by Len Maynard
“Hopefully I’ll have some good news before then.”
“Fingers crossed.”
“Before you go, sir, what’s the story with the old girl?”
“Her name’s Hester Gough. She’s a kind of housekeeper-cum-nursemaid to Geraldine and her mother Lois.”
“Is the mother around?”
“In bed asleep, apparently. Knocked out on sleeping pills, so she won’t be much help to you. And watch out for Hester Gough,” he added quietly as he walked out to the front of the house. “She’s more concerned about having Lois upset than genuinely worried about Geraldine. She couldn’t really give two hoots about the girl. So take everything she may tell you with a very large pinch of salt.” He looked up at the night sky. A thin drizzle had just started to fall, dampening the earth outside and beading on the bonnet of his car. “Sometimes God doesn’t make our job any easier.”
“He likes us to work for our money,” Healy said grimly as he pulled up the collar of his raincoat.
10 FRIDAY MARCH 20TH 1959
“What time did you get back last night?” Annie said as Jack walked into the kitchen.
He corrected her. “It was one in the morning. You were sound asleep.”
She poured him a cup of tea and set it down on the table. “Did she turn up?”
Jack shook his head. “I left Alan Healy in charge. He was going to ’phone if she did.”
“Try not to worry.”
“She’s thirteen, Annie. A child, younger than Eric.”
She sat down at the table next to him and took his hand in hers, squeezing it. “There’s nothing you could have done, Jack.”
“Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I know, pet. I know. Let me make you some breakfast. Toast?”
He squeezed her hand and nodded. Annie stood and went across to the larder, taking out half a loaf. She cut off a doorstep and slipped it under the grill. Soon the kitchen was filled with an appetizing aroma of toasting bread.
The smell jogged his memory of last night’s conversation. “I think you should go and see Barbara Painter.”
Annie glanced round at him. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. It’ll do you good to get out of the house for a few mornings a week.”
“And the extra money will come in handy.”
“I’m sure it will. But it’s your money, to do with whatever you like.”
“I’ll save it. For a holiday perhaps, or maybe I’ll renew my wardrobe. Having Joanie here has made me realise how drab I’ve got. I feel like I’ve been letting myself go.”
“You still look beautiful to me.”
“Take off those rose-tinted glasses and put on your real ones.” She smiled at him as she buttered his toast. “Maybe I’ll ask Joanie to do my hair for me,” she added thoughtfully as she put the plate down next to his cup. “There again I could always use the money to rent a television.”
He looked round at her sharply. “We don’t need a television.”
“Not according to Rosie and Eric. They’re starting to feel deprived.”
“Deprived?” He could scarcely believe what he was hearing.
“Yes, deprived. Eric feels like he’s being left out of conversations at school, because all the other boys talk about is what they watched on the television the night before, and Rosie tells me that people are coming into the baker’s asking her if she saw this or that, and she can’t answer them.”
“We have the wireless. What do we need a television for?”
“I’ve just told you.”
“And you’re willing to spend your hard-earned money on a whim of our children?”
“If necessary.”
“Ye Gods! It will be the end of family life as we know it.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“You’ll see, but as I said, it’s your money.” Jack bit into his slice of toast as the telephone started to ring. “That will be Healy.” He dropped the toast back onto his plate and went to answer it.
Annie followed him out of the kitchen and stood in the doorway as he spoke.
“Any news?” she said as he put down the receiver.
He blew through his teeth. “No sign of her.”
Her face fell.
“But there’s no sign that there was anyone else in her room either, so it doesn’t look like she was taken.”
“That’s good isn’t it?” she said hopefully.
“In one way, yes. But it still means we’ve got a teenage girl out there somewhere, and we don’t know where to start looking for her.”
“DI Healy left this for you this morning, sir.” Desk Sergeant Andy Brewer handed Jack a colour photograph of Geraldine Turner as he walked into the police station.
“Thanks, Andy.”
“And this arrived for you this morning.” He handed Jack a large white envelope.
Jack stared at it, turning it over in his had. Apart from DCI CALLUM printed across the front in bold capitals, the envelope was blank. There was no stamp so it had obviously been delivered by hand.
He said as much to Brewer.
“Yes,” the desk sergeant said. “I noticed that, but it was in the box with all the other post, so whoever dropped it in must have got up early to do so because the postman usually comes at about eight, and it was there at the bottom of the pile.”
Jack tore open the flap and looked inside. The envelope contained another photograph and a folded piece of paper. He rolled the envelope into a tube and slipped it into his pocket, and then he took the photograph of Geraldine Turner through to the squad room and pinned it to the board next to the photo of her father.
“Right, gather round.” He called to the other officers in the room. “This is Geraldine Turner,” he said to the semi-circle of expectant faces. “Some time during yesterday evening she disappeared from her house on the Broadway.”
“Was she taken?” Frank Lesser said.
“I don’t know. DI Healy was leading the investigation last night and his team could find no indication that anyone broke into the house and took her. But her bedroom window was wide open.”
“So, do you think she might have run away?” Lesser said.
“It’s a possibility. Her home life isn’t what you could call harmonious.”
“But her bedroom is on the first floor,” Myra said.
“I know,” Jack said. “Her room is at the back of the house, but underneath her window is a trellis that supports a wisteria. She could have climbed down that.”
“She didn’t strike me as the tomboy type.”
“Nor me, but desperate people are capable of desperate acts.”
“Surely if she climbed down to the ground she would have left her footprints at the base of the wisteria,” Lesser said.
“Maybe she did, but when I left there last night it had started to rain. Healy’s men couldn’t find a trace of any footprints.”
“Of course, she could have just walked out through the front door,” Myra said. “I doubt Miss Gough would have noticed.”
“And Lois Turner was drugged up to her eyes on sleeping pills. Either way, she’s gone and it’s down to us to find her. Frank, she has grandparents who live in Shillington. Get over there and have a chat with them, but before you do, I’ll see you in my office. Myra, get down to Dispatch and see if anyone’s called in to say they’ve seen a young girl walking the streets in the middle of the night.”
“That’s a bit of a long shot,” Fuller said doubtfully.
“Yes, Eddie, it is, but it’s worth trying. You never know, some public-spirited resident might have seen her and reported it. The rest of you get out there with your ears to the ground. Use your contacts, your snouts, your friends if necessary. I want her found.”
The officers stood staring at him.
He sighed in exasperation. “I mean now. Not next week.”
Suddenly the room sprang into life and there was a rush to the door.
Jack turned back to the incid
ent board and stared the photograph of the smiling girl with the blonde corkscrew hair. When he spoke it was almost a whisper. “Where are you, Gerry? Where the hell are you?”
“Nothing’s been reported,” Myra said.
“Well, Sergeant Fuller said it would be a long shot. Myra, if you were a young girl, running away from home, where would you go?”
“If I had no family nearby, then probably to a friend’s house. Somewhere I felt safe, I suppose.”
“Then go along to the school. Have a word with Geraldine’s friends, if she has any, and see if any of them have heard from her.”
“Yes, guv. What school does she go to?”
“Hatfield County. You can walk it from here.”
“I know, sir. I went there myself. Is Mrs Arnold still the head?”
“Yes, she’s still there.”
“The old trout. I couldn’t stand her, and she didn’t like me much either.”
“Use your charm, Myra. You know how to do that, don’t you?”
Myra smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will, Myra
Lesser was standing outside his office when Jack got up there. “Come in, Frank.”
Lesser followed him into to the office. Eddie Fuller was seated at a desk tucked into the chimneybreast alcove.
“Eddie, go and get yourself a cup of tea.”
“Pardon?” Fuller glanced round, saw Lesser standing there, and got to his feet. “Yes, right,” he said and left the room.
“Take a seat, Frank.”
Lesser dropped into the seat Fuller had just vacated.
Jack sat down at his desk. “Right, tell me how you got the broken nose?”
“I walked into a door, sir.”
“Really? A door? Or an opponent’s boot?”
Lesser flushed and stared down at his shoes. “The latter,” he mumbled.
Jack nodded. “I thought so.”
“He was green, sir. Just a kid…”
Jack raised his hand to silence him. “Spare me the details, Frank.”
“How did you know I was wrestling?”
“Frank, I’m a detective. You know damn well I’ve been aware of it almost from the beginning. You didn’t honestly think you could keep it a secret from me, did you? Besides, I’ve seen you wrestle as the Black Phantom. I took my son Eric to one of your shows. He thought you were pretty good.”
“Don’t you mind?”
“As long as it doesn’t interfere with your job, why should I? I dare say you’re one of the fittest officers in the Hertfordshire Constabulary, and it’s nice to know you can handle yourself should the need ever arise. I know and I indulge it, but I don’t think Chief Superintendant Lane would view it with the same tolerance, and with this injury you’re on perilously thin ice. He’s bound to ask me how you picked up the broken nose, and he’s canny enough to see through your excuse that you walked into a door.”
Colour spread to Lesser’s cheeks.
“So, if he asks, I’ll tell him that you picked it up in the line of duty. An altercation with a drunk, or something like that.”
“Why would you go out on a limb for me, sir?”
“Because I’m a bloody fool, Frank. No, actually, I think you’re a very good DS and I don’t want to lose you from the team. WPC Banks has been sent back to uniform and she won’t be replaced. We’ve got a murder and a missing girl on the books, as well as all our other cases, cases that are going to have to take a back seat for now. I can’t be another man down.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Just try to be a little more careful in future.” He scribbled down Laurence Turner’s address on a piece of paper and handed it across to him. “And just remember, this man has just lost his son and you’re there to tell him his granddaughter is missing, so tread lightly.”
Lesser took the note and nodded. He paused at the office door and looked back. “Who was I fighting, sir, when you brought you son?”
“A rather large chap. Hunter was it? It was at the Granada, Edmonton, spring last year.”
“Rebel Ray, yeah, he’s a good worker. Took him down in the fifth round. It was meant to be the fourth, but I messed up the suplex and nearly brained myself in the process, so he carried me for another round until he could make the pin fall look convincing.”
Jack smiled indulgently. “Now, get yourself over to Shillington.”
Relieved, Lesser walked to the door.
It was only after Lesser had gone that Jack remembered the envelope in his pocket. He opened it and tipped it up. The photograph and folded paper slipped out onto the desk blotter. He unfolded the paper. It was a note that said simply, I hope this is useful. It wasn’t signed.
He picked up the photograph. It was a black and white print of a boxing match audience. Taken from the other side of the ring and shot through the boxers’ legs, it plainly showed the men sitting in the front row. One of them he recognised instantly as Tony Turner.
Turner was leaning back in his seat, a fat cigar clamped between his teeth. Jack scanned the faces of his neighbours but failed to recognise any of them. At the same time the photograph was vaguely familiar to him and started bells ringing at the back of his mind.
He flipped the photograph over. Neatly printed on the back was – From L to R. Simon Docherty, Thomas Usher, Tony Turner, Det. Insp. Charles Somers.
In the right-hand corner was a small blue printed stamp: Property of J Talbot & Son, Photographers.
Jack turned the photograph again and studied the other faces.
Simon Docherty looked to be in his late-thirties, conventionally handsome, with fair hair styled in a crew cut. Charles Somers was older, with a rugged face and short grey hair, but Jack’s eyes were drawn to Thomas Usher. With his swarthy skin, slightly hooked nose and moustache, he looked continental. He stared at it for a full minute before his mind made the connection. He reached for Turner’s file in his In-tray.
He opened it and flicked through it until he came to the crime scene photos.
Tony Turner in full theatrical makeup, hanging from a tree, his throat a red slash. He placed it on the desk next to the boxing shot. The likeness between Thomas Usher and the deceased Tony Turner was unmistakable.
It was obvious now who Turner had been impersonating.
11 - FRIDAY
“Take a look at this,” Jack said as Fuller came back into the office.
Fuller came across and stared over his boss’s shoulder. “What am I meant to be looking at?”
Jack jabbed his finger at Thomas Usher’s face. “The resemblance between him and this.” He moved his finger across to indicate Tony Turner’s made up face.
Fuller looked closer. “Could be twins. Who’s the one at ringside?”
Jack jabbed at the photograph with his index finger. “Thomas Usher. That’s Tony Turner just two seats away from him, and isn’t that your old boss, Charlie Somers?”
Fuller’s gaze followed Jack’s finger as it moved across to hover underneath Charlie Somers’ face. He took a breath. “Yes, that’s Charlie all right.”
“When were you going to tell me that he knew both Thomas Usher and Tony Turner, Eddie?”
“I didn’t know, Jack,” Fuller lied. “I’ve never seen this photo before.”
Jack stared at him for a long moment, and then slipped the photograph and note back into the envelope, left the office and trotted downstairs to the front desk.
“Andy, did you see who dropped this off? You normally get here before the post arrives?” Jack handed the desk sergeant the envelope.
Brewer shook his head. “I heard the postman deliver the letters, and I’d checked the box when I first got in and it was empty.’
“So sometime between you checking the letter box and the postman coming, someone hand-delivered this. You say you didn’t see who that person was?”
Brewer shook his head.
“And yet you were at the desk all the time, with a clear view of the front door.
”
“I saw nothing.” Brewer said defensively. “I swear.”
Jack frowned. “I don’t like mysteries. Someone stuck this through the door, Andy. Did you leave the desk at any time, to answer a call of nature perhaps?” He looked down at the enamel mug on the desk, cold tea grouts at the bottom.
Brewer followed his gaze. “Well, I left the desk for a second, to make myself a cup of tea.”
“Then that was probably when he came and dropped it off.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Brewer avoided Jack’s eyes.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir, but even so…”
“I said, don’t trouble yourself. It’s not the end of the world. In fact it could prove fortuitous.”
“Yes, sir, Very good, sir.”
Jack went back up to his office.
“Did Andy see who left the envelope? Fuller said as he walked back in.
Jack shook his head. “He was out the back making tea.” He took the note from the envelope and handed it across the desk to Fuller who scanned it quickly.
“Look carefully,” he said. “Do you recognise the writing?”
Fuller recognised Charlie Somers’ neat and precise printing immediately but shook his head. “No. It means nothing to me.”
“Well, someone’s trying to help us, Eddie, and whoever it is thinks there’s a link between Tony Turner’s death and Thomas Usher. Perhaps I was too hasty in dismissing Usher from the crease. I think we need to look into him a little more deeply.”
“If you say so, guv. Where do we start?”
The bell affixed to the door jangled as Annie walked into Painters. Rosie stepped out from behind the counter and hugged her mother. “You came then,” she said. “I wasn’t sure dad would let you.”
“He was fine about it…in his usual grumpy old bear kind of way. Is Mrs Painter in?”
“Out the back.” Rosie jerked her thumb in the direction of the door behind the counter. “I said you were coming in, so she’s expecting you.”