The man shook his head and started to close the door. Ewan stepped forward, stuck his foot in the gap.
‘Listen, mate, we want to talk to Tom. We met him earlier.’
‘You can’t just walk in here.’ The man was glaring now, but Caelan could see he was rattled. He wasn’t much taller than she was, five eight or so. He looked up at Ewan and she knew he was going to give in. ‘You just want to talk to him?’
Ewan held up his hands. ‘Scout’s honour.’
Caelan decided to take a chance. ‘It’s about Lucy Mulligan. She’s my cousin.’
The man’s face cleared. ‘You’re the people looking for Lucy? Tom was babbling about it, but I didn’t take much notice. He’s’ – he looked over his shoulder again – ‘kind of…’ His voice trailed off.
‘Obsessed with Lucy?’ Caelan finished for him. He nodded, clearly relieved.
‘You already know. Yeah, it was obvious when she first moved in that he liked her, but he’s got weirder and weirder about it.’ He opened the door fully and held out his hand. ‘Joel Kingsley.’
Caelan shook it briefly. ‘Is Tom upstairs?’
‘He was ten minutes ago. I went up to the bathroom and he came out of his room, going on about Lucy’s cousin turning up.’
‘And he hasn’t left?’
Kingsley shook his head. ‘But then I’ve been cooking, listening to a podcast. I might not have heard him.’
Caelan and Ewan exchanged a glance. ‘Which room?’
‘You know which is Lucy’s? Tom’s across the landing.’
They approached quietly. Lucy’s door was closed, the tape the police had left behind still sealing it, but Haslam’s was ajar. Again Caelan met Ewan’s eyes. There was no reason for them to believe Haslam to be in danger and no sign so far that he was, but she held up a hand and they approached cautiously all the same. Caelan stood to the side of the door and tapped softly.
‘Tom?’
No reply. She tried again.
‘Tom, it’s Victoria Smith. We met earlier?’
Still nothing. No sound, no movement. Caelan swallowed.
‘Why isn’t he answering? He should be in there,’ Joel Kingsley said from behind them, concern clear in his voice.
Caelan wrapped her sleeve around her fingers and pushed the door open, then eased herself around it so she could see into the room.
A double bed with navy-blue sheets, the duvet neatly arranged, the pillows plumped. A desk, its surface empty except for a laptop computer, a chair tucked neatly beneath it. A bookcase, the books arranged by size. A chest of drawers with a TV and DVD player on top. Caelan moved further inside. The place was as bare and impersonal as a hotel room. No photographs, no clothes thrown on the chair, no shoes kicked off in the corner.
‘He’s not here.’ She beckoned Ewan inside. ‘What do you think?’
He looked around, raising his eyebrows. ‘Looks like somewhere a serial killer would sleep.’
Kingsley was in the doorway, and Caelan turned to him.
‘Have you been in here before?’
He shook his head, his eyes wide.
‘You can’t tell us if there’s anything missing?’
‘Except for Tom? Not a clue.’
‘He’s probably just gone to the corner shop.’
Kingsley nodded, backing out of the room. Caelan went over to the desk and opened the laptop, her movements made awkward by the sleeves still over her hands. She pressed the button to power the computer up, but it didn’t respond. She closed the lid, turned away.
‘No doubt password-protected anyway,’ she said as she reached for the desk drawer. There was no way of locking it, and it slid open easily.
‘Shit.’
She stared down at a wallet, an Oyster card and a mobile phone.
28
‘Let’s not panic,’ Caelan said quietly to Ewan, though in truth she was worried. Like Lucy, would Haslam have left his possessions behind? If he wasn’t using his Oyster card, did he not want his movements to be traced? He would still be able to buy a Travelcard for the Underground with cash if he wanted to get around London, but wouldn’t he have taken his wallet? His phone? She closed the drawer. ‘We need to get out of here,’ she said. Ewan nodded, understanding immediately. This was not the place to discuss what they’d found.
Downstairs, Kingsley was waiting by the front door.
‘Do I need to call the police?’ he asked.
‘I’d leave it for now,’ Caelan said. ‘Maybe you missed Tom leaving, if you had your music on.’
‘Maybe,’ Kingsley said, though he didn’t sound convinced. ‘No one came into the house, though, I know that for sure. I would have heard anyone knocking at the front door.’
Not if they walked in without asking, Caelan thought. She didn’t believe it was likely that Haslam had been taken against his will, but they had to consider all possibilities.
‘What about the back door?’ she asked.
‘No one uses it,’ Kingsley said. ‘We have keys, but it’s kept bolted. I’ve never seen it open.’
‘But you could let someone in through it?’
He shrugged. ‘Yeah, if you wanted to, but why would you?’
‘Who knows.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thanks for your help.’
She turned, reaching out to open the front door.
‘What shall I do?’ Kingsley demanded. ‘What if Tom’s in trouble?’
‘He’ll be fine. If he’s not home tomorrow and you’re worried, go to the police.’ She knew he would be wasting his time since Haslam was already involved in a police investigation and no one would tell him anything, but she needed to reassure him.
As they left the house, Kingsley stood on the doorstep watching them go down the street.
‘This gets weirder,’ Ewan said softly.
‘Does it mean Haslam was working with whoever has Lucy, or that they see him as a threat because he knows more than he told us?’ Caelan slid her phone out of her pocket, checked the time. ‘Assuming Lucy hasn’t just taken herself off on holiday.’ She felt like screaming. Picking up the pace, she strode towards the station. ‘Does it mean Jolene was in touch with Haslam, that she told him we know what he’s been up to? She could be selling to him too. No one else knew we’d been to see him.’
‘Except Penrith and Liss Tucker,’ Ewan pointed out.
‘I don’t see Tucker being involved, but who knows. Anyway, she has no idea about the camera.’
‘Unless Lucy really did suspect she was being watched and told her.’
‘Tucker said they aren’t close, but it’s possible. Then again, Haslam might have panicked when we showed up, especially if he has been watching Lucy. He could have done a runner, left his stuff behind so we’d think it was linked to Lucy’s disappearance.’
‘Are we going to Reuben’s?
‘I am. You should see Penrith, or at least speak to him. He can get Achebe and Somerville onto trying to trace Haslam.’
Ewan nodded. ‘Maybe we should have told Kingsley to call the police straight away. Then he’d be expecting them to arrive and start poking around.’
Caelan smiled. ‘Fair point, but it’s early days and Haslam won’t be considered vulnerable. It’s unlikely the police would take Kingsley seriously.’
‘Even though Lucy disappeared from the same house in the same way?’
‘They’re not kids. Anyway, I don’t know if the information on Lucy’s appearance will be available to everyone in the force. I’d guess it’s been restricted because of…’ She waved a hand, gesturing to herself and Ewan.
They parted at the station, Caelan dropping a kiss onto Ewan’s cheek for appearance’s sake. She didn’t believe they were being followed, but someone knew they had spoken to Tom Haslam and had acted, or Haslam had decided it was time to disappear. Either way, she guessed it was a hint that they were on the right track, and it was best to keep up the pretence. She watched Ewan turn away and wondered what he was thinking. His confidence was growing
; he was making suggestions, giving opinions, but she knew he wasn’t always comfortable with the way she had to work. Any police officer took risks on every shift. Their role could be more dangerous than most, but it wasn’t a job you could do unless you were entirely committed. Caelan had seen marriages and relationships disintegrate, colleagues develop addictions, people burned out and defeated by the constant pressure of living as someone else. She didn’t know what it said about her that she kept going, but she doubted it was because she was any different to the others she had known. She probably just had less to lose.
* * *
The queue outside Reuben’s was shorter tonight, though Caelan had arrived earlier than she had when Mulligan had brought them here. The same two bouncers were on the door, and both smiled when they saw her.
‘Victoria Smith?’ the male bouncer asked. ‘Mr Nash is waiting for you in his office.’
He spoke politely, without a hint of a leer and Caelan smiled back, though her heartbeat quickened. ‘Thank you.’
The female bouncer met her eyes as she passed them, her expression difficult to read. Caelan thought she read sympathy there, and the realisation did nothing to calm the anxiety she was already feeling. After her encounter with Harris, she had been expecting the meeting with Nash to be easier, safer, but she had to remember her first impression of him. Nash and Harris might hate each other, but Caelan knew they were two of a kind. Harris might never get his hands dirty and Nash might fancy himself a businessman, but in the end they both peddled misery. The question was, which of them was also selling people? Maybe it was neither, but Mulligan had made a point of introducing Caelan to them both. Now she had to work out why.
Inside, the same bartenders were already hard at work. One of them, the man with the beard, waved Caelan over when he saw her and handed her a glass.
‘Champagne,’ he said with a smile. ‘Compliments of the boss.’
Caelan thanked him, held it up to her lips as she walked away but didn’t drink, then headed for the darkest corner she could see. With a quick, surreptitious movement she tipped the liquid onto the carpet and left the empty glass on the nearest table. She knew of many things that could be slipped into a drink and didn’t feel like sampling any of them. Even if the glass had only contained champagne, she wanted to keep a clear head.
She crossed the dance floor, her eyes fixed on the stairs that led up to Nash’s office, as though she was keen to see him. In truth, now that she was here, she realised, she would rather have dealt with Harris again. Harris was predictable, Nash was anything but. His anguish when he’d sobbed over the body of his brother had appeared genuine, but Caelan had seen parents cry over children they’d killed, husbands and wives weeping while still clutching a bloodstained knife or a length of rope.
There was a man at the bottom of the stairs, one of the bouncers who had dragged Stefan Harris away from her when he’d grabbed her arm, who had held onto Harris when Nathan Nash punched him. He caught her eye, looked her up and down and winked at her.
‘Evening. The boss is ready for you.’
Caelan forced a smile. ‘Is he now?’
He laughed. ‘As he’ll ever be, I reckon.’
She kept walking, aware of his eyes on her body. She’d been back to the hotel to shower and change, knowing she had to pay enough attention to her outfit, hair and make-up to make it look as though she wanted to impress when all she’d really wanted to do was crawl into bed. From the bouncer’s reaction, she had achieved her aim, though the realisation made her skin crawl.
At the top of the stairs she paused and glanced around. There were a few people there, but none she recognised. Standing by the door to Nash’s office was another bouncer, this one stern-faced, stocky, his arms folded. Caelan couldn’t see if he wore an earpiece, but he had clearly been warned of her arrival, as his eyes immediately fixed on her. She approached him and he nodded, as though giving her permission to knock.
Caelan’s anxiety had increased, her senses heightened. She already knew where the exits were from her previous visit, but she found herself running over them again in her mind. Why had the bouncers been told to watch for her? The fact that she had arrived must have been passed up the chain, from the bouncers at the club’s entrance to the one at the bottom of the stairs and now this man. No doubt Reuben Nash himself had also been following her progress. She didn’t like it. It was different, unexpected, and in her business that could mean trouble.
She remembered the expression on the female bouncer’s face and wondered again what it meant. It could be as simple as the woman having had the same sort of casual relationship with Nash as Jolene Townsend, and her sympathising with Nash’s potential next plaything. Another possibility was one Caelan had been trying to ignore since she’d approached the building – that she was walking into a trap. She couldn’t rule out the possibility that Nash was suspicious of her motivations for talking to Jolene, to Tom Haslam. She had no doubt Jolene was feeding information back to him, probably to Harris too.
‘Are you going in, or not?’ the bouncer said.
Caelan lifted her chin, looked him in the eye. ‘That’s the idea.’
He stepped back, arms still crossed, looking down his nose at her, and Caelan suspected he also guessed she would be Nash’s latest conquest.
Maybe that was what the sofas in Nash’s office were for.
She knocked, and the door opened. Nash stood there smiling at her. He wore a charcoal suit with a white shirt and smelled as though he had bathed in aftershave. Caelan forced herself to stay relaxed as he bent to kiss her cheek, though her instinct was to recoil.
‘Victoria. I’ve been waiting for you.’ There was no admonishment in his voice, though his hand snaked around her wrist and held it. He looked over her head towards the man outside. ‘Make sure we’re not disturbed.’ He flashed Caelan another grin and playfully pulled her inside. She allowed it to happen, knowing he assumed she was here for more than a business meeting and accepting she needed to play along for now.
For now.
Nash released her and closed the door. Caelan held her breath, but he didn’t lock it.
‘Did they give you the champagne?’ he asked.
‘They did. Thank you.’
He nodded towards the sofas at the other end of the room. On the coffee table, a bottle of champagne stood in a silver bucket, two glasses beside it. Caelan saw that the cork was still in the bottle and was reassured: she could risk drinking a glass if she had to.
‘Fancy another?’ Nash asked.
‘Why not?’
He poured the drinks, moved towards the nearest sofa, beckoning for her to join him. It was a three-seater, though there wasn’t much room. Predictably Nash settled in the middle, forcing Caelan to sit far too close for comfort. He handed her a glass and leant back, crossing his legs. Caelan knew she should relax her own posture, but lounging against the cushions would leave her in a more vulnerable position than she was comfortable with, and she stayed on the edge of the seat.
Nash laughed. ‘What’s wrong?’
Caelan took a deep breath as though to steady herself. It wasn’t entirely an act. ‘I need to talk to you about Stefan Harris,’ she said.
The reaction was instantaneous. Nash’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. ‘That murdering fucker. What’s he done now?’
Wordlessly Caelan pointed at the bruising on her throat. ‘He wasn’t happy when I told him I didn’t have his money.’
Nash peered at her injuries. ‘The bastard. Who did it, Johnny or Chris?’
‘Neither of them,’ she said. ‘I had the pleasure of a private meeting with Harris himself.’
‘Aren’t you the lucky one? And now you’re having one with me.’ Nash got up, wandered over to his desk. He drank half of his champagne, watching her. ‘What does he want from you? I doubt he’d have suggested a payment plan.’
Caelan took a sip of her own drink. ‘Well, in a way. He offered me the chance to work off the debt. Apparen
tly he owns me now.’
Nash looked incredulous. ‘Owns you? He said that?’
‘Yeah, he made it pretty clear. He also asked questions about my relationship with you, what we’d talked about.’
‘And?’
‘I told him the truth, that we’d discussed business but that the conversation came to an end after his name was mentioned.’ She swallowed, again not having to pretend to be bothered by the memory. ‘It’s not easy to think of a convincing lie with someone’s hands around your throat.’
Nash finished his champagne. ‘I can imagine.’ He went back to the bottle, held it up to Caelan, who shook her head. With a shrug, he poured himself another glass. ‘You can tell Stefan anything you like. I’m not worried about him. Anyway,’ he grinned, ‘it’s not as though you know much about me – yet.’
She ignored that. ‘He also gave me instructions.’
‘Which were?’
‘He wants me to find out what I can about your business and report back to him. He wants to get his hands on this place.’
‘The club?’ His laugh was scornful. ‘Not a chance.’
‘He told me he tried to buy it before but the previous owner wouldn’t sell to him.’
Nash nodded. ‘For once he was telling the truth. The bloke I bought it from wouldn’t give Harris the time of day. I offered less, but he took me up on it. I think he’d have given the place away rather than let Harris buy it.’
‘Why?’
‘He hated Harris almost as much as I do, but with him, it was personal.’
‘What do you mean?’
Nash moved back to sit on the sofa again, his thigh pressed against Caelan’s. ‘You already know how Harris treats women – you’ve experienced it for yourself. Shaun had a sister – Hayley. She was quiet, sensible, focused on her studies – none of the usual teenager shit. Then she met Harris. A week later she was smoking anything she could get her hands on, and within a month she was injecting heroin.’ He paused for a drink. ‘Six weeks after she met Harris, she was dead.’
‘How?’
‘Overdose. They could never prove it was Harris who gave her the stuff, but it’s not like he would have allowed her to buy it from anyone else.’
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