Broken Angel

by Diane M Dickson

She turned on her phone torch, it was such a small picture, poor quality, it was too hard to see. “Can I take this with me?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And the file?” As she spoke she grabbed the blue plastic folder.

  “Oh, well that has other information in there.”

  She pulled it from his hand, “Give the pastor a receipt Charlie, I’m going to programme the sat nav.” She knew she was wrong, that it could come back to bite them, but she was unable right then to be able to consider anything more than finding Peter Harper.

  By the time Charlie joined her she had programmed in the address and was turning the car ready to pull out into the main road. The pastor stood by the little door watching them go, wringing his hands together and shaking his head.

  “It’ll be okay, Charlie. We’ll find her and then it’ll be okay.” There was no response. She looked at his grim face, “I know that she’s very probably dead, I get that, but what if she’s not, what if she’s somewhere scared and helpless and just waiting for us to come and get her? What if this Peter Harper has her, and for whatever reason she’s still alive.”

  Charlie had picked up the parish magazine and was peering at it by the light of his torch. “It’s too small this picture, I can’t tell if he looks like the photofit, and I didn’t see him in real life. God where’s Sherlock with his magnifying glass when you need him?”

  The robotic voice of the sat nav took them through Wheatly, across the A40.

  Tanya’s voice was quiet, “Kidlington, I haven’t been to this place for a long time. It was where I saw my first body. Some poor druggie, left in a wood. We never did find out who she was.” She sighed as she remembered the pale nightgown, the damage the rats had done, and the frustration that came from never knowing the whole truth. She pushed the musing aside, “This has got to be him, Charlie, it has to be.”

  Chapter 40

  They were exhausted, they needed food and Tanya wanted a shower. She had pulled her hair back into its pony tail earlier and now her scalp felt sore and tight, she lifted a hand, pulled out the scrunchy and shook it loose.

  Charlie leaned against the seatback and closed his eyes. She glanced at him, he had probably not had a full night’s sleep since Joshua was born. She could see the tension and tiredness on his face. This job, this life asked so much, and the rewards were often hard to find. She saw his eyelids flicker, without moving his head he slanted his eyes at her, managed a smile. “Not asleep, honest, boss.” She grinned back at him.

  I think we’re nearly there, the sat nav says three minutes. So, it’s not in the town, it’s still pretty rural here.”

  Charlie sat up a bit straighter, yawned, “Sounds like a bit of an odd person, doesn’t he? Of course it could just be because of his mum and that, but we have to have a look at least. Jane’s got to be running out of time, assuming it’s not already too late. It’s the only decent lead we’ve had.”

  He thought for a minute before speaking again. “There was nothing at Simpson’s place to indicate that he was involved. Once we found all that stuff in his garage we got the size of him: just a smarmy little pilferer – but there was nothing to suggest he was involved in this, was there?”

  “There was the picture.”

  “What, this?” Charlie held up the church magazine.

  “No, not that. Didn’t you notice, in his lounge on the wall there was a picture. A print in a frame, a bit old fashioned.”

  Charlie was shaking his head.

  “It was three angels. I didn’t look at it closely, well we hadn’t found him by then, but from what I remember it was three angels in a sort of woodland, all standing around, you know the way they do with their heads lowered and their hands crossed, all that malarkey.”

  “No, I didn’t see that. Bloody hell.”

  She pulled onto the damp grass verge. “Okay I guess that’s his place. It’s bigger than I expected. A casual driver and odd job man, I thought he’d live in a little house, maybe a flat, but this is a bit grand.”

  “Well it’s big, but it’s ramshackle isn’t it?” Charlie pointed to the long glasshouse, the moonlight glinting on shattered windows, roof struts like broken limbs against the grey sky. “The road’s a wreck, the wall’s down in places. Must cost a fortune to keep this sort of place up to scratch, but what can you do? Sell it in this state and you lose money, even if you can find a buyer. Anyway, he might not care. If it’s been his home for a long time, perhaps he just lives here and doesn’t think about it.”

  “Yeah. Let’s walk down there, see if we can get an idea of what’s what before he has the chance to tell us to bugger off.”

  They knew there were risks with this, anything they found would be inadmissible as evidence if they hadn’t followed the rules. If they saw things that were suspicious they would have to gain entry legally, make sure all the ‘t’s were crossed, apply for a warrant. Unless they found the missing woman, then they would be forgiven anything, maybe not by the legal systems but by their colleagues, and by themselves.

  They closed the car doors softly. The road was loose gravel, crunching and scratching under their feet as they moved onto the verge. With the beams from the torches angled downward they stepped along the uneven ground. They kept the lights low, didn’t want any chance that someone in the big square house, maybe looking out of the small panes of the upper windows, would see them before they wanted to be seen. Such stuff was what made watertight cases go pear-shaped, made rescue attempts fail. The unforeseen, the unlikely, it was impossible to prepare for everything, all you could do was your best.

  They peered into the rear garden, the derelict greenhouse. There were a couple of other outbuildings, a garage, an old barn, two wooden sheds. Large deciduous trees cast moon shadows across the road, moving and shifting on roofs and lawns. The big barn had no door and they went in. It was almost empty, just a couple of sacks against a wall, an old bike in the corner and a pile of wooden fence posts. Charlie flicked his light upwards. Pigeons roosting in the dark became alarmed and fluttered; a couple flew through a hole in the roof, their wings clapping and whistling in the quiet.

  Tanya whispered, “I can’t see the van. If he still has it then it must be inside one of the other buildings, the doors are closed. We can’t go in without a warrant.” They walked around the garage, there wasn’t even a window, the sheds looked dilapidated and rotten.

  Charlie shook his head. “I don’t think we’re gaining anything. I reckon we might as well just go ahead and get him out of his bed, don’t you?”

  Tanya nodded. “Come on, let’s get on with it.”

  They walked back to the gravelled path, up the shallow step and hammered on the front door. She glanced at her watch. It was past one in the morning. Was that late or early? Some people would still be up and watching television. She was already forming her response to the complaints that would probably follow this, if it did indeed turn out to be abortive. There was no light deep inside the house, they both knew that if Peter Harper was here he was in bed. She was committed now, she knocked again.

  A light flicked on in the hallway, the glow spilling out through the fanlight above the front door. The locks rattled, the door opened a crack and then, suddenly, he pulled it wide and stood before them in a pair of boxer shorts, a grey T-shirt, his hair tousled, his eyes blurry with sleep. “What’s the matter?”

  It wasn’t quite what they had expected, but hadn’t they been told that he was a bit odd? They held up their identification. Tanya spoke, “Sorry to disturb you so late, Mr Harper. May we come in?”

  “No.” There was no enquiry from him about what they might want, just the simple refusal. So, either he was very aware of his right to refuse them entry, or he was being cautious, maybe difficult just for the sake of it.

  She carried on, “We would like to ask you a few questions. I know it’s late, but it is rather urgent, well very urgent. It’s a bit cold.” She lifted a hand, palm upwards.

  “I’m not cold. Wha
t do you want?”

  They had no other choice now but to try and question him on the dark doorstep. “We’re looking into the disappearance of a young woman and we have reason to believe that you might be able to help us with our enquiries. We could go down to the police station or we could talk to you here which would be much quicker and easier.”

  He leaned forward, glanced back and forth across the yard. Turned his eyes back to where Tanya and Charlie stood on his step.

  He stepped back and waved an arm in the direction of the hallway. “You’d better come in.”

  As he turned away, Charlie caught Tanya’s eye. He nodded just once confirming what she had already decided. There was a definite likeness.

  Chapter 41

  As they walked along the hall, Peter turned on lights. It was chilly in the house. Dark wood furniture and heavy curtains looked as though they must have been there since the place was built. There were hooks along the wall, his jackets hung there and women’s coats, old, with fur collars, velvet trim. There were hats, women’s shoes, worn and dusty, an umbrella. She may be dead, but his grandmother still inhabited the house. There was no new furniture, nothing modern. It looked tidy enough but smelled stale – shut up. In need of sunshine and air. He showed them into a dark lounge. One small light hanging from a ceiling rose did little to brighten the place, the corners were shadowed and dim.

  He was still wearing only his boxers and T-shirt. Charlie was the one who asked him if he wanted to put something else on, telling him that they would wait if he wanted to get a dressing gown. Peter shook his head and threw himself into an armchair beside the fire. There were no other sounds in the house, nothing to make them think there could be someone on the next floor. No reason to force their way up the dingy staircase.

  “What is it you want from me?” His tone was less than friendly but couldn’t be described as belligerent. It was a question, that was all. He didn’t look at them, turning instead to stare at dead ashes in the fire. There hadn’t been a blaze there recently, there was fallen soot from the chimney on top of the ash, some in the hearth. It wasn’t a cosy home, the inside was a reflection of the parts they had seen on the exterior, shabby and going to seed.

  Tanya pulled a picture of Sarah onto her phone, held it out towards him. “Do you know this woman?”

  He glanced at the image and shook his head. She repeated it with another, one of Millie. His response was the same. Her final screen shot was of Jane, something her father had taken during the last week with him. She wasn’t smiling, she looked a little irritated, a little embarrassed. He stared at this one a second or two longer. Tanya glanced at Charlie, raised her eyebrows.

  “Doesn’t look very happy, does she?” He handed back the phone with the quiet comment.

  “You don’t know any of these women?” Tanya asked.

  He shook his head. “Do you have a car, Mr Harper?”

  “I’ve got a van. I use it for work. I do gardening, a bit of delivering, house clearing.”

  “Do you use the M40?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “When was the last time you were on the motorway?”

  He wasn’t defensive, didn’t display much curiosity about the questions.

  “Today.”

  “Do you ever go into the services?” Tanya said.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Did you go to any of the service areas last week, on Friday for example? Friday evening specifically?”

  “Can’t remember. I might have done. I do deliveries, like I said. Maybe I did.” He gave no indication that he had recognised Tanya from the brief time in Simpson’s office. She decided not bring up that friendship yet.

  They were getting nowhere, Tanya tried a different tack. “Would you have any objection to us having a look around?”

  “A look around what?”

  “Your house, your outbuilding. Could we see your van?”

  “Now?” This was the first time that he had seemed at all disturbed.

  “Yes, if you’ve no objection. It would help us to clear up a suggestion that has been made that you may be involved in the disappearance of these women.” She wagged her phone at him.

  “Who suggested that? Why do you think that?”

  “Why? Because we have an image of a person we wish to speak to in connection with these issues and your name was given to us. I’m not willing to say who, of course, I imagine you knew that. I have to say that I do believe that there are many similarities in your appearance. Because of my suspicions I could request a warrant, it would take some time and when I came back I would bring my team with me to search your premises. Or, you could let us have a look around now.”

  He unfolded from his chair, pulled the T-shirt over his belly, and looked down at Tanya. “I want you to leave now. Go. I don’t want to talk to you about these women. I’ve answered your questions, I don’t have to do any more.”

  Without the documentation they had no option, he had asked them to leave and so they must. As he slammed the door behind them, plunging them into the gloom of the messy yard, Tanya turned on her torch and stepped onto the gravel. “I’m coming back. I’m coming back with a warrant and I’m going to tear this place apart.”

  She strode away down the narrow lane towards the car, paused just before she opened the door, pointed towards the dark shapes of trees in the distance. “It was over there, where we found that woman. The one that we never identified. Something grim about this area I reckon, Charlie.”

  Chapter 42

  Tanya was quiet as they drove back through the quiet lanes. Charlie nodded off a couple of times, his head jerking backwards as he woke. He clambered from the car outside his house, dragged himself to the front door and disappeared without even a backward glance – too exhausted for niceties. It was well past four when Tanya walked into her own place.

  Half an hour in the shower, surrounded by fragrant steam, the hot water pounding on her stiff shoulders and then she made coffee, strong and black. She knew she wouldn’t sleep. Now that Peter Harper was alerted to their interest, Jane still out there somewhere, the thought of bed was impossible. There was something else though, something in the back of her mind that just wouldn’t be dislodged. Harper was so like the image on the artist’s mock up that she was almost ready to go to Bob Scunthorpe, but still vivid in her memory was the awkward conversation earlier about poor Kieran Laing. Would he think she was clutching at any tiny straw, flailing about for an answer, any answer to save face? It was torment.

  She sat at the computer, read some of her emails. A pop up chimed on the screen, a favourite clothes site, a special offer on handbags. Automatically, she clicked through the images, put one of them into her basket. As she did it she felt a tingle in her gut. Something nudging at the edge of her mind, a shadow she couldn’t quite see. Tony Stanley had tried to tell her about this. He’d told her about times when a case just wouldn’t open up, it was tangled and unclear and then some tiny thing would start to niggle. She’d believed him, the evidence of his clear up rate was indisputable, he had been a hero not only to her but to plenty of others besides. She’d always known that the best of them, the sort that she aspired to be, had something else, some sort of sixth sense that showed them what others couldn’t see. It set them apart, but she’d never really understood what he meant. Not until now, and it was so frustrating. She was dreadfully tired and yet still she couldn’t switch off.

  She stretched out on the sofa in the living room and closed her eyes. Then it began to unfold, she saw the hallway in that dingy old house, the clothes of a dead woman, the shoes, all seen in the dim glow of bulbs behind dirty shades.

  She went back to the computer, brought up news reports, images of the great and the good, and the not so good. She skimmed the articles peered at the pictures. After a couple of hours, she had firmed up her thinking, convinced herself – almost.

  Was it still too early to call Charlie? He’d been exhausted, absolutely out on his feet. It didn�
�t matter, this was too urgent – there was plenty of time for sleep later. She dialled his number. She could hear the baby crying in the background. “Shit, Charlie is that my fault? Did I wake him up?”

  “Nah, I have my phone on vibrate, he’s had a bad night. Anyway, what’s happening.”

  She took a breath. “Listen Charlie, you know when we went in there…”

  “Into the house?”

  “Yeah, down that hallway with the coats and shoes. Well, did you notice anything that didn’t fit, anything that struck you as out of place?”

  There was silence for a while before he answered. “Nothing I can think of. What sort of thing do you mean?

  This was going to sound stupid, especially to a man. She almost told him that it was nothing, she’d been thinking out loud, but the niggle in her gut, the tiny growing shadow forced her to speak. “There was a handbag.” There was silence, and it did sound a bit silly. She continued, “All the clutter in the hall was old, coats from years and years ago, shoes like ones my mum used to wear, tatty and old fashioned. There was a hook at the end, near the stairs, an umbrella was hanging on it, a shopping bag with some plastic carriers in and a handbag.”

  “Right.” She could hear the puzzlement in his voice.

  “It was modern. I’ve been researching it. It’s only been available a few months, but here’s the thing. It’s really expensive, even I would hesitate to buy it. I found pictures of a few celebs, one of the younger royals, some wannabee film stars…” She paused, wondering if he would see; she wouldn’t spell it out but let him come to it on his own – it would be more meaningful, more reassuring.

  “Posh Spice or the Duchess of Cambridge! Sarah!” As he spoke she was swept with relief. She grinned. That was it, she’d been right. He was speaking again, “Was it that, do you think it was Sarah’s bag, the one that she was struggling with?”

  “We need to take a picture to Steven Blakely, I’ve printed a couple out. I’ll pick you up in about half an hour.”