Chapter 2
Alana Loxton
Sunday
Alana Loxton watched the hands move on the cheap plastic wall clock. Two hours to go until she could say she had survived her first week in Southwark borough CID. So far, she’d been assigned two gang stabbings, a domestic and a stranger sexual assault. Her head was spinning. It had been years since she’d had to deal with volume crime, but here she was, back in the trenches.
She took a deep breath and let it out. She rolled her shoulders back twice and tilted her head left and then right. The back of her neck clicked. She promised herself that she’d use her upcoming days off to book that long-awaited massage.
Her team was short, with one person off on long-term sick leave and another on maternity. Those that were there regarded her with suspicion, as if she was a spy from the Department of Professional Standards. She told herself they were just overworked and stressed; it was nothing personal. She should stop being paranoid. At least Kowalski had been friendly towards her.
If she could just keep her head down and wait out the storm, maybe she’d be able to return to the Murder Investigation Team in a year or two. The constant shifting of roles in the police meant a department was unrecognizable every few years, and that suited her fine after what had happened in the murder squad. The demotion had hurt, but she wasn’t about to quit. Murder investigation was what she excelled at; it was where she belonged. She couldn’t imagine another path in the police force. She’d bide her time and then she’d reapply – this was just a punishment posting, after all.
DCI Winter marched into the crowded office dressed in an expensive dark blue suit. He stood out in the drab room as a man with ambition – the worst type in the police, from her experience. They were out to impress – not the troops below, but the bosses above.
She tried to make herself look busy, hunching over her keyboard and typing. She hadn’t been introduced to Winter yet, and the frown on his face suggested that this was not the day for it.
Winter was scanning the room for something. His eyes fell on her and Loxton’s stomach clenched. There must have been thirty people in the room. Why was he looking in her direction? She couldn’t be in the shit already . . .
‘You two – in my office now, please.’ Winter nodded at Loxton and then Kowalski, who was sitting four desks over, halfway through a Snickers bar. Winter then headed back to his office, addressing a few detectives on the way.
Kowalski took one last look at his chocolate bar, placed it back onto his desk, and joined her. ‘Come on, new girl,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t bite – much.’
Kowalski was in his early thirties, and although his Polish accent had softened living among Londoners, it was still detectable. He was pale, with light blue eyes and short cropped brown hair. Instead of a detective, she thought he had the look of someone who should be on the Territorial Support Group carrying a riot shield.
Loxton gathered up her notebook and pen and hurried past the bank of desks. Detectives looked up at her, but none of them smiled. They all looked tired and drawn. Would she look like that after her first month, she wondered?
Winter’s office was cramped and small. Pinned to the wall was a faded poster warning detectives to think forensically. Stacks of dirty cups surrounded his coffee machine. There were files discarded in one corner of the room, with different handwriting on the spines. It was like a dumping ground. Perhaps the DCI didn’t distance himself from the mess after all; maybe he got stuck in.
‘This afternoon a 32-year-old banker, Mark Rowthorn, was reported missing by his fiancée, a Miss Julia Talbot.’ Up close, slight stubble was visible on Winter’s face, and the dark bags under his eyes looked permanently shaded on.
Loxton jotted down the names.
‘Rowthorn disappeared before their wedding ceremony. We have the thankless task of trying to find out where the hell he’s got to.’
Loxton looked up from her notepad. ‘Sir, is this a priority?’ The DCI turned his cold gaze on her. She carried on anyway, knowing that she’d have to explain herself now. ‘Shouldn’t the uniform deal with a case like this? I mean, he’s probably got cold feet. Does it need a detective to—?’
‘That would be the obvious conclusion. What you need to ask yourself is why I’m sending two detectives to this call. Your ex-DI from murder squad warned me about you, but I wanted to make my own judgement. Don’t disappoint me.’ Winter had spoken to her former boss, and DI Taylor wouldn’t have been kind; he was still furious with her. She dropped her gaze to the floor, drawn to the worn-out carpet tiles, which were frayed to a dull grey-blue.
‘To answer your question, the missing man’s father is the editor of the South London Reviewer. He called the Commander to ensure that this matter is dealt with efficiently. I wanted to send my finest and brightest, but they’re up to their eyeballs in work. You two are all I’ve got left.’
Kowalski raised his eyebrows and Loxton tried to control her anger. Reporting a groom missing on his wedding day; it didn’t get any more menial than this. She’d be a laughing stock in her old department if it ever got back to them.
‘But police constables could complete all the initial enquiries,’ she said. ‘Then hand it over to us in the morning if he still hasn’t turned up.’
She saw Kowalski’s eyes widen briefly, but he quickly made his features impassive again. Loxton didn’t care. She wasn’t going to be taken for a fool; she had worked too hard in her career for that.
‘I’m not sending uniform to report him missing, stomping their size eleven boots all over Mr Newspaper Editor’s lovely cream carpets.’
‘We’ve got it covered, sir,’ Kowalski said. He was looking at her as if he was trying to decipher a forgotten language. Despite everything, Loxton wanted to get on in her new role, so she took Kowalski’s cue and decided to drop it.
‘I don’t want us looking stupid in front of the press. It’ll be the end of all our careers. I trust you, Dominik.’ Winter turned his gaze to her. ‘Loxton, don’t mess up.’
‘Understood,’ said Kowalski.
‘Good.’ Winter handed them a print-out of the 999 call. ‘The last confirmed sighting of Rowthorn was well over twenty-four hours ago at around one-thirty in the afternoon by his best man, David Steele.’
Loxton scribbled down Steele and circled it. In her experience, the last one to report seeing the misper alive was usually the reason no one else had seen them since.
‘A hospital search and custody check have been completed,’ Winter said. ‘There’s no trace of Rowthorn. There have been no transactions on his bank account since his disappearance, either. We need to be seen to be covering every angle.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Kowalski nodded.
Loxton hated the way the police responded to media pressure, but it was always the same. Media scrutiny ensured a gold standard service.
‘You’re to head to Rowthorn and Talbot’s home address: Flat 39, The Jam Factory, Green Walk, Borough, if that’s not too much trouble? The fiancée, Julia Talbot, will be there. Are there any questions?’
‘Have intelligence checks been done?’ Loxton asked before she could stop herself.
Winter stared at Loxton, and then turned his face to his computer screen. A look of surprise flashed briefly on his face. ‘It seems that’s not been done yet. I’ll get someone to put Rowthorn and Steele through the system while you’re on your way. Dismissed.’
‘And the fiancée too?’
‘Her as well.’ Winter nodded at her.
Kowalski headed for the door and Loxton followed him.
‘I don’t think he likes me,’ she said when they were out of earshot.
‘This isn’t the murder squad; you can forget about being treated like an adult here. You’ve got to learn to take orders.’
He was right. She needed to keep her mouth shut and try to fit in. You couldn’t change the game if you weren’t allowed to play. ‘I just don’t understand why he’s wasting resources on a groom that
’s gone AWOL. There’s at least twenty unsolved stabbings in this office, and he’s sending us to deal with this?’
‘He’s got friends in high places, and sometimes they call on him for favours. It’s best to keep the people at the top happy and off our backs. He’s a good DCI. He’s just about managing to keep this place going, which is no small feat.’ Kowalski was searching his desk, which was piled high with files.
‘Since when did the police become this political?’ Loxton spotted his radio aerial peeking out from underneath some papers and handed it to him. She grabbed her case, which had everything packed neatly inside and ready to go.
‘Everything is politics these days.’ He slid the radio inside his jacket pocket. ‘You need to remember that.’
She pulled on her jacket. ‘Let’s go looking for this runaway groom then.’
Chapter 3
Alana Loxton
Sunday
A colossal Victorian red-brick building loomed over Loxton. The Jam Factory. Gutted inside and adapted into trendy bachelor pads, a world away from the poor who used to work here.
She parked on double yellows, tossing the police logbook onto the dashboard and praying that she wouldn’t get a parking ticket. She flashed her badge at the aged security man, who didn’t look twice, and headed through the black-gated courtyard.
Kowalski made a low whistle, shaking his head. The flats must cost well over a million each. London’s relentless sirens and screaming horns were muffled here and that was worth something. If Loxton worked for another 50 years, she still wouldn’t be able to afford one.
‘You take the lead on this case, murder squad girl,’ Kowalski said. ‘You can show me how it’s done.’
‘Make sure you’re taking notes,’ she said. To her relief, he smiled.
The front of Rowthorn’s and Talbot’s flat was floor-to-ceiling glass. Through it she could see two women stood up talking. One was in her early thirties, wearing a green bridesmaid’s dress; the other looked like the mother of the bride, judging from the god-awful hat she was wearing.
She spotted Julia Talbot sitting on an armchair gazing into the middle distance. There were also two men in wedding suits, sitting on the sofa, looking uncomfortable. They were all waiting for the police to arrive and fix everything. Loxton wished it were that simple.
She pressed the doorbell, throwing Kowalski a glance. This wasn’t the type of property they usually visited – not their usual type of people either.
Loxton steeled herself, expecting the bride to answer the heavy black door, but it was the woman in her late sixties who came and yanked it open. Anger and frustration seeped from the woman’s every pore and her headwear was threatening to fall off her over-curled grey hair.
‘I’m DC Loxton, and this is DC Kowalski. We’re here to see Julia Talbot.’
‘Please, come in, come in.’ The woman ushered them into the flat and away from the front door.
‘I’m Elizabeth Rowthorn. Mark’s mother.’ She showed them into the living room, which was large, with a beautiful wooden floor. Loxton noticed the woman in the bridesmaid’s dress had disappeared and so had the younger man in the morning suit.
Julia Talbot was sat upright in an armchair, surreal in her wedding dress. Her blonde hair was twisted into an elegant chignon, pinned up with white pearl clips. It was as if she expected to be teleported back to the ceremony at any moment, but her face was grey and waxen behind her smeared bridal make-up.
‘I’m DC Alana Loxton and this is DC Dominik Kowalski. We’re investigating Mark’s disappearance.’
Talbot looked up, but her eyes were glazed over. She stared right through them.
‘We’re here to establish Mark’s last known movements,’ Loxton said.
‘We’ve done all that on the phone to the police,’ Mrs Rowthorn said impatiently. ‘What are you doing to find him?’
Loxton turned towards her. ‘We’re doing everything we can, Mrs Rowthorn—’
‘You haven’t started looking, have you?’ Mrs Rowthorn said, ignoring her and addressing Kowalski. Loxton was used to being dismissed at the early stages. At twenty-nine, she was younger than people expected – and female, of course. She didn’t fit the plastic mould that people expected of a police officer.
‘We’ve contacted all of the local hospitals—’ Kowalski managed, before he too was interrupted.
‘I’ve already done that. There was nothing.’ Mrs Rowthorn’s voice had become shriller and she spoke faster. ‘Is that all you’ve done? You have to find him. It was his wedding today. Do you know how much money it cost us?’
‘Darling, I’m sure they’re doing everything they can,’ said the older morning-suited man who had remained – her husband, Mr Rowthorn Sr, Loxton assumed. He seemed embarrassed by his wife’s emotional outburst.
‘Charles, you’re sitting there as if nothing’s happened. Our son has disappeared. These people are supposed to be out there looking for him.’ Mrs Rowthorn glared at them.
‘Mrs Rowthorn, could I speak to you separately?’ Kowalski moved towards the kitchen, but Mrs Rowthorn stayed put. Nice try, thought Loxton. It was what she was about to do.
‘Anything you want to ask me you can ask in front of my family. We have no secrets.’
‘Some of the questions might be upsetting,’ Loxton said.
‘Not as upsetting as my son disappearing.’
There was an awkward silence. It was broken by the woman in the bridesmaid’s dress coming in carrying a tray loaded with cups, steam rising from them. Her auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders. She was the most overdressed tea-lady Loxton had ever seen.
‘This is Lucy Webb, Julia’s bridesmaid.’ Mr Rowthorn made the introductions. ‘This is DC Loxton and DC Kowalski.’
Webb handed out the cups of tea. ‘Would you like one?’ she asked. She had striking emerald eyes.
‘We’re fine, thank you,’ Kowalski said.
Webb sat next to Talbot and held her hand. Talbot still didn’t say a word; her entire focus was on something small cupped in her palm, but the way she was sitting blocked Loxton’s view of whatever it was.
‘Julia,’ Loxton began softly. ‘Can we speak with you alone for a moment?’
Talbot’s hand gripped Webb’s tighter and she looked at both detectives. ‘Why?’
‘We need to ask you some questions about Mark, and it might be easier for you to answer them if you’re on your own.’
Talbot glanced at Webb and the people in the room, her eyes hovering on Elizabeth Rowthorn. ‘It’s fine to ask me here. Like Elizabeth said, we don’t have any secrets.’
Loxton glanced at Kowalski – there seemed little else they could do at this stage but continue.
‘Has Mark had any issues with anyone recently?’ Kowalski asked Talbot.
‘No, he’s very popular,’ Mrs Rowthorn answered.‘Since he was a little boy he’s been very popular. He was voted head of his year in college, two years in a row.’
‘Has his mood changed?’ Kowalski asked.
‘He was about to get married.’ Mrs Rowthorn’s voice had become shrill again, as if the question was an insult. ‘This wedding was not your average affair. He was very busy. It required extensive planning. Didn’t it, Julia?’
Talbot nodded in silence and her face became more drawn. Loxton wished she could get Talbot on her own. ‘Mark didn’t seem down to you, or agitated?’ Loxton asked Talbot.
‘What are you suggesting, officer?’ Mrs Rowthorn’s face was going puce. ‘That my son was depressed and killed himself? Let me assure you that my son is perfectly happy.’
‘We were happy,’ Talbot added finally speaking. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’ She covered her face with her hand and her whole body shook. Her other hand had unfurled and Loxton saw she was holding a gold and silver wedding band. The metals were mixed together to create an elaborate wooden grain effect. Loxton had never seen a ring like it.
Mrs Rowthorn turned her full attention to Loxton. ‘Ma
rk hasn’t wandered off because he’s a bit glum. He would never leave us all like this. Something terrible has obviously happened to him. You need to do your job and find him.’
‘Mrs Rowthorn, I can’t imagine how hard this is for all of you,’ Kowalski said. ‘We’re just trying to make sure we don’t miss anything.’
‘That’s what I’m trying to do too.’ Mrs Rowthorn glared at him.
‘Who are his friends?’ Loxton asked. ‘Is there anyone he might have gone to stay with?’
‘His friends are all from the bank,’ Julia Talbot said. ‘He works such long hours, the bank’s his life.’
‘Is there a big drinking culture at the bank?’ Kowalski asked Talbot.
‘It’s quite a high-pressured job,’ Mrs Rowthorn added quickly. ‘They need to let off steam.’
‘Can you make a list of his friends?’ Loxton asked.
Talbot nodded. ‘The ones I know were all at the wedding. David, his best man, can help you with the rest of the City Enterprises lot. He’s just gone to make a call.’ She motioned towards the rear of the flat.
‘It seems Mark was last seen yesterday at around one-thirty in the afternoon by David Steele. Can you tell me where you were yesterday after one-thirty? If you saw Mark after that time?’
‘I didn’t see Mark.’ Talbot said sadly. ‘I was in the Silver Tree Hotel at around two. I checked in and was getting things set up for the wedding.’
‘I was helping Julia in the afternoon,’ Webb said. ‘And I stayed with her that night. In the morning we were getting ready for the wedding. Make up, hair, you know.’
‘Thank you,’ Loxton said. It seemed the best man was the last person to see Mark Rowthorn.
Kowalski carried on with the standard questions while Loxton took in the scene and the people discreetly. She doubted if anything terrible had happened. People went missing all the time, and they usually came back of their own accord.
Loxton scanned Rowthorn’s living room; it was straight out of a designer home magazine, spacious and bright. There was no clutter, and few clues about the man who lived here. The books on the shelves were about people management, banking and wine. All clinical.
Before I Say I Do Page 2