by Mark Bailey
‘Why not?’
‘Milly’s going to hang on in the U.K. for another twelve months.’
‘No worries, Dannii, I hope you’re not too disappointed. I’ll keep in touch.’ That was typical Dannii King, thought Simone, as she drove away, reinforcing her views about the rich and their relationships. They didn’t care too much about others. Perhaps they needed all their spare time to concentrate on their money, she wondered.
As Simone drove to Applecross, her thoughts returned to Milly. They shared a secret not even Dannii knew. Milly had told Simone, encouraged by drink; it was pillow talk before their relationship ended. The next day, she tried feverishly to retract it, further establishing its clandestine nature. Simone, Milly, and one other person knew, and Simone would use it later if Milly got nasty. Their secret, their shared secret, was an unwritten treaty between the two of them keeping Milly at bay, for now, thought Simone — at least she hoped so.
When she got to Matt’s unit in Applecross, she went straight onto Facebook. She saw Milly’s reply in her post on the news in the Sunday Times.
Bah, humbug, what a load of absolute garbage — $25 million left me by my uncle is absolute rubbish, along with the rest of the garbage this paper produces.
She noticed Milly didn’t refute any of the other claims specifically or was that just the journalist in her, she wondered? Then she looked at Milly’s friends. It was over a week since the Times’ report and Milly’s post. She already had 140 friends, and they were the ones she had accepted. How many hadn’t she accepted, wondered Simone? She studied Milly’s friends’ list and knew around thirty of them. They were all very supportive, but Simone wondered what they really thought. She was interested to see Naomi’s name there; she hadn’t noticed it before. She knew Sim and Matt corresponded using WhatsApp.
As Simone sat looking at Milly’s Facebook page, at her beautiful face with her unblemished skin, she blew her a kiss. Then she thought back to their little secret. She hoped she still held that over her, or maybe Milly didn’t care anymore. But still, she decided, she would rather have Milly as a friend than foe.
Three days later, on Wednesday morning, May 24, Matt Boyd Sr. appeared in court for sentencing. He looked pale and drawn and more like a frail seventy-year-old than his meager fifty- two years. He was sorry — sorry he’d been caught. He didn’t say anything as he looked at the floor, sniffing as tears rolled down his cheeks and his nose ran. He had opted out of the ‘fast-track system,’ a chance to plead guilty, dismissing the opportunity of a thirty percent reduction in sentence when originally charged. Instead, he and his legal team had taken on the judiciary, wasting time and money over what Purdon believed was an inevitable outcome.
For Purdon’s part, he spoke quietly but was scathing of Boyd’s conduct. Pure greed and complete disregard for the effect his actions had on others was the true theme in his pre-sentence rebuke as his nosed flashed red to amber and back to red. He didn’t say it, but anyone astute enough would conclude he believed the Boyd empire was built on drug money and good luck. Perhaps he should add a couple of extra months to the sentence as a rebuke to the ponce and his team — and an extra month because the ponce didn’t drink. This case wouldn’t look good on their C.V. Accordingly, he passed sentence and Boyd was led from the dock to begin his incarceration at Casuarina Prison.
Milly’s phone pinged. ‘Eight years and three months with a minimum parole period of four and a half years.’
That should take some of the sap out of him, thought Milly. Fifty-four months in that hole she thought, better him than me. While she was looking at her phone, she remembered she needed to call Stopford. It was still early, but she was busy; she would call him later.
She stayed busy and forgot to call him. She didn’t speak with him until the next day, on Thursday afternoon.
Chapter 24.
‘Hi, Milly, how are you?’
‘Well, thank you, Greg. Yourself?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I haven’t called just to say gidday,’ said Milly playfully. ‘I’ve called to come onto you for the miserable description you gave me of our mutual friend, Tina Small.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You didn’t tell me she was well under five feet tall.’
‘You didn’t ask. I did say she was tiny.’
Milly laughed. ‘Perfect answer, mate.’
‘I’ve been meaning to call you today,’ said Greg.
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ She sensed the apprehension in his voice.
‘Our mutual friend has been reported missing by her family. When did you last see or speak with Tina, Milly?’
‘Jeez, I don’t know, a few days ago.’
‘I need you to be more specific than that.’
‘Let me think.’ A bad taste was beginning in her mouth. ‘I called her on Tuesday afternoon or early evening after I talked with Theo … just give me a second, Greg.’ She looked at the Zurich insurance calendar sitting in front of her; she’d pinched it off Rosie’s desk. ‘That’s Tuesday afternoon, May 23. She came to my unit the previous Sunday afternoon … so that was May 21, and we went and had a drink at the Essex Arms.’
‘Right,’ said Stopford, taking notes. ‘What did you talk about?’
‘At the pub?’
‘No, on the phone when you last spoke with her.’
‘Nothing, Greg. She didn’t answer.’
‘Did you speak to her after that?’
‘No. I called her at least once yesterday, but she didn’t answer her phone then either. I left her a message both times I called. How long has she been missing?’
‘If you were with her Sunday night, then, at this stage, you were the last to see her, so that’s over ninety hours. Obviously, we are concerned for Nari because of the nature of her work. Did she mention a boyfriend to you … or male acquaintance?’
‘No, she didn’t mention anyone at all, except Kerford and her parents. We were getting to know each other slowly. She’s standoffish by nature. She’s a particularly private person.’
‘Yes, Milly, she would be private, wouldn’t she? It’s the nature of her work; it comes with the territory. This male acquaintance guy, himself Korean, and a lawyer went to Tina’s family asking about her. He’d been trying to locate her and wondered if they knew where she was. Anyway, they pooled their resources and rang around. We’re talking with some of her work colleagues now.’
‘For God’s sake, Greg, don’t say anything to her family. They don’t know what she does for a living. Her parents will be devastated if they find out.’
‘It’s too late for niceties now. We had to tell them … anything to help track her down.’
‘What if she turns up today or tomorrow? You might have ruined her relationship with her folks. The poor little bugger’s got no hope. She’s been up against it all her life,’ said Milly as she started blubbering.
‘Hang on, Milly, hang on. Don’t blame us; we’re just doing what we can. You know what they say about the first forty-eight hours. She hasn’t drawn from any bank accounts; there’s no trace of her anywhere. We don’t think her car has been driven for a couple of days. Her neighbors said they hadn't seen her about, or her car moved. She hasn’t contacted any friends, family or work colleagues that we know of. It seems she’s dropped off the face of the earth.’
‘My God,’ said Milly, her mind was going at breakneck speed.
‘Are you there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Look I’m tied up here for the moment …’ There was another short pause. Stopford felt there was a chance — a small chance — a chance to comfort her, to cuddle her, to finally …
‘Yes, Greg?’ The silence was uncomfortable; she needed to get a grip on herself. Nari would be okay. She was an adult; she only looked young and vulnerable. People often went missing for a week. Then she started bawling again.
‘Do you want me to come to Watford? Do you have any information, anything that can help?’ He needed an e
xcuse.
‘Yes, Greg, come and pick me up at work. Leave it for a bit; we’ll go for a meal. I can meet you somewhere if it’s easier for you.’
He thought for a nano-second. I’ll have more chance if I drop her home. ‘No, that’s fine. I’ll pick you up at work around 5:00 p.m. I need to finish what I’m doing here first.’
‘Thanks. I’ve got a couple of things that may be helpful.’ Milly sensed then that Nari was dead. Stopford took it for granted.
He sat in his temporary office and, despite the warm weather, rubbed his hands together like they were cold. Patience is a virtue, he thought, his dear old grandfather always told him that. He had read the news online about Milly and her — well, her salacious interactions with what was their name? That’s right, the Boyles. My Milly is a sexual dynamo, he thought, as he called Windsor at his office at New Scotland Yard and told him of their phone discussion and mention of Kerford.
‘Good work, Greg, I’ll come with you this afternoon. We’re catching up here. I’ll be interested to hear Milly’s thoughts on Kerford.’
Oh, terrific, thought Stopford. Just what I need, him to tag along; me and my big mouth. He considered Milly’s thoughts on some P.I. work again. He wasn’t sure now if it was an offer or a suggestion; he made a mental note to follow it up.
It was close to 5:30 p.m. when they pulled into the Watford Therapy car park. They could see Milly had been crying. They drove to the Essex Arms and settled in for a chat and some food. By the time they sat down, it was time to order. Windsor and Milly drank the house white, Stopford was driving the squad car, so he drank coke.
‘I’m sorry Tina’s disappearance has upset you so much, Milly. How well did you know her?’
‘Please, can we call her Nari? That’s her name,’ answered Milly as she looked from Stopford to Windsor. ‘I don’t really know her at all. I was getting to know her and saw her as one of life’s unfortunates. She was down and out, and then there’s the charge …’ She told them about the drug’s charge, how the drugs weren’t hers.
‘Prison is full of convicted criminals who had no connection to the drugs they were convicted of possessing.’
‘Point taken,’ agreed Milly. She’d guessed what Windsor’s response would be. ‘Have you got any ideas?’
‘No, we’ve got nothing … zip … that’s why we’re here,’ he replied. ‘So what have you got … Greg mentioned Kerford.’
‘If Nari has fallen on bad times, if you can’t find her or if she turns up dead somewhere, I believe there is a connection to my sister’s murder. Even if you do find Nari, if she is alive, I still believe there is a connection somehow.’ Milly looked at Windsor and Stopford. ‘Let’s order some food first, and I’ll fill you in. I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m starving.’ She looked at the menu and voted on the crispy duck salad. Windsor and Stopford followed suit. After their meal, when they sat down with full drinks, she turned the conversation to her thoughts on a connection between Sibby and Nari.
‘First, there’s Facebook; I’ll start with Sim Charles and Naomi Harris. You both know who Naomi Harris is, don’t you?’
‘Sim Charles’ partner,’ answered Stopford.
‘Yes, that’s right. Well, I decided to open a Facebook account. My lawyer back in Australia advised me not to start one until after the court case in Australia finished. So I took her advice and, well, anyway … and I invited you both along as friends.’
‘You did,’ replied Windsor.
‘So I searched around, and I found Naomi and invited her on as well. I looked for Sim, but couldn’t find him … but with his lifestyle and all the other stuff with Scotland Yard and his alleged drug dealing, I wasn’t surprised. Anyway, I looked through Naomi’s list of friends, and I saw Daggy Kerford, alias David Crawford, Donald Crawford and Donald Kerford. Then later on …’
‘Hang on, Milly; you’re moving way too fast. Who are all these aliases?’
‘Let me continue, Rob; I’ll explain that shortly. So after a while, I got off Facebook, and later when I got back on, I couldn’t find Naomi anywhere.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is I was looking in the wrong place or punched wrong information into the computer. I didn’t think too much of it; I just guessed she didn’t want me looking at her profile … or as a friend, that she’d blocked me. Then, when I logged on later, there she was. They accepted my friend request.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘Naomi and Sim Charles.’
‘Just playing the devil’s advocate for a minute, why would Sim Charles be knocking around on Naomi’s Facebook page?’
‘Why not? It’s a great way to pick up information using someone else’s Facebook account, especially if you haven’t got one of your own. It avoids having a Facebook profile yourself. From what you’ve told me, it’s how Sim Charles operates; he prefers to fly under the radar.’
‘I agree, Milly,’ said Stopford, ‘but this whole thing is just conjecture, just hearsay.’
‘I agree too,’ said Milly looking at Stopford, then Windsor, ‘but hear me out, please. When Naomi accepted my friend request, I noticed she had gone from 402 friends back to 396. Then when I looked for Daggy Crawford he was gone; he’d disappeared along with five others.’
‘Five of Sim’s friends?’ asked Windsor.
‘Probably,’ said Stopford as he looked at Milly who nodded in agreement.
‘Now, I’ll turn to two conversations I had with Nari. Nari saw Sibby arrive at the room in Croydon the night … supposedly … the night before she was murdered.’ Stopford and Windsor looked at each other.
‘You’re joking,’ said Stopford.
‘No, I’m not joking. On top of that, this Hanni woman …’
‘Hanni Dasti,’ interrupted Windsor.
‘This Dasti woman paid Nari for her night’s work when she left the room, so that alone ties her irrevocably to Kerford and places her at the inn when Sibby was there. It was when Nari left the room, on her way out, that she passed Sibby on her way into the building. Kerford was still in the room drinking, and I guess showering and generally cleaning himself up ready to go home to his wife.
‘This changes everything,’ said Stopford.
‘Conspiracy to murder, withholding evidence are a couple things that come to mind,’ said Windsor.
‘So, continuing on with my chats with Nari. Later, she didn’t really say when Kerford called her mobile and asked if she would be willing to shoot a few scenes for what she assumed would be some kind of child porn substitute with legal actors who looked young … or even something else?’
‘That’s not illegal as long as whoever makes the movie doesn’t imply that any of the actors in it are underage.’
‘But that doesn’t matter either,’ answered Milly, ‘because they never shot any scenes. Nari told him to piss off. But, as Nari suggested, she didn’t doubt for a minute that Kerford was into something illegal.’
‘So what about all these aliases: Crawford and David and Daggy?’
‘They’re nothing really, just aliases he used when he was using prostitutes. Apparently, he drinks a bit and gets confused sometimes.’
‘Where did the name Daggy come from then?’
‘Dunno,’ lied Milly. ‘It’s what they called him on Facebook.’
‘So what do you think’s going on?’ asked Stopford.
‘You want me to do all your work for you, do you?’ asked Milly, smiling and looking red in the face. She didn’t mention the Russells knowing Kerford or the possible connection with Sim and Kerford in Aberdeen. ‘If you look at it, including Nari, there’s a loose association with all of them going back to the Croydon Inn.’
‘Except Sim Charles,’ continued Stopford.
‘Well, that’s not strictly right, is it? There’s still the connection with Kerford and Naomi on Facebook.’
‘That’s not how they’ll depict the evidence in court,’ said Stopford.
‘I’d say whatever’s going on, Sim Charles is up to his neck in it … and there’s this too,’ said Milly holding up her phone. ‘This is the contact Nari shared with me, which is Kerford’s number. She’s listed as Crawford in her contacts.’
‘You mentioned before that Kerford called Nari. I assumed they must have swapped numbers.’
There was a short silence as Stopford and Windsor looked at each other again. ‘I don’t know what to say, Milly,’ said Stopford.
‘Well, you’ve done a great job, Dr. McTaggart,’ said Windsor, taking over. ‘We might have to make you an honorary M.I.T. officer.’
‘There is something I’m after, and if you can do me a favor, it would help me. I’m going to keep chasing this up; I’m obsessed with it. I want to know the full story surrounding my sister’s death. It’s the least I can do for her and her adoptive parents … and my peace of mind, of course.’
‘Anything, Milly, what is it?’
‘Can you please get me copies of the mugshots of Joe Charles, his father Gus, and Cailin Stewart … and Sim Charles too, if you have one?’
‘We won’t have one of Gus Charles or Sim either,’ said Windsor.
‘There will be one of Gus Charles, Rob. He’s got two convictions for assault,’ corrected Stopford.
‘Sorry, you’re right, Greg, he will be on the system. I don’t think we will do any good with Sim Charles, though; his record is clean. Anyway, what do you want them for?’
‘Nothing really, I just want to set up a sort of conference room in my unit with photos of each of these guys, for inspiration. You know, one of those board things you guys put up, with photos of people you’re investigating with arrows and markers and question marks and more arrows making connections … that kind of thing.’
‘Gotcha, Milly,’ said Windsor, who was starting to smile a lot.
She’s up to something, thought Stopford. They finished their tea, and Windsor and Milly had two more wines as Stopford pondered what might have been. She appeared quite tipsy now, and her cheeks veritably glowed. Then Milly suggested they adjourn to her place for another drink and Stopford really began to rue the missed opportunity and his big mouth. Or was she just rubbing it in he wondered?