Riley leaned closer, feeling the older woman’s breath on her face, sour and with a trace of mint. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t follow. What do you mean?’
Susan gave Riley a dry smile, as if she was talking to a child. ‘Katie didn’t believe in Christianity. Her father put her right off it. It’s what most of their rows were about.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. You see, Katie found another path. It upset John dreadfully, of course, but he couldn’t do anything about it.’
‘Another path?’
‘Yes. For the last year we knew her, Katie rejected Christianity completely. She became a devout Buddhist.’
Chapter 22
‘But that doesn’t make sense. I mean… ‘ Riley clamped her lips shut. Whatever Susan Pyle believed her daughter had been part of, now was not the time to shake those beliefs. ‘How devout was she?’
‘Very. She had posters in her room and a small prayer wheel, and she used to meditate a great deal. It was no passing fad - I could tell. Some girls her age go through that kind of thing, but not Katie. She was very serious about it. There was the incense, which stank the house out all the time. John hated it, but he could never have forbidden her to use it. Anyway,’ she smiled faintly with the memory, ‘I quite liked the smell - it certainly made a difference to John’s awful pipe tobacco.’
‘I remember it now,’ said Riley, casting her mind back. It confirmed what the new owner of the Pyle’s house had said. But she didn’t recall the posters and prayer wheel. Maybe by then they had already been removed.
Susan Pyle seemed to read her mind. ‘We moved them after she… she left. A friend said if the police thought she had joined one of those religious sects or got involved with some outlandish group, they wouldn’t want to get involved. I said they weren’t a sect - it was nothing like that. Well, Buddhism is an established religion, isn’t it? Katie seemed to be so gentle whenever she talked about it… as if she were a different person. In the end, though, it seemed better to simply put the stuff away. But we never disposed of it completely.’
Riley wondered if a belief in Buddhism would have contributed to Katie’s leaving home. Certainly nothing she had heard about it suggested anyone would have persuaded her to go. On the other hand, maybe having to tell her new Buddhist friends that she was pregnant had been an obstacle too far. It might be worth talking to those friends. She decided to broach the subject of Susan’s recent visitor. ‘Mrs Francis said a man came to see you a few weeks ago. What did he want?’
A shudder went through Susan and she shook her head. When she spoke, her voice was as flat as iron. ‘I don’t want to talk about him. It was nothing. Just some nonsense.’
Riley said nothing, but waited, watching the older woman intently. Something in her manner told Riley she would talk, given time.
The tactic worked. Susan glanced across at Riley, and decided that keeping secrets was no longer an option.
‘He wanted to know if we’d heard from her,’ she said finally, her voice paper dry. ‘I couldn’t believe he was asking me such a thing. Not after all these years. I mean… we assumed she was dead. Of course this was before the police called the other day… and told me what they had found.’
‘So this man knew Katie was still alive.’ Riley wondered how anyone could be so callous. The effect on the old lady must have been unbearable. But why was he looking for her now? Did it mean Katie knew something that somehow made her a threat?
‘He wouldn’t say any more. He just kept demanding to know where she was… as if I was hiding her. When I asked him who he was and how he knew about Katie and where I lived, all he would say was that they knew everything about me.’
‘Did he say who ‘they’ were?’
‘No. When I told him that I hadn’t heard from Katie since she first left, and that she was probably dead, he seemed surprised, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. I thought that was the end of it. But then he became very unpleasant - almost desperate. He started shouting and making threats, saying he had to find her, and if she spoke to anyone, she’d regret it. We all would.’ She looked up with sad, moist eyes, her expression one of hopelessness. Her breathing had become faster, causing her thin chest to rise and fall unevenly. She swallowed and continued sadly. ‘I had no idea what he meant. All I could think of was that my Katie was alive.’
Riley touched the old lady’s arm. ‘What happened then?’
‘He said he knew why Katie had run away and how it was all going to come out. I told him to leave. I was very frightened by then and suddenly he was churning everything around. You have to understand, I had managed to shut out most of the past… about what could have made Katie leave… and what might have happened to her. Or I thought I had.’ She swallowed and wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘I still can’t truly understand, even now. Then he said he would make sure everybody knew and it would cause such a scandal.’ She stared up at Riley, her look suddenly vulnerable, like a small child. ‘Can he do that, Miss Gavin?’
‘No,’ Riley said firmly. ‘No, he can’t.’ She took the mystery man’s threats to be a last desperate effort to frighten an old lady. Who was there to harm? John Pyle was dead, and Susan was undoubtedly beyond being affected by long-forgotten secrets. There was no leverage in a purported scandal if the main participants or victims were no longer around to suffer. And who would be shocked these days by a teenager running away?
Susan seemed to relax momentarily. ‘Poor Katie. So young… but already in love. I suppose it wasn’t really her fault… ‘ Her voice trailed off, and for a second Riley thought she had misheard.
‘What did you say?’
The older woman opened her eyes again. She looked very tired now, the added strain of talking for so long showing in her face. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘You said Katie was in love? Who with?’
‘That won’t help now. He died. It was such a shame. She was very fond of him.’
‘I’d still like to know. It could be important.’
‘But why, dear?’
‘Because I want to find out where Katie was all this time. And what happened to her. I think we owe her that.’
Susan Pyle nodded at last, and told Riley the boy’s name.
Riley left an hour later. After they had finished talking, Susan showed signs of weakening and Mrs Francis suggested it might be time for Riley to go. She rang for a doctor, then walked with Riley to her car.
Riley shivered in the early spring sunlight and wondered if the Buddhists were right; that there was only impermanence.
Chapter 23
Palmer swore softly as he faced yet another featureless south London street, and debated going back for a talk with the youth in the alleyway. He had tried three different streets now, each vaguely matching the one described by the youth, but none yielding anything concrete in the form of the mysterious Maureen. He decided to check this last one and call it a day. The kid would most likely have legged it by now, anyway.
No more than two or three cars had passed by as he’d been walking down the street, and he could easily have been in some remote rural backwater instead of close to the centre of London. A child squealed nearby, and a woman emerged from a side gate and eyed him with care before walking to a car by the kerb and slipping inside. She quickly closed the door behind her and snicked the lock.
He found a footpath bordering a small industrial unit, just like the youth had described. So maybe he’d been telling the truth. This, apparently, was one of Maureen’s regular haunts. He stopped and scanned the area carefully. On one side of the path was a high brick wall. On the other, a chain-link fence separated the path from the factory, thick with wind-blown rubbish and crumpled drink cans. Grass grew thick and spiky along the base, adding to the sense of wilderness. Just the place for a set-up if that was what the youth had planned.
Fifty yards along the path stood a battered golf caddy and leather bag. The youth had said she pulled it everywhere, her complete world in place of
golf clubs. Across from it was a heavily bundled figure eating from a polystyrene tray, feet splayed out across the path. Nearby sat three other bulky figures, passing round a bottle. The youth had warned him Maureen wouldn’t talk while others were close, that he had to get her alone otherwise he’d be wasting his time.
A train rattled by. This was going to be hard enough, without the added barrier of having to shout to make himself heard. With the other three in close attendance, if what the youth had said was true, it would be impossible.
He stepped on past the path and walked away. Now he knew where Maureen hung out, he could try again later. Barging in right now, with the others close by, would only scare her off. And there was the added risk that setting up shockwaves in the area might cause Angelina to disappear further underground. In the meantime he’d got something else he needed to do.
It was close to lunchtime and Palmer was approaching his office when his phone rang. It was Riley, on her way back from Suffolk. He could hear the hubbub of voices and traffic in the background, and guessed she was calling from a filling station.
‘Any news of Angelina?’ Riley asked.
‘Getting closer,’ he replied. ‘But nothing solid yet. She’s moving around, probably with someone. But I did latch on to our two friends. They’re good; they know some neat ways of throwing anyone off their trail. Anyone would think they had something to hide.’
‘How did you find them?’
‘I got lucky; I picked them up near your place, then followed them down to the embankment and around the west end. Whatever they were doing, they were slick; the driver would slow to a crawl, the passenger would jump out and disappear, then be back by the time the van had gone fifty yards. I think they were checking contacts. Then they headed out to the M40.’ Palmer explained that he had followed them out through west London onto the motorway, hanging back until the traffic had become too light to avoid being seen. He was fairly sure they hadn’t spotted him, although they had taken a couple of unlikely detours which he was sure were meant to isolate anyone on their tail. At that point he’d backed off. The M40 led out towards Oxford and the west. A big space in which to get lost. ‘How about you?’
Riley filled him in on her talk with Katie’s mother and the girl’s pregnancy. ‘At least I got a name - a boyfriend who may or may not have been the one to get her pregnant. His name was Nicholas Friedman. He was about seventeen. Katie mentioned him in such a way, her mother said it plain she was in love. I’ll call Nikki Bruce in case she can turn up something from the archives. Failing that, there’s always Katie’s school. It might be a dead-end, but it’s the only lead we’ve got.’
Palmer agreed. ‘Did you say he was seventeen?’
‘He died. I’m not sure how.’
‘Oh. Anything else?’
‘Susan Pyle had a visit from two men a few weeks ago. They sound like our two.’
‘What did they want?’
‘Information about Katie. It sounds as if they knew she was still alive. They didn’t pull their punches, either.’ Riley told Palmer about the threats. ‘I’ve no idea what they meant by a scandal.’
‘They were trying to scare her. She ok?’
‘No. Not really. She’s very sick and unlikely to get better. If it was our two, it sounds as if they must have known where Katie was for at least some of the time.’ And probably, thought Riley, what had happened in her last few minutes down by the Thames.
‘Assuming,’ said Palmer, ‘they were the same two men in the white van. But we still don’t know who the other man is – the one who spoke to Henry.’
‘True enough.’ There was a pause, then Riley asked: ‘Are you still ok with this?’ She meant was he still on board. Even over the phone Palmer was sharp enough to know what she was getting at.
‘You kidding? You think I’m going to bail out just when the fun starts?’
‘Just checking. You don’t have to, you know.’
‘Forget it. Anyway, you know what an adrenaline junkie I am. Whereabouts are you?’
‘Not far. Just approaching the M25. I’m thinking of having another chat with de Haan. See if I can push him into letting me see Henry this time.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it. Worth a try, though. You want company?’
‘I was hoping you’d say that. Where shall we meet?’
Palmer pushed open the downstairs door to his office and climbed the stairs. After the morning he’d had, he needed a warm-up and a smoke before she arrived and began voicing her disapproval. ‘I’m at the office. Coffee’s on me.’
Chapter 24
The iron gates to the headquarters of the Church of Flowing Light were wide open when Riley and Palmer arrived, and the lodge still looked deserted. Palmer lounged in the passenger seat, checking the surrounding scenery.
‘Open all hours,’ he commented. ‘Unusual, I’d have thought.’
Riley nodded. ‘Maybe they’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘Nothing they don’t mind anyone seeing, anyway.’
He had said little since leaving the office at Uxbridge, and Riley guessed he was impatient to find out more about the identity of the two men who were following her. While they were on a long quiet stretch along the M40, he had made a couple of phone calls, one of them to an unnamed contact Riley guessed was in the Met, asking for details on Nicholas Friedman. The person on the other end had said something which left Palmer with a silly grin on his face.
‘So,’ said Riley with studied lightness, after he’d switched off the phone. ‘Your snitch in the records office is a girl.’ She hadn’t seen Palmer act this way before, and it made her want to laugh. She really didn’t know much about his private life, but at least there were signs every now and then that he had one, Nikki Bruce being an exception.
But Palmer wasn’t playing. ‘She’s just a friend.’ He stuffed his phone in his pocket and concentrated on the passing traffic, but Riley could see by the set of his jaw that he was still smiling.
‘Of course. And the relationship is strictly professional. Hah. Tell that to your mother. Incidentally, when you promise to call a girl, you should stick to it. Remember Nikki Bruce?’ She recounted with relish what the reporter had told her, and Palmer seemed to sink in his seat.
‘I wondered when that was going to come up. She’s not my sort, that’s all. She wanted bright lights and lots of attention. Not really my scene. Have you heard from John Mitcheson lately?’
The question was a curved ball to stop Riley asking more questions. When she didn’t reply, Palmer grinned knowingly and settled back with his eyes closed, the conversation over.
Unlike Riley’s first visit, there were no signs of life beyond the chorus of birdsong in the trees surrounding the main house. And when she parked, there was no spooky appearance by Quine from the trees, demanding her car keys. There were no rows of other vehicles in evidence, either. Evidently things were a little slack on the meetings front.
Riley had no specific plan in mind, and after chewing over the options with Palmer on the drive down, had decided to play it by ear. They still only had de Haan’s earlier admission that Henry was with them, but no real proof. All they could hope for was that he might let something slip about Henry’s whereabouts.
The front door was ajar. She pushed it back and stepped inside. The reception area was deserted, although voices drifted in from the direction of the meeting room. Riley walked across to the connecting door de Haan had led her through the other morning. It opened easily and she stepped through, with Palmer close behind.
The room where the crowd of the other morning had gathered was now empty, and the chairs were stacked neatly against one wall to the side of the podium. The banner was gone, as were the microphone and lectern. Riley glanced at Palmer, who merely shrugged. They heard the voices again, one of them loud and accusing. Down at the far end of the room, standing in another doorway, was de Haan, in discussion with a man in overalls. The pastor was stabbing the air and pointing towards a radiator with
a broken end of metal pipe leaking into a growing pool of water. He broke off when he heard their footsteps.
When he recognised Riley, his face dropped momentarily into a scowl before resuming the same genial expression he had adopted the first time they met. He flapped a hand at the man in overalls and scurried across the room towards them, his small feet carrying him with deceptive speed.
‘Miss Gavin,’ he said expansively, his voice booming around the panelled walls. He was dressed in a suit today, the expensive fabric immaculately tailored over his bulk, and his shoes gleamed black under the mix of natural and overhead lights. A crisp white shirt and silver tie completed the image of a successful and important man. He lifted one meaty hand in greeting, but looked anything but pleased to see her again. ‘I’m sorry - we’re having trouble with the heating.’ His eyes ran over Palmer before coming back to Riley with a faint frown. ‘Did we have an appointment? Only I have to go out.’
‘This won’t take long,’ said Riley.
‘Good. Good. Let’s go out into the reception area before that man begins banging again.’ He took her arm in a firm grip and ushered them both back through the door, pulling it shut behind him. Then he turned and looked at Palmer, who was studying the wood panelling as if it might yield up some long-held secrets. ‘And this is-?’
‘Frank Palmer,’ the investigator replied. ‘Along for the ride.’ He smiled pleasantly and took de Haan’s hand. ‘Nice place you’ve got here. Peaceful.’
The pastor shook his hand and gave a ghost of a smile, dropping into professional mode. ‘Thank you. How kind. We like to think it has a certain serene simplicity. Some say we should do it up, modernise, but,’ he shrugged, ‘there are much better things on which we can spend our limited resources. Are you a practising churchgoer, Mr Palmer?’
NO HELP FOR THE DYING (Gavin & Palmer) Page 13