For a moment he felt an odd sense of intrusion. Then he turned and went back to his own bed. Sleep was a long time in coming.
Chapter Seven
The four of them stood together on the fifth floor, just in front of the lift that was working again, on a grey Monday morning. It was a little after eight o’clock. Smith had contacted them all on the Sunday, telling them to go straight there instead of the office. His reason had been that they needed to catch the residents early before everyone went off to work, but only John Murray had understood the joke. Now, as they looked across the walkway than ran round in a U shape from the corner where they stood, the only figures they could see were those of a woman and a girl, the latter in uniform and looking rather unhappy about it, wondering, no doubt, why she should be the only here made to go to school every day.
Smith called the meeting to order.
‘Two pairs, then. John and Chris, you’re the unlucky ones because you’ve got each other. One of us asks the questions, one of us makes notes. Everything written down that could be of the remotest interest, and make a note of negatives as well, please. Start with the script I gave you but use your initiative if the unexpected turns up. Swap roles if you get bored but personally I like nothing better than getting to know the public that we serve.’
Another silence. Perhaps it was a little early, in which case he’d better go through it one more time.
‘Start with how well they know the Bell family, if at all. Most will deny everything from the off but if anyone shows an interest, follow it up. If anyone asks why we’re asking, tell them – Mr Bell seems to have gone missing. Then bring it around to last weekend, Saturday and Sunday – anything at all that they can remember. Take them back through the two days, get ‘em to recall where they were and what they were doing. Descriptions needn’t be too graphic. If they were out and about or just on the walkway and didn’t see anything, that’s useful – note it down. Get times. Confirm everyone’s names and contact details just in case, and find out who else in the flat might have seen something. Anyone who doesn’t answer the door, make a note, because we’ll have to come back. All the more reason to knock hard and get it sorted today. Questions?’
An older boy in the same school uniform passed them and scowled – Smith gave him a cheerful good morning.
‘Good. Off we go. Obviously miss out Mrs Bell here. We’ll be having a word with her after this. Thirty six flats on this level. The team that finishes their half first gets their tea bought back at the station. On your marks…’
He asked Serena Butler to do the talking first. She knew exactly what he was doing, of course, but if it bothered her, the being observed, she never showed it. As soon as the first door opened – an unshaven, overweight man in a T–shirt that was struggling to contain him – she had a new persona; sociable, street-wise, a sorry-to-bother-you-mate-but sort of approach, that Smith knew was the right one for the job. His only thought was, it’s a shame that she isn’t that friendly with her new colleagues. He made a few notes but she was done in five minutes and on to the next. After a couple more he said, ‘I can see you’ve been on the knocker before. Not a lot of call for that in Longmarsh though, is there? The odd missing dinghy, I suppose.’
‘I worked in Leicester first – that’s where I started. It’s all in my records.’
She wasn’t smiling but it was an acknowledgement of what he had said at the end of last week – that he would not read those until he had seen something for himself.
‘Leicester? Longmarsh was a funny move, then, not that I haven’t made a few of those myself. Was it part of some cunning career plan or did you just fancy some fresh air?’
‘Personal stuff.’
‘OK. Well, keep at it. I think we’re ahead in the tea stakes already.’
Both pairs had walked to the respective ends of their walkways and were working back towards the centre, the bottom of the U; looking across the gap, they could see each other periodically and measure their progress. Some residents took longer to answer than others and one or two already had not answered at all – these Smith double-underlined on the record sheet, leaving a space beneath them to be filled in later. As he had predicted, most denied knowing anyone called Bell. One or two stepped out of their flats and looked down towards where Smith or Butler was pointing, but generally these too had a bemused expression on their faces, as if they had just realized for the first time that anyone else lived here. Some wanted to know what he had done, this Bell man; when told that he had simply disappeared a few days ago, they seemed rather disappointed and lost any interest that they might have had. Only as they neared the inner end of the walkway did they find anyone who had actually noticed the little family at number 518.
‘You mean that quiet girl and her daughter. He’s not about very much…’
Smith said, ‘Well, no. Especially at the moment. Do you know them to speak to at all?’
‘I might have spoken to her on the stairs once or twice.’
The woman was plainly wary of over-committing at this stage.
‘It’s good to be neighbourly like that, I always think. So you have a passing acquaintance with Mrs Bell. What about her husband?’
‘He’s not about very much…’
But three doors away from the Bells, they found Mr and Mrs Fleming. Nearer to eighty than seventy, they both came to the door and took turns answering the inquiries, sometimes finishing each other’s sentences, looking at the other for confirmation of what they were saying. Yes, they knew Lucy, and Leah was a delightful child, a credit to her. At Christmas the two of them had even paid a visit – it was wonderful to have a child in their flat at that time of the year, even if it had been only for an hour or so. She ate two home-made mince pies.
Serena let them talk away like that, and Smith thought, yes, good instincts. Just nudge it along if necessary.
‘Well, it’s good to know that they have neighbours like you. That was last Christmas obviously, the one just gone?’
‘Yes. Leah’s only eighteen months or so – she wouldn’t have been eating mince pies the one before, would she?’
Everyone laughed at the idea.
‘So, what about Mr Bell? Was he home for Christmas?’
A little hesitation because these were old-fashioned people with manners, people who would not speak ill of others under normal circumstances. But these were not normal circumstances – these people were also old-fashioned enough to have some respect for the work that the police have to do.
Mr Fleming, as a gentleman, took on the responsibility.
‘We have only met Mr Bell a few times. We didn’t find him the friendliest of people, I have to say. He always seemed rather…’
‘Brash,’ said Mrs Fleming.
Lovely word, thought, Smith, writing it down.
Mr Fleming continued, ‘Yes, I’d say that. But he wasn’t here that often, and when he was he would seem to come and go at odd hours. We never saw them out together, you know, as a family. Did we ever see that, dear?’
Mrs Fleming shook her head a little sadly.
Serena Butler said, ‘But they got on as a couple, didn’t they? As far as you could tell?’
A longer hesitation, and Smith saw the look that passed between the two women, a timeless look that could speak across generations.
‘She could have done better, is all I will say,’ said Mrs Fleming.
At the weekend they had hardly left their flat, the wind being so strong and always aggravating Mr Fleming’s rheumatism. But they had heard nothing untoward – the walls being paper-thin, you know – and they were sure that Lucy would be at home if they wanted to speak to her now.
Smith thanked them, and after the door had closed, they moved a few steps down before talking quietly to each other, the walls being paper-thin.
He said, ‘What did you make of that?’
‘Hearts of gold. How did they end up here? It’s a shame. But they don’t like James Bell.’
‘So?
We’re not investigating his character – we can’t charge anyone with not being likeable to old ladies. We’re only looking at his disappearance.’
‘With respect, sir, if his disappearance is anything other than an accident – and by the sound of him, I’m not going to call it a tragic one – it might well be related to his character.’
The ‘sir’ was still irritating but in all other respects this was much better.
He said, ‘Good. We’ve got a couple more to do but I reckon the tea is in the bag. In fact, it’s a tea-bag! Eh? Alright then…’
There was some dispute as to the outcome of the tea competition; although Smith and Serena had finished first, they had more unanswered doors – three – than the opposing team, who, remarkably, had only one. In the end it was agreed that, pending the final outcome of which team would complete all their calls first, everyone would buy their own – a situation that Waters thought a great improvement on the current one. Smith used the time to think quickly. Serena had said that she would like to meet Lucy Bell – the Flemings had piqued her interest – but after the interview in which DI Reeve had taken a lead, Smith needed the young woman to look at him, to answer his questions, which were going to be somewhat different to those she had faced on Friday. The presence of another female officer, especially one who had had her own difficulties recently, might not help. A change of plan, then.
‘Right, John and Serena, take this lot back to the station and go through it. By the look of it, we haven’t got much but go over it all anyway. You both know what you’re looking for – the hint of a pattern, two people saying or seeing something that might make a link. Even though we seem to have stumbled across Lake’s home for the deaf and blind, someone might have made a mistake and told us something worthwhile. Then get on with anything left over from Friday afternoon – thinking caps on as well. We need more ideas on this.’
He watched them head towards the lift, with some sort of conversation going on, and thought, good idea – the sooner she works with us all individually, the sooner she’ll feel at home.
Yes, Lucy Bell had realized that they were out on the walkway, and why. She had made them a mug of tea but had none herself, as she sat facing them on the chair; she looks more frightened than ever, thought Smith, and it’s probably because we were out there, questioning the whole floor about her husband’s disappearance. She’s understood that it’s for real.
‘What I want to do, Lucy, is to have a quick chat with you now, just to let you know where we are with this. Then, if you remember, I said I’d like to have a look at Jimmy’s things, and I’ve brought along Detective Constable Waters to help me. Is that OK?’
She nodded, sitting up straight, her hands folded in her lap. Leah, she said, was having her morning nap and wouldn’t wake up for at least another hour.
‘You told us that you left the flat on Saturday morning. Can you remember exactly what time that was?’
‘David picked me up. It was mid-morning.’
‘David is your brother? Can you be a bit more precise about the time, Lucy?’
She frowned and looked at the little imitation cuckoo clock that was hanging incongruously over the gas fire.
‘About half past ten, I should think. Why?’
‘Jimmy was here when you left?’
‘Yes. He was still in bed.’
‘And did David bring you back on Monday morning?’
‘Yes, at about the same time. There are no buses to Wetton, so we have to rely on him. Why do the times of what I was doing matter?’
Smith continued writing into the notebook, not hurrying. When he was finished, he looked up at her.
‘It will become clear in just a moment. As far as you are aware, Jimmy left for the East Denes airport sometime on Sunday, to get the evening flight out to the platform, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, one of our problems is this, Lucy: he didn’t arrive there until Tuesday evening.’
Her look was something between surprise and disbelief. Smith explained it again, saying that they had the arrivals and departures lists for Elizabeth, and that Jimmy’s name was on the former for Tuesday evening. When he was certain that she fully understood the implications, Smith continued.
‘So, I have to ask – have you any idea where he might have been from about ten thirty on Monday morning, to Tuesday afternoon? He might have stayed here Sunday night but he was gone when you arrived back – that’s right, isn’t it?’
And she could tell then that her version of events was being tested. The detective sergeant did not take his eyes from hers now as he waited for answers and she could not take hers from his. She had the sense that he still knew more than he was telling her and that he would not tell her all that he knew until he was ready to do so.
No, she had no idea where Jimmy could have been. No, nothing like this had ever happened before, and-
‘Ever, Lucy? I don’t mean since he got the job on the platform – he’s only flown out once before. How long have the two of you been together? At least two years, isn’t it? Long enough to get to know Jimmy. I mean, I’ve only known about Jimmy for a few days but I’ve already realized that… How can I put this? Jimmy has his moments, doesn’t he?’
She nodded and gave a faint yes to that. The first time he left for the platform, a month ago, he had been drunk over the last weekend – that’s why she had taken Leah away this time. He hadn’t been so bad for quite a while, and she had thought that those days, or the worst of them, were behind her. Perhaps it was having some money again that had carried Jimmy away. She was careful to say that she hadn’t felt in any danger, they shouldn’t get the wrong idea about Jimmy, but she did not want Leah to see her father in that state.
Smith said, ‘So you did not feel threatened by Jimmy this time?’
‘No.’
And that was all, she didn’t pick it up, which meant that Smith now had to remind her of something.
‘Because, Lucy, you did seem to have been frightened when the police last called at the flat, a couple of years ago.’
He was flicking back through the pages of his notebook, underlining the fact that he had written down the details of what he was referring to, if she needed to see them.
‘That was a long time ago, and it was a misunderstanding anyway. It was drink again. He makes a lot of noise and people can get the wrong idea. He’s never hit me, if that’s what you’re implying, and I don’t see what-’
‘I’m not implying anything, I’m establishing some facts, Lucy. One fact is that Jimmy might not have hit you, but he has hit other people in the past. I suppose you know that, even though it was a while before you met him. Jimmy isn’t a saint, is he? He likes a drink, more than most, and sometimes that gets him into trouble – that’s the picture that I’m getting.’
Her silence was an acceptance of a sort, that yes, that was a fact. Waters could see that she was upset, was closer to tears than she had been when the interview began but Smith showed no sign of ending it yet.
‘You mentioned money, Lucy. Jimmy has been paid already, has he? I suppose he’s done a month, just.’
She said, ‘It’s why he went back onto the rigs. He knew he could get us the money there to get out of here. That’s what he was doing it for. It’s much better paid than anything else he can do.’
Waters noticed Smith’s sideways glance at him – it meant, this is something else for us to look into. Waters himself flicked his pad open and typed in ‘Bell’s pay?’
‘Has he bought anything else lately, apart from last weekend’s celebration drinks? A new phone, maybe?’
‘No. It’s like I said – this was for all of us. He said that saving for a few months would mean we could get a deposit for a better place. He’s not what you’re making him out to be, not any more.’
Smith paused then, and when he spoke to her again, he seemed to have relented; his tone was perhaps a little more compassionate.
‘Lucy, the questions that we have
to ask sometimes make us seem a bit heartless. The more information you can give us about Jimmy, the more chance there is that we can find him for you. I need to ask you a few more of those questions, if that’s OK.’
Waters had watched several different detectives at work now. The training meant that everyone had certain basic techniques at hand, but beyond that, everything depended on the individual detective’s personality. Not everyone was good at this part of the job, he had realized. Some senior officers were organizationally superb, brilliant at deploying resources to maximum effect, but they would, when the suspect was seated in the interview room for the first time, make sure that a particular sergeant or even a particular detective constable was present at their side. Wilson could be effective but in a very different way to Smith – Wilson was physically menacing to interviewees even though he was never less than six feet away from them, and just a glower from him could intimidate; Smith, however, played the game at a wholly different level.
She said, ‘I’m sorry. I want to help. It’s like you said before – he has his moments. But nothing like this, not just disappearing…’
‘Thank you, Lucy. I might be wrong, but I get the impression that when Jimmy is out drinking, you don’t often go with him, at least not since you’ve had Leah.’
A shake of her head.
‘But it would help me a lot if you can think of any places where Jimmy liked to go, and of any people that he went around with. Did anyone ever come back to the flat with him and have a few beers here?’
The idea seemed to alarm her. No, she said, Jimmy never brought anyone here. He wasn’t proud of the flat, he wanted to get away from The Towers as much as she did. Smith pushed her for names again, gently, but it was obvious that she knew very little of her husband’s movements once he left their home. A bar in the marketplace, she thought, and there was a pub in Dock Road he had mentioned where some of the men from the platforms used to meet up.
Smith said, ‘Do you know whether Jimmy had come across anyone from when he worked on the rigs before? Maybe in the pub in Dock Road?’
Luck and Judgement: A DC Smith Investigation Page 9