Dead Weight

by Frank Smith

  Parking on the short street was reserved for weddings, baptisms and funerals, according to the signs. Regular churchgoers knew to leave their cars in Market Square, which was empty on a Sunday morning, and walk the short distance to the church. Not so today, though; every space was filled, so Tregalles parked on a double yellow line and crossed his fingers as he walked away.

  Having telephoned ahead, he expected to meet Father Leonard inside the church, but as he walked up the steps, he heard someone call his name. He turned to see a tall, young, fair-haired man, wearing a sweatshirt, shorts and trainers, getting off a high-end racing bike. The man had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and legs like young saplings, and he couldn’t have been more than thirty.

  ‘Sergeant Tregalles?’ the man said again, and grinned. ‘Not quite what you were expecting, I can see,’ he said, extending his hand when Tregalles came back down the steps. ‘Father Leonard,’ he said. ‘Sorry if I kept you waiting; I was at the top of Long Hill when you called. I thought I would have plenty of time to get back, but traffic was heavy in the valley.’ He took a smartphone from a leather pouch on the handlebars. ‘Makes for uncomfortable riding when it’s in the back pocket,’ he said, ‘but you have to stay in touch in this job.’ He looked up as rain began to fall. ‘So, if you’d like to go into the church and take a pew, I’ll get rid of the bike and meet you in there in about five minutes … or maybe ten.’ Without waiting for a reply, he wheeled the bike towards a narrow passage between the church and the building next door and disappeared.

  Some fifteen minutes later, the priest reappeared, wearing a simple cassock. Walking up the aisle to where Tregalles sat waiting, he looked too young to be called Father. Handsome devil, too, Tregalles thought irreverently.

  The priest sat down and ran his fingers through damp hair. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said, ‘but it was a bit sticky riding this morning, so I took a quick shower. Now, you said on the phone that you wanted to talk to me about one of my parishioners? Who are we talking about?’

  ‘Justine Delgado,’ Tregalles said. ‘Do you recall if she attended the eight o’clock mass last Sunday?’

  ‘Justine?’ Father Leonard shot him a questioning look. ‘Mrs Lorrimer rang me yesterday to ask the very same question,’ he said. ‘Has something happened to Justine? Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s missing,’ Tregalles said. ‘According to Mrs Lorrimer, Justine left the house to attend the eight o’clock mass last Sunday morning, and she hasn’t been seen since. Do you recall seeing her at mass that morning?’

  The priest shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I have to tell you the same as I told Mrs Lorrimer,’ he said. ‘There were so many people here that morning, I honestly can’t remember if she was among them or not. I asked Mrs Lorrimer why she wanted to know, but she just muttered something I couldn’t catch, then apologized for troubling me and rang off. Mind you, it’s not like Justine to miss a Sunday, so she probably was here.’

  ‘Unfortunately, “probably” isn’t good enough,’ Tregalles said. ‘I need to know for certain when she was last seen. Do you remember the last time you did see her? I mean, wouldn’t she have to come to confession?’

  Father Leonard smiled indulgently. ‘No one has to come to confession,’ he said. ‘It is their choice, but, yes, as it happens, Justine was here last week, but not for confession. She was here in the church, praying, and young Michael Lorrimer was with her.’

  ‘Praying? Did you talk to her?’

  ‘No. I stopped and had a whispered word with Michael, but I left Justine to her prayers.’

  ‘Is that something she was in the habit of doing?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. That’s not to say she hasn’t been coming here to pray, but I haven’t seen her.’ He paused, eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘Except once,’ he continued slowly. ‘I saw her here around the beginning of the year, but I didn’t speak to her. She gave me the impression that she didn’t want to be disturbed.’

  ‘Did you know her well? Can you tell me anything about her?’ Tregalles asked. ‘We have so little to work with, so anything you can tell me would be appreciated.’

  The priest was shaking his head. ‘I can’t say I know her well,’ he said. ‘The reason I know her at all is because she is here as regular as clockwork every Sunday, but I doubt if we’ve exchanged more than a few dozen words since she started coming. She’s always struck me as a very private person.’

  ‘You say you had a word with Michael?’ Tregalles said. ‘We’ve been led to believe he doesn’t speak.’

  The priest smiled. ‘He doesn’t, but Justine must have told him to be quiet in church, so he shushed me by putting his fingers against his lips and shaking his head when I spoke to him.’

  Tregalles tried to think of a more productive line of questioning. ‘I know you can’t tell me what Justine said when she was last here for confession,’ he said, ‘but can you at least tell me if she seemed to be worried or concerned about anything?’

  Father Leonard shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,’ he said. ‘Not because of the constraints of the confessional,’ he added quickly, ‘but because Justine Delgado has not made her confession – at least not to me – since before last Christmas.’

  The classroom was much larger than Molly had imagined. Situated as it was at the end of the house, the east-facing windows looked out across the river valley to a row of once stately homes, now turned into flats, lining the hill on the far side. The river itself was hidden from view by the crest of the hill, but it could be seen from the south-facing windows as it wound its way down to the George IV bridge and beyond.

  Sylvia Lamb had told them that Simla House was divided into two parts: ‘the house’ and ‘the office’. As Molly wandered around the room, she couldn’t help wondering if it was really divided into three parts, the third part being the first floor of the south wing, where a small boy was being kept in virtual confinement, with only his nanny for company, because his father was away and his mother had never accepted him. Molly had encountered some strange family relationships in her time, but never one like this.

  Now, after an hour of fruitless searching, not just for the laptop, but anything else that might give her a clue to where Justine had gone, Molly was preparing to leave when she heard someone say, ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought I heard someone moving about in here.’ She turned to face the speaker who stood in the open doorway; a tall, dark-haired young man was eyeing her speculatively. ‘You must be the copper my mother was talking about,’ he said. ‘And a very nice one, too, I must say,’ he added appreciatively as he entered the room and stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Sebastian Mills, and you are …?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Forsythe,’ said Molly, ignoring the hand, ‘and since you’re here, Mr Mills, is there anything you can tell me that might explain the disappearance of Justine Delgado?’

  ‘Sebastian, please,’ he said, then shook his head. ‘Sorry, but I barely knew the woman. I only came down from Leeds last week, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

  ‘But she has been here for almost a year,’ said Molly, ‘so you must have some knowledge of her.’

  ‘Justine wasn’t the easiest person to get to know,’ he said. ‘She wasn’t interested in anything beyond her work up here with the kid. And, to be honest, not my type at all.’

  Sebastian Mills was an attractive man, but there was something about the way he looked at her, a sort of insolence behind predatory eyes that put her on her guard. Wearing a black T-shirt, shorts and trainers, there was a slight sheen to his well-muscled body that suggested he’d either been running or working out in the gym downstairs. He reminded Molly of his mother; again, it was the eyes – dark and expressive with long lashes of which any woman would be proud. But there was nothing effeminate about Sebastian Mills. He was all male … and didn’t he just know it!

  His lips curled ever so slightly; it was as if he were reading her thoughts, and Molly could feel her face becoming un
comfortably warm.

  ‘Even so,’ she said quickly, ‘living here under the same roof, if only for a few days, there must have been some contact between you. So if there is anything you can recall that Justine said or did that might help, please tell me.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think I saw her more than two or three times last week,’ he said, ‘and we certainly didn’t have any conversations. She spent most of her time up here, and I was downstairs or out somewhere, so I really can’t help you.’

  ‘What about last year? Holidays and Christmas?’ Molly persisted doggedly. ‘I know you were at university, but weren’t you here during the holidays?’

  ‘Part of the time, yes, but even then our paths seldom crossed.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  Sebastian pursed his lips. ‘Last Saturday afternoon, about …’ He stopped. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘the very last time I saw her was Sunday morning when I was getting dressed. She was going through the gate, trotting off to church like a good little Catholic.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘Seven thirty, maybe quarter to eight.’

  ‘And you are quite sure it was Justine you saw?’

  A flicker of irritation crossed Sebastian’s face. ‘I’ll admit I only saw the back of her, but nobody else around here has long black hair like that, so, yes, I’m sure it was Justine.’

  ‘Do you recall what she was wearing?’

  Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head like a child pretending to think hard. ‘She was wearing a coat,’ he said, ‘a light-coloured coat, but don’t ask me what colour it was because I couldn’t tell you. And black stockings … well, tights, I suppose they are. She has quite decent legs, actually.’

  Trust him to zero in on Justine’s legs, thought Molly. ‘Did you happen to notice anyone else out there? On the road or in the car park?’

  ‘No. But then I can’t see the road from my room because of the hedge.’ He smiled. ‘I can show you if you like; my room’s just down the corridor.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Mills, but I’ll take your word for it,’ Molly said crisply. ‘Do you remember if Justine was carrying anything?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Anything,’ Molly repeated as she picked up her handbag and slung it over her shoulder.

  Sebastian thought about that, then shook his head. ‘If she was, I don’t remember. Sorry.’

  ‘No need to be,’ Molly said, moving towards the door. ‘Every scrap of information helps, so thank you, Mr Mills. Now, if you’ll excuse me …?’

  Sebastian moved aside, but left only just enough room for her to get through the doorway without actually touching him. ‘I’ll walk with you,’ he said, falling into step beside her. ‘Do you have a number where I can call you? In case I think of anything that might help,’ he added quickly. ‘As I said, I didn’t really know Justine well, but I might think of something. And if there is anything you would like to ask me, I can give you my number.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Molly said as she took out a card and handed it to him. ‘But there is one thing you can help me with. It’s about your brother.’

  ‘My bro—?’ Sebastian stared at her. ‘Oh, you mean Michael?’ The corners of his mouth turned down in a grimace of distaste. ‘He may be my half-brother,’ he said coldly, ‘but with almost twenty years between us, we hardly have anything in common. And why my mother ever agreed to have him at her age, God only knows. She wanted to abort, but Stephen talked her round, and you can see how that turned out. Damn near killed her, and for what? You have seen him, haven’t you?’

  They paused at the head of the stairs.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Molly said. ‘Your mother doesn’t want us to talk to him for fear of upsetting him, but it’s just possible that Justine told the boy something about where she was going on Sunday. So I was wondering …’

  Sebastian Mills shook his head. ‘If you’re looking to me to put a word in, forget it!’ he said. ‘Besides, I know Stephen quizzed him when they realized she might be missing, but the kid didn’t know anything.’

  Molly frowned. ‘Quizzed him how, exactly?’ she asked.

  ‘The kid can hear and understand everything you say to him, and he’s been trained to use a phone or laptop to type replies. He’s actually quite good at it,’ Sebastian added grudgingly, ‘but he still makes those godawful noises when he tries to talk.’ Sebastian made a face. ‘Justine is supposed to have training in speech therapy, but I can’t see much difference in the kid since I was here last Christmas. God knows what sort of state he’ll be in when he finds out that Justine isn’t … well … might not be coming back at all.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s coming back?’ asked Molly sharply.

  Sebastian shrugged. ‘I could be wrong,’ he said, ‘but say what you like about Justine, she was more than attached to the kid; she hardly ever left him out of her sight, so I can’t see her just taking off like that and lying to my mother about going to see a friend without something pretty serious going on in her life.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Not the foggiest,’ he said with a shrug, ‘but my guess is that wherever she is, she isn’t there voluntarily or she’d have been in touch.’

  SIX

  Maria Navarro was a slight, dark-haired young woman who looked extremely tired. ‘Not a very good day in Casualty,’ she told Tregalles as she filled a large mug with coffee from the urn, then selected a blueberry muffin and two pats of butter. ‘I need a jolt,’ she confided with a weary smile. ‘It was a madhouse. I don’t know what was happening out there on the streets, but we had three accident victims with multiple injuries, a heart attack, and a patient we had to helicopter to Birmingham, plus all the usual stuff, and we’re a doctor short.’ She brushed a wisp of hair away from her eyes. ‘So this is my lunch,’ she ended, holding up her plate.

  Tregalles filled a mug himself and moved ahead of her to pay for both at the till. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like anything else?’ he asked before he handed over the money.

  The young nurse smiled and shook her head. ‘Thanks, but this is all I need for now.’ She led the way to a quiet corner and sat down. Her eyes were troubled as she met those of Tregalles across the table. ‘So, Justine is still missing,’ she said softly. ‘When Mrs Lorrimer telephoned yesterday to ask me if I knew where Justine was, I thought it was strange that she would go off like that, but when you rang the hospital and said you wanted to talk to me, I really began to worry. Do you have any idea what could have happened to her?’ She took a tentative sip of coffee, then proceeded to pull the muffin apart and butter it.

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve very little to go on,’ Tregalles replied, ‘which is why I’m here, hoping that you might be able to help me. Did you see or hear from Justine at all last Sunday?’ He tried his own coffee, winced and set it down again.

  ‘Mrs Lorrimer asked me the same thing yesterday,’ Maria said, ‘and I told her I haven’t seen or spoken to Justine for more than a week. And when she told me that Justine had said she was spending the day with me on Sunday, I couldn’t believe it. I was working on Sunday, and we had no plans to meet, so I don’t understand why Justine would say that.’

  ‘Do you attend St Joseph’s?’ he asked.

  Maria grimaced guiltily. ‘Sometimes,’ she said cautiously. ‘Why?’

  ‘What about last Sunday? Did you attend mass before coming to work?’

  ‘No, I was on the same shift as I am today – seven till three, although it was more like half past five by the time I got back to the house that day. I was supposed to be doing some of the preparations for our Easter dinner, but I had to phone and let the others know I’d be late.’

  ‘The house?’ Tregalles queried. ‘You don’t live in the residence?’

  ‘No. I live in an old house in Cogshill Lane. There are six of us. We share the work and share the rent. It’s like a mini co-op.’

  ‘Did Justine have any
other close friends?’ he asked. ‘Mrs Lorrimer seems quite certain that Justine said she would be spending the day with you, but she could have been mistaken – perhaps Justine was talking about some other friend?’

  Maria shook her head slowly. ‘She isn’t what you would call a social person; she keeps pretty much to herself, and she’s never mentioned anyone to me.’

  ‘What about a boyfriend? Did she ever speak of a man? Perhaps someone she’d met recently?’

  ‘No. Justine doesn’t have time for them,’ she said. ‘I mean that literally; I don’t mean she’s gay or anything like that. It’s just that she’s too immersed in her work. That’s all she ever talks about … well, except when we start talking about things back home.’ Maria’s eyes drifted away. ‘I’m afraid we’re both a little homesick, but when the jobs and the money are here, what can you do? I’m hoping to go home for a visit next year, but I know Justine intends to keep working here as long as she can. She works very hard, but the Lorrimers have been extremely good to her, and they pay her well, which is how she is able to support her grandfather in the care home in Manila. But she really should get out more. I almost have to bully her into coming out with me at times. The thing is, I know she enjoys herself when she does come out, but you can see she’s anxious to get back after she’s been out for a couple of hours. She’s mother, father, teacher, nurse, you name it, to Michael Lorrimer.’

  ‘What about his own mother?’ Tregalles asked. ‘We’re getting the impression that she doesn’t want anything to do with the boy. Has Justine talked to you about that?’

  Maria picked up her mug with both hands and propped her elbows on the table. ‘Mr Lorrimer told Justine that his wife almost died when she was having Michael. There were complications; she had a fever and had to be kept in hospital for weeks, so she never even saw her baby until he was about six weeks old. And when she discovered that Michael was disabled, she couldn’t handle it; she had a breakdown and spent quite some time in therapy, but it didn’t help. She still couldn’t bring herself to treat the boy as her own. Anyway, that’s why they hired a nanny.’ Maria set her mug down. ‘But I don’t see how any of what I’m telling you is going to help you find Justine.’