by Tim Ellis
‘Hey Shakin’, take a look at this.’ He slipped his arms into the armholes. ‘There’s no buttons on it, only a tie at the top. I think Bronwyn would look real nice wearing this. What’s your take on it, Joe?’
‘It’s back to front.’
Joe screwed up his face. ‘Hey?’
‘You’ve got it on back to front. They wear it so that the tie is at the back.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I saw a programme on the television once. They wear the gown with the opening at the back so that the doctors can whip it off real quick and easy, and get to the body part they need to get to.’
‘It still ain’t got no buttons at the back, and I got some pictures in my mind of Bronwyn wearing this fancy nightdress.’
They both turned to stare at Bronwyn lying on the bed.
‘Yeah!’ Shakin’ said, licking his lips. ‘I got the same pictures.’ He spoke to Bronwyn. ‘That gown doesn’t do anything for Joe, but if you were to take your clothes off and show us what it’s really meant to look like . . .’
Bronwyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘You better delete those pictures pretty damn quick before I cut out your peanut brains and do it for you.’
‘Boys, boys, boys,’ Jerry admonished them. ‘Go outside and play while Bronwyn and I have a grown-up conversation.’
A tall black man came in carrying a tray.
‘Hey,’ Joe said. ‘They brought us coffee.’
‘You touch my coffee Joe Larkin, and you’ll be taking my place on the operating table.’
Augustus put the tray down on her bedside table and left.
Shakin’ and Joe looked at each other and grinned. ‘Which leads us nicely onto the subject of why you’re really here,’ Shakin’ said.
‘Mind your own business.’
Joe threw a thumb over his shoulder. ‘We noted on the sign that this was a place they carried out cosmetic surgery. Now, Mrs K has told us you’ve not come in for a boob job, although I don’t see why not, because I think one of those would suit you. So anyway, what exactly are you in here for?’
Bronwyn crossed her arms over her breasts. What was it with people these days? ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’
‘Maybe it’d be worth it,’ Shakin said. ‘Especially if you could show us the affected part, and maybe let us touch it, squeeze it and lick it.’
Bronwyn smiled. ‘You two are crazy. Go and annoy the nurses.’
Joe’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course! There are nurses here, Shakin’. I have dirty dreams about nurses.’
‘Let’s go and see if we can’t find you a nurse then,’ Shakin’ said, putting his arm over Joe’s shoulders and ushering him out into the corridor.
‘They’re like fucking gremlins,’ Bronwyn said.
‘But loveable,’ Jerry agreed. ‘So, how are you?’
‘I’m okay. Ask me again tomorrow.’
‘What time are you going to theatre?’
‘First thing – nine o’clock.’
‘Well, good luck. Do you want me to come and see you tomorrow afternoon?’
‘I can’t imagine I’ll want to see or speak to anybody tomorrow. Maybe on Thursday.’
‘Okay. I’ll call them anyway – make sure the operation went okay.’
‘And don’t bring the gremlins with you next time.’
‘I’ll try not to.’
‘Try harder.’
As Bronwyn poured herself a cup of coffee, Jerry put a brown paper bag on the bedside cabinet. ‘Grapes.’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have.’
‘I know, but I’m too generous for my own good. So, what’s it like in here?’
‘Boring. All the other patients are on the two floors above this one. I’m the only one on this floor.’
Jerry pulled a face. ‘I suppose you could wander up there and . . .’
Joe and Shakin’ came back.
‘Do you know you’re the only patient on this floor?’ Shakin’ said.
‘Yes.’
Joe grinned. ‘We found a nurse.’
‘Was she everything you dreamed she would be, Joe?’ Bronwyn said.
‘Her name was Mrs Dimbleby – the stuff nightmares are made of.’
Shakin’ said, ‘We offered to go upstairs and spread joy and merriment, but she said we couldn’t . . .’
‘Of course . . .’ Joe interrupted. ‘We would have ignored her, but the lift wouldn’t work without a key, and the door to the stairs was locked.’
Jerry’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m sure that’s illegal. What if there’s a fire?’
Bronwyn shrugged. ‘You can’t use the lift if there’s a fire anyway, and maybe the door only opens from the inside for security reasons.’
‘Mmmm! You could be right.’
‘Well, thanks for coming,’ Bronwyn said, trying to get rid of them. It was great to see Jerry, and maybe Shakin’ and Joe – a little bit, anyway. She wouldn’t have had sex with either of them, but she supposed they were nice enough in a meet-the-parents sort of way.
‘Nurse Dimbleby called you Miss Gibbs,’ Joe said. ‘Have you changed your name?’
‘Or got married?’ Shakin’ suggested.
‘I’m incognito.’
‘I knew she was famous, Shakin’,’ Joe said. ‘Didn’t I say that she looked like a celebrity?’
‘You certainly did, Joe.’
‘Right boys,’ Jerry said, pushing them towards the door . ‘I think you’ve caused enough trouble for one day. Say goodbye to Bronwyn like good boys.’
‘Goodbye, Bronwyn,’ they chorused.
‘Yeah.’
And then it was as if peace and goodwill had descended on the world.
She wondered what the locked door to the stairwell and key-only access to the lift was all about. Even though she’d suggested it was probably to do with security, she didn’t really believe it was that. And where were all the nurses and doctors? And what about the other patients and their visitors? She grabbed the laptop from out of her rucksack. There was something not quite right with the Beautiful You Cosmetic Surgery Clinic on the corner of Lower Wimpole Street and Henrietta Plaza.
Chapter Five
Constable Lorraine Stewart – the Family Liaison Officer (FLO) – had opened the door and warned them what to expect. She was young, had not long completed her probationary period and then had undertaken specific training for the role of FLO. ‘I told Mrs Lassiter that you were coming to speak to her. She said she didn’t care, but she was a lot less pleasant than that.’
Parish nodded. ‘Thanks, Constable.’
Prior to reaching the front door of 15 Hailey Avenue, they’d had to run the gauntlet of reporters, news crews and other interested parties.
‘Has Lisa Cabot been murdered, Inspector?’
He wouldn’t normally have spoken to the press, especially as he wasn’t the Senior Investigating Officer. But he didn’t want them getting the wrong idea about his and Richards’ presence at the missing girl’s address.
‘I’m simply helping out the Senior Investigating Officer DCI Stafford Pike. As you know, when a child goes missing, it’s all hands to the pumps – Richards and I are merely hands working the pumps today, so don’t assume anything about our presence here.’
‘What can you tell us, Inspector?’
‘Didn’t I make myself clear? I’m not the SIO, therefore it’s not my place to tell you anything. I’m sure DCI Pike will brief you when he has something to say. In the meantime, I’d be grateful if you could let us through – thank you.’
The crowd parted like the waters of the Red Sea.
Now, he looked at the rather messy living room. Janet Lassiter was lying on the sofa chain smoking. She was thirty-three years old and dressed in a short black lace nightdress with matching panties that left very little to the imagination. The news was on an endless loop on a 60-inch television screen in the corner of the room. As well as tobacco they could smell Jamaica rum, and there was a nearly empty glass of what Parish assumed
was rum and coke on a coffee table by the side of the sofa.
After he’d introduced himself and Richards he said, ‘Can you put some clothes on, Mrs Lassiter?’
‘What for?’
‘Because we’d like to talk to you.’
‘Have you found Lisa yet?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Will me putting my clothes on help you find her?’
‘I doubt that very much.’
‘So, it’s not about Lisa, it’s about you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t you like what you see?’
‘I have no opinion one way or the other.’
‘Would you like to fuck me?’
‘JANET!’ Ronald Lassiter came into the room. ‘It’s not about you either. Go and put some clothes on and pretend to be a real mother – if only for today.’
‘A real mother? Is that what you think? Is that what everyone thinks? That I’m not a real mother?’ What is a real mother, Ronnie? You tell me that.’
‘Go upstairs and get dressed. It’s four in the afternoon for God’s sake.’
She stubbed her cigarette out and left it burning in the overflowing ashtray, then staggered out into the hallway.
They heard her falling up the stairs
Parish said to Richards, ‘Go and help her. Try and get her into a cold shower if you can. Take Constable Stewart with you.’
Richards nodded.
‘I’m sorry, Inspector. Janet is taking Lisa’s disappearance hard. She really does think it’s her fault.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she missed the automated text. She thinks they might have found Lisa if she’d seen the text when it was sent, instead of spending all that time in the shower and getting ready.’
Parish realised that Ronald Lassiter knew nothing about his wife’s visitor earlier. Well, there was no way round it. And no time like the present. The man was about to hear the truth. He decided to tell him now, so that Parish didn’t have to sit through an argument if he told them together. He picked up the remote, turned the television off and then sat down in easy chair. ‘Take a seat, Mr Lassiter.’
Ronald Lassiter sat down on the sofa.
‘What work do you do?’
‘I’m a chartered accountant with Nayam, Sackville & Nicholls in Ware.’
‘Did they let you come home early in view of what’s happened?’
‘Yes, but I can work from home. I was in my home office when you arrived.’
‘When your wife is dressed, I plan to discuss two things with her.’
‘Okay.’
‘And I’m afraid you’re not going to like either of those topics.’
‘I see.’
‘First, we have a witness who saw your wife receive a male visitor after you and Lisa left the house this morning.’
‘I had an idea she was seeing someone else, but I didn’t know for sure. It wouldn’t be the first time Janet has cheated on me. I love her, of course, but she has this need to be wanted and loved. I’ve asked to see a therapist, but she won’t. What’s the second topic of discussion, Inspector?’
‘Lisa has a school friend . . .’
‘Jimmy Williams?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Lisa tell him something?’
‘That she was meeting her father.’
‘But . . .’
Parish nodded. ‘I know, he’s been dead for three years.’
‘That’s right. Then why . . . ?’
‘We’re planning to exhume Mr Pollard’s body.’
‘Does Janet know?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘You think he’s still alive?’
‘We don’t know. The other possibility is that Frank Cabot isn’t Lisa’s biological father.’
‘Christ! That’s a can of worms.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, thanks for letting me know.’
Janet Lassiter came back wearing a flowery cross-over dress followed by Richards and Stewart. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I can be a real bitch sometimes.’ Her hair was wet and she looked bleary-eyed.
‘I understand. Please sit down, Mrs Lassiter. Constable Stewart will make you a coffee . . .’
Stewart nodded and left the room.
Janet Lassiter sat next to her husband and he held her hand.
‘I’m sorry to have to dive straight in, Mrs Lassiter,’ he began. ‘But the sooner we have all the information, the sooner we can be more effective in searching for Lisa.’
She bit her lip and nodded.
‘It’s our understanding that you had a male visitor this morning, and that’s why you didn’t see the automated text message – is that correct?’
Mrs Lassiter glanced at her husband and burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry, Ronnie.’
‘It’s all right, but you have to get help this time, Janet?’
‘I will. I will.’
He didn’t bother asking what the man’s name was. If he was in bed with Janet Lassiter, then he had an airtight alibi. ‘Also, Jimmy Williams has informed us that Lisa was meeting her father this morning.’
Janet stopped crying and looked up at Parish. ‘No. That’s not possible. He’s dead.’
‘That’s certainly our understanding,’ Parish confirmed. ‘When your late husband’s remains were transported by Caledonian Energy to Hoddesdon, did you open the coffin and look at the body?’
‘No . . . They asked if I wanted to, but I couldn’t.’
‘So, you’re only going off what Caledonian Energy told you?’
‘Well yes, but I have a death certificate signed by a doctor . . .’ She stood up, walked over to a sideboard and quickly found what she was looking for in a drawer. ‘Here it is. Signed by a Doctor Lewis Hayden.’ She passed the certificate to Parish.
‘Thanks. We’ll look into this.’ He handed the paper to Richards. ‘Also, I should inform you that we’re having Frank Cabot’s body exhumed . . .’
‘What in God’s name for? I mean, he’s dead. I haven’t heard from him since he died – but then why would I? He doesn’t exist anymore. Fucking hell! Sorry . . . You don’t think . . . ?’
‘We have to eliminate all possibilities, Mrs Lassiter. As I’ve explained to your husband – Yes, Frank could still be alive, which would mean he or someone else faked his own death. Can you think of any reason why he might have done that?’
‘No. We loved each other. He was devoted to Lisa.’
‘No gambling debts?’
She shook her head.
‘No strange visits or telephone calls before or after his death?’
‘Nothing.’
‘There’s also another possibility . . .’
‘What?’
‘That Frank wasn’t Lisa’s biological father.’
She gave Ronnie a surreptitious look. ‘I wasn’t always like this, you know.’
‘So, Lisa couldn’t be another man’s child?’
Janet shook her head. ‘I don’t know. He was on the oilrigs for months at a time. I was lonely. He used to think phone calls and letters were enough, but they weren’t enough for me. I needed . . . I suppose it’s possible that Lisa’s father could be someone other than Frank.’
‘Do you have any names of the men . . . ?’
She burst into tears again. ‘I’m the worst wife and mother in the world, aren’t I?’
‘No names at all?’
‘First names . . . ? There was a Hank, a Murray, a . . .’
Ronnie squeezed her hand and said, ‘I don’t think first names will help, Janet.’
‘I’m sorry. I used to let them pick me up in bars and clubs . . .’
Parish pursed his lips. ‘We’ll compare Frank and Lisa’s DNA and see what we find. Of course, it might all be completely unrelated to your previous husband . . .’
‘In what way?’
‘It could be someone pretending to be Lisa’s father . . .’
‘But wouldn’t that mean they’d have to know what had happe
ned to Frank.’
‘Yes, I suppose it would.’
‘Why would someone do something like that? Do you think they’ve kidnapped Lisa for a ransom? We don’t have that kind of money’
‘There are a number of possibilities. Did forensics take Lisa’s computer away with them this morning?’
‘Yes, and my tablet that I let Lisa use sometimes.’
‘We’ll see what they find. Are any of Lisa’s clothes or possessions missing?’
Mrs Lassiter shook her head. ‘I checked. Everything seemed to be there.’
‘What about her toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush and soap?’
‘They’re still in the bathroom, but it doesn’t tell you anything. Lisa carried those things in her schoolbag. She was a bit paranoid about her teeth and hair, so she had spares.’
‘What about clothes?’
‘Nothing missing that I could see.’
‘I’m sorry to ask this, but would you know?’
Her eyes became steely. ‘I’d know, Inspector.’
He stood up. ‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Lassiter. I know it can’t have been easy.’
‘Easy! I’m Lisa’s mother. I should have told you everything right from the start. Instead, I was more concerned about myself than my missing daughter.’ She began crying again.
They made their way out.
‘That was difficult,’ Richards said.
‘That’s families for you.’
‘Our family isn’t like that.’
‘No?’
‘Mum doesn’t . . .’
‘I don’t mean that. I mean, every family has secrets they’d rather keep hidden.’
‘We don’t . . . Well, you do, but I don’t.’
‘No?’
‘I have absolutely no secrets. My life is an open book.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, you have no magazines under your mattress?’
‘How . . . ? You’ve been in my room – you . . .’
‘You know me better than that.’
‘Then mum . . . Did she find them?’
‘If it wasn’t me . . .’
‘. . . It must have been mum, and she showed them to you?’
‘Not specifically. I happened to walk in on her while she was skimming through them.’
‘Well anyway, they’re for research purposes only.’