by Mark Timlin
‘That’s good. Now the photos, please.’
He took out the same envelope as he’d carried on the previous Friday and took out the two photos again. ‘The one of Meena is a copy. Of Jeffries the original.’
‘I’ll take care of them,’ I said.
He took a small address book and a silver pen from his inside pocket, referred to a page and wrote something on the back of the envelope. ‘Mrs Jeffries’ address,’ he explained. ‘It is in a place called Norbury. Are you familiar with that?’
‘I know Norbury,’ I said.
He wrote more. ‘And the brother, Peter Jeffries. An address in Croydon.’
‘Handy. It’s just down the road from Norbury.’
‘And your fee.’
‘Please.’
He took a company-sized cheque book from the same pocket, opened it and said, ‘I believe the figure mentioned was six thousand.’
‘That’s right.’
He wrote out the cheque carefully and signed it. ‘I’m glad you agreed to take the job,’ he said, when he handed it over.
I folded the thick paper and popped it into my pocket with the envelope containing the photos and addresses. ‘Me too, Mr Khan,’ I said although I wasn’t sure that I was. This whole thing looked like a minefield. Families always are. ‘I assume I can reach you on the numbers on the card you gave me.’
‘Night or day. The first number is my office, the second my home, or use the mobile. It’s always switched on.’
‘Then that’s it,’ I said. ‘I’ll get on this first thing tomorrow.’
He rose too and we shook hands. ‘Good luck, Mr Sharman,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ I replied, and I reckoned I was going to need it.
14
When I got home Melanie was watching the EastEnders omnibus on TV. I walked in and dropped my jacket on the arm of the sofa and sat next to her. ‘How did it go?’ she asked as she killed the volume.
‘Great,’ I replied, lighting a Silk Cut. ‘Just terrific. Wonderful. I’m not surprised young Meena split. That Khan geezer is a pain in the arse big time. A real prince among men, I don’t think. If I was related to him I’d’ve left years ago.’
‘As bad as that?’
‘Worse.’
‘Poor Nicky, was the big man howwible?’ She put on a little girl voice.
‘Don’t,’ I said, trying hard not to laugh and not succeeding.
‘But you took the job.’
‘I took the job. For a week or so. On approval if you like.’
‘Did he pay you?’
‘You’re a mercenary little sod, do you know that?’ I said.
‘I work in the City. I’m paid to be mercenary.’
‘He gave me a cheque,’ I said.
‘Show me.’
I took out the piece of paper and dropped it in her lap. ‘Six grand,’ she said. ‘For a week. Do you know how long it takes me to earn six grand?’
‘Or so. A week or so,’ I reminded her. ‘And no I don’t know how long it takes you to earn six grand.’
‘A bloody long time.’
‘My heart bleeds.’
‘Do you think it’ll bounce?’
‘It better not. Or maybe it’d be better if it did. Then I could just forget the whole thing.’
‘Don’t be like that, Nick.’
‘I feel like being like that.’
‘So what are you going to buy me?’ she asked ingenuously.
‘I don’t know. How about some sexy underwear?’
‘You men are all alike. You think us women are turned on by stiff bits of lace that always work themselves up into our backsides and feel like you’re wearing an elastic band up your jacksie.’
‘Most of you are turned on by stiff somethings anyway,’ I remarked.
‘You’re disgusting.’
‘That wasn’t what you said when I was talking dirty to you this morning.’
At least she had the grace to blush.
I opened a bottle of red wine and poured us each a glass and joined her on the couch as a bunch of ugly actors from RADA silently mouthed some idiot’s idea of what went on in an East End pub like goldfish on the screen. Have you ever been in an East End boozer where no one uses the F-word and no one ever makes a racist remark? I haven’t.
‘Have you got photos of the missing pair?’ Melanie asked when she’d had a sip of her wine.
I took the photos out of the envelope and showed her. ‘She’s beautiful,’ she said when she’d given them a scan. ‘He looks like a right Jack the lad.’
‘That’s probably the attraction,’ I observed. ‘I think she was on a short rein at home.’
‘Women always seem to go for bad boys.’
‘Is that why you go for me?’
‘Who says I do?’
‘You’re here, aren’t you?’
‘Pig.’
We spent the rest of the afternoon finishing off the bottle and fooling around on the sofa. It was good to have someone around who cared about me and who I cared about.
I put the Khan family problems out of my mind. There’d be plenty of time for them in the morning when I’d have to go out and start earning his bloody six thousand quid.
15
The next morning after Melanie had gone to work I went to work too. I left it until eleven o’clock to drive to Norbury and hunt out Paul Jeffries’ mother. I’m a great believer in letting the streets air before I venture forth.
I dug out my A-Z and looked up the street where she lived. It was bang in the middle of that conurbation of suburban streets between Streatham and Croydon where I’d spent a great part of my adolescence searching for sex and drugs and rock and roll, and occasionally finding all three. But mostly not.
I drove down in the Mustang and parked it two streets away and took a stroll. It’s good to familiarise yourself with where people live before talking to them, and besides it was a trip back in time for me.
It didn’t seem to have changed much from when I shlepped around in pursuit of illicit pleasures, but like anywhere and anyone else it must’ve done, and I wondered what the young and innocent boy who thought he knew so much would have made of the middle-aged man I was now, who’d finally come to realise he knew almost nothing. Not a lot, I’d imagine.
The street itself was in the shadow of the twin television masts on the hills above Norbury, short, crammed with higgledy-piggledy terraced houses, some that had been renovated and some left as they must have looked when they were built a century or more before. On one corner was a little grocery, on the other a baker’s, with a launderette next door and an MOT specialist garage down the narrow alleyway between. Both sides of the street were lined with parked cars and it was so typically south London it almost hurt.
The number I was looking for was about halfway down on the right. The house had been painted deep pink at one time but the paint was faded and peeling although some effort had been made to keep the tiny front garden tidy, and the front gate was in one piece.
I opened it and walked up the path to the front door through the autumn sunshine and the chilly wind that blew litter behind me and knocked.
The woman who answered it a few moments later was in her late fifties with dark hair shot with grey and wearing a cardigan over a blouse and skirt. ‘Mrs Jeffries?’ I asked pleasantly.
‘That’s right. If it’s about the council tax again, I’ve sent a letter to –’
‘It’s not about the council tax, Mrs Jeffries,’ I interrupted. ‘It’s about your son, Paul.’
Her face hardened. ‘Are you the police?’
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I’m a private enquiry agent. My name’s Sharman. Nick Sharman. A Mr Khan has asked me to help him find his daughter, Meena.’
Her face hardened even more at that
. ‘If you’ve come here to harass me again –’
‘No harassment, Mrs Jeffries, I can assure you,’ I interrupted again. ‘I’m just trying to find Meena Khan. Her father believes she’s with Paul. All I want to do is to get in touch with them. Mr Khan’s very upset. A few questions, that’s all.’
‘Is that why he sent those sons of his to break down my door?’
‘I don’t know anything about that, Mrs Jeffries,’ I went on, fearing that I was losing control of the situation. I’d guessed that Khan’s boys had got out of order, but I wasn’t sure by how much. ‘I just want five minutes of your time.’
She looked at me closely and I could see her deciding whether to cut me off or not, so I gave her what I hoped was a charming smile. It seemed to work. ‘All right then,’ she said, ‘I suppose you’d better come in. You are alone?’ She looked up and down the street as if expecting a posse of Indians to be hiding under a parked car.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I work alone.’
‘Come on then.’ And she opened the door all the way and stepped back.
I went inside, closed the door behind me and she led me down a narrow hall to a tiny sitting room with kitchen attached, overlooking a postage stamp sized back garden where the remains of the summer flowers still bloomed. On the mantelpiece there was a picture of Paul in a suit with another young man standing beside him. It looked like it had been taken at a wedding or similar family function. Next to it was a photograph of another youngster with a strong family resemblance. I guessed it was brother Peter.
‘Sit down,’ said Mrs Jeffries and indicated an armchair by the cold fireplace next to a bookcase overflowing with Mills & Boon titles. Thin and sexless they are. My mind turned to Melanie who was exactly the opposite. Curvy and sexy.
‘Cup of tea?’
I was stung from my reverie. ‘Love one,’ I said, as I took the chair and she filled the kettle from the tap and plugged it in.
There was an awkward silence and I thought that I was losing it again when we were interrupted by the appearance of a huge marmalade cat who sashayed over and jumped up into my lap. ‘Marmaduke,’ she said to the cat. ‘Don’t do that.’ Then to me. ‘Just push him off if he’s a nuisance.’
‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I like cats,’ and I petted the animal under the chin until he started purring.
The comfortable scene seemed to make Mrs Jeffries feel better and she began to relax. ‘I don’t know where Paul is,’ she said, as she prepared the tea things.
‘Has he been in touch recently?’ I asked.
‘Not for weeks.’
‘But since he went off with Meena?’
She thought about that for a minute before nodding.
‘Where was he, do you know?’
‘If I did I wouldn’t tell you. Those boys who came scared me.’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ I said. ‘And I’m sorry about your door and any damage they did. I’m sure Mr Khan would be happy to pay.’
‘He already did. I threatened him with the law. He didn’t like that.’
So much for Khan not knowing what had gone on.
‘I think the family was just upset about Paul and Meena running away like they did.’
‘Well, wouldn’t you?’ she said.
‘Wouldn’t I what?’
‘Run away if someone threatened to kill you.’
16
‘Come again,’ I said, astonished.
‘They threatened to kill Paul and Meena.’
‘Khan’s sons did? Her brothers.’
‘And Khan himself. That was the message they brought from him. You don’t understand what a terrible thing Meena did by running away with Paul. To people of their religion, that was the ultimate betrayal.’
‘And how about you?’ I asked. ‘How do you feel about it?’
‘Not betrayed if that’s what you mean. I always wanted Paul to settle down. Get married to a nice girl and have some babies maybe. I just wish it wasn’t under these kinds of circumstances.’
‘So you’d have them here?’
‘Like a shot.’
‘That’s good,’ I said, thoughtfully.
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ she said. ‘I can see it by the look on your face. But it’s true. Take my word.’
‘I just don’t believe a father threatening to kill his own child.’ I thought of Judith and the joke I’d made about boyfriends. I knew it was going to be tough when she finally got one, but I thought I’d stop short of making death threats. ‘I’ve got a child of my own about Meena’s age. I could never see me doing that, whatever she did.’
‘Believe it. Paul and Meena are terrified. That’s why they keep running. And I’ve got those people watching me all day long.’
‘What people?’ I sensed paranoia here. But always remember that just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you. I’ve been paranoid in my time and it’s saved my life more than once.
‘The people in the corner shop,’ she explained. ‘Indians. Mr Patel and his family. That’s why Paul and Meena could never come here.’
I remembered what Khan had said about his network. ‘Then why did you let me in?’ I asked.
‘What?’
‘When I told you I was working for the Khans. Why let me in here if you think they’re potential killers? Presumably that makes me one as well.’
‘Because you’re a white man, Mr Sharman. And I can talk to you. You have a nice face. And I’m at the end of my tether. Sometimes I think I’d be better off dead anyway. I’m not frightened any more. I want you to go back to them and tell them to stop all this. You can do that, can’t you?’
‘I don’t think I have that kind of power.’
‘Just try.’
‘It’s not because you’re frightened that Paul may end up back inside?’
‘You know about that.’
‘A little.’
‘It was nothing really. Childhood pranks.’
‘A bit of burglary, car theft, ABH and drugs. A little more than childhood pranks, I think.’
‘He was going straight. Working.’
‘Casual.’
‘As you so rightly say, Mr Sharman, he has a record. There’s more people than jobs out there or hadn’t you noticed? But he was trying.’
‘Mr Khan is more of the opinion that he wheedled his way in with the family to get to Meena.’
‘What can I say then? If you don’t believe me you don’t believe me. He loves Meena and Meena loves him. They just want a life together. Children. A place to live.’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t believe you, Mrs Jeffries,’ I said. ‘I know people. I’ve been lied to by the people who’ve hired me before. I’ll just have to make some further enquiries.’
‘Then I suggest you do that.’
‘I will,’ I answered and sipped at my cool tea. ‘Who’s that with Paul?’ I asked, pointing at the photo of her son and his companion.
She smiled. ‘That’s Henry. Paul’s best friend. They’ve known each other since primary school. That was taken at Henry’s brother’s wedding a couple of years ago.’
‘Does Henry live round here?’
‘Streatham.’
‘Do you think he’s heard from Paul?’
She gave me a slitty eyed look. ‘I have no idea. I haven’t asked. I don’t want to involve anyone else.’
‘Does he know about what’s happened?’
‘He knows. He phones me from time to time.’
‘Do you have a number for him?’
‘I don’t want you bothering him.’
‘I’m not in the habit of breaking doors down, Mrs Jeffries,’ I said. ‘I just want to talk. Here.’ I handed her one of my cards. ‘My office and home numbers are both on there. Ask him to give me a call. Just to talk
. Nothing else.’
She said nothing as she dropped the card on the table.
‘And you too if you want to,’ I added. ‘Just call me. And I will promise you this. You won’t be hassled by anyone from Khan’s family or associates again. I’ll guarantee that now.’ I liked Mrs Jeffries, she reminded me of my own mother. She was just someone trying to get along and didn’t deserve this mess. ‘Is that your other son?’ I asked, pointing at the photograph of the other young man.
‘You know a lot,’ she said.
‘Not really.’
‘Yes, that’s Peter. He wanted to kill Khan’s sons for what they did here. I had to beg him not to. Be careful if you see him, Mr Sharman. He has a short temper.’
‘I’ll remember that.’
‘God knows what he’d do if he knew the Patels were watching me.’
‘You haven’t told him.’
She shook her head. ‘I just want a bit of peace. I’m not as young as I used to be. I don’t want any trouble.’
‘I’ll try to see that you don’t get it,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’
I left her then and walked back up the street and into the grocer’s shop. It was empty except for one middle-aged Indian man and a big Alsatian dog that growled softly as I entered.
I took out another of my cards as I approached the counter. ‘My name’s Sharman,’ I said as I dropped the card on top.
‘Are you a rep?’ the man asked. ‘We don’t need anything.’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘I work for Rajesh Khan from Manchester. I think you know him.’
The man’s dark skin paled slightly and I knew he did.
‘No,’ he said and touched the dog gently on the head. The dog growled again, a little louder this time.
‘I think you do. There’s a lady lives down the road in the pink house, number forty. Mrs Jeffries. I want you to leave her alone. Stop spying on her. She’s never done you any harm. Tell Mr Khan I said so. I will when I speak to him.’
‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ the man protested. ‘You’re crazy. Go away or I’ll call the police.’
‘Call them,’ I said. ‘There’s laws against harassment in this country and you’re breaking them.’