by Tim Ellis
‘That’s all right, we can find that out,’ Parish said. ‘Did he have any trouble at work?’
‘If he did he never said.’
‘And before he went missing were there any unusual occurrences, odd phone calls, strangers calling at the door, new people he met...?’
‘Wait... there was something.’
‘Yes?’ Richards said.
‘A man gave him a lift home from the shopping centre about a month before. Allan said it was strange, because once he was in the car the man asked him a hundred questions as if he was interviewing him for a job.’
‘A man?’ Richards said. ‘Did Allan know him?’
‘He said he’d seen him in the shop before, but that was all.’
‘He didn’t tell you what the man looked like, or what car he drove?’
‘No, nothing like that. Allan only mentioned it because of all the questions.’
Parish put his empty cup down and palmed another custard cream. ‘Did he think he’d been successful at the interview?’
‘What interview?’
‘You said Allan felt as though he was being interviewed.’
‘Yes... I remember him grinning. He said that if it was an interview, he’d passed with flying colours.’
‘Would it be possible to take a look in Allan’s bedroom?’
‘I wanted to keep it just as he’d left it, but that Trevor packed everything in boxes and put his two thugs in there. Apart from some keepsakes, there’s not much of Allan left in this house anymore, Inspector.’
Parish stood up. ‘Mrs Cousins, you’ve been very helpful, thank you.’ He passed her one of his cards. ‘If there’s anything else you can think of that might be useful, please ring me.’
Her face lit up. ‘You’ve not given up hope of finding him then?’
‘We’re simply making enquires, but if we have any news at all we will of course contact you.’
‘And tell that whore Ruthie Suddick to stop ringing me,’ was Mrs Cousins’ parting words.
***
Once they were outside Richards said, ‘Do you believe that she’s not interested in her grandchild?’
‘I believe that’s called cutting off your nose to spite your face. She won’t reconcile her differences with her son’s ex-girlfriend, and as a consequence will never see her grandchild. At least she has two thugs to keep her company in her old age.’
‘Aren’t people strange?’
‘That’s one thing about this job, we get to meet a lot of strange people.’
‘And talking of strange, you don’t think Lola really knows about voodoo, do you?’
‘What I think is that it’s best not to put it to the test by getting on the wrong side of her.’
‘What’s a poppet?’
‘A straw doll she keeps in her drawer.’
‘And she’s got one of you?’
‘So it would seem.’
‘You could be a zombie soon.’
‘Thanks for that.’
Richards set off along Pyenest Road. When she reached Abercrombie Way the SatNav directed her right. At the roundabout on the A1169 she turned left, and then a sharp right down Parnall Road. Staple Tye shopping centre was on their right along Pinceybrook Road where she parked in the large car park.
‘Where are we having lunch, Sir?’
The hands on the clock tower indicated it was five past twelve.
‘Where do want to have lunch?’
‘Spud-U-Like.’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘They do jacket potatoes with different toppings, and I’ve got the urge for a prawn cocktail topping.’
‘That’s not like you to have urges, you’re not pregnant are you?’
‘No I am not.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Do you want me to take a pregnancy test?’
‘When?’
‘I will not.’
‘Then why offer?’
‘I was joking.’
‘Oh... What other toppings do they do?’
‘Loads.’
‘Such as?’
‘Baked beans, grated cheese, cottage cheese...’
‘Okay, I’ll have baked beans with grated cheese on top.’
‘Your eyes are always bigger than your belly.’
They found Spud-U-Like on the second floor wedged between Papa John’s Pizza and Macdonald’s.
‘Good?’ Richards asked once they had their potatoes and were perched on stools using green plastic cutlery to eat out of polystyrene containers.
‘Throw away.’
‘What?’
‘We could be plastic people.’
‘You could.’
‘Don’t bring me into a takeaway again unless we’re taking the food away to eat, they make me feel depressed.’
‘This is tomorrow. People haven’t got time to sit down for a proper meal, they graze.’
‘We live in today, and we have time to sit down for our meals – we’re not livestock.’
‘Zombies only eat human flesh you know?’
He took a drink of weak milky tea from a polystyrene cup. ‘Which would provide more sustenance than the meal I’ve just eaten. Are we ready?’
‘I thought we had time?’
‘If we were in a restaurant eating a proper meal we’d be swimming in time, but my arse is killing me on this plastic stool.’
‘Tomorrow humans will have to evolve and adapt.’
‘You watch far too much television, Richards. Where did you get all that rubbish from?’
‘There was a programme on the Discovery Channel. It talked about how technology has created evolutionary problems for human beings and that in the distant future we would all probably be androids.’
‘I could do with a metal arse.’
Richards laughed and covered her mouth and nose with a paper napkin. ‘Do you think there’s a serial killer out there that nobody has spotted?’
‘Considering that we haven’t found one body yet I think it’s a bit premature to be talking about a serial killer. You would tell me if you were pregnant?’
‘I’m not pregnant.’
‘Then why mention it?’
‘I didn’t mention it, you did.’
‘I doubt that, Richards.’
They found the shoe shop at the end of a side corridor after consulting a map of the shopping centre. Parish stopped outside and looked up at the blue lit sign.
‘What?’
‘Shoes 4 U, Spud-U-Like, Toys R Us! I don’t know about evolving into androids, I think that we’re devolving into morons.’
‘Speak for yourself.’
Inside the shoe shop there were three staff and two customers.
Parish flashed his warrant card to the pale unshaven man behind the counter. The name badge hanging skew-whiff on his blue T-shirt indicated that he was Tom Elder the Manager. Parish thought he looked more like a homeless person who slept on park benches at night. He imagined him under layers of newspaper with a bottle of cheap wine for company.
‘Sorry, we don’t do police shoes.’
‘I’m sure I could find something to suit if I called in a search team.’
Richards intervened. ‘We’re here about Allan Cousins.’
‘He doesn’t work here anymore.’
Parish and Richards looked at each other. Parish smiled and pulled out the handcuffs from his jacket pocket. ‘Okay, turn round, I think we’ll go back to the station and do this properly.’
‘You guys have no sense of humour.’
‘We’re investigating someone’s disappearance, possibly a murder – what’s funny about that?’
‘Okay, sorry.’
‘Have you got a staff room where we can talk?’
‘There’s an area in the storeroom.’ He led them through the shop to a door at the far end. Inside, was a room with shoeboxes on shelves stacked to the ceiling. In a corner were four chairs and a table boasting a microwave, and a kettle together with mugs,
plates and dishes that desperately needed disinfecting.
‘I won’t offer you coffee.’
Parish grunted. ‘If you did, I’d have to arrest you for attempted murder.’
‘Yeah, the sink is upstairs,’ John said sitting in one of the chairs.
Both Parish and Richards remained standing.
‘So, tell me about Allan?’
‘What’s to tell? He worked here for about a year. Came in, did his job as well as any of us, went home. We had a laugh sometimes, and he wasn’t any trouble.’
‘We’re more interested in the days before he disappeared?’
‘Like what?’
‘His mother said that about a month before he’d had a lift home from a man who asked him a lot of questions. Allan said it was like an interview.’
‘Yeah, I remember him telling me about that.’
‘Apparently the man had been in the shop before?’
John shrugged. ‘He didn’t tell me that.’
‘So, you have no idea who this man might be?’
‘No. One minute Allan was working here the next he wasn’t.’
‘What about the other two people who work here?’
‘Both new since Allan left. We have a high turnover of staff.’
‘I can imagine. Nothing else that might throw light on Allan’s disappearance?’
‘Can’t think of anything.’
‘What about staff lockers?’
Tom spread his arms and revealed yellow teeth when he grinned. ‘Yeah right.’
Parish passed him a business card. ‘Okay, thanks for your help. If there’s anything pertinent, please give me a ring.’
‘There was one thing.’
‘Oh?’
‘It was only a feeling.’
‘Go on?’
‘Well... It was just that... On that last day I had the feeling that he knew he was going. You know... that he was leaving, wasn’t coming back.’
‘If he did leave of his own free will why didn’t he hand in his notice, tell you he’d found something new, say goodbye?’
‘As I said, it was just a feeling.’
‘Why?’
‘He kept looking out of the shop front window, at his watch, at his mobile, as if he was expecting someone to come in or ring. I don’t know... Maybe I was seeing something that wasn’t there.’
‘Thanks for sharing that with us,’ Richards said. ‘It might prove to be useful.’
They made their way out of the shop and headed towards the escalators.
‘It’s beginning to look like Allan Cousins left of his own accord,’ Richards said.
Parish stopped and Richards bumped into him. ‘Let’s not jump to any conclusions. Even if he did leave of his own volition, where did he go? Why hasn’t he rung his mother? Why hasn’t he acknowledged his child?’ Why didn’t he clear out his bank account, top up his mobile phone...?’
‘Well, you could understand him not ringing his mother, and he might not have known he had a child before he left.’
‘And where has he gone then, smarty-pants?’
‘Maybe he was recruited by the security services, or a terrorist organisation, or...’
They began walking again. ‘Where do you get all this stuff from, Richards?’
‘You have no imagination.’
Chapter Four
The Security Centre was located on the Lower Ground floor and had a door with a sign that stated Security Staff only, so they knew they were in the right place. Parish banged on the door at exactly quarter past one. It took a while for the door to open, but eventually it did.
‘You’re in the wrong place. The toilets are directly above us on the third floor,’ said a thin woman who seemed to have been issued with a blue uniform, which was one size too big. Her name badge indicated she was Debbie Francis. Like a snake, a thin arm curved round the door to point at the sign with a wiggling finger. ‘This door is for security staff.’
Parish held up his warrant card.
‘Oh!’
‘Can we come in?’
She started off along a cavernous corridor towards a door at the end. ‘Make sure you shut the door after you,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Terry, the police have come for you.’
When they reached the room and entered, a man in the same blue-coloured uniform was sitting in a chair with his feet on a coffee table reading a book. Slowly, he peeled his eyes off the page.
‘I thought you were joking, Debbie.’
‘When have you ever known me to joke?’
The security room had a number of split-screen television monitors attached to the wall facing the door. A curved worktop contained a computer and keyboard, and a black plastic chair with wheels stood in front of the curve, which Debbie sat in.
‘A man went missing on 10th September last year from...’ Parish began.
‘Allan Cousins?’ Debbie asked.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I don’t suppose...’
‘See Terry, I told you someone would eventually come for it.’ Debbie pulled a DVD out of a drawer and passed it to Parish. ‘You took your time.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘When I heard Allan had disappeared I made a copy. I thought one of you people would eventually pull your finger out of your backside and come and ask me for it, but nobody ever did. I’d forgotten I still had it until now.’
‘This is a recording of the day’s events in the shopping centre for the 10th September last year?’
‘You think I’d give you my copy of the Thorn Birds?’
Terry grunted. ‘God forbid you should get between her and Richard Chamberlain.’
‘And you can shut up as well.’
‘Why did you make a copy?’ Richards asked. ‘Is there something on the recording that prompted you to make it?’
‘No, it’s just something I do. If there’s an event, I make a copy for that day. It saves a lot of aggravation later when those idiots upstairs come down here and start telling us how to run security. Instead, those idiots upstairs don’t come down here flapping their gums because they know damn well that we know how to run security – don’t we, Terry?’
Terry had returned to his book. ‘Yeah.’
‘Is there anything untoward on the recording?’ Richards asked.
‘Now listen lady, all the planets have aligned for you so far – I made a copy, you’ve come calling when I’m on duty, I still had the copy, I remembered where I’d put it. Now, you want me to analyse the damn thing for you. So that’s what they mean by police cuts, Terry. They cut the work the police do and get us poor suckers to do it for them.’
‘I just wondered if you remembered anything specific about that day?’
‘From ten months ago – you’re joking?’
‘It was just a thought.’
‘Anything else before I go back to watching the entertainment?’
‘No,’ Parish said. ‘Thanks very much for the DVD and your help.’
‘Make sure you shut the door on your way out.’
Outside Richards said. ‘I didn’t like her.’
‘Remember she’s watching you.’
‘Yeah, but she can’t hear what I say... can she?’
***
Ruthie Suddick lived in a council flat on the Bush Fair estate, and as Richards drove slowly through the prefabricated and concrete desolation she said, ‘Have we stumbled into a war zone?’
It was five past two. They’d spotted two burnt-out cars already. Groups of school-aged hooded children – black and white – watched through slit eyes as they passed by. Graffiti covered every surface. The patches of grass between buildings desperately needed cutting. There were stones and rocks, and half bricks scattered along the road in front of them. Twisted rusting bicycles, pushchairs, and perambulators dotted the landscape like urban works of art.
‘This is worse than a war zone,’ Parish said. ‘This is probably a police ‘No Go Area’.’
‘We’d be
tter leave then.’
‘You’re not scared are you?’
‘Aren’t you?’
Parish grunted. ‘Of a bunch of kids?’
‘Yeah, but nobody can touch those kids.’
‘We’ll be all right.’
As he said the words there was a thud on the roof of the car, then another one, then two stones hit the bonnet.
‘We’re never going to get out of here alive are we, Sir?’
‘Stop being a drama queen, Richards.’
A brick came straight through the rear window and sat on the back seat looking up at them like a crazy hitchhiker.
Richards put her foot down on the accelerator, but there seemed to be nowhere to go. She mounted the curb to turn round, heard scraping underneath the car, and then swerved to avoid a lamp post with its guts hanging out as she made her escape. Something brown slopped on the windscreen and slid down the glass.
‘That’s not what I think it is, is it, Sir?’ Richards said, trying to peer through the slime.
‘Just don’t open the windows.’
Once they were beyond the limits of the estate Richards pulled into a bus stop.
Parish climbed out of the car. ‘Bloody hell!’ he said when he saw the state of the car.
Richards joined him. ‘I’m not going to be blamed for the damage, am I?’
‘They’ll take it out of your salary. It’ll be spread over twenty-five years.’
‘What?’
‘I’m joking. Damage to a car is an occupational hazard, but the paperwork is going to be a nightmare.’
‘I hope you’re joking.’
‘I’m just glad we didn’t come in my car.’
‘It doesn’t look as though we’ll ever get to see Ruthie Suddick.’
‘Oh, so that’s it, is it? We get in the car, go back to Hoddesdon, and forget all about this witness?’
‘Well, I don’t know. We could wait for her to come out.’
‘Where? Which way will she come? Do you know what she looks like?’
‘We could buy hoodies and go in there undercover.’
‘What? Camouflage our faces like the SAS or those American SEALs, you mean?’
‘Yeah that would be fun.’