Backlash

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’ Anna turned to see Joan standing there. ‘I’ve had some luck on the boxing front. I’ve sent out one of the guys to York Hall to bring in old posters and programmes that they had in storage and I’ve got a couple of names and possible addresses for boxers that trained there in the nineties and were friends with Henry Oates.’

  ‘Good. Put the details on my desk, Joan.’

  Realizing it was getting late, Anna went to the Ladies for a wash and brush-up and then rushed to the canteen. By the time she returned to her desk it was after six, and Barbara and Joan had already left.

  Anna seriously considered packing up and doing the same. Beside her desk was a large brown carrier bag with a lot of rolled-up posters and old boxing programmes, all with that distinctive musty smell as if they had been stashed in a damp cupboard somewhere.

  The two ex-boxers identified as friends of Henry Oates were a Timmy Bradford and Ira Zacks. There was an address and home number for Bradford and a mobile number for Zacks. Anna sighed – she really didn’t feel fresh enough to contact them and arrange interviews so marked it up as a priority for the morning. She decided she wouldn’t even look over the posters and programmes, but make her escape and have an early night.

  As she headed to the car park, Anna’s phone rang. Langton. She didn’t answer, but it immediately rang again. She swore under her breath, certain it would be Langton, but it turned out to be Pete Jenkins from the forensic lab. Feeling guilty about not calling him about his baby, she answered.

  ‘Pete. I was just about to call you.’

  ‘I’ve been at the maternity hospital. Baby came early. She’s doing all right, but it’s been touch and go; she was just three pounds and has got some infection, so she’s still in the intensive care unit. Her breathing’s getting better, though, she’s a real little fighter.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, but a baby girl, congratulations!’

  ‘She going to be called Matilda, Maddy, and she’s got thick black curly hair. It’s scary; she nearly fits into the palm of my hand.’

  ‘I love the name. How is your wife?’

  ‘She’s very tearful and it’s hard to go back onto the ward with all the other mothers as they have their babies with them, so she’s coming home. In fact I’m going to pick her up now.’

  ‘Fingers crossed then, and thanks for calling.’

  ‘I just wanted to say I’ll be back at the lab tomorrow. My assistants have done a lot of dirty work sorting stuff if you want to come in. I’ll be there around twelve.’

  ‘See you then.’

  ‘Okay, bye now.’

  Anna sighed and started up the ignition, just as her mobile rang yet again. It was Langton this time, of course, but she was eager to get home.

  No sooner had she got through her front door than her landline rang. This time she decided to pick up.

  ‘Travis?’

  ‘Yes. How you doing?’

  ‘Don’t you answer your effing mobile?’

  ‘Been out interviewing.’

  ‘Any chance of you dropping in?’

  ‘Not tonight. I’ve only just walked in.’

  ‘On your way in tomorrow then, we can have breakfast. Bring some fresh bagels and smoked salmon. I also need some coffee.’

  She scrawled his requests on a notepad by the phone.

  ‘See you in the morning about eight.’ She cut off the call, not wanting to talk further. He was starting to really grate on her nerves and she’d tell him so in the morning.

  Lying in bed after a long hot shower, she mulled over the day’s progress. She didn’t have a lot. There were no further developments in the Rebekka Jordan enquiry. She thought about Pete with his beloved little Matilda in an incubator and it made her wonder about what it would be like, God forbid, to lose a child. Ken had wanted a family – his rugby team – and she had wanted it too. An awful sadness swamped her. She had hoped for so much and had been left with nothing.

  Chapter Seven

  Langton’s kitchen looked as if an earthquake had hit it. There was broken crockery, dirty dishes stacked in the sink and on the draining board. The fridge door had been left open and now wouldn’t close thanks to the ice blocking the door latch. Dirty pots and pans littered the floor and a garbage bag was spewing out its contents.

  ‘My God, your kitchen is disgusting,’ Anna said, from the doorway of his bedroom.

  ‘I fell over in there yesterday. Just leave it all, the girl that cleans the flat upstairs is dropping by this afternoon to do the place over.’

  That was easy enough to say, she thought as she walked back into the kitchen. She’d have to wash up some of the plates left in the sink, and there was no way she could prepare their breakfast until she had wiped down the surfaces and done a partial clean-up.

  Carrying in the tray of the menu he’d requested, smoked salmon and bagels with fresh black coffee, she asked if he could at least clear a space on the bed for her to rest the tray. He did so by shoving all the newspapers and files onto the floor with one sweep of his arm.

  ‘There you go!’

  He was obviously hungry, as he devoured his bagel and smoked salmon so quickly he made himself burp.

  ‘Excuse me. Delicious, just what I fancied.’

  She nibbled hers as he drank his coffee, leaning back against the pillows.

  ‘Okay, give me the lowdown.’

  She told him about the garden design centre and that she still wanted to talk to Andrew Markham as there was a possibility Henry Oates could have worked for him, and that she would investigate the two boxers who’d been friends of Oates.

  ‘I wouldn’t bother with Markham, I interviewed him.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. He used pals that worked at Kew Gardens to help with the work on the excavation.’

  ‘Terrific. You know his name doesn’t even feature in your files!’

  He frowned and said that it must be some oversight because he had talked to him personally. He then changed the subject and asked about Oates. Anna told him that he was still in the prison hospital after the assault and as yet Kumar had not asked for a psychiatric assessment.

  ‘Is he still acting up? Oates, not that prick Kumar.’

  ‘He stopped eating for a while, said he was feeling very depressed, so to be on the safe side they put him on suicide watch.’

  ‘He’s pissing them about so he can stay in the hospital wing and have an easy time.’

  ‘Gives us more time to find the evidence.’

  ‘You’ve not done too well so far. Listen, if you or Mike don’t find anything against Oates for the Flynn or Jordan girls you will still have to interview. If he killed them then a full confession to everything that happened is the only way forward, so I want you to talk to Mike. If I’m right, Oates is the kind of bastard that likes to gloat. Now he said . . .’

  Langton leaned over the bed and rooted around before he retrieved the copies of the original interviews with Oates from when he was first arrested.

  ‘He said he remembered Rebekka because of all the press statements about her being missing, right? You with me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell Mike to draw him out, test his memory, say he just needs to see how he could recall her name and the date she disappeared so clearly. Pictures of her posted up everywhere, right? Ask him if he can – because of the media attention – remember what she was wearing. I told you the one thing we held back.’

  ‘The hair band?’

  ‘Correct. See if Mike can tease out what Oates can remember – you know, make sure that he was being honest when he said the reason he remembered Rebekka was because of the television reconstruction.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll make a note of it to tell Mike.’

  ‘If Oates describes the pink hair band, you know he came into contact with her the day she disappeared.’

  ‘But he could have seen her wearing it any time before she went missing?’

  ‘No he couldn’t. Emily Jordan had
only bought it the previous day and Rebekka had never had, or worn, a pink Alice band before.’

  ‘Sorry but I wasn’t aware of that.’

  ‘Well it’s in the case file.’

  ‘Right. Anything else?’

  ‘If you’re not going to finish your bagel I’ll have it.’

  Anna passed him her plate and took the tray back to the kitchen. She wanted to leave, so didn’t bother washing up, just hovered in the doorway of his bedroom.

  ‘I’m off now as I really want to get on with checking out those two boxers, all right? You’ve fresh coffee in the percolator and . . .’

  She hesitated. He lay back and closed his eyes.

  ‘Do you mind if I take that doll’s house into the station?’

  He opened his eyes. ‘Why?’

  ‘It gives a clear indication of how the house and garden looked before the extension.’

  He sighed and said she could take it and not to bother bringing it back. Kitty didn’t want it and he hated looking at it.

  ‘Well you know where I am,’ she said as she walked out.

  ‘You know where I am!’ he yelled back.

  She went into the kitchen and dug in a cupboard for a large carrier bag. There were so many plastic bags tossed inside, the cupboard door wouldn’t close. She returned to his bedroom.

  ‘This cleaner . . . when she gets here tell her to clear out the kitchen cupboards. I’m taking a big John Lewis carrier bag, okay?’

  He held out his hand and grinned. ‘Come here, you.’

  She moved closer and he leaned forwards to catch her hand.

  ‘Thank you. And will you call me if you get anything from these two boxers?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Leave your mobile on?’

  ‘Yes I will.’

  ‘Okay. You go off then and see you later maybe.’

  She hesitated, turning back to look at him. She wanted to say to him that she wouldn’t be seeing him later, that she wasn’t prepared to be at his beck and call to pick up groceries, cook for him and feed him, but he looked so vulnerable, so untidy and in need of a shave and a bath that she thought better of it.

  ‘Hope you feel better soon. Bye.’

  The doll’s house wouldn’t quite go in the bag, but in the end she managed to cover the roof and first floor. She had to rest it on the bonnet of her Mini as she unlocked it, as it was very heavy, and she couldn’t get it into the passenger or back seats as it was too wide. In the end she folded the rear seats flat to make the boot bigger and managed to fit it in the car. She slotted the little bags of tiny furniture and figures in beside it.

  Joan and Barbara had to hold open the incident room double doors for Anna to carry in the doll’s house. She placed it on an empty desk and both of the older women stood around to admire it. Joan was especially taken with it.

  ‘I used to have one, though not as well built as this. It’s lovely and with a spot of paint it’ll look even better. Is it home-made?’

  ‘Yes.’ Anna removed her coat and then had to go back to her car for her briefcase as she’d been unable to carry it before. When she returned the two women were still opening and closing the doors of the house, and Joan was inspecting the little bags of furniture.

  ‘If it’s not a rude question, why is it here?’ Barbara asked, heading back to her desk.

  ‘Could be used as evidence, but I’m not sure about it. Maybe get it down to the property lockup later.’

  ‘Do you know something?’ Joan began. ‘I was telling Barbara the other day about some episodes of CSI, that TV series from America. They had this killer and he sent in small doll’s-house-size rooms showing how he killed his victims.’

  ‘Really?’ Anna sat at her desk.

  ‘My mother never misses it. They showed teeny little knives in one doll, one was shot and another poisoned, all hand-made by the murderer.’

  Barbara rolled her eyes as Joan was still bent over the doll’s house.

  ‘You know the windows open and shut.’

  ‘It’s actually about the garden. Rebekka Jordan’s parents had a big extension built, but as you can see there isn’t one here.’

  ‘It’s been damaged.’ Joan was now checking out the back garden area and squatting down on her heels.

  ‘It must have taken someone hours and hours to make this.’

  ‘Was it Rebekka’s?’ Barbara asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Anna said, eager to get on with her work. She didn’t mention that she had brought it in from Langton’s. Now she turned to the big bag of posters and programmes from York Hall. The musty smell made her sneeze as she spread them over her desk. None of the posters featured Henry Oates’s name, so she put them aside and began to sift through the programmes. She found one with the name of Timmy Bradford from about fifteen years ago, but still had no joy with Henry Oates. There were numerous programmes mentioning Ira Zacks, both as a semi-pro fighter and an amateur. He appeared to go from middle- to heavyweight. The last programme she checked out had Henry Oates down as a light middleweight amateur boxer and his opponent was Timmy Bradford, also an amateur.

  Anna added the information to the incident room board. She put in a call to Timmy Bradford but there was no answer, so she next rang Ira Zacks and hung on waiting for an answer for almost four minutes. Eventually a deep guttural voice growled, ‘Yes?’

  Anna explained who she was and that if it was convenient she would like to speak to him regarding his friendship with Henry Oates.

  ‘Who?’

  He sounded half asleep and she constantly had to repeat herself before he finally admitted that he used to know Oates, but hadn’t seen him for years. She asked if he knew Timmy Bradford and he said that he did, but again had not been in contact with him for years.

  It took a while before Ira agreed to see Anna. He said he’d had some business at a nightclub and hadn’t got home until the early hours, so it would be best if she came that afternoon. He gave her an address in Hammersmith. She asked if Timmy Bradford still lived at the address in Bromley she had and he said he couldn’t tell her. All he did remember about him was that he worked for a security firm.

  Anna tried the phone number for Timmy Bradford again and this time it was answered by a woman who said she’d never heard of him and she’d lived at the flat for the last four years.

  Joan was given the job of calling York Hall to see if they had a date of birth for Timmy Bradford so she could try and locate him through the benefits office at the Department for Work and Pensions or other agencies.

  ‘You know we got a bit of a break with Fidelis Flynn?’ Barbara said to Anna. ‘Barolli and Joan spent hours going through adverts for flat shares from the Evening Standard and Time Out, around the time Fidelis disappeared. They checked through hundreds.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Came in late last night. Barolli got a hit. It was a bedsit in a converted Victorian house in Shepherd’s Bush.’

  ‘What? You are kidding me?’

  Joan looked across at them.

  ‘Girl fitting Fidelis’s description went to see the flat, said she would think about it and call that evening. Never rang back.’

  Joan got up to point out the exact location on the blown-up map now on the incident board.

  ‘It’s not far from the stables,’ Joan said.

  Anna was buzzing.

  ‘She turned up at four-fifteen,’ Barbara went on. ‘The woman who owned the premises said four women had applied to see the room and they viewed it on the same day. She recalled Fidelis as being Irish, that she carried a small rucksack and said that if she took the room she would want to move in straight away.’

  ‘Never called back?’

  ‘Right. So we now have a sort of description of what she was wearing – we didn’t have anything to go on before: blue anorak, jeans, dark-coloured jumper and knee-high boots.’

  ‘Hmmm . . . this girl who owns the lease has a very good memory. I mean, it was eighteen months ago.’

  ‘Sh
e said she pays particular attention to anyone coming in to see the room as they would obviously be sharing the kitchen and bathroom.’

  ‘She recognized her straight away,’ said a new voice.

  Anna turned as Barolli walked in.

  ‘This is good work, Paul.’

  ‘Thank you. I needed to get my mind off sneezing from the bloody hay at the stables. As you can see, the Shepherd’s Bush flat is not far from Ladbroke Grove and within walking distance of the Tube station and the stables.’

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ Joan said mournfully. ‘I’ve been on the phone for so long my ear lobes are ringing.’

  ‘Great work, all of you. Congratulations,’ said Anna, with feeling.

  Anna went in to see Mike and filled him in on that morning’s conversation with Langton. She also suggested they send some flowers to Pete Jenkins’ home address for his wife and new baby.

  ‘Anything more from Kumar?’ she asked.

  ‘Nope. He went over the disclosure stuff and left without saying a word. I spoke to the prison for an update on Oates. The governor says he’s stopped playing up and should be moved to solitary in the next couple of days for his own protection and be closely monitored.’

  ‘Be good if we could crack either Fidelis’s or Rebekka’s disappearance. I’m not having much luck so far, nothing new, but it’s a big development on the Fidelis Flynn case. I’m trying to contact two boxers that knew Oates way back, see if I can get more on his background. One of them lives in Hammersmith close to the Jordans’ place.’

  Mike nodded and then opened out a large map, covering his desk. They had investigated building sites across West London, on the possibility that Oates had worked in the Shepherd’s Bush area. They were now sifting through any likely building sites and companies that might have hired unskilled or cheap labour over the last six years. Parts of the map were circled with a highlighter pen.

  ‘It’s not unusual to use Eastern European guys paid on a daily rate for less money than a skilled labourer. Day’s rate for a builder, carpenter, anyone with training, is around a hundred and ninety quid, but these casual workers will accept a hundred.’

  ‘Cash?’