by Jake Barton
He may as well have the word ‘Policeman’ tattooed on his forehead possessing as he did a sort of un-blinking watchfulness, a way of standing, eyes that were never quite still. She’d seen the light of recognition dawn on enough faces, heard the whispered comments behind his back. Talk about once a copper.
Meols Drive was full of policemen. Abbott was there, of course, together with Marriott and half a dozen others in uniform. Donna hadn’t had much sleep, but didn’t like to speculate how Mister Dobson was feeling this morning. He’d taken a cup of tea to his wife’s bedroom an hour ago and found it empty. After a rapid search of the house and grounds, he’d rung the police. Then he’d rung Dexter, and Dexter rang her. Now, here they all were and nobody seemed to have a clue. One thing was clear. Paula had disappeared.
Donna listened in when DS Marriott, (nice bum, shame about the rest), grilled Mister Dobson. Marriott was good; she had to grant him that. Not exactly sophisticated, but he asked the right questions and pressed all the right buttons. It all came down to nothing in the end. Paula’s bed had been slept in, but a suitcase was missing along with some of her clothes. Abbott had initially thought of a possible abduction, but Dobson had ruled that out straight away.
"The alarm system was on all night. I switched it on myself, and switched it off when I got up this morning. Nobody has got into this house during the night, I’ll guarantee that."
Dobson’s description of the ins and outs of his security system left Donna in awe. She thought of the single Yale lock on her own front door with shame, but doubted whether any self-respecting burglar would want any of her meagre possessions. If an intruder was ruled out, as seemed likely on the available evidence, what did that mean? Paula had done a runner? If so, was it connected with Celine’s abduction? Donna didn’t know the answer, and by the looks of it, neither did anyone else.
While Abbott and his troops conferred together in a close huddle by the front door, Dexter came over and asked Dobson to show him Paula’s bedroom. Donna looked across and caught his eye and, when he nodded his agreement, followed the two men up the stairs. More pictures on the walls and an exquisite porcelain jardinière and stand on the first floor landing.
"Separate rooms," Dexter said, his tone appearing to Donna to be deliberately neutral. Dobson turned to look at him, holding his gaze for a long moment, but said nothing.
They entered a large airy room, double bed facing the window, very much reflecting Paula’s taste – no ruffles or flounces, just classic simplicity, white linen bedspread and billowing plain cotton curtains. Dobson pointed to a pressure pad beneath the window and demonstrated the path of an infrared beam that would come into operation when the system was alarmed.
"These are in every room," he said. "Cost me a small fortune, but the insurance company insisted on it."
"I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but I get the impression you weren’t exactly close."
Dexter sailing close to the wind, Donna thought, but Dobson didn’t seem particularly fazed by the insinuation.
"The separate bedrooms will have told you that," Dobson said. "We’d been hanging on for the sake of Celine for quite a while. Living separate lives most of the time, but that doesn’t mean Paula was looking elsewhere. If there was another man on the scene, I didn’t know of it. That’s what you had in mind, I presume?"
Dexter said nothing, but his silence was significant.
Dobson fiddled around on the dressing table, his expression puzzled. Donna went over and asked if he was all right. "Yes thanks, love," he said. "It’s just that Paula’s lenses are still here." Donna looked at the small lens case in his hand and confirmed that both lenses were inside.
"Were these her only pair?"
Dobson nodded, more confused than anything. Dexter came over, alert as a hound scenting a rabbit.
"Did she always wear them? I never noticed."
"Blind as a bat without her lenses. Too bloody vain to wear glasses, but she always wore her lenses. Only took them out to go to sleep."
Donna looked at Dexter. Suddenly, the whole affair appeared a lot less cut and dried. Donna watched Dobson as he poked around further on the dressing table. He picked up a carton of Silk Cut, opened with almost a full pack inside. "She left her cigarettes as well," Dobson said, his voice strained.
"I didn’t know she smoked," Dexter said.
"She didn’t, not in company. Wouldn’t be seen dead with a cigarette while anyone else was around, even me. She’s a closet smoker, especially these last few days with all the stress we’ve been through."
"Interesting," Dexter said.
Bloody right, it’s interesting, thought Donna, Fancy security system or not, perhaps she didn’t leave of her own accord after all.
She said nothing while Dobson was still in the room, deciding to mention her thoughts to Dexter later.
*****
Paula and Celine huddled together on the narrow bed, Celine rocking from side to side. Her mother held her tightly, her soothing voice masking the anguish she was feeling. Marcus had put her mother through an hour of unimaginable agony before removing the video camera and leaving the room.
"He’s topped up the water bottles," Celine whispered. "He may have gone, but I’m never sure. I never hear him come back."
Paula held her tightly, stroking Celine’s hair.
"Once," Celine continued, "I managed to drag the bed away from the wall, trying to loosen the chains. It didn’t work, but when he came back he bolted the bed to the wall. Then he beat me, slapping the soles of my feet with a wire coat hanger. Look." She indicated the blackened and swollen soles of her feet.
Paula soothed her, crooning softly, but Celine remained in a state of abject terror brought on by the last words spoken by Marcus as he left the room. He’d thrown Paula back onto the mattress and thrust his face down towards Celine. She’d shrank away, as far as she was able, but he followed her, brushing her cheek with his lips and whispering in her ear.
"Wait for me. It’s your turn next."
*****
Donna rang the garage from the ‘phone in the hall and spoke to Dave, the mechanic she’d entrusted with her car – bad news, as bad as it could possibly get. Her car was repaired and ready for collection. She’d enjoyed having a new car over the last few days. Perhaps she could delay telling anyone for a while longer, thus allowing her to hang on to the Fiesta.
No such luck. Dave had already rung the office and left a message with Martha that Donna could collect the car any time. Not only would she have to go back to her crappy old car, she’d have to find the money to pay the repair bill as well.
She hung up and went back inside. The uniforms had gone ages ago, Abbott hanging on a bit longer while he assured Dobson that his investigation would be broadened to include Paula, whom he’d now accepted as being missing under suspicious circumstances. Dexter had whispered to Donna in the kitchen that Dobson would be the first suspect in the case of his missing wife and he remained high on the list for Celine as well. Initially, Donna was affronted at the idea, but Dexter convinced her that close family members were always suspected. Statistically speaking, they were more likely than anyone else to have caused harm to their nearest and dearest.
Examination of the alarm control box confirmed that all parts were working correctly and Dobson was adamant only his wife and himself knew the combination. Paula must have turned off the alarm and then reset it as she left the house. Donna couldn’t come up with any other explanation. The reasons behind Paula’s disappearance weren’t known, but Donna still had a feeling of unease. Paula hadn’t just walked away, that much was clear.
Dobson suddenly remembered the closed circuit television cameras and dashed off to a cupboard under the stairs. Nothing was revealed from the tapes, just hour after hour of empty garden views. Dobson thought at one stage that two of the tapes were missing, but couldn’t be certain whether there should be six or eight spares in the cupboard. Abbott certainly didn’t look too impressed by his uncerta
inty.
Dexter stood up and stretched. With Andy’s arrival a short while ago Donna thought his presence indicated he would be her replacement, so was surprised when Dexter asked her to come with him to see somebody.
No details. Very mysterious.
Donna gave Peg a quick ring, promising to eat the sandwiches she’d made for her, and had a brief chat with Gary who really made her feel good by telling her how much he was missing her. Just her bloody luck when his arrival in her life coincided with the only time she’d been really busy for months. Donna tried to tell him something of the sort, dissolving into giggles when he pretended to be choking with embarrassment.
They were driving up Grange Hill when Donna thought to ask where they were going. Dexter grunted and pulled a tattered piece of paper from his pocket. "Safeguard Security Limited," he said. "Down the Pensby Road, on the left, just before the car showrooms." Donna nodded, but her furrowed brow prompted an explanation from Dexter. "They fitted the security system on Dobson’s place," he said. "Their name was inside the control panel door. I just want to confirm whether or not anyone could have broken in without tripping the alarms. If not, we’ll know Paula left of her own accord. I don’t know what that’ll prove either way, but it’s all useful info."
Safeguard was one of those companies that didn’t believe in fancy office buildings and the attack dog on the sign looked just like Scooby-Doo. The flaking plaster on the uneven walls and the cracked and broken tiles in the courtyard suggested that maintenance was way down the priority list. The person they spoke to was almost a clone of Roper. Not that Ms Turner bore any physical similarity to the esteemed leader, being short and running to fat with a mass of dark curls, not to mention the obvious gender difference, but she possessed an identical air of pompous superiority. She addressed all her attention to Dexter, but Donna was used to that when in Dexter’s company.
"I’m sure you understand that the details of any system we may have provided to our customers must remain confidential. Even to someone with such a distinguished background as yourself." Her air of smugness was profound, but the flirtatious glint in the eyes was even more off-putting. Donna resolved there and then never to allow herself to become so desperate as to bat her eyes at a man in that fashion, no matter what the circumstances. Dexter, being impervious to flirtation, went straight onto the attack, leaving the woman in no doubt of the seriousness with which he’d regard any prevarication on her part.
"I need details of the system you provided to my client."
"I’m terribly sorry..." she began, but Dexter had anticipated her refusal.
"Talk to me now, off the record, or I’ll get a Court order to obtain the information. We both know what that will mean. I’ll subpoena all your records; keep you tied up in court for weeks."
Ms Turner was not flirting any more. She attempted to stare him down, but soon abandoned that idea. Donna was beginning to get some idea of Dexter in his pomp, with the full majesty of the law behind him. The image she conjured up was pretty damn scary because right now he was putting the fear of God into the wretched Ms Turner who, with pursed lips, walked across to a bank of grey filing cabinets and studied the contents of the second drawer. She withdrew a buff file and handed it to Dexter. "This file is not to be removed from my sight," she said, obviously trying to hang on to what remained of her dignity. Dexter studied the contents of the file, a furrow of concentration creasing his brow.
"Is this the only copy?"
"Yes. We only keep a single master copy of any system to ensure security. This file will never leave our premises and its contents cannot be penetrated under any circumstances. As you can imagine, our own security here is impeccable."
"Do you keep records of security systems on computer?" Donna asked, thinking of Kate Davies and the relative ease with which she gained access to computerised records. Ms Turner looked at Donna as if she had accused her of being a fan of the Spice Girls. "Certainly not. This is the only record."
Dexter put the file down and walked to the window. "Could an intruder get into the building and look at these files?"
"Impossible. All points of entry are fully alarmed. Pressure pads, beams, and movement sensors cover every inch of the floor area."
Dexter nodded. "What about up here?"
"The only access to this area is by way of the ground floor." Dexter was still looking out of the window. Ms Turner went over to him, standing immediately behind his bulky figure. "Not even Spiderman could reach this window." Donna joined them at the window, looking at the sheer drop to the concrete yard below and shuddered. The only break in an otherwise solid expanse of brick was a tiny projection, hardly worthy of being called a ledge, running along the entire front of the building. Ms Turner followed the direction of Donna’s gaze. "I don’t think so, do you? In any case, that decorative feature is twelve feet off the ground. You would have to be a trained gymnast with nerves of steel to attempt that ledge."
The thing is," Dexter said ponderously. "Having read this file, I reckon I could disarm my clients’ security system, gain admittance, and reset the system on leaving. Anyone else viewing the file would have a considerable advantage. I need to be absolutely sure that this couldn’t have happened."
"Put your mind at rest, Mister Dexter. Our records never leave this room and as I said before, the security in this building is impeccable."
"Do you provide any systems such as your own to anyone else?"
"No. Not as such, although we are occasionally asked about our own set-up. It pays to advertise and this building has just about every alarm and security device that is currently available. Clients like to know that the systems we employ for our own security are the very same state of the art systems available to them."
"So, anyone posing as a prospective customer could obtain details of the security system you employ in these premises?"
"In very general terms perhaps, but even so, the system does its job. Nobody else could have gained access to those records. I’ll stake my professional reputation on that."
They were on the way out when Donna had an idea. "Do you mind if I take a look at your photocopier?"
Ms. Turner snorted, but waved a polyester covered arm towards the Olivetti machine in the corner – a big one with multiple paper trays and a baffling control panel. "Do you keep records of paper usage?"
God, Donna thought, I sound like I have a photocopier fetish.
"Of course."
Donna turned to Dexter. "Most offices keep records of how much paper they use, how much toner, that sort of thing, so they’ll know when to reorder fresh supplies and cut down wastage. The machines have a meter which records each copy." Ms Turner’s cold basilisk stare threatened to strike her down on the spot.
Ms Turner came over with a spiral notebook open in her hand. She squinted at the machine, reading out the number on the dial. Her previous air of certainty had evaporated.
"I really don’t understand," she muttered. "There does indeed appear to be a slight discrepancy in the readings."
Donna looked over her shoulder. The difference between the two numbers amounted to twenty-two sheets of paper. When Donna pointed this out to Dexter, he picked up the file again and solemnly counted the pages. He didn’t need to say the final tally. All three of them knew there would be twenty-two pages. They were dead right.
*****
Marcus was reflective as he skimmed the small boat over the lake surface. He’d dropped off a package at a small courier service outside Wigan, leaving an envelope on the desk with sufficient cash to cover the cost of same-day delivery. The firm only ran to a single person staffing reception and he’d waited for the girl to take a break before dropping off his package. Personal contact would be an unnecessary risk and he didn’t believe in taking risks.
The long drive back clarified his thoughts after an initial setback when he’d had problems locating the intended recipient. The decision to send his package to the man’s employer was not ideal, but time was press
ing and he was unwilling to risk making further enquiries at this stage. He was almost ready to complete the task he’d set himself and his spirits lightened as the island came near. The thought of his two captives and their eventual disposal was a pleasant reminder that he could afford the occasional setback so long as the end result was not placed in jeopardy.
*****
Picking up Donna’s car and returning the Fiesta to its true owners took less than an hour. Gary came with her to the garage and followed the Fiesta to the car hire depot. He was like a dog with two dicks having just had a new commission for his work. Donna offered to go into work with him later as she’d been given a few hours off.
She felt pretty pleased about it as she’d wanted to spend a little more time with Gary and the last few days seemed to be nothing else but work. If she was honest with herself, she wanted to spend a lot more time with Gary and forget about work for a while, but this job was different. Real people were involved and Donna felt a strong personal attachment to Paula Dobson and Celine, wanting to see them home and safe. Not like a job at all.
Gary’s infectious humour kept her buzzing as Donna drove down Lime Street and parked on the top floor of the multi-storey, across the way from the Adelphi Hotel. Donna made a mental note to take Peg in for morning coffee one of these days. Peg was of a generation that associated the world famous hotel with wealth and privilege and had never set foot inside its doors. A cup of their delicious cinnamon coffee and a toasted teacake, served up in the sumptuous tea lounge would be a real treat.
They walked up Hardman Street in pleasant sunshine, and had coffee and a slice of carrot cake in a little corner café. A recording studio on the first floor provided an interesting soundtrack as they sat and people watched for a few minutes.
It was strange to see the difference daylight made to this area. Hardman Street would be heaving after dark, all the pubs and clubs doing good business and crowds thronging the pavements. Now it was quiet and peaceful with a few shoppers strolling along. West Indians, Chinese, Irish and the indigenous Scousers, all part of the complex mixture that characterised this most cosmopolitan of seaports, with the inevitable small group of winos making their way towards their regular spot on the steps of the bombed out church near the entrance to Chinatown.