Missing Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘He has the odd sly one,’ said Millie. ‘Though Louise doesn’t like it. Why?’

  ‘Oh, nothing probably.’ Mariner sat back in his seat. ‘We think that our washerwoman has been trawling smoking shelters.’ The line went silent. ‘Millie? You still there?’

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Millie. ‘This is going to sound seriously weird, but before you got Hayden, I did wonder about Greg.’

  ‘You thought he could be our washerwoman?’

  Millie sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Put it down to baby-brain. But I’ve had a feeling about him all along.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Mariner.

  ‘All right,’ said Millie. ‘Louise admitted eventually that she’d actively sought me out because she was convinced that Greg was caught up in something he shouldn’t be. He often stays out late at night and he’s cagey about where he’s been. A couple of times he told her he was out entertaining clients, but she then found out from his colleagues that that wasn’t the case. That kind of thing. My first thought was that Greg was having an affair. They’ve got a new baby and Louise doesn’t exactly dress to please her husband — well, you’ve seen that. Louise told me too that some of Greg’s clothes have gone missing. But it’s old stuff, not what a man would wear to impress the other woman.’

  ‘So he might have needed to get rid of them?’

  Millie’s silence spoke volumes. ‘When Greg found out I was in the police he was shocked,’ she said. ‘I mean real colour-change shocked. Even Suli noticed his reaction. Up until that point Greg had been friendly, but after that . . . it was like he regretted it and he tried to put us back at arm’s length — well, apart from today.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He came here, to our house. He was a total bag of nerves, ticking and twitching all over. When I told him Suli was out, he said it was me he’d come to see. It seemed like he was about to open up, but then he just changed his mind and left.’

  ‘You think he might have been about to turn himself in?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What does Suli think?’

  ‘I haven’t told him everything.’

  ‘How did the shooting trip go?’

  ‘That’s the other thing,’ said Millie. ‘Greg Easton is a competent handler of a whole range of guns. Although he’s in sales, Louise says he knows the manufacturing process inside out and he certainly knows how to use a gun. We’ve — sorry, you’ve — been wondering how it is that these women just go along willingly with their abductor. Perhaps it’s simple. Perhaps he just holds them at gun point.’

  ‘But we think he’s been making his initial contact with them at the QE,’ said Mariner. ‘All these women have been there recently.’

  ‘So have Greg and Louise. They’ve been up there regularly since Abigail was born,’ said Millie. ‘She had a suspected heart murmur, so to start with they had to go for weekly check-ups.’

  ‘Christ. There certainly seems to be a lot here that fits,’ said Mariner. ‘I just can’t get my head around the coincidence of it.’

  ‘It has to be someone,’ said Millie. ‘And like I said, Louise befriending me was no accident. I wonder if she’s suspected Greg all along but can’t bring herself to admit it.’

  ‘And now he’s gone AWOL?’

  ‘Louise is going out of her mind,’ said Millie. ‘She knows Greg’s in trouble, she just doesn’t know exactly what kind.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where Greg might be?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘You could start by checking out where he works. The Pincott and Easton factory is off Vesey Street by St Chad’s.’

  ‘You know a lot about the man’s professional life,’ observed Mariner.

  ‘I looked his company up,’ Millie said. ‘Call it background research. I have to do something to stop my brain turning completely to mush.’

  ‘OK, we’ll go and have a look. What car does he drive?’ Millie gave him the make and registration number. ‘Good to know you’ve still got it,’ he said, before ending the call.

  * * *

  The area around St Chad’s Roman Catholic Cathedral was, and had been for two hundred years, a light industrial district, whose streets emptied of people at the end of the working day. At this hour, the place was deserted. Pincott and Easton Gunmakers was housed in the original double-fronted Victorian factory, which, according to the date embedded in the archway above, first opened its gates in 1841. Mariner drove a little way past, parked up and walked back to begin reconnoitring the site. He registered a pair of gates in the centre, opening onto an inner courtyard. As he drew nearer, he saw a light shining from a first-floor window on the opposite side. The main gates were padlocked, but a side gate swung open, meaning that Greg Easton must have also parked out on the street, though it wasn’t immediately obvious where. Mariner considered his position. What he’d potentially got here was a man backed into a corner, sitting on a pile of guns that he was skilled enough to use. He was not about to take any stupid risks.

  Walking back to his car, Mariner contacted CAD and, after a brief explanation, requested support from the nearest area armed response vehicle. He was given an ETA of approximately ten minutes. He strapped on the flak jacket he carried in his boot and sat down to wait, watching all the while to make sure that Greg Easton stayed where he was.

  During the time it took for the unit of two armed officers to reach him there was no activity from the factory. Once Mariner had briefed them, they approached with stealth, denying Easton the chance to destroy any evidence. Crossing the courtyard they found the door leading up to the first-floor offices unlocked, and the two armed policemen proceeded up the staircase ahead of Mariner. At the top of the stairs, Mariner heard the lead officer yell out a warning before easing open the door, weapon raised. He steeled himself for the inevitable gunfire, but nothing happened.

  ‘No threat here, sir,’ the officer called down. Mariner stepped into the room to see the man he presumed to be Greg Easton sitting behind his desk. He didn’t raise his head as Mariner entered the room, and nor would he again. Blood as dark as molasses dripped from his open mouth, and Mariner could see other organic matter spattered over the glass case behind him. His right hand lay in his lap, loosely gripped around a pistol, his forefinger on the trigger. An open drawer to one side of him contained a box of cheap gold necklaces, each one strung with the letter P.

  But something in the atmosphere tickled at Mariner’s senses. This didn’t feel right — it was too staged. ‘Suicide,’ said one of the armed response officers.

  But Mariner shook his head. ‘I’m reserving judgement ’til the pathologist’s seen him.’ As he spoke, a door slammed somewhere in the building. All three men moved to the window in time to see a figure running across the yard towards the gate. Mariner had a flash of recognition and realised with a start it was the same figure he’d seen running away from his house when he returned from fetching Dominique Batista. ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘There’s no one outside.’

  The armed response men thundered down the stairs, across the yard and out into the street, but they were too late. Whoever it was had vanished into the night.

  * * *

  After calling the SOCOs and notifying Sharp, Mariner phoned Millie to tell her what they had found. ‘We’re going to need to come and talk to Louise. It might help if you’re there too.’

  ‘Will that be OK?’

  ‘It shouldn’t be a problem. You’re not part of the investigation.’

  By the next day, the Pincott and Easton premises had been thoroughly searched for evidence that any of the women had been brought there, and for any trace of Tiffany Davey. Though there were a number of empty offices along with bathroom facilities, none of them showed any signs of recent use. Greg Easton’s computer was taken for forensic analysis.

  Mariner went to Louise Easton’s house to talk to her. She was sandwiched on the sofa between Millie and an older woman, who she introduced as her mother, Olwen. Louise’s eyes were red
and swollen and all the time they were talking she was twisting a handkerchief in her hands. When Mariner broke the news to her — the crimes that Greg was now suspected of — he saw a fresh wave of grief hit her. ‘I can’t believe that Greg would do something so bad,’ she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if it was what you were trying to tell me,’ said Millie.

  ‘No!’ Louise was shocked at the suggestion. ‘A few years ago the firm was investigated. One of the staff had been illegally importing guns on the side. Filing off serial numbers and selling them on. It was nothing to do with Greg, but the company isn’t doing well and I thought . . . I thought he might have got involved in something like that. But not what you’re saying — never that.’

  ‘We don’t know for certain that we’re right,’ said Mariner. ‘I’ve got a list of dates here. When you feel ready, it would help if you could confirm Greg’s whereabouts on these occasions.’

  ‘I can tell you where he said he’d be, but I can’t know if he was telling the truth,’ Louise said, bitterly.

  ‘And we’ll need to know the dates of your appointments at the hospital with your daughter. Do you know if Greg has had cause to go back to the hospital recently?’

  ‘Not for a couple of weeks, there’s been no need.’

  But Mariner knew that there didn’t have to be a legitimate reason. There was nothing to stop anyone going into those smoking shelters. Who would know? ‘If Greg is involved in this,’ he said tactfully, ‘is there anywhere else he might have taken these women?’ But if there was, Louise couldn’t think of a place.

  * * *

  CCTV from RedZone was unhelpful. The one external camera pointed away from where Tiffany might have met her mystery man; they saw her head pass in and out of shot in a matter of seconds. One of the bouncers they interviewed had a vague recollection of seeing her exit the club for a smoke, along with someone who’d been standing beneath an awning a little way down the street, but all he could say for sure was that it had been a man. The dog-ends from that spot were dutifully collected but there were a couple of dozen at least, so the process of elimination and possible identification through DNA could take days.

  The post-mortem on Greg Easton was equally inconclusive. ‘He undoubtedly died from a close-range gunshot wound, fired by the weapon that you found in his hand,’ said Croghan, as he and Mariner stood over Easton’s body. ‘But whether or not he pulled the trigger will be almost impossible to ascertain.’ And Mariner had seen Carlton Brown running away. He was sure of it. He just couldn’t work out what it meant.

  Along with the post-mortem report, Croghan gave Mariner a detailed forensic report on the cloth used to wrap Grace and Rosa. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It matches neither the sheet from the Belvedere or the one from here at the hospital. You’re back to the drawing board with that.’

  ‘Have you got a bit I can take with me?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘I can soon get you one.’ Croghan returned moments later with a small corner of soiled cloth.

  Mariner took the sample to Sunita up in the linen store. ‘What can you tell me about this?’ he asked.

  ‘It needs a good wash,’ she said, taking it from him. She felt it all over, tugging and rubbing it between her fingers. ‘Oh, this takes me back,’ she said. ‘It’s pure cotton and good quality. I’d say it’s a thread count of about one-sixty or one-eighty. We don’t use anything like this anymore. It’s all new ones here, cotton and polyester. They’re supposed to be more durable and hygienic because they let your skin breathe more, but it was such a waste. Not as if the NHS has got money to burn, is it?’

  Before returning to Granville Lane, Mariner went to the atrium cafeteria, bought a coffee and took a vacant table close to the one he and Jesson had occupied before, and where, at a stretch, he could watch the activity in and around the smoking shelters. He’d considered the possibility of trying to trace anyone who had used them on the days when Rosa, Grace and Tiffany would have done, but he could see straight away that it would be a monumental task, given the rate of turnover. And the encounters would have been so casual, most would have gone unnoticed.

  ‘Penny for them,’ he heard someone say, and looked up to see Ellen Kingsley. She was holding her own beaker of coffee. ‘Can I join you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mariner. ‘Though I might not be very good company. You may have heard — we cocked up.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s not that simple,’ she said, taking the seat opposite him.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Dee,’ said Mariner, ‘and Leo Hayden. You must be missing them both.’

  ‘We’re still trying to get our heads around it,’ she said. ‘Though I’m relieved Leo didn’t kill all those women. It all seems so unreal. I went to see Paddy yesterday. He’s devastated. Do you have any idea who . . .?’

  Mariner shook his head slowly. ‘Dee and Coral Norman made absolute sense when we thought Leo Hayden was the killer, but now it’s hard to see where they might fit in.’ He didn’t like to tell her that hospital staff were coming under scrutiny again. An army medic in uniform walked past. ‘How’s Private Lomax?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘About the same,’ she said. ‘Dee hasn’t missed much there.’

  ‘I saw the news item about his unit receiving their awards,’ he said. It felt like weeks ago. ‘I didn’t realise his father was a serving soldier too. You’d think it would be enough to put him off letting his son join the army.’

  Ellen frowned. ‘I don’t think Lomax’s dad is around,’ she said. ‘I’m sure on his medical records it says that he was in care before he joined up.’

  ‘So who was the man who came in to sit with him, the first time I talked to you?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘Oh, you mean Captain Clarke. Lomax and the other two are in his squad. He was here almost every day to begin with. He was hurt in the blast as well, so was on recovery leave. I haven’t seen him for a few days, so I think he must have gone back on tour.’

  ‘Isn’t that unusual — that he would have spent his recuperation time in here?’

  ‘Not at all. A lot of the commanding officers come in to see their men. They’re pretty tight-knit units generally. Although it was a bit different with Clarke.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘I think I mentioned to you that we had the MPs here? I understand the area where Lomax’s unit were on patrol hadn’t been swept for IEDs and there was a question mark over why they were there at all. I suppose Captain Clarke wanted to know what had happened; to get Lomax’s side of the story first. I know he was gutted he wasn’t here on the day Craig briefly regained consciousness.’ Her pager bleeped. ‘Sorry, this is urgent, I’ve got to go.’ She got to her feet. ‘Nice to see you again, and I hope you reach a resolution soon.’

  ‘Thanks — you too,’ said Mariner, watching her walk away.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  In the days following Greg’s death, Millie made an extra effort to stay in touch with Louise, for Abigail’s sake as much as anything else. The funeral would be delayed because of the post-mortem and then the inquest, and Millie knew from experience that this could be the most difficult time for families. It didn’t help that there was a question mark over the nature of Greg's death, and the stigma of a potential suicide. She went around to the house on one such morning. Olwen, as always, was pleased to see her. ‘Louise seems to just have retreated completely into herself. I’m worried for her and for Abigail.’

  As they went through to the lounge Olwen called out, ‘Your friend Millie is here, Louise.’

  Louise was curled up in a corner of the sofa, cradling a mug of tea in her hands. Despite the mild day she was wrapped in a thick fleece and the purple smudges under her eyes were the only colour on her face. Seeing Millie and Haroon, she managed a weak smile.

  ‘How are you?’ said Millie, not expecting a reply. ‘I wondered if you and Abigail might like to come to the mother and baby group down at the church. We went last week and it’s love
ly — really friendly. Haroon loved it.’

  ‘I’m not really dressed for going out,’ said Louise, listlessly. ‘Maybe some other time.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Olwen’s tone was brisk. ‘It won’t take you long to get ready, darling. It’s only a baby group. And you have to start thinking of Abigail. She needs to get out.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Louise reluctantly disappeared upstairs and while she was getting ready, Olwen and Millie between them got Abigail into her coat and pushchair, so that when Louise returned they were all set to go.

  ‘Have a good time,’ Olwen called after them.

  The two women walked along the pavement in silence for several minutes, until Louise said, ‘Thanks. It’s kind of you to call for me. I already feel a bit better just for getting out of the house.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how awful this is for you,’ said Millie. ‘But I’m sure it will get easier, little by little.’

  The group was underway when they arrived, so parking their pushchairs alongside the others in the lobby, they took the babies into the church hall, where the floor was covered with coloured mats, littered with toys, and echoed with the sound of children’s excited chatter and mums’ murmured conversations. Millie introduced Louise to a couple of other women she’d met on her previous visit.

  Haroon and Abigail were both happy to be placed on one of the mats and lay looking at each other, waving their arms and legs. ‘The start of a beautiful friendship,’ said Millie. She was delighted to see that Louise had struck up a conversation, so risked leaving her for a few minutes to get them a drink. When she came back, Louise was talking to a woman she’d recognised as one of her near neighbours. ‘This was such a good idea,’ she said to Millie as the woman moved off. ‘It makes me feel almost . . . normal again.’

  After about an hour, the woman running the session announced circle time. ‘It’s a way of closing the sessions,’ Millie told Louise. ‘We sing a few nursery rhymes and then it’s all over. You’ve done brilliantly.’

  While the mats were being arranged in a circle, Louise left Abigail with Millie while she went to the loo. The toddlers sat on the floor in the middle of the circle clutching musical instruments, while the mums with younger babies sat around the outer edges. The group leader led the singing, with the mums joining in, though Millie’s contribution was minimal. Not for the first time she realised she was going to have to brush up on her nursery rhymes. Millie wasn’t really sure what happened next. She was sitting on the floor trying to follow the words of the song, with Abigail and Haroon tucked in on her lap, side by side, when she heard a piercing scream from right behind her, and Louise bounded over to snatch up Abigail before rushing out of the room. The singing faltered momentarily as the other women all turned to stare, prompting the leader to sing with increased gusto, to get them back on track again. Holding Haroon, Millie got up and went out to the lobby, where she found Louise, sobbing hysterically as she struggled to get a now-howling Abigail into her pushchair.