Silvermeadow bak-5

by Barry Maitland

  Now the feeling of being quite alone in this strange place was intriguing, seductive. Kathy found that she couldn’t just turn down the nearby side-exit corridor that would take her out into the carpark without exploring the moonlit forest a little further. And as she progressed along the mall the effect of being alone in a magical fairy wood was strengthened by glimpses of tiny lights from within the darkened stores on either side. She supposed that they were the winking lights of alarms and security cameras, the LCD displays of electronic digits, but the darkness made distance and perspective illusory, so that as they emerged from behind dark obstacles and vanished again into the shadows, it appeared to Kathy that she was seeing the lights of a distant village, or the gleam of rubies and emeralds in a shadowy cave, or the eyes of watchful creatures.

  She reached the main square overlooking the rain-forested food court, and stopped there, absorbing the extraordinary sense of depth through the tree canopy, imagining herself hovering over a distant jungle canyon. For a moment the illusion was so powerful that she could almost see the shifting shadows of nocturnal beasts beneath the trees, hear the rustle of predators through foliage.

  She suddenly stood rigid, ears straining. She could hear the rustle of movement.

  She heard it again.

  It seemed to come from behind her. She turned slowly, heart thumping, and saw the bamboo thicket not far away behind her right shoulder, the one that contained the crouching gorilla. There was no movement among the bamboo leaves now, no sound, the gorilla invisible in the shadows. She knew that the darkness that allowed her imagination to create a magic forest in the mall was equally capable of magnifying her terrors. But there had been a sound.

  Then she jumped as something small and blurred burst out of the thicket. For a moment it seemed to hang in the air in front of her, fluttering madly, before rising up into the vault above and swooping away in the darkness. Of course, it was the small bird that had strayed into the mall and been unable, or unwilling, to leave. It had survived two or three days now, she thought. Probably there was plenty to eat and drink in here.

  Kathy was aware of an odd effect. Her sight seemed less acute than before, her whole consciousness now focused on her hearing. And as she turned back towards the balcony overlooking the lower court she realised she could now hear another sound.

  It was muffled, distant, difficult to decipher. She concentrated and thought she could make out some kind of music, but strange and ethereal, the rhythm broken into disjointed snatches. It seemed to be coming from the floor of the valley below. She found the top of the escalator and began walking down the motionless steps, straining to make out the sound.

  Frustratingly, it was less clear down below than up above, and she circled the food court for several minutes, bumping into tables and chairs in the darkness, unable to trace its source. Then her wandering route took her towards the snake charmer and the entrance to the Bazaar, and the tinkling sounds became a little more distinct.

  It was very dark down there, the faint light sources dying in the black depths of the Bazaar. The sound was certainly becoming clearer, beeping and pinging notes which came in a rush for a few seconds, then paused briefly before flying off in some new direction. It was like the pipes of some manic Pan playing in the midnight forest of a nightmare. And then she turned the corner and saw the flickering electronic flashes bouncing around the mouth of the games arcade, and she realised what it was. One of the machines had been left on.

  She moved softly towards the steel security grille that had been drawn across the front of the games arcade when it had closed down for the night. The flashing lights were much brighter now, but all the same it took her a moment to make out the shadow that swayed backwards and forwards across them, and realise that someone was in there, playing the machine. He had his back to her, absorbed in the game, a slight figure against the bulk of the machine, silhouetted against the source of the flashing lights.

  She put her face to the grille and was able to make out the baseball cap reversed on his head, long curls beneath, baggy trousers, the mobile phone clipped to his belt. His whole body was weaving and jigging as if he were dancing with his electric partner, whose staccato bleeping was becoming more and more excited.

  By the flickering lights of the machine, she could barely make out the rest of the arcade space. He seemed to be quite alone, only this one game active. She wondered how on earth he had got there. Had he hidden somewhere in the place when Winston Starkey had closed up for the night? Or did Starkey allow him to stay there, a homeless kid addicted to the machines-in exchange for what?

  Whether he became distracted and made a mistake, or the game simply came to an end, the machine suddenly blared a triumphant fanfare of electronic trumpets and then fell silent, its lights calming to a steady post-coital glow.

  He remained there for a moment, hands still on the controls, then he slowly raised his head and appeared to sniff the air.

  He can smell me, Kathy thought, staying motionless as he began to turn towards her. She saw now that he was wearing knee and elbow pads, like a skateboarder.

  ‘Wiff,’ she said softly, not wanting to alarm him. ‘Wiff…’

  He swung round abruptly, staring at the corner where she was, but not seeing her in the darkness, his eyes still blinded by the flashing game. They were wide with fright. Before she could say anything else he gave a little yelp and spun away, plunging back into the shadows at the rear of the unit.

  Kathy heard a scrape of metal, a scuffling and creaking, then silence. Like a little frightened animal, she thought, he must have scurried back to his hiding place. She tried to move the security grille, but it was firmly locked. Then she pulled out her torch and shone it into the far corners of the arcade, but could see no sign of him.

  ‘Wiff,’ she called gently. ‘It’s all right. I’m a friend.’ She spoke towards the deepest shadows behind the furthest machines where she guessed he might be hiding. ‘Please, come and talk to me. I won’t hurt you.’

  But there was no response, not a whisper of a breath nor the glimmer of a reflection from an eyeball.

  Kathy looked at her watch and saw, again with surprise, how late it was, almost midnight. The dog patrol would be out in the carpark soon, and there was nothing she could do here. She switched off the torch and headed back the way she had come, hurrying now through the moonlit glades as if the silent dogs were on her trail.

  She was in bed asleep when Leon returned in the small hours. He came in silently, and woke her with a kiss on her cheek. She struggled back to consciousness, smelling the cigarette smoke on his clothing and wine on his breath.

  10

  K athy didn’t sleep well, her mind troubled by dreams of dark forests and lost children. She rose early, made a pot of tea and left a mug beside Leon, but didn’t wake him. He was still sleeping deeply when she left.

  She was waiting for Winston Starkey as soon as the arcade owner opened up his premises. He looked as if he’d had a bad night too, and he hardly heard what she was saying as he rolled up the security grille. He made her repeat it, then stared at her with hostile suspicion.

  ‘That’s crap,’ he said. ‘I know the kid you mean, but he doesn’t stay here, and if you get me into trouble telling people he does I’ll sue you, see if I don’t.’

  Harry Jackson appeared, strolling round his domain on a first morning inspection, and joined them. He was startled by Kathy’s story. ‘You saw him in here? In the dark? At midnight?’

  Starkey made an elaborate performance of insisting that they search the place. There wasn’t the slightest trace of the boy. He and Jackson conferred while Kathy had another look behind the machines at the rear of the space, without result. By the time she left with Jackson she could almost believe that it had been a dream.

  He led her out into the deserted food court and asked if they could have a word.

  ‘Just to get this straight, Kathy. You were in here on your own, at midnight, were you? Did my people know? I di
dn’t notice a note in their report.’

  Kathy outlined her conversation with the security guard. She was aware of becoming defensive as Jackson probed.

  ‘You know about the dog patrol, do you?’

  ‘Yes, your man warned me. I left in time.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He said nothing for a moment, staring down at the toe of his polished shoe tapping silently on the patterned terrazzo.

  ‘Is Starkey a suspect now, then?’ he asked slowly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you were staking his place out at midnight. How about Verdi, is he a suspect?’

  ‘Harry, I can’t discuss-’

  ‘You see, I thought you were reaching a conclusion on this case. I thought Eddie Testor was your prime suspect, no? In fact, understand that Chief Superintendent Forbes is holding a press conference this morning to announce significant progress.’

  ‘Gavin told you that?’

  Jackson frowned at her. ‘No, Kathy,’ he said softly. ‘The PR people at Hornchurch Street advised Bo’s office last night. So what do you want me to tell my boss? That despite what Forbes is telling us, interrogation of our people is continuing indiscriminately all over Silvermeadow?’

  Our people. It was the first time Kathy had heard anyone refer to Starkey as that.

  The sense of unease still hung in the air of unit 184 when Kathy returned there. Chief Superintendent Forbes had arrived and was deep in conversation with Brock.

  ‘I had assumed that we’d be able to announce that charges had been laid against Testor, Brock,’ he said. ‘Swift justice, that was going to be the gist of it, but now, well, what have we got?’

  ‘Yes. Unfortunately the picture is still incomplete. The forensic side is particularly disappointing. Now you could say, given the hairless nature of our suspect, that the absence of any foreign hairs on or around the victim is a kind of positive, but it doesn’t help much. One very young eyewitness placing the victim and the suspect in the same place in a public mall doesn’t amount to enough either, especially since we assume from the evidence of the ketamine use that she could have been kept in a drugged state for a period before she was killed. But we’ve no idea where he might have done that. The clearest solution would be a confession, and so far that’s not forthcoming. Testor is back at Hornchurch Street now, and I’ll be going over there shortly, but I’m not optimistic.

  ‘You heard about the attack on his house, did you? During the night, after the pubs had closed. Testor says he was woken by the noise of something clattering down the tiles above his bedroom. He says he thought he heard muffled voices out the front, but he didn’t get up and have a look. It wasn’t till the morning that he realised what had happened. Red paint was splattered all over the roof tiles and down the front of his aunt’s house. There’d been a bit of rain during the night, which made it look worse, apparently. He said it looked as if blood was coming out through the bricks.’

  ‘Hmm. Deplorable, of course, but understandable. People are angry, Brock.’

  ‘Yes. All the more reason not to raise expectations prematurely. I’d suggest we concentrate on appealing for public assistance from the press. Unless something comes up soon to resolve things.’

  Something did come up, almost immediately. The caller asked for Sergeant Kolla, and Kathy recognised the throaty voice of Kim Hislop from the Primavera Fitness Salon.

  ‘Can I speak to you?’ she asked, her voice low and anxious. ‘I’ve got some information you should have, about Eddie Testor.’

  ‘Fine. Shall I come to your office?’

  ‘Yes, okay. Soon as you like.’

  Kathy mentioned it to Brock on her way out, and he said, ‘Fingers crossed. I’m on my way over to see Testor at Hornchurch Street now. Ring me if it’s anything relevant.’

  Kim Hislop was strung as tight as one of her male clients waiting for a total body wax. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I thought I should let you know straight away. As soon as I realised. I think I’ve made a stupid mistake.’

  ‘Really?’ Kathy said. ‘To do with Eddie?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, to do with Eddie. I realised last night. It just came back to me. The sixth. He was booked in for his monthly on the following day, the seventh, but I had a cancellation for the sixth, and someone else wanted a booking on the seventh, so I asked Eddie to swap round, and he agreed. He was always very obliging. The thing was, I never entered it on the computer, only in the desk diary, so when you asked I never picked it up. I forgot.’

  ‘So when did you see him, on the sixth?’ Kathy asked, heart sinking.

  ‘Five-thirty till six-thirty. I seem to remember he was a few minutes late arriving.’

  ‘And this has just come back to you, Ms Hislop?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked away. ‘Sorry if it’s confused things. You can see the desk diary if you like.’ She passed it over to Kathy, pointing out the altered entries.

  ‘I’d like to borrow this,’ Kathy said.

  Hislop looked unhappy. ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘It’s evidence that could clear Eddie of a serious charge. I’ll let you have it back this afternoon.’

  There was a phone number written against the name of the woman who had been crossed out for the 5.30 appointment on the sixth. Kathy rang it when she got back to the unit. The woman answered and after checking her own diary confirmed that she had cancelled that appointment because of a clash with something else. The name written into Eddie’s original time slot on the seventh was indecipherable, and had no phone number, and Kathy decided to let it go. She rang Hornchurch Street and asked for Brock. After several minutes Gavin Lowry answered.

  ‘He and Forbes are on their way over here, Kathy. Anything I can do?’

  ‘How’s it going?’ she asked.

  ‘No change.’

  ‘Has Testor come up with any story about what he was doing for the hour after five-thirty that afternoon?’

  ‘No. We keep pressing him, and he just keeps repeating that he can’t remember specifically, and he must have been working in the pool.’

  ‘It looks as if he’s got an alibi now.’ She told him Hislop’s story.

  There was a long silence, then a slow, deliberate, ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe you’d better get over here and tell Brock yourself. He’ll probably want to see the book. So will Forbes. His press conference starts in an hour. His silver braid is all laid out for him.’

  When they told Eddie the good news, he seemed no wiser than before. ‘Oh, really?’ he said blankly. ‘Well, that must be it then.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you didn’t speak to Kerri,’ Brock pressed him. ‘We know you did. It just means you didn’t speak to her for long on that occasion. You arranged to see her again later, is that it? You made a date for later?’

  ‘Mr Brock,’ Eddie said with the same patient tolerance, ‘I told you already. Maybe I can’t remember exactly what I was doing that afternoon, but I’m quite sure I never saw that girl before in my life.’

  Since there were already press cameras and reporters arriving at the building they decided to wait until the press conference was over before releasing him.

  Forbes began by introducing himself and then Stefan and Alison Vlasich, sitting on each side of him at the long table which faced the crowded room. The purpose of this press conference, he said, was to renew the appeal to the public for information concerning the whereabouts of Kerri Vlasich after she left school on the afternoon of the sixth of December. He briefly outlined the circumstances and underlined, reading from his prepared statement, the seriousness with which the police regarded such cases. This went on for a little too long, and he stumbled several times and paused for sips of water, his throat unaccountably dry. To Kathy he gave the impression of nervousness, despite the well-tailored uniform and air of command. She was aware of others in the room beginning to stir, restless.

  He then asked Mrs Vlasich to say a few words, or rather, he referred to her as ‘Mrs Kerri’
, and couldn’t understand why she stared at him, wide-eyed, before she turned unsteadily to face the cameras. She winced as the lights focused on her, and made an agonising appeal, barely audible, for anyone who knew anything about her daughter’s disappearance to come forward.

  Everyone was relieved when she finished and Forbes turned to Stefan Vlasich, who delivered a couple of brief sentences in a low monotone.

  Chief Superintendent Forbes then cautiously invited questions, and there was an immediate response from all sides of the room, everyone apparently trying to ask the same thing. Eventually one managed to speak for the rest. ‘What about the man you arrested yesterday? We were expecting an announcement of charges being laid.’

  Forbes cleared his throat. ‘There seems to have been some misunderstanding. No one has been arrested. A man has been helping us with our enquiries, but no charges are being laid at this time.’

  ‘But he’s a prime suspect, isn’t he?’

  ‘Not necessarily, no. There’s nothing I can add about that at this time.’

  There was a hubbub of disappointment, then the crime reporter for the Guardian, a sharp young woman with a deceptively friendly smile, spoke up.

  ‘Are you able to give us details yet of the cause of Kerri’s death, or the circumstances?’

  ‘We’re not able to release that information yet, no.’

  ‘Are you even certain she was murdered?’

  Forbes hesitated. ‘We’re treating this as a murder inquiry.’

  ‘That’s not quite an answer, Chief Superintendent,’ the reporter said with a smile. ‘I understand this is being classified as an Area Major Investigation,’ she went on, although it hadn’t been announced, ‘and we have Chief Inspector Brock here, and other officers from Serious Crime Branch.’ She sounded puzzled. ‘Isn’t this level of response a bit unusual? Is there something you’re not telling us?’