Chris Collett - [Tom Mariner 01]

by The Worm in The Bud (txt)

  And with a well-manicured handshake, that was that.

  Back in her car, Anna sat for a moment and attempted to visualise Jamie living at The Beeches. But however hard she tried, the image wouldn’t present. Instead, unaccountably, her eyes filled up and the pain in her chest returned.

  She couldn’t look after Jamie, but nor could she consign him to that kind of place. It had to be somewhere sunny and caring, not a place where there might be staff shortages and imposed ‘flexibility’. If she couldn’t care for him she wanted a place where people would understand Jamie’s needs and take the time to communicate with him, using his photographs if necessary. She felt suddenly angry to have been put in this impossible position, angry with Eddie and the person or people who killed him. She would look back at Dr Payne’s list and the name given her by Mark. There had to be other places that were better, and she’d visit them all if necessary. After all she had at least eight weeks to make up her mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  There were hundreds of escort agencies and massage parlours in the city and Knox couldn’t be expected to handle them all. Questioning of this kind could potentially take weeks, so division of labour had to be fair, without concession to rank. The plan was to start close to Eddie Barham’s home and work their way out. By the following afternoon, Mariner was on his third house call, this time seeking Heaven’s Gate, although, on the face of it, the main drag through Selly Oak hardly seemed a promising location for the portal to the land of milk and honey.

  Once a thriving shopping centre and community strung out along the main arterial road south out of Birmingham towards Bristol, these days the A38 is the route most people take to get to somewhere more interesting.

  Boarded-up shop fronts, shaggy with torn and blackened fly-sheets are interspersed with an assortment of functional takeaways and laundromats, economically shored up by the term time influx of university students, like the last decaying teeth in an old man’s mouth. Parking up on a side street, Mariner zigzagged his way through clusters of the nation’s most privileged youth dawdling their way to afternoon lectures.

  The Heaven’s Gate Agency was accessed through a door to the side of one of the suburb’s increasing number of Balti houses, where the smell of garlic and coriander hung richly in the air even at this early hour. Climbing the narrow stairs, Mariner couldn’t help wondering if the operation was any more successful than the Michael Cimino film of the same name.

  At the top of the staircase, an effort had been made on a small budget to create a welcoming reception area with a faded sofa and a low wood-effect coffee table bearing heavily leafed motor and amateur photographer magazines, along with the mandatory portfolios of beauties. Further portrait pictures of attractive young women gazed seductively down from the walls, a number of them exotic looking, possibly eastern European.

  St Peter’s female counterpart was speaking into the phone on the other side of a cheap melamine desk, and was a projection of the pictured models across twenty years.

  Comfortably into middle age, the auburn hair was from a bottle and the glowing complexion thickly crafted from the latest in the Avon range. She apparently and quite understandably assumed that Mariner was there for an appointment and with a coy smile, gestured him towards the sofa. Thankfully it was clean enough to sit down on.

  ‘I’ll book you in with Sonia at ten thirty then?’ she was saying into the receiver, her voice bright and businesslike.

  ‘Your usual rendezvous?’ She asked, pronouncing it ‘rendyvoo’. ‘Right you are, ducks, Sonia will be there.

  Thank you.’ Cradling the phone she turned a beaming smile on Mariner. ‘One of our regular clients,’ she confided, stressing the word ‘regular’. As Mariner got up and approached the desk she offered him a hand crowded by heavy, jewel-encrusted rings and topped off by lethal looking scarlet talons. ‘Maureen,’ she purred. ‘Your hostess at Heaven’s Gate. You’re new to our agency, aren’t you?’ At close range the smell of perfume was overpowering.

  Mariner made an attempt at a shy smile and taking this as encouragement Maureen looked around at the portraits, ‘Do you see anyone you like? We can accommodate all desires.’ She gave him another smile.

  Mariner smiled back and with impeccable timing, opened out his warrant card for her to see. ‘You should be able to accommodate me then, Maureen.’

  The effect was instantaneous, as clouds of charm rapidly evaporated into the ether. ‘The first thing I’ll tell you is that I run a legitimate, respectable business,’ she retorted. She switched her attention to rearranging the papers on her desk, though there was nothing Mariner had seen that she needed to hide. ‘What do you want?’

  Pulling up a chair, Mariner took out the accumulated documentation, beginning with the photograph of Eddie Barham. ‘I want to know if this man has ever been here.’

  A definite, but almost imperceptible flicker of recognition passed over her face and was gone again. ‘I couldn’t say, I have to protect my clients’ confidentiality, you know…’

  ‘He was a client then.’

  She reddened. ‘Not exactly…’

  But Mariner wasn’t interested in ‘not exactly’. ‘Listen, Maureen,’ he cut in. ‘Eddie Barham, that’s his name in case it had slipped your memory, couldn’t give a toss about confidentiality any more. He was found dead in his own home, just over a week ago.’ Maureen blanched under the layer of foundation. ‘He died from a drugs overdose. Any of your girls provide “optional extras”?’

  ‘No!’ she was affronted.

  ‘Are you sure about that? Is that what they’d say if we talked to them? Of course we’d need ID before we could interview them, passports, work permits and all that.’

  Maureen capitulated. ‘All right, he did come here, but it’s not what you’re thinking. I couldn’t help him.’

  ‘Oh? I thought you catered for “all desires”.’

  ‘It wasn’t that; he wanted a girl to go to his place. We don’t do that. It’s too much of a risk.’

  ‘Anonymous bars and hotel rooms are safer eh?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, they are.’

  ‘So you didn’t help him at all? I’d like to remind you that this is a murder enquiry. We might have to delve a little deeper into your working practices.’

  ‘All right, he did look through the book. Poor bugger seemed as if he’d really built himself up to this and when I turned him down he didn’t know what to do. I persuaded him to have a look in the book and he did see a girl he liked.’

  ‘Who? Was it Sally-Ann? Or Kay?’

  Maureen looked blank. ‘Neither. It was Kerry-Ann.’

  Kerry? Kay? Too close to be coincidental, surely. And she’d gone up-market, added another name. Mariner felt the satisfying sizzle of a connection being made. ‘This her?’ he produced the second photograph.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Show me.’ He waited while Maureen leafed through the book until she came to the picture. It was the same girl all right, the chocolate brown eyes staring out at him. ‘And did you fix up an appointment with Kerry for Eddie Barham?’

  ‘I couldn’t, she doesn’t work for me any more. She stopped working here weeks ago.’

  ‘So why was her photograph still in your book?’

  Maureen actually had the grace to blush under the thick make-up. ‘I must have forgotten to take it out.’ Nothing to do with the fact that the girl was a stunner.

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She just left. Decided to go independent. Good luck to her, that’s what I say.’

  ‘Did you tell Eddie Barham who she was?’

  ‘Not to begin with. I tried to offer him an alternative, but he wasn’t interested. He’d made up his mind.’

  ‘Did you tell him where he could find Kerry? Or is that bad for business?’

  ‘I told him all I knew. It was no skin off my nose, was it? I gave him one of these.’ Pulling open a desk drawer, she rifled through it, eventually coming up with a business card that s
he handed to Mariner. ‘She left me a handful of them, but I don’t know if the number still stands.’ The card was cheaply and inexpertly printed: ‘Kerry-Ann, for all your personal needs’. At a glance the number, a mobile, gave no clue about location, but hopefully it could be traced.

  ‘She was hoping I might put some punters her way,’ Maureen said. ‘But she knows I don’t operate like that.

  They either work for me or they don’t. I like to take care of my girls.’

  Along with a substantial portion of their earnings, too, thought Mariner. ‘And you didn’t recommend anyone else to Eddie Barham? How about a Sally-Ann?’

  Maureen frowned. ‘I don’t know any Sally-Ann.’

  On balance, Mariner thought she was probably telling the truth. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me about this Kerry?’

  ‘Not much more than you can see there. She’s pretty, like I said, and classy. Got a nice voice and knows how to make the best of herself. To be honest, I was sorry to lose her, she was popular with the punters, especially round here. I get a lot of university professors you know. But she thought she could do better on her own.’ Like keep her own earnings.

  Mariner had a sudden thought. ‘Who was setting her up?

  Did Kerry have someone backing her?’

  ‘I don’t know, but she knew Frank Crosby, so she said.

  Poor cow seemed to think it was something to be proud of.’

  Mariner’s stomach flipped. ‘And did you tell Eddie Barham that?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Why would I?’

  But maybe she hadn’t needed to because Eddie already knew. ‘Any idea where Kerry-Ann was planning to go?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have an address for her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know if Eddie Barham tried to contact her?’

  ‘How the hell would I know that?’

  ‘But you’re certain it was “an appointment” he wanted, not just information.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Eddie Barham was a journalist. I think he might have been following up a story.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  Mariner could tell from her face that it was news to her.

  He stood up to go, he’d got what he came for. ‘If Kerry gets in touch again, call me straight away.’ He gave her his card. But he wasn’t convinced that he’d get a result that way.

  Fired with enthusiasm, Mariner tried Kerry-Ann’s number as soon as he got back to the car, but all he got was: ‘The number you have dialled has not been recognised, please hang up and try again.’ Somehow he wasn’t surprised.

  Anna was pleased when Becky had rung her to say that there was a lunchtime leaving celebration for Gareth from human resources. It would be an opportunity for her to spend some time in the normal world again and remind people that she was still around.

  But after only ten minutes in the noisy city centre bar, she realised what a mistake it was to have come. Eddie’s murder seemed to have created an impermeable aura around her and beyond offering their condolences people didn’t know what to say. In addition, six days’ absence had cast her so far adrift from the rest of her colleagues that her knowledge of office gossip was wildly out of date, putting her at a significant disadvantage in the small-talk stakes.

  Taking Becky on one side yet again, to fill her in on the who, the what and the wherefore of yet another anecdote, she realised that even her friend was beginning to find her tiresome. What’s more, the gripes and grumbles about the meagre bonuses and narrow range of available company cars seemed banal and juvenile. Anna felt like the only grown-up at a child’s birthday party.

  In an attempt to involve herself in the conversation, she tried recounting some of Jamie’s escapades, but got only polite but uncomprehending smiles in return. They’re humouring me, she thought. She was sure the supermarket story would go down well, but it fell flatter than the Norfolk fens, and afterwards she felt wretched for having used Jamie as some kind of cheap entertainment. She wondered how he was doing. He’d looked a bit pale when she’d dropped him off at the day centre this morning and it had crossed her mind that he might be sickening for something.

  Perhaps he was beginning to pine for Eddie after all.

  A roar of raucous laughter broke out signalling the end of yet another story Anna had completely missed, and suddenly she couldn’t stand it any more. Making excuses about ‘things to sort out’ she wished Gareth good luck and walked out of the bar.

  To kill some time before collecting Jamie, she wandered around some of the city centre shops, drawn unexpectedly towards the men’s wear departments, imagining how Jamie would look in some of the gear. She bought him a couple of new shirts and a pair of up-to-the-minute cargo pants, enjoying planning what he’d wear. Even so, she managed to be early at the day centre, and was rewarded by Jamie coming over to her, taking her hand and putting it to his face. ‘Ann-ann.’

  Anna found herself unexpectedly moved by the gesture.

  It was the first time in years that Jamie had fully acknowledged her, even if his version of her name did make her sound like a giant panda.

  ‘How’s he been?’ she asked Francine and found herself genuinely wanting to know how Jamie had spent his day.

  He looked okay now, his colour was better, and Francine was reassuring. ‘He’s been fine,’ she said. ‘Didn’t eat much lunch, but then, it was spaghetti Bolognese so what’s new? Are you staying for the parents and carers support group tonight?’

  The innocent enquiry threw Anna onto the wrong foot. ‘I don’t know,’ she blustered. In truth, the prospect terrified her.

  ‘I thought that perhaps it was why you were here early,’ continued Francine cheerfully. ‘Jamie loves the activity club they run alongside it. And it might help him to get rid of some of his excess energy.’

  It was a dilemma. Worrying about Jamie was one thing, getting involved in his life was something else.

  ‘I’m sure Eddie was involved in arranging the speakers tonight, too,’ Francine chattered on, persuasively. ‘One of the topics up for discussion is about encouraging good sleeping patterns. Mightn’t that be relevant?’

  Anna gave in. A couple of hours of her time seemed a minor commitment, and Francine was right, she might learn something useful. With Jamie in tow, she followed Francine’s directions back to a large recreation room, which already echoed to the sound of loud pop music.

  Various activities had been set up and a number of other adults, some with obvious difficulties, but others like Jamie whose needs were less clear, were already engaged with volunteer helpers. Jamie hovered initially on the periphery, hands flapping, but pausing now and then to watch the others, until a young student, evidently an old friend, encouraged him to get involved in a basketball shoot.

  Anna watched with fascination as Jamie went to join in, responding with a smile to some gentle teasing from the other adults. This was his social life. She’d never for one moment imagined he could have one. After a few minutes, she pried herself away to follow the flow of people to another communal room, where chairs had been set out in rows. Wanting to remain inconspicuous, Anna took a seat towards the back. Gradually, the room filled with other people, mainly women, mainly middle aged or beyond, who quickly huddled into small knots, to talk.

  Eavesdropping shamelessly, Anna caught snippets of strangely reassuring conversation.

  ‘How’s she doing this week?’

  The woman addressed held up crossed fingers. ‘Only up three times last night, so we were really pleased.’

  ‘Then he just knocked his dinner all over the floor. It was so embarrassing.’

  Feeling that she was blending into the background nicely, Anna began to relax, but the anonymity didn’t last for long.

  Like many there, the woman who approached her was of her parents’ generation, attractive without make-up and casually dressed in jeans and T-shirt. ‘It’s Anna, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’ A
nna was wary.

  ‘I thought I saw you with Jamie. I’m Gill. Our daughter Susannah is here at the centre, she’s autistic too. In fact we used to know your parents quite well. We were all terribly shocked to hear about Eddie. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How’s Jamie coping?’ Gill asked. ‘He must miss Eddie dreadfully. Eddie was so good with him.’

  ‘He seems to be okay.’

  Gill smiled, encouragingly, ‘Well, we all think you’re very brave to be taking him on.’

  ‘There wasn’t much choice really,’ Anna reminded her.

  ‘No,’ said Gill. ‘There isn’t for any of us.’

  There was a beat of self-conscious silence before Anna felt compelled to set the record straight. ‘Actually, Jamie will only be staying with me as a short-term measure,’ she said. ‘I’ve already been to look at a residential home and it seemed very nice.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Did Anna sense a cooling towards her, or was it paranoia striking again? ‘It’s called The Beeches,’ she elaborated. ‘Do you know it?’

  Gill looked uncomfortable. ‘No. We’ve never considered anything like that. I couldn’t think of having anyone else care for Suzie. We haven’t left her with anyone else in nineteen years.’

  Anna was appalled. ‘What do you do if you want to go out?’ she asked.

  ‘We don’t,’ was the simple reply. ‘We haven’t been out together since she was born.’

  Anna didn’t know what to say. It seemed like a life sentence that Gill was proud of and suddenly Anna wondered how her parents had coped.

  ‘It’s good to see you here, anyway, Anna,’ Gill was saying. ‘I hope you enjoy the evening.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Shortly after that, the meeting was called to order, but to Anna’s discomfort, the first item on the agenda was the news of Eddie’s death, followed by her introduction to the group as Jamie’s new carer, making her feel more fraudulent than ever.