by DS Butler
Lucy shrugged and reached down to stroke the little boy’s hair. “He’s a lovely little boy,” she said, not really answering the question.
“Where are you from?”
“Originally, I’m from Nottingham, but I went to Bath to train as a Norland Nanny. I left six months ago. This is my first job.”
Mackinnon pitied her. He imagined Joy Barter was not the ideal boss for a first job. For any job come to that.
When Joy Barter arrived back in the room, Lucy fell silent. Joy strode towards Mackinnon and Charlotte. Dangling from her fingertips was a dark green patterned leather bag.
“Here you go. This is the bag. Satisfied?”
“I don’t suppose you still have the receipt?” Mackinnon asked.
Joy pursed her lips. “No.” She reached up to smooth back her hair. “I don’t have it. I don’t keep receipts.”
“May I?” Charlotte asked, reaching out to take the bag. “It’s a lovely handbag,” she said. “It’s very well made.”
Joy nodded. “Yes, it is. It’s one of my favourites.”
After Charlotte had examined the bag, they thanked Joy Barter for her time and stood up. Lucy Sampson showed them to the door. Mackinnon still had the definite impression Lucy wanted to tell them something.
He hesitated, once Joy Barter was out of earshot, giving her the opportunity, but Lucy still didn’t say anything.
As they walked down the marble steps to the street, Mackinnon turned again and said, “Remember if there’s anything you want to tell us, you’ve got my number.”
Lucy looked behind her guiltily, then nodded.
They began to walk back towards High Street Kensington and Mackinnon said, “That nanny knows something.”
Charlotte frowned. “You’re right. I feel sorry for her. Having to work for that woman must be an awful job.
“There’s definitely something going on,” Charlotte continued. “There is no way Joy Barter bought that bag a week ago.”
Mackinnon turned. “No? How do you know that?”
“Did you see the handles?”
“The handles? Yes, but I didn’t notice anything special about them.”
“It’s the colour,” Charlotte said. “They were a deep tan colour. The handles on a normal Louis Vuitton bag, when they are brand-new, are very, very pale.
“The handles on that bag had been darkened with use. There is no way she bought that bag a week ago.” Charlotte said.
“So, she’s lying to us,” Mackinnon said. “The question is, why? What is she trying to hide?”
25
THEY WERE JUST METRES away from the High Street Kensington Underground Station, when Charlotte’s mobile rang.
She stopped, ducking into a doorway to answer it.
“It’s Tyler,” she said, before picking up.
Mackinnon listened to her one-sided conversation as people wandered past them. He peered into the window of a health food shop called Whole Foods, examining the brown lentils and piles of turnips they had in the window. He supposed it might do him some good to start buying organic food and cooking from scratch during the week. It didn’t look very appetising, though.
When Charlotte had finished the call, she shoved her phone in her pocket and joined Mackinnon at the shop window.
“Apparently, DC Webb’s stumbled onto a lead from the financial trail,” she said. “He hasn’t had time to go and speak to the Oracle yet, so Tyler wants me to go, now.”
“And me?” Mackinnon asked.
“No, apparently he needs you to go back to the station and help Collins.”
Mackinnon made a face. “Paperwork?”
“I’m afraid so,” Charlotte said.
Inside the underground station, they went their separate ways.
***
Charlotte rapped on the door to number thirty-six, and as before, the door was opened by the Oracle’s son, Kwame Okoro.
Charlotte could hear the murmur of multiple voices coming from inside.
She peered over Kwame’s shoulder. “I wondered if I could talk to your father again?”
Kwame stood to one side. “Come in. He’s in the middle of a ceremony at the moment. Do you mind waiting until he’s finished? It shouldn’t take long.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Kwame offered.
She nodded and followed Kwame to the kitchen. The sound of murmuring voices grew stronger, and the heavy scent of burning incense made Charlotte’s eyes water.
It was much warmer inside the kitchen. Charlotte shrugged off her jacket.
She leaned back on the kitchen counter and watched as Kwame made the coffee.
“More questions for my father?” Kwame said. “Is it about the same case?”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, I’m hoping he can answer a question for me. Do you know much about the religion yourself?” Charlotte asked, although she thought she already knew the answer to that question. He had openly shown his disdain for his father’s religion the last time Charlotte had been here.
Kwame handed her a coffee and a smile teased at the corner of his mouth.
“You mean Voodoo,” he said. “Not really. It’s not my cup of tea.”
He took a sip of his coffee and Charlotte raised her own cup, breathing in the warm scent before taking a sip and burning her tongue.
“Have you heard of a Mr. X?” she asked.
Kwame frowned and set down his coffee cup on the counter. “No. Should I have?”
“I wondered if it was something to do with the religion, maybe something to do with a ritual. I tried googling it, but I’ve not had much luck.”
Kwame shrugged. “I can’t say I’ve heard of anything like that related to Voodoo. It sounds more like the name of a comic superhero to me.”
Charlotte smiled. “Yes, it does sound a little far-fetched.”
“Sorry, I can’t be more help.”
Charlotte shrugged. It was worth a try. Maybe she’d have better luck with the Oracle.
“Does your dad always hold ceremonies in your house?” Charlotte asked.
Kwame shook his head. “No, only now and again. Big ceremonies are held in the community centre, but small gatherings, like this, purification rituals or rituals for luck, are all held here.”
Charlotte nodded, she could hear chanting voices more distinctly now. They almost sounded angry. A chill ran along her spine.
The chanting of voices suddenly got louder as the door across the hallway opened and a woman, almost as wide as she was tall and wearing a bright red turban and a heavy necklace made out of conch shells, appeared.
She beamed at them both and then rummaged in an oversized patchwork bag. She pulled out a set of car keys and held them out for Kwame.
“Be a sweet boy and bring my car around, will you? I had to park on Queen Street.”
Kwame did what he was told. Charlotte had the impression this woman was used to people doing what she asked.
After Kwame left the kitchen, the woman groaned and pulled out a stool from under the breakfast bar.
“I need to rest my feet,” she said. “Don’t tell Germaine, but I’m sure his rituals are getting longer.”
She perched on the stool, then held out her legs, examining her swollen ankles. They did look sore.
“I’m Charlotte. A police officer with the City of London police, and I…”
The woman held up a chubby hand. “Oh, I know who you are, child,” she said. “I’m Cherry.”
Cherry held out her hand for Charlotte to shake.
“You’re here to speak to Germaine. You need his advice on a Voodoo related case. Am I right?”
Charlotte nodded.
Cherry narrowed her eyes. “Well, that’s good. Germaine is a wise man, but I will give you some advice. Don’t pay any mind to anything that son of his says.”
“Kwame? Why do you say that?”
“He has a chip on his shoulder. He’ll tell you one hundred bad th
ings about Voodoo but none of the good. To hear him talk, you would think he is too high and mighty for the likes of us. He may have told you he thinks it’s all mumbo jumbo, but that’s only because his father passed him over.”
“Passed him over?” Charlotte asked.
“Kwame was supposed to be an Oracle and inherit the position after his father, but Germaine said no. He doesn’t think Kwame has the skills needed to be an Oracle. Of course to hear Kwame talk, you would think he’d never wanted to be the Oracle. But that’s not true.”
Before Cherry could say any more, they heard footsteps in the hallway. Kwame had returned with Cherry’s car keys.
“It’s just outside,” he said. “But you had better be quick. It’s double parked.”
Cherry thanked him and heaved her bulk off the kitchen stool.
“You’ll remember what I said, won’t you?” Cherry smiled at Charlotte.
Kwame turned and looked like he was about to ask Charlotte what Cherry meant, when the Oracle exited the lounge with a tearful woman on his arm.
“Dad,” Kwame said, attracting the Oracle’s attention.
Germaine Okoro’s eyes widened slightly when he saw Charlotte standing beside his son in the kitchen, but other than that his face remained impassive.
He patted the hand of the woman standing next to him, said a few quiet words and let go of her arm.
He walked towards Charlotte. “Ah, Detective Brown isn’t it?”
Charlotte shook the Oracle’s hand. “Yes, I’m sorry for interrupting you like this, but I wondered if you had time for a few more questions.”
“Of course, of course,” the Oracle said. “I always have time.”
“In a few minutes, everyone will have gone,” the Oracle said. “And I will be able to give you my full attention.”
Charlotte nodded. “Thank you. I don’t mind waiting.”
She leaned against the doorjamb, watching the Oracle as he said goodbye to his followers.
The group was mainly formed of women. There was one very tall man with a slight hunchback, and there was one boy. Charlotte guessed he’d be about Francis Eze’s age. Maybe twelve or thirteen. His eyes seem to fix on Charlotte, which wasn’t surprising as she was quite clearly an outsider. She imagined many of the adults were probably just as curious as to why she was there.
After a few more minutes, the Oracle approached Charlotte again, touching her arm gently. “I’m sorry, detective,” he said. “One of my group needs my guidance on a delicate matter, and I promised I’d see to it straight away. Perhaps I could answer your questions now, in the kitchen.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said.
The Oracle pushed the kitchen door closed, so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Now, tell me how I can help you?”
“I have a couple of questions,” Charlotte said. “There is a name we’ve come across in the course of our investigation, and I hoped you might be able to shed some light on it.”
The Oracle nodded. “I will do my best.”
“Have you ever heard of Mr. X?”
The Oracle frowned. “I’ve heard some rumours about this Mr. X. More frequently in the past year, but I think it’s an urban legend.
“It has been said that if you ask Mr. X for help, he will help you get rid of any enemies or obstacles in your life.”
“Enemies?”
The Oracle shook his head. “It’s only whispers I’ve heard. I don’t think this is anything to do with Voodoo though.”
“Can you tell me anything else about this Mr. X?”
The Oracle shook his head. “No, as I said, I don’t think he really exists. I think he is something people pin their hopes on. My congregation practices the old ways, but many new offshoot religions have sprung up over the years—a combination of Voodoo and Christianity. I don’t condone them.”
“I see,” Charlotte said. “Do you know a man called Adam Jonah?”
“No.” The Oracle shook his head. “That doesn’t ring any bells, I’m afraid.”
Charlotte was losing hope. She was going to have to go back to Tyler with no new information.
The Oracle shot a look at the kitchen door. He was keen to get back to his congregation.
“One last question,” Charlotte said. “Have you had any more thoughts regarding the identity of the flat wooden disc we showed you?”
The Oracle frowned. “Oh, yes. The disc was marked with an X, wasn’t it? Are you thinking the X is related to Mr. X, like a calling card?”
Charlotte shrugged. “We really don’t know. It’s just a name we’ve come across during the investigation, and we’d like to find out more about him.”
“I can ask around for you and try to find out if anyone has heard of this Mr. X. If he does exist, I’ll find out who he really is.”
Charlotte nodded. “Thank you.”
She set down her coffee cup.
“Not at all,” he said. “Let me show you out.”
As the Oracle opened the kitchen door, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.
It was the little boy, the one who’d been staring at her since she arrived. He’d been listening at the door.
They walked down the hallway, and Charlotte turned to the Oracle. “What’s his name?”
“The boy?” the Oracle asked. “That’s Alfie, Alfie Adebayo. Why the interest?”
“I was just thinking how nice it is that the younger generation is interested in your religion and culture.”
The Oracle inclined his head. “It is. He usually comes with his grandmother, but Alfie came alone today.” The Oracle frowned. “I try to involve the younger generation as much as possible. It’s nice to have the old traditions continued, and for people to remain in touch with their cultural roots.”
Charlotte said goodbye to the Oracle and set off along the street in the direction of the underground. She hadn’t had much luck in identifying Mr. X, but hopefully the Oracle could find out more.
Charlotte stepped off the pavement as a young mum with a double buggy strode towards her. Charlotte smiled as she passed, but the woman stared back, her face blank.
Suit yourself, Charlotte thought and stepped back onto the pavement. The air was crisp. A proper autumnal day. The mist had cleared, but the plummeting temperatures signalled winter was waiting in the wings.
Charlotte had just reached the corner of Queen Street, when she felt a sharp tug on her jacket.
The shock made her gasp.
She whirled around with her hands raised, and she saw the little boy Alfie Adebayo behind her.
He wore a hooded parka. The hood was pulled so low, she wouldn’t have recognised him from a distance. Was he hiding from someone?
She dismissed the thought as quickly as it came to her. She was imagining things. Most kids wore hoodies these days, and it was cold. It made sense that he’d have his hood pulled up, so why did it trigger alarm bells?
As her heartbeat returned to normal, Charlotte took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t creep up on people like that.”
The boy looked more terrified than she did. He stared up at her with huge brown eyes.
“It’s Alfie isn’t it?” she asked. “I’m Charlotte.”
He nodded. “Are you a police officer?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
She waited to see what else he would say.
The boy licked his lips and blinked. He looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, then he took a step closer to Charlotte and whispered, “I heard you.”
Charlotte frowned. “You heard me? What did you hear?”
“You want to find out about Mr. X,” Alfie said. His voice trembled ever so slightly.
Charlotte nodded. “Do you know who he is?”
The boy looked as if he might run away at any moment, which was the last thing Charlotte wanted.
She leaned down towards him, but he shrank away.
As someone crossed the street ahead of them, a group of pig
eons took off, flapping their wings, narrowly missing Charlotte’s head as they powered their plump bodies upwards. Alfie jumped.
“It’s okay, Alfie. You can tell me,” she said.
Alfie swallowed and looked at her for a long time without saying anything, as though he was weighing her up.
Then he nodded.
“I can take you to someone who knows him,” he said.
26
CHARLOTTE STARTED TO FEEL a little uneasy as she followed Alfie through the twisting alleys that snaked between the blocks of flats on the Towers Estate.
The alleyways were dark, and when you entered, you couldn’t see all the way to the exit. Charlotte didn’t like that.
She pulled out her mobile and typed a quick text to Mackinnon, telling him where she was.
Better safe than sorry.
Charlotte blinked as they exited an alleyway into a huge open square surrounded by tower blocks.
The ground was a huge mass of crumbling concrete.
“It’s this one,” Alfie said, nodding to the entrance of Manor Park House.
Alfie stood by the door and looked back at Charlotte.
Manor Park House had seen better days. It was the perfect example touted by those who campaigned to have the Towers Estate demolished. The light grey exterior was streaked with black marks. Some of the ground floor and first floor windows had been boarded up, and those that weren’t were smeared with grime.
“Is this it?” Charlotte asked. “Does Mr. X live here?
Alfie hesitated and then shook his head.
Charlotte frowned. It wasn’t easy getting information out of this kid.
She tried again.
“Is there someone who lives here who can tell me about Mr. X?”
Alfie nodded, turned and disappeared into the dark entrance. Charlotte suppressed the uneasy feeling that had grown as she walked through the estate and followed him.
Inside the dim hallway, Charlotte wrinkled her nose. It smelled of old boiled vegetables. She followed Alfie up the stairs, counting the floors as they went.
They exited the stairwell on the third floor, and Alfie led her along the landing to the flat at the far end.
There was a coarse brown mat outside the front door, with the word welcome dyed on it. Charlotte didn’t feel particularly welcome.