by Alex Clare
‘Still seems unlikely.’ Robyn risked a glance across.
‘Well, he wouldn’t have made the call himself – he’d have got someone to do it for him.’ Graham raised his eyebrows.
‘But it’s incredibly risky for Micky. The Dearmans would be putting themselves in the frame for the girl’s death, when it’s not going to hold up the development for more than a few weeks. It doesn’t sound worth it.’
Diving through a gap, Graham parked again in the loading bay. ‘It’s nearly closing time. Come on.’ He led the way towards the access passage. Robyn watched him for a few steps and followed. Graham shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t think the Dearmans killed a woman though. Not their style.’
‘No.’ Robyn nodded agreement. ‘Are you saying they didn’t know the body was there? Or, did someone tip us off about the drugs shipment and the body is just a coincidence?’
‘Micky’s got manners. He wouldn’t want someone to kill a girl and get away with it.’
Robyn glanced at Graham: he didn’t look as if he was joking. The concourse was almost empty, the first shutters coming down. Near the pharmacy, a man in baggy combat shorts was marking out the floor with masking tape.
Robyn nodded for Graham to continue on. ‘Excuse me. What’s happening here?’
The man tore off a strip of tape with his teeth and stuck it to the floor before reaching for a plan. ‘Promotion for the college tomorrow. A load of stands.’
‘When do they get taken down?’
The man traced a line on a plan. ‘Tomorrow night.’ He stretched his measuring tape almost across Robyn’s feet.
Robyn stepped back. This ruled out a reconstruction tomorrow but it had been wishful thinking to imagine they could organise one so quickly. What was more worrying was that no one in the team had spoken up to say so.
Graham was sitting in a corner of the staff room with a slight youth with headphones around his neck. His glance towards Robyn became a long appraisal until he smiled, lines appearing around his eyes, ageing him.
‘Guv, this is Jaime Restrepo.’ Robyn cleared faded magazines and sat down. She shifted an inch back on the sofa, feeling Jaime’s gaze like a physical force. Graham leant forward, the chair grating as its legs shifted. ‘Jaime works dusk and dawn shifts, finishing at eight o’clock which meant he was on his way out when he saw Ben and gone before we arrived.’
Robyn had to fight a sudden urge to run her fingers through her hair. ‘Jaime, can you tell us what you saw yesterday morning?’
‘I told it on the radio. I finish here, start to go to college. Not many people so I see the little boy.’ Jaime’s long fingers were twisting through the headphone cable.
‘Was there anyone with him?’ Graham pulled out his notebook.
Jaime’s face lifted and met Robyn’s. There was too much knowledge to hold the gaze more than a second.
Graham coughed. ‘Was anyone with the boy?’
‘No. Then kids turn up and boy was in middle. Before I do anything, woman in dress call his name, pick him up …’
‘Where was the woman before?’ Graham poised, pen above paper.
‘I no see.’ The deep brown eyes stroked across Robyn again.
‘And then?’ Graham raised his voice.
‘Boy was quiet, think everything OK. Woman talking to him.’
She was getting used to being stared at but this level of scrutiny felt far more intimate. Robyn told herself she couldn’t afford to be distracted. ‘Can you describe the woman?’
‘She wear sunglasses, big ones. Over her face.’ He mimed the size of the lenses. ‘Mostly ordinary. Like an aunt or granny.’
The information is there, don’t push, keep him talking. ‘Where are you from, Jaime?’
‘Venezuela. I have to leave.’
‘Why?’
Jaime ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. His left ear had an ugly rip where part had been slashed away. ‘I’m gay.’ He let the hair flop back. ‘Some people think is no good.’
Robyn tried to think of something to say and was glad when her phone buzzed. She nodded back to Graham, who began a question. Robyn stared at the message from Tracey. Meeting with Fell 2pm tomorrow, no excuses. A bald man appeared in the doorway, directing a stream of Spanish at Jaime.
‘I got to go. My supervisor.’ Jaime stood, turned so his back was towards Robyn, legs pressed together as he bent to retrieve a grey boiler suit. He lifted one leg and began to pull the suit on over his tight jeans.
‘We need you to come to the station with us to complete an E-FIT of the woman you saw.’ She would have to get Graham to lead the session because the prospect of being in a small interview room with Jaime’s intense gaze was not something she wanted to deal with.
The boy stopped, overalls halfway up. ‘I can no go. Days, I go to college, nights and mornings, I work here.’
The supervisor tapped his watch. Robyn took two steps towards him, smiling into his anger.
‘We are taking Jaime with us because he needs to give evidence.’ The glare had turned into a sneer. ‘And if I find he’s in any trouble when he gets back, I’ll charge you with obstructing the police.’
As they walked past the half-built stands, Graham took his hands out of his pockets. ‘So, it’s an older woman. We’re narrowing it down.’
Behind them there was the scuff of Jaime’s feet. He had his music back on.
18
‘Hi, Khalid, we’re on our way back to the station with a witness who saw the snatch and can give us a description.’ Robyn ignored Graham, who’d made it clear he thought involving the Communications team was pointless.
‘Great news. How long do you think it’ll take?’
‘Hard to say. Could be a couple of hours.’
‘OK. I’ll let the media know so they give it space. If we can get it out by ten pm, we should meet the newspapers’ deadlines, then have a press conference in the morning. You OK to front it?’
The car jerked forward as Graham accelerated. There was a gasp from the back seat.
Standing in front of the press wasn’t an attractive thought but she wasn’t going to admit it. ‘Of course, bye.’
They drove into the station car park.
‘Jaime, DS Catt will take you through the E-FIT.’ Robyn opened her door.
‘Righto, this way.’ If Graham was thinking anything was odd, he didn’t show it as he shepherded Jaime across the car park.
Robyn watched them go, feeling purposeless. She felt more useful when she got to the incident room. Ravi leapt up with an eager expression.
‘I’ve got a photo of Gorton.’ He pointed to the board. ‘It’s a few years old, from a school where she taught. She’s retired now but she’s got a criminal record for assaulting a police officer on a picket line. She’s also disappeared. Neighbours haven’t seen her since Monday afternoon and her car’s gone.’ He ran out of breath.
‘Good work, Ravi. We’ve got the witness from the shopping centre in an interview room. See whether he recognises Gorton.’
Unpinning the photo from the board, Ravi dashed out.
‘Right, the reconstruction. Janice, how are you getting on?’ Robyn paused. ‘OK, where’s Janice?’ It was worrying she again hadn’t noticed Janice wasn’t there.
‘She went up to London, Guv, to see Ms Chivers’ relatives. Asked me to mention this.’ Lorraine stretched across her desk and held up a plastic wallet filled with printed sheets. ‘Janice was looking into Ms Chivers’ church. It’s part of some “global network of faith”.’ She shook her head. ‘They really are barking. Like, they say families are supposed to have lots of kids to keep the faith strong but then they shouldn’t vaccinate them because God created everything perfect and that’s enough.’ She frowned. ‘But get this. They believe that if they do something against the law of man, it’s OK as long as it’s for God’s purposes. That means, it’s fine for them to obstruct clinics and harass anyone trying to go in. And she spoke to someone in the US who was
able to look up that preacher of theirs, the Reverend Lewis – he was arrested for attempted murder in the States for running over a doctor with his car.’
Robyn took the file. ‘Interesting but if Ms Chivers is a member of the church, I couldn’t see them harming one of their own, can you? What about Ben’s father?’
Lorraine shuffled one set of papers to the side and pulled over another pile. ‘Right. Ben was born in September. Her church doesn’t allow IVF treatment because it’s “playing God”, which means Ben was conceived the old-fashioned way.’ She grinned, reminding Robyn of Graham. ‘So, Chivers got together with the father around Christmastime, three years ago. We know she was signed up to at least one dating agency.’ Lorraine pointed to a print-out. ‘I’ve contacted the company. It’s one where you’re not allowed in unless you’re a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon. They remember Chivers being pickier about the health and qualifications of potential matches than looks. She also specifically requested a white partner.’ Lorraine tapped Melissa’s picture. ‘The question is why? It meant she reduced her choice and the dating agency told me a couple of potential matches turned her down. They didn’t say so but I’m guessing it was because she was black. Why make such a fuss unless it was really important? Either way, she only met two men in the year she was a member and requested no further contact after the first meetings. Then, she let her membership lapse many months before Ben was conceived. So I think she found herself a baby-father somewhere else.’
‘Work?’ Robyn leaned back in her chair. ‘Or church?’
‘Exactly, one of those two. After all, she doesn’t seem to have much else and seems too concerned about good genes to pick someone up in a nightclub. I reckon she found someone at work, because the church’s congregation is more likely to be couples and they wouldn’t approve of adultery. Plus, I can see her going for someone with lots of qualifications, like a lawyer.’
‘Rutherford, do you think?’
Lorraine chewed her lip. ‘I don’t think so. From what I’ve seen, the gentleman prefers blondes. He wouldn’t be able to get rid of Ms Chivers easily, either. No, someone else.’
Robyn crossed her legs, feeling the strain in the taping and uncrossed them. ‘But, if the father works with Ms Chivers, how would he not know she was pregnant? A client, perhaps?’
The door opened. Ravi and Graham appeared, shoulders drooping. There was no need to ask whether Jaime had recognised Maggie Gorton.
Graham threw himself into a chair. Ravi filled the blank space on the board with the new E-FIT. Robyn and Lorraine moved closer.
‘That could be anybody.’ Lorraine spoke for both of them.
‘Our boy was happy with it. He described the bloody dress better than the woman and he wouldn’t commit about Maggie Gorton. Said it could have been her.’ Graham flicked an elastic band which hit the image between the eyes. ‘But it might not be.’
‘Well, it’s the best we’ve got and it will make tomorrow’s papers.’ Robyn raised her voice. ‘We have to find this woman. Ravi, find Gorton, check her friends, family and get a warrant to search St Oswald’s.’
‘I’ll see if anyone recognises this picture or Gorton at Derby and Rutherford when I get the staff and client lists first thing tomorrow.’ Lorraine sat down.
‘All this makes me wonder about Rutherford. He’s hiding something.’ Robyn stared at the ceiling, trying to organise her thoughts.
‘Too right, Guv.’ Graham leaned back in his chair. ‘My source said Rutherford’s father and old man Dearman go way back.’
‘Something to remember in case Rutherford reminds me again he knows Fell.’ Robyn clapped her hands. ‘Right – we need to make sure everything is ready for the reconstruction.’
‘Unless we find him before then.’ Ravi spoke for all of them.
No one wanted to be the first to leave. At seven-thirty, Robyn ordered pizzas, remembering to take advantage of ‘Two for One Tuesday’. She reread statements from the shopping centre’s staff, chin on her hand, feeling stubble. At eight-thirty, Ravi took a call and blushed, bending to muffle his words. When he came off the phone, Graham threw a ball of paper at him. ‘Has your mummy got dinner ready, Raver? Can we all come?’
For Robyn, it looked like a sign enough was enough and she held up her hand before Ravi could reply. ‘OK, I think we call it a day. Thank you everyone, we’ve made some progress. Now it’s time to go home. Oh, one bit of good news. Fell has promised us more resources tomorrow.’
As she pulled out of the car park, the confused mess of impressions in her mind became the dull certainty of no milk at home. She was in the wrong lane of the roundabout for the superstore on the ring road and the prospect of navigating miles of aisles was not enticing. She turned into the mid-sized store on the Barton Road. The car park was nearly empty – she’d be able to slip in and out.
After the soft twilight, the spotlights at the entrance seemed too harsh to light a few ragged bunches of flowers. Squinting, she stopped in front of the depleted newspaper stand to get her bearings.
Someone walked into her from behind. ‘Watch out!’
Robyn muttered an apology without turning round. She tried to think: milk, bread, soup: did she need loo roll? And beer. She’d drunk the house dry while she’d been off, a combination of celebration and Dutch courage. She decided it was easiest to just go up and down and take what she needed.
A minute later, glancing up, she became aware that a knot of people were staring at her. There was no shame in their scrutiny; Robyn looked at them, they looked at her. Things were balanced in her arms because she hadn’t thought she’d need a basket. By resting the loaf against a padded breast, she could free one hand to pick up what was in front of her, showing she’d meant to stop here all along. It was rice pudding – just the sort of comfort food she fancied but shouldn’t eat if she wanted to fit into a size fourteen dress. The group kept up their scrutiny, all their jaws chomping gum. An older woman with homemade tattoos pointed at her. ‘You’re the policeman off the telly.’
Robyn stood her ground, the groceries clutched like a shield.
‘The one hunting for the little boy.’ The group began talking amongst themselves, praising Ben’s cuteness and describing what they would like to do to the person who’d taken him. Robyn relaxed. There seemed to be no need for her to say anything, just stand and be talked at.
‘Are you getting your bollocks chopped off?’ This voice was different, harsher; Robyn thought this came from the one with the vest-top straps sunk between rolls of flesh. ‘Like on Jeremy Kyle,’ another voice added. The tone was curious.
Robyn smiled, while she thought of something to say. The tannoy asked Sandra to take a call on line two and gave her a few extra seconds. ‘Yes, I’m the detective hunting for Ben. Were any of you shopping yesterday morning? Did you see anything?’
There was a collective intake of breath and a pause in the chewing. Robyn guessed being asked, in public, to help the police was not something they felt comfortable with. She smiled again. ‘Well, if you do think of anything, we’d be grateful. Good night.’
The urge to escape was paramount, stronger even than the desire for a drink. She got to the checkout without further comment, though her skin prickled, all the way to the car and home.
There was no post in the dark hallway, only a message on the answering machine. ‘Hello, ah, hello. This is Keith from Camera Club. We’ve seen you on the news and guessed, ah, you won’t be able to do your talk at the meeting tomorrow. Val has stepped in and is going to talk about her landscape work. Perhaps you can do yours when you’re a bit less busy. Bye.
Camera Club. She’d been supposed to run a session for Camera Club tomorrow night. The talk was ready, prepared during her time off, as an antidote to the more serious steps towards her transition. For her first talk to the club since she’d joined, she was going to talk about portraits and how to capture the inner essence of someone, which fitted with introducing herself as Robyn rather than Roger. Another
chance missed.
The pizza seemed like a long time ago so a soup bowl joined the previous night’s washing up on the counter. Installing a dishwasher was one of the many things she needed to do to the house because everything still reflected her parents and the fussy décor they’d put up in the enthusiasm of new retirement. She’d got round to replacing the soppy watercolour landscapes and nautical scenes with prints of her own photographs, including, in pride of place above the fireplace, the one commended in the Kent Print Cup. The other change was the new bed bought for the master bedroom: you couldn’t sleep on the bed where your mother had died. Roger’s childhood room was now where junk was kept. It was becoming a habit to just throw something in there and say she would deal with it later.
She was in the bathroom when the phone rang and the answering machine kicked in downstairs before she could get to it.
Hello, leave a message after the beep.
‘Hello?’
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Roger?’
Robyn let her neck go slack. She’d last spoken to Julie six months ago, when they had agreed how they were going to fund a car for Becky. It had been a civilised conversation between two concerned parents. The voice now at the end of the phone sounded near hysterical.
‘Hello, Julie.’ She slumped onto the bed.
‘You bastard, you’re doing all of this to get at me, aren’t you?’ Robyn held the phone away from her ear. ‘Well you’ve got no rights, stop this. Stop this now.’
‘Julie, this has nothing to do with you.’
The voice at the other end rose to a shriek. ‘Nothing to do with me? You’re reifying the gender binary I’ve spent my whole career trying to break down and you say this has nothing to do with me?’
Robyn couldn’t help laughing. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. We’ve been divorced for seventeen years. Other than Becky, there’s no reason anyone would make a connection between us …’