‘They’re the couple you met on the stairwell?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your daughter was in the lift at the time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which means they couldn’t have passed you and got down to the basement before you?’
‘No.’
‘So they weren’t responsible for your daughter’s disappearance.’
‘Is that a question or a statement?’
‘Both.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘You asked me to come over because you had a lead. Why are you playing games with me? You said you knew where she was.’
‘We think we do. We’re just waiting.’
‘Waiting for what?’
He paused. ‘A phone call.’
I looked at Mole. He blinked back from behind his glasses.
‘From who?’
‘From one of my officers. He’ll be at your flat soon.’
I nearly choked. ‘What’s he doing there?’
‘Looking for your daughter.’
I was terrified. ‘You think I’d know if she was?’
‘Of course.’
‘So why go when I’m out?’
Sherlock looked at me not unsympathetically. ‘From experience we’ve found it best to do it this way. People do strange things when they’re cornered, even to their loved ones. The safest way is to separate them.’
‘This was a plan?’
‘Yes.’
Mole perked up at this and blinked at Sherlock. ‘Are you charging my client?’
Sherlock blanked him completely and addressed me. ‘It must be galling to think you’re being accused. No one likes that, especially after what you’ve been through. But my duty, as I said at the start, is not just to you. I hope you understand that.’ He took her picture down from the wall. ‘We all share your pain. This could happen to any of us. We had reports of a child’s voice coming from your apartment.’
The woman with the stilettos? The game was well and truly up. It would only be a matter of minutes and he’d know. Everyone would know. My only consolation was she would be safe.
‘You think I’ve got her?’
It was call his bluff time.
‘I’d like to think not.’
So would I. Three minutes passed. I imagined my little girl watching television and shrieking when the riot police came crashing in. What kind of thing was that to see?
My fingers drummed on the desk. As I hadn’t formally been charged with anything, I supposed I was free to go, but it certainly didn’t feel that way. Where would I go, anyway? Back to the flat to pick my little girl up? She was better off with them. The feeling of being alive was gone; it was replaced with the dread expectation of loss.
Gran Vals’ thirteen notes - who’d have thought they’d take over the world like that? - broke the catatonic melancholy I had sunk into. Sherlock picked up his Nokia and his eyes sunk into me.
I don’t remember what he said exactly. I just remember the relief on his face.
‘Well?’
‘They’ve found nothing.’
What?
‘I could have told you that.’
‘We had to make sure.’
Nothing? My heart was screaming out at me. What do you mean? She’s watching television. Why haven’t you found her?
‘Where does that leave us?’
‘It leaves us with them.’
He held up the mug shots of the Chinese couple.
‘You said they couldn’t have done it.’
‘I said they weren’t responsible for your daughter’s disappearance.’
‘Isn’t that the same thing?’
‘Not necessarily. Your daughter’s clothes were lined with heroin. Whether it came from the rug or not, it ties them into this. The basement was full of boxes someone had tried to get rid of. All of them contained bags of heroin, the same batch as on the clothes. There’s too much money involved for them to be left by chance. Someone was expecting them to be picked up.’
‘I still don’t understand how this ties in with my daughter?’
He looked at me morbidly. ‘Suppose there was someone down there when she turned up. And suppose she saw something?’
Never underestimate man’s capacity for invention.
‘You think she’s dead?’
I nearly died.
‘I said I’d be honest with you.’
‘They were coming up the stairs when I saw them.’
Mole stirred and broke my reverie. ‘I take it my client isn’t being charged with anything and is free to go?’
Sherlock nodded. ‘For the time being.’
It seemed scarcely possible I’d been given a reprieve. Sherlock didn’t bestow any last pearls of wisdom. He let the silence do the talking. I vaguely wondered if this was part of his plan - I wouldn’t put it past him - but I had to push it aside. I had other matters to attend to.
On my way out, I saw the hobbit. She pointed me to the far end of the corridor where bouquets of flowers had replaced the grid maps of the city, and where teddy bears played under canopies of white bunting. It seemed strange to find such a floral oasis. She showed me some cards that had been placed there. I didn’t really pay much attention until I opened one and saw it was for me. With Deepest Sympathy, it said. We all share your pain. There were other flowers outside the station, heaped high like waterfalls, cascading petals onto the newly-cut grass. I wish I knew all their names. I wish I knew all their colours. I wish I could tell you how it made a difference and how I’d made up my mind to change. I’ve done a lot of bad in my life; and if I was to weigh it with the good, I would be in deficit, although it never stopped me complaining. I wished a lot of things in my life and not many of them came true. I only had one left.
32
I’ll never leave my daughter again, I promise. So long as she’s okay, I’ll do everything you say. How many times have I sworn that and come up short? Have you been counting? I don’t even believe in you, although saying that feels like an act of betrayal. I’ve often wondered what people meant when they said they’d found God. Did they mean literally they’d found the towers of heaven and a host of angels? Or were they just exchanging phone calls? If so, how come he never returned mine? Am I that bad? I’d hate to be one of those last minute converts who recant their actions, yet I felt myself becoming one. God loves a sinner. I wonder why that is? Shouldn’t he love someone more virtuous? Maybe heaven needs the numbers; there’s so many going downstairs, he’ll take all he can. It’s nice to see standards are slipping across the board. The afterlife isn’t what it used to be. People are getting in with all kinds of disqualifications.
There were a couple of photographers outside the station. I don’t know if they were there for me or not, but their cameras flashed as I passed. I wondered if they’d be the shots that appeared the next morning, and I’d look as cruel, mean and guilty as the Chinese couple. I pretty much figured I was going to be followed. I imagined plain clothes detectives hiding behind newspapers and mobile phones, and tried to keep myself from running, but as I got near the Sears building, my sense of foreboding grew and my pace quickened.
Please let her be okay.
The key turned in the lock. I was in the lobby. I ran to the lift and pressed the button. I saw my reflection in the mirror. I hadn’t shaved, I hadn’t slept, I hadn’t looked after myself. I hadn’t looked after her. I didn’t really know what I expected. I had visions of my door hanging off its hinges and blunt faced officers guarding the entrance. What I didn’t expect was nothing. But when I got to the seventh floor, there it was: not a sliver of wood or scratch on the frame. For a second, I thought I’d got the wrong floor. Then I thought Sherlock was having me on. He’d bluffed me into getting a reaction. Didn’t they need a search warrant to go through someone’s house?
I put the key in the lock. There was no sound. Where was she? The TV was off; the food I’d left was gone; everyth
ing was tidied up. My daughter had vanished into thin air, just the way I’d intended, yet I hadn’t so much as said ‘Abracadabra’. I checked the windows, under the bed, in the wardrobes. She was nowhere to be found. It was then I heard the front door go.
Darling?
I rushed into the hall.
It wasn’t. It was someone else entirely. She was holding the set of keys I’d given her.
‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘You texted me.’
‘Well, you’re too late.’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘What?’
‘They came looking for her. They remembered I had some.’
‘You let them in?’
‘I thought it was best.’
‘For who?’
‘For all of us.’
‘You let them take her?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
It was only then that it started to sink in. She was telling me my little girl was okay.
‘You have her?’
‘I came when you texted.’
‘Why?’
‘I would have come before.’
‘You left her on her own.’
‘I knew you’d be back.’
‘Anything could have happened.’
‘I thought about that.’
‘Not enough.’
‘I did what I had to. Just like you did.’
She was right, of course. There are circumstances and circumstances and a whole sea of excuses in between.
‘How did you find her?’
‘When I came up, I heard noises in your flat. She was trying to turn the lock. At first I thought it was you. I got the keys from mine. She was sitting by the door quietly. When I asked her what she was doing, she said you told her to stay there.’
Coming from someone else, it sounded even more dreadful.
‘I asked her if she wanted me to stay with her and she said yes. She wanted to go to the playroom. I had to hide her. Not long after, I heard police cars and guessed something was wrong.’
‘Where is she? I need to see her.’
She led me out. I noticed a strong smell of leather in the corridor.
‘Did they come in?’
‘Yes. They wanted to search all the flats adjoining yours.’
‘What for?’
‘I didn’t ask. I had other things on my mind.’
I went to the playroom and opened the door. I fully expected her to be playing on the floor with Jack and Sally but she wasn’t there. Nothing was there. It had all been tidied up. I looked at Rashelle. For a second, I thought she’d done something; had taken matters into her own hands.
‘You said you had her?’
There was the flash of a chrome shower head.
‘I do.’
She opened the door to the boiler room and turned the light on. I could hear the hum of the water pipes and the minute ticking of an electric clock, but otherwise nothing. She reached behind the water tank and knocked gently on the cupboard door.
‘Your Daddy’s here.’
There was no answer.
She knocked again and the door opened slowly. My daughter peered out. She was holding Jack and Sally and a miniature torch. She shone it in my eyes. ‘Daddy?’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘It’s very scary in there.’
‘You won’t have to go in there again.’
She clambered out. ‘Have you got Mummy?’
‘Yes, darling. She’s waiting for us outside.’
I don’t know why I said it; just to keep her sweet, I suppose. You can’t imagine how happy she looked. She threw her arms round me. I was the best daddy in the world.
‘Well done, Daddy. Now we can go on holiday.’
I couldn’t bear to look at Rashelle. Her face was drawn and the colour in her cheeks had faded from tart red to pallid pink. Her beige dress, the one that contained her best, hung loosely about her shoulders. It seemed scarcely possible that she’d lost weight so quickly. I knew what she was thinking and knew I’d only made it worse for myself.
‘I have to go tonight.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘I don’t know.’
We were lying on the bed waiting for time to run out. There were questions I wanted to ask her, things I wanted to say, and as always there wasn’t enough time. I felt her breasts and wanted to turn her over, but my flesh was unwilling. It wasn’t just about my little girl. It was about my wife. Somehow, it seemed a worse betrayal than when she was alive. Our kissing was laboured, our teeth kept banging; I tasted things on her breath desire wouldn’t wipe away: plaque, asthma, wine, the fetid remains of dinner. And yet she’d made the effort. She looked wonderful, earthy, womanly. I almost forgot the things she’d done.
‘I can’t help you. I think you should tell them.’
‘They’ll jail me.’
‘For what?’
‘For all the things I’ve done. Wasting police time. False imprisonment. Murder.’
The last came out by accident. It must have been on my mind.
‘You weren’t responsible for her death.’
‘A jury won’t see that.’
She went momentarily quiet. ‘It’s horrible not being believed.’
She put her head on my chest and I untied her strawberry blonde hair. It felt like soft flax in my hands. I examined the roots and saw strands of grey shooting from her skull. For once, I didn’t baulk. I covered them. I’ve done the same with my own. I will be grey before I’m bald, I think, not that it’s much consolation. When you get old, there are only runners-up prizes.
‘Is that what happened with your daughter?’
She lifted her head up. I guess it wasn’t exactly subtle. ‘How do you mean?’
I hate being challenged. I hate having to explain myself. ‘I just wondered.’
‘I told you everything.’
‘The whole truth?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about custody? You told me you were given it.’
I wouldn’t have blamed her for being cross. What business was it of mine?
‘They made up lies about me. Terrible lies. Why are you asking me all this?’
For an instant I saw the pain and anger behind the affability. She’d nursed them quietly all this time. Was I really going to upset her?
I felt the question come and could do nothing to stop it.
The look she gave, I thought she was going to kill me. For a second, it was very believable what the prosecution alleged. ‘It was a mistake to tell you anything.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re like the rest of them. You’ll never be satisfied. You’ll keep going until you get to what you think is the truth.’
‘It was all I was asking for.’
‘You want me to say I killed her? You want me to say she slipped in the bath when I got cross with her? You want me to say I was sick of her whining and the constant comparisons with her father? You want me to say I picked up the shower head and hit her?’
I was shocked. She looked at me and all pretence of love or affection or concern was gone.
‘Of course not.’
‘I loved my daughter.’
I’m sure she did. Just like I did. She turned her back on me. We lay side by side, yet a mile apart. Where before there was warmth, there was now only a spent fire. How many of my relationships have gone that way? I’d alienated the last person who was willing to help me. I watched the clock move inexorably round to midnight and realised I’d be forever in the dark about her.
33
I heard my daughter stir in the playroom. It was nearly time. I went in to see her and told her to get dressed. She was cute and sleepy and a bit uncoordinated. I had to help her with her vest and top. In her hand she clutched the picture of the handprints.
‘Is Mummy waiting?’
‘Yes, darling.’
‘I can’t wait.’
We were going to take
the fire escape. I’ve only been down there a few times and never saw anyone except a couple making out there once. She was on her knees giving the guy a blow job. I’m a bit of a voyeur at times, and not averse to watching women doing depraved things, but that was gross. She was pretty in an office kind of way and he was a great, fat thing with stupid goggle-eyes and glasses. I’ve never been able to fathom how matches like that work. I know I’m no movie star but I’m not retarded. Maybe I’d have had more luck if I was.
I helped her with her coat and gave her a kiss. As we were about to leave, the bedroom door opened. I’d hoped to get out without waking Rashelle.
‘It’s not going to work.’
‘I have no choice.’
‘You can tell them.’
I had a sudden flashback of the first time we met, when I wanted her to come into the flat. There was that same unwritten, one-sided tug between us. I was still desperate and she was still keeping her distance. The only difference was, she was no longer happy. I’d wrought my usual trail of destruction.
‘You couldn’t check the corridor for me?’
She didn’t move.
‘I understand. Just look after her for a second, will you?’
I looked out. The corridor was quiet. Two fire doors divided me from the far end. In all, it was about fifty metres. I walked down it to make sure no one was around, then checked the fire door at the end. It had one of those push bars on it. Once you were through, you couldn’t get back. I opened it and listened. The stairwell was brick and cold and silent. A walk down to the bottom and we were out.
I made my way back. I could hear a TV from one of the flats and put my ear to the door. Already my natural caution was urging me to stop. Don’t take the risk. How often have I listened to that voice and regretted it? How often have I taken the road most travelled, been politic when I should have done what I really wanted? It’s hard to live with sometimes; but it’s harder still to change your ways. The voices in the flat robbed me of my strength.
If it wasn’t for my daughter running down the corridor towards me, I think I’d have slunk back. Rashelle came out and looked at me as if to say what could she do. I had a feeling she let go of her deliberately, but what could I say? I grabbed my daughter’s hand and ran. I held the doors open for her and we never looked back. This was the holiday I’d promised. We got to the fire escape door and pushed. It closed with a metallic clang. It had a fitting air of finality about it, like a cell door closing. We were seven storeys and fourteen stairwells from freedom.
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