Hanging from a hook on the kitchen door was a canvas bag. I heart Labradors was the logo. Oh well. Maybe he did. And his luck held – there was a thin waterproof jacket hanging behind a couple of heavier coats. He took that too, promising he would bring it all back. One day.
After putting everything in the bag, plus some clingfilm and kitchen roll, he made his way stealthily upstairs, carrying the bag.
He found the bathroom. In the cupboard there were plasters, antiseptic wipes, bandages, painkillers. No dental floss, but there was a roll of gaffer tape. Probably had a few accidents down on the farm, he thought. Or maybe someone had leg ulcers. He’d heard gaffer tape was good for those. He tried not to take it all – he didn’t want the family, the woman, to know immediately that stuff was missing.
He threw three paracetamols into his mouth. They almost stuck in his throat, but he managed to swallow them dry.
He looked at the shower. Went out onto the landing. Then went back and looked carefully out of the bathroom window. Could see nothing, hear nothing. He would chance it.
It was quick and cool so as to create as little condensation as possible but so damn good to wash the dirt and general shit off himself. His whole body was a mass of cuts and congealing blood that stung as the water cascaded over him. How he wished he could have shaved the stubble off his face. Step too far.
He dried himself off and saw new bruises blooming on his skin, together with old ones that were fading. How had he got those? No time to worry now. He looked at his arm. Needed fixing.
He wiped around the shower with the towel before carefully hiding it among the washing in the laundry basket in the corner. Then he reached inside the canvas bag for the gaffer tape and antiseptic cream.
With the edges of his wound pulled together and arm neatly bandaged with the tape and the burns on his hand treated with the cream, he padded along the landing and into a bedroom. He found a drawer with several pairs of jeans in it. Tee-shirts too. And a couple of jumpers. He pulled on jeans, a tee-shirt and a jumper, ignoring the shafts of pain that raced around his body and wondered how long it would be before they were missed. Hopefully a long time.
Trainers. Three pairs under the chest of drawers, all of them men’s. He pulled a pair out. A size too small, but they would have to do. He pulled them on.
He started as he heard a whistle. Then a woman’s voice. ‘Vera? Ollie? Come. Bloody hell, come. Come.’ The woman’s voice was at once frustrated and furious. ‘Damn you dogs.’
Christ.
The sound of a door opening downstairs.
‘You two can stay outside. You’re filthy.’ A cacophony of barking ensued.
Thank God for that.
Think. Come on, you’ve done this sort of thing before. Think.
He went over to the bedroom window. He was in luck. There was a flat roof below.
He eased the window open, then climbed out and dropped onto the roof, trying not to cry out from the pain. He hoped the wound on his arm hadn’t opened up.
As quickly as he could he went to the edge of the roof and jumped into a flower bed. At least it was a soft landing, but he still had to grit his teeth as his whole body was jarred and he felt every bruise, every sore bone.
There was a soft pounding, then panting and the two Labradors came racing around the corner towards him.
Oh fuck.
He prepared himself to kick out at them and then run like hell, but the dogs merely trotted up to him and started licking his face and neck until he was covered in slobber. He chuckled and scratched them under the chin. ‘Well hello you two.’ It seemed a long time since anyone or anything had given him such an enthusiastic welcome, or had pressed their warm body against his.
Reluctantly, he pushed them away. ‘Gotta go now,’ he said.
He couldn’t see anyone around, so he walked purposefully and painfully towards one of the sheds on the outskirts of the farmyard, reckoning if he looked as though he was supposed to be there, anyone who saw him wouldn’t question him. Unless someone recognized the clothes he was wearing.
There was hot breath on his legs. The dogs had followed him.
‘Go away,’ he hissed. ‘Home. Now.’
‘Vera! Ollie!’ The woman was calling their names. The two dogs turned and ran off towards the sound of her voice.
Rick quickly got out of sight behind the shed.
He waited ten, fifteen minutes. Then set off limping at as brisk a pace as his battered body would allow. Though where he was going or what he was going to do, he had no idea.
There must be somewhere he could go – there had to be.
The rain began to fall steadily.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DAY TWO: MORNING
‘I’m not sure about this,’ said Cora, lighting up one of her never-ending cigarettes and puffing furiously on it as they walked to Bethel Street Police Station to report Rick missing. The rain had stopped for the moment, but the sky was still the colour of pewter.
Alex stopped. ‘Why not? It can’t do any harm, and there’s no time like the present.’
Cora sighed. ‘’Spose not. But what if he turns up tomorrow and he’s just been somewhere else?’
They were standing on the pavement, and people tutted as they were forced to step off the pavement to avoid them.
Alex took hold of her shoulders. ‘Then there’s no harm done. Come on.’
‘Christ, who put you in charge? Bossy cow.’
‘I’m not—’ Oh, what was the point of arguing? None at all, that’s what. She took a deep breath. ‘I was just trying to help, that’s all.’
‘I bet Boney would’ve opened up to me if you hadn’t been there.’
Oh for goodness’ sake. ‘Okay, Cora, I get it.’ Alex was fed up, defeated. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Do me a favour, though, will you? If Rick turns up, let me know. You’ve got my number.’ She turned to go. She really didn’t need the hassle of someone like Cora. She would have to hope and pray the woman’s brother did turn up and she would have the grace to tell her. But it seemed obvious she and Cora were not going to get on.
Cora grabbed her arm. ‘Hang on.’ She gave a crooked little smile. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve never been good at accepting help. It’s always been me and Rick against the world. Mum and Dad were, well, let’s just say they weren’t really there for us.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah.’ She ground out the cigarette under her boot. ‘Come on. We’re like those old dears in the supermarket who stand chatting with their trolleys blocking the way. Irritating.’
Alex pushed open the door of the police station and the odour of fresh paint mingled with sweat and despair hit her. The pale green walls were bare, waiting for their covering of wanted posters and signs that would make anyone feel like a criminal.
‘Can I help you?’ The officer on the front desk sported a shiny forehead but a pleasant smile.
‘Cora?’
But Cora had the look of someone who was trying to distance herself from events. Alex sighed. It was up to her, then. She began to tell the officer what had happened. He took notes, his face impassive.
‘Has he gone missing before?’
Alex turned to Cora. ‘Has he?’
‘Has he what?’
‘Gone missing before.’
A look of panic washed over Cora’s face and Alex’s heart sank. She knew what was coming.
Cora cleared her throat, her face was pale. ‘Yes, he has. More than once. The first time he took himself off to Brighton for a few days. It was when he was still with his wife. Nobody knew where he was. But he came back. The second time was just after he’d arrived in Norwich. He was sleeping in a tent and some bastard slashed it during the night. So he scarpered. Never said where he’d been.’
The officer writing down all the details stopped. ‘It’s not unusual for him to go missing then?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Cora, folding her arms and looking fierce.
‘But officer,’ interrupted Al
ex, ‘I told you about finding him on the road and two men saying they would take him to hospital but now we can’t find him?’
‘You did.’
The officer’s eyes were kind, thought Alex.
‘Though, if I may say, by your own admission you’d had a fair bit to drink.’
‘But—’
‘And maybe he did get picked up and maybe he asked them to stop so he could get out. And he’s gone to find a bit of peace somewhere. War veteran, didn’t you say?’
Both women nodded.
‘Look love. I’ll put in a report. We’ll have a chat with some of the others on the streets and go from there.’
‘The Land Rover,’ said Alex, suddenly.
The officer stood patiently, pen poised, eyebrow raised in a question.
‘I found him by a Land Rover. He’d been in a crash, I told you. Perhaps you could send someone to look.’ Alex tried not to sound as though she was telling him what to do. And why hadn’t she thought about that before?
‘Look?’
‘For clues,’ said Cora, nodding.
‘Clues?’ The eyebrow was raised again.
‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘You might find something there that’ll at least tell you we’re not making it up.’
‘Right.’ The officer didn’t look convinced by their story. ‘Tell me again where the Land Rover crashed.’ His pen was poised.
Alex told him about the road from the Riders’ Farm towards Woodbridge.
‘The Riders?’ He raised his eyebrow. ‘Don’t want to tangle with them.’ He wrote down what Alex told him.
‘Why do you say that?’ Alex was intrigued. The Riders’ influence stretched far and wide, it seemed.
The officer didn’t answer.
‘Why shouldn’t we tangle with the Riders?’ Alex persisted.
‘Influential, aren’t they.’ He shut his lips tight and Alex sensed they weren’t going to get any more from him.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘What about CCTV?’
The officer sighed. ‘Clues, CCTV. Let’s start with his mates, shall we, before we spend money on wild goose chases?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Cora said to Alex as they walked out of the police station into the cold air. ‘I hadn’t thought about him having gone missing before.’
Alex squeezed her arm. ‘Don’t worry, you did really well in there.’
‘I’m not good at police. Or police stations.’
‘Not many of us are.’ But when she looked at Cora she realized her dislike for the police went deeper than a normal person’s. ‘You’ve had a bad experience.’ It was a statement.
‘What did you mean about CCTV?’ Cora said, ignoring what Alex had said.
‘I wondered if there was any near where he slept. In case it showed him speaking to those men the other day. I thought if I could identify them as the ones who picked him up then it might add more to our story. I might go and have a look myself later. Where was he again?’
‘His usual place was at the back of an alleyway behind Able and Paul Solicitors on Unthank Road. Do you know it?’
Alex nodded. ‘And any idea when they spoke to him?’
Cora thought. ‘I’m not sure, but it might have been mid-morning.’
‘Right. I’ll give them a ring.’
‘Good.’ Cora yawned. ‘Do you think the cops’ll go and look for the Land Rover?’
‘I don’t know, Cora, but you look whacked.’ She thought she had never seen anyone look so tired.
‘I am. I’m exhausted. Do you mind—’
‘No, you go and have a sleep. Have you got to work later?’
Cora nodded. ‘I’m on a late shift at the N and N, so I’d better get some rest and get ready to go out. Um – thanks, Alex, for believing in Rick.’
Alex stared at her. ‘Don’t be silly. I should have done something more when those men took him away.’
‘Do you think something has happened to him?’
Alex sighed. ‘Oh Cora, I don’t know. I just think it’s odd that not only does Rick seem to have disappeared, but Martin, Nobby and Lindy. Surely it can’t be a coincidence?’
‘Perhaps someone did offer them all a job or something?’
Alex made up her mind. ‘I’m going to drop in on David. If anyone would know whether someone is offering homeless people somewhere to work, then he will. I’ll call you later.’
Cora nodded, then walked off quickly, her hand in her pockets, shoulders hunched, as if she had all the cares of the world on her shoulders.
Alex watched her go. Then a thought struck her and she went back into the police station.
‘Hello again,’ said the officer, looking as though he was trying to look interested in what she had to say.
‘I’m sorry to bother you again,’ said Alex, sweetly. ‘But if a dog was left tied up to a lamppost, what would happen to it? Would it go to the dog pound?’
The officer gave a small smile. ‘No. No dog pound.’
‘So?’
‘So it would be taken to the local animal sanctuary. Here.’ He pushed a leaflet across the desk.
Alex put the leaflet in her pocket.
She checked her watch. Probably a good time to ring Heath, fill him in, see if he was interested in a series of articles for The Post.
‘Alex, good to hear from you,’ he said when her call finally connected. ‘What have you got for me? I could do with some good news – this management lark isn’t always fun, you know.’
‘You’re news editor, not management.’ Alex was amused.
‘Both, my dear, both. And I had to bollock a poor lowly intern who could have landed us with a hefty libel suit.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have asked them to do something they weren’t qualified to do,’ she replied, tartly.
She could almost feel him puffing his chest up. ‘I’ll have you know—’
‘Heath, cut the crap. This is me, you know.’
‘I know.’ His voice was soft. ‘We are linked for life as the gods would say.’
Alex did not want to think of the time when Heath had been so grievously injured helping her chase a story she thought she had lost him. ‘Heath. Please.’
‘We are. Isn’t that what Shamans abide by? Or white witches? Or wizards? Someone anyway.’
‘Enough of that. Next you’ll be spouting about the wisdom of Odin or Athena and telling me you’ve turned mystical.’
‘Trying to lighten the atmosphere. I have a hard job here, I’ll have you know. What do you want to talk about? Don’t tell me. You want to write a book about winning competitions on the back of cereal packets.’
‘Heath, will you please listen?’
‘Sorry. Go on.’
‘I want to talk to you about rough sleepers who are disappearing off the streets. And before you say anything, I think they really are disappearing, not merely moving on.’
‘Go on.’
Alex filled him in on what had been happening, knowing she would have his full attention. He groaned when she told him about Boney.
‘You will be careful, Alex. He sounds vile.’
‘He is. But imagine what his story might be. And imagine the scoop we would have if there really is something sinister going on with these people disappearing.’
‘I can almost hear you rubbing your hands with glee. And the plods aren’t interested?’
‘Not at the moment. I’ll see if I can make them interested,’ she said, thinking about her friendly copper, Sam Slater. ‘It would be good to have one on our side.’
‘What else?’
‘My next move is to go and have a chat with David Gordon, the head of one of the main homeless charities around here. If anyone knows what’s happening, he should.’
‘Good plan. Is he easy to get to? Do you know him well?’
She decided not to tell Heath about David hitting on her, he would only tease her for evermore. ‘Well enough. So, you’d be interested in the story?’
‘You know I am. Go for it.’
David Gordon’s offices were in an old Georgian house just away from the city centre. Alex had always thought they were a bit grand for a small, local charity. But then perhaps they got the building for a peppercorn rent from a benefactor. Probably the Riders as part of their charitable work. They were an interesting family, to say the least and she wanted to find out more about them, but first she had to get this out of the way.
As a journalist, Alex was used to awkward situations, but seeing David again after his clumsy pass made her feel strangely nervous. She had to put her job hat on and feel confident, that was all. Shoulders back. Metaphorically speaking.
She went up the steps and was about to push open the grand glass door, when someone pushed it hard from the other side, almost knocking her off her feet. A tall man in a sharply cut pinstripe suit came rushing out.
He stopped.
‘I do apologize,’ he said. ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all.’
He flashed her a smile, showing a set of too-white teeth in a tanned face. He had sharp cheekbones, a very smooth forehead and full, almost girlish lips. He seemed familiar, but in that instant she couldn’t quite grasp his name or where she had seen his face.
‘Good. Must look where I’m going next time.’
Alex watched him hurry down the street, then pushed the door gingerly in case someone else was to come racing out.
‘Hello,’ she said to the young girl on the desk who looked up when she spoke. Earrings went all the way down the outside of one of her ears. ‘Is David about, please?’ She looked around, taking in the framed photographs of Norwich buildings along one wall, the beautiful chandelier hanging over the desk, and the sweeping staircase with its polished bannister. David obviously liked to give a good impression.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
He was that busy? ‘No, but I’m a personal friend.’
‘I’ll have to—’
Alex leaned on the desk and gave what she hoped was a friendly smile. ‘Tell him it’s Alex. I’m sure he’ll see me.’ She pushed one of her business cards across the desk. ‘It’s important that I talk to him.’
The girl picked up the phone and spoke into it, then looked up at her. ‘He says he’s very busy but can spare you a couple of minutes in a little while if you’re able to wait?’ Her voice went up at the end, making the statement sound like a question.
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