The Pearl King

by Sarah Painter

  ‘I thought you might need… A hand. Directions.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Lydia said. ‘You can help me carry, though.’

  In the kitchen, Lydia concentrated on finishing making the tea. Miles stood stock still, like a clockwork toy that needed winding. ‘We are really close. She wouldn’t go off without telling me. She knows how worried I would be. How worried I am. She would never… I know what you think. What the police think, but you’re wrong. She was happy. She had no reason to leave.’

  And then, the awful sound of him crying.

  Lydia turned, a mug in each hand. She ought to put them down, comfort the broken man, but she didn’t know him and was trespassing on his grief and fear.

  He wiped his face with his hands. ‘Sorry. Sorry, it’s just… I can’t help think something bad has happened. Otherwise she would be in touch.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Lydia said, hating herself for offering hope when it might not be warranted. ‘She’s fifteen. She might not be thinking straight or be worried that she’s in trouble with you.’

  ‘No,’ Miles shook his head violently. ‘We are more like friends. And she’s very sensible. Very grown-up. She just wouldn’t.’

  ‘Okay,’ Lydia put the mugs down on the counter and squared her shoulders. ‘What have the police said?’

  ‘They asked a lot about Josh. That’s her boyfriend,’ Miles’s lip curled. ‘He was with her on the night she went missing. He’s a bit older than her, just passed his driving test although I won’t let her get in the car with him. Too risky. Statistics show…’ Miles trailed off. He wiped his face, again. ‘You do everything you can to protect them, you know? Everything. And then… This.’

  ‘What is he like?’

  ‘Joshua?’ Miles shrugged. ‘Seventeen-year-old boy. Polite, at least. Speaks to me which is more than I can say about the last one. He was bad news. I told the police, I told them they should be looking at her ex. They keep saying they are following all enquiries, standard language.’

  Lydia nodded. ‘They will be, though. They will do everything possible. What does Josh say about Lucy? I assume they’ve asked him about that night?’

  ‘He’s claiming amnesia. Says he doesn’t remember anything before he was found wandering around Highgate the next morning. He must have taken something. Drugs. What if he gave Lucy something? She could be ill… Lying somewhere.’

  Miles moved suddenly, picked up a mug and turned away. There was a deeply snotty noise as he cleared his throat. Lydia followed him back to the living room but he paused right outside the door, speaking quietly and quickly. ‘They suspect me. I know they do. I don’t mind, I understand, I know it’s usually,’ his voice caught and he took a ragged breath, ‘it’s usually someone they know, I know that. But I don’t want them to waste their time. I want them to find her.’

  Sitting in Charlie’s car afterward, Lydia recounted the conversation. Charlie nodded. ‘That’s pretty much what he’s been saying to me. I told him we will do everything we can. He has been good to us, good to Camberwell, we owe him.’

  ‘What happened to Lucy’s mother?’

  ‘Cancer,’ Charlie said. ‘When Lucy was three. It’s been her and Miles ever since. He’s not so much as looked at another woman. His daughter and his work are his world.’

  ‘What is his work?’

  ‘Apart from leader of the council? He’s got a directorship, I believe.’ Charlie looked away and Lydia didn’t know if he was being evasive or whether he was embarrassed by not having more specific information.

  ‘You want me to use my contacts? See if I can get an update on the investigation?’

  Charlie nodded, not looking at her.

  ‘You could have just asked me, you know,’ Lydia said. ‘You don’t need to go the long way round.’ She wondered if he would acknowledge his use of Angel.

  Charlie started the engine and checked his wing mirror before pulling out into the traffic. He didn’t answer and Lydia could see the tattoos on his forearms writhing. She added another piece of information about her uncle Charlie. He didn’t like being confronted.

  When they arrived at The Fork, Charlie stopped outside and made no move to get out of the car. ‘Right then,’ Lydia said. ‘Thanks for the lift. I’ll be in touch.’

  Charlie didn’t look at her when he spoke. ‘This is bad, Lyds.’

  ‘I know, she’s just a kid.’

  He shook his head sharply. ‘Everyone knows Miles is a friend of mine. He should be protected.’

  ‘You can’t be held responsible for everything,’ Lydia said, wondering if Charlie had always been this cavalier about other lives. There was a kid missing.

  He glanced at her then and Lydia saw that his eyes were bloodshot. ‘I’m the head of the Crow Family. If people think I can’t protect my close friends, what are they going to say about my ability to protect the community? Their families? Livelihoods?’

  Taking a deep breath, Lydia texted Fleet. She headed it ‘work enquiry’ to head off any suggestion that this was a personal request. The mug on her desk had the dregs of whisky in the bottom and she swirled it out in the sink before adding a fresh shot. Her phone rang five minutes later.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ His tone was calm and professional, and Lydia could hear phones ringing and other office sounds. The sound of his voice still punched her in the gut, though. A spike of longing so strong it made her hunch over in her chair.

  ‘Lucy Bunyan. I was hoping you could talk to me about it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Family connection,’ Lydia said, standing up and pacing the floor. She had to let out the excess energy coursing through her body or she would crack open like an egg. ‘Charlie is pals with Miles Bunyan. He asked me to help. If I could.’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything that hasn’t been given to the press. This is a sensitive operation with a high profile.’

  ‘You getting pressure?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ Fleet said, there was the sound of a door closing and the office sounds disappeared. ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Lydia said. ‘I said I would try and I’ve tried.’

  ‘No,’ Fleet said. ‘Not on the phone. You want to talk, meet me for a drink tonight.’

  Lydia hesitated outside The Hare. She cursed Charlie and his demands and the world at large for putting kids in danger. There wasn’t anything she could do that an entire police department couldn’t, but now that she had met Miles Bunyan and could put a grieving, frightened father to the story, she couldn’t help but try. Damn Charlie and his intuition. He had known the best way to get Lydia onside.

  Fleet was at the bar, waiting for his pint. He nodded at Lydia. ‘Usual?’

  ‘Red wine,’ Lydia said. ‘What? It’s bloody freezing.’

  Sitting in the corner of the pub with her back to the wall and a large glass of red within grasping distance, Lydia reminded herself to breathe. She might not be romantically involved with Fleet now, but he was a good person. She could trust him. Not the way she had, perhaps, but enough for this particular job.

  ‘I’m going for a slash,’ Fleet slid out from his seat almost as soon as he had sat down.

  It took Lydia a moment to realise what he had done on his way, unlock his iPad and leave it on the table. She didn’t hesitate, scrolling through the images.

  When he returned, she didn’t put it down and angled it to show him exactly what she was looking at. She had enough spy-shit mind games with Mr Smith. ‘CCTV places her and her boyfriend partying in Highgate Cemetery.’

  Fleet nodded. ‘We’ve had a witness come forward to say that they saw a couple matching their description heading into the woods just after half eleven.’

  ‘Highgate Woods? Which entrance?’

  ‘The one nearest Highgate tube station. Gypsy Gate.’

  ‘Credible witness?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what is this?’ Lydia pointed at the evidence photograph. It showed a blazer jac
ket which was either old and originally black, or new and dark grey.

  ‘Boyfriend’s jacket. Complete with blood stains. Also belonging to boyfriend.’

  ‘How much blood?’

  ‘More than a shaving cut, less than an arterial bleed.’

  ‘Lovely. Does that mean he isn’t a suspect anymore?’

  ‘Could have been defence wounds, if he was attacking her, but no. No other blood found and we haven’t found any motive. By all accounts they were a golden couple. We’re looking into her ex, apparently he was the jealous sort.’

  ‘Good,’ Lydia said. ‘Miles mentioned the ex.’

  Lydia tapped for the next image. The previous image had shown the jacket laid out on a table in the forensics department, but this was it in situ, where it had been found by an officer during the mass search of the woods.

  ‘It was off the path, but otherwise not hidden. Just sitting there,’ Fleet said. The jacket was on top of a large tree stump, folded, as if its owner had intended to come back for it.

  ‘It must have been freezing that night. Why would he take a layer off?’

  ‘Teenage love keeping him warm?’

  Lydia nodded to concede the point. ‘And alcohol. They were partying in the cemetery, right? Just drinks?’

  ‘CCTV shows them drinking from cans of Marks and Spencer’s ready-mixed gin and tonic before things get a bit heated. Then they move out of shot. There are only cameras around Karl Marx’s grave because of the vandalism there. And those were only installed relatively recently. We’re lucky we got anything.’

  ‘Gin and tonic?’ Lydia screwed up her face. ‘What the hell is going on with today’s teens?’

  ‘Swiped from home, most likely. Opportunity rather than taste. Although, who knows? People can surprise you.’

  ‘He’s seventeen. Can’t he buy whatever he wants? Or does he look young?’

  ‘Maybe he’s not a big drinker. Maybe they thought it was romantic. When I said they were getting heated, I didn’t mean they were arguing…’

  ‘Got it. Has the search finished?’

  ‘Yes, last night. Nothing else found, sorry.’

  ‘Better than finding something,’ Lydia said, thinking about decomposing remains and shallow graves in the frozen mulch. She could hear birds calling as they wheeled high in the sky and shook her head to clear it.

  Fleet was looking at her and Lydia could practically hear him thinking.

  ‘What?’ She said, her patience snapping.

  ‘There’s something else. We’re keeping it out of the press.’

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ Lydia said.

  ‘We’ve interviewed the boyfriend. He was found by a dog walker early on the first. He was confused and hypothermic and still seems to have total amnesia for the whole evening.’

  ‘Seems to,’ Lydia repeated. ‘What does the hospital say?’

  Fleet shrugged. ‘Just that it’s perfectly possible and that there’s no way to tell if its genuine or not. He says that the last thing he remembers is heading out to meet Lucy just after seven on the thirty-first. He claims he was at home until then, sleeping in until midday and then revising in the afternoon. He’s doing A Levels at Peckham College, which is where he and Lucy Bunyan met, and they’ve got mocks next week.’

  ‘You believe him?’

  ‘About the amnesia or his claim that he was studying?’

  ‘Any of it.’

  ‘Amnesia is convenient, but he doesn’t have anything resembling defence wounds. If anything, he looks like a victim. And he appears genuinely distressed that Lucy is missing.’

  ‘What do you reckon?’

  Fleet paused. ‘That he’s telling the truth. He seems like a traumatised kid. You want to see for yourself?’

  ‘Is that allowed?’

  Fleet shook his head. ‘When has that stopped me? Besides, I value your opinion.’ He slid his iPad across the table and Lydia took her ear buds from her pocket and put them in. The video of Joshua’s initial interview was queued up and she hit the arrow to start it playing.

  Fleet was right, Lucy Bunyan’s boyfriend looked like a frightened child. Yes, he had scruffy sideburns and a proto-goatee which he had probably been proudly growing for months and the muscles of a sporty young man, but the expression behind his eyes was that of a nine-year-old lost in a crowd. Lydia had the urge to comfort him. His right leg bounced up and down throughout the questions and he kept rubbing his eyes like a tired toddler. As well as his female legal representative, there was a man from social services there for safe-guarding. At seventeen, Joshua didn’t fall under the rules for children, but he wasn’t legally an adult either. The two police officers interviewing him did an excellent job of radiating calm concern for his welfare, while also subtly questioning every aspect of his story. Just as Fleet had said, there wasn’t much of a story. Joshua didn’t remember anything from the time he left his house to meet Lucy.

  ‘Joshua’s father has confirmed that he was home all afternoon, in his room.’ Fleet said.

  One of the officers on the video was asking Joshua about his A ‘Levels, trying to put him at ease. Then, the other one chimed in with a different question. ‘Do you remember where you were going to meet Lucy?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ his hands were fists, rubbing at his eyes.

  ‘What do you usually do when you meet up with Lucy? Do you have favourite hang outs, activities?’

  ‘Depends. Sometimes we go to each other’s houses. Or we do something, go to Nando’s or whatever. I don’t remember what we did that day. We’d talked about doing something for New Year’s Eve, but I’m not sure we’d chosen. Some mates were having a house party, maybe we went there?’ When he moved his hands away, the skin around his eyes was red from the repeated action. He blinked back tears. ‘I swear I don’t remember. Did anybody else see me? They can tell you what we did.’

  ‘Your dad hasn’t seen you since you left the house on the thirty-first. He agrees that you had plans to see Lucy.’

  Joshua’s shoulders sagged. ‘You see, I’m telling the truth. I’m trying to help, I swear. I don’t know why I can’t remember. Do you know where she is? How long has it been? I want her to be okay. She’s got to be okay. She’s my… She’s…’ He struggled for breath, doubling over.

  ‘Can we take a break?’ The legal rep said.

  ‘No,’ Joshua sat up. ‘I’m okay. I want to help. You’ve got to find her. I love her.’

  The simple way he said the last words had the ring of truth. Lydia could feel it in her teeth, her blood. This kid wasn’t lying.

  ‘All right, Joshua. Let’s skip to the woods. You were found walking in Queen’s Woods. Do you remember how you got there?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘What is the last thing you remember?’

  ‘I was really cold. I think I had been asleep. But I wasn’t lying down. I was just walking. There were loads of trees and my throat hurt. Like I’d been shouting or I’d smoked a lot. It still hurts.’

  ‘That’s really good,’ the officer nodded, encouraging him. ‘Do you remember seeing anyone?’

  ‘The lady with the dog. She was walking her dog and she asked if I was all right.’

  ‘That’s the last thing? What about just before you met the dogwalker? Can you think back?’

  He closed his eyes, was silent. After a minute, he opened his eyes and shook his head. ‘No. Sorry. I can’t. I don’t know why. I don’t think I hit my head or anything. Why can’t I remember?’

  ‘Why do you say you didn’t hit your head?’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt,’ he said, running his hands over his skull. ‘It would hurt if I had, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t I have a lump or something?’

  ‘My chest hurts, though. And my arms.’ He stretched them out and stared at the bandages. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You had a series of superficial wounds. Not serious but there were a lot of them and they were quite open. They put antibiotic spray and then covered them over
to keep them clean while they heal. Do you remember that.’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah. I forgot. I just thought it was something else for a moment.’

  ‘I think we should leave it there.’

  The recording stopped and Lydia took her ear buds out. ‘What were the injuries on his arms?’

  ‘Little cuts. Done with something sharp.’

  ‘Razor blade?’ Lydia said, immediately thinking of self-harm. ‘Does he have a history of hurting himself?’

  ‘Not as far as we know. And he says he didn’t do it.’

  ‘How does he know? He says he can’t remember anything.’

  ‘There is that,’ Fleet said, acceding the point. ‘He says he didn’t intend to hurt himself and wasn’t carrying a blade of any kind, to the best of his memory.’

  ‘Do you have pictures?’

  Fleet tapped the screen and turned the iPad back to Lydia. The cuts chased any thoughts of self-harm straight out of Lydia’s mind. They were intricate patterns, visible despite the blood which was seeping, even though Lydia knew the picture would have been taken immediately after the wounds had been cleaned. Her stomach turned over. Someone had taken care when carving these images into the boy’s arms. She couldn’t imagine anybody managing to do this to themselves, particularly with no prior experience. It had to have hurt like hell. And then there was the clincher – the design spanned the tops of each arm up and reached well above the elbow onto the biceps, each arm matching and equally neat. The kid would have to be an ambidextrous contortionist to have done it to himself.