Missing Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘He’s a gun-runner. At least, that’s what he tells everyone.’ Louise managed the kind of weak smile that indicated this was a vintage joke. ‘Actually, he’s a salesman, but he is a very good one. It’s a family business and he’s a partner and all that, but the company just happens to make guns.’

  ‘What kind of guns?’ Millie was intrigued.

  ‘Oh, you know, sports pistols, hunting rifles, that kind of thing. It could be for anything really. A lot of Greg’s time is spent travelling to sales conventions and entertaining clients. It means he’s away a lot, or out in the evenings. It sounds glamorous, I know, but it’s stressful too; they rely on Greg to bring in any new business. Often he doesn’t make it home until the early hours.’

  ‘You must spend quite a bit of time on your own then.’ It was beginning to become clear to Millie why Louise was looking for the company, if that’s all there was to it.

  ‘I knew it would be like this when we got married, and most of the time I don’t really mind, especially now I've got Abigail.’ As if recognising her name, the little girl opened her eyes and not much liking what she saw, she screwed up her face and began to whimper. ‘She’s probably hungry. Do you mind if I . . .?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Millie stood up and collected their used mugs with the intention of stepping momentarily into the kitchen to allow her friend some privacy, but as she did so, Louise slipped off her cardigan, and Millie caught sight of a deep purple mark on her arm, the size of a small plum. It looked to Millie’s trained scrutiny like a grab mark and she found it hard to tear her eyes away. Her gaze met Louise’s for an instant.

  ‘It’s an insect bite,’ Louise said, brushing it with her fingers as if to make it go away. ‘I seem to react so badly to things these days, ever since I got pregnant.’

  But it wasn’t the time of year for insect bites and Millie couldn’t help wondering if it too had something to do with Louise preferring to spend time at her house.

  * * *

  After making herself a jam sandwich for breakfast, Dominique washed her face and cleaned her teeth like always and put on her weekend clothes. The dirty washing bag in the bathroom was getting full and there was no clean school uniform in her cupboard. They were still saving up for a washing machine, so Sunday was sometimes launderette day. Dominique did wonder if she should try to go there on her own, but she didn’t much like the lady who worked there. So retrieving what she’d worn to school on Friday, she spread the things out flat on her bed instead, so that Mum wouldn’t have to worry about the washing when she got home. She might be really tired like before.

  Going over to the window Dominique rested her arms on the ledge and looked out over the grey of the city. Mum had told her she worked near all those big, tall buildings in the middle; the thin one like a cigarette, with funny bumpy bits on top, and the shiny turquoise one. Suddenly Dominique thought that she could go and look for Mum, but she’d only been to the hotel once and though she knew it was in the city and a bus ride away, she couldn’t really remember how to get there. Instead, maybe if she tried hard enough, she could think a message to Mum to tell her to come home.

  * * *

  ‘I appreciate this,’ said Mariner, letting Tony Knox into his house.

  ‘No problem, boss,’ said Knox. ‘Millie was asking after you, so I thought it was about time.’ He shot Mariner a meaningful look.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Mariner admitted. ‘It’s overdue. But you know what it’s like, what with Jamie and a major case going on.’

  ‘If she was off sick you’d have been to see her by now,’ said Knox. That was unfair — true, but unfair. ‘So how’s it going?’ Knox went on. ‘I saw the reconstruction.’

  ‘Possibly one big, fat overreaction,’ said Mariner. ‘We still haven’t entirely eliminated the family, so all we need now is a few false leads thrown into the mix.’

  ‘So what do you think is going on?’

  ‘Really?’ said Mariner. ‘I don’t know. It’s so hard to get a handle on Grace Clifton. Everyone we speak to seems to have a slightly different take.’

  ‘She’s a steward at Symphony, right?’ said Knox.

  ‘Temporarily,’ said Mariner. ‘She passed her A levels back in the summer and is “on a gap year” while she considers her options.’

  ‘Gap years,’ Knox snorted. ‘Where the hell did they come from? Some of us never had the luxury.’ Knox wore his Liverpool working-class origins like a badge of honour.

  ‘I’m fairly sure that considering her options was a euphemistic way of her mum and dad saying while we persuade her to do the sensible thing,’ said Mariner recalling that first difficult visit to the big, detached house. He’d heard the effort in her parents’ voices as they tried not to compare Grace unfavourably with their other two children. The youngest child of three, one studying medicine and the other practising law, Grace was what her parents had described as ‘the creative’ one in the family, the one with the ‘bubbly personality.’ She’s a sweetie; everyone loves her. The subtext here appeared to be that Grace’s siblings were bright enough to have got into the local grammar schools and good universities, whereas Grace was not. ‘They openly admit to having had problems with Grace in the past,’ Mariner went on, ‘which include her having absconded from her expensive, fee-paying school, forcing her to finish her education at the local sixth-form college. But according to them, she’s put all that behind her and has applied to Ealing University to be a drama teacher.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable,’ said Knox.

  ‘They made it sound like the last resort of the desperate,’ said Mariner. ‘But apparently after some discussion, Grace came to see the sense of having a back-up plan.’

  ‘Or giving in to what they wanted,’ said Knox.

  ‘Yes, her friends are more emphatic about Grace’s ambitions. According to them, she’s determined to be an actress, not a drama teacher. The picture from them is all about “Grace the rebel,” slapping on make-up on the way to school and smoking a couple of fags on the walk from the bus stop. Interestingly,’ Mariner added, ‘they also refer to “Grace the flirt.”’

  ‘Do you think she might have come on to the wrong person that night on her walk across the city?’

  ‘Or she has executed the ultimate rebellion,’ Mariner said. ‘Her friends were open about Grace’s sense of the theatrical. She’s not averse to making things up when it suits her. She’d dropped some hints about meeting an older man, but they weren’t inclined to take it seriously and certainly we haven’t found anything to suggest a meeting with anyone. The last text she sent just said: Leaving now. See you soon, unless I get a better offer!!! They took it as a joke.’

  ‘No boyfriend?’ asked Knox.

  ‘Not as such.’ Mariner was warming to the discussion. It was reminding him why he missed his sergeant. ‘She’s got a wide-ranging group of friends, both from the private school and the state sixth form, and among them are several boys who are friends. But they’ve all given accounts of their whereabouts on the night that Grace disappeared.’

  ‘And the family?’

  ‘Growing frustration with what they obviously perceive to be our endless circular questioning. We started with them, of course, but there are some wrinkles to iron out. We can’t pin them down for the whole of the evening in question, and what doesn’t help is the brother’s testimony that Grace and her dad had a spat that afternoon.’

  ‘About what?’ Knox asked.

  Reluctant to admit to it at first, when pressed, Councillor Clifton had finally conceded that it was true, but insignificant. ‘Grace wanted to lend a friend some money,’ Mariner told Knox. ‘He was opposed to it on the principle that young people should learn to manage their own finances. But he wouldn’t say, or didn’t know, which friend this was. I’m inclined to think it was more likely that Grace was trying to tap her old man for extra funds.’

  ‘And how’s the new team shaping up?’ asked Knox. He seemed happy to prolong the conversation and Marine
r wondered if for him too it was like slipping back into a comfortable routine.

  ‘We’re OK,’ he said. ‘Though I’m probably more hands on than they want and quietly driving them all mad.’

  ‘Business as usual then,’ Knox observed. ‘Has Charlie tried to convert you yet?’

  ‘Not that I’ve noticed. I’m hoping it’s because he recognises a lost cause. How’s Athena going?’

  ‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,’ said Knox. ‘Actually it is starting to warm up a bit now,’ he admitted. ‘You know how it is. Patterns start to emerge. The same names cropping up in the same places — snippets of conversation that are giving us some context for past events. We’ve got a couple of so-called legit organisations under close surveillance too. Looks as if there might be a kind of laundering operation going on; weapons coming in on authentic customs licenses that aren’t all they appear to be.’

  It was vague, but Mariner was well aware that he couldn’t say more. Knox’s enthusiasm stung a little. Reading between the lines, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

  ‘Anyway,’ Knox said, suddenly. ‘If you don’t get a move on, your time will be up. It might start to look as if you’re stalling.’

  * * *

  Mariner drove over to Millie’s house with mixed feelings. Had he truly been putting off seeing her? It had been a hectic few weeks, that was all, what with work and taking care of Jamie. But Millie was a close member of his team, and the observation Tony Knox had made had hit home. It was true, and Mariner had no obvious defence, except for a slight apprehension about meeting little Haroon, which would have sounded laughable had he voiced it out loud. It wasn’t that Mariner was afraid of babies, he was just completely lacking in experience and therefore didn’t have much idea of how to respond to them. Even going into Mamas & Papas to buy a gift had brought him out in a cold sweat. Twice, in quite different circumstances, the opportunity of fatherhood had been tantalisingly close, before being snatched away again, but on the rare occasions when he gave it any thought, it was with an acceptance that it was something that would probably never happen for him now. It didn’t feel like a great loss, though he’d never discussed it with Suzy and had no idea how she felt about children.

  Most of all today he hoped he wouldn’t be required to engage too actively with the baby, and it was something of a relief that Haroon was not in evidence when Millie came to the door. After they’d exchanged greetings she went into the kitchen. ‘Go on through,’ she said. ‘Are you still on the black-no-sugar?’ Confirming that he was, Mariner went into the living room just in time to see a woman he’d never met before exposing her bare breast to him, the nipple standing out vivid and pink, as she removed her baby from where it had been suckling. The first hit of embarrassment was entirely spontaneous.

  ‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ he blustered, trying to look anywhere but directly at her. It was closely followed by a second hit of shame in recognition of his pathetically gauche reaction. Grow up, you tosser.

  ‘It’s fine,’ the woman lied, flushing deeply and hastily covering herself with a voluminous smock. ‘We were just going.’

  ‘Don’t leave because of me,’ said Mariner, taking a seat at the far end of the room and feigning a sudden interest in the garden.

  ‘No, really. We have to be getting back anyway.’ The baby seemed less sure and was straining to get a closer look at Mariner as her mother hurried from the room with a cursory, ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Mariner heard voices in the hallway followed by the closing of the front door before Millie came in, bringing his coffee and looking bemused.

  ‘Where’s Suli?’ asked Mariner, his complexion restored by now to its original colour. A whiter shade of pale, Suzy called it.

  ‘Out doing a job with his brother,’ said Millie. ‘What did you do to frighten off Louise?’

  ‘Poor timing,’ he said, taking the mug from her. ‘I think I caught a bit more of her than she would have liked. And I handled it with my usual finesse.’

  ‘That bad, eh? No wonder she ran.’

  ‘She looks like an interesting friend.’

  ‘Hm. I’m not sure if we’re quite friends yet,’ said Millie, taking the place vacated by Louise. ‘I certainly don’t feel as if I know her very well. Part of me thinks we’ve been drawn together out of desperation. It’s probably not a nice thing to say, but she seems a bit needy.’

  ‘Same-sex couple?’ speculated Mariner.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well, you know . . . that’s a pretty savage haircut. And the clothes . . .’

  ‘Not that you’re making assumptions or anything. Actually, it crossed my mind at first too,’ Millie admitted. ‘But she’s married to a guy named Greg. He works in the gun trade, I’ve just found out.’

  ‘Legally?’

  Millie gave him a look. ‘I haven’t met him yet but I’m beginning to have a few thoughts about him that might explain Louise’s personal style.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘She seems in awe of him. And he prefers her not to work, likes his dinner on the table, house kept tidy instead.’

  ‘Welcome back to the 1950s,’ said Mariner.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Millie. ‘Abigail, their baby, had a few health problems at the start too, so I think Louise’s self-esteem is at rock bottom, hence the weird, baggy clothes. And I saw an unusual mark on her arm just now. It concerned me.’

  ‘Did you challenge her?’

  ‘I didn’t really get the chance. She got in first with an explanation, but it wasn’t a very convincing one, so I don't plan to let it go.’

  The baby monitor crackled, followed by a tiny, human wail and Millie disappeared to fetch Haroon. Moments later, she returned cradling the tiny sleep-suited infant in her arms. Already she looked so natural as a mother that Mariner struggled to reconcile this image of her with the case-hardened copper he knew. Mariner eyed Haroon. ‘He is a very handsome baby,’ he said, truthfully.

  ‘Want to take him?’ Holding Haroon out towards Mariner, Millie broke into a grin. ‘Only joking. I just like to see the sheer terror on your face.’

  ‘Oh, I’m happy to drop him on his head any time you like,’ countered Mariner, slightly uneasily. ‘It won’t be me social services come after.’

  ‘At least come and sit over here next to me,’ said Millie. ‘He needs to get a good look at you; get to know his Uncle Tom.’

  ‘Thanks. That makes me sound as old as I feel.’

  ‘Or as old as the woman you feel, ho ho? Speaking of which, how is Suzy?’

  The question threw Mariner off balance. ‘She’s fine,’ he said, suddenly fascinated by the inside of his coffee mug, ‘as far as I know.’

  ‘An interesting answer.’ Millie raised an eyebrow, and when Mariner didn’t immediately respond. ‘You’ve let it drift, haven’t you?’

  ‘Strange as it may seem, having Jamie in residence hasn’t exactly helped the relationship along, and now we’re in the middle of a major investigation. What do you expect?’

  ‘And before Grace Clifton disappeared?’

  Mariner sighed. ‘We Skyped a few times.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Millie was exasperated. ‘You’re talking to the original bored housewife here. If you can’t do any better, I’m going to start describing in great detail the contents of Haroon’s nappies for the last week. You’d be astonished at the variation in colour and consistency . . .’

  ‘So this is what I’m competing with?’

  ‘Sorry, but that’s my life. I like Suzy. I mean, I know I’ve only met her once, but I liked her. She seemed fun.’

  ‘She was. Is,’ he corrected himself.

  ‘Another one bites the dust,’ observed Millie now.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Mariner defensively. ‘Anyway, it hasn’t always been my fault.’

  ‘No. That was tactless. Sorry.’

  Mariner was rescued from further interrogation by Millie’s lan
dline ringing out from the hall. ‘Your turn,’ she said, and in one smooth movement she deposited Haroon in Mariner’s arms and went to answer it. Holding him rigidly, Mariner looked down at the baby’s tiny features and his soft layer of dark hair. Haroon frowned back up at him with dark eyes, pursed his lips and expelled a bubble.

  ‘There,’ said Millie returning and retrieving her son. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it? You didn’t break him.’ She looked up and caught Mariner watching her. ‘Just think, he might have been yours,’ she said cheekily.

  ‘Lucky for him that he’s not,’ Mariner shot back. ‘Anyway, when are you coming back to work?’

  ‘Oh, smoothly done,’ said Millie. ‘Negotiations about my return to work are ongoing. I do miss it, though. God, sometimes I even catch myself hankering after Tony’s crappy jokes.’

  ‘You are in a bad way,’ said Mariner. ‘Only one cure.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Millie was rueful. ‘I’m honestly in two minds. I like the idea of coming back but our job isn’t exactly conducive to a quiet family life. We’re going to have to see how you turn out, aren’t we?’ She gazed down at the baby and for the first time Mariner had the sense that he would have to manage without his DC for some time to come. And with Knox out of the picture too, it was beginning to look as if Mariner’s newly formed team might turn into something more permanent.

  ‘Anyway, I hear you’ve got a good new DS.’ Millie looked up again. ‘Tony told me,’ she added, anticipating his next question. ‘She’s settling in all right?’

  ‘Yes. She’s efficient and reliable, though not as good as you, of course,’ Mariner added, quickly.

  ‘Naturally,’ Millie agreed.

  ‘It’s odd, though,’ Mariner continued. ‘I keep getting this feeling that I’ve met her before. When I first picked up her application the name struck me as familiar, though I’m pretty sure we’ve never worked together.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve just seen her name somewhere,’ said Millie.

  ‘That wouldn’t surprise me, given the volume of stuff that crosses my desk these days. But when she walked into CID on the day she started and we met face to face, I still felt as if I knew her.’