by John Nicholl
Gravel loosened his polyester tie, and undid the top button of his increasingly grimy shirt. He’d have to let the team do their jobs and hope someone came up with something worthwhile. They had to do their jobs, and he needed to concentrate on his. He was their inspector not their baby-sitter, for fuck’s sake. He’d interview the boy’s father later in the day. The background checks hadn’t come up with anything significant. Mike Mailer’s only prior conviction was for cannabis use at the age of nineteen, when a student at Cardiff University. That was it, no history of violence, no domestics, nothing.
The inspector sighed. It was probably a waste of his time. The father was an unlikely suspect at best, but child abductions by strangers were rare. He couldn’t rule anything out prematurely. Such things had a habit of coming back to bite you in the arse. The interview needed to be done. Why not get on with it?
Gravel took his warrant card from an inside pocket of his ancient, but much-loved tweed jacket, before knocking hard on June Mailer’s front door. Both June and her son were upstairs, June rearranging her meagre wardrobe, and Mike getting changed in his childhood bedroom, in preparation for a much-anticipated meal with his family at the cottage later that evening. Mike pulled up and fastened a clean pair of faded blue jeans, and rushed downstairs to answer the door.
Mike stood staring into the stranger’s face. He exuded an air of authority, and looked important somehow, despite his slightly dishevelled appearance and the unmistakable smell of body odour. And he looked concerned. Above all, he looked concerned.
Gravel held up his warrant card in clear view. ‘Detective Inspector Gravel, local police. Mr Mailer? Mr Mike Mailer?’
Mike experienced a sudden pain in his gut as his intestines cramped and twisted. What the hell was this about? Something must be amiss. Surely detective inspectors didn’t call at your home unless it was something serious.
‘What’s this about, Inspector? Has something happened?’
‘It’s better we talk inside, Mr Mailer. I need to ask you some questions.’
Mike fought to control his emotions. ‘Has something happened to one of my family?’
Gravel’s face took on a steely expression. ‘Let’s go inside, Mr Mailer. We can talk here or at the police station. It’s your choice.’
Mike wanted to protest, but the inspector’s self-confident assertiveness negated his natural instincts. He calmed himself. Arguing didn’t seem like a good idea. ‘Come in, we can talk in the lounge. Can I get you a tea or coffee?’ Why the hell did he ask that?
‘No, thanks. Just sit down and we can make a start.’
Mike sat as instructed.
‘Mr Mailer, where were you between four thirty yesterday afternoon and eleven thirty this morning? Be precise please.’
‘I’m starting to get seriously worried here. Is there something I should know?’
‘Just answer the question. The quicker we do this, the quicker I can tell you why I’m here.’
‘Okay, message received. I was in the house all afternoon, retiling the kitchen for my mother, and then I met a mate for a few pints at about half seven.’
June Mailer began her slow journey downstairs, just as Gravel was about to ask another question. ‘Is that your mother I can hear?’
Mike nodded.
‘Can she confirm your alibi?’
Mike looked incredulous. ‘Alibi? Why would I need an alibi?’
‘Just answer the question.’
Mike took a deep breath and said, ‘Yes,’ just as June Mailer opened the lounge door and looked at him with a quizzical expression on her heavily wrinkled face.
‘This is Detective Inspector Gravel, Mum. He wants to ask you some questions.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
She remained static in the doorway, her mouth hanging open, but saying nothing more, until Gravel broke the brief silence. ‘Mrs Mailer, where were you from four thirty onwards yesterday afternoon?’
‘I stayed in all day.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘No, Mikey was in all day doing the tiling for me. He did a lovely job. You’re welcome to have a look, if you like.’
‘Did he go out at all?’
June Mailer looked at her son, meeting his eyes in a search for guidance.
‘Just be honest, Mum. I’ve got nothing to hide.’
She smiled. Of course he didn’t. ‘He went out for a pint about sevenish. That’s right, isn’t it, Mikey?’
Mike nodded his agreement.
‘Thank you, Mrs Mailer, that’s very helpful. What time did he get back?’
June Mailer thought for a second or two. ‘I went to bed after the ten o’clock news. Mikey wasn’t back then, and I didn’t hear him come in.’
‘Thank you again, Mrs Mailer. If you can leave us now, I’d like to speak to your son alone. Close the lounge door on your way out, please.’
She reluctantly retreated into her newly tiled kitchen with its tired units, to worry about her son and enjoy her umpteenth cup of tea of the day.
‘Mr Mailer, you went out at approximately seven o’clock?’
‘Yeah, about ten past to be exact. I met a mate at the rugby club at about half past.’
‘Your friend will confirm that?’
Mike nodded. ‘Yeah, no problem.’
‘His name, address and contact details, please?’
‘Phillip Beringer. Flat three, eight Glan Yr Ystrad. I can fetch you his telephone number, if that helps?’
‘Phillip Beringer, the social work manager?’
Mike nodded.
‘Small world, I’ve got his number. What time exactly did you leave the club? I couldn’t give a toss about any after-hours drinking. You need to be honest with me.’
‘We shared a taxi at about twenty to two. The driver dropped me off here about twoish before taking Phil home.’
‘The taxi dropped you off first?’
‘Yeah, as I said.’
‘And what did you do then?’
‘I was seriously pissed, to be honest. I just crashed into bed and got up this morning at about tenish for a glass of water and a bacon sandwich.’
‘Your mother can confirm that?’
‘Like she said, she was already asleep when I got in. But she was up and about when I finally came downstairs this morning.’
‘Where’s your car?’
‘It’s still at the club. I’m planning to pick it up later, on the way to see my wife and kids.’
Detective Inspector Gravel had heard enough. Mike Mailer wasn’t the man he was looking for. ‘Mr Mailer, I’m afraid I’ve got some extremely unwelcome news for you. There’s no easy way of saying this. Your wife was attacked at the cottage. She’s been taken to South Wales General. Your daughter is already there with one of our female constables.’
Mike’s face crumpled. ‘What? Attacked? When? Is she going to be all right?’
‘She’s suffered some serious head injuries. You’ll get a much better picture when you talk to the doctors. Your car is in the rugby club car park, correct?’
Mike nodded with an angst expression on his face.
Gravel stood and approached the door. ‘I’ll run you to the hospital. I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to drive at the moment. Best leave your car where it is for now.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Do you know where your son is?’
Mike was trying hard to hold it together, but he was increasingly close to falling apart. ‘Anthony? No, what are you saying? Where the hell is he?’
The inspector unlocked the car doors. ‘There’s no way of sugar-coating this. We don’t know of your son’s whereabouts since late yesterday afternoon. Could he be with friends or relatives?’
Mike’s legs buckled and he hit the pavement.
Gravel took his arm and assisted him into the front passenger seat. ‘I’ve got every officer in the force looking for your son as we speak. Let’s get you to the hospital. We can talk on th
e way.’
‘I spoke to him last night on the phone at about sixish. We talked about the football results. He was chuffed Swansea had won. He was absolutely fine. Are you sure you’ve got this right?’
‘I’m sorry, Mike. As of now, your son is missing. Friends and family?’
‘My father died a few years back, and Molly’s parents live in Spain. I n-need to contact his friends.’
‘One of my best officers is already doing that. I promise you, we are doing all we can.’
‘I can’t see him being with friends anyway. He’s not been going out much lately, and he knew I was going around this evening. We’re close, you see? He was looking forward to seeing me. He wanted me to play Monopoly with him.’ His face looked suddenly paler. ‘I should have been there. I should have been there to protect him.’
‘Let’s focus on finding him for now. There’ll be plenty of time for soul-searching when he’s safe. Any questions?’
‘There’s no news?’ Mike knew he was clutching at straws.
‘We are doing all we can. It’s just a matter of time.’
‘Any idea who did this? If the bastard hurts Tony, I’ll fucking kill him.’
‘Not as yet, but I will get to the bottom of this, I give you my word. Come on, let’s find out how your wife’s doing.’
As the two men trotted across the hospital’s busy car park, in a hopeless attempt to avoid the driving rain, Mike had little if any control of his racing thoughts, and he didn’t slow down until he reached Cilgeran ward on the second floor of the modernist concrete edifice.
Siân jumped to her feet the instant she saw her father entering the dayroom, and rushed into his open arms, hugging him tightly and almost knocking him over. They held each other as if their very lives depended on it.
After about thirty seconds, Mike freed himself from her embrace and said, ‘Hello love. I’m here now. Things are going to be just fine. Have you met the inspector?’
Siân nodded. ‘He was at the cottage.’
‘Have the doctors told you anything yet, love?’
‘Mum’s having an operation.That’s as much as I know. Who would do that to her?’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I thought she was dead. When I found her, I mean. She will be all right, won’t she?’
Mike faced his daughter, placed a hand on each of her shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes. He had no idea if Molly was going to be all right, or even if she’d survive, but his daughter didn’t need to hear his doubts. He had to be strong for once in his miserable life. How would Mo put it? He had to man up. That was it. ‘Of course she is, love. Mum’s a fighter! You know that as well as I do.’
Siân hugged him again, even more tightly this time, and then suddenly pulled away. ‘Dad!’
‘Yes, love?’
‘What about Tony?’
Mike attempted to remain stoic, but he couldn’t prevent his anxiety showing. ‘I’m so sorry, love. The police haven’t found him as yet, but they will soon. That’s right, isn’t it, Inspector?’
Gravel nodded unconvincingly. ‘We’re doing all we can to find your brother. Every available officer is on the case.’
It wasn’t exactly what Mike had hoped for. But perhaps it was the best the inspector could offer in the circumstances.
‘You stay with the officers for a while, love. I need to find out how your mum’s doing. I’ll be back with you as soon as I can.’
Mike found the senior ward sister working on staff rosters in a small office she shared with a colleague. He stood in the doorway and waited with increasing impatience, until she eventually raised her eyes from her paperwork and acknowledged his presence. ‘Can I talk to you please, Sister? I’m Molly Mailer’s husband. She was brought in this afternoon.’
‘I was here when she arrived, Mr Mailer. What would you like to know?’
Mike took a deep breath, and hoped he could hold it together long enough to ask the necessary questions. ‘How serious is it? Is my wife going to come through this?’
Sister Thomas frowned. ‘She was badly concussed and had some extremely severe facial injuries. She’s already been in theatre for about an hour, and I would expect it will be a while yet. Mr Faulks really is an excellent surgeon, but it’s difficult work, and the operation may take some time. We’ll have a much better idea of how things are once Mrs Mailer’s back on the ward.’
‘Thank you for your honesty, it’s appreciated. Can you give me any idea how long it’s likely to be before I can see her?’
‘Your wife will be taken straight to recovery after surgery. I wouldn’t expect her back on the ward for at least another two hours, if I were you. There’s a canteen on the ground floor, if that helps at all? I’m sorry, but there really is nothing more I can tell you at this stage.’
Mike just stood there, staring into space and hoping she may suddenly say something more positive.
Sister Thomas looked down at the papers on her desk. Why wasn’t he going? Relatives always seemed to want more information than she was in a position to provide.
She raised her head and looked at him with a blank expression on her face. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘I’ll be waiting in the dayroom with my daughter. Will you let us know as soon as we can see Molly, please?’
‘I will. Now I must get on. These rosters aren’t going to write themselves.’
Mike paused before re-entering the dayroom. Man up, Mike, man up. He’d already left his daughter down enough for one lifetime.
Siân hurried towards him as soon as he opened the door. ‘Any news?’
Mike took her hand in his before replying. ‘She’ll be back on the ward in about two hours, love. All we can do is wait.’
Gravel rose to his feet. ‘I’ll make a move. There are things I need to get on with. I very much hope Mrs Mailer makes a good recovery. I’ll keep you informed of any significant developments as and when they happen. As soon as we know of Anthony’s whereabouts, you’ll be the first to know.’
Mike nodded, and said, ‘Thank you.’
The inspector shook Mike’s hand firmly, acknowledged Siân with a barely discernible nod, and turned to Williams. ‘Contact me the second Mrs Mailer comes around. It’s essential we talk to her as soon as possible. What she has to tell us could well be crucial.’
32
Probationary constable Kieran Harris pulled up the collar of his navy-blue police-issue gabardine overcoat against the inclement weather, and knocked on the front door of the1960s semi-detached red-brick house, located almost directly opposite the Mailers’ cottage. So far his enquiries hadn’t resulted in anything useful. Hopefully his luck was about to change.
Harris knocked again and waited. There was a light on. He could hear what sounded like Radio 4 somewhere in the house. Why the delay? He was cold, he was wet, and he was shivering. Should he walk away and try next door? No, he had a job to do. It mattered. He had to do it properly.
He stamped his feet, clapped his black leather-gloved hands together in an attempt to warm them, and knocked forcefully for the third time.
Eighty-seven-year-old Rachel Evans was not nearly as mobile as she’d once been. She was heavily reliant on a walking frame, and very much hoping that her visitor was still in situ when she finally reached her front door and opened it. Thankfully he was. ‘Oh, hello, dear. I wasn’t expecting the police.’ She smiled, revealing stained and broken teeth that were at least her own. ‘You’re not going to arrest me, are you?’
Harris had heard the joke what felt like a thousand times before, but he smiled anyway. ‘We’re undertaking enquiries in the area, and are speaking to all potential witnesses. I’d just like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right? Would you like to see my warrant card?’
Mrs Evans declined with a mischievous grin. ‘That’s all right, I can see you’re a police officer, even if you do look young enough to be my grandson. Why don’t you come in for a nice cup of tea in the warm? You look as if you could do with
it.’
He returned her friendly smile, thinking that the old lady reminded him of his maternal grandmother. ‘I haven’t got time for a cuppa now, sorry, but maybe another time. I want you to tell me if you saw anything suspicious or unusual between approximately four thirty yesterday afternoon and about eleven thirty this morning. Think carefully please, anything you can tell me may be important.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. Are you sure you won’t come in for a nice cup of tea and a piece of sponge? It’s home-made.’
Harris made a mental commitment to call again when he had more time. ‘I’m really sorry. I would like to, honestly, but I must get on. I’ve got a lot more houses to visit.’
Mrs Evans looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, all right, you must visit again you know.’
‘I will. Goodbye for now.’
‘Goodbye, dear, don’t forget to call.’
As he walked away, pulling his coat around himself against the stinging rain, the old woman called after him in a faltering voice, ‘Oh, there was one thing. There was an old van outside the Mailers’ cottage. It was the middle of the night. I thought that was a bit odd.’
Harris felt as if a bolt of electricity were passing through his body. ‘I think I will have that cup of tea after all.’
He followed the old lady as she slowly manoeuvred herself towards her lounge, every item of furniture a seeming obstacle. When they eventually reached their destination, Mrs Evans gave him a beaming smile. ‘You sit yourself down there on the sofa, and I’ll get you that cuppa and a lovely piece of fresh sponge. I made it yesterday morning with plenty of strawberry jam.’