No trace bak-8

by Barry Maitland

  They shook hands and Brock said,‘You’d better give me a number I can reach you on. My sergeant, DS Kolla, will be staying around here for a while. I’ll give you her number.’

  After the man had gone, Brock stood at the window for a moment contemplating the square. He felt as if he were on the stage at a public spectacle, with the mob down below and a judge in the royal box, observing his moves. He turned to speak to Kathy.

  ‘I’m going over to Shoreditch station,’ he said, and saw that Rudd was dressed now in sweater and jeans. The man blew his nose noisily with a large red handkerchief and Brock noticed moisture glistening around his eyes.‘Everything all right?’

  Kathy nodded. Everyone was different, she thought; it was important to remember that. You barged into someone’s home and bombarded them with questions, and expected certain reactions. If they didn’t come, you began to make suppositions. But everyone was different. It had taken Rudd all this time to show real feeling about his daughter’s disappearance. Kathy’s question about the unlocked window had started the tears, quite suddenly. It was all his fault, he had blurted, not checking to see that the window was secure. And then his shoulders had shuddered and he’d folded his arms over his head and begun to sob. She had caught some words: ‘… couldn’t live with it, not again…’

  She had assumed he was referring to the death of his wife, and for the first time she felt a real surge of pity for him. His stunt at the window, his careless manner and eccentric appearance, which had appeared silly and pretentious, now seemed only vulnerable and sad, and when he had finally pulled himself together and made some weak joke about something in his eye, his early behaviour seemed brave even, a show of defiance against fate.

  Brock’s voice, detached and sceptical, interrupted her thoughts. ‘Stay close to him for a while, Kathy. Get him talking,’ he said.‘Something doesn’t feel right here. He says he’s preparing for an exhibition but there’s no sign of any work. The place is empty. Then there’s the medication. Maybe he’s suffering from depression.’

  When Brock had gone Gabe started telling Kathy about Tracey, what a happy and loving little thing she was, so sensible and responsible. Already, at six years old, she was looking after her own clothes, keeping her room so neat, always ready ahead of time-unlike her father, who left everything to the last minute.

  ‘She gets that from her mother,’ he said, rubbing his eyes.‘Jane was always organised, until…’

  ‘That must’ve been terrible for you both, when she died.’

  ‘Trace was only one. She doesn’t remember. I’m not sure if she knows even now what actually happened. I’ve never told her. She accepts that her mother’s gone to heaven, but she’s never asked how she got there.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  Gabe lifted his eyes to watch her reaction as he told her.‘She jumped off a bridge into the Regent’s Canal, not half a mile from here.’

  Kathy fell silent. She decided it probably wasn’t a good time to ask him about Dead Puppies.‘I suppose your work would be a comfort.’

  He raised his eyebrows as if the idea was bizarre. ‘A comfort? You make it sound like a nice cup of tea. Is your work a comfort?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is for most people, isn’t it? Something outside of your personal life to concentrate on.’ She had a sudden image of her flat, empty and cold since Leon had left.

  ‘Why, isn’t it going well, your personal life?’

  Kathy blinked, as if he’d caught her out. ‘What about yours?’

  ‘I asked first,’ he said, and narrowed his eyes, looking at her as if at something to draw. ‘Let me guess, you split up with your boyfriend recently?’

  He caught the flicker of surprise on Kathy’s face and added, ‘Doesn’t take a genius.’ His eyes travelled over her head and she felt even more annoyed to sense a blush in her cheek and an almost irresistible urge to run her hand through her hair.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, his voice soft and almost seductive. ‘It’ll make you sharp. That’s what pain does. Those other cops who were here earlier didn’t look as if they ever feel anything. I think if anyone’ll find Trace, it’ll be you.’

  ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ Kathy asked evenly.

  ‘I do have a friend actually, yes.’ He didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

  ‘Have you spoken to her this morning?’

  ‘Yeah. She’ll probably be over later.’

  The crowd in the street had dispersed, Kathy saw. Lights were on in all the windows of the office buildings on the east side of the square, and all the parking spaces along the kerbs around the central gardens were occupied. A small green Ford moved slowly along Urma Street and turned down East Terrace, obviously searching for a spot, and when a parked van ahead signalled it was leaving the Ford quickly manoeuvred into its space. A grey-haired couple emerged from the car and began striding purposefully towards Gabriel Rudd’s front door. Kathy took the stairs down to the entrance hall and reached it just as the officer on duty there got up to answer the doorbell.

  ‘Len and Bev Nolan,’ the man said to the constable. ‘We’re the missing girl’s grandparents. I spoke to someone on the phone…’

  ‘That was me,’ Kathy said, and introduced herself.

  ‘Have there been any developments?’ They both spoke together.

  ‘I’m afraid not. Let’s go upstairs where we can talk.’

  When they reached the first floor Kathy found that Rudd had vanished, presumably upstairs to his studio.

  ‘Where’s Gabriel then?’ Bev Nolan said, peering keenly around as if she expected to catch him hiding somewhere behind the furniture. Both she and her husband had lean features and trim figures. Their gestures were quick, and somehow communicated the impression of them being used to exercise and hard work. Recently retired, Kathy thought, perhaps still playing a sport.

  ‘He must have gone upstairs,’ Kathy said, ‘but I’d like the chance to talk to you both, anyway.’

  ‘I want to hear this from him,’ Len Nolan said, threateningly.

  ‘Please sit down,’ Kathy insisted, and reluctantly they did. They sat silently, listening intently, as she told them what was known so far.

  When she had finished, Len Nolan asked,‘But how did they get in without making a noise? That’s what I can’t understand. Tracey’s bed is right next to the window. She’d have heard someone forcing the lock, surely, and cried out.’

  ‘It appears that, unfortunately, the window wasn’t locked.’

  A growl of fury erupted from Len, and from his wife came a disbelieving cry,‘No!’

  ‘That useless bastard!’ Len fumed. He leaped to his feet and began pacing, unable to keep still. ‘We warned them, didn’t we, Bev? We said something like this would happen.’

  ‘That’s right, Len.’

  ‘But would they listen? Would they?’

  ‘No, Len.’

  ‘Warned who?’ Kathy broke in.

  ‘The Social Services. We told ’em that he’s irresponsible, unfit to be a parent. And that stupid woman told us that so were most fathers, but she couldn’t do anything about it. By God, I’ll have her bloody job for this.’

  Len Nolan’s face had become deep red by this stage, and Bev said anxiously, ‘Yes, Len, but let’s hear what Sergeant Kolla has to say. Come and sit down, love, please.’

  ‘We even took legal advice.’

  ‘About what?’ Kathy said.

  ‘About getting custody of Tracey, that’s what!’ Len snapped angrily.‘And she told us we wouldn’t have a leg to stand on without evidence of abuse or neglect. I told her how he forgets to feed her, and lost her in the supermarket that day, and how he and his mates take drugs, and all she could say was…’ and he put on a pathetic, whining voice, ‘…“Get some evidence, Mr Nolan. Get something a court will listen to.” Yes, well, we’ve got that now, haven’t we, but it’s too bloody late!’

  ‘Mr Nolan… Len,’ Kathy said soothingly, ‘please sit down and take me thro
ugh this a step at a time. I need to know anything that might be relevant to Tracey’s disappearance.’

  ‘Yes, Len,’ Bev said, patting the seat of his chair. ‘Sit down, love, and tell the sergeant.’

  ‘Oh Lord,’he said, rolling his eyes to heaven.‘Where to begin?’

  But he did sit down again, and they told Kathy why they believed Gabriel Rudd to be a degenerate worm, as Len put it. No, they weren’t saying he interfered with his daughter, or was deliberately cruel to her, although sometimes they almost wished he were, because then they could have made people act. What they were saying was that he was irresponsible, negligent and completely absorbed in himself.

  ‘She has a nice home,’Kathy objected,‘clothes, food in the fridge. You should see the way some children live…’

  ‘Yes, yes, but he simply doesn’t care about her. It’s mental cruelty, neglect. He doesn’t speak to her for days on end. She’s a poor little soul.’

  As they talked, pouring out an endless list of niggling complaints about their son-in-law’s inadequacies, Kathy sensed the big grievance that lurked unspoken in the background, and that had transformed disapproval of their son-in-law into outright hatred. Finally she put it to them.

  ‘Do you blame him for your daughter’s death?’

  That brought them up short. They glanced at each other, uncertain how to answer the direct question. Then Bev Nolan said softly, ‘Yes, I do,’ and her husband, speechless for once, put his hand on hers and squeezed.

  ‘Jane was never really well after Tracey was born. Postpartum depression, the doctors said. They gave her drugs and told Gabe he had to look after her, but he didn’t. Quite the opposite in fact…’

  ‘Totally,’ Len jerked a nod of agreement.

  ‘… left her to herself, went out with his friends, didn’t help with the baby, in the night, and her so short of sleep…’

  ‘We did what we could, of course, but he didn’t like us coming round, made that plain as day. We had some rows, I can tell you.’

  ‘He drove her to it,’ Bev said decisively, ‘as surely as if he’d pushed her into the canal himself.’

  ‘And then he set about exploiting her death any way he could,’ Len added. ‘That was the sickest thing, the unforgivable thing, playing the tragic widower. He turned Jane’s death into a public spectacle.’

  ‘He sued the doctors-there was some question about the drugs they’d prescribed, and in the end they settled, though Gabriel wouldn’t tell us how much for. And then he did that dreadful exhibition about her.’

  ‘The Night-Mare. It won him that big prize. That’s where this all came from…’ Len waved a hand to indicate the house,‘…from the court settlement and the art prize. He had nothing before that. Always broke when Jane was alive.’

  As they lapsed into silence Kathy said quietly, ‘But he does give you access to Tracey now?’

  ‘She pesters him,’ Bev said, ‘until he lets her stay with us. Her room at our house has all the things she loves. Len has made her special furniture, and a dolls’ house, and a farmyard.’

  ‘But I suppose she has friends around here? At school?’

  ‘No.’ Len Nolan shook his head. ‘She’s not settled at that school. Oh, it’s very convenient.’ He made the word sound like an obscenity. ‘Only a couple of doors away. Doesn’t even have to collect her in the afternoon. But they give her a hard time. They know, you see.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The other kids, they know about her dad. Dead Puppies!’ He turned away in disgust.

  Kathy hesitated.‘What exactly is Dead Puppies?’

  Bev said, ‘Don’t ask, Sergeant, please. Len’s very fond of dogs.’

  ‘Have they gone?’ Gabe peered down the staircase from his studio.

  ‘Yes,’ Kathy said.‘You can come on down.’

  ‘Hell,’ he said, creeping down and slumping into a pink plastic sofa.‘I could do with a drink.’

  As if to order, the doorbell rang. The duty policeman’s head appeared over the rim of the floor. ‘Two people, Sarge. Say they’re friends of Mr Rudd. A Mr Tait and a Ms Wilkes.’

  ‘Oh, thank Christ,’ Gabe said, sitting upright.

  ‘All right, let them up,’ Kathy said, and immediately the couple burst into view.

  ‘Gabe, Gabe,’ the man cried.‘You poor old feller.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus, Ferg,’ Gabe sighed, jumping to his feet. ‘You’ve no idea.’

  Kathy recognised the newcomer as the man she’d seen on TV with the Irish accent. Though much shorter than Rudd, he caught him in a clinch and rocked him back and forward in his arms as his companion, a stocky dark-haired girl, put the bags she was carrying on the coffee table and turned to Kathy.

  ‘You’re with the police, are you? Are you looking after him?’

  ‘Yes. DS Kathy Kolla.’

  The woman scrutinised Kathy critically, as if wondering whether she was up to the job.‘I’m Poppy Wilkes, and that’s Fergus Tait, Gabe’s dealer. We saw the in-laws leaving and we thought he might need some moral support.’

  ‘I kept out of their way,’ Gabe said. ‘They spoke to Kathy. I suppose they said it was all my fault.’

  ‘Well, that’s only to be expected.’ Fergus Tait patted his shoulder. For a small man, he had a big presence. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, dazzling white shirt and a large, green satin tie. His red hair was expertly layered, and his big round glasses gave his eyes a hypnotic stare. ‘But we’ve brought you the antidote, old chum.’ He reached into one of the plastic bags and drew out a bottle of vodka.‘Glasses, my love,’ he said to Poppy, who seemed to know where to look. She returned with four tumblers and some plates.

  ‘Ah…’ Kathy began to object, but Fergus ignored her, pouring four drinks and picking one up. The other two followed suit. Fergus winked at Kathy. ‘Won’t you have a little drink with us, Sergeant? To the success of your hunt for little Tracey? We shan’t tell on you.’

  ‘I’d like Gabe to keep a clear head,’ Kathy said.

  ‘I can assure you that Gabe’s head gets clearer with every one of these that he puts away, is that not right, boy?’ He tipped the glass and swallowed in one gulp. The other two did the same, then Rudd sank back against the cushions and drew his long legs up to his chest.

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ he sighed. Poppy went to sit beside him and put her arms around him.

  ‘They’ll find her, Gabe,’ she said, and from the way she looked at him Kathy guessed that this must be his ‘friend’.

  ‘You’re feeling bad, of course you are.’ Tait poured another drink.‘How else could you feel?’

  ‘Helpless. I feel helpless.’

  ‘You need something to eat,’ Poppy Wilkes said briskly. ‘We brought you some lunch from Mahmed’s. Oh, Stan sends his love too, of course. He’d have come himself, but you know how he is with the pigs.’ She shot a mischievous grin at Kathy.‘Come on, Gabe, have some food.’

  ‘No, no, I couldn’t.’

  Poppy ignored his protests, unpacking Turkish bread and dips and cold meats and salads onto the plates. They looked good and Kathy suddenly felt hungry. Then she caught Tait watching her. He winked.‘Tuck in, Sergeant. There’s plenty here.’

  ‘Thanks. Maybe later.’

  ‘What’s going on out there?’ Gabe asked, reaching forward to tear off a chunk of bread.

  ‘They’re searching the building site,’ Poppy said. ‘The builders have had to leave and they’re really annoyed at the delay. So is Mahmed.’

  ‘Why Mahmed?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘He owns the building. And most of the builders are his relatives.’

  ‘Batty Betty barged in here. She claimed she heard a scream in the night.’ Gabe was speaking with his mouth full, and Kathy noticed he was watching Poppy’s reaction.

  ‘Maybe that’s why they’re looking at the building site next door to her.’

  ‘What time was that?’ Poppy was making a sandwich.

  ‘Five past two. She was very precise.’
r />   Poppy shrugged.‘She probably saw little green men, too.’

  The drink had brought some colour to Gabe’s face, and when he spoke again he was a little more voluble, his voice fluid. ‘It’s like a horrible dream, Trace disappearing like that, you’ve no idea. I still can’t take it in, you know? I feel sick thinking about her out there somewhere…’

  ‘What you need, old son, is something to occupy your mind while this is going on,’ Fergus Tait said decisively. ‘Work, that’s what you need! Get down to some work.’

  Gabe shook his head in protest. ‘No way. I couldn’t. Not while Trace…’

  ‘That’s exactly the right time. Do it for her. Better than sitting around chewing your nails.’

  ‘I think he’s right, Gabe,’ Poppy said cautiously, as if she half-expected Gabe to round on her. But he just looked thoughtful.

  ‘You’ve been promising me something for ages now,’ Tait went on.‘So get off your backside and do it, will you? Art is pain, Gabriel, you know that.“Real pain for my real friends, champagne for my sham friends”-you know the old line. So show us your real pain. Remember Night-Mare, eh? Pure pain it was, and you can do it again.’

  This seemed to be a common theme, Kathy thought, watching Gabe’s bowed head as he took this in. Tait’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Kathy noticed Gabe’s right index finger begin to tap the side of his leg.

  ‘I suppose I could try… maybe once they’ve found Trace…’

  ‘No, no. Right now, boy, this very minute. I’ll tell you what, I’ll make things easy for you, I’ll give you a deadline. I’ll send out the invitations this very day to the opening of Gabriel Rudd’s new one-man show at The Pie Factory on this Friday coming.’

  ‘Friday!’ Gabe looked incredulous ‘Don’t be daft, Ferg, that’s only four days away.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get moving then, hadn’t you?’

  ‘It’s totally impossible, Ferg… Maybe in six months, a year …’

  ‘No, Friday,’ Tait insisted. ‘I’m serious, deadly serious. The eyes of the world are on you, Gabe. Strike while the iron is steaming hot.’

  Poppy, seeing that he really was in earnest, said,‘But my exhibition, Fergus. It’s still got two weeks to run. Why don’t we wait till then?’