One Under

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘I don’t know. She never said. I mean, I don’t know it was anyone, but she was always saying she preferred older men, and going on about it, kind of smug, how great they were and everything, so I reckoned there was someone.’

  ‘What else did she talk about on Saturday?’

  ‘I dunno. She was kind of …’ A long think. ‘Funny. Like – depressed. Or worried about something. She kept talking about the good times her and me used to have when she used to come round all the time. Well, it was her changed, not me.’

  ‘Did you say that to her?’

  ‘Yeah. She said you got to grow up sooner or later. I said she was the same age as me, practic’ly, and she told me not to be such a baby.’ Her face creased a moment with hurt.

  ‘That was unkind.’

  ‘Yeah, well, she always did have a big mouth.’

  ‘So what was she depressed about?’

  ‘I dunno. She never said. I thought maybe it was Tyler. I mean …’

  ‘I expect it was a shock when she disappeared like that,’ Connolly said helpfully. ‘Did she mention her?’

  She thought a moment. ‘She said the police never really tried to find out what happened to her. She said you lot don’t care about girls like her.’

  ‘What else?’

  A shrug. ‘Nothing.’ She seemed to search around, trying to be obliging, as a girl like her was brought up to be. ‘She said she was going to a party.’

  ‘What, that evening?’

  ‘Yeah. We were, like, sitting on my bed talking, and she says, “I’m s’posed to be going to this really important party tonight, but I don’t know.” Said there was going to be loads of really hot blokes there, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go. Then she gets her mobile out. Showing off,’ Deenie added discontentedly, ‘cause she knows I’ve not got one. And she has this conversation. I reckoned she was phoning her boyfriend.’

  ‘Why did you think that?’

  ‘Cause she, like, said, “Will you be there?” and I s’pose he must’ve said yes, because she goes, “Oh, all right, then.”’

  ‘Where did she say the party was?’

  ‘In this big house, really swanky, she said. Somewhere in Holland Park. I dunno where. She said she was getting picked up in a car for it.’

  A party in Holland Park? What the feck was she doing in Harefield, so? Connolly wondered. ‘While she was talking on the phone, did she say the name of who she was talking to?’ Shake of the head. ‘When she started the conversation, for instance, didn’t she say something like, “Hello, Jack, it’s Kaylee”?’

  Another shake, slow, this one, and thoughtful. ‘No, she just started talking, right off. Like, “This party, you will be there?” Just like that.’

  ‘Did she say, “Will you be there?” or “You will be there?”’

  The distinction was too subtle for Deenie. She looked bewildered, and said, ‘I dunno. Is it different?’

  ‘It may be,’ Connolly said. Then, to comfort her: ‘It probably doesn’t matter.’

  Deenie had been thinking meanwhile. ‘You asking all these questions – did something happen to Kaylee? I thought she got run over, a hit-and-run driver. That’s what they said at school.’

  ‘That’s what it looks like,’ Connolly said. ‘Just an accident. But you see, we don’t know where she was on Saturday night, or who she was with, and we like to be able to write a full report about it, when someone dies. So if you remember anything she might have told you about this boyfriend, or where the party was, or anything at all about people she’d been seeing—’

  ‘You want to ask Shannon if you want to know that sort of thing. She’s the one she’s been spending all her time with,’ said Deenie, with hurt.

  ‘Oh, we will, don’t worry,’ said Connolly. ‘Was she still seeing Shannon, so?’

  ‘I s’pose so. She talked about her. Thought the sun shone out of her – eyes.’ She changed the word at the last moment – her mother’s influence. ‘That’s where she was going after she left here,’ she added. ‘She said she was going over Shannon’s to get poshed up for the party.’ A thought came to her. ‘That might be where she was keeping her stuff, if she was hiding it from her mum.’

  ‘That’s a good thought,’ Connolly said encouragingly. ‘Where does Shannon live?’

  ‘I don’t know. Somewhere round here, I think – but I told you, she left school last year, and I wasn’t thick with her, not like Kaylee.’ She tired suddenly of the whole subject. ‘Can I go now? Only Mum wants me to get the washing in.’

  ‘That’s fine, you’ve been very helpful,’ Connolly said, releasing her. It came to something, so it did, when you were outclassed for entertainment value by an armful of washing.

  Deenie jumped up with more energy than she had shown so far, but at the door she stopped abruptly, and turned with a troubled look.

  ‘Yes?’ said Connolly.

  ‘About Kaylee,’ said Deenie slowly.

  She didn’t seem to be able to articulate her question, and Connolly could guess it. No need to load any more troubles onto this forgotten girl; and besides, any police doubts were still strictly in house. ‘It was just a road accident,’ she said kindly.

  Deenie stared a moment, doubtfully, and then nodded.

  Connolly hoped she couldn’t read a thought bubble over the child’s head saying, ‘Like Tyler??’ With two question marks.

  ‘I’ve seen it before,’ Connolly said to Slider, sipping gratefully at a mug of tea. One thing they didn’t tell you before you joined the Job – asking all those questions left you thirsty as the divil. ‘It’s the curse of Irish families – the boys are everything and the girls are nothing. Mammy O’Hare was all “The boys haven’t to be disturbed, they’ve their homework to do, they’ve careers ahead of them.” And it was “Deenie, fetch the washing, go down the shops, make the boys their tea.” Because o’ course Deenie’s future’s assured as a drudge and dogsbody. Like Mammy’s before her.’

  ‘I’m not sure I should let you do any more interviewing if it leaves you so bitter,’ Slider said mildly.

  Connolly grinned. ‘I got out be the skin of me teeth. I know where the trap lies, that’s all. What I’m sayin’ is, no wonder Deenie was flattered when Kaylee wanted to be her friend, and depressed when she dropped her.’

  ‘Fascinating though that is …’ Slider said suggestively.

  Connolly became brisk. ‘The interesting thing, I think, boss, is the conversation she had on her mobile. Deenie says there was no preliminaries. Just straight in with, “This party, are you going to be there?” Or it may have been, “You are going to be there?” Which means there’d been a conversation about it before – maybe he’d even been the one to invite her.’

  ‘Though by the same token, it wasn’t his party,’ said Slider.

  ‘Right,’ said Connolly, eagerly. ‘So whoever owns the big swanky house, it wasn’t the boyfriend.’

  Slider lifted a hand slightly. ‘Except that she may not have been talking to the boyfriend. It could have been a female friend she was hoping would be there for moral support. Could have been the ineffable Shannon.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Connolly, deflated. She thought for a moment. ‘So what the feck was she doing out in Harefield if the party was in Holland Park?’

  ‘It’s a good, reasonably near bit of countryside for dumping a body,’ said Slider.

  ‘Which makes it more likely she was dumped.’ Connolly brightened again.

  ‘If Kaylee was telling Deenie the truth and if Deenie’s remembering it right,’ said Slider, cautioning again. ‘We’d better have a word with Shannon Bailey. She seems to be the one in the know about Kaylee’s last days.’

  ‘Good title for a fillum, boss,’ Connolly said, getting up. ‘Got to find an address first.’

  ‘Not tonight,’ said Slider. He hadn’t got the say-so for overtime yet. ‘I’ll put in the request for the Kaylee’s mobile phone records.’ Lawrence had got the number from her mother. ‘You write up yo
ur report and get off home. Tomorrow is—’

  ‘Another day?’

  ‘I was going to say, soon enough.’

  In the old days, Slider thought as Connolly went out, he could have given both jobs to the night duty officer (latterly all too often Hollis, who hadn’t got a home to go to – damn, he’d forgotten about Hollis again) to give him something to do to wile away the hours. But with the cutbacks they no longer had night cover in every CID office. Instead, except in an emergency, they had one team covering the night hours for several boroughs. Crime was down across the board, so it made sense – there had rarely been any external calls on the night officer’s time. Hollis had managed to get a good night’s sleep – or as good as his restless mind would allow – most nights.

  And he was back to Hollis again.

  Slider was in early the next morning, but he wasn’t the first. Waiting for him in the outer office was a tall black woman in a neat bottle-green trouser suit, her hair a Medusa-head of thin, tight plaits. She started towards him as soon as he appeared, with one of those smiles that should have come with a ping! sound effect.

  ‘’Ello, guv. S’prised to see me?’

  ‘You could knock me down with an HGV,’ Slider assured her. It was Tony Hart (Tony was spelt the boy’s way and wasn’t short for anything – ‘Me mum’s a bit of a nutter,’ she had explained. ‘I’m lucky she didn’t call me Bernard.’) Hart had been one of Slider’s team until she passed her sergeant’s exam and moved on to better things.

  ‘How’s SW6?’ Slider asked.

  Hart shrugged. ‘How is it everywhere?’ she countered. ‘The brass are tryna make the Job into just a job, if you get me. Nine to five. Or eight to six, more like, but you know what I mean. I miss the old days. More policin’ and less management, that’s what we want.’ She slapped a hand over her mouth, pretending to be shocked at what she had said. ‘Blimey, I forgot for a minute – you’re one of ’em now, aren’t you, guv? Congratulations, by the way. You ain’t gonna stick me on for insubordination, are you, Detective Chief Inspector Slider, sir?’

  ‘I see they haven’t knocked the cheek out of you,’ Slider said. ‘Not that it isn’t a pleasure to see you, Detective Sergeant Hart, but is this a social call, or what are you doing here?’

  ‘Mission a’ mercy,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to help out.’ Her mobile face fell several inches into a downward arc of sympathy. ‘Sorry about Colin Hollis, by the way, guv. Bummer! I was well gutted when I heard – he was a decent bloke. Anyway—’ her face rose again – ‘they said you was short of a sergeant, and it’s quiet back at the old homestead, and I got leave owing, so, what with one thing and another …’

  ‘Who said we were short of a sergeant?’ Slider cut to the heart of it.

  ‘Mr Porson rung up my guv’nor and chucked some ’eavy hints about, and my guv’nor asked for volunteers and – here I am.’

  Slider cocked an eye at her. ‘Come to save our bacon out of the goodness of your heart?’

  Hart looked shocked. ‘Blimey, no! I’m gettin’ paid,’ she assured him. ‘I can’t stand ’olidays, and I’m saving for a deposit on a house, so it makes sense. It’s all about the money, guv, honest! I’d never do anyone a favour, I swear!’

  ‘I believe you,’ Slider said solemnly. ‘I withdraw any imputation of philanthropy, and apologize for impugning your character.’

  Hart grinned. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying, but I defend to the death your right to say it. So what you got for me?’

  ‘A lot of routine catching-up, but there is one thing that might turn out to be interesting.’ He got her up to speed on the Kaylee Adams incident. ‘Perhaps you’d like to start on finding out where Shannon Bailey is.’

  ‘Right, guv. Get you a cuppa first?’

  ‘If you’re brewing up – thanks.’

  ‘Gotta get me priorities right. Tea first.’

  Slider from his room heard a succession of excited greetings as the rest of the firm came in one by one. By the time Atherton appeared in his doorway and raised a Vulcan eyebrow, Slider had spoken to DCI David Century, his opposite number at Fulham, to discuss the matter, and had got what he thought was a handle on the situation. Century’s boss was Detective Superintendent Orvan Palliser, whose odd Christian name had given rise, naturally enough, to the sobriquet of ‘the Organ’, which it was subversively suggested he deserved. He was efficient but unloved, and was also something of a snob – it was rumoured that he had been mightily displeased when he had missed out on Kensington and got Fulham instead, the hippy-dippy cheap end of Chelsea, entirely the wrong end of the Fulham Road, which ran from the riches of Egerton Place to the rags of Fulham High Street.

  And the Organ, as it was not exactly stated by Century, didn’t like Hart. He suspected her of derision, and Slider could understand that – she was so in-your-face that even her respectfulness could come across as insolently chirpy. Palliser, as Century didn’t exactly say, would be glad to get Hart off his hands permanently, as there was in his firm a very nice young detective constable from a good home, who was ready for promotion and might leave Fulham for another borough if there wasn’t an opening there for him soon.

  Of course, David Century didn’t exactly tell Slider any of this, so Slider was not at liberty to pass it on to Atherton. He said, ‘She’s volunteered to work her leave here – saving up for a house so she needs the money. We’ve got her for a month, but …’ He inserted a delicate pause.

  ‘She might stay on?’ Atherton said. ‘Well, Fulham’s loss would be our gain – though why she’d want to come back here I can’t imagine.’

  ‘What’s wrong with here?’ Slider said, wounded.

  Atherton grinned. Hart had had a crush on Slider when she’d worked under him before, though he wouldn’t expect his boss to know that – or approve of it if he did. He said, ‘Better shops, pubs and clubs in Fulham, and Chelsea just down the road. And probably more interesting cases. We’d better hope something comes of this Kaylee Adams business, to keep her from getting bored.’

  Slider got up. ‘I’m going to see Mr Porson. If it was his idea to begin with, he’s probably got a plan for keeping her.’

  Porson was inscrutable, and wouldn’t even confirm that he’d rung Det Sup Palliser at all, but each rank had its own rumour mill, so Slider guessed Porson had been both putting out feelers and taking in hints.

  Porson did, however, agree that if Hart wanted to stay on permanently, it would probably be arrangeable. ‘But she might not want to, so let’s not cross our chickens. Meanwhile, I expect to see some of the backlash of casework dealt with. We’ve got no excuses now.’ He paused for Slider to look suitably submissive, and went on: ‘What’s happening with this Adams business?’

  Slider brought him up-to-date.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Porson said, with a frown like boulders rushing down from opposing hillsides. ‘Something fishy about it. I can smell it.’ He tapped his considerable beak. ‘And we’re going to get stuck with it, thanks to you and your friend Doc Cameron. We should have left it with Uxbridge.’

  ‘They wouldn’t have followed it up,’ Slider said. ‘Westminster didn’t.’

  ‘You don’t know there’s any connection,’ Porson snapped.

  Slider only looked at him. In the modern world of nine-to-five, by-the-book, tick-box, spreadsheet policing, there was no room for fishy feelings. They hadn’t the time. They hadn’t the money. And those above them hadn’t the patience, not with the door to the corridors of power temptingly ajar for superiors who kept their noses clean. But Slider knew that Porson was in the Job for reasons other than the pay and the career trajectory. It was why he loved him.

  At last Porson made an irritable movement. ‘All right! I’ve told you you can have to the end of the week. For God’s sake get me something that looks like something, so I don’t have to close you down.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Slider, and went away, satisfied for now.

  Who cared for Kaylee Ada
ms? No one, not even her mother. Who had cared for Tyler Vance? Not even social services, who had all too many of them the same. Here, in the space after the full stop, there was only Slider and his team left, to say that someone’s death couldn’t just be reduced to a budget decision. He cared – and thank God Porson did too, for all his crustiness.

  SIX

  Wake Duncan With Thy Knocking?

  Shannon Bailey, it emerged, had been living with her sister Dakota.

  ‘Good Lord!’ Slider complained mildly. ‘Doesn’t anyone call their daughter Jane or Elizabeth any more?’

  Hart gave him a stern look. ‘Benefit mums, the only thing they’ve got to give their kids is a weird name.’

  Shannon’s mother Dee (whose current surname appeared to be Walls) was a skinny white woman, so lavishly tattooed it might have been an attempt to blend in with her black neighbours. She had a hoarse, cigarette voice and a wary, not to say suspicious eye, but once she absorbed that Hart was not after her for anything, she became almost embarrassingly forthcoming.

  She volunteered that she eked out her benefits with prostitution – ‘Well, you can’t live on what the bleedin’ state gives you, can you, love?’ – and so was known to social services, who kept a sketchy eye on her four younger children, all boys. Dakota was her eldest; at twenty, well past the reach of all guardianship.

  ‘Then there’s Tommy, he’s eighteen. I dunno where he is. He took off when I started shacking up wiv Griff. Him and Griff never got on. Then Shannon, which you know. She moved out soon as she left school and Dakota said she’d have her. Mind? Why should I? There’s not room to swing a cat in this dump, but the council won’t give me a bigger place. I’ve asked till I’m blue in the face, but all they say is there’s a waitin’ list. Bastards. She’s better off out of it, anyway, Shannon. I don’t like her in an’ out of the bathroom half naked with Leroy around. He’s got a wandrin’ eye.’

  ‘Leroy?’

  ‘Him what I live with.’

  ‘Oh. Not Griff.’

  ‘He moved on. Him and Leroy had a fight. Knives. Leroy give him a cut down his arm needed twenty stitches,’ she added with some pride.