Inspector Kirby and Harold Longcoat

by Ian Martyn

  Yes, sir. Er, whereabouts?’

  Kirby looked at Susie.

  ‘The Robinson Library?’

  ‘Got that, Constable?’

  ‘Sir.’

  Stepping back to the kerb some smartarse had put a square of crime scene tape around the shoes. The two patrol officers avoided his gaze. He was about harangue them about wasting precious police resources when something on the other side of the tape to the shoes caught his eye. It was just a stone, well not just a stone, it was smooth, more what he thought of as a pebble than a stone. Bending down he picked it up. It fitted into the palm of his hand. It looked and felt like an innocuous pebble, but to Kirby’s mind it didn’t belong there. He tossed it into the air once, then stood still and put it into his pocket.

  ‘Shall we?’ he said to Susie.

  two

  ‘Sorry, Susie, take me through it again,’ Kirby said, as he pulled out onto Osbourne Road, more for the sake of avoiding the ‘police car silence’ than a belief he was going to gain any new insight. ‘She hadn’t done anything like this before?’ he asked when she’d finished.

  Susie shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘And she seemed alright to you when she left?’

  ‘Guess so. I only saw her for a second.’

  ‘And you say they’re new shoes, bought yesterday?’

  ‘Yes. She got them from a little shop on Clayton Road. Mystique, I think it’s called. It’s become a favourite of hers recently. They sell lots of quirky stuff. Not my sort of thing but Sarah seems to like it. D’you think that’s important?’

  Inspector Kirby nodded slowly while tapping on the steering wheel. He hadn’t a clue whether it was important or not. It was just his detective brain working on its own, then connecting to his mouth without his conscious mind having any say in it. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Nowhere else she might be? What about parents, grandparents?’

  Susie shook her head. ‘Her mum’s not around. Her dad works in town. He’s something big in Bertrands. You know, that construction company. Always jetting off all over the place. I’ve a number for him if you want it?’

  ‘Thanks, remind me when we get to the library.’

  Pulling into the university car park, Kirby watched with some amusement as a uniformed man in the security kiosk glanced towards them, knocked something over, then jumped up, jamming a cap on his head. You didn’t need to be a lip-reader to understand what he was saying. Kirby pressed down for his window.

  The shouted words, ‘you can’t come in here without a permit!’ preceded the man as he emerged from the kiosk, red faced and wiping at his trousers with a handkerchief.

  Kirby held out his warrant card. ‘I think you’ll find I can.’

  The man squinted at the card as if trying to come up with a reason why it didn’t count. He gave up and stomped his way back inside the kiosk. The barrier rose.

  ‘Thank you ever so much,’ Kirby called in an over-cheery voice as they drove through. He glanced across at Susie who was grinning. ‘One of the few perks of being a copper.’

  Outside the library, the WPC was waiting.

  ‘Susie, this is the excellent Constable Shirley Barker. Constable this is Susie Summer.’ The two women shook hands. ‘Did the boys tell you what’s going on?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She glanced across at Susie who was studying her feet. ‘Bit early though isn’t it, sir? I mean…’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean, Constable. But the girl left her shoes.’

  ‘Shoes, sir, yes. Er, perhaps she didn’t like them? Or she had some others with her.’

  ‘Susie?’ Kirby said.

  Susie looked up from the floor. ‘She loved them, they were new. And no, I don’t believe she had any others with her. Why would she?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Kirby said. ‘Why would she. Constable?’

  Constable Barker shrugged.

  ‘And they weren’t just abandoned. They were laced-up and placed neatly side by side. That strike you as a bit odd?’

  Constable Barker raised a finger as if about to argue. Seeing Kirby’s eyes focused on her, she lowered the finger. ‘Yes, sir. Odd.’

  Kirby smiled. ‘Good, I’m glad we agree.’

  Constable Barker gave him a “well, you’re the boss” look. ‘So why are we here, sir? I thought, Miss Summer had already phoned.’

  Kirby nodded. ‘Crossing ‘i’s and dotting ‘t’s. Detail Constable. What am I always telling you?’

  ‘The Devil’s in the detail, sir.’

  ‘And speaking of the Devil, what would the super say if by some remote chance she was here?’

  ‘Ah, I’m with you, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  The door swished open and the three of them entered the reception area.

  ‘Constable, why don’t you and Susie have a look around for yourselves? Ask anyone if they’ve seen Sarah? I’ll try reception.’

  As the two women wandered off, Kirby approached the desk. The receptionist looked up as he produced his warrant card. The woman blinked but didn’t smile. Whatever irresistible atmosphere it was that libraries possessed kicked in and Kirby dropped his voice to a whisper. He took his phone out. ‘We were wondering if you’ve seen this girl this morning?’

  ‘Sorry?’ the woman said leaning forward.

  ‘We were wondering…’ The woman leaned forward again. Sod it, he thought to himself. He raised his voice. ‘We were wondering if you’ve seen this girl this morning?’

  ‘Shhh, please, this is a library.’

  Kirby glanced around and concluded that the only thing he might be disturbing was the sleep of two students at the nearest table, who had their heads down resting on their arms.

  Kirby leant down and forward with the phone in front of him. He kept his voice at the same level. ‘Well?’

  The woman moved back as if the power of his voice was too much for her. She glanced at the two sleeping students who hadn’t even twitched. ‘Er, no. Sorry, Inspector. I do recognise her. She’s a regular visitor and a nice girl from what I can tell. I’ve been here since just after eight, with the exception of a couple of short breaks. She turned to the woman at a desk behind her. ‘Joan?’ The woman looked up. ‘Joan, did this girl the inspector’s looking for come in while you were on reception?’ Joan joined them and studied the picture on Kirby’s phone. She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Thank you, ladies,’ A few minutes later Constable Barker and Susie returned. ‘Anything?’

  ‘No,’ they said at the same time.

  Kirby glanced around the room, his gaze ending up back on the two sleeping students, one of who was now snoring softly. ‘So, Sarah hasn’t been in the library this morning, with or without shoes?’ As they left the library, Kirby loosened his tie and undid his top button. A small concession to the warm day to come. ‘So where now?’

  ‘The department?’ Susie suggested.

  ‘Sorry, Susie, I never asked what you and Sarah are studying.’

  ‘We’re both doing archaeology,’

  ‘Really? My daughter’s doing archaeology at York.’

  Susie nodded. ‘I thought about York. But I wanted to stay local as Mum’s on her own.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Kirby said. ‘So where’s archaeology these days?’

  Susie pointed to her right. ‘It’s over in the Armfield building.’

  Kirby set off in the direction she indicated. ‘Well, well, still in the good old Armfield.’

  ‘You know it?’

  ‘Yes. I did zoology there, over twenty-five years ago.’

  Barker came alongside him. ‘Really, sir?’

  Kirby glanced at her. ‘Yes I know, Constable, amazing, isn’t it, a copper my age with an education?’

  ‘Sorry, sir, didn’t mean it like that.’

  Outside the Armfield, Kirby paused and looked up at the imposing facade and the main tower with its turrets.

  ‘We going in, sir?’ Barker asked.

  ‘Yes, sorry, Constable,’ Kirby said as they approached the
doors. ‘Takes me back, that’s all.’ His echoing footsteps brought back more memories as they walked across the stone floor of the entrance foyer towards the rather grand main staircase. Even the vague musty smell with just a hint of polish and formalin was as he remembered.

  Constable Barker looked around. ‘Very nice. A bit wasted on students thought isn’t it, sir?’

  ‘I think, Constable, that the Victorians believed learning was worth celebrating.’

  ‘If you say so, sir.’

  In the archaeology department there was no sign of Sarah, nor had anyone seen her since the previous afternoon.

  ‘That it then, sir?’ Barker asked when they were back outside, this time in the quadrangle at the back of the building.

  Kirby took in the scene that had changed little since his day. ‘We’ll call in the Union while we’re here.’

  Susie shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t have gone in there at this time of day. Too many possible distractions.’

  Kirby smiled. ‘We’ll try anyway. Met my wife Jeanie there at the end of our first year.’

  As Kirby strode ahead, Constable Barker fell in alongside Susie. ‘Just so you know, the inspector lost his wife a few years back.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Walking down the “Quad”, retracing familiar steps towards the students union, memories came tumbling back into Kirby’s mind. The faces of friends he’d lost touch with long ago. His palm tingled as he relived the thrill of holding hands with Jeanie in those first few weeks together. That was the trouble with memories, they hid themselves away, and then when triggered, they would emerge to snag you in nostalgia. Things you didn’t even remember remembering would pop into your head from so long ago. They walked through one of the two arches, then over the road to stand in front of the red brick union building. Kirby stopped below the steps leading up to the main entrance. He hadn’t stood here since his student days. He remembered the first time he’d bumped into Jeanie, literally. It was June, the end of the summer term. He was walking up the steps with a group of friends when one of them pushed him. He’d stumbled into her, making her spill the half pint of lager she had in her hand.

  ‘Oi, watch it, you big oaf,’ had been her first romantic words to him. He’d apologised and, being a well-brought-up young man, he’d offered to buy her another drink. He smiled to himself, the fact that she had the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen, and was wearing a low-cut T-shirt, had nothing to do with it of course. She’d followed him in. ‘In that case I’ll have a pint.’ He’d grinned at her, she had smiled back and that was it, smitten. Well at least he was. She had taken a bit more convincing.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Sorry, Constable. I was miles away. Or rather twenty-five years or so.’

  Inside, they put out an announcement over the Tannoy for Sarah or anyone who had seen her that day. Neither Sarah nor anyone else came forward. However, Kirby insisted on looking around. The men’s bar was still called the men’s bar, which surprised him in this more PC age. The decor had changed but the smell of stale beer took him back. He stared across at what had been their favourite corner, for no good reason other than he and Jeanie had always sat there. He could see her now on their first date. As he went to the bar, she was giggling with her friends while they studied him.

  On what had been “level six” in his day he remembered the late nights, getting drunk and what had passed for dancing.

  ‘That it then, sir?’ Barker asked when they were in the lobby again.

  ‘Yes, Constable, I think so.’

  With a last look around and a nod to the ghosts in his head, Kirby walked out of the front doors and back down the steps. He glanced back, half expecting a twenty-year-old Jeanie to come running after him as she had done so often, usually with something he’d left behind. He took a deep breath and returned to the present.

  ‘You OK, sir?’

  Kirby cleared his throat. ‘Er, yes, Constable. You take Susie home will you?’ He turned to Susie. ‘I never asked, where do you and Sarah live?’

  ‘We share a flat – 35 Eslington terrace, near the Metro station.’

  ‘I know it. Sorry but it’s a bit upmarket around there for a student flat, isn’t it?’

  Susie smiled. ‘It’s her dad’s. He owns a few, I think. I give Sarah the rent. She calls it our good-times fund.’

  Kirby nodded. ‘I’ll go and see her father if he’s around,’ he said to Constable Barker

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘And Susie.’

  ‘Yes, Inspector?’

  ‘Perhaps you’d come down to the station and give a full statement?’

  ‘Gladly.’

  ‘Thank you. Tell you what, before that, why don’t you take Constable Barker here back to your place? Let her have a look at Sarah’s room.’

  Sarah glanced at the constable, who smiled back. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Oh and Sarah’s dad’s number?’

  Kirby wrote the number on the back of one of his cards. He then let the girls wander off before drifting back to his own car, the memories still rolling through his mind. That’s the trouble when you’re young, he thought, you don’t know just how lucky you are sometimes. Then he thought about some of the kids he came across in the course of his job and revised that to - most don’t know how lucky they are.

  The thoughts of young people returned him to Sarah. So she hadn’t been where she’d said she’d be. Nothing unusual in that. A girl was allowed to change her mind, or so his wife had always told him. But without her shoes? And as he put a hand in his pocket, his finger closed around the pebble. A second thing that didn’t feel right and Kirby didn’t believe in coincidence.

  As he drove through the barrier, he waved a cheery hand out of the window to the man in the kiosk. ‘Many thanks again!’

  three

  Kirby parked his car then walked back on to Grey Street with its imposing stone buildings, built by people who, it seemed to Kirby, must have been rather certain of their place in the world. To his right, was old man Grey himself keeping an eye on the city from the top of his monument. Kirby sometimes wondered how much of an honour it really was to have a statue of yourself erected so that pigeons could then crap on your head. It occurred to him that it might be a bit of a metaphor for life.

  A hundred yards or so in the opposite direction he came to a large brass plaque which announced that these were the offices of Bertrands Construction, Est. 1927. Through a gleaming brass-and-glass revolving door, the reception area was all polished wood with marble tiled floors and a smell of beeswax, something his mum had always been fond of using. Kirby glanced up at three large portraits of Charles Bertrand and his two sons, Edward and Joseph, all looking every bit the well-to-do entrepreneurs. On a low dark-wood table were copies of a glossy brochure titled, The History of Bertrands Construction. Very impressive, he thought. What they didn’t tell you of course was that in the late Sixties Joseph had run off with the nanny to become an ageing hippy in California, and that Edward had narrowly escaped jail after being linked with T Dan Smith in the Seventies.

  A well-made-up and manicured receptionist behind yet more polished wood smiled at him. ‘Can I help you?’

  He showed his warrant card. ‘I’m here to see Mr Cooper.’

  ‘I’ll see if he’s in and able to see you,’ she said, reaching for the phone.

  ‘He is and he can,’ Kirby said as he headed to the lift. ‘Which floor?’

  ‘Er, six.’

  As the doors closed, he heard. ‘There’s a police inspector on his way up. I tried…’

  When the doors slid open, a man was standing there. He was wearing suit trousers, but no jacket or tie. His top button was undone and his sleeves were rolled up. He held out his hand. ‘John Cooper.’

  Kirby shook it. ‘Inspector Kirby.’ Several pairs of eyes poked above waist-level, grey dividing screens.

  John Cooper smiled. ‘You haven’t told me what all this is about, Inspector.’

  ‘No,’ Kirby smiled
back. ‘In your office, perhaps?’

  Mr Cooper glanced around. ‘Of course, this way.’ The eyes followed them. As they approached the office a woman looked up from her desk and smiled.

  ‘Can we get you a coffee?’ Mr Cooper asked.

  ‘Thank you. White no sugar.’

  ‘Julie, would you mind?’

  ‘Of course not. And you John?’

  ‘Please.’

  Kirby decided he liked the man. The company may appear traditional and stuffy but John Cooper wasn’t. The plaque on the door read “Finance Director”. The office itself was in the corner of the building with views down Grey Street and High Bridge. ‘Very nice,’ Kirby said, looking out back up towards the theatre which stood there doing its best, he always thought, to look like a Greek temple with its impressive columns and portico.

  ‘Thank you. Seat?’ Cooper said pointing to a leather sofa and chair on either side of a low table rather than the formidable-looking desk. They sat, Kirby in the chair, and the door opened.

  ‘Thanks, Julie,’ Mr Cooper said as he took the coffees from her. ‘And can you make sure we’re not disturbed?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So, Inspector?’

  Kirby smiled. ‘I would tell you not to worry. But then I’m here so you will. It’s about Sarah, she’s…’

  ‘Is she in trouble? Hurt? What’s happened?’

  Kirby held up both hands. ‘Please.’

  Mr Cooper sat back and then forward again.

  ‘It appears she’s gone missing.’ Again he held up a hand. ‘Just this morning. It may well be nothing.’

  ‘But you’re here, so you don’t think it’s nothing.’

  ‘We’re just being cautious. We were contacted by her flatmate, Susie.’ Kirby relayed a succinct account of the facts, what Susie had told him and the visit to the university. ‘So I wanted to ask if there is anywhere you think she might have gone or anyone she might have gone to?’

  ‘Without her shoes?’

  ‘Her mother perhaps?’

  Mr Cooper sat up straighter before lowering his gaze and shaking his head. ‘Her mother? No. We don’t know where she is, even if she’s alive.’ The clenching of a fist told Kirby all he needed to know about what Mr Cooper thought of Sarah’s mother. ‘So, no, Sarah has no interest in her mother.’