Roxanne, p.5
Roxanne, page 5
He said to Maya, ‘I do. It’s a one-bedroomed place down near the river.’
She said, ‘I’m thinking of moving into the area. The drive from Bury every day is too far. And I’m living with my parents…’
She smiled at him, a very pretty girl inviting his sympathy, inviting him into a conversation – she was the object of much interest among some of the younger officers at Kings Lake Central.
Waters said, ‘It’s up with Donaldson and Greig. Their office is in the market square. They have all the details.’
Fairhills was a part of his patch now. He parked two streets away, the precautions second nature these days, and walked to the house where he expected to find her. In the alleyway off Cromwell Road, two youths who should have been in school were kicking a deflated football back and forth. They didn’t make way for him immediately, and so he simply waited, hands in pockets, shoulders a little stooped, avoiding their deliberate stares. Emboldened, the bigger of the two asked if he had a cigarette to spare. Waters had a street voice now, as well as street clothes. He said, ‘Sorry mate, don’t smoke.’
The boy grinned at his friend and made room, and Waters went through, keeping close to the fence, wary of a foot that might be stuck out to trip him up. Years ago, when he began this job, he’d wanted the authority it gave him to be acknowledged everywhere. Now he understood the value of not being seen, of not seeming to be a figure of authority at all. Invisibility is an asset, and in being ordinary, one becomes invisible. He had discovered in himself a liking for this aspect of the job, the performance and the role-play, and one of his few regrets about joining Freeman’s squad was that it was unlikely to offer many opportunities to work undercover.
When the house was in sight, he slowed his steps and looked around without seeming to do so. Learn to see everything. It was unlikely there would be anyone to recognise him, but even so, we never lower our guard. At the door, he studied the buttons for the bells. There were three but the name slots by each one had long been empty. This was where she had lived six months ago – they’d walked past this house on the way to Neville Murfitt’s squalid little room – but her own life would most likely be rootless and unstable. She might be long gone from here.
The middle-aged woman who opened the door after he had knocked on it three times was big and blousy, her hair far too long and dyed an appalling shade of red. She squinted up at Waters and said, ‘What?’
He blinked and said, ‘Sorry, I… Are you Lorraine?’
It had been a fifty-fifty choice whether using the name he’d remembered would be a good idea or not. She looked suspiciously beyond him into the road.
‘Depends who wants to know.’
Philosophically, one can make a case for the nature of a truth being dependent on the nature of the one who seeks it, but Waters guessed that such a debate was best not entered into on this particular doorstep with the woman who might or might not be Lorraine. He tried to move beyond that dialectical disaster zone, and said, ‘I’m looking for April. I know she used to-’
‘Eff off!’
‘I just-’
‘Effing eff off!’
Waters stepped back a pace and lifted both hands, waiting. The woman looked genuinely annoyed, and then, dimly at first, he began to understand what the problem might be. He said as placatingly as he knew how, ‘I’ve got a message for her. Something she ought to know. Nothing else going on.’
Lorraine – and surely this could be no other – got a message of her own from his apparent submission. She didn’t look happy about it but she said, ‘Stay here,’ and pushed the door to without latching it. Thirty seconds later, he could hear voices beyond it – the landlady’s saying something like ‘Better not be. Told you a ’undred times, no business in this place!’, and another voice, one he recognised, replying, ‘It bloody ain’t, I swear it! No idea who it is, ’ave I?’
But April Kennedy recognised him as soon as she opened the door. She came out onto the front step, pulled it to behind herself and hissed at him, ‘What the ’ell are you doin’ ’ere? How’d you find me?’
Waters reminded her of that night last September when they had walked along this road and she’d pointed out to him the place where she was staying. She looked a little staggered, and said, ‘And you remembered that? Christ! I’m worrying about what else I said now. What d’you want? ’E ain’t got out, has he, the bloke who did for Neville? I never made no statement in court. No reason why he’d-’
Waters interrupted and explained that far from getting out, the bloke who did for Neville Murfitt had been convicted of murder not twenty-four hours ago. April said that was a bloody good job then, and lowered her voice after taking a theatrical look behind at the door, beyond which, presumably, Lorraine was listening.
‘So what the ’ell are you doin’ here if that’s done and dusted? Part of the service, is it, keeping the rest of us updated? Fat chance! What d’you want?’
Waters too was keeping his voice down enough to make what he said next impossible for anyone behind that door to hear. He said, ‘Some information. A bit of background you might be able to give me.’
‘Me? I don’t know nothing ’bout anything…’
Waters kept quiet, and sure enough her curiosity got the better of her.
‘Another case, is it?’
‘Not yet. Hopefully it won’t be. We’re just asking around for now.’
The “we’re” bothered April, and she took another sweep of the road. Waters said, ‘It’s just me.’
April Kennedy might feel a little flattered that this tall young policeman had remembered her, had even remembered the door she’d pointed out to him six months ago, but she was, she reminded herself, a woman not entirely without principles. It was time to make that clear to him.
She said, ‘I ain’t no grass. I ain’t droppin’ no one else in it.’
Waters sensed some progress and moved to reassure her. He said, ‘No names.’
‘Give me some idea what it’s all about, then.’
He told her – a young girl might have gone missing, and she might have been working as an escort in and around Lake.
‘And you thought the best person to talk to would be me?’
He played along, and offered her a shrug and a half-apologetic smile.
After a suitable pause, April said, ‘’f I was a sensitive soul, I might be insulted.’
And then, ‘Can’t talk here,’ with a nod to the front door, ‘give me two minutes to make myself decent.’ When she had the door open, she said to him, in a louder and a different voice, ‘You want to buy me brunch? I s’pose so…’ before disappearing stage left with a flourish.
He had agreed to buy her a sandwich, and said yes, anywhere you like. Five minutes later, Waters realised with a sinking feeling that they were heading for Micky Lemon’s café. The direct route would take them along Eden Street before crossing the city centre – past, of course, Flower Power where Patsy kept a close eye on happenings in the outside world. A close eye, and a running commentary for her boss, Miriam. He pictured the moment when she described it: and here’s Chris, Miriam, walking along with one of those women from Fairhills… I think it’s the same woman he was involved with when they were investigating Michael’s murder. She’s chatting away, looking quite pleased with herself, and Chris is doing his best not to look in our direction…
When they passed the florist’s, he saw no one, but in this community, as in most others, eyes are everywhere. The chances were that this escapade would get back to the women and he would have some explaining to do. April walked along with something of a swing in her step. She’d made a remark about being seen out with a toy-boy, and refused to discuss what he wanted to discuss until the sandwich was on the plate in front of her – no doubt April had experience of non-payment after the event.
Micky’s wasn’t too busy – Waters had hoped it might be – and April took a table right by the window that gave a full view of the street, and the street a full view of the occupants of that table. She gave him her order, and he made his way to the counter. It could have been Duane, Micky’s regular help, but no, it was the owner himself. Micky Lemon had watched them all the way from the street to the table, and now he was regarding Waters with an expressionless look that spoke volumes. Waters said nothing, and the look went momentarily to the woman at the table and back to the detective sergeant. Then Micky said, ‘Mornin’.’
Waters’ response was, ‘Good morning, Micky. At this point I’d like to caution you that you do not have to say anything…’
‘Fair enough.’
‘It’s business.’
‘I totally understand. No need to explain. Two coffees?’
‘And one bacon sandwich.’
Micky slowly repeated the order as he wrote it down on a notepad, and then said, ‘Is the sandwich for the lady?’
‘Yes.’
Waters wanted to ask what difference that made, but in this situation all he could do was minimise the damage, and that was best done by giving Micky Lemon as few opportunities for significantly saying nothing as possible. Smith had once described the café owner as “a bit of a dry stick” but the expression hardly did him justice.
‘Very good, then. I’ll bring the coffees over when they’re ready. No need for you to hang around at the counter…’
Seeing the sandwich being prepared must have been enough to convince April that the offer to buy her brunch was genuine. When Waters sat down, she said, ‘What’s ’appened to this girl, then?’
He said, ‘We don’t know. Maybe nothing. But her friends have reported her missing. She didn’t come home last weekend.’
April nodded professionally, as if acting as a consultant in these matters was routine for her, and said, ‘Friends? On the game as well?’
‘We don’t know that she actually was. We’re still looking into it.’
‘Escort, you said.’
‘What I said was, she might have been working as one.’
She gave him an impatient glance and then looked through the window at the street. The sun was trying to shine but it was still just Kings Lake on a cold April morning, and everyone was saying spring would be late this year. Waters looked at the other April and wondered how old she might be. Late forties, perhaps early fifties – old enough, at any rate, to be his mother. She’d kept her figure but paid the price in her face, where, behind the make-up, there were too many lines to be accounted for by the passing years.
He said, ‘We think the girls who reported her missing probably are working as escorts, so…’
‘Then she is as well. When you get into the business, you don’t keep many friends outside it. Where are they from?’
When he told her, she said, ‘’Ardly even Kings Lake, is it? Well off my patch. Should’ve told me that before you offered to buy this sandwich.’
She had a dubious look on her face, as if expecting him to renege on the deal now.
‘It’s as I said, April. We’re just getting some background. We’re asking people whether they’ve heard anything out of the ordinary. Have there been any new characters hanging around? Has anyone reported feeling threatened? Have any other girls gone off the local radar?’
Micky arrived with a tray. He put the coffees down first and then the sandwich in front of her, followed by two bottles of sauce, one tomato and one brown. She thanked him in her theatrical voice once more and Micky said, ‘’S alright, April. I know you like a bit of each, half and half with the sauce. Let me know if you’d like the wafer-thin mints to follow,’ and she laughed, showing the gaps in her teeth. As the owner of the café turned to go, he caught Waters’ surprised look and answered with one of his own that seemed to say, What? I never said I didn’t know her, did I?
There was a paper napkin with the sandwich. Waters was sure he’d never had one in all the times he’d eaten here. April unfolded it and placed it on the table beside her plate. She said, ‘Micky’s all right. Knowed ’im for years. You’re not the only copper to come in ’ere, neither. Been one or two before you.’
She took a bite and Waters thought, no, I’m not going there – I am not going to ask her about the coppers who’ve sat here before me, just in case.
He noticed she wouldn’t speak with her mouth full. She ate quite daintily, and when she lifted the coffee cup, April held her little finger crooked, as if she were having tea with the vicar. Waters found something intensely sad in all this, and looked away then, feeling guilty, too, that he hadn’t found it in himself to eat with her, because he was hungry enough to have done so.
Eventually she said, ‘I ain’t heard nothing like that. But the goings on in the town probably don’t ’ave much to do with what you’re talkin’ about. Different clientele, if you know what I mean…’
She spoke the word with a touch of irony, even self-mockery. Waters said, ‘My boss is hot on anything like this. She told us to go out and talk to people, just in case.’
One bite of the sandwich remained but it halted on its way to April’s open mouth when she said, ‘Lady boss? What’s she like, then?’
‘Tough. You’d probably get on with her.’
Something about the situation had interested April, and the final piece of sandwich was still suspended in mid-air. She said, ‘So, I’m picturin’ a big ol’ battle-axe in her fifties, ’orn-rimmed specs and hair in a bun?’
He smiled and said, ‘You’re pretty wide of the mark.’
She shrugged and said, ‘Still, good for her. Most coppers – most people – don’t give a toss about…’
Waters knew why she had stopped there. The words that followed would be words that described herself and her kind. She looked at Waters and said, ‘You know,’ and then she ate the last bite of the bacon sandwich. After another sip of coffee, she went on, ‘This girl gone missing, bet she’s young, though.’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘There you go. ’S’all online, app thingies on their phones, you can get interviewed to join agencies, all sorts. An escort for the evening, the full girlfriend experience, all the fees upfront, disclaimers sayin’ the agency ain’t responsible for any private arrangements made between the client and the escort…’
April was surprisingly well-informed. She was looking at him then, waiting to see if she should go on – there was obviously more to say.
Waters said, ‘But?’
‘Well, they think they’re onto somethin’ new, but it ain’t called the oldest profession for nothin’, is it? Escorts! It’s just the same old, same old, however you dress it up. Just as dangerous for these young kids as it is for… Anyway, credit to your boss, I say. Let’s ’ope this girl has been whisked off to The Seychelles for a fortnight. We can all dream, can’t we?’
She finished her coffee and declined the offer of another, making it clear she had decided this meeting had come to an end. Waters felt he owed her something. He took out one of his new cards – it had taken just five months to get them printed – and put it on the table in front of her.
‘This is me. You can call m-’
‘I told you. I ain’t no grass.’
Waters had learned to wait. When her hackles were down again, he said, ‘I was going to say, you can call me if you’re worried about anyone, if you think someone’s at risk. At any time. Better safe than sorry?’
April stared down at the card for a second or two before she picked it up and dropped it into her voluminous shoulder bag. Then he said, ‘I’ll settle up with Micky.’
A step or so away from the table, he turned again and said, ‘Did you want the wafer-thin mints?’ and she laughed.
Outside the café, there was a moment of uncertainty and awkwardness before she took control of it. She said, ‘Don’t know ’bout you, I got places to be. Ta for lunch,’ and she was away, making for the centre of Kings Lake. Waters had the feeling she’d spared his feelings about walking with her again.
He watched her go, and then headed left, taking an alternative route that would avoid another appearance on Eden Street. But he hadn’t gone fifty yards before his mobile was ringing. It was Tom Greene, and therefore not to be ignored.
‘Chris? Thanks for picking up straight away. Where are you?’
Waters told him precisely, even naming the street, and then Greene said, ‘Right. It looks as if the girl has turned up.’
Instincts develop over time, and he knew the answer before he asked the question.
‘In a good way or a bad way, sir?’
‘Bad, unfortunately. You’ve got a bit of a drive but we want you to go straight there. According to uniform, it’s a difficult place to find – I’m texting you the GPS. The DCI is already on her way.’
Moments later, his phoned pinged with the message giving a location and the set of coordinates. It was a very long way from The Seychelles.
Chapter Six
There are fewer than two hundred chalk streams in the world, and one hundred and sixty of them are in England. The underlying beds of calcareous rock extend from East Anglia to Normandy, and the best-known of these rivers, famed for their game fishing – the Test and the Itchen, for example – are found in the English southern counties. But there are chalk streams in the county of Norfolk. They make their understated way through hidden, secret valleys and most people are unaware of their existence, until, maybe, they stop the car one afternoon, look down from a little hump-backed bridge and realise that the water flowing below it is unusually clear – limpidly so, and always cool because it springs from the geological depths of the earth. Watch from that bridge for a while, look into those sunlit shallows, and you might see some of the rare wildlife that inhabits these places; the river lampreys, the white-clawed crayfish, the native, crimson-speckled brown trout motionless in mid-stream.
Waters crossed over one such bridge on the single-track road and slowed the car to look again at the screen displaying his satnav’s information. It was telling him he was off-road – he was an eastward-pointing arrow in the wilderness. He switched to satellite view and then enlarged the image by parting finger and thumb on the screen. The track was visible now, a thin, curved line running through the dense deciduous woodland he could see for himself on both sides of the car. Norfolk has its coniferous woods, planted for timber in the first half of the twentieth century, but this was much older and mostly oak trees, according to his limited botanical knowledge. The branches were bare but around each ancient tree there was a coppery haze of new growth.
