‘Leggy goes onto Stumpy.’
‘I see,’ laughed Alex.
‘Have a good day,’ he said cheerfully.
And with that he deftly turned his wheelchair and went into his apartment, newspaper free sheets under his arm. Alex made a mental note to call in on him and see if she could do anything for him – despite what he’d said.
After a long journey from Woodbridge to Norwich spent peering at the rain through a windscreen being cleared by inadequate wipers, Alex was able to park near the solicitor’s office. It was a stroke of luck, and she made it to the reception desk without getting absolutely soaked.
‘Grim out there, isn’t it? I don’t think it’s ever going to stop. Like some sort of Biblical flood,’ said Kate Able as she collected her and swept her along a bright corridor and into a small room in which every available space was taken up by books or papers or both. It smelled of coffee and a flowery perfume with a very faint undertone of cigarette smoke. ‘You’re a journalist, yes? And you’re investigating Rick’s disappearance? And the police don’t think he has disappeared?’ Kate Able glared at Alex, her painted eyebrows raised inquisitively. She had sharp eyes and sharp features and Alex thought she would be sharp in court.
‘No. I mean, yes. I mean, I’m not sure what’s happened to him.’
‘And how will looking at our CCTV help?’
Alex didn’t want to say she had a hunch that the two men who had spoken to Rick were the same two men she’d met at the scene of the accident because it seemed such a remote possibility and she felt silly even thinking about it.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Just a feeling I suppose.’
‘Journalistic hunch, eh?’ Kate Able smiled. Then she said, ‘I don’t want you to think we let anyone look at our CCTV, but Rick is a good guy, and having him there kept the real dirtbags away from the alley. We did try to help him, you know,’ she said, frowning. ‘But he said he was happy where he was. We used to give him coffee and meals, and our junior knitted him a hat and gloves for Christmas. I wish we could have done more, though. Ex-army, wasn’t he, yes?’
Alex nodded.
‘Now let me see.’ Kate Able put on a pair of glasses that added to her intelligent look and started pecking at the keys on her computer. ‘Take a seat next to me, yes?’
Alex looked around, eventually taking a pile of papers off a stool and sitting on that.
‘I can get it all up on here. If I just …’ Kate Able frowned as she concentrated. ‘That’s it.’ She sat back in the chair. ‘Yes. If you see.’ She pointed at the screen; Alex craned her neck to take a look. ‘I’ve pulled up camera two, which is the one at the back. I mean, we only have two and camera one is at the front, so it makes sense to have camera two at the back, yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Alex, faintly.
‘And I guess we want to look at a date a few days before he went missing, yes?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Okay. Let’s start on the Tuesday at, what? About ten o’clock?’
‘Earlier than that. Maybe eight thirty, to be on the safe side?’
‘And end at one p.m., I think. Here we go.’ She pressed ‘play’.
Alex peered over her shoulder. The pictures were surprisingly clear. And it wasn’t chucking it down with rain. The unlovely yard was like any other back yard behind a business: two or three wheelie bins, a pile of old planks of wood, a fat pigeon scratching the ground more in hope than expectation, and a couple of parking spots, one occupied. ‘Presumably for staff?’
Kate nodded.
The downside was that the camera only covered part of the yard.
‘Where did Rick sleep?’
Kate pointed to a doorway right in the corner of the shot. ‘There. If you look carefully, you can see the edge of his sleeping bag. He’s normally up and about by this time. Has a smoke. Reads a book. See? There he is.’
Alex looked. She watched as a man came into view holding a cup of coffee, steam curling off it. His hair was dark, long and matted. His beard was full and straggly and threaded with grey. He was wearing a thick, long overcoat. Khaki? Alex couldn’t be sure. But the man in the accident had stubble on his head and was clean-shaven. Could she be mistaken? Maybe it wasn’t Rick in the accident.
Then he held up his coffee to the camera and waved.
‘Can you pause it there,’ she asked Kate. Yes, there it was. The little finger – half of it was missing. It was definitely the same man.
Rick looked up to the camera, grinned, and blew it a kiss.
Kate went through the rest of the morning on fast forward. Nothing changed.
On Wednesday morning, a car drove slowly into the yard. Alex’s heart beat faster.
‘That’s Damien Pemberton,’ said Kate. ‘He often gets Rick a coffee when he makes his own first thing. See, he’s getting out of his car and chatting to Rick now.’
Damien Pemberton. She should check him out. ‘What does Rick do with himself during the day?’
‘He goes into the city to find himself a meal, see friends, that sort of thing. I know he often goes to the library and reads the newspaper or a book.’ She smiled. ‘He says it’s a bit noisy sometimes, but he enjoys the warmth.’ She turned her attention back to the screen. ‘Let’s see what else happened.’ She pressed the button.
The CCTV fast forwarded through the rest of the morning. Alex saw Rick march out of the yard, probably on his way into the city. A cat slunk in, pissed against the wood and slunk off again. A white delivery van drove in and drove out again. The next two days looked much the same – Rick drinking coffee, talking to one of the partners, going off into the city mid-morning. The cat. The delivery van.
‘You have a lot of deliveries,’ Alex said.
‘What? Hmm. Not really. Could be for the accountant next door. The back entrance to his office is in our yard. No right of way, though.’
On Friday things changed. Rick was sauntering, coffee in hand, out of the yard when Alex noticed two men going up to him, just within sight of the camera.
‘Stop,’ said Alex, ‘Can you go slowly?’
‘Sure.’
The film moved along jerkily. Alex leaned forward. Frustratingly, the two men kept their heads turned away from the camera as if they knew it was there. Well, they probably did; it didn’t disguise itself. But there was something about the set of their shoulders, their walks. Or was she imagining it?
One of them glanced up.
Alex stifled a gasp, and Kate Able paused the film. The man was one of those who had taken Rick away the other night. Thick neck, meaty features, jutting forehead. And the red Puffa jacket.
‘You recognize him.’ It was a statement, not a question.
Alex nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I think he was one of the men who took Rick away after the accident.’
‘Are you sure?’
Was she? Yes, pretty sure, but she felt she had to be careful what she said to this sharp lawyer. ‘Not entirely,’ she said, eventually.
Kate shifted in her chair. ‘I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for all this, you know. Perhaps these men are friends of Rick’s. And he was happy to let them take him after the accident you told me about. Perhaps he really doesn’t want to be found.’ She frowned. ‘Strange though, he always said he wanted to look after Cora. I said to him if that’s what he wanted to do then he ought to get himself some sort of job.’
‘What did he say to that?’
‘I think he snorted.’
Alex smiled. ‘Probably not too easy in his situation. Getting a job, I mean.’
‘Hmm. He also said he had unfinished business. Whatever that meant. So, now you think you have recognized one of the men, what are you going to do?’
‘Are you able to print that picture?’ Alex asked. Maybe someone would know who the man in the red jacket was.
‘Sure.’ Kate Able pressed a button and a printer perched on top of a filing cabinet rattled into action. ‘I’ll do you a few copies, just in case, ye
s?’
‘Can you move the video on in slow-motion?’ said Alex. ‘I’d like to see how long they stayed talking to Rick.’
The two men walked up to Rick, who seemed to square up to them – certainly the body language didn’t look friendly. The man in the red jacket pointed at Rick, maybe even jabbed his shoulder.
The second man, who was wearing a dark overcoat and a tartan scarf, grabbed his arm.
Rick shook it off and turned away.
Alex almost felt the anger radiating out from the film. She couldn’t quite see the face of the man with the scarf – could he be the second man who had picked up Rick the other night? She squinted, but he was adept at keeping his face away from the camera. It was so frustrating.
All at once things moved fast.
The two men and Rick were talking. Were they arguing? She couldn’t tell. Then Rick’s shoulders sagged and he nodded.
A white van – could it be the same van she had seen going in and out of the yard over the week? – drove fast into the yard, then out of the camera’s vision.
A few seconds later the van sped out of the yard. Kate kept the film running. For the rest of the day there was no sign of Rick.
‘Can you try the weekend, please? And Monday?’
‘Sure. Yes.’ Kate pressed the button.
No sign of Rick. Over the weekend, a party of youths went into the yard and urinated against the wall. Kate tutted. They left their fast-food wrappers soaking in a puddle. Kate tutted some more. The cat wandered in and out. The fat pigeon and some of his mates puttered about, pecking at the remnants of the fast food. It rained a lot. On Sunday, Damien Pemberton drove in, parked his car and hurried into the office.
‘Oh,’ said Kate. ‘I wonder what he was doing at work on a Sunday?’
Monday morning and there was still no sign of Rick.
Tuesday morning and still no sign.
Kate paused the film. She sighed. ‘It looks as though he went in the van with those men, though we can’t prove it.’
‘You don’t think he just walked out of the yard?’ Alex had to ask the question even though she was convinced he had gone in the van. She felt it in her bones.
‘No, not that we can see. Though sometimes he did avoid the camera altogether. He said he didn’t want all his movements known. When he said that he laughed, but he meant it.’
Right. Another idea struck her. ‘What about the van? Can you zoom in and see the number plate?’
‘I can try.’ Kate clicked some more and focused on the plate. She shook her head. ‘It’s too dirty. I’d say deliberately. There’s no way we can see the number. Sorry.’
Alex sat back, deflated. She sighed. ‘Thanks though, Kate. You’ve been a great help.’ She gathered up the printouts of the picture of the man in the red jacket.
‘Hang on, let me put the sequence on a memory stick, then you’ve got it if you need it. You never know when some clown might wipe the file clean thinking we don’t need it anymore.’ Kate busied herself clicking buttons. ‘There,’ she said, handing the memory stick to Alex. ‘You know, I’m a lawyer, and I should be encouraging you to go to the police if you think something’s happened to Rick. I should be going to the police. But—’
‘There’s no evidence,’ Alex finished for her. ‘And he could have got into the van of his own accord. But why was he driving around Suffolk in a Land Rover two weeks later?’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘Do what most journalists do: go and talk to people. Trudge around a bit, see what happens. Try and rattle a few cages. The trouble is, I don’t know whose cages to rattle. Not at the moment.’
Alex cast her eyes around the underpass. She felt vulnerable without Cora’s protection, but as far as she could see there was only one person wrapped up in old clothes and newspapers. Perhaps everyone else had found somewhere more comfortable to sleep. She took a deep breath and said, ‘Tiger.’
He opened one eye. ‘What the fuck do you want.’ Recognition crept slowly across his face. ‘Cora’s friend.’ His voice was slurred, and several empty white cider bottles rolled on the ground beside him.
Alex’s heart sank. How likely was she to get anything out of him? She tried a smile on for size. ‘That’s right. Look, I’ve brought a McDonald’s. I thought you might like it.’ She put the paper bag containing the burger and chips, together with a cup of coffee, down beside him.
‘Ta.’ He struggled to sit up, stale alcohol fumes wafting towards her. He began to stuff the burger into his mouth. Alex waited until he had finished.
It was now or never.
‘I want to know whether you’ve seen this guy down here.’ She held the picture of the man in the red jacket in front of his face.
He squinted at the paper. ‘Bleeding ’ell, what’s that?’
‘It’s a photo. Of a man.’
‘What you showing it me for?’
‘Have you seen him anywhere around here? Talking to people?’
‘People? What – you mean people down here?’ He yawned widely.
‘When I was here with Cora—’ Alex settled herself down on an old magazine on the concrete floor, ‘she told me that Martin had said two men had been seen talking to Rick, Nobby and Lindy before they disappeared. Now Martin’s gone too. This is one of the men seen talking to Rick. He was caught on camera.’
‘Bleddy nineteen eighty-four. Big Brother always bleddy watching us.’ He rolled his eyes.
Alex grinned, relaxing a little. ‘I know what you mean, but sometimes it has its uses. Take a look, Tiger, have you seen him before?’
He took the picture out of Alex’s hand with nicotine-stained fingers.
‘Two of them you say?’ He frowned. ‘Gotta ciggie?’
Alex reached into her bag for the emergency packet of cigarettes she always carried with her. They often proved useful.
‘Ta,’ he said, after he had lit the cigarette. ‘You know, I have seen him.’ He jabbed at the paper. ‘With another fella.’
‘Down here?’
‘Mebee. No. It was at the hostel. The Fight for the Homeless one down Magdalene Street. Stupid name for a charity if you ask me. They were talking to some of the guys there.’
‘At the hostel?’
‘Yeah. Maybe they had some jobs on offer or summat. It happens occasionally. People come round. Sometimes its dodgy like selling dishcloths door-to-door. Other times it could be labouring work.’
‘But surely they would have had to have gone through management to be allowed in?’
Tiger snorted. ‘Management. Puffed up little pricks. Anyway, I wouldn’t know about that. I go for the grub, that’s all.’
She smiled at him. ‘Okay, thanks, Tiger. You’ve been a great help.’
‘Anytime, lassie.’
‘You’re from Scotland, aren’t you?’
‘Aye, originally. Came down to the bright lights. Marriage broke up. Had nowhere to go and no job and nothing to keep me in Glasgow. So I came here. Streets paved with gold. My arse. Anyway.’
‘Why do you sleep here and not get a place in a hostel? Like the one on Magdalene Street?’
‘Ah, those places are not for me. Too much sharing, you know, bathrooms and toilets. And the meetings they wanted you to go to. And the curfews. They do a good meal there, though.’
‘I thought the Fight for the Homeless hostel was different, more like a home from home? No checks and stuff?’
Tiger looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Aye. That’s what it says. But you still have to be in the place at a certain time or you don’t get no bed. That’s what Lindy told me anyway. She went there for a while when the weather was bad, but some of us want to be on our own, however dangerous it might be. One day I might join the Poles who’ve set up camp in the middle of a ruddy great roundabout. Sounds almost like a camping holiday.’ He grinned. ‘Anyhow, ta for the food and the coffee. Come anytime. But not when the teenagers are around, okay?’
‘Teenagers?
&nbs
p; He sniffed and took a large hanky out of his pocket and wiped his nose elaborately. ‘They like to have a bit of fun on a Saturday night by kicking our arses.’
‘Can’t anyone do anything about it?’
‘The polis you mean? Nah.’ He tapped the side of his head with a nicotine-stained forefinger. ‘Yer mental if you think that. An’ we can’t do nothing in case we get banged up for it. Lose me pitch then, wouldn’t I?’ He laughed.
Alex didn’t know what to say.
‘Ah, look at the face on you. Don’t you worry now. Do you want to leave that bit o’ paper wi’ me and I can show some of the others?’
‘Thanks, Tiger.’ She passed it over to him.
‘It’s a good job nobody else is around at the moment or they’d all be wanting a MaccyD.’ He winked at her.
Alex grinned. ‘I lucked out then. Bye, Tiger. See you soon.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DAY THREE: MORNING
The heavily tattooed young man behind the hostel reception desk gave a cursory glance at the picture Alex showed him.
‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Never seen him.’
‘Take a closer look,’ pleaded Alex.
The man barely acknowledged it or her. ‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Definitely not.’
‘Can I go and ask inside, in case someone else has seen him, it’s very important?’
‘Who are you?’
‘Alex Devlin. I’m a journalist.’
‘Journalist?’
She ignored the sneer in his voice and tried to curb her impatience.
‘Haven’t got you down.’ The young man didn’t look at anything.
‘Got me down where?’
‘In the book.’
Alex couldn’t see any book.
She leaned on the high counter. ‘If I was homeless, would you let me in?’
‘But you’re not, are you? And for all I know you could be wanting to give us bad publicity.’ He stared at her.
Bloody hell, it was so frustrating. Perhaps she should sit down on one of the primary-coloured seating blocks in the window and wait it out.
‘Alex. What are you doing here?’
Alex wheeled round to see David Gordon behind her, no welcoming smile on his face. She was still in his bad books, then.
Gone in the Night Page 11