Backlash

by Lynda La Plante

‘Hold off until I speak with Mike Lewis then.’

  ‘Fine. Anyway, back to this lot. I don’t think there is a toy intact and they were all thrown together in a cupboard along with broken cutlery and old saucepans and frying pans with no handles. We also have a couple of old-fashioned leather boxing gloves and a more modern right-hand glove, no left hand. There’s also some boxing boots.’

  Pete had moved to the next section of the table but Anna leaned forwards.

  ‘Wait, just wait one second.’

  Amongst the broken toys was a small wooden head, no bigger than a small marble.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Pete looked and picked up the list of items on the table.

  ‘Listed as miniature doll’s head, hand-painted, and I think we had a leg . . . hang on a moment . . .’

  Pete swiftly searched around in the group of children’s toys.

  ‘Yes, here it is, not sure if it belonged to the head, but it’s painted. Let me see if it’s a match.’

  He carefully picked up the doll’s head and then held the leg beside it.

  ‘Yeah, I’d say it might have been part of the same doll. It’s very small, whole thing must have been only two to three inches, if that.’

  Anna could feel her body shaking. Was it possible that these two items came originally from Rebekka Jordan’s doll’s house?

  ‘I need to take these two things with me, Pete.’

  ‘Sure, but I need to swab them for DNA and take some paint scrapings first.’

  He looked at her and then rested his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I can’t be certain, but I think Stephen Jordan may have carved the doll for Rebekka. If so, then it will be the first direct evidence that connects Henry Oates to her disappearance.’

  Anna had to sit down. She was so wound up her heart was racing. She explained to Pete about the doll’s house and how she had brought it in to the incident room that morning.

  ‘Well you know what they say about coincidences.’

  ‘That there aren’t any, just evidence,’ she said quietly.

  Chapter Eight

  Fired up by this latest discovery, Anna raced back to the station. She was eager to sort through the items in the little plastic bags that she had brought in that morning from Langton’s. So far she’d only taken a fleeting look over them but now she wanted to check to see if any of the small figures matched the tiny head and leg from the lab.

  The incident room was quiet, as half the team was in the canteen having their lunch. The doll’s house was still on the desk. Quickly she took off her coat and opened her briefcase as Barolli walked in eating a hamburger.

  ‘We’re going to get the experts in to investigate that car park,’ he announced. ‘I’ve got a forensic archaeologist on standby. They have these ground penetrating radar machines that can detect if there’s anything buried in the concrete.’

  Anna wafted her hand in acknowledgement that she had heard him.

  ‘Could be a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack and take weeks, but Mike says it’s got to be done.’

  Barolli sat at his desk and swivelled in his chair as Anna tipped out the contents of one bag; small pieces of furniture tumbled out – a tiny fridge, even plates with food on them.

  ‘If it’s not a rude question, why are you playing with dollies over there?’

  Anna turned, shook her head, and swiftly brought him up to speed on the findings at the lab. Paul got up to stand beside her as she sifted through all the items; there were no small figures to be seen. She moved on to the second bag.

  ‘I’m right, I’m right, I know I’m right. I keep on thinking I saw one of the small figures.’

  She and Barolli carefully checked all the little pieces of beds and wardrobes and there was even a tiny lampshade. But there was no figure. Anna sighed in frustration.

  ‘You can always ask her parents.’

  ‘I know, I know. I just want to be sure . . . wait a minute . . .’

  Anna opened up the doll’s house and she and Barolli leaned in, their heads close as she checked the contents room by room.

  ‘Damn it. I was so certain. Wait, WAIT . . . just give me a bit of space.’

  Anna peered into the kitchen.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ She brought out a small carved wooden figure of a woman, perfect down to the hand-stitched dress and glued-on hair, though some of the paint on her face was peeling and she had lost one arm. Thin pins attached the arm and legs to the body, the head was secured with a small Phillips screw.

  Anna, afraid it would shatter, carried the figure as carefully as if it was made of crystal and laid it down on a sheet of paper on her desk, and then opened her briefcase. Her hands were shaking as she removed an evidence bag containing two small Perspex boxes in which Pete had placed the doll’s head and leg, to protect them from further damage. Side by side, the similarity between the figure from the doll’s house and the pieces from the lab was obvious.

  ‘It’s a match. These aren’t shop bought, are they?’ Anna asked, looking for assurance.

  Paul shook his head and said that he was no expert, but to him they looked as if the same person had carved them.

  ‘You know what this means? Henry Oates could have got them from Rebekka Jordan’s home, maybe she even had one with her when she went missing, but it is the first bit of tangible evidence we have that links him to her.’

  This was a major step forwards for Anna. She told Barolli to photograph the woman figure then find an evidence box and get it over to Pete Jenkins so he could take some paint scrapings to compare with samples from Oates’s squat. Anna realized she would need Stephen Jordan to confirm that he’d carved the tiny head and leg. It was certainly going to be hard for Oates to explain how he came by them. At last the jigsaw was starting to take shape, but there was still a long way to go before it could be proved Oates was involved in Rebekka Jordan’s disappearance.

  Buoyed by her discovery, Anna was feeling very confident, but didn’t have time to share the development with Mike Lewis. She had to meet Ira Zacks, so Barolli was left to feed the details to the team. The hunt was on, the entire murder team was beginning to feel positive. They had made a lot of headway on the Fidelis Flynn case and now they had a breakthrough with Rebekka Jordan.

  Ira Zacks lived in a surprisingly smart apartment building overlooking the river a short distance from Hammersmith Bridge. It was also not that far from the Jordans’ house. A caretaker buzzed Anna into the spacious reception, and instructed her to go to the second floor. The lift was immaculate and thickly carpeted, with one wall consisting completely of mirror. She checked her reflection before the lift opened onto the same dark red carpet in a wide corridor hung with paintings and a gilt-framed mirror.

  After a moment a door was swung wide open and Ira Zacks’ massive frame virtually filled the entire doorway. He was mixed race and at least six feet four, with wide sloping shoulders and his hair in dreadlocks down to below his shoulders, tied back with a black band. He was wearing a T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms, tracksuit bottoms, and had bare feet.

  Anna introduced herself and showed her ID, but he hardly glanced at it, ushering her inside into his hallway, which was filled with posters from his boxing past. He towered above her as he gestured for her to continue to the drawing room. Yet again she was surprised by how luxurious the flat was, with stylish ultra-modern furniture and a view from a wraparound window overlooking the river. Outside, she could see a balcony with tables and chairs and a furled parasol tastefully accompanied by plants and trailing ivy.

  ‘You have a beautiful home,’ Anna said as he waited to take her coat. He gave a wide smile, showing two gold teeth, as he neatly folded her coat and placed it over the back of a lounge chair.

  ‘Unexpected, huh?’

  She smiled and nodded, at the same time wondering how he could afford such an elegant and clearly expensive place on a doorman’s salary. She sat beside a glass-topped table
and placed her briefcase on top of it while he crossed to an ornate bar and opened a fridge, taking out a small bottle of chilled water for her. He took a paper napkin and put it on the table beneath the bottle.

  Ira then picked up a hard-backed chair, turning it around with one hand to sit astride it, and leaned his elbows on the gilt frame.

  ‘Just in case you think I got all this from ill-gotten gains, I ain’t no drug pusher, this is down to hard graft. I used to work the doors on nightclubs in the East End as security, then decided to start my own business. I now provide over two hundred registered door supervisors to pubs and clubs across London. Recruited a lot of the old boxers and pals and then got into working as an extra on movies and TV, so nowadays they do all the hard graft and I make a nice living, thank you.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  Anna took out the photograph of Henry Oates and passed it to him. He did no more than have a glance before handing it back to her.

  ‘Henry Oates.’

  Anna explained her reason for wanting to talk to him and he listened, occasionally twisting his head to loosen his hair.

  ‘Basically I need to know when you last saw him,’ she concluded.

  ‘Few years back, three, four, maybe longer.’

  ‘Did he work for you?’

  He shook his head and gave a wide-handed gesture.

  ‘Nah, we tried him, but he couldn’t be trusted to turn up and to be honest, though he could handle himself, he was on the short side and he could lose it just like that. Working the doors you got to have a big presence; you also got to know who’s who if it’s one of the smart nightclubs, know what I mean? Movie stars can turn up looking like scruffs and dealers can look like dummies outta Burton’s. I train my guys up. They’re smart, savvy, and Oates was a bum. I got contracts for West End clubs, couple in Stockwell, one over in Kilburn and another about to open in Kensington.’

  ‘So this last time you saw him, did he come here?’

  ‘Nah, wouldn’t let him through the door if he did. He was a mess, but I felt sorry for him. Years ago, when he was on the amateur circuit, he got himself mixed up with a right whore, everyone at the old club knew what she was, but he was always one sandwich short of a picnic, know what I mean?’

  ‘So where was it you met up with him?’

  He closed his eyes and then drummed his fingers on the back of the chair.

  ‘I’d closed a deal at a local pub when he sees me and comes over looking for a handout. I took him for a burger at the McDonald’s off Shepherd’s Bush Green.’

  ‘So you met him around here in Hammersmith and then took him to Shepherd’s Bush?’

  ‘Yeah. I was goin’ to the BBC at White City. I said where I was off to and he asked if he could cadge a ride there. Said he had a chance of getting some work, an’ he stunk out my car, but like I said I felt sorry for him. He ate three cheeseburgers, I remember that, said he was no longer with his wife and that she’d taken his kids to Scotland.’

  ‘Did you know his wife?’

  ‘Not really. I didn’t say anything but I wasn’t surprised they’d split. Everyone knew she put it about. They said the daughter looked nothing like him, more like me. Don’t get me wrong, I never slept with his missus, she was a minger.’

  ‘Did Oates say anything else to you?’

  I asked where he was living and he said he’d found a squat somewhere. To be honest I couldn’t wait to get rid of him. I gave him fifty quid and that was the last I saw of him.’

  ‘He never tried to see you again?’

  Ira shook his head, then showed his wide toothy smile.

  ‘Well he said he’d pay me back as soon as he got a job so that’d be a reason to stay away.’

  Anna made a note in her notebook.

  ‘I remember watching one of his fights. Took a terrible pasting, his face was like a squashed tomato; ref had to stop the fight because he was bleedin’ so badly. He only had a go at the ref, wouldn’t go down, but that was his last bout.’

  ‘Do you think he’s punch-drunk?’

  Ira laughed and pointed one of his thick fingers.

  ‘Listen, that’s old wives’ crap. In the old days maybe, cos of the illegal fights, bare knuckle ones with no holds barred, you got hurt bad in those days, but we got strict rules and regulations, you get knocked out and they got you down the hospital for a brain scan. I know I was no Lennox Lewis, but I had a chance and had a couple of professional bouts, though the reality was I couldn’t keep up the training, it costs, and without a lot of money backing you there’s no way. In those days I was working the doors every night and you can get injured tossing out drunks. They can come at you with iron bars, not worth the aggravation. Besides, I started my own business.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  He nodded and held up two fingers.

  ‘Was twice. Got a couple of kids that live with their mother.’

  ‘Do you live alone?’

  He gave her a cold look.

  ‘Why you asking me about my private life?’

  ‘Just out of interest.’

  ‘Well for your interest, ma’am, I live with someone, a model, Swedish, been together three years. What about you, are you married?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Live alone?’

  ‘Mr Zacks, I am sorry if you think I am being too personal, but we are investigating the disappearance of two young girls and strongly suspect that Henry Oates was involved in their abduction. He has recently been charged with the murder of a woman and he said in interview that he had committed two others—’

  ‘What?’ he interrupted.

  ‘One was Rebekka Jordan, the other Fidelis Julia Flynn.’

  Anna passed over the girls’ photographs, which Ira studied for some while. Finally he asked, ‘Jesus Christ, how old is she, the little one?’

  ‘Thirteen.’

  ‘Is it recent?’

  ‘No, Rebekka disappeared five years ago. She was last seen leaving the riding stables in Shepherd’s Bush. Fidelis went missing a year and a half ago in Kilburn.’

  ‘Don’t make sense to me, why are you asking about them now?’

  ‘Because we have never found either of them and Mr Oates is now a suspect. Can I take you back to when you said you last saw him? You said he told you he was looking for work in the Shepherd’s Bush area?’

  Ira rubbed his head.

  ‘He implied that he was – I mean, I had just left the pub and was walking to where I’d parked my car. I was unlocking it when he come up to me, I think I sort of said something like I didn’t have much time, you know, I wasn’t that eager to rap with him.’

  ‘So he didn’t have a vehicle?’

  ‘No, just looked like shit. I felt sorry for him.’

  ‘Did he mention anything about stables, or what kind of work he was looking for?’

  ‘No, I think we talked about the old days and if he’d ever gone back to the boxing club or York Hall to see any fights. Listen, I told you all I can about the last time I saw him, and I wish I could give you more, but I’ve not seen him since.’

  Anna closed her notebook and took back the photographs to replace in her briefcase. She stood up and Ira fetched her coat.

  ‘You know, I’ll ask my guys about him; if I get anythin’ can I contact you?’

  She took out her card, and wrote down her direct line.

  ‘I’d be most grateful, and thank you for your time, Mr Zacks.’

  As she passed a cabinet she noticed some photographs in silver frames.

  ‘That’s my mum, my dad was Jamaican – he’d gone off by the time I was six, never heard of him since. These are my kids, and this is my woman.’

  The ‘woman’ was a stunning blonde, and Anna noticed his gentle tone of voice as he indicated her picture.

  ‘She’s a good ’un, love her to pieces – maybe third time lucky!’

  Ira ushered Anna into the corridor and pressed the button for the lift, standing beside her like a perfect gentle
man.

  ‘It’s been nice meeting you,’ she said and meant it. She just wished he had been able to give her more. The only thing she had gleaned was that three or four years ago Oates had been in Hammersmith and then in Shepherds Bush, possibly looking for work.

  Back at the incident room, Anna had plenty to tell Mike.

  ‘When I heard about the doll thing I was surprised you didn’t get your skates on straight away and visit the Jordans – it’s a big breakthrough,’ Mike commented.

  ‘Well I’d arranged this meeting with Ira Zacks at his place in Hammersmith and he recalled bumping into Oates three or more years ago. Oates said he had a chance of work in the area, but Zacks has no idea what he was actually doing. It could all be a coincidence, but you are looking at a chance he worked on the building of the multi-storey car park.’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve had meetings with the contractors, talk about shelling out work this way and that, but Paul’s tracking down as many as possible of the men that worked on the rebuild to see if they remember Oates. The company have admitted to using a lot of cash labour, mostly Polish, so they’re even harder to track down as they move around and share properties . . .’

  ‘Paul said you had a forensic archaeologist ready to go with a radar of some sort.’

  ‘Ground-penetrating radar, it’s costly and time-consuming. I’d feel better if I had some evidence that he actually worked there, so the archaeologist is on standby at the moment.’

  ‘Did you see Langton?’ Anna asked with a sigh.

  ‘No, he was being taken to hospital for a check-up, maybe catch up with him tonight.’

  She smiled and he caught it, giving her a grin back.

  ‘Yeah, lucky you.’

  ‘See you in the morning,’ she said as she headed for the door.

  Mike paused. ‘This Ira Zacks, you reckon he was telling you the truth?’

  ‘Yes I do. Very expensive, tasteful flat, worth a packet.’

  ‘By Hammersmith Bridge, right?’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t know or recall anything about Rebekka Jordan. He did say he’d ask around his friends to see if they knew anything.’

  ‘Is he dealing?’

  She hesitated.