Lost Souls

by Michael Knaggs

  “Thank you,” Tom said.

  They walked out of the building and stood together briefly on the pavement outside.

  “Have we nothing to say to each other?” he said. “We just promised Jad…”

  She began to walk away, and then stopped and turned back to him.

  “Just one thing. Next time you decide to make the front pages, just think of Katey before you choose how you’re going to do it.”

  *

  The front door of the neat little mid-terraced house opened almost before they had rung the bell. The young woman in front of them was average height, slim, with spiky red hair and a pleasant freckled face. She was wearing a light fleece jacket.

  “Mrs Louise Thornbury?”

  “Yes.”

  The two plain-clothed officers showed their badges.

  “I’m Detective Constable Crusoe and this is Detective Constable Clancy. We’re just following up your call to the police yesterday about the missing person.”

  The woman looked anxious. “I didn’t realise I’d have to get involved. I mean I’ve got a young daughter – she’s only five – there’s just the two of us now – I don’t want…”

  “That’s okay, Mrs Thornbury,” Natalie said. “This is very informal. We just want to check in case you’ve remembered anything else since you called in. We’re really grateful for your help. Is now a good time?”

  “Well, I was just leaving as you arrived. Got to pick up Ellie from school.”

  “Is that far away?” George Clancy asked.

  “No, just a couple of hundred yards – at the end of the road.” She checked her watch. “I’ll have to go; they let the reception class out at three o’clock so they don’t get trampled by the rest of the school.”

  She gave a nervous smile.

  “Do you mind if we wait, Mrs Thornbury?” Natalie asked. “Are you bringing Ellie straight home?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want her upset with talk of murder and that sort of thing.”

  “Of course not, but the man you saw is not a suspect as such. We just think he might have some information which could help us. But you go and get Ellie – we don’t want to make you late. We’ll just wait here.”

  “Very well,” Louise said.

  She was back within ten minutes. The two officers both said ‘Hi’ to Ellie who seemed to enjoy the attention of her new friends.

  “Just a few minutes, Mrs Thornbury and we’ll be out of your way.”

  “Okay, come in then.”

  Seated at the table in the dining room, DC Clancy spread out the photos of Sammo in front of Louise while Ellie brought a procession of toys and drawings to show Natalie.

  “These are the pictures of Mr Sampson you saw on the television,” George said, “and based on descriptions from other sightings, these are examples of how he may look now. Which of these are most like the man you saw?”

  “The television ones,” Louise replied without hesitation. “What I remembered most was the length of his hair – plus his dark complexion.”

  “And seeing the pictures again, can you be reasonably certain this was the man?”

  “More than reasonably, I’d say. I’m very good at remembering faces and I looked across at this man quite a few times.” She dropped her voice to nearly a whisper. “I was a little concerned about being there with Ellie and just him.”

  George nodded. “You also gave us a good description of the second man. Can you remember any more about him? And what the two men did once they had met?”

  “No, I told the person who I spoke to on the phone, by that time I’d decided to go and he arrived just as I was leaving.”

  George gathered up the photos then took a card from his wallet and placed it on the table. “That’s been really helpful, Mrs Thornbury, but if you do think of anything else, please call me on that number. And now I’ll try to prise my colleague away from the attentions of your daughter. I’m sure she’d much rather stay here and play.”

  They all laughed.

  “You’re absolutely right there,” Natalie said, trying hard to fit a saddle on to a little pink pony. “Can we just ask you one small favour, please, Mrs Thornbury? Could you and Ellie show us the bench where the two men met? It would mean we could check where the nearest CCTV cameras are. The park is only a few minutes drive away, I believe. Perhaps Ellie could show me the ducks you were feeding.”

  *

  George and Louise stood by the park bench while Ellie and Natalie fed and counted the small animated flotilla on the lake.

  “The lady with the dog was over there, the first man was sitting here. Then the lady went away and after about five minutes or so, the second man came from that direction and sat down.”

  “And at that time you were on the point of leaving?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Let’s go to where you were standing with Ellie and check the scene from there. It might just jog your memory.”

  They walked down to join the others at the water’s edge.

  “It was just here,” said Louise. She paused for a few moments looking at the bench and to the left and right of it. “Oh, one other thing,” she added. “I seem to remember the second man was carrying a bag – on his back. He put it down on the seat when he sat down. Yes, that’s right – a small rucksack.”

  “Was he giving it to the other man, do you think?” asked George.

  “I don’t know. I guess he’d have to take it off to sit down anyway – it being a backpack. But I didn’t see; that’s when I was leaving.”

  George looked around the park.

  “Is it always this quiet? It’s a lovely little spot, right in the middle of town.”

  “We hardly ever come here, to be honest, even though it is so close. Only when we go to the doctor’s or the clinic. In fact, we’ll probably be coming again on Saturday morning – Ellie’s got an appointment for a check-up. But there’s only the ducks to feed, no swings or anything.”

  The ducks had eaten everything Ellie had thrown for them and paddled off to the back of the lake, disappearing from sight under the overhanging branches, from where they set up a cacophony of sound with quacking voices and flapping wings.

  “They seem very agitated today,” said Louise. “Usually they follow us almost out of the park on the off chance of one final crust. Not sure what the attraction is over there. Anyway, young lady, time to go.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs Thornbury – and Ellie,” said Natalie. “Let’s get you back to those little ponies. They’ll be ready for grooming and feeding by now.”

  *

  DC Bradley clicked on the screen to change the view of Grindalls Road from map to satellite.

  “That’s the Cross Keys, on the corner,” Owen said. “Landlord, Jonathan – known as Jonnie – Denver, one of the character witnesses called by the Defence to testify on behalf of Jack and Jason. And that…” he pointed to a large house further along and just off the same road “… is Manston Grange, home of Mickey Kadawe and second home of Jack and Jason. So I reckon that’s got to have been their local watering hole and, after Delaware, the next obvious place to check. Okay?”

  “Makes sense,” Beth said. She smiled at Owen. “So, what are we going as?”

  “I thought perhaps young lovers who can’t keep their hands off each other.”

  “What about brother and sister?”

  “Okay then, college friends of Jack. I mean you look a bit long in the tooth, but I could pass for twenty, easily.”

  “Until you open your mouth and then they’ll think you’re half that age.”

  Owen laughed. “Touché! But college friends will be easy to carry off. You know – ‘Jack always talked about this place and we just wanted to check it out and mix with other guys who knew him’ – that s
ort of thing.”

  “Okay, sounds good. But I’ll need to change into something tacky so we look like we’re together.”

  Owen laughed again and checked his watch. “It’s nearly four now. When should we start, do you think?”

  “Let’s aim to get to Delaware for around six-thirty. Our man’s been seen there a few times recently at about that time, hasn’t he? We can call at my place on the way so I can get changed.”

  “Okay, but I’m not coming in for coffee. Not on a first date.”

  “At least we’re agreed on that.”

  *

  Tom awoke to the Westminster chimes of the wall clock heralding the quarter-hour just a metre away from him, above and behind the sofa. It was 4.15 pm – he’d been asleep for just over an hour.

  He reflected on an afternoon that had been every bit as bad as he’d feared it would be. He may well have seen his friend alive for the last time. He realised that he was accepting this for the first time. Jad had all but left him again, and at a time when he needed a close friend more than ever before. He had one, of course. Tony had proved himself in that quarter more than he, Tom, had deserved over the past few months. But he could never take Jad’s place. There could never be the same strength of camaraderie between him and another human being as existed with Jad.

  It was Jad who had saved him so miraculously at Shah e Kot when he had been nearly fatally wounded. The miracle was as much to do with Jad finding him at all as it was to his carrying him barely conscious under fire across his shoulders for over a mile to safety. ‘Out of the jaws of hell’ the US general had described it when he had later presented Jad with a Presidential Citation along with the Congressional Medal of Honour for saving an American soldier in the same operation.

  Even after the incident, when the two men had been kept apart by diverging career paths, he had always felt close to him spiritually and with no reason to believe such feelings were not reciprocated. He remembered his and Mags’s desolation at hearing of Jad’s death, and the euphoria of his dramatic return in the witness box at the Old Bailey, when his true identity was revealed following his sentencing for the killing of the Bradys. He smiled in wonder at the memories, marvelling at the sheer thrill of knowing John Deverall.

  The great sadness was that his final memory should be so harrowing. The terminal fragility of the bravest man he had ever known; the skeletal remains of greatness struggling to whisper his last request. And the concluding act Jad had performed for him – providing the lethal capsule which he had passed on to Jack at their traumatic final meeting.

  Now, in his waking moments, that melancholy was replaced by something he could handle much better.

  Anger.

  This feeling towards Mags took him by surprise. Earlier he had been filled with regret over their separation, but not now, not at this moment. She could not possibly be hurting more than he was, and yet there was nothing coming his way in terms of sympathy, understanding, forgiveness. The way she’d behaved earlier, and in front of Jad, too, like she was the only one suffering; pathetically wallowing in her own self-righteousness. Okay, he’d lost her, but it was her fault, not his.

  And then there was Grace Goody. It was true that recently he’d had serious concerns over where her loyalties lay. But that was his fault, not hers. He had let Grace down big-time, hadn’t he, even though she had never, ever, wavered in her support for him. Whereas Mags – typical only child – always used to getting her own way – couldn’t stand anyone disagreeing with her. He owed Grace a lot and what had he done? Reacted with indifference when she confessed her feelings for him. Made her look foolish; robbed her of her self-respect. Well, he’d put that right when she got back from the US. He’d make it like it used to be.

  But right now, he needed something to take his mind off everything.

  Half an hour later, showered, shaved, totally refreshed, and with a new resolve, Tom stepped out of his apartment door onto the landing. Oscar Strange was standing, feet apart, hands on hips, with his back to the floor-to-ceiling stained-glass window opposite the entrance to the stairwell. The sun streamed in behind him, throwing a multicoloured pattern onto the tiled floor and silhouetting his frame against the light.

  “Christ, Oscar, are you living in the apartment or on the fucking landing?”

  Oscar gave a little laugh. “Just admiring the décor.”

  “Well, I’m… going out,” Tom said. He turned back to his apartment door, absently checking that it had closed properly, before striding off down the stairs.

  *

  They parked on Grindalls Road a hundred or so yards past the pub and walked back to the beer garden. Owen wore his usual casual work clothes and Beth had changed into skinny jeans, high heels and a loose, wide-necked top that hung off one shoulder. Her colleague decided he had been wrong – she looked about ten fewer than her twenty-nine years.

  “What the hell!” He stopped, taking in the scene in front of them.

  The beer garden was full of people most of whom were standing and looking towards the pub itself. Others were peering in through the windows and the open double doors. There were raised voices inside and a crash of breaking glass. Owen started forward. Beth grabbed his arm.

  “We’re undercover, remember,” she said. “Let’s go in quietly. It’s probably nothing. Softly-softly, the boss said.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “If there’s a real problem, then… that’s different. Come on.”

  She took his hand and they weaved their way through the crowd to the doors. Inside, two men were being wrestled away from each other by an excited group including a number of girls. The younger of the two men, a thick-set early-twenty-something with a shaven head and heavy stubble, was bleeding profusely from the nose and was holding the neck of a broken bottle, reaching forward to point its jagged remains at the other man. His adversary was around twice his age, tall, slim and muscular with handsome features, and dressed in casual designer gear. There was blood on the knuckles of his right hand. He looked quite relaxed, but at the same time primed for more action.

  Two powerfully built men in tight black tee shirts and jeans had intervened and were standing between the two combatants to deter any further engagement. The landlord stepped up to the younger man and took the bottle from his hand.

  “Right, Floyd. You’re barred. Get out, now!”

  “I’m barred! What about this geriatric wanker here? He’s the one who’s causing the fucking problem.”

  “Yeah, come on, Jonnie. That’s not right,” one of the men holding Floyd put in, and several others voiced their support. Jonnie relented.

  “Okay, barred just for tonight. I want you out of here and away – not hanging about outside. But the next time you do something like that…” he held up the bottle close to Floyd’s face “… it’s for good. Okay?”

  The young man stormed out of the pub, pushing the watchers, including Beth and Owen, roughly aside as he left. Jonnie, turned to the other man, then spoke to the two people holding his arms.

  “Take him over there and sit him down.” He nodded towards the corner of the room furthest away from the door.

  Owen and Beth edged their way into the pub, both noting that the steely composure the man had shown in the face of the action had dissolved in its aftermath to reveal his true, intoxicated condition. It was all the two girls who were supporting him could do just to get him to walk to the corner table.

  The detectives gently elbowed their way to the bar, Beth easing herself onto a stool and Owen standing next to her. The people peering in at the window had returned to their tables and inside the tension subsided. One of the barmen caught Beth’s eye.

  “Can I get you guys anything?”

  “Large white wine,” Beth said.

  “LA beer, please. What was all that about?”

  The barma
n paused before replying. “Old guy over there comes in regular. He’s an MP. Was an MP, I mean. His son used to come in here a lot.” He placed the drinks on the bar in front of them. “Seven-fifty, please.”

  Owen passed him a ten. “One for yourself,” he said. “Yes, I know who he is, but what was all that about?”

  The barman gave Owen two pound coins. “Thanks for the drink. You’d best ask the landlord about Mr Brown.” He nodded along the bar to where Jonnie Denver was watching them.

  “What’s going on, Duane?” he asked, walking across, not taking his eyes off Beth and Owen.

  “They’re just asking about Mr Brown.”

  Duane went to serve another customer and the landlord leaned across the bar. His face was very close to theirs. Jonnie Denver was no more than average height and wiry, but his hard features reflected the toughness gained from a working lifetime in lively bars like the Cross Keys.

  “So why the interest? Reporters, are you?”

  Beth and Owen looked at each other and laughed.

  “Absolutely not!” Beth said. “Why on Earth…?”

  “Because there’s a lot of people trying to make Mr Brown look bad, and anyone planning to do that is not welcome here. So if that’s what you’re after, then you can have your money back and leave.”

  “We are not reporters,” Beth said, “we are college friends of Jack, and we came here because he used to talk about this place a lot and we know he had a lot of friends here. That’s all. Okay?”

  “And we know that’s his father over there,” Owen said, “so what was all that about?”

  Jonnie looked from one to the other again, then relaxed and sighed.

  “If I’m honest, he’s getting to be a bit of a liability. He has a habit of winding people up – not deliberately, but just droning on about how bad things are for him, like he’s the victim in the whole affair with Jack and Jay. That’s the third time he’s got into a fight in the last couple of weeks along with a few heated arguments as well. Floyd’s right, it should be Mr Brown I’m barring.”