Missing Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘Meaning what?’ Jesson couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

  ‘He wasn’t ready emotionally to confront what had happened to him. It’s a common reaction. When he finally came round he became extremely distressed. It happens. The shock and the pain are too much for them and they get overwhelmed. We got the psychiatrist here straight away to try and see if we could bring Lomax through it, but in the end we were forced to put him back into a medically induced coma. It was touch and go for about an hour. It’s why Dee was a bit late leaving.’

  ‘She spends a lot of time with him?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘She’s Lomax’s designated ICU nurse.’

  ‘It all sounds incredibly stressful,’ said Jesson.

  ‘For Lomax certainly, and for his visitor. We had to send him away while we sorted things out. But for us?’ She shrugged. ‘It’s what we do, isn’t it? I don’t imagine your job is a barrel of laughs all the time.’

  ‘How does Dee cope with it?’ asked Jesson.

  ‘She’s experienced and tough as old boots. You have to develop a bit of a hard shell in this job anyway, and she’s pretty resilient. We keep each other going.’ She paused. ‘I have to ask . . . do you think Dee’s disappearance might have anything to do with these other two women you’re looking for?’

  ‘It’s too early to be certain at this stage, but yes, we will have to consider that possibility,’ said Mariner. ‘And what about the long-term prospects for Private Lomax?’

  ‘It may yet turn out well. We had a couple more from the same unit come in. The others are making good progress and have transferred to the main ward. We can’t be sure how it will go for Lomax, but there are plenty of us willing him to pull through.’

  ‘I saw Military Police hanging around, didn’t I?’ said Mariner.

  ‘Yes. From what I can make out there seems to be some question over whether the unit should have been on foot patrol in that particular area on that particular day. Lomax caught the brunt of it, so we’ve got to hope that it wasn’t the result of someone else’s cock-up.’

  ‘When will you know if Private Lomax will make it?’ Jesson’s interest seemed compulsive.

  ‘The next few days will be critical, and then he’ll have a long road of rehabilitation ahead of him, but he has a chance. Lots of our boys go on to lead full and active lives, even after all this.’ She grimaced. ‘Not sure how I’d do in their situation.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Mariner.

  As they were leaving, Mariner held open the door to admit a group of people, dressed for the outdoors, who came wordlessly into the unit and dispersed around the different rooms. Visiting time. Mariner watched as a man of an age to be Lomax’s father went into the room and drew a vinyl hospital-issue chair alongside the bed, pocketing his cigarettes as he sat down. Before he’d even taken off his coat he was leaning in, his lips moving in an unheard greeting to the young soldier.

  Alongside Mariner, Vicky Jesson seemed mesmerized. ‘That could be me,’ she said quietly. ‘My lad, Aaron, wants to go into the army when he leaves school.’

  Dr Kingsley saw them watching. ‘He practically lives here,’ she said. ‘We have to turn him out every night and make him go home, just to get some rest.’

  Mariner didn’t have kids, but even as a father, he doubted that he’d be able to imagine how it would feel to see your child in that condition, and he was struck by an overwhelming surge of compassion for the man. He and Jesson walked down the stairs and out of the hospital without another word.

  * * *

  By six that evening Mariner was sitting alone in his office entering details of the interview with Ellen Kingsley into the policy log. A lot had happened in the last couple of days and he was beginning to lag behind with the admin. Superintendent Sharp appeared in the doorway and made a point of looking at the clock. ‘What are you still doing here?’

  ‘Making the most of an opportunity,’ said Mariner. ‘Jamie’s at Manor Park ’til Monday. I can’t go home. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.’ He sat back from the computer and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘Anyway, makes a change for me to be here late. Vicky’s usually the first one here in the morning, last one away at night, even though she’s the one with the family to think about.’

  ‘I suppose work is important to her at the moment, for obvious reasons,’ said Sharp. ‘She’s a woman who wants to be defined by something more than just her role as a mother.’

  ‘Hm, like anyone else we know?’ said Mariner.

  Sharp laughed. ‘God, yes. How do you think I know? She’s exactly like me! But I think she wants to be known as something more than Brian Riddell’s partner too.’

  ‘Well, she’s doing pretty well with that. Do you know where they’re up to with who shot him? I didn’t like to ask.’

  ‘I don’t know. Tony could probably tell you more about that.’

  Mariner’s personal mobile chose that moment to ring. It happened so rarely that it took him several seconds to recognise the tinny ring tone.

  It was Suzy. ‘Hi, where are you? I’ve been trying your landline.’

  ‘I’m still at work.’ Mariner caught Sharp’s eye and she waved to indicate that he should carry on before retreating back upstairs to her own office.

  ‘At this time?’ Suzy was saying. ‘Who’s with Jamie?’

  ‘He’s at Manor Park for the weekend. I got a call a couple of days ago to say they could have him.’

  ‘So you’ve got a free weekend.’ Her tone was measured. ‘It would be good to see you, if you’ve got time.’

  ‘You could come over,’ Mariner suggested.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t,’ said Suzy. ‘We’re playing tomorrow and Saturday night. But you could come here. You said you wanted to come and hear us, and there’s a champagne reception afterwards.’

  ‘Naturally.’ Not content with being a brilliant academic, Suzy was also an accomplished violinist and played in a chamber orchestra for fun. Mariner thought about an evening rubbing shoulders with the Cambridge elite. He briefly considered making up an excuse, but that was hardly fair and she was right: he had expressed a wish to go to one of her concerts, even if only out of politeness. ‘I might have to see how it goes here,’ he hedged.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, ever reasonable. ‘But it would be lovely if you could make it. Oh, and by the way, it’s black tie.’

  Not for me it isn’t, thought Mariner as he hung up the phone. Sharp was passing, on her way out this time.

  ‘Suzy,’ he told her.

  ‘Good,’ said Sharp inexplicably. ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s fine. Wants me to go over to Cambridge tomorrow, but I don’t know . . .’

  ‘How’s it going, all this?’ Sharp gestured towards the paperwork on his desk.

  ‘Well, I’m not quite ready to gather all the suspects together in one room yet, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Then you should go,’ she said. ‘It will do you good to get away from here for a day or two. I doubt that anything actionable is going to happen in the next couple of days. If it does then there are others around who can pick up the slack, and if not, well, we could do with some members of the team coming back to things afresh next week. If this investigation turns out to be a long haul, we’re all going to need to pace ourselves. Don’t you always say it’s a good idea to make some space to mull things over in this situation?’

  Did he? ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, which he did as he drove home and let himself into the empty house. And he thought about Suzy as he got into bed, confident that for once he would have a completely undisturbed night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mary Sutor enjoyed her job as a call-handler on the Granville Lane CAD team. She’d been doing it now for nearly five years and prided herself on being able to efficiently grade calls according to their urgency. Every month the office ran an informal sweepstake to identify the biggest time wasters. Contenders ranged from people calling 999 to say that their car wouldn’t s
tart, or that their budgie had escaped, to one woman who asked if they could instruct her on how to change the batteries in her TV remote control. On Friday morning Mary had a call which, while it wouldn’t top this month’s list, would probably feature on it somewhere.

  ‘My cleaner hasn’t turned up,’ said the man at the other end of the line.

  Mary rolled her eyes at Linda, who sat opposite her. ‘Sir, you’ve rung through to the emergency service,’ she said, with exaggerated patience. ‘We’re not here to help if your cleaner doesn’t show.’

  ‘But it’s very unlike her,’ the man persisted. ‘She always lets me know if she’s not going to come.’

  ‘Have you tried ringing her?’ Mary asked, as Linda answered another call.

  ‘Yes, but her phone seems to be switched off.’

  At that moment another incoming call flashed up on Mary’s monitor and it was a number she recognised. Angela Beck was one of their regular ‘customers,’ whose husband routinely lost control of his fists.

  ‘Sir, I’m going to pass you on to another of our operators who will take your details,’ said Mary. ‘I hope your cleaner turns up. Thank you.’ And swiftly transferring the call to one of the less experienced staff members, she moved on to Angie Beck.

  ‘One for the hoax statistics, I think,’ she said afterwards to Linda.

  Linda grinned. ‘Perhaps he thought one of us might pop round and do it for him.’

  * * *

  Mariner had been half hoping that developments in the case during Friday might provide him with a reason to stay in Birmingham this weekend, but no parcel of clothing belonging to Dee Henderson arrived and, to compound things, Superintendent Sharp, recognising that morale was beginning to flag, stepped in and insisted that they start a rota of forty-eight-hour R&R to clear their heads.

  There were, on the other hand, a few loose ends for which Mariner was responsible, so by the time he’d tied them up to his satisfaction it was late afternoon before he joined the Friday surge out of the city. But as he left the M6 to join the A14, cutting a swath through the countryside under the big Northamptonshire skies, he felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease a little, his concentration now on negotiating the solid convoy of HGVs that were heading for the port of Felixstowe.

  On the few occasions when he’d visited before, Mariner had really liked Cambridge, for its quaintness, its gentility and — if he was being brutally honest — the stark contrast with much of Birmingham. Suzy’s friends had, on the whole, made him welcome, but he’d found it hard to fully relax with them. Her job as a doctoral research student planted her squarely in the realm of academia, where there seemed to be few people with whom it was possible to have a normal discussion about, say, football or beer. For them, intellectual posturing seemed to take on the intensity of a professional, competitive sport and every exchange felt like open combat, which Mariner usually hadn’t the energy or the inclination to sustain for very long. Still, perhaps tonight would be different. All he’d be required to do was listen to some music.

  He’d arranged to meet Suzy outside the venue where she was playing, so followed her directions into the city centre and one of the tiny number of legitimate car parks. He texted her to say he’d arrived and she came out to meet him at the entrance of the college. She looked chic in a fitted black cocktail dress, her violin and bow grasped in one hand, and didn’t seem to mind that he was wearing his trademark grey lounge suit among a sea of tuxes. After a lingering kiss that made Mariner instantly hard, she said, ‘You look tired. Are you sure you’ll manage to stay awake?’

  ‘Not completely,’ he said. ‘But I’ll try not to snore too loudly.’

  Taking his place in the vaulted college chapel, it felt surreal to be sitting there in a row of such elegantly dressed couples. The chamber orchestra took their places to a rattle of applause and, as the music soared and echoed, Mariner was spellbound by Suzy, the black dress against her olive skin, her face creased with concentration as she thrust the bow back and forth, the light sparkling off the fine silver bracelet on her wrist, a traditional Cantonese talisman that she never removed.

  * * *

  ‘And what do you do?’ It was never Mariner’s favourite question, especially in a situation such as this, and especially at a time like this; asked by the eager young man with the PhD in whatever it was, who no doubt knew as much about policing as Mariner did about splitting the atom. Mariner was caught offside by two things: an enquiry directed at him that went further than the rhetorical, and the banality of the topic. Consequently he was forced to revert to his usual fallback position. ‘I’m in security,’ he said, vaguely, as he did in these situations, glancing around at the gathering of cocktail dresses and dinner jackets, and taking in the polite and terribly civilised murmur of conversation.

  Suzy, beside him, with her hand tucked under his arm, rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, don’t be such a wimp. He’s a detective chief inspector with the West Midlands Police,’ she blurted out to the young professor. ‘And he’s the senior investigator on the Grace Clifton case.’ Mariner wished she hadn’t.

  For a moment though, he thought he might get away with it; that this guy would have his head stuck so far into dusty tomes (or up his own backside) that he’d be unaware of current events. But his eyes had lit up, encouraged by the creeping dawn of recognition. ‘Thanks, Suzy,’ Mariner said with a look.

  ‘Gosh.’ The young prof’s exclamation was imbued with implied criticism. ‘You’re struggling a bit with that one, aren’t you?’

  ‘We are,’ Mariner admitted.

  ‘Didn’t you guys think that Grace Clifton had run away?’

  ‘At the time we had justifiable reason to think that,’ said Mariner. ‘We took the same approach we would with any missing person and considered all the options.’

  ‘Yeah, but even so.’ The young man looked at him askance. ‘Aren’t the first forty-eight hours the most crucial? You must have lost some serious time there.’

  Great, thought Mariner. Some prick who’s read a few criminology books. He could feel his blood starting to rise. ‘And what would you know about it?’ he asked calmly.

  ‘Barney’s specialism is the deployment of stop-and-search,’ cut in Suzy, to diffuse a growing awkwardness, but Barney chose to ignore her.

  ‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ he said, holding Mariner’s gaze. ‘I’m just making an educated guess.’

  ‘Don’t, Barney,’ Suzy reprimanded him gently.

  ‘Yes, well, maybe there’s a little more to education than reading about someone else’s opinion of what goes on in the outside world,’ Mariner pointed out. ‘Some of us actually have to live it.’

  ‘Must be a challenge, though,’ Barney persisted, ‘in the absence of someone you can fit up for it.’

  By now Mariner was desperate to wipe that faux-innocent expression off the man’s face, preferably with a well-timed punch, but before his impulses could overwhelm him, he slammed his glass down on a nearby table, with just enough force to draw the attention of the hundred or so other people present, and stalked out through the neo-Gothic archway, Suzy trailing after him.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, as they emerged into the cold night. ‘I thought you might enjoy the opportunity for lively discussion with like-minded people.’

  ‘Like-minded?’ Mariner laughed scathingly. ‘What the hell made you think we’d be that?’

  ‘Barney was just baiting you.’

  ‘Good old Barney, what fun.’

  ‘OK, introducing you to him might have been a mistake. I’d forgotten. I think he got stopped by the police for speeding a couple of weeks ago, and they gave him a hard time.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why,’ said Mariner. ‘Could it be by any chance that he was telling them how to do their job?’ Out on the street Mariner realised that, having made his dramatic exit, he had completely forgotten where he had parked his car, so he had to stop and wait for Suzy to catch up. She was still only wearing the cocktail dress and the wind was get
ting up, so he automatically took off his jacket and draped it round her shoulders.

  ‘He didn’t mean anything by it,’ Suzy said, pulling it round her.

  ‘No, he didn’t, did he?’ he said. Mariner turned to face her. ‘That’s exactly it. It was meaningless. A nasty, futile snipe at me and all my officers who, despite what Barney Fuck-face might think, are working their bollocks off to try and find out what’s happened to two — maybe three — vulnerable young women. It makes me sick, all of you, sitting here in your rarefied little world, passing judgement on those of us who actually get our hands dirty—’

  She recoiled, as if he’d physically struck her. ‘All of us? Is that what you really think?’

  Mariner slumped. ‘No, of course not,’ he said. Up until now he’d never felt in any way lacking because he hadn’t been to university. But here in Cambridge he could feel the beginnings of an unwanted chip developing, and he didn’t much like it. ‘I should get back,’ he said, defeated. They had reached his car. ‘This was a bad idea. I’ll drop you off on the way.’

  ‘But you’re shattered,’ Suzy said. ‘Why don’t you get some sleep and drive back first thing?’

  Mariner shook his head. He couldn’t bear to stay here any longer. ‘Too much to do,’ he said, getting into the car. ‘As your friend so helpfully pointed out, we lost time. And I need to make the most of Jamie being away. He’ll be back again on Monday.’ He was using his responsibility as an excuse and Suzy knew it too.

  ‘No more progress with finding him somewhere permanent then?’ she said, lightly, as they started off.

  ‘I’m doing what I can,’ Mariner said irritably. ‘He’s on a couple of lists but we have to wait for other residents to “move on.”’

  She smiled. ‘Pop their clogs, in other words.’

  ‘If you like,’ he said, grudgingly. ‘Anyway, not much I can do about that, short of bumping them off myself.’

  ‘You could give it a try,’ she said, mischievously. ‘You of all people ought to know how to do that and get away with it. I could help you.’