by Alex Walters
'Won't keep you talking, then,' Milton said. 'Any other news?'
''Nothing to speak of. Did you know any of the people who were coming in? With Brody, I mean?'
'Not really.' Milton sounded surprised that Murrain had reverted to the previous topic. 'Seemed a very mixed bunch, though.'
'Must be this Business Forum thing he runs. Maybe we should find out a bit more about that.'
'You think? Is it likely to be relevant?'
'Can't see how,' Murrain acknowledged. 'But there might be a network there we can tap into.'
There was another moment's silence. 'You got some sort of feeling about this, boss?'
'I don't know. Maybe.'
'Might be worth a shot, then. Look, I'll leave you to get back to Eloise safely. I'm assuming you're planning to be in tomorrow?'
'What do you think? But you don't have to do the same.'
'You reckon I'm likely to do anything else? It's not like I've much to keep me at home at the moment.'
That would have been the moment, Murrain thought, to bring up Milton's domestic situation. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was still feeling shaken by the sensations he just experienced, and he couldn't face the thought of trying to engage in a sensitive discussion at that moment. Instead, he said: 'No pressure, though, Joe. Like I said, we all need a break.'
'I've already had a beer,' Milton laughed. 'I'll have another couple this evening. I'll be fine.'
'See you in the morning, then.'
Murrain was just turning into his drive when the phone rang again.
'Murrain.'
'Kenny. Gerry Winters.' A long-serving Sergeant, Murrain recalled. One of the Stockport East team. Murrain didn't know him well but their paths had crossed at various points and Murrain had always found him helpful and likeable. 'Sorry to bother you after hours.'
'No worries, Gerry. Only just getting back anyway. What can I do for you?'
'You've got the Dunn case, haven't you? You'll pick this up on the system but thought you'd want to know ASAP. Looks like we might have had another attempted snatching.'
He pulled to a halt and turned off the engine. A magpie was hopping across the lawn, looking for food. One for sorrow. 'Go on.'
'Not too far away,' Winters went on. 'Hazel Grove. Yesterday afternoon, but the parents didn't report it till later yesterday evening.' He paused and sighed. 'And, yes, I know we should have got the news to you earlier, but you know how it is. Whoever took the call in the FCR didn't register the significance, so it just got allocated to one of the local PCs to follow up. He was caught up with something else so didn't get on to it until I spotted it in the log and—well, you know. Sorry.'
'Not your fault, Gerry. We're all struggling to keep on top of things. Thanks for the heads-up now. Have you got the details?'
'Yeah. I assumed you'd want to interview them yourselves?'
'In the circumstances, definitely. I'm planning to be in tomorrow so I'll pick it up first thing. Might be nothing, but could be the lead we've been waiting for. ' As he spoke, Murrain tried to assess his own feelings. Something, he thought. But not much, not yet.
'I'll confirm on the system that we've referred it to you,' Winters said. 'You say you're going to be in tomorrow? I'll e-mail all the info over so it's waiting for you.'
'Thanks, Gerry, you're a gem. Need all the luck and help we can get on this one.'
He ended the call and sat for a moment longer in the car, still reflecting on the sensation that had hit him while Milton had been talking. What had Milton been saying? Something about more people coming in to join Finlan Brody. Was it something about someone in that group?
Maybe. Maybe not.
That was the maddening part. The feelings, whatever they were, came and went. Usually they meant something, but that something wasn't always what you expected. Sometimes, occasionally, they meant nothing—or at least nothing that made itself apparent. And sometimes, mostly, he just didn't know.
Finally, he pushed open the car door and climbed out into the night. The magpie had hopped away, and night was beginning to fall. Time enough tomorrow, he thought, to worry about what kind of trouble the bird might have been portending.
CHAPTER TWELVE
From the corner of the bar, Sue Myers watched as Ged effusively greeted the nervous-looking man who had just joined him. 'You reckon that's him, then?' she said to the woman standing next to her. 'This bloke Ged's bringing along?'
'Looks like it,' Joanna said. 'He's not bad. He'd do for you, Sue.'
'Oh, piss off.'
'You could do worse.'
'No, really. Piss off, Jo. Piss right off.' Both women were laughing now. They watched as Ged led the man towards them. Ged was balancing a tray of drinks. The man was awkwardly clutching a pint of lager.
Sue wondered quite what the man had been expecting. The truth was that it was a motley crew gathered at the corner of the bar. There were couple of youngish men who were part of Ged’s extended network of trades-people. Jo and Sue were both in their early thirties, and there were two older women, smartly turned-out, conveying an air of slight daring at being out with a younger crowd on a Friday night. Finally, in the heart of the group, there was a single older man, an avuncular-looking figure, with a neat goatee and a self-consciously arty air.
Ged jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'You’ll have guessed that this is our new member, Kev. Just bought a place up the hill. Met him while I was repointing his brickwork. Psychologist, would you believe? So he’s already sizing you all up. Working out who’s the maddest.'
'He’s already met you, Ged,' Sue said. 'So the question's answered.' She patted the top of the bar next to her invitingly. 'Come and join us, Kev. So you’re a psychologist. Just what we all need. Someone who can help us get our heads examined. I’m Sue, by the way,' she added as an afterthought. 'Run the stationery shop on the main street.'
'Pleased to meet you. Kevin Wickham.'
Sue gestured around the group. 'This is Joanna. Runs the new hairdressers down the main road. Liz. She manages the florists in the village. Julie. She’s got the cafe next door.' She waved a hand towards the two young men. 'Pete and Andy. Mates of Ged. And the leader of our little gang, Finlan Brody.'
Brody leaned across the table to shake Wickham’s hand firmly. 'Good afternoon to you,' he said. He had a deep sonorous voice, the voice of a man all too accustomed to public speaking. 'Delighted you were able to join us. Though we’re all a little nervous that you know exactly what we’re thinking.' He leaned back against the bar, chuckling ostentatiously at his own joke.
Wickham smiled amiably back. 'I wish I did. I feel rather a fraud to be here, to be honest.'
'Why so?'
'You’re a local business forum. Networking, from what Ged tells me. I’m not sure I can contribute much.'
'You run your own business, don’t you? That's what Ged said.' Sue asked. 'So you’ve as much right to be here as any of us.'
'I suppose. But I’m not really working locally. I’m doing some work for people in Manchester and in London. Just contacts and word of mouth, as well as stuff through bigger consultancies. I’m not sure I bring much to the local scene, the way the rest of you do.'
Brody threw his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. 'We’re a social club more than anything else, Kevin. We do a bit of networking, and we put business in each other’s direction when we can. And we’ve got members who give advice—you know, accountants, financial advisors, that sort of thing.'
'But mainly,' Jo interrupted, 'we meet up to get mildly pissed on a Friday night.'
Brody nodded sagely. 'Or, in my case, not so mildly. You’re thinking we’re a rather disparate bunch for that? Well, it depends who turns up—I’m the only real constant. We have a drink or two here, then the various groups peel off and go their separate ways. The younger ones might get the train into Manchester for a raucous night out. We older ones might stay here or head off to grab a bite at the local Chinese.'
'And s
ome of us head home for a quiet night in with a DVD,' Sue said. 'Your choice really.' She smiled, noting his so far untouched glass. 'You don’t get out of paying your way by drinking slowly, you know. We’ve set up a kitty.' She gestured towards a pile of ten pound notes on the bar. 'Ten pounds each. If it’s not used, we carry it forward. Finlan keeps the records. We don’t trust him an inch but no-one else can be bothered to do it.'
'Sorry—miles away.' Wickham took a swig of his beer, then reached into his pocket to add his own note to the pile. 'Been a long day.'
'And it’s not over yet,' Sue said. 'OK, Kevin, tell me something about yourself. Ged says you’ve just moved in. What brings you to these Godforsaken parts?'
'It’s a long story,' he said, after a pause, 'and not a very interesting one. Just had a few problems. You know, personal stuff. Decided to make a new start.'
'We’ve all been there, haven’t we?' Sue said. 'Everything always happens at once. Some sort of relationship thing, I'm guessing?'
'Like I say, it’s a long story. You really don’t want to know.'
Sue’s expression suggested that, actually, she very much did, but it seemed Wickham wasn’t inclined to take the conversation any further. 'So why come here?'
'Just somewhere fresh. I decided to get myself an education, finally, and came up to Manchester to do that at first. Then I decided to stay. Trawled round the estate agents and ended up here.'
'You were lucky to be able to afford anything,' Sue said. 'I know lots of people struggling to get on the ladder.'
'Had a bit of a legacy, helped me along in the first place.' Wickham took another mouthful of beer. 'What about you? Do you live nearby?' He spoke hurriedly, as if trying to move the conversation on.
'Been here about five years. Cosy little place along in the village. You’ll have to come and see it sometime.' Sue realised that, unintentionally, she'd already begun to flirt with him. She could feel Jo watching her, amused, and tried to avoid catching her eye. 'Divorced,' she added, as if he’d asked her directly. 'I like reading. Cinema. Go for a run every other morning. Anything else you need to know?' She held up her now empty glass. 'Oh, and I prefer red to white.'
Wickham seemed to take the hint. 'Shall I get another round in?' he offered to the table at large.
Brody boomed back: 'I see that Ged’s judgement is sound and that you’re the right man for us. Anyone who goes to get a round is welcome here. I'll give you a hand. I know what these reprobates drink.' He moved along the bar to stand beside Wickham. 'I hope you’re enjoying the evening so far. Young Sue’s good company, and she could do with a chap like you.' He paused, noticing and relishing Wickham’s blushing face. 'Don’t tell me the thought hadn’t occurred to you?'
'I—'
Brody was already ploughing on, oblivious to any response. 'We’ll move on to the formal stuff in a second, but we don’t spend too long on that. Then we can get down to some serious drinking. The young blokes will head off to town to get properly rat-arsed.' He tipped his head and smiled at Wickham. 'Don’t see that as your scene, though. You might prefer to stay here with us fogies. Which usually includes all the women of whatever age, if that’s any incentive.'
Wickham blinked, as if unsure how to respond. 'You run a retirement home?' he asked, after a moment.
Brody arched his back, momentarily reminiscent of some jungle animal preparing to defend its territory. 'Care home for the elderly. Keeps the wolf from the door. But I do all sorts round here. Local busybody. You know the sort.'
'You’ve lived here a long time?' Wickham said.
'You’re a newcomer in these parts unless you were born here,' Brody said. 'Always lived in and around the north west. Been down here in the village a few years.' He waved his arms expansively. 'Glorious part of the world. Wouldn’t live anywhere else. Trick is to get yourself involved.' He patted Wickham heartily on the back. 'So there you are. You’ve made the first step tonight. Joined our happy and soon-to-be-inebriated little band. You won’t regret it. Anyway,' Brody continued, now apparently talking to the group at large, 'we all need a bit of cheering up after that awful business up the road. I had yet another visit from the plods today.'
Wickham was still standing on the fringe watching the others, three glasses of wine balanced awkwardly in his hands.
'I hope they get the bugger,' Ged offered. 'Hanging's too good for a bastard like that.'
'I think few would disagree with you on that,' Brody said.
Wickham handed out the wine-glasses. He turned to face Brody who was now standing in front of him, offering a brimming glass of beer. 'Here you go. You'd agree, wouldn't you, Kevin? It's the one thing that's really beyond the pale. ' He paused while Wickham took the pint. 'The deliberate harming of a child. No-one can forgive that. Can they, Kevin?'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Murrain woke early, as he usually did, and lay as the room gradually grew light, the first pale sunlight creeping round the edges of the curtains. He usually enjoyed these first minutes in the morning, a chance to gather his own thoughts, to prepare himself for whatever the day might have to offer. So much of the time he felt as if he were just charging from crisis to crisis, struggling with a case-load that was always too large, battling with the bureaucracy increasingly at the heart of modern policing, fighting for time and resources. This was a moment to catch his breath. To get his head together. And Christ knew his head was more fragmented than most.
He could hear the soft sound of Eloise breathing beside him, the faint clicks of the radiators warming.
Eloise rolled over and pressed her body against his. 'Assume you're going in today?' she mumbled.
'I thought I might,' he said, as if the question had ever been in doubt. 'Just to keep on top of things.'
'No-one will thank you,' she said.
She was right in a way. Officers of Murrain's rank were not eligible for overtime payments, and the overtime budget for lower ranks was always under pressure. By turning into work on a rest-day, Murrain was setting an example his team might feel obliged to follow. If he authorised their overtime, the divisional commander would be on his back. If he didn't, he'd feel he was exploiting their good-will. On the other hand, the divisional commander was already on his back because of their lack of progress, and Murrain knew he was constantly taking advantage of his team's commitment. One more day wouldn't make much difference, and he couldn't sit at home doing nothing.
'The parents might, if we make a breakthrough,' he said. 'Anyway, you know that's not the point.'
'I know that's not the point,' she agreed. 'You go and be a hero and I'll enjoy a lie-in. Then we're both happy.' She released him and turned away. 'And good luck,' she added, her voice muffled by the duvet.
By the time he'd showered, dressed and grabbed a reviving coffee, it was nearly eight. There'd be no traffic to speak of on a Saturday morning, so he'd be at the MIR in fifteen minutes or so.
As he'd been driving in, he had been wondering whether he should conduct the Hazel Grove interview by himself or disturb one of his colleagues, but the question was answered on his arrival at the MIR. Joe Milton's car was parked in front of the station entrance, and Joe himself was sitting at his desk tapping at his computer.
'Assume you have actually been home, Joe?'
Milton yawned. 'Yeah. Got an earlyish night too, by my standards. Not that I slept brilliantly. Too busy fretting away at this stuff.'
'Tell me about it.' Murrain sat at his own desk and booted up his PC. 'You keep thinking you've missed something obvious. That there's some straightforward line we should be pursuing.'
'Had that this morning. Managed to doze off for a bit. Then woke up convinced—you know, absolutely convinced in those seconds before you're fully awake—that there was some major lead in one of yesterday's interviews I'd overlooked. So obvious I couldn't imagine how I'd not seen it.' He smiled. 'Then woke up properly and hadn't a clue what it might have been.'
'The good news is,' Murrain said, 'that we do have anoth
er lead. Probably nothing, but you never know.' He recounted the conversation he'd had with Gerry Winters, then looked at his watch. 'Still a bit early to disturb them on a Saturday, but I'll give them a call as soon as it's decent and we can head over there.'
'What do you reckon?' Milton asked. 'Something in it?'
It wasn't a casual question, Murrain realised. 'There's enough there to make me feel it's worth following up—not that we wouldn't in any case. But not enough to make me feel confident it'll take us anywhere.' He shrugged, feeling oddly embarrassed. Milton was one of the few fellow officers he could even begin to talk to like this, but it was never easy. 'But that doesn't prove much. The whole case has felt like that so far. Maybe I'm losing my touch.'
Milton regarded him curiously. 'Is that possible? I mean, with these feelings of yours.'
'Who knows? Sometimes I think I just imagine the whole thing. Though Christ knows why I would.'
'I've seen enough to believe there's something there,' Milton said. 'Whatever it might be.' He paused, unsure how much to say. 'And I've seen enough to suspect that you might not be entirely sorry if it were to disappear.'
'If there is something, it's so much a part of me that I can't think about it objectively.' Murrain pushed himself to his feet, heading towards the small kitchen at the back of the station. 'Coffee?'
'Why not? Need something to keep me alert.'
Murrain had been wondering whether this might be the time to discuss Milton's domestic circumstances but he already felt as if they'd intruded too far into personal territory. He needed a few moments to himself. 'I'll see if there's any milk left.'
Milton took the hint and busied himself with some paperwork while Murrain made for the kitchen. He didn't know, even now, why he found it so difficult to talk about these issues. Even with Joe. Even, for Christ's sake, with Eloise. Maybe it was just habit. He'd grown accustomed to keeping all this to himself for fear of what others might think. But it felt more than that. Almost as if it might bring ill-luck to focus on it too directly.