Cleaver Square

by Sean Campbell

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ayala saw the redhead reappear on the other side of the glass, coming back towards the desk. Ayala hastily stuffed the appointments book back onto the desk, careful to close it as he did so.

  The secretary reappeared. 'I'm afraid Mrs Lattimer is unavailable, and won't be able to see you.'

  'Is there a time that would be more convenient for me to come back?' Ayala said.

  Without even checking the appointments book the redhead replied firmly, 'Mrs Lattimer is fully booked for the rest of the week.'

  'Right. Thanks anyway.' Ayala walked away. If that was how Mrs Lattimer wanted to play it...

  Outside Canada Water, the tube station beckoned to Ayala. Under the Canary Wharf shopping centre, the lunchtime foot traffic was coming and going from the small eateries and coffee shops. More office workers were loitering outside smoking.

  Smoking! Ayala was struck by inspiration as he watched the group puff away. Mrs Lattimer was a known smoker. She had got through at least three cigarettes in the half hour Charlie was at the police station last time. With the law prohibiting smoking inside public buildings, she'd need to leave the comfort of the fourteenth floor in order to get her fix. It was odds-on she'd come down in the one to two o'clock break in her calendar for a nicotine fix. All Ayala had to do was wait.

  ***

  It didn't take long for Ayala's hunch to pay off. The burly frame of Mrs Lattimer trundled out of Canada Water at precisely five past one, and immediately produced a pack of slim cigarettes from the depths of her enormous purple handbag.

  She seemed unaware of the 'No Smoking Within 5 Metres of This Building' sign she had chosen to park herself near, and it wasn't long before dirty grey smoke began to emanate from her lips.

  'Mrs Lattimer?'

  Mrs Lattimer turned around, searching out the person calling her name.

  'You. What do you want now?'

  'I'd like to talk to you, if I may, Miss Lattimer.' Ayala deliberately adjusted his salutation in an attempt at flattery. It didn't work.

  'You know I'm Mrs Lattimer. And I don't have anythin' to say to you.' She turned to go, and Ayala was forced to bluff.

  'Before you go, could you read the big sign to your right for me?' Ayala pointed.

  'No Smoking.'

  'That's right; I do believe that's a sixty-quid on-the-spot penalty fine.'

  'This is harassment, this is.'

  'I might be minded to forget I saw you smoking if...'

  'If what, officer?' said Mrs Lattimer.

  'If you agree to let us speak to Charlie again.' Ayala flashed what he hoped was a winning smile.

  'What do you want with tha' little twerp now?'

  'Just to talk. We think he can help us clear up some inconsistencies.'

  'But 'e ain't in trouble?' Mrs Lattimer was obviously mindful of her annual foster parent performance review, which Ayala had discovered was due shortly.

  'No, it's just a chat,' Ayala lied.

  'And you'll forget the ciggies?'

  'Absolutely.'

  'Go on then.'

  Ayala smiled, content at having scored a minor victory over the manipulative witch. Upstairs she should have just agreed to see him.

  ***

  This time around, Morton was alone in the Incident Room while Tina conducted Charlie's interview. He was using the same video-link technology, but a simple radio was on hand so that he could prompt Tina if needed.

  Charlie sat straight-backed at the low table set out for the interview. He was still wearing his school uniform despite the five o'clock start time. Hank stood to Charlie's left with his hand resting reassuringly on Charlie's shoulder.

  Mrs Lattimer had been cajoled into sitting in, but had insisted on having 'her ciggie' before they started. When she deigned to waltz in five minutes after the scheduled start, the pungency of nicotine wafted in after her like a cloud, though she seemed oblivious to the smell, as did Hank.

  Tina's sniffed, but she remained silent. This was to be a voluntary interview, and any perceived insult could see it terminated prematurely.

  'Hi, Charlie.'

  'Hello.'

  'Do you remember me? I'm Detective Vaughn.'

  Charlie glanced at his social worker, who nodded encouragingly, before replying, 'Yes.'

  'How was school?' Tina needed to build on the rapport she had established in the last interview if she had any chance of getting Charlie to open up.

  He shrugged. 'Fine.'

  'What lessons did you have today?'

  'Maths.'

  'Just the one class today?' said Tina.

  He shrugged again. Clearly, rapport was hard to come by in Charlie-ville.

  'Charlie, what's your favourite subject at school?'

  When Charlie didn't reply, Mrs Lattimer interjected, 'He's been doing very well in art.'

  Tina silenced her with a glare. 'So you like drawing then, Charlie?'

  'Yes.'

  Morton's voice crackled in Tina's ear, 'Like dragging blood out of a stone, eh?'

  'Tell me what you like to draw.'

  'People.'

  'Who do you draw?'

  'My friends.'

  'Tell me about your friends.'

  'There's James.'

  'Ohh...'

  'And Marcus.'

  'I'm really interested. I'd like to hear more.'

  'And Mr Neil. He's always nice to me.'

  'That's good. Charlie, I'm going to ask you a few questions today, just like last time. If you don't know the answer to a question, it's OK to say 'I don't know'.'

  'OK.'

  'Let's just practice that. What's my dog's name?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Good. And if you don't understand a question, what would you say?'

  'I don't understand.'

  Tina smiled, glad that Charlie was getting to grips with the ground rules. A few more, and she'd be able to get onto the meat of the interview, but it was key not to rush.

  'And if I get something wrong, you'd correct me, wouldn't you, Marcus?'

  'My name's Charlie!'

  'Perfect. Now, just to confirm. You do know the difference between truth and lies, don't you?'

  Charlie nodded; he'd answered the exact same questions the first time around. But Tina needed to get it on tape.

  'Let's take an example. If I say, 'I am a man,' is that the truth or a lie?'

  'Lie.'

  'If I say, 'I am a woman,' is that the truth or a lie?'

  'Truth.'

  'Perfect. I see you understand the truth. While we're talking today, I need you to tell me the truth, and only the truth. Will you do that, Charlie?'

  'Yes.'

  'Tell me about where you live.'

  'Number 36B Cleaver Square, Kennington.'

  Tina's brow furrowed as Charlie spoke. The way he spoke was slow, laboured, almost to the point of being rote.

  'What's Kennington like?'

  Charlie shrugged, 'Fine thanks, mate.'

  Unconvinced that Charlie was really responding to her questions, Tina decided to test him, 'Charlie, isn't Kennington the home of the new zoo?'

  Morton's laughter boomed in her earpiece, and Tina had to bite her lip to avoid joining in.

  'Yes,' said Charlie.

  'Are you sure?'

  Charlie nodded, though he looked suddenly uncertain, as if thrown out of his depth. He looked over at his social worker searchingly.

  'Perhaps you could ask a more pertinent question, Miss Vaughn?' Hank spoke for the first time, his hand still lingering on Charlie's shoulder.

  'OK, Charlie. Tell me about the people you've lived with before Mrs Lattimer.'

  Charlie glanced up at his social worker, looking for reassurance, 'I was with the Lovejoys. They had a big house, lots of kids coming and going. No one stayed long.'

  'How long were you there, Charlie?'

  'About a month.'

  'And before you were there, where were you?'

  'I will be...' Charli
e glanced again at his social worker, who nodded almost imperceptibly, 'with Mr and Mrs Grant.'

  Morton's voice flashed in Tina's ear, 'A decade living with them, and he still refers to them as Mr and Mrs Grant, not Mum and Dad? And what's with the tense change?'

  'Charlie, what was it like there?'

  'Happy.'

  'Tell me about Mr and Mrs Grant.'

  'They were nice. Very nice.'

  'So, what did you like to do together?' Tina tried to dig deeper.

  'Movies. Football.'

  'Where did you play football, Charlie?'

  'Garden.'

  Morton's voice buzzed in Tina's ear yet again, 'The Grants had a tiny plot. No way was he playing football in that measly garden.'

  'Where was this garden, Charlie?

  'Outside.'

  'Where, though?'

  'I told you. Outside,' Charlie said.

  'Miss Vaughn, perhaps Charlie meant 'at the park'?' Hank volunteered.

  'Mr Williams, if you can't remain silent and observe properly I will have to ask you to leave. Do I make myself clear?' Tina leant forward and spoke quietly towards Mr Williams, her voice pitched an octave higher despite her attempts to restrain her annoyance.

  'Miss Vaughn, if you ask me to leave, I will terminate this interview.'

  'We'll discuss this outside – if you interrupt again, I will arrest you for perverting the course of justice.' Tina turned back to Charlie. 'Did you mean 'at the park', Charlie?'

  'Yes.'

  'Which park did you go to, Charlie?'

  'The one near our home.'

  'Did that park have a name?' Tina shifted tack, unable to advance the interview any further through free narrative.

  'I don't know, miss.'

  'Did you go there often?'

  'Sometimes.'

  'What was it near?'

  'Some shops.'

  'Do you remember the name of any of those shops?'

  'No.'

  'OK, Charlie. Tell me about your parents. Do you remember them at all?'

  'Miss Vaughn, he would have been a toddler. Far too young to remember,' Hank interrupted yet again.

  'Perhaps, but if Charlie could answer me that would be great.' Tina smiled politely.

  'Don't remember,' Charlie parroted Hank's response.

  'You don't seem to remember very much, Charlie. I understand you were young when your parents were around, but don't you remember anything about this park? Was it near a tube station?'

  'I don't know!' Charlie began to cry.

  'You're not really Charlie, are you?' Tina said over Charlie's sobs.

  'Miss Vaughn, I'm terminating this interview in the best interests of the child. We won't be talking to you again.' Hank rose, tugging Charlie to his feet like a rag doll. The pair headed for the door, with Mrs Lattimer following blindly behind with her ear glued to her mobile.

  Tina hit the 'press to talk' button on her police radio. 'David, what did you make of that?'

  'Bloody strange, wasn't it? He didn't remember anything about the first twelve years of his life. Not even his favourite park. That bloody social worker didn't help either – the kid parroted his responses. That wouldn't hold up well under cross-examination. We're still no wiser as to who he really is. It's almost like he's a blank slate that appeared out of thin air.'

  'It's so frustrating. He's clearly not the real Charlie. Where do we go from here?'

  'Let's run down his family history. See if we can corroborate when and where the lives of Charlie and Joe Bloggs Junior intersected.'

  Alone in the incident room, Morton placed his head in his hands in despair. Who was the child pretending to be Charlie Matthews?

  CHAPTER 31: NIGHTCAP

  'Thanks Tina, I really appreciate this.' Morton accepted a glass half filled with ice, and a drizzle of single malt. He took a swig, sighed contently and leant back in the recliner.

  'No problem. Dinner should be here any minute. I'm not much of a cook, but O Sole Mio does the best pizzas. Romana thin, free salad and a generous portion of truffle pasta on the side.' Tina set her own glass down beside Morton's, and curled up on the sofa opposite him, clutching a throw pillow.

  'Sounds delicious. I should get thrown out by the wife more often.' Morton grinned lopsidedly, the whisky starting to mellow him out.

  'You really should. She's totally out of order throwing you out. It's not like the identity theft is your fault.'

  'Try telling that to the bank.'

  'If we started holding all victims of fraud to account just because they'd downloaded copyrighted material without paying, we'd never get a fraud prosecution ever again,' Tina observed dryly.

  'I suppose pirate football is pirate football, whether the site is English or Greek. I didn't know it wasn't legit. What am I going to do? She clearly thinks I'm going to apologise and take responsibility for it all, but our relationship has been rocky for ages.' Morton drained his whisky glass.

  'The 'You should retire while you still have life and limb' thing again?'

  'Yep, that old chestnut. She knew when we met I was a copper, and I've been in the police ever since. We've had the argument dozens of times. She keeps trying to set me up with a job at her old man's firm.'

  'You, become a lawyer? You'd have to be insane. You'd have shopped half your colleagues by the end of your first week.'

  'It'd make an interesting change from giving evidence, that's for sure. But if I'd wanted that, I'd have taken their offer three decades ago. I'm not going to change now, and she's not being realistic if she thinks I am.'

  'So, tell her that.'

  'I've tried. She thinks I should just take the early pension, and then sit around at home.'

  'You'd be bored out of your mind.'

  'You know me too well.'

  'Well, that's what happens when you spend fifty hours a week on the job together. Besides, going after murderers is one of those situations where you can't help but become familiar with your colleagues. I know you and Ayala better than my own family.'

  Morton nodded. 'We're the same. Though that's not saying much. Nick's off doing his own thing. I see him every now and again, usually when he's short on the rent.'

  'You were on his sofa last night.'

  'You've got me there. Thanks again for putting me up, by the way. I might have to dangle my feet over the end of your sofa, but it beats waking up on Nick's sofa with a naked woman in the kitchen.'

  'No way! That really happened?'

  'Yeah. She wanders in, thinking I'm Nick. Guess he forgot to tell her that he had a house guest.'

  Tina's face creased up with laughter as she pictured the scene.

  'That is hilarious. What's up with you and Stephen?'

  'I'm not sure. He just doesn't talk to me. No calls, no texts. Doesn't answer the door if I go over there. When I emailed him and Nick asking for help when our accounts were frozen, he wired me a hundred albeit with the note 'Pay me back ASAP'.'

  'But no reply to the email itself?'

  'None, not a 'Sorry', not a 'Hope it gets sorted'. Just 'pay me back'.'

  'He could have ignored you,' said Tina.

  'True. I suppose it shows he still cares... Or he doesn't want to be disinherited,' Morton chuckled. 'Anyway, enough about me. How are you?'

  'Like I said the other day, still single.'

  'No suitors on the horizon?'

  'Ha-ha, who says suitors? David, you're a relic.'

  'Now who's evading the question?'

  'There is one guy...'

  'Aha! Who is he then?'

  'I'm not saying. He's married to his job, and pretty much emotionally unavailable.'

  'You sure can pick 'em.'

  Tina threw the cushion at him. 'Men!'

  CHAPTER 32: CAMDEN MARKET

  Tina rose early on Saturday morning. She dressed quietly, preferring to sacrifice fashion on the altar of practicality by opting for a woollen jumper. It was January after all. She tiptoed towards the door, being careful not
to disturb her guest. She'd left a note, and her spare keys, on the table next to him.

  Her getaway would have been unimpeded if it were not for Morton's tendency to sleep light. One half-open eye watched Tina as she crept towards the doorway and begun unbolting the front door.

  'Going somewhere?' Morton stretched languorously as he spoke, a yawn following his greeting.

  'I'm going to run down this ID fraud. If the City of London Police won't do anything for you, then I will.'

  'Tina, that's really kind, but it's the weekend. For once our off days line up with the Monday to Friday crowd. You should make use of that.'

  'So should you.'

  'I intend to. I'm going to go and try and make up with my wife.'

  'David, that's great. OK, the weekend it is. But you need to get on top of this fraud stuff. You'll do that, won't you?' Tina fluttered her eyelashes in a mock-persuasive manner.

  'Yes. First thing on Monday, I'll chase my lawyer for a progress update. I promise.'

  'Right. I'll see you later then – spare keys are on the table.'

  'OK, thanks.'

  Tina left the flat and jogged down the stairs and out towards Oval.

  'Lawyers. Sod that,' Tina muttered as she headed for the tube.

  ***

  Tina Vaughn took a right immediately after she emerged from Camden Town, glad to be free of the sweat and claustrophobia of the northern line. A misty morning greeted her, the hustle and bustle of Camden Market buzzing through the fog. As usual, student types had congregated to buy knock-off jewellery, cheap electronics and clothing no real adult would be seen dead in. Merchants called out, hawking whatever tat they had to sell.

  'Oi, love. Pretty necklace for a pretty neck?' One balding vendor called out, holding gold-plated jewellery out for Tina to see.

  'No, but if you ever speak to me like that again then I'll snap your neck. Got it?'

  'All right, love, no need to PMS.'

  Tina flashed her badge, and the skinhead disappeared back to his market stall as quickly as he had emerged.

  DiamondJewlz was listed as being on Camden High Street, not far from the Regent's Canal. When Tina finally arrived at the address, she found it no more than a door to a second-floor flat. Tina gingerly pressed the grimy off-white security buzzer to the right of the door, and waited for a response.