Detective Sophie Allen Box Set 2

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Every head in the congregation swivelled around to look at the elderly pair. The three men in front of them seemed particularly menacing. Sylvia couldn’t help but notice the fine scar that ran from eye to chin on the face of the middle one.

  Edward stuttered an apology. ‘So sorry. We seem to have come to the wrong service.’ He took Sylvia’s hand and quietly led her out of the chapel, back into the bright sunshine outside.

  ‘I’m feeling quite queasy, Ted. Who were those people?’ Sylvia’s voice was quivering.

  Her husband shook his head. ‘Don’t know. Look, that’s more like our lot.’ He pointed towards a group of elderly people making their way along the drive towards them, several of them using walking sticks. A hearse appeared in the distance, turning in from the road outside.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Sylvia said, feeling calmer. ‘Normal people at last.’

  They didn’t see the man who’d slipped out of the crematorium building behind them. He was obscured by shrubs but had found a gap through which his telephoto lens pointed at the Armitage couple.

  CHAPTER 1: Missing

  Monday, Week 1

  Sharon Giroux was starting to feel worried. She was standing in the front porch of her parents’ bungalow in Blandford having rung the doorbell three times, and still there was no response. The bell was most certainly working. The sounds of the electronic chimes had carried clearly through the door, but no movement could be seen through the thick, patterned glass. She pressed her nose to the door and tried the bell one last time. Nothing. Sighing, she opened the zip on her shoulder bag and felt down through its assorted contents to the smaller inner compartment, extracting the keys kept inside. Nothing serious could have happened to her parents, surely? Admittedly she hadn’t seen them for two weeks, having returned from holiday with her own family only the previous day. They hadn’t answered her phone call, made immediately after she and Pierre had put their two young children to bed, and that was strange. Her parents rarely went out on a Sunday evening, not with one of their favourite historical dramas being broadcast mid-evening. There had been no time to check on them earlier in the day, not with her own return to work and its incessant pressures. A GP’s working life is one continuous logjam of problems that require immediate action, especially after a fortnight’s absence.

  Sharon turned the key in the lock and opened the door. ‘Mum? Dad?’ she called. There was no answer, no sound of movement. The air seemed slightly stale as if no window had been opened for days. Impossible, surely. She’d phoned her younger brother the previous evening after their parents’ lack of response, and he’d said that the elderly couple had been fine earlier that weekend. But then, he would say that, wouldn’t he? Sharon realised with some certainty that her brother had been lying. He hadn’t called in to see them. He probably hadn’t even bothered to phone. Absolutely bloody typical of the lazy, irresponsible toerag. Well they certainly weren’t anywhere inside the small dwelling. It had taken Sharon only a few moments to glance in all of the rooms. They were all neat and tidy, as expected. She peered out of the kitchen window with its view over the garden, her father’s pride and joy. Birds scattered as a neighbour’s cat sashayed down the path from the shrubs at the far end. No sign of her parents though. She turned back to the hallway and then her heart lurched. That pile of post gathered on the mat behind the door wasn’t just from a day or two. It looked more like a week’s accumulation. Most of it was junk mail, as she would have expected, but there was a lot of it.

  She pulled her phone out of her bag and called her brother, tucking her long hair behind her ear as she waited for him to answer.

  ‘Rod? You lying toad. You said you’d called in to see Mum and Dad at the weekend, but you didn’t, did you?’

  There was a pause before he answered. ‘Well, I was kind of busy. Things were happening, you know?’

  ‘I bet you didn’t even phone them. When did you speak to them last? Tell me.’

  ‘I’m not answerable to you. Why do you still think you can tell me what to do even now, you stuck-up cow? Bossing me about, bossing everyone about, as if you run everything.’

  ‘Shut up, Rod. They’re not here. It looks as though they haven’t been here for days. So where are they? Can you tell me that?’

  There was a short pause. ‘Why worry about it? They’ll be off somewhere, probably enjoying themselves. Maybe getting away from you and your obsession with controlling everything and everybody. Maybe they’re as sick of you as I am.’

  ‘Oh, bugger off. You’re worse than useless. They’ve left no note, there were no messages from them on our phone at home, nothing. That’s not like them. I’m worried and I need to find out where they are. I’ll have a quick chat with the neighbours. I could say that I could do with your help but you’re so crap at anything you’re asked to do that you’re better off staying away. If I don’t get a satisfactory answer from anyone around here then I’m going to the police. Okay?’ She hung up and took a deep breath to dissipate the intense anger that she felt. She took another, more careful tour of the bungalow before heading towards the neighbouring property. Worry was making her feel slightly nauseous.

  * * *

  ‘And there’s nothing out of place? Nothing obvious missing? It’s just the car that’s gone?’ PC George Warrander was working his way through a mental checklist. The dark-haired, well-dressed woman sitting opposite him in the lounge of her parents’ bungalow shook her head. She looked under strain but was probably wrong to be worried, he thought. It was likely that her parents would turn up safe and sound sometime soon, but meanwhile he needed to err on the side of caution, not only because he was a young, inexperienced copper but also because she was one of the GPs in the practice he used. He knew that she was intelligent, thorough and unlikely to be a fantasist. ‘The house is secure,’ he said. ‘I checked, and there are no signs of any forced entry. And you say that no one in the immediate family knows where they are?’

  Sharon shook her head. ‘There’s only me and my brother, Rod. I’ve been away on holiday for two weeks, only getting back yesterday evening. My brother lives locally and he was meant to keep an eye on them but I don’t think he bothered, despite what he said to me. It’s that pile of mail inside the front door. It looks as if it’s a week’s worth, maybe even longer. The thing is, officer, our holiday was in Cornwall and my parents knew that. It would have been easy to contact me. Mum often calls me on my mobile and if there was a problem of some kind she’d have let me know. The same if they made a sudden decision to go away for a few days. She’d have called or sent me a text.’

  ‘Some elderly people don’t know how to text, or feel reticent about it.’

  ‘Not Mum. Dad maybe, but Mum often texts me. Look, this is so unlike them. I’m really worried.’

  ‘What about their passports? Do you know where they’re kept?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. It’s so rare for them to go abroad, you see. They’ll be in a drawer in the bedroom. I’ll go and check.’ Sharon left the room for a few minutes, time that allowed the young constable to marshal his thoughts. When she came back, she looked puzzled. ‘They’re not there. Mum keeps them in a plastic wallet in the top drawer, but it’s missing. I just don’t understand it. She’d have let me know if they were going abroad. And the suitcase set they’d have used is still there, tucked under the bed where it’s always kept.’

  ‘What was the mobile signal like where you were? Is it possible that she tried to contact you but couldn’t get through?’

  ‘It was a bit weak at times, but she’d have left a message for me if she couldn’t get through. I know she would.’

  ‘Depends on the phone company and the contract, as far as I know.’ Warrander came to a decision. ‘Right, Dr Giroux. I can see you’re genuinely concerned, so I’ll report it as missing persons. I’ll also ask for it to be made a high priority. That means someone more senior than me will take over. Do you want to remain here or go back home?’

  ‘I’ll
stay here for a while. My husband is at home and can look after our children. How long is this likely to take?’

  He removed his uniform cap and ran his fingers through his spiky hair. ‘I can’t be sure, but the quicker we get the ball rolling the better. I’ll have a quick chat with the immediate neighbours then wait with you until the team arrive. Maybe then I’ll call on your brother.’

  Sharon grimaced. ‘Good luck to you. I have to tell you that we don’t get on. This is so typical of him, not checking up on them when he’d agreed to. He makes my blood boil. It’s got to the stage where I can hardly stand being in the same room as him.’

  Warrander nodded but said nothing. It wasn’t for him to find out more about the obvious fragility of this particular brother-sister relationship. Better to leave that to someone senior or the detectives, if they were called in.

  * * *

  The young PC quickly understood the source of the antagonism between the two siblings. Whereas Sharon was everything he expected of a professionally qualified woman in a responsible job, her brother was the opposite in almost every way. Untidy, offhand and smelling of drink. His small flat was grubby and appeared to be badly maintained. It smelled of stale food, the aroma probably generated by the stack of empty pizza cartons and curry containers littering the surfaces of the tiny kitchen area. Rod sprawled across a threadbare couch, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He hadn’t offered the police officer tea, coffee or anything else to drink. Not that Warrander would have accepted. He’d already noticed that every cup and mug that he could see was chipped or badly stained or both.

  ‘She’s too uptight. Paranoid even. Give her half a chance and she’ll get herself worked up about next to nothing. And when it comes to the old couple, she goes off her rocker. They’ll be fine. They’ll have gone off for the weekend and forgotten to tell anyone, old codgers that they are.’

  ‘So when did you last see them, sir?’ Warrander asked. He saw a flicker cross Armitage’s face.

  ‘Sometime last week. Can’t remember exactly. I called round.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Oh, the usual stuff. Were they okay, was I okay? And Mum lent me some cash. I needed a bit to tide me over.’

  ‘And this was after your sister went on holiday?’

  ‘Yeah. I didn’t see much of Dad. He spends most of his time in the garden. It’s his hobby. Can’t see the point, meself. Waste of bloody time.’ He laughed.

  ‘So was it the first week of your sister being away or the second? Try to remember.’

  Rod looked blank for a moment. ‘Probably the first week. Mebbe near the start?’

  Probably a day deliberately chosen if he was cadging money from his parents, Warrander speculated. It would maximise the time between the cash being borrowed and his sister returning, with him hoping that his mother wouldn’t mention it to her, or possibly even to his father. That had probably been the truth of it. But at least Rod had been honest enough to tell him about the loan. He could have kept quiet about it and who would have known?

  ‘Did you phone? Did you speak to them last week?’

  There was a telling pause. ‘Don’t think I did. Too busy, wasn’t I?’

  Warrander nodded. ‘What do you do, Mr Armitage?’

  ‘General stuff. I help out my mates when they need an extra hand. You know, a bit of labouring, some painting and decorating for my Uncle Pete. He's got a decorating business. I never got any qualifications, see. Waste of time, I think.’ Rod looked across at the young constable.

  ‘I’m not judging you, Mr Armitage. I’m just trying to build a picture that might help us to trace your parents. As you say, they’re probably fine. But we can’t afford to take any chances, can we?’

  Rod shook his head, then took another swig from the beer can that sat on the table in front of him. ‘So what happens now?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve already reported it to my boss as a potential missing persons case. It’ll be up to her as to what happens next. She’ll probably already be at your parents’ house talking to your sister. I expect you’ll be needed again so don’t hide away, will you?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ Rod looked mystified.

  ‘I was only joking, Mr Armitage. Is there anything else you think I should know about? Anything out of the ordinary that you can remember?’

  Rod shrugged. ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘I’ll be getting back to the bungalow then. You’ll hear from us as soon as we find out anything. Okay? Call us if you remember anything that might be important. Are you likely to be out most daytimes?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m working for my uncle at the moment.’

  Warrander made his way out of the tiny apartment and into the outside world. It was pleasant to be in the fresh air, even with its slight misty drizzle, after the stale, slightly foetid atmosphere in the flat. Who would have thought that the neat and efficient Dr Giroux would have a brother who appeared to be such a total waster?

  * * *

  Warrander had a few minutes to chat to his sergeant, Rose Simons, before he went off duty.

  ‘She’s a bit up herself, isn’t she?’ Rose said.

  ‘I didn’t think so. She’s a GP remember, boss, and has two young children. That’s a lot for anyone to cope with.’

  ‘Hmm, you might have a point. I reckon the brother’s probably right, though. The chances are that they’re off somewhere, gallivanting around the country or gone to London to see a show and decided to stay over. Why anyone would stay in a backwater like this when they could be off enjoying themselves beats me. I’d be off like a shot if I wasn’t tied to this sad excuse for a job and to my snotty-nosed kid. I pray every weekend that my lottery ticket comes up. Never happens though.’

  He chose not to answer. Whatever he said, he’d be walking into a potential minefield. Sergeant Rose Simons could sometimes be a cynic of the first order, and he thought it wise to refrain from comment when she was in a mood like this. Better to remain silent.

  ‘So where do we go from here, boss?’

  ‘A couple of detectives from the illustrious Missing Persons Department will turn up tomorrow morning. They’ll look at our reports, drink some tea, visit those two peculiar offspring, drink some more tea, go to the pub, then piss off back to headquarters. More importantly they’ll take this case off our hands completely. With a bit of luck the parents will turn up before things get too heavy. Then I can go back to thinking about my long overdue lottery win.’ She winked at him.

  George Warrander was not much impressed with his boss’s attitude, but he knew better than to mention it. She was a good copper underneath the bravado. Or was it just that nothing very challenging ever happened in this sleepy little town?

  CHAPTER 2: Bad Moon Rising

  Tuesday, Week 1

  Sharon Giroux had been reassured by the attitude of the young PC — what was his name? Warrander? She had been less impressed by his superior, the world-weary sergeant. And as for the duo of detectives interviewing her this morning, well, they didn’t appear to be taking her concerns seriously at all.

  ‘We deal with missing persons cases a lot,’ stated the overweight detective sergeant, Stu Blackman, nibbling at his third biscuit. They were meeting in her office at the medical centre during a late morning lull, after her pre-noon surgery sessions had finished and before she started her house calls. ‘I can reassure you that there’s nothing to worry about. Everything points to them having gone away somewhere, what with the passports not being in the house.’

  ‘But they never take the car when they plan to fly anywhere, not that they’ve been abroad for ages. Mum hates flying and Dad hates airport car parks. The few times they’ve done it, they’ve gone to the airport by train or bus or even taxi.’

  ‘Maybe they booked the car onto the shuttle. They’ve gone to France on the train using the tunnel. That would have solved your mum’s flying worries, wouldn’t it?’ This was the junior detective, Phil McLuskie, older, thinner and seemingly more a
lert than his boss. Why was he still only a detective constable? Sharon mused. His skin had a slightly yellow sheen to it, probably jaundiced, she thought. Heavy drinker, maybe? She was glad she’d slipped into the jacket of her dark business suit just before she’d greeted the two men. The eyes of the older detective were all over her.

  ‘Look, why do I keep having to convince you people? You’re coming up with guesswork all the time. These are my parents. I know them. I know what they do and what they don’t do. And I can absolutely assure you that they wouldn’t do any of the things you’ve suggested without letting me know. They would have phoned me or sent a text message. And there’s the other thing. When they have gone abroad, they’ve taken their passports and medical cards but they leave that pink plastic wallet behind. It’s too big, too awkward. So why is it missing?’

  McLuskie shrugged. ‘Maybe they were in a hurry.’

  ‘There you go again. Everything I bring up that doesn’t fit with the way they do things, you just shrug and say, well it could be this reason or that reason, because other people may have done things that way. But these aren’t other people. They are my parents and I know the way they do things. And nothing fits.’ She paused. ‘Are you treating their house as a potential crime scene? Have you arranged for fingerprinting?’

  Blackman pursed his lips. ‘I have to be convinced a crime’s been committed before we arrange for that, and we’re not there yet. There’s no sign of a forced entry of any kind. Your parents had a safety chain at the front door. How could anyone have got in against their will? And anyway, what would be the motive? They weren’t wealthy, were they? You’ve said that yourself.’

  Sharon shook her head. ‘This is mad. Something has happened to my parents, I can assure you of that, and I’m deeply worried.’