Down below she hears the laughing voices of children taking shelter from the downpour. She hears the siren of a passing emergency vehicle and sees a fire engine whizz past. Her heart pounds in time to its scream as she runs towards the bins and follows the route the figure used to leave the estate. Her eyes scan the street outside but there is no sign of him. She sees the fire engine’s lights in the distance near to where she left Quinn. There is no sign of the man. He could have jumped in a car or on a bus and disappeared to God knows where. She phones Quinn again and this time he picks up.
‘He was here. @nonymous was here just now!’ says Archer, catching her breath.
‘Did you see him?’
‘Yes . . . but he was too far away.’
Archer can hear the siren pass Quinn by.
‘Are you still at the Aylesbury Estate?’
She can only just about hear him.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m on my way. I’ll be there in a few moments.’
She makes a call to the Forensics team and from the back of the car takes out two forensic suits.
Quinn joins her outside the apartment as she photographs the painting.
‘He’s painted this with a stencil again,’ says Quinn. ‘Like Banksy does. Allows him to finish quickly and get out.’
‘He was inside the flat,’ says Archer. ‘He broke in by the look of it.’
The Indian man reappears from his doorway. ‘What is going on?’
‘Police,’ says Quinn. He asks the man his name.
‘Vaz Kumar.’
‘Mr Kumar, please remain inside your flat. We’ll come and talk to you later.’
He nods and disappears inside.
For the second time that day Archer and Quinn put on forensic suits.
The lights in the flat are switched off. She sweeps the beam of her torch across the hallway, searching for the switch. She presses it but the light doesn’t come on.
‘Hello?’ she calls, but no one answers.
She listens, zoning in on the rooms close by but hears nothing. The first door to her right opens onto a small kitchen. There’s a stack of washed pots and dishes at the side of the sink waiting to be put away.
‘Mr Kelly? Police. The door was open,’ she says aloud. ‘We thought we’d check to see if you were OK.’
With Quinn behind her, she moves stealthily through the hallway. Crouching down, she finds a pay-as-you-go electricity meter, which has clearly not been paid. She peers into the living room. It’s small and cluttered and to her relief no one is inside. A part of her expected to find the corpse of Jordan Kelly or even his father Frank.
The main bedroom is messy with the wardrobe and drawers open and clothes everywhere. What has he been looking for?
The smaller bedroom, Jordan’s room, is as neat as a nine-year-old’s bedroom could ever be. There are superhero posters on the walls, stuffed toys, various robots on top of the bed and Lego scattered across the floor.
She runs the beam around the living room. On the walls are pictures of Elaine, Jordan and the man she recognises from Elaine’s Facebook profile – Frank Kelly. Archer is reminded again of how much older he is. Nearly twice her age, grey-haired with a ruddy and bloated face. He was clearly punching above his weight.
Fitted to the wall is an enormous flatscreen television that seems just too big for this modest space. Below it is a fake fireplace, the focal point of the room, and lined across the mantelpiece are small ornaments of birds and some of Jordan’s toys.
Neither Frank nor Jordan are in the flat and there is little more to see. Archer and Quinn retreat outside to avoid further contamination. Archer pulls back her hood and mask.
‘Anything from the pubs?’
‘Yeah. He’s been seen drinking in the two I visited. One landlord said he was there on Sunday with a young woman and a baby. She didn’t fit Elaine’s description.’
‘No Jordan?’
‘No, just the three of them.’
‘I wonder who she is.’
‘Anyone’s guess at this point.’
‘Jordan can’t be with his father then, unless he left him with someone else on the Sunday.’
‘I get the sense Kelly isn’t the doting father type.’
Archer bites her lip. ‘I’m worried about Jordan. I’ll call Klara and get her to do some rooting around Elaine’s contacts. Perhaps someone knows something. Could you talk to Os and ask him to prepare a missing persons profile for Jordan? If nothing comes through from Klara’s search I want that profile posted on our social media and passed to the press immediately.’
It takes an hour for the SOCO team to show up and in that time Archer and Quinn have phoned through their instructions to Os and Klara. They have also knocked on doors and spoken to Mr Kumar, his family and the other neighbours. No one has heard or seen anything. @nonymous appeared quiet as a ghost, left his mark and disappeared without trace.
32
G
UILT NIGGLES AT ARCHER, WHO has been unable visit her Grandad because of the demands of the investigation. Late in the evening she has a quick call with the nurse, who asks if she will be there tomorrow to take him home. Archer hesitates before answering, reasoning with herself that the unpredictability of the investigation might result in a no show, but shame overcomes her. This is her lovely, ailing Grandad who has no one but her.
‘Yes, yes, of course, what time?’
‘We’ll aim for midday, but best to call in the morning and we’ll confirm.’
She will have to make arrangements for Quinn to cover for her. There is nothing else to be done. To avoid missing any more time Archer redoubles her efforts and works through the night. During this time, she oversees the release of Kevin Furlong and John Tighe, who are no longer suspects. She catches up with paperwork and watches images of Elaine Kelly, Chau Ho and Megan Burchill, the so-called Marshland Martyrs, go viral across the globe. To make matters worse, repugnant Internet memes with humorous captions are popping up all over social media.
The following morning, she sends a text to Quinn telling him that she is en route to Jackie Morris’s house, having called Jackie last night and agreed to visit first thing. Quinn responds with a message that he is meeting with a mate from SOCO for an update on the Kelly flat.
It’s standing room only in the Tube carriage, which is full of sneezing and coughing commuters wrapped in coats, scarves and hats. There is a strong smell of damp wool and wet leather mixed with an overpowering mint and clove decongestant that Archer detests.
Jackie Morris lives in a two-up, two-down council house that looks more like an upturned oversized shoebox. Archer rings the bell and hears a young woman’s voice bellowing upstairs. It’s followed by the sound of a child shouting and then a second who starts singing a Disney song that Archer recognises but can’t place.
The door opens to a harassed-looking woman with pale skin and dark hair.
‘Jackie, hello, I’m Detective Inspector Grace Archer.’ Archer shows her warrant card.
‘Hi, sorry. Come in. I’m trying to get the twins ready for school. Doesn’t help that one of their friends was here for a sleepover and all they want to do is play.’
Archer smiles and enters.
The TV is showing Sky breakfast news. The anchor is discussing the murders with an ex-police officer and, of all people, an art historian. Archer notices Jackie’s face go pale. ‘You can’t escape it. I can’t watch anymore,’ she says, and switches off the television, much to Archer’s relief. ‘Is there any word on where Jordan might be?’
‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing yet.’
‘Poor little thing. I hope to God he’s OK. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘That would be perfect. Thank you.’
She hears the sound of children laughing upstairs. Jackie calls up to them, demanding they get ready, as Archer scans the room. There is a pink crate of children’s toys at the foot of a cream vinyl sofa. Behind that is a sideboard displaying a range of anima
l ornaments. She notices a laptop on a side table displaying a slideshow of photographs. There are shots of what looks like friends and family including pictures of two young twins who she assumes are the children upstairs. Archer narrows in on the screen to a selfie of Jackie and Elaine holding up shot glasses. They are together inside a nightclub, both of them made up and dressed in similar tight black outfits, pouting suggestively at the camera.
Jackie appears carrying two large brown mugs in the shape of owls.
‘Here you go.’ She hands across a steaming owl.
‘Thank you.’
‘When was the last time you saw Elaine?’
‘It was last week. We had a coffee together in town. I was supposed to babysit Jordan the day after because she had a date. But I couldn’t make it. I had flu and the kids were unwell and had to cancel.’
‘When was this?’
‘Thursday night.’
A child’s voice calls from upstairs. ‘Mummy, Poppy is using your iPad and you told her not to.’
‘Poppy, what did I tell you?’ Jackie shouts. In her normal pitch she continues, ‘I don’t like them using the Internet unsupervised. There’s just so much horror since poor Elaine and those other women . . .’ Jackie leaves the sentence hanging as if she can’t bring herself to finish it. She edges the pink crate out of the way with her foot. ‘Please sit down.’
Archer sits on the edge of the sofa, Jackie across from her.
‘Do you know who she was going on a date with?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me.’ Jackie cradles her mug, holding it close to her face. ‘I still can’t get my head around it. The twins are distraught. Poppy especially. She loved Elaine. Everyone did. Poor Jordan. He must be devastated.’
‘Could Jordan be with his father?’
‘It’s possible, but unlikely. He never took much interest in him, poor little sod.’
‘Where would Jordan be now?’
Jackie pales. ‘Oh my God, is he missing too?’
‘We don’t know anything yet. I will look into Jordan’s whereabouts and his father’s.’
‘I hope Frank is looking after him.’
‘Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Elaine?’
‘Frank springs to mind.’
‘Her husband?’
‘Yeah. He was always knocking her about. Jordan too. I don’t know why she put up with it. For Jordan’s sake, I suppose. He loved his dad, despite his dad not seeming to care about him.’
‘Did she ever talk to you about Frank’s abuse?’
‘Yeah. He was dead jealous, especially when we started spending more time together.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because I’d make her get dressed up and go out clubbing. She was only three years older than me and had barely lived her life since she married that miserable old drunk. We’d go to Infernos.’
‘Is that in Clapham?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Was their relationship in trouble?’
Jackie nods. ‘I think so. But he’s a right hypocrite. He hated Elaine even looking at another bloke even though he was shagging any old slag on the estate.’
Archer blows on the tea and takes a sip from the mug. The tea had just a splash of milk and was bitter, but warming nonetheless.
Jackie continues, ‘When we was at Infernos she’d meet people her own age and have a great time. Frank hated the thought of it. He would get drunk, fly off the handle and beat her up. She told me he would regret it afterward and apologise and cry for hours about what he’d done. That’s the thing with Frank. He has a way of talking to people that makes him believe what he’s sayin’. He’s a clever one, he is. That’s why those tarts are always jumping into bed with him. He’s got a silver tongue. I also think Elaine was afraid. She stopped going out for weeks and when I saw her last she had a busted lip and a black eye covered up with concealer . . .’
‘Was that usual?’
‘Rarely was she seen without bruises. I tried to get her to go back to the police but she wouldn’t this time.’
‘Why was that?’
‘She said it was over and Frank had left for good. But she had said that before and he always came back.’
Archer wonders about the sighting of Frank Kelly with a woman and a baby.
‘Was Frank seeing someone else?’
Jackie leans forward. ‘I had heard he knocked someone up. Boasting all over the place about it, he was.’
‘Do you know who she is?’
‘That’s one of them very well-known secrets. Lauren’s her name, apparently. Don’t know her second name. Has a reputation, if you know what I mean. Elaine knew, we all did. God bless her. She deserved so much better.’ Jackie’s eyes well and she dabs them with a tissue before continuing. ‘So anyway, I said to Elaine, you better let me take pictures of those bruises and cuts. She didn’t want to but I said they could be evidence one day.’
‘Did you take photos of her injuries?’
‘Yeah, they’re on my phone.’
‘May I see them?’
Jackie nods and flicks through the photos on her camera roll. She stops at close-up shots of Elaine, a pretty girl with a troubled expression daubed with a black eye and a swollen cut lip. There are other photos from different times with bruises the size of fists on her back and arms. The final shot makes Archer unconsciously reach for her own neck. Elaine’s long pale neck has a ring of bruising as if someone has tried to strangle her.
‘Horrible, isn’t it?’
She needs to find Frank Kelly straightaway.
‘Do you think Frank killed her?’ asks Jackie.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘To be honest, I don’t think he did.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Dunno really. I’ve known Frank a long time. If he had killed her, he would not have boxed her up and put her on display with a bunch of other dead people. He doesn’t have it in him.’
‘You said Elaine stopped clubbing?’
‘Yeah, she had and I really missed her. Last week she looked pale and rough. Frank had really gone to town on her. But she was upbeat. I took her for a coffee and asked what was going on. She told me it was really over. I said, “At last,” and asked her what she was going to do about leaving Frank.’
Archer hears small feet padding down the stairs.
‘Poppy, can you stay upstairs, please? Mummy’s talking!’
A dark-haired girl, wearing pink pyjamas, appears and stares wide-eyed at Archer.
‘Hello,’ says Archer.
Poppy says nothing and turns to her mother. ‘I want the wool,’ she says.
‘Poppy, you’re not even ready yet.’
‘I need it for school!’
‘Hurry up then!’
Poppy runs to the crate and pulls out a ball of black wool, her eyes glancing at Archer, who smiles. The girl smiles back at her and then runs back up the stairs.
‘Sorry about that.’
‘Don’t be. You asked Elaine what she was going to do about leaving Frank.’
‘Yeah. It was after she got the note . . . or I mean Jordan got the note. Jordan meant the world to her. She adored him. He adored her. Well, they adored each other actually.’
‘What note?’
Jackie glances towards the hallway. ‘I don’t like to say it out loud, what with the little ’uns upstairs. It gives me the creeps just thinking about. I’ll show you it.’
‘You have it?’
‘Not exactly. It really upset Elaine and she wanted rid of it. But I insisted on taking a picture.’
Jackie shows her a photo of a note on a creased sheet of lined paper.
I will fuckin cut you and yur cunt mother if she doesn’t do what I say.
‘Someone gave this to Jordan to pass on to Elaine.’
‘Did she say who wrote it?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me. It could have been Frank, but who knows. I was just glad she was leavin’ him.’
&n
bsp; ‘Was she going to stay with family?’
‘Oh no. She didn’t get on that well with her mum and dad. They hated Frank, you see. Her dad called him a disgusting council estate lothario. Whatever that means.’
‘Where do you think she was going for the date?’
Jackie bites her lip. Her eyes well and she doesn’t seem to hear the question. ‘I should have done something sooner. She might be alive now. It’s just so hard to think that she isn’t here anymore.’ She sniffs and wipes her eyes.
‘Was she going to stay with this new man?’
‘Yeah. She said she might leave London. I know that much.’
‘Where was she thinking of going, Jackie? Please try and think.’
‘I honestly don’t know. She said something about being out of London in the clean, open air. She loved the countryside. It was her dream to live there one day.’
‘This man she met. Was he from the country?’
Jackie blows her nose. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘Do you know where she met him?’
She pauses to think.
‘She said he knew her from years back. But I think they must have met later at Infernos or somewhere like that. They had been messaging each other on WhatsApp. He’d been really sweet to her saying all kinds of nice things, which she wasn’t used to hearing.’
‘Could you give me Elaine’s number?’
‘Yes. I’ll write it down.’
‘Please text it to me. That way you have my number also, in case you think of anything else.’
Archer gives Jackie her number. She’d have Klara look at Elaine Kelly’s phone activity later.
‘Could you send me those photos of the note and Elaine with her injuries also? I noticed on your screensaver there is a picture of you and Elaine at a nightclub. Do you think you could send me that?’
Jackie nods her head.
‘Is that picture recent?’ she asks.
‘Yeah. It’s from the beginning of November. That was the last time we went to Infernos together. Actually, I think I saw her talking to a man that night – but I didn’t get a good look at him.’
‘Which date?’
Jackie checks the date on her phone. ‘The second.’
The Art of Death Page 18