Careless Love

by Robinson, Peter

  ‘I don’t think Zelda trusts the proper channels. Besides, it’s not as if she’s going out on the streets to search for him herself. All she ever does is look at pictures. And she’s made it part of her fight now. She’ll ask around, that’s all.’

  ‘From what little you and Zelda told us the other night, Ray, I think you’re taking a pretty naive view of what Zelda does when she goes off on her little work trips.’

  Ray put his knife and fork down. ‘What do you mean by that? What do you know about it?’

  ‘Doesn’t it worry you, her going off like that for days at a time?’

  ‘Oh, that. I gave up being possessive and jealous years ago. Especially as far as women are concerned. It only brings you grief. Besides, Zelda’s a free spirit. She can do what she wants. I’m just happy she seems to want to spend some time with me.’

  ‘Noble sentiments, Ray, and very sixties, love the one you’re with and all that, but that’s not what I meant. I know something about the kind of people she works for. They’re ruthless. They wouldn’t hesitate to put Zelda in harm’s way if it meant netting a big catch. And those are the good guys.’

  ‘That’s rubbish. She just sits in a room and studies pictures.’

  ‘That might be what she wants you to believe, but it must be more dangerous than that. She cares about you, Ray. She doesn’t want you to worry about her. Why do you think she does it?’

  ‘Because she feels she owes it to the victims. I don’t know all the details of her background, but I know she lost someone close to her to those people.’

  ‘I’m not quibbling with the work she does – that’s admirable – I’m just trying to set you right about the true nature of the kind of people who employ her. Don’t be so trusting about their motives. Or their methods. Not to mention the criminals they chase. What I am saying is that you have to try to persuade her not to go off half-cocked against someone like Phil Keane, not to let anyone know she’s interested. He’s a psychopath, Ray, a cold, clever psychopath with no qualms about killing anyone who gets in his way. And he’s manipulative. He draws people in. He could sell ice cream to Eskimos, as they say. He forged the provenance of some very pricey works of art, including a Turner, for crying out loud. That meant getting access to the archives, getting influential and important people in the art world to trust him. And it takes nerve.’

  Ray picked up his fork again. ‘What are you suggesting I do, then?’

  ‘Talk to her. Or let me talk to her. I’ll try again to persuade her to put me in touch with her supervisor. There’s nothing wrong with a little cooperation.’

  ‘I could try,’ Ray said slowly.

  ‘Because the moment she becomes even a blip on Keane’s radar, she’s in danger. You, too, for that matter.’

  Ray sighed and played with his food, then turned back to Banks. ‘I’m not a fool, Alan. I’m well aware that Zelda might have been a victim herself, forced into it, and it’s easier for her to make up a story about someone close to her being trafficked than it is to tell me the truth. But for whatever reason, she hasn’t talked to me about her past, and I don’t want to push her. The balance is fragile enough as it is. What I do know is that she lived much of her life before we met in danger and fear. She was a child in Eastern Europe in the late eighties and early nineties, and that must have been bad enough. She let slip once that she’s an orphan, too. She’s told me some of it, but not all. OK, so maybe she does want to protect me from the hard truth. She has dark moods, and she disappears for hours, days sometimes. Places I can’t touch her. Disappears, I mean, in her workshop, or walking the moors, or whatever. It was the same in Cornwall. She’s haunted, troubled, and she probably always will be. When I met her just over a year ago she was like some ragamuffin street urchin. I kid you not. She wore baggy clothes. She’d cut her hair short. No make-up. I honestly didn’t know at first whether she was a boy or a girl. And do you know, she has the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. That lady of the lowlands is no contest. If I tried for a million years I’d never be able to capture that sadness on canvas. When she came back to the colony with me, I gave her her own place. Only a small caravan, but private. She spent a lot of time alone there. It was three months before she came to me one night and climbed into bed beside me. And the night after that she came again, and so on. Just for comfort, you understand. For someone to hold her and make her feel safe. I never put the slightest bit of pressure on her to go any further. That came only in time, slowly. And it came from Zelda. Now here we are, to all extents living together as man and wife. But I know there are parts of her I’ll never get close to, aspects of her past that she will never share, perhaps things she has had to do to survive. I’ve accepted that, or at least got used to it. She doesn’t want to cause me pain. She’s an incredible woman, Alan. Every day I count my blessings. What we have is enough. It has to be enough.’

  ‘I’m not arguing with you, Ray. I know how special Zelda is, and I can imagine only an inkling of what she’s been through if what you say is right. Like I said, I know a little bit about that world. That’s why I’m talking to you now. Humour me and ask her to do as I say. I’m sure she’s got enough on her plate anyway without chasing after new demons. Think about it. All I want is a contact. Her boss or case handler. I can take it from there. She doesn’t need to get involved. Believe it or not, I’ve got a few contacts of my own.’

  ‘Oh, I believe it.’ Ray took another bite of his lunch and looked at Banks as he chewed. His eyes misted over, and finally, he nodded, pointing with his fork. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll do my best. But I can’t promise anything. Do you think I don’t know I’m one of the luckiest men on earth? An old codger like me living with a woman like Zelda. And it’s real. She loves me. But do you think I don’t worry about losing her? Of course I do. The sixties stuff is mostly just talk. Sure, I get jealous and possessive, but I manage to rationalise the feelings away most of the time. And I know her work might be dangerous, but it comes with the territory, mate. So do the black moods. Do you think I don’t worry about her running off with some thirty-year-old stud while I’m down in London at some gallery opening or showing? Or her meeting someone on one of her trips down there? Of course I bloody do. But that comes with the territory, too. And you know what? I’d rather have the territory with all the shit that comes with it than not have the territory at all. That’s why I try not to let possessiveness and jealousy rule all my days. Because if I did, I couldn’t stand it. So I’ll talk to her, OK? But no guarantees. She’s her own woman, and I, for one, want to keep it that way.’

  ‘It’s all I ask, Ray.’

  ‘Good. OK. We understand one another. Now back to that facile claim you made about Jerry Garcia.’

  ‘It can’t be Daddy, it simply can’t be,’ said Poppy Hadfield, handing back the sketch. Annie almost expected her to stamp her little foot, only it wasn’t so little. Poppy had stringy blond hair, bright red lipstick, far too much make-up on her rather horsey face, and the kind of figure most men would call voluptuous but Annie called wobbly. Bracelets jangled on her wrists and chains hung around her neck. There was a ring on every finger, two on some. She wore skin-tight ice-blue jeans artfully torn at the knees and thighs, and a black PUSSY RIOT T-shirt, also torn in a place Annie thought might cause a bit of an uproar at a posh society dinner. She could see what Gerry had meant by describing Poppy as a walking wardrobe malfunction. She was in her early thirties, perhaps a bit too old to be dressed the way she was. But hers was another world.

  ‘Please calm down, Miss Hadfield,’ said Annie. ‘We don’t know anything for certain yet. Only that your father is apparently missing. You’ve seen the artist’s impression. We would like you to come and—’

  ‘Oh, no. I’m not doing that. You can’t make me do that. No way. I’m not looking at a DEAD BODY, no matter whose it is. You can get someone else to do that. I need a lie down. Where’s my bag, Balter? I need my pills.’

  Thinking that pills and a lie down for Poppy mig
ht be a good idea for everyone’s sanity, Annie suggested she go and do just that while they talked to Adele Balter, who was standing by the sixty-inch flat-screen TV, wringing her hands and staring at the three of them, horrified, with red-rimmed eyes.

  After Adele had found the required bag on the floor behind an armchair, Annie signalled Gerry to follow Poppy upstairs and see what she was up to, then she asked Adele Balter to sit down. She sat down on a huge sofa upholstered in some sort of black-and-white striped horsehair material. Annie tried hard to be a vegetarian most of the time, and she didn’t really want to know what animal the hair had come from. Maybe a zebra. At any rate, it was enough that it seemed ugly and uncomfortable. She remained standing.

  ‘Are you up to answering a few questions, Miss Balter?’

  ‘I’ll try. And it’s Mrs Balter. But call me Adele, please. Like the singer.’

  ‘I like her,’ said Annie. ‘Nice name, too.’

  ‘Well, it’s better than Geraldine,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘That’s my first name.’

  Annie coughed and put her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing. She would have to tease Gerry about that. She walked towards the fireplace, intending to keep standing, but found the mantelpiece was far too high to lean on. She felt awkward. In the end, there was nothing for it but sit in a black-and-white armchair. It felt prickly, even through her clothes.

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Adele said.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Identify that body for you. You heard Poppy. She won’t do it without going hysterical, and who knows where Mr Ronald is, or whether he can get away?’

  ‘But this could be his father.’

  ‘He’s an important man, Mr Ronald. He has obligations. He’s away a lot. But I’m sure he’ll come as soon as he can.’

  Gerry came back down, mouthed the words, ‘Prescription Valium’ to Annie, then sat in the other chair. The walls were papered in turquoise and white diamonds, which Annie found a dazzling combination. Luckily, a reproduction Bayeux tapestry practically covered one wall, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase another, and the other two were so cluttered with framed watercolour landscapes, seascapes and portraits in oils, that they covered most of it up. Annie certainly didn’t envy Adele Balter having to clean the place. Too many hiding places for dust.

  ‘Miss Hadfield is tired and emotional,’ Adele said. ‘She really is very highly strung. She was already in a bit of a state when I got here. She’ll be better after a rest.’

  ‘She was here when you arrived?’

  ‘Yes. She said she drove up last night.’

  ‘Was she expecting her father to be here?’

  ‘Mr Laurence doesn’t always tell people when he’s coming or going, but Miss Poppy said she had expected him to be here. He knew she was coming up last night, apparently. But he wasn’t here. She said she tried his mobile but it went straight to messages. It’s in the study there.’ She pointed towards the panelled door, which looked about half a mile away. ‘I tried it, too, and I heard it ring. Well, they don’t ring so much as make funny sounds these days, do they? His goes off like a xylophone or something.’

  Annie glanced at Gerry, and they walked over to the study. The room was neat and tidy inside, with bookcases full of binders and biographies of rich and powerful men throughout history rubbing shoulders with tomes on fly-fishing. A computer sat on the desk, just a large screen with a wireless keyboard. Beside it was a thin laptop and a recent model smartphone. Annie was tempted to pick up the phone, but it was the rule to hand these things intact to IT, or at least have a more senior officer, like Banks, present when handling them. Any messing about with mobiles or computers could damage or contaminate any evidence that might be on them and compromise a case. The geek team would have to go through all Hadfield’s files, paper and electronic, anyway, if he was confirmed to be the unidentified male on the slab in Eastvale mortuary.

  ‘Was there any particular reason for Miss Hadfield’s visit?’

  ‘She just told me she needed to get away to the country for a while, that she wanted some fresh air and wide open spaces. She does that sometimes. Turns up at all hours of the day and night. The city was closing in on her. That’s exactly how she put it. “Closing in on me.” Like I said, she’s very sensitive.’

  ‘Hmm. I remember that feeling,’ said Annie. ‘Does Mr Hadfield go away often?’

  ‘He travels quite a lot. All over the world.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘Yes. People in his line of work never really retire, do they?’

  ‘But he’s here a lot?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Most of the time. He loves it here.’

  ‘Has he been anywhere recently?’

  ‘Not for a month or so.’

  ‘Where did he go then?’

  ‘Cape Town, I think. He goes there quite often. And Singapore. Zurich. And Hong Kong.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘He doesn’t tell me his reasons for going where he goes. I assume he has business interests there.’

  Annie knew that Hong Kong, Zurich and Singapore were major financial centres, but she wasn’t sure about South Africa. Whenever she heard about it on the news, it always seemed to be because of some problem or other. The last time, it was water, or lack of it, in Cape Town, and corrupt politics. But the business travel was perhaps an angle worth investigating. ‘Are Poppy and her father close?’

  ‘I’d say so. He adores her. In his eyes, she can do no wrong. She comes up here once every month or so. I’ve never heard them exchange angry words, if that’s what you mean. She’s his only daughter.’

  ‘Right. I’m assuming she has a key, the run of the house and all?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Mr Laurence is very generous. Especially with his children and grandchildren.’

  ‘And Ronald?’

  ‘He’s not here so often. He’s a very busy man.’

  ‘What does he do, exactly?’

  ‘I’m not really sure, but it’s something to do with high finance, like his father. I don’t really understand that world myself. Stocks and shares and footsies and what have you.’

  ‘Me, neither,’ said Annie. ‘Do they get on, as far as you know?’

  Adele’s pause before answering spoke volumes. ‘Not quite as well as Mr Laurence and Poppy.’

  ‘I see,’ said Annie. ‘I understand that Mr Hadfield’s wife died three years ago?’

  ‘That’s right. Katherine. A terrible tragedy. She was a lovely woman.’

  ‘Cancer, right?’

  ‘Yes. It was slow and painful. Mrs Hadfield was stoic. The end was a blessing.’

  ‘Was she at home or in hospital?’

  ‘Hospital. Just the last week. She took a fast turn for the worse. Until then she stayed at home, which was London then, with full-time nursing care, of course. Mr Laurence was devoted to her. It was only after . . . you know . . . that he retired and moved up here more or less permanently. Rivendell had just been a weekend escape before.’

  ‘Do you happen to know whether Mr Hadfield has a . . . well, I don’t suppose girlfriend sounds right, but a female companion, a new partner?’

  ‘A lover?’

  ‘Well, I suppose so.’

  Adele Balter stiffened. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t possibly know about things like that. He doesn’t confide in me. Even if he did . . .’

  ‘Have you ever seen him with someone? Has a woman ever been here in the house when you’ve arrived at work?’

  ‘No. Never. If there ever was anything, he was very discreet. But I really can’t imagine . . . no.’

  ‘How often do you clean here?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Every week.’

  ‘Always on a Friday?’

  ‘It varies, depending on his movements and my schedule. Usually I do Thursdays, but I had to make a switch this week.’

  ‘And last week?’

  ‘I was here Thursday last week.’

  ‘Was Mr Hadfield in?’

  ‘Yes.’

&
nbsp; ‘Does he usually stay in the house while you work?’

  ‘If he’s at home, Mr Laurence usually stays in his study while I do my cleaning work.’

  ‘You don’t clean his study, too?’

  ‘No. It’s private. I never go in there, not even when he’s away.’

  ‘Did you check to see if he was in there this morning?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. I searched the whole house and grounds for him before I called you.’

  ‘Did Poppy help? Hadn’t she already looked when she arrived last night.’

  ‘She was . . . well, you know, you saw her. I think she got here very late, after dark. She’s scared of the dark.’

  ‘Was there anything strange about Mr Hadfield’s behaviour when you last saw him a week ago yesterday?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Was he any different from usual?’

  ‘Oh, no. He was the same as normal.’

  ‘Depressed, cheerful, what?’

  ‘Quite cheerful, really. Excited, like, as if he’d made a good business deal or something. He even paid me a little early Christmas bonus.’

  ‘That must have been nice,’ Annie said. ‘Did he say what he was excited about?’

  ‘No.’

  Pity, thought Annie. But then Hadfield would hardly talk to the hired help about his business or his private life. ‘Do you know what his plans were for the weekend?’

  ‘No. He never told me things like that.’

  ‘Do you know if he was planning on going away? Taking another trip somewhere? Could that have been why he was excited?’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about it. It could have been, I suppose, but business trips didn’t usually excite him. He hated flying. An occupational hazard, he called it.’

  ‘Did you notice any other signs of disturbance when you got here?’

  Adele paused. ‘Only . . . well, this. Poppy, you know.’ She gestured to the room. ‘She’s not exactly the tidiest of house guests, if you see what I mean. And as for her own room . . . well . . .’

  ‘Right.’ Annie followed her gaze. There were a few empty glasses on the table with bright-red lipstick marks on the rim, one empty bottle of cognac on its side on the carpet, and an ashtray full of cigarette ends, also smeared with lipstick. An expensive suitcase sat on the floor by the bottom of the staircase, contents strewn on the carpet – a suede jacket, jeans, silky underwear, a spilled packet of tampons. ‘So you found it just like this?’