by Mark Hayden
‘It’s a Pacer Train,’ said a woman who’d come up behind me. ‘Should have been phased out years ago, but that’s what we have to put up with here. Not like down South.’ She stared at me, as if I were personally responsible for the North/South divide, then she looked down and saw Scout staring back. ‘He’s gorgeous. Those different coloured eyes are amazing. He’s not wearing lenses, is he?’
Contact lenses? On a dog? Maybe it’s a northern thing.
‘No. He was born like that.’
We went to opposite ends of the almost empty carriage, and I got out my phone to message Sofía. Are you going to be in tonight?
Si.
Can you get a bottle of red in for Mina? She’s going to be having a bad day. I’ll transfer some money.
Si.
Because I’d been concentrating on texting while the train bounced over the tracks, I missed the first part of the announcement, but I heard the end. ‘…arriving in Manchester Piccadilly at 10:30.’
10:30? An hour and a quarter for forty miles? Surely not.
Wrong. By the time I staggered off at the terminus, I understood why Saskia had been worried about me. My back was killing me from the terrible seats, my head ached and even Scout looked ill. I made it to the concourse and headed for the coffee shop.
I’d chosen the Turing Memorial as a meeting place because it was close to Canal Street and open to the air, a decision I was beginning to regret when it started to rain. The bronze statue of the father of British computing was oblivious, holding his apple and seated on a bench. I wondered if the apple was a reference to Sir Isaac Newton or was it because Turing just liked fruit. Scout gave me an accusing look. I think he was trying to say that if we had to be in the rain, at least we should have some sheep to chase.
‘Do you always bring your dog to work?’
By Odin’s eye, how does he do that? Tom Morton had appeared behind me like a ghost, and only years of training stopped me dropping the tray of drinks. I didn’t even get a prickle of warning. Nothing. I looked down at Scout. ‘You’re supposed to bark,’ I told him. He lay down and said nothing.
We shook hands, and I pointed to the drinks. ‘It won’t be up to Caffè Milano standards, but I got you tea. There’s coffee for DC Fraser. Is she on her way?’
‘I told her to give us ten minutes to have a chat.’
I didn’t smile. ‘That’s nice. Shall we at least shelter under the tree?’
‘As long as you don’t smoke anywhere near me. Ever.’
I nodded and chose a well canopied ash tree. The leaves were starting to turn pale yellow and were barely up to keeping off the rain. ‘What else?’ I said.
Morton kept his distance to minimise my height advantage and he tested the temperature of his tea before getting down to business. ‘I was going to say no to this caper,’ he stated, ‘until I spoke to Ruth Kaplan. She gave you a glowing reference without revealing any details whatsoever about what it is you’ve been up to. Except for one thing.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘She let slip that her twin is your senior officer. I knew that Hannah Rothman had left the Met. I didn’t know she’d vanished in a puff of smoke down the security service rabbit hole.’
I had to suppress a smile at the image. ‘She didn’t mention that she knew you.’
‘She didn’t know me. We all heard about what happened to her, though. And about Mikhail. When did you come across her?’
‘When I was recruited for MI7. And before you ask, she’s seen the redacted Operation Jigsaw file. I was on strict probation.’
‘As far as I’m concerned, you still are, Clarke. And that goes for Ms Desai as well. She’s been messaging Lucy.’
That was news to me. What on earth for? I sipped my cappuccino. ‘Do you tell Lucy who to associate with? Because I don’t tell Mina.’
He looked away, across the park towards the University buildings. I think I must have touched a nerve.
He turned back and said, bluntly, ‘What’s your connection to Tara Doyle? And don’t lie to me.’
‘She turned up at our party and made several very generous donations. I’d literally never heard of Tara Doyle before that night.’
He shook his head. ‘And that’s why I’m so reluctant. You’ve told me a truth. Now tell me the whole truth. I’m giving you a chance.’
‘No. Can’t do that, Tom. I can tell you that this case involves an associate of hers.’
He nodded slowly and looked over my shoulder. This time Scout showed an interest and went to meet Elaine. ‘Morning all,’ she said. She looked down at Scout. ‘I thought your name was Scout, not Lieutenant Kent.’
‘Ah. She’s been delayed. Should be with me on Thursday.’
Elaine bent down to give Scout a friendly scratch, then wiped her hand on her jeans. ‘Is this case going to smell of wet dog? I can think of better signature odours.’
‘Yes,’ said Morton. ‘You didn’t answer my question about whether he’s going to be a permanent fixture.’
‘No. Not when there’s someone at the house to keep an eye on him. There isn’t today, so I thought I’d get him a bit more used to cities.’
She came to shake hands with me. ‘How are you feeling, sir? Vicky said you’d not been well. Nothing serious, I hope.’
I looked at Morton, who clearly didn’t care a monkey’s about my health. ‘Much better, thanks,’ I said. ‘I got you a coffee, but it may be cold.’
‘Thanks. All good, are we?’
She tried her coffee and didn’t wince. We both looked at Morton, who said, ‘Tell Conrad what we found out yesterday about our missing person.’
She gave me a combined frown-and-smile. ‘You mean Kenneth Williams, also known as the Count of Canal Street.’
It took me a second to figure it out. Then I burst out laughing, so hard I had to double over.
Morton waited until I was upright, then he pointed his cup at Elaine. ‘I had to tell her who Kenneth Williams was. She’d never heard of him. Now would be a good time to share the joke.’
‘I’m sorry. This is what happens when you delegate to the boss. The Count of Canal Street isn’t missing as such. It’s the witness to his alleged murder who’s missing.’
Morton visibly bristled, and I held up my hands. ‘I couldn’t tell you until you’d agreed to come on board. It was why I wanted to meet here, so I could put you in the picture properly. I think the Boss and I are even now.’ I shook my head. ‘What else did you find out?’
He wasn’t happy. ‘I have never seen such a cat’s cradle of red herrings in my entire career.’
Elaine sighed. ‘Forgive him. He can’t see a metaphor without mangling it.’ He glared at her. ‘What? Do you think Conrad didn’t notice? And why are we still standing here getting wet and scaring the natives? Have you noticed that no one has used that path since I arrived? Can we not go somewhere dry?’
I looked down at Scout, who looked cold, wet and bored. Unless I pretended to be blind, no one was going to allow him across the threshold. I clearly hadn’t thought this through properly. That’s not his fault, though. ‘The Fairy Gardens are expecting us. What did you find out?’
‘So you can work out what not to tell us?’ said Morton. He looked like he could stand here having this debate all day.
Patience, Conrad. Patience. ‘No. I have no idea what the legal footprint of the Count is. Nor do I care, because it won’t tell us what happened to him, and that’s pretty much my remit: find out what happened. I’ll be straight with you, Tom. Like you, my main aim is to keep the peace and stop a turf war breaking out. I doubt this case will come to trial.’
I could now feel water seeping down my back, having soaked the fleece underneath my Barbour. I was sorely tempted to leave Scout to roam free for half an hour. I trusted him.
With careful deliberation, Morton got out his phone and scrolled through the screen. ‘Kenneth Williams was listed as a director of Lancashire Birkdale Holdings Ltd, and he had a driving licence which lis
ted his address as a demolished block of flats. Apart from that, nothing. One of the other directors is registered as living at a property which belongs to Robert and Tara Doyle. Hence my interest.’ He locked his phone, wiped the screen on his sleeve and returned it to his coat. ‘Who was this man?’
I shrugged. ‘Call him the Count. No one will have heard of his other name. He’s distantly related to Tara Doyle and liked to live close to the edge. He’s definitely missing, and Tara’s convinced he’s dead. I believe her.’
‘He ran at least two night clubs,’ said Elaine. ‘That says drugs to me.’
‘I can understand that. His family probably did get their money illegally, but if they’re into drugs now, they’ll face the full force of the law. I’m sure you’ve been on to the South Lancs drug squad since the weekend. I would have.’
Morton looked around for a bin to dispose of his cup and started walking north. We fell into step beside him. ‘Clean,’ he said. ‘According to the local officers, drugs are taken at the Fairy Gardens but not sold. None of the door staff are on their radar. Why you? What is MI7’s interest?’
‘I told you. Keeping the peace. Tara’s relatives can be volatile.’
He’d picked up his pace and we left the rainbow flags of Sackville Street behind and crossed the Rochdale Canal. The famous (or infamous) Canal Street ran off to the right, bedecked with even more rainbow plaques, signs, banners and Pride advertisements.
‘That’ll do for now,’ said Morton. ‘I’ll reserve judgement on the big picture.’ He stopped outside the narrow street that had the Fairy Gardens on its corner. ‘Before we go in, why do you think that this Fae Klass is alive when the Count is dead?’
‘Tara spoke to her. Briefly. Just after she got a distress call from the Count. It is literally all we’ve got to go on.’
We were now out of the rain, sheltering under an art deco awning. Morton unbuttoned his coat and ran his fingers through his wet hair to rub some life into it. Lucky dog. I’d love to be able to do that. He stared at the tiny alley leading to the back door of the Gardens (where we were expected), and something Vicky mentioned came back to me. As he stared, his right hand went inside his coat and he rubbed his left arm. Elaine’s fingers lifted to stop him, then fell back when she saw me watching her, and she turned her head away.
Morton turned round and said, ‘How are we going to handle this?’
‘I am going to follow you like Scout follows me. Unless someone draws a gun. You should see this.’ I handed him my Lancashire & Westmorland warrant card with the authorisation to carry firearms.
He glanced at it. ‘Why am I not surprised? Have you done a threat assessment?’
‘Yes. It’s low. At the moment. I’ll let you know if it changes.’
He strode down the alley and Elaine walked with me. She lowered her voice and said, ‘If you’re going to follow him like your dog, does that mean he has to give you treats?’
‘I’m not going to hold my breath for one, and why did Vicky call him Sheriff Morton.’
‘Shh! Don’t you dare repeat that.’ She checked to see if Morton had heard. ‘I’ll tell you later, alright?’
Morton put his finger on the bellpush next to the back door and held it for a good ten seconds. When the door was opened, I got a waft of earth and sawdust, nothing like the smell of water and flowers from Nimue. I don’t know if Scout experienced it the same way, but we both knew that a Fae had answered the door. Naturally, he went mad.
I backed away from the door, tugging gently on his lead. ‘I’ll join you in a while,’ I said. ‘When Scout’s calmed down.’
Elaine nodded. Morton didn’t turn round; he just lifted a hand and went into the Gardens.
10 — Assisting with Enquiries
TOM MORTON
When the back door to the Fairy Gardens opened, Tom thought at first that there was another door behind it, and then he realised that it was a man. A huge man who filled the doorway and blocked out all the light. By the time he’d registered this, Clarke’s dog had gone mad, and Clarke was backing down the alley. Had he ever taken a dog up in one of his bloody helicopters, or was he only unprofessional when it came to proper, lawful police work?
‘DCI Morton and DC Fraser’ said Tom. ‘I believe we’re expected.’
The man mountain stepped aside from the door and held it open for them to enter. Tom had been inside countless licensed premises in his time, and he had an unconscious checklist that he went through as a way of taking the venue’s measure and possibly stockpiling ammunition for later.
He did it now, looking back to see if this was a fire door. Yes. Proper bars to open? Yes. Proper signage and no signs of chains to lock it from the inside. Yes and No. So far, so legit.
The man who’d opened the door was wearing a black bomber jacket, black jeans and bright white trainers that gleamed in the soulless glare of the LED lights. When the door closed behind them, Tom felt like he’d been shut in a world of permanent darkness with no trace of healthy daylight or fresh air. At least no one was flouting the smoking ban in here.
‘This way,’ said the man in a strong local accent. He led them down the corridor, and he filled it like a cork in a bottle. No, thought Tom, There’s a gap at the sides of him, it just feels like he’s filling it.
Elaine was keeping a neutral face next to Tom, and he looked nervously over his shoulder at the now closed fire doors, and he got the fleeting impression that they wouldn’t need a chain to lock them in. Was there something more to Clarke’s sudden disappearance? Was he sending them into a trap? Pull yourself together, Morton, he thought. Their visit here was logged on the police computer. They had radios. What possible motive could Clarke have for setting them up? Several said his subconscious. Tom forced himself to reflect on how happy Clarke had seemed with the newly released Mina Desai and the fact that he’d said the threat risk was low. According to all the evidence, that Geordie lass was right: Clarke never broke his word.
Tom took a deep breath and caught up with their host. Just as he’d convinced himself that they would be okay, he noticed that Elaine had loosened her baton in its holster. Why bother, he thought. That guy would just use it as a toothpick.
The man opened a door marked Staff Rest Room and offered them chairs at a battered kitchen table. Tom took off his coat and looked around at the lockers, sink and kitchen cupboard with microwave and kettle on top. It was in need of a makeover, yes, but it was clean. If he were offered food in here, he’d accept it. When they sat down, the man did, too, and no offer of refreshment was forthcoming.
Tom realised that he hadn’t looked at the man’s face properly, so intent was he on working out if that mass were fat or muscle. There was plenty of muscle where the man’s neck should have been, and a massive head to match the body. Tom looked for signs of steroid abuse – acne or disproportionate breasts being the visible ones – and there were none. He forced himself to take a breath and took out his notebook. To his side, at ninety degrees to their host, Elaine had taken a police issue tablet computer from her rucksack.
‘Are you Mr Wayne Moss?’ said Tom.
The man’s eyes weren’t just brown, they were almost black against the pale skin, and they didn’t give much away. For some reason, he found Tom’s question almost amusing.
‘Moss. Yeah. I’m Wayne Moss.’
‘What’s your position here?’
Real steroid abusers get paranoid and short-tempered. They would consider Tom’s second question intrusive and a waste of time. Moss didn’t seem bothered, and he said, ‘Head of security.’
‘You filed a missing person’s report last weekend and made a statement to PC Inverdale?’
Moss nodded.
‘How long have you known Kenneth?’
‘The Count,’ said Moss with an abruptness that made Tom flinch. Moss said nothing, clearly waiting for Tom to correct himself.
‘The Count of Canal Street. Was that his stage name?’
Nothing. The table between them m
ight as well be a yawning chasm and Tom might as well be using semaphore. He had a decision to make: did he push the question of the Count’s identity and his life, or did he stick to the disappearance. He knew what Elaine would do: she’d go at the witness like a terrier until she got an answer or until he swatted her aside. Tom was a firm believer in avoiding confrontation unless there was a purpose. As yet, there was no purpose.
‘As you say. How long have you known him?’
‘Pretty much forever. We’re distantly related. On our mothers’ side. I was his head of security since before he opened the Gardens.’
Elaine shifted in her seat. She’d noticed it, too: the use of the past tense. Moss was utterly convinced that the Count was no longer in the land of the living.
‘Could you go through again what happened on the night he disappeared?’
‘From what time?’
‘From when you arrived or when he arrived, whichever was later.’
‘I was here first. Six o’clock, if you’re interested. Staff and performers turned up between six and seven. At seven my team for the door arrived and I briefed them. I did a tour of the building and opened the front doors at seven thirty. The Count and Ms Klass arrived while I was doing the tour, and he came to see me just after the doors opened.’
Moss had given them a lot of extra detail. Was that a blind, or was he trying to be helpful in his own way? ‘They arrived together. Was that normal?’
‘Yes. They lived together and he came every night she was working. She came in her first costume and went straight to the dressing room carrying her costume changes. I didn’t see her again until I went for a break after her first set. About ten o’clock. The Count spent the night around the bar, checking the performers, talking to the punters, generally keeping an eye on things.’
‘Was that all as normal?’
‘Totally. Nothing unusual at all.’
‘Did you have to refuse anyone admission or throw anyone out that night?’