me most days. He is such a lovely young man, very kind and thoughtful.’
‘Have you spoken to him today?’ Ted tried to make the question sound casual, mundane. But his mother was perceptive.
‘Yes, he phoned me before he went out teaching. He does love it, doesn’t he? The teaching, I mean. Is there something wrong? Have you two had a row?’
‘No, no, nothing at all. I just wondered. I’ve not caught up with him yet but he’ll be back any minute. I’d better go and sort him out some supper. Nos da, mam.’
‘Nos da, Teddy bach.’
Trev was in a good mood. As he strode through the streets to where he’d left his Triumph motorbike parked and safely locked up, he was still grinning his pleasure at how the evening class had gone. He’d been teaching a particular group for some time now and they were making excellent progress. So much so that this evening they’d been learning to use the present continuous tense to express future mood.
‘What are you doing tomorrow? I’m working, then I’m going out for a meal, then I’m watching television.’
He’d always ask the same question of each person in the class, encouraging them and helping as necessary with the answer, until they all felt confident in how to form a reply. There was one young woman who had so far not uttered a single word in any of the lessons. She hadn’t even raised her head to make eye contact with him when he asked her questions, nor with any of the other students in the group.
Trev didn’t know much about the background of the people he was teaching. It wasn’t relevant, and it was up to them what they wanted to disclose about themselves. He knew some were refugees, often from war-torn regions. They would frequently be reluctant to talk much about their backgrounds. All were united in wanting to learn English to make a better life for themselves in their adoptive country.
He assumed the young woman was from a Muslim country as she always wore a hijab. He was more tactful and careful of how he addressed her, all too aware that her discomfort might be cultural, at being addressed by a strange man. She’d been to every single class since the first evening of, ‘Hello, my name is Trevor. What’s your name?’
She sat there quietly, eyes downcast, but she studiously copied down everything he wrote on the board and tucked away into her file all the handouts he prepared, though never took them directly from his hand.
It was now just for form’s sake that he addressed to her the same question as to everyone else in the class and waited a moment to give her the chance to respond, should she want to, before moving on to the next person.
This evening, she had looked up for the first time, taking his breath away with the brilliance of her shy smile as she said, ‘Hello, my name is Aalia. I am from Syria.’
There was a stunned silence from the other students, then everyone broke out into a spontaneous round of applause. Trev would have loved to give her one of his famous hugs but knew it would cause all sorts of problems. Instead, he returned her smile and replied, ‘Hello, Aalia, and thank you. Pleased to meet you.’
He was still smiling his delight as he reached the dark side-street where his red bike was waiting for him. He was concentrating on the memory, savouring it again to share with Ted when he got home, taking no notice of his surroundings.
Then the pain hit him. The back of his head appeared to explode. He had a fleeting moment in which to register that this was worse, much worse, than the most severe hangover he could ever remember having, and he’d known a few.
He knew nothing more after that brief thought. He was certainly unaware of his legs buckling beneath him, or of the thwack as the side of his face came into contact with the brutal, unyielding roughness of the paving stones.
Chapter Thirteen
By ten o’clock, Ted had given up on the meal and put it on the side to congeal in its foil containers. Until he knew where Trev was and that he was all right, he didn’t have much of an appetite. It was only a couple of hours but it wasn’t like him. He always got in touch if he was going to be later than planned. He knew Ted’s job made him worry more than most and he was simply too well-mannered not to at least let him know if he was going to be late.
Once eleven o’clock had passed with no news, Ted got the car back out and went looking for him. He realised he was going to look stupid if his partner had simply gone for a drink and lost track of time. But Ted’s nerves were on edge with all that he had going on and he decided he would rather look foolish than appear uncaring.
The centre where the classes were held was locked up and in darkness, clearly long since, as he had suspected it would be. There wasn’t a pub close to where Trev might have gone for a drink with students or friends and Ted knew that the nearest one would have called time by now.
He parked his car and went for a walk round the side-streets to see if he could see any signs of anything. He kept telling himself that he wasn’t worried, not really. Just being neurotic. Trev could take care of himself. Everything would be fine. Any minute now he was going to bump into his partner, walking back from wherever he’d been, full of excuses that he’d lost track of time.
It was when he found the Triumph still parked up that Ted started to get really concerned. He knew Trev didn’t like leaving his precious bike parked in these back-streets for longer than he needed to, always worried it would be stolen, even when locked up securely. If he’d gone off somewhere, he’d usually have taken it with him and parked it where he could keep an eye on it.
Ted stopped in his tracks and let practised eyes survey the scene with a professional detachment. Was that a blood stain on the pavement? Recent? Connected? Or was his policeman’s brain jumping to conclusions when there was a simple explanation? Seeing crime scenes where they didn’t exist.
He tried Trev’s phone once more. Straight to voicemail. Then he called the friend who had first got Trev started on the English lessons.
‘Mark? It’s Ted, Trev’s partner. I’m sorry to call you so late. It’s just that Trev hasn’t got back from teaching yet and I can’t get hold of him. Do you happen to know if he was going anywhere afterwards? Drinks with the students or anything like that?’
Mark was pleasant, polite, but he clearly thought Ted was either some kind of neurotic fusspot, or someone insanely jealous of who his partner might be seeing. Either way, he couldn’t offer any help with his present whereabouts.
Ted phoned the hospital, shamelessly using his credentials to see if he could find out anything. No one called Trevor Armstrong had been logged into the computer system that evening and no one answering Trev’s description had either been seen or was waiting in the A&E department.
He rang the station next. No news there either. No incidents reported which remotely helped him with his search. The officer he spoke to was kind and sympathetic, promising to keep the DCI informed if they got a report of anything which might be relevant.
Midnight now. Ted decided he’d better go home, in case for some reason Trev had gone there without the bike. Although why he wouldn’t have phoned when he knew Ted was probab
ly worried sick by now, he couldn’t imagine.
Occam’s Razor, he kept reminding himself. Where there were two possible explanations for something, the simpler of the two was more likely to be the correct one. The simplest one of all was that Trev had gone for drinks with someone after the class, had one too many to risk the bike and gone straight home. He hadn’t called because he’d lost his phone. Or the battery was flat. Or he knew Ted would give him a hard time for drinking too much when he’d had the bike.
That would be it. When Ted got back, Trev would be there, nursing a sore head, full of apologies and promising all sorts in exchange for forgiveness.
Ted decided to take the bike back with him. He’d brought the keys, just in case Trev had been drinking, not wanting to leave it where it might get stolen. Especially not before he’d finished paying for it. It might teach Trev a valuable lesson if he came back and found it missing. Perhaps then he would listen to Ted’s constant reminders not to drink if he had the bike with him. It might also save him from getting arrested for drink-driving which would be disastrous in his line of work.
If Trev’s helmet was in the box, he could use that to stay legal. He could safely leave his car. No self-respecting thief or even joyrider would bother stealing anything as modest as his far from new Renault if he locked it up securely. Although he had lost its predecessor when he’d left it open with the keys in.
Whatever time his partner rolled in and in whatever state, he was going to have some serious explaining to do.
‘What the hell have you been up to? You look like something one of your cats dragged in through the flap and then rejected,’ Jim Baker growled, eyeing Ted up and down critically and clearly finding him wanting. ‘Have you forgotten how important today is? Did you sleep in that suit?’
Ted made a half-heartened attempt to do up his collar button and straighten his tie. Not that it made a lot of difference to the overall effect.
‘I haven’t slept. Trev didn’t come home last night and I can’t get in touch with him. I found the bike parked where he left it but I can’t find out where he is or what’s happened to him. I’ve been out looking for him half the night.’
‘There’ll be a perfectly simple explanation for it. Have you had a row or something? It won’t be the first time your Trev has flounced off.’
‘Not without telling me. Never. He’s very good at staying in touch. That’s why I’m worried. I’ve rung everyone I can think of, including the hospital, but there’s still no trace.’
‘Right, well, I know it’s worrying for you but I’m sure there’s really nothing to get het up about. He’ll have gone for a drink, had one too many and be sleeping it off somewhere, with one of his mates. You’re always saying it takes a bomb going off to wake him of a morning. And he’s probably feeling embarrassed, if that’s what’s happened.
‘But for god’s sake, Ted, you know how important this case is and you know as well as I do the defence are gunning for you. If they see you looking like that, they’re going to go digging into your background looking for traces of drug or alcohol abuse and goodness knows what else.’
‘He’s bloody legged it!’
‘What are you talking about?’ the man who answered his mobile phone kept his voice down, turning to face a wall, anxious that no one should hear what he was saying or lip-read his conversation. ‘You mean you’ve lost him?’
‘You didn’t say he was some sort of fucking Kung Fu fighter. We didn’t tie his legs, just his arms ‘cos you never warned us. Anyway he went on the attack, kicked the shit out of the pair of us and managed to get away. We both got badly injured. We went after him but we lost him.’
The man swore comprehensively. ‘You pair of incompetent bastards! Surely two of you could have managed to keep hold of him?’
‘He was like a madman, I’m telling you. High kicking and everything. We’d been giving him that stuff like you said to keep him sleepy but he bloody woke up all right, with a vengeance. I’ve never seen nothing like it. I’m telling you, we both got injured.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘Couple of hours ago now.’
‘A couple of hours? And you’ve only just thought to tell me? You really are a special kind of stupid, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t call me stupid or I’ll come and find you, you arrogant prick, as soon as we get back from this godforsaken place.’
‘Well, good luck with that. I’m currently surrounded by police. Did you at least get the photo like I told you to, you useless shit for brains?’
‘I said don’t call me names! You should have warned us what he was capable of. And yes, we got it. Before he woke up.’
‘Well send it to the number I gave you, and do it now.’
‘What about the rest of our money? You said half up front and half after delivery.’
‘You haven’t delivered, you dickhead. The goods were lost in transit. Send that text now and we’ll talk about it. But send it right fucking now. And I will know immediately if you have done.’
Two things happened in rapid succession. First, a ping told Ted he had an incoming text message on his mobile phone. He grabbed it from his pocket and opened it. He was just about to show it to Jim when he saw a man walking towards him along the corridor of the courthouse.
Clive Edwards. The father of the teenage girl Ted had put in court today on five charges of murder and one of arson with intent to endanger life. As soon as Ted saw the smirk on the man’s face, he knew. Without a shadow of a doubt.
Jim Baker may have been hampered by his dodgy ankle, but there was nothing wrong with his reactions. As soon as he sensed, rather than saw, Ted start to launch himself towards Edwards, he swung his walking stick up and across Ted’s midriff, landing him a belt that briefly winded him. For a moment he looked into Ted’s eyes and wasn’t sure if his long-time friend was going to lamp him one.
Two constables in uniform were nearby and hurried over, looking awkward at the prospect of breaking up some sort of a scrap developing between two senior officers. Both had a hand on their batons, one was also reaching for his spray.
Jim Baker barked orders at them. ‘You! Escort the DCI outside and stay with him until I come out. Arrest him if you have to but keep him there. And you. Once I’ve just had a little word with Mr Edwards, take him and deliver him to the defence team and ask them, with my compliments, to keep him out of harm’s way.
‘Right, Mr Edwards, would you mind telling me what that little exchange was about?’
‘How should I know? Your Chief Inspector is clearly volatile and somewhat irrational. I think it’s obvious to anyone who witnessed that incident that he has serious issues, not least of which is showing a lack of judgement. Hardly the sort of behaviour one would expect from a Senior Investigating Officer. It’s no wonder this entire enquiry was mishandled and we’re now facing this farcical miscarriage of judgement.’
‘Well, we’ll just have to see what the jury decide, won’t we, Mr Edwards? For now, please go with the PC and I strongly advise you to avoid all contact with DCI Darling during the trial. It’s highly irregular for you to have any contact with a key prosecution witness anyway.’
Edwards smirked again. ‘I think you’ll find it was he who was trying to make contact with me. Clearly a disturbed and dangerous man.’
Jim turned on the heel of his good leg and limped off in search of Ted, outside the courthouse. He found him pacing up and down, clearly beside himself, while the young PC watched him warily.
‘Back inside now, Constable. I’ll take over here. You wait around, unless you’re needed in court straight away, and if anyone is looking for me or the DCI, for any reason, you come and find me immediately. I’ll be just round the corner. Clear?’
‘Sir.’ The officer snapped to attention as he spoke then did an almost parade-ground pivot before marching thankfully back inside. Almost everyone in the force knew about Ted and his martial arts black belts. He was something of a legend. The PC was hearti
ly relieved not to have had to find out the hard way if the stories about his prowess were true.
Ted opened his mouth to speak but Jim grabbed him by the arm, none too gently, and hustled him away from the entrance and around the corner.
‘For god’s sake, Ted, there’s press crawling all round everywhere for the Edwards’ trial, in case you’ve forgotten. You’ve already behaved like a complete idiot, fortunately out of their sight. Don’t give them or the defence team any more ammunition to question your competency. And what, precisely, was that all about anyway?’
Wordlessly, Ted handed over his mobile phone, open at the photo he had received just as Edwards had come striding down the corridor smiling.
‘Bloody hell,’ the Big Boss grunted, looking at the picture of Trev lying, eyes closed, blood and bruising visible on the side of his face, his long legs pulled up so his body could be accommodated in the boot of a car.
‘I don’t even know if he’s alive, Jim.’
Jim handed the phone back and put on his stern expression. ‘Of course he’s bloody alive. Stop thinking like his boyfriend and think like a proper detective. Whoever it is, they’ve got him because they want a hold over you. As long as he’s alive, they’ve got one. Let anything at all happen to him and they lose their power over you. So he’s alive. His face looks a bit sore but it’s probably nothing. He may be asleep rather than unconscious. Maybe they gave him something.
‘The thing to focus on is that he’s alive, he’s not left you or done anything daft. He’s being held somewhere. You know your Trev, if there’s a way to escape from them, he’ll take it. In the meantime, we can start pulling all the stops out to find him. Forward that to Ocean,’ he never managed to get her name quite right, ‘and I’ll authorise her to drop whatever else she’s doing to make that a priority.