After a visit to the nearest DIY superstore Mariner spent the morning sandpapering, filling and painting over the cracks. It was, in its way, therapeutic, until thoughts about Suzy began to encroach and he was forced to replay their conversation of the night before, which only made him feel bad all over again. Perhaps he’d been hasty in coming straight back here. Suzy was always so forgiving, and he’d behaved like a git. There was only so long that she would put up with it, then that would be another relationship he could kiss goodbye. There were other more selfish reasons why he should have been kinder to Suzy too. He’d been living like a monk since Jamie had moved in. Last night had been an opportunity missed in more ways than one.

  While Suli took Haroon to visit his parents, Millie had spent much of Saturday preparing supper and was now adding the final touches. For the first time since having the baby, she had made a deliberate effort to reclaim her old grown-up self, with her hair and make-up, and had even managed to squeeze into one of her pre-baby dresses, though it meant she’d have to go easy on the pakora tonight. All in all she’d made a special effort, so when the doorbell rang on the dot of seven that evening announcing the arrival of Greg and Louise, she was a little surprised to see that Louise was dressed down in one of her usual, shapeless dungaree outfits.

  ‘Sorry,’ Louise said straight away. ‘We couldn’t get Abigail settled. I’m sure she knew that something was going on. I wanted to bring her with us but Greg insisted we were going to have a proper night out, so for the first time we’ve got in a babysitter. And now I’m prattling.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Millie. ‘It’s great that you could come.’

  ‘Abigail will be absolutely fine,’ Greg soothed, ushering her in through the door. ‘I’ve got my phone switched on and we can be home in a couple of minutes if we need to be. Try and relax, darling.’ They had brought wine, expensive chocolates and flowers, so, taking them through to the lounge, Millie introduced Suli and left him to organize drinks while she retreated to the kitchen to find a vase and to attend to the cooking. After a while Louise came to ask if she could help.

  ‘I think we’re under control,’ said Millie. To her immense relief, the steady murmur of conversation she could hear coming from the lounge seemed to indicate that Suli and Greg had hit it off. ‘You could give that pot a stir though, since you’re here.’

  ‘I love this worktop,’ said Louise, running her hand over the polished granite surface. ‘Ours is just cheap MDF, and I think completely spoils the look of the kitchen. But Greg says it’s functional, and would be much too expensive to replace.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll come round to the idea eventually,’ said Millie, speaking from experience. ‘Right, I think we’re all set.’

  ‘So who have you got sitting for you tonight?’ Suli asked, as they sat down to eat. ‘We might be on the lookout for someone soon.’

  ‘She’s the daughter of a work colleague,’ said Greg. ‘Though it’s not the most convenient of arrangements. She lives out in Kinver, so I’ll either need to drop her back home afterwards, or we’ll be shelling out for a taxi.’

  ‘But she’s a sweet girl,’ said Louise, ‘and much more appropriate.’

  ‘Whatever that means,’ said Greg. ‘Our neighbours have a teenage son who does babysitting,’ Greg explained, for Millie and Suli’s benefit. ‘But Lou wanted a girl to do it, didn’t you, darling? Not that Abigail will know the difference at her age.’

  ‘But I’ve met Jodie and I like her,’ said Louise. ‘I just feel more comfortable with her.’

  ‘It’s true, she is a lovely young woman,’ Greg agreed. ‘One of those bright young kids who came to us as an intern. She’s very capable and I’m sure she’ll go far.’ He became quite animated while talking about the girl and Millie wondered if she might be Greg’s distraction. Perhaps he was protesting a little too much about a late-night drive to Kinver. She tried to look for signs that Greg was anxious about anything else, but if he was, he was one hell of an actor. It was Louise who seemed more edgy, which was nothing new. And it was the first time she’d left her baby daughter so perhaps it was inevitable.

  ‘Millie tells me you’re in the gun trade,’ said Suli.

  ‘Yes, sports rifles, that sort of thing,’ said Greg. ‘I didn’t have much choice really. It’s a family business so it was pretty much expected. Have you ever done any shooting, Suli?’

  ‘Not since I had a spud gun as a kid,’ said Suli. ‘I wouldn’t mind having a go, though.’

  ‘You must join me for some clay pigeon shooting. Uncle has a range out in Shropshire. It’s mostly for clients, but you must come out and see what you think.’

  ‘I’d like that, thanks.’

  ‘How about next Saturday then?’ Somehow Greg made it sound like a challenge, and Millie had a sudden sense of foreboding.

  ‘Aren’t we fairly busy next weekend?’ she said.

  Suli frowned. ‘I don’t think so. No. That sounds good, Greg. I’ll look forward to it. You and Millie sort of have a common interest then,’ he went on.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What with her being a police officer.’

  To his credit, Greg didn’t quite choke on his wine, but for several seconds he did seem to have difficulty swallowing and there followed an awkward pause. ‘I didn’t know that,’ he said, recovering quickly. ‘That’s very … um … impressive. Are you based here in Oldbury?’ he asked.

  ‘South Birmingham,’ said Suli. He placed a hand over Millie’s. ‘She does a great job. I’m very proud of her.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Greg, slurring a little. The drink seemed to have suddenly caught up with him. ‘In that case I’ll have to be on my best behaviour, won’t I?’ It was said in jest, but there was an edge to his voice.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Millie said, playing along and wagging a teasing finger at him. ‘I’m going to be keeping a close eye on you. I’ve already looked you up, in fact. Your company has quite a history. One of the original Birmingham gunmakers. You must be very proud of that tradition.’

  ‘Hm.’ Greg’s head nodded, though his expression had glazed over a little. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

  After that the conversation turned to more mundane things, mainly the babies and their sleeping and feeding patterns. Later, when Greg and Louise had gone, Millie and Suliman loaded the dishwasher together.

  ‘I agree with you,’ said Suli. ‘Louise does seem a bit highly strung. Too much time at home alone, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Millie. ‘Those two are a mass of contradictions. Just about everything Louise has told me about Greg, he seemed intent on disproving tonight. You two seemed to hit it off, though.’

  ‘Yeah, despite everything you’ve told me, I quite liked the guy,’ said Suli. ‘Maybe he’s good at putting on an act.’ He chuckled. ‘Your job caught him out, though, didn’t it?’

  ‘He probably made assumptions about our culture,’ said Millie. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? I expect he thought I’d be a “safe” friend for Louise to have, another subservient, traditional wife. And I learned something about you tonight. I didn’t know you were keen on shooting.’

  Suli shrugged. ‘I don’t know that I am, really. I was just being sociable. I thought it might help if I took an interest.’

  ‘So you’ll go with him?’

  ‘If he asks again. Is that OK with you?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be? You can find out a bit more about him. You will be careful, though?’

  ‘Don’t worry, he knows what you do now.’ Suli sighed. ‘Always on the job, aren’t you?’ he said, affectionately, putting his arms around her.

  ‘I can’t help it. It’s who I am.’

  ‘You want to go back.’

  ‘A bit of me does, yes. Is it that obvious?’

  And at that moment, with impeccable timing, Haroon decided to remind them of his presence.

  FIFTEEN

  Mariner had resisted for as long as he could but by early Saturday evening, it seemed that all he could think about was Grace Clifton and Rosa Batista, and inevitably he found himself back at Granville Lane. Despite the usual queue down at the main desk, he was the only person up in the incident room at this time of night and he welcomed the opportunity to study and think alone.

  The display board had now been divided into three distinct sections, one for each woman, though Dee Henderson still had a big question mark above her until they knew for sure that she was linked to the other two disappearances. There were similarities of course, but there were also differences, for which Mariner set her slightly apart, not least the absence so far of a follow-up parcel.

  Frustratingly they still didn’t know exactly where Rosa Batista had disappeared, but Mariner scrutinized the maps for Dee Henderson and Grace Clifton, which indicated the last place each woman had been seen, and the routes that they were likely to have taken to get to their respective intended destinations, had they taken the most direct course. Both women came from, and would have ended up in, different parts of the city, but if Dee had stopped off at the Town Hall, as Ellen Kingsley indicated, there was a specific intersection running the length of Hill Street. Was there something about that particular stretch of road that was significant? Picking up his jacket again, he headed back out to the car park before realizing that he would probably indulge in a few bevvies while he was out. So, pocketing his car keys, he crossed over the road to catch the bus into town.

  Alighting on Bristol Street, Mariner crossed the road and walked through to Hurst Street past the Diskery. He hadn’t been in that place for years but its survival seemed proof that there were still enough vinyl enthusiasts around to keep it afloat. On Hurst Street he turned left, making his way up towards the Arcadian theatre and restaurant complex. He had to weave a path through the pavement furniture outside the bars, placed there not to take advantage of the mild British climate, but to provide a refuge for smokers. For Mariner, who’d never indulged, apart from the odd packet of Consulate in his youth, the ban was a mixed blessing. Undoubtedly it had vastly improved the atmosphere of pubs, bars and restaurants but instead often meant inhaling second-hand cigarette smoke along the pavements outside. It never failed to amaze him either, the number of people who were prepared to withstand any kind of cold and rain for the sake of a nicotine fix.

  He came to one of the old city corner pubs that had been refurbished beyond recognition and went in for his first pint of the evening. Predictably in this neighbourhood the only beer was extortionately priced foreign lager. ‘Don’t you have any proper stuff?’ Mariner asked, but the young barman looked blank.

  ‘He doesn’t know what you’re talking about.’ A man sitting on a bar stool a little further down the bar smiled knowingly at Mariner, his own half-pint glass half empty. About Mariner’s age, he was running to fat, his face scrubbed and clean–shaven, and he gave off a cloud of cologne. ‘Quiet in here for a Saturday, isn’t it?’ the man went on.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Mariner said. ‘I think it’s the first time I’ve been in here.’

  Encouraged, the man stood up and slid along the bar towards Mariner. ‘Are you new to the city?’ he asked.

  Glancing back at the tables, Mariner realized that apart from a group of giggling young women in one corner, the other customers were exclusively male and most of them were in pairs, some sitting very close to one another. His new friend was homing in. With deliberation he shook back his cuff to check his watch. ‘No, I’m local,’ he said. ‘Just killing time before meeting my wife for dinner.’ He hoped the excruciating cringe in his gut hadn’t made it as far as his face.

  ‘Ah, well, there are some great restaurants around here.’

  They continued with some awkward, mainly weather-based small talk while Mariner swallowed his beer and then he left, to continue on up past the Back-to-Backs. This was close to the Chinese quarter of the city and the air was rich with the distinctive aromas of oriental cooking, the restaurants doing a good trade. He crossed over the four lanes of the Suffolk Queensway and came into Hill Street, picking up the queue of cars edging forward for the New Street station drop-off and the route that both Grace and Dee would have walked. The traffic flow here was too hectic surely for a stranger to be able to snatch a woman from the pavement, unnoticed.

  At the traffic lights Mariner crossed over again and continued up Hill Street towards the Town Hall and Council House. Here the street was one-way to nowhere and few vehicles passed him. One side of the road was given over to offices, empty at this time of night, and on the other side he walked past an upmarket brasserie, a basement bar he’d never noticed before, and the lobby of the Belvedere Hotel, the predictable smattering of dog-ends on the pavement outside. And then he was in Victoria Square, face to face with, or rather confronted by the arse of, Gormley’s Iron Man. This was the point at which Grace and Dee would have parted company again, as it were. Turning through 180 degrees, Mariner stood and looked back down Hill Street. This had to be the most likely place for something to have happened. But how the hell was it done without arousing attention, and why here?

  Walking up the steep incline had made Mariner thirsty again, and this time he wanted a proper drink. His bar of choice would have been the no-frills Post Office Vaults, but the limited space was full to capacity and starting down the stairs he could see right away that it would be hopeless. He hadn’t the stomach for Broad Street, so, emerging again and turning right, he walked along New Street to the Burlington Hotel, which he knew would be more civilized and usually had at least one decent beer on tap. Even this was rowdier than expected, and as he was jostled at the bar he inadvertently knocked into the woman standing next to him. As they each turned to apologize, Mariner found himself looking into the face of Dr Ellen Kingsley. He took several seconds to place her, in full make-up and wearing a tight-fitting skirt and top with a plunging neckline that emphasized her toned shoulders and small, firm breasts. Not that Mariner was looking.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Or should that be ’ello, ’ello, ’ello?’ She was flushed and the smile a little staged, both accounted for by the row of empty glasses on the bar in front of her. ‘You’re not following me, are you?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Mariner. ‘Are you celebrating?’

  ‘Sort of.’ She nodded towards the noisy group further along the bar. ‘Carrie, one of our anaesthetists, is getting married. It’s kind of a hen night. But they’ve all just decided to go on to a club and I’m not really in the mood, so I thought I’d finish this drink and head home.’ Her face clouded suddenly. ‘We lost a patient today.’

  ‘Lomax?’ Mariner asked, automatically thinking of the boy’s father.

  ‘No. He seems to be holding steady. It was one of the other lads, who actually was doing well.’ She frowned. ‘Just shows you can never really tell. Dee will be gutted.’

  ‘You’re sure about going home, or can I get you another drink?’ Mariner asked.

  She weighed it up for a moment. ‘Oh, go on then. I could probably manage another vodka tonic, thanks.’

  The bar staff seemed to be on a go-slow, but eventually Mariner got served and they took the drinks to a quiet table at the back of the room.

  ‘You’re not working then,’ Ellen Kingsley said.

  ‘Not exactly, no.’ He wouldn’t tell her why he was here. It would have sounded gruesome. ‘I’m making the most of my freedom.’

  ‘Intriguing.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me. Your decree absolute has just come through.’

  Mariner shook his head. ‘It’s nothing like that, nor is it that permanent. I’ve got caring responsibilities.’

  ‘Elderly parents?’

  ‘You won’t guess it,’ said Mariner confidently. After she’d fired off several shots into the dark, Mariner felt obliged to explain about Jamie.

  ‘Wow, that’s quite something to take on,’ she said. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Mariner. ‘It’s got nothing to do with altruism. I didn’t have much choice. My chickens coming home to roost, you might say.’

  ‘Well, I still think it’s commendable.’

  ‘Believe me, you wouldn’t if you knew how relieved I am that he’s away this weekend.’

  ‘But you obviously feel guilty about it.’

  ‘That’s true enough. If I’m brutally honest, I never understood why my ex’s first priority was to get her brother into residential care. From my high-and-mighty position it looked to me like a cop-out. Now I completely get it. At the moment it feels like Jamie’s being passed around from one person to another, so that I can have a life.’

  ‘You can’t help the demands of your job. It must be a lot like mine: long stressful hours that don’t allow much time for anything else.’

  ‘Some people seem to make it work,’ Mariner said, thinking of Vicky Jesson.

  ‘Maybe that’s a difference in the level of commitment. This woman, Mercy, she’s reliable?’

  ‘Very. And she’s kind to Jamie. I can’t fault that. It’s her son I worry about. The more I hear about him, the worse it gets. Mercy openly admits he’s never had a proper job, and the only time she sees him is when he wants something – usually money.’

  ‘Does that upset her?’

  ‘If it does, she doesn’t say that to me. She’s got one of those indulgent ways of talking about him that parents can have, as if she’s blind to all his faults. She’s always making excuses for him.’

  ‘She’s his mum. That’s her job. You must have seen that before.’

  ‘I suppose so. I paid her a bit extra one week. Jamie had been especially difficult, and she’d said she was going to get her hair done. I wasn’t sure then if she had and when I asked her about it she admitted she’d given the money to Carlton after all. He needed it more.’

 

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