Broken Dreams

by Nick Quantrill

  I’d managed to hold it together throughout the evening, but all I could think about was Anastazja. I didn’t know whether she really had been forcefully taken to London but her mobile constantly went straight to voicemail. Whatever the situation was, I was worried for her and angry with myself for not taking more precautions. I should have known Salford would be keeping an eye on me, but I’d been slack and now she was paying the penalty. I had to think of a way to make amends. I found Coleman sat in the corner of the bar. I’d agreed to meet him in what passed for his local; a bar and restaurant servicing a chain hotel. It suited me because the other drinkers would be passing through, waiting for tomorrow to roll around. Nobody would know who we were, or care.

  ‘How did it go?’ he asked.

  I’d barely sat down. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘That’s probably one way to describe a swingers party. What was it like?’

  ‘What are you? Some sort of pervert?’

  Coleman shrugged and laughed. ‘It’s interesting.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to spend a couple of hours with them. I was alright, but they liked Sarah.’

  ‘Don’t blame them.’

  I stared at him. He held his hands up and said he was a married man.

  ‘Just an observation, Joe. That’s all.’

  I let it go. ‘It was creepy, to tell the truth. We were treated like royalty when we arrived, or maybe fresh meat might be a better description. We got champagne as soon as were through the door. The couple who were clearly the top dogs introduced us to everyone, asking us questions and what have you. It was intense.’

  ‘How far did you have to go?’

  ‘A gentleman never tells.’

  Coleman laughed. Don’t be holding out on me.’

  I took a slow mouthful of diet coke. ‘Not too far. They were keen to make sure we were relaxed and comfortable with the set-up. Even when they started to pair off, they were happy for us to mingle and talk to people, get a feel for it.’

  ‘Who did you speak to?’ Coleman asked, switching back to business mode. ‘Steve Taylor?’

  I nodded. ‘Nose.’ He was a powerfully built man and clearly took good care of himself. ‘We spoke to him and his wife.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘Keen to talk to Sarah, as you can imagine. When I managed to corner him, we talked business.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘I followed the script you gave me. I told him I’d just moved back to the city and was setting up a new company.’

  ‘Did he buy it?’

  ‘I think so.’ What I didn’t want to tell Coleman was that he’d given me his business card and offered to help me find suitable premises. I’d definitely be talking to him again. ‘It seems to be as much about business networking as the obvious reason for being there.’

  ‘What about your face? How did you explain that?’

  ‘Nobody was that bothered. Maybe they thought I was piece of rough for them to look at. Besides, I wasn’t the star attraction, as you’ve already noted.’

  ‘How did you work the Murdoch’s into the conversation?’

  ‘We told him Sarah knew them from years ago and we’d bumped into them recently.’

  ‘Did he believe you?’

  I thought about it. ‘I’m sure he did. He told us the Murdoch’s were known to the gathering, though he stopped short of naming them as fellow members. We played the ghoulish tourist approach, asking what had happened.’

  ‘Any theories?’

  I shook my head. ‘We spoke to a few people about it and they all said the same thing; they couldn’t believe anybody would want to kill her.’

  ‘Did he admit to sleeping with Murdoch?’

  ‘Not in as many words, but it was pretty much a free for all as we left.’

  ‘Literally?’

  ‘They had the decency to head off in pairs to other rooms. It wasn’t like one massive game of Twister.’

  Coleman bought us more drinks. ‘Did you find out who else the Murdoch’s were friendly with?’

  ‘So far as I could tell, no one in particular. Obviously, they were a little cagey with us, but it genuinely seemed to be an open house. They all seemed to know each other really well.’

  ‘Did you get any details of the other members?’

  I handed over a selection of business cards. I’d collected cards from accountants, solicitors, builders and even a minor reality TV celebrity star. I assumed they’d had them printed for such occasions. I passed them over to Coleman, as I’d already taken down the details. I watched him fan through them like a pack of cards.

  ‘A right mixture’ he said. ‘I’ll have them checked out.’ He put them in his pocket. ‘I was hoping for a bit more Joe.’

  ‘They were hardly likely to tell us their darkest secrets on our first visit’ I replied, not wanting to get into an argument.

  ‘What did you find out about their involvement with the club?’

  ‘What I’ve told you. They were regulars, and seemingly a popular pair.’ I knew his game. He wanted a breakthrough to take to his superiors to claim the credit for. I knew he was looking to see if Christopher Murdoch stacked up, but he was also hedging his bets. And I wasn’t prepared to go that far to help him. ‘You’ve got a good selection of the other regulars with those business cards.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Sonia Bray yet?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Alright, I guess. A bit fragile, but she’ll survive.’

  I wondered if it was true. She’d been used by Jennifer Murdoch and left to pick up the pieces. ‘Do you reckon Murdoch’s financial state was behind her death?’

  ‘I’m not going to discuss the investigation with you.’

  ‘Worth a try.’ I wondered about asking him for a favour in helping find Anastazja. He might know someone in London who could check out some likely places. I decided to leave it and wait. I’d keep an eye on Salford’s brothel and see what happened.

  ‘My DI has a hard-on for Christopher Murdoch, and frankly, Joe, I’m inclined to agree. We know he’s got the motive.’

  I cut in. ‘But not the opportunity. He was on the M62, remember.’

  ‘That’s yet to be established.’

  We both finished up our drinks and stood up.

  ‘Find him, Joe. For both our sakes.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I’d spent most of the night sat in my front room, music on low, watching the 24 hour news channels. I had Anastazja on my mind, or more likely, my conscience. I’d eventually fallen asleep on my couch but my alarm clock woke me a couple of hours later. I’d quickly thrown some bread in the toaster, jumped in the shower and made it to Sarah’s house in time.

  We drove north, through the market towns of Malton and Pickering before passing through the rugged countryside of Goathland. Turning onto Whitby’s West Cliff area, where the majority of bed and breakfasts are found. I circled the long, straight streets until we spotted a family leaving the resort for the day and squeezed the car into the vacated space. We checked the map and quickly found the address we needed.

  A man, similar age to Don answered the door. ‘Jeremy?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  I introduced us and we were invited in. His bed and breakfast was like any other. The long hallway had a room at the front for guests to use and passing through the dining room and kitchen, we headed towards the back of the building, where the private quarters were situated.

  ‘Busy?’ I asked him.

  Jeremy sighed. ‘Surviving. You name it, it’s not helping us; food prices, heating costs, people going abroad on holiday.’ He laughed. ‘Tell the truth, if I knew it was going to be this difficult, I’d have stuck to catching criminals in Hull.’

  Don had told us Jeremy’s master-plan was to supplement his police pension with the earnings from the bed and breakfast. The early morning starts aren’t great�
� he continued, ‘but I’m used to them. The fresh air’s good for me and I’m only ninety minutes from back home.’

  ‘You’d recommend it?’ I asked.

  ‘I probably would.’

  I had money in the bank and the thought of early morning walks on the beach was appealing. I couldn’t see myself running a place like this, though.

  ‘How’s Don doing?’ he asked us.

  ‘He’s good’ said Sarah. ‘As busy as ever.’

  Jeremy pointed to some chairs at the table and we all sat down. ‘He needs to slow down’ he said. ‘He always worked too hard; a perfectionist.’

  ‘He won’t change.’

  ‘I suppose not, but I know he’s made up to have you two working there now. He thinks you go together nicely.’

  I changed the subject. ‘Don said you think you’ve found our missing person.’

  Jeremy put his glasses on and opened a file he’d placed on the table. ‘It was a pleasure to be asked to help, truth be told. Keeps the old grey matter ticking over.’ He produced some notes he’d typed up. I could see why he and Don had worked well together. ‘Donna Platt hasn’t been seen for ten years?’

  Sarah and I both nodded.

  ‘Which makes her 29 years old?’

  ‘Right’ I confirmed.

  ‘That fits with the woman I’ve seen.’

  ‘I assume she’s not going under her own name?’

  ‘Sort of. This one’s stage name is Donna Marie.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s her?’

  Jeremy laughed and shook his head. ‘That’s for you to decide. I don’t know either way. I just did what Don asked and thought this woman might be worth a look. I know the local club scene anyway, so I knew who to talk to. They know she’s from Hull, so it adds some credence to my thoughts. She’s been in town for a few months, working the summer season in the clubs. The people I spoke to say she keeps herself to herself. Don said she hasn’t had any contact with her family since she left?’

  I explained some of the background to him.

  ‘Strange carry on’ Jeremy commented. ‘I’ve seen her sing and I can tell you she’s excellent, really excellent. A cut above the quality of the regular acts we get in this place. If it is her, I’m not surprised. She thought she was destined for great things.’

  ‘Has she got any friends you know of?’

  ‘You mean male friends?’

  ‘Either.’

  ‘Not that I know of. Like I said, nobody seems to know much about her. She’s a bit of a mystery.’

  ‘What’s the club like?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘As you’d expect, really. It’s on the edge of the town centre and caters for the tourists. It’s seen better days but it’s usually fairly busy. She sings there a couple of times a week and apparently does the odd night in the big hotels. In-house entertainment, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Keeps her busy, then.’

  ‘Seemingly so.’

  He took his glasses off and tidied away the papers. He’d told us all he knew.

  ‘We’ll check out the club’ I said to Sarah, standing.

  Jeremy held out a piece of paper to me. ‘You’ll be wanting this before you go.’

  I opened it up and looked at him.

  ‘Her current address’ he said.

  ‘Where to?’ I asked Sarah. We were stood outside Jeremy’s bed and breakfast. He’d gone beyond the call of duty for us. We now had options.

  ‘Her house?'

  I shook my head and looked at my watch. ‘I think we should go to the club first. They’ll be open by now.’

  ‘We might be able to corner her at the house, make less of a scene.’

  ‘We need to make sure it’s the right person first. If we make a mess of things, we might blow our only chance of speaking to her.’ We had directions to the club, so I pulled rank and started walking.

  The club was as I expected; run down and almost empty. Walking around Whitby, it was clear it was the kind of place the town was leaving behind. The old fish and chip restaurants were being replaced with trendy bars and bistros. We walked into the club and found an empty table. The walls displayed framed photographs of past performers, both semi-famous and unknown. In the far corner of the room was a small stage, with a drum-kit set up ready for use. On the table was a leaflet advertising the forthcoming attractions. We found Donna on the listings and looked at the small photograph. It was Donna Platt. Ten years older, but definitely her. I took the leaflet to the bar and ordered two diet cokes.

  ‘What time’s she on?’ I asked. The leaflet didn’t specify.

  ‘Hopefully tonight, mate’ the barman replied.

  ‘Hopefully?’

  ‘She was off sick last night.’

  I handed over a five pound note. ‘I’ve heard she’s good.’

  ‘She’s excellent. Very popular with the regulars. She’s been with us for a couple of months. Lucky to have her, really. We don’t often get singers of her calibre offering themselves to us. She said she’d even sing for free to prove herself, and we snapped her up. She sings songs from the sixties right up to current chart-hits depending on who’s in. She’s got something to please everyone, which is pretty rare in these parts, I can tell you.’

  ‘Reliable?’

  He stopped and looked at me. ‘What are you? Some sort of agent? If you are, you’re wasting your time. We’ve got her booked up for the rest of the season and we’ve sorted something out for next year. She won’t be interested in moving.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. I’m not an agent.’ I accepted my change and headed back to Sarah, thinking Donna Platt was intending to put some roots down in this small seaside town.

  I switched the engine off and looking at the address we had for Donna, counted the house numbers, looking for her address. The house was about a mile out of the town centre. It looked like the terraced houses had been converted into separate flats. I wasn’t sure if the addition of ‘A’ on the end of the address meant Donna occupied the upper or lower accommodation. I locked the car and we walked across the road. The adrenaline was pumping. I smiled at Sarah, sure she was feeling it too. This was our moment of truth. Sarah pressed the buzzer and we waited. Neither of us said a word as we stood there. Nobody answered the door, so I pressed the buzzer again. Nothing happened. I took a step back and looked up at the window but there was no sign of movement, not even a twitching net curtain. I bent down and lifted the letterbox flap. There was nothing to see, just a takeaway leaflet on the floor and a table with a telephone sat on it. I straightened myself up, shook my head and told Sarah there was nobody home. We walked back down the path and almost reached the end before we heard the door open.

  ‘Can I help you?’ It wasn’t Donna Platt. The woman stood at the door was in her seventies.

  ‘We’re looking for Donna’ Sarah said. ‘She lives in the top flat.’

  ‘Debt collectors?’

  ‘Not at all’ I said. I offered the woman a business card and explained our situation. ‘We’re working on behalf of Donna’s mother. She’s lost touch with her.’

  The old woman looked at the card. She shook her head.

  ‘They’ve left.’

  ‘Left?’ said Sarah. ‘When?’

  ‘Last night. I saw them piling stuff into their car.’

  ‘Might just be going away for a few days’ suggested Sarah.

  ‘They were putting everything in the car; bedding, pots and pans, books, you name it.’

  ‘There was someone helping Donna?’ I said, picking up on what she’d said.

  ‘That’s right. Chelsea, her daughter, was helping load the car up.’

  We sat in the car, reflecting on what we’d learnt.

  ‘She thinks Donna’s daughter is about ten years old’ I said to Sarah.

  She nodded. ‘Which means she was born around the time Donna left Hull.’

  I nodded. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘And we know her father wouldn’t have approved.’

&nbs
p; I had to agree. From what we knew of Ron Platt, he probably wouldn’t have been thrilled to become a grandfather. ‘Would it be enough for her to leave the city, though?’ I thought about Donna’s boyfriend. It seemed like he was keen to settle down with her and had some sort of future. I was sure she could have turned to him for help.

  ‘She’s done a runner’ I said. ‘She was expecting us.’

  Sarah nodded but didn’t look at me. ‘Lisa Day.’

  We drove back to Hull without speaking. I dropped Sarah off at her house before heading to the office. I placed Don’s sandwich onto the desk in front of him and watched him inspect it, checking I’d got the order he’d texted me right.

  ‘She’ll learn from this, Joe.’

  ‘I know.’ I didn’t blame her. At one time or another, we’d all had to learn some harsh lessons. Lisa Day wasn’t all she seemed to be and was obviously still in contact with Donna Platt. Why she was choosing not to share this information with us was something we didn’t know. ‘Assuming Lisa has told Donna about her mum dying, whatever caused her to leave home must have been serious if she’s not got back in touch.’

  Don nodded and continued chewing. ‘The kid.’

  ‘Donna’s neighbour said the kid is about ten, which fits.’

  ‘So we’re saying she left because she was pregnant?’

  I nodded. I’d turned it over in my mind as I’d driven back.

  ‘Makes sense. I can’t imagine her father would have approved.’

  ‘It’s a bit extreme in this day and age, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe, but everyone’s different.’

  ‘Was this neighbour able to tell you anything else?’

  ‘Not really. Donna kept herself to herself and she didn’t see much of the daughter, Chelsea.’

  ‘Men friends?’

  I laughed. ‘Men friends?’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  I told Don he was old-fashioned. ‘The neighbour didn’t think so.’

  ‘Did you go back to the club she was working at?’

  ‘The barman was a little more forthcoming when we told him Donna had done a runner.’