A Narrow Trajectory

by Faith Martin

  ‘Gasp, shock, horror,’ Hillary drawled, leaning against the doorframe. ‘So a lot of the girls knew him then – in the Biblical sense?’

  ‘Seems like it, guv.’

  ‘Though to be fair, Cindi-with-an-I did say that Kyle was fairly smitten with Lydia,’ Wendy put in. ‘And that they did go around a lot – far more than was usual.’

  ‘And was this Cindi-with-an-I pretty sure of his name?’ Hillary asked, amused. Although the question was addressed to Wendy, she was actually looking at Jimmy, who was far more likely to have had a good reading on Cindi-with-an-I’s reliability, than Wendy. He nodded slightly in confirmation.

  ‘Oh yeah, guv,’ Wendy sailed on. ‘From what she said, he was quite a looker. Tall, dark, handsome and very polite. Not one to forget, she said.’

  ‘Polite?’ Hillary echoed, surprised. Whilst that wasn’t exactly a new one on her, it was rare in Johns.

  ‘Yes, guv.’ Wendy nodded vigorously, her black hair flying across her cheeks. ‘Cindi-with-an-I said he had lovely manners – all the girls remarked on it. He claimed he learned them from his Turkish grandmother.’

  ‘How nice for him,’ Hillary said.

  Jimmy grinned. Wendy perked up. ‘And guess what, guv? Even better, Cindi reckoned she’d seen him still around town. Like, recently.’

  Hillary blinked, thought about it for a nano-second, then nodded. ‘Doing a post-doctorate, is he?’ She glanced across at Jimmy, who nodded.

  ‘Guv. We got back in touch with St Bedes. This time they didn’t mind telling us that Kyle Karastrides is doing a DPhil in Modern History.’

  ‘Got an address?’

  ‘Yes, guv. In Jericho. Apparently Mummy and Daddy have enough money, in spite of all the financial upheaval going on back in the old homeland, to provide their son and heir with a nice little two-up, two down overlooking the canal.’ As he informed her of this, Jimmy ripped off a page from his notepad and handed it over.

  Hillary glanced at it and then outside. ‘It’s getting late. I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow. I doubt he’ll be out of bed before ten. Well done, you two. Wendy, you’d better get off. It’s sleeting outside, so drive carefully.’

  ‘Guv.’

  Hillary waited until she was gone, then took her still-warm seat and filled in Jimmy on the meeting at the library.

  When she was finished, she watched a shade pensively as the old man started going through his usual ritual of clearing up his desk before getting off home himself.

  ‘Anything on your other case yet – Amanda Smallwood?’ she asked.

  Jimmy sighed. ‘No, guv. It’s got the feeling of a no-hoper to me,’ he confessed.

  Hillary grimaced. Sometimes you got a case that you just knew in your bones you weren’t going to crack. It didn’t mean you stopped trying.

  ‘Hard luck,’ Hillary said, with genuine sympathy.

  She continued watching him for a moment, and he was just locking his desk drawer when she said quietly, ‘Jimmy, did you read my notes on Jasmine Sudbury yet?’

  Jimmy looked up, desk key in hand, and met her level gaze. ‘Yes, guv.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  For a moment, her right-hand man said nothing. Then he shrugged. ‘I reckon I’m thinking much the same thing as you are, guv,’ the canny old ex-sergeant finally said cautiously.

  Hillary slowly let out her breath. ‘Ah,’ was all she said.

  She’d been afraid of that.

  Overnight, the sleet had turned to rain before stopping altogether. The clearing skies had then dropped the temperature like a stone, which meant that Hillary found herself skating, rather than driving, into work the next morning.

  In Kidlington, the Christmas lights had been put up in the main shopping area, which meant serious seasonal shopping was now well under way, so she made sure to catch up on her paperwork in the office before heading in to Oxford. That way, she avoided the worst of the rush hour traffic.

  Not that there was much traffic in Jericho at that hour.

  Kyle Karastrides’s house showed that all four windows were not only firmly closed, but had the curtains still drawn across them to keep out the cold, grey day pressing against the glass. As she’d predicted, the postgraduate wasn’t exactly a lark.

  She had to ring the bell three times before there was any sign of life. Eventually, she heard the shuffling sound of footsteps coming down the stairs and the door opened.

  On the threshold stood a very handsome man just approaching thirty. He had dark wavy hair, coal-black eyes, a neatly trimmed goatee beard and skin the colour of milky coffee. He smiled instantly on seeing her, displaying a fine set of white teeth, and giving every appearance of being delighted to see her. Hillary had the distinct feeling that it was his default setting when meeting any reasonably attractive and hitherto unknown woman.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mr Karastrides?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hillary flashed her ID and the smile instantly faded. Instead, an unmistakable look of fear replaced it, flashing across his face quickly, but never quite managing to disappear altogether.

  Hillary felt her inner copper’s bell clang clear and strong, and had to remind herself that the student’s reaction might mean nothing particularly significant. It was a sad fact, but lots of people from different cultures regarded a visit from the police as something to be dreaded and feared – whether they had a guilty conscience or not. Indeed, in some countries a visit from the authorities inevitably meant automatic incarceration – or worse.

  But Hillary didn’t think that Greek citizens had any reason to feel particularly downtrodden or wary of people flashing badges.

  ‘As you may have heard in the media,’ Hillary swept on from introducing herself by giving him an encouraging smile, ‘Thames Valley Police are currently re-investigating cases of missing persons.’

  Kyle Karastrides nodded and swallowed. ‘Er, yes, I think I heard something about that. I read about it in the Oxford Times.’ He was dressed in black silk pyjamas and a black kimono-style dressing gown intricately embroidered with red, gold and silver Chinese dragons. This he pulled a little closer around his lean body and definitely paled even further.

  ‘Perhaps we could discuss this inside, sir?’ Hillary asked, careful to keep her voice cheerful and casual. ‘It’s a cold day, and you’re letting all the heat out.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. But I’m not dressed, as you can see.’

  Hillary smiled. It was clear to her that Mr Karastrides definitely didn’t want to invite her in. Which was interesting. But again, perhaps not necessarily significant. Perhaps it was time to apply just a little pressure and see what happened.

  ‘I can wait for you to get dressed sir,’ she said helpfully. ‘But your name has come up in one of our investigations. If you would prefer, we can continue this conversation down at the police station. But at the moment, we’re just making preliminary inquiries that can probably be cleared up in a few minutes.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, in that case. Er, please come in.’ He stood back into a tiny hall, and indicated a door to the left. ‘If you’d like to make yourself comfortable,’ he offered nervously, and indicated the stairs behind him. ‘I’ll go and get some clothes on.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  The living room she entered was small and painted a neutral shade of off-white with a hint of apricot. Generic black leather and chrome furniture was pushed against the walls, and in the centre of the room, an Ikea coffee table played host to last night’s left-over pizza and a couple of empty cans of larger. A large flat-screen television and stereo system both looked top-of-the-range.

  Hillary glanced around quickly, but could see very little by way of personal items. No photographs of his mum and dad, or any particular lady. Nor were there any magazines, or even books. Which was odd for a student engaged in writing a thesis. Perhaps he wasn’t trying too hard? She certainly got the impression that the young man was well entrenched here.

&nbs
p; In record time Kyle was back, dressed in a pair of old blue jeans and a baggy white sweatshirt bearing a pithy saying that had been all the rage about five years ago. He nervously indicated one of the chairs for her to use, started to sit down himself, then abruptly shot up again.

  ‘Oh, please forgive me, would you care for some tea?’

  His English was perfect, and spoken with almost no hint of an accent.

  ‘Thank you, sir, but I won’t if you don’t mind. I had a large cup of coffee before leaving Kidlington.’ Hillary smiled. She noticed he waited until she had sat down before sitting himself.

  So Cindi-with-an-I was right when she said he had lovely manners. Garnered from a Turkish grandmother, according to Kyle. But from what little she’d been able to find out about Kyle Karastrides from Wendy’s research, his family in Greece were all strict Orthodox Christians. And she felt, for a moment, woefully under-prepared and ignorant of other cultures. It wasn’t often Muslims married out of their religion, so did Turkey have a Christian community? Is that how he came by his mixed heritage?

  Hillary guiltily shrugged off her insular-related deficiencies. It probably wasn’t relevant, she consoled herself. But what definitely was relevant was the fact that Kyle’s family, had they known about it, almost certainly wouldn’t have approved of their oldest son and heir dallying with ladies of the night.

  She knew from Wendy’s notes that Kyle had three sisters, but no other male sibling. And she rather thought that that might count for a lot in Kyle’s family. Was that why so much money had been spent on his education? And were the restrictions that were almost certainly imposed on him whenever he went home, the reason why he was clinging on to Oxford, way past the time when his parents might reasonably have expected him to go home and take over running the family business? Which, if her memory served her right, was some sort of import export company specializing in antiques, pottery and various other types of crafts.

  But it was time to stop speculating, and set about finding out what, exactly, was causing the good-looking young student such angst.

  ‘So, the case we’ve reopened takes us back, almost to the day, to December 2012,’ Hillary began calmly. ‘A young woman called Lydia Clare Allen disappeared. She was a known working girl in the local area.’

  In his chair, the history student was sitting very tense and upright, and listening politely. But he went yet a shade paler still.

  And Hillary could well understand why. He knew that she knew that Lydia was a prostitute and that he’d paid for her services. Which, for a young man with his upbringing, was almost certain to engender both embarrassment and humiliation in equal measure. And perhaps all the fear that had been emanating from him had nothing to do with any guilt he might feel, or knowledge about her fate, but everything to do with worry that his parents might get to hear about his relationship with her in the first place.

  After all, if he should find himself in disgrace, he was almost certain to be recalled home. And unless she’d missed her guess, Kyle Karastrides was a man who very much wanted to hang on to his freedom for as long as he could. After all, a man in a foreign country, far out of sight and out of mind of his loving family, could often find himself so many interesting things to do.

  ‘At that time, you’d have already completed your BA Degree at St Bedes and would just have started on your DPhil.’ She helpfully jogged his memory, since he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to add anything to the conversation. ‘I believe you knew her, sir?’ she finished flatly. She deliberately phrased it more as a statement than a question, and was careful to keep her voice business-like and non-judgemental, since she didn’t want to have to go through the rigmarole of him denying it. She wasn’t in the mood for any coy denials from the Adonis in blue jeans. Besides, like everyone else, she found pointless hard work extremely tedious.

  Kyle, finally realizing that he wasn’t going to be allowed to be merely a passive onlooker any longer, shrugged and gave a little-boy-caught-out smile. It was charming. He looked like a little puppy caught out peeing on the best Axminster. And Hillary had no doubt that a lot of women melted at the sight of those dark chocolate eyes of his.

  ‘What can I say, er, Detective?’ He shrugged winsomely. ‘I was young, and she was pretty.’ Clearly, in the panic of finding a representative of the law on his doorstep, he’d either not registered her name, or else had since forgotten it.

  She didn’t take offence at this. Nor did she help him out by repeating her name and the fact of her civilian status. The more wrong-footed he was, the better she liked it. Instead she nodded smoothly. ‘Of course, sir. But I understand that you and she … how shall I put it? That you were rather a regular of hers?’

  Kyle laughed. It was an abashed, modest laugh. He looked, if anything, even more adorable. And Hillary was sure that beneath all that charm, he was now utterly terrified.

  ‘Well, like I said. She was very pretty, and had a very fetching way about her. And I … well, I suppose I was rather young for my age. I’m not a very sophisticated person, Detective,’ he admitted appealingly. ‘What can I say? She bowled me over.’

  ‘So you saw a lot of each other?’

  Another graphic shrug and appealing smile.

  ‘It must have been expensive.’

  His smile faltered a little. ‘Oh, well. Money… .’ He spread his hands. ‘She had her … er … handler … what do you call them…?’

  ‘Pimp, sir,’ Hillary supplied dryly.

  ‘Yes. Whenever he was around, she was always nervous. I think she was afraid of him.’

  ‘Yes, sir, the girls usually are,’ Hillary conceded tartly.

  So, he was offering up her pimp as the most likely culprit for her disappearance, was he? Interesting. Of course, in reality, a pimp was the last person to damage the merchandise since it meant a loss in his earnings. Unless a girl did something really stupid of course, in which case a beating was usually administered. But not, as a rule, anything more fatal than that. A dead girl earned no money, after all. So when prostitutes ended up dead or missing, it was usually a John, or drugs, that were at the heart of it.

  Time to apply a bit more pressure.

  ‘So you were close?’

  ‘Well, as close as can be expected, under the circumstances,’ Kyle finally admitted reluctantly.

  ‘Really, sir? We’ve been talking to her associates and they all say that you and she were something of an item.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.’

  ‘No? I believe Lydia even told her mother that she thought that marriage might be on the cards.’

  ‘What? No!’ Kyle jerked forward in his chair. ‘No, that was never … my family would … No. I’m sorry, but it’s ridiculous. A girl like that … I never promised to marry her. Never,’ he repeated emphatically.

  Hillary took a long, quiet look at the young man in front of her. Without doubt, he was now seriously agitated. Which wasn’t particularly surprising.

  ‘Tell me, sir, what did your friends think of it?’ she asked. She threw the unexpected question out because she wanted to take him off guard – which she certainly did. But also because she wanted to remind him that his version of events wasn’t the only version she had access to. ‘Your flatmate for instance. What was his name again…?’ She in fact had no idea who Kyle’s closest friends might be, but she was betting that he had no reason to know that.

  ‘Mike? He … er … never really liked her. In fact, he thought I was being a bit of a mug, isn’t that the expression?’ Kyle answered the question automatically, as people tended to do if the truth had been startled out of them.

  Hillary made a pretence of checking back through her notebook. ‘Ah, this would be Mr…?’

  ‘McIntyre. But Mike left Oxford right after he graduated. I believe he’s managing an estate up in Scotland somewhere. Surely you’re not bothering my friends with this nonsense, Detective?’ He did his best to sound indignant and scathing, but fell somewhat short.

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nbsp; She looked at him coldly. ‘A young girl in such a notoriously vulnerable profession, disappearing without trace or any word to her friends and family isn’t our idea of nonsense, sir,’ she reprimanded.

  ‘Oh, no, of course not. That’s not what I meant,’ the young Greek backtracked at once. His knees were going up and down now as his feet tapped the floor in an unconscious habit that indicated real stress. ‘Of course, it’s very serious. Very bad. I never meant to make light of it.’

  Hillary allowed herself a small nod. ‘Quite so, sir. So I take it that you were very worried when Lydia dropped out of sight?’

  ‘Yes, naturally,’ Kyle agreed, but was back to being very cautious again. ‘But nobody knew where she’d gone. I asked around, and one of the other girls thought she might have gone to Paris. Someone, apparently, had said that there were … er … opportunities over there.’

  ‘I doubt her pimp would have just let her go gadding off overseas, sir,’ Hillary said, knocking that bit of rubbish on the head right from the start. But it was again interesting. First he put the pimp in the frame. Now he was floating the theory that Lydia had been lured overseas. He seemed mighty anxious to steer Hillary away in a direction that didn’t lead back to him. But was that merely self-preservation on his part – a conservative young man’s instinct to deflect scandal, and thus indicative of nothing particularly sinister? Or was it down to something else entirely?

  ‘Oh. No, of course he wouldn’t,’ Kyle said unhappily in answer to her sardonic observation. ‘I didn’t think of that. But the truth is, by then … well, things were fizzling out between us. They’d run their course, I suppose you could say. I was growing up a little.’ Again he shot her the winsome smile. The one all but guaranteed to turn female knees to jelly. Unfortunately for the Greek Adonis, however, Hillary’s cartilage was practically made of stone.

  ‘So she’d served her purpose then, sir? You were tired of her?’ she interpreted.

  From being pale, Kyle promptly flushed an ugly shade of dull red. But whether it was anger at her unequivocal question, or shame because of the truth that lay behind it, was hard to tell.