The walker, p.19
The Walker, page 19
‘Anyway,’ she said, as she captured Rita firmly by the elbow, ‘what about me? Where are all those long legged student types you promised me?’
‘Cliff said Roger had a lot of friends who are still at university.’
‘Nonsense. I think they’re all chartered accountants.’
‘What about Tamsin?’
‘Her too. How did she get so stiff looking?’
‘She’s a dancer. She trained with the Royal Ballet. Galina’s always talking about her.’
‘Sounds to me like she may have been plotting this Cliff—Tamsin thing for a while. So how well do you know these awful people? I think I’m going to have to start choosing your friends for you. Since you insist on choosing my clothes, that seems pretty fair to me. Is it a deal?’
Against her will Rita’s mouth was twisting into a smile now.
‘You don’t know anyone in London.’
‘Not yet, I don’t. But there’s a big dance on next week for new students. I’ll buy three tickets, shall I?’
32
‘Hello, Mr Perrin? It’s Briony Williams here.’
‘Good morning. I was wondering how long it’d be before the next onslaught. I had a long chat with your people yesterday. Just about wore me out they did.’
Well, thought Briony, they might have got her in on the follow-up with Perrin, since it was her lead in the first place.
‘Just one question,’ she said. ‘Did Quin know any Spanish?’
‘They asked me that yesterday. I wouldn’t have a clue.’
‘Thanks, Mr Perrin.’
Thursday got off to a frustrating start. The Saltash police had evidently lost the trace on Quin’s family and concluded that they had moved out of the area. That is not a conclusion, Briony fumed to herself. The diary had gone to a translator, who promised to have the first two thousand words ready by Friday morning. That was also when the case file on the train murder was supposed to be arriving from Plymouth and when the forensic reports were due on the search of the room Quin had occupied in the hall of residence. A partial thumbprint had been found on the photograph from his entrance form, but there were no matches so far from the search in criminal records. The breakthroughs had been coming thick and fast, yet everything seemed to have stalled. Steve, sitting at his desk, going through books about William Hogarth, seemed to take it in his stride. But then, maybe he had high expectations of the interview with Oldroyd, booked in for eleven. Since Oldroyd had already told her he’d never heard of Mathew Quin, she didn’t anticipate any new revelations from him.
Still, she had better be prepared. She got out her copy of the notes from his first interview, but her mind started wandering before she was halfway, down the first page. Moments from yesterday afternoon were burned on her mind, and kept replaying themselves, as if they still had urgent business to do. The baskets with their rich black soil; the little birds taking flight; the basket Kendrick took out, with its strange secret planted in the dry caked earth; the small blue book in its cocoon of plastic. And over all these images hovered that of the painting on the gate in Crispin Street, executed in rapid, cruel brushstrokes. Why did she find this more real and more threatening even than the images of Caroline Staines that surrounded her here in this room? It was like a secret promise, that there was more to come, always more.
She got up, left the room and headed for the toilets, intending to check her appearance before the interview. Donna was in there, combing her hair.
‘Hi, Briony! How are things?’
‘Complicated. But better than they were. You were right, Donna, which is very annoying of you. So watch out — any opportunity to pay you back with some good advice, I’ll be snatching at it. But there’s something else I want to ask you about. You still watching the Hanging Gardens?’
‘No. They de-prioritised it. The clientele’s changed there and Palgrave didn’t think I was getting any useful information. Makes my days a bit easier, anyway.’
‘You haven’t come across anyone there who speaks Spanish, then?’
‘Nor anyone who knows Mathew Quin. Sorry, Briony. Those two leads are stone cold on my beat. Not a thing.’
‘Oh, well. I guess we just have to keep working it from every angle. You know we’re interviewing Oldroyd again this morning, because of your report?’
‘Oh yeah? I’d be interested to hear how that goes. He’s not liked, you know, Oldroyd. Bit of a stuffed shirt. Carries the rule book up his sleeve.’
‘I can imagine. I’ve got permission to sit in on the interview — no thanks to Steve Latham — so I’ll tell you what I can.’
‘Good. Because the general briefing won’t be till Friday morning and I need to be right on the ball for an arrangement I’ve got for eight tonight. Meet me at Lyons at six?’
At six o’clock on the dot, Briony was sitting at a table in front of a plate of bangers and mash with baked beans and a large mug of tea, with a Mars bar to follow.
‘You’ll feel sick,’ Donna warned.
‘Rubbish. We had this every day when I was at college and anyway it’s going to save me from a fate worse than death — a piece of cold raw liver, lying in wait in my fridge. Doctor’s orders. Now I need your advice about Steve Latham again, Donna. I just can’t make him out. One day he comes over all sweet and friendly—’
‘Flirting, you mean,’ Donna interrupted.
‘I suppose, maybe. But it isn’t the usual sort of flirting. It’s as if he really wants to get on with me. Then he’ll suddenly do something to undermine me. Yesterday I tried to have it out with him.’
‘Good for you! So what happened?’
‘Bit of an argument. Then stalemate. We went to talk to Kendrick in the afternoon and at least he let me take over the interview. Got some good stuff, too. I was going to tell you—’
‘Right now I’m more interested in hearing about what Oldroyd had to say for himself.’
‘Wasn’t exactly a showdown. I’ll tell you in a minute.’ Briony prepared a forkful of beans. ‘First you have to answer my question. What do think Steve Latham’s up to?’
Donna pushed away her half eaten plate of cheese and egg salad. Then she opened her handbag, took out a small cosmetic mirror and her mascara and began to do her eyes.
‘Know what?’ she said. ‘I think you fancy him.’
‘I do not. I wouldn’t mind being proper friends, but I can’t trust him.’
‘That’s right. Got to watch yourself around Steve Latham. He used to chat me up when I first came. He was very intense — you know the kind of thing — when they act like they can’t take their eyes off you, but they’re too humble to make a move. Then the minute they get a bit of encouragement, they make out it’s you that’s doing the chasing. Little power game. Seen it a few times.’
‘He was trying to be nice to me the other day, when I was sick. Then the next time I see him, he’s sitting in Macready’s office and won’t even cast a glance my way. Then he comes up with this put-down about having a woman in the interview room. When I tried to talk to him yesterday it was all over the place, you know? I absolutely couldn’t get through to him.’
‘He probably thinks he can’t get through to you. You don’t wear mascara, do you?’
‘Not unless I’m going out. I’m always in such a rush in the mornings. I don’t usually bother with make-up.’
Donna’s eyelashes were looking like beetle’s legs, Briony thought.
‘You should, you know. You got lovely eyes. But you shouldn’t wear those glasses. They’re out of fashion. Get some contact lenses, that’s my advice.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe. But it’s not the kind of advice I’m asking for. Are you telling me I should be fluttering my eyelashes at him?’
‘He’s a bloke. It’s the language they understand. Here. Try some.’
Briony put down her knife and fork, removed her glasses and took the mascara brush, which was coated in what looked like blue shoe polish.
‘It’s got bits in it.’
‘That’s lash lengthener — the fibres cling to the ends of your lashes. Makes them longer and thicker. It’s brilliant.’
But as soon as Briony touched her lashes with the brush, one of the flecks got in her eye and caused her to blink, which made a blue-black smudge along her lower lids.
‘Oh damn! Look, I’m not in the mood for doing this right now.’
She dabbed at the smudge with the tissue Donna handed her, then gave back the mirror and returned to her sausages.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I agree with Germaine Greer. We shouldn’t be trying to turn ourselves into whatever it is they like to have fantasies about.’
‘Don’t you ever have fantasies yourself?’
Briony pointed at Donna with a greasy knife.
‘None of your damn business. So do you want to hear about this interview?’ She put the Mars bar in her pocket. ‘I’ll save this for later.’
‘You’re a lost cause, Briony Williams. One day somebody’s going to have to take you in hand.’ Donna flicked her hair over her shoulders and leaned forward. ‘Okay. So tell me.’
‘Well, first of all Macready said he was doing the interview himself. He was quite narky with Steve for setting it up and I think he wanted to make sure he didn’t get too heavy with Colin Oldroyd. In fact, you know, I got a hunch — strictly off the record — that Macready’s a Freemason himself.’
‘They’ve got a special way of shaking hands. Did you notice anything like that?’
‘No, they had their backs to me, as usual, when he came in. At first I thought the interview wasn’t going anywhere. Macready took Oldroyd back over the things he’d already told us. He asked again if anyone might have a grudge against Godwin and got pretty well the same answer we got in his first interview. But then he began to push it a bit — you know — was he sure there was nothing he might have forgotten — the standard soft-line probe — and Oldroyd didn’t answer. He just kind of clammed up. So Steve went straight for it. Said it had come to our attention that there was some gossip around the college about Godwin — that he was a member of an organisation from which some people had been expelled. Then you could just see Oldroyd tensing up. He said, “I’m not at liberty to speak about that.” And Macready came right back at him: “If you have information relative to this case, Dr Oldroyd, you are not at liberty to remain silent.” Macready had that real killer look in his eye, you know?’
‘So did he tell? About the Freemasons?’
‘Eventually. He beat about the bush a bit first — talking about “a club” he and Godwin belonged to that had to exclude some members. Then gradually he started spilling the beans. Talked about “the lodge”. Godwin was Grand Master apparently, a few years ago. Oldroyd said there was a tradition going back to the eighteenth century of admitting student members, if they were recommended by the right people, but there’d been some trouble with some of them and Godwin had to chuck them out. So Macready’s asked for a list of the names. Oldroyd’s supposed to be getting it for us by tomorrow.’
‘I might beat him to it,’ said Donna, tossing a strand of hair back over her shoulder. ‘I got a date tonight. Want to guess who with?’
‘What? Not the guy who did the abortion?’
‘No. The one who got the girl into trouble. Alec, his name is. I had lunch with him today and he’s not keeping secrets for anyone. Told me he hated Oldroyd. Said he never wanted to be in a club with all those old guys anyway, but — here’s the interesting bit — turns out the Freemasons’ rejects have got a little club of their own going and Alec’s under pressure to join. They call themselves The Invisible College. Freaky, huh?’
‘You want to watch yourself, Donna. Don’t get into anything you can’t handle. Anyway what about this man’s girlfriend? The one who got pregnant?’
‘It’s not really a date — not like that, anyway. He said he might be able to arrange for me to meet one of the Invisibles.’
‘And I’m the only one who knows about this? Look, Donna, you don’t know what these guys might be like. You were sharp enough with me the other day for acting on my own initiative. Shouldn’t you have cleared it with Palgrave or Macready first?’
‘They were in Whitechapel this morning couldn’t get hold of them on the phone.’
‘Well, I don’t like it. This case really spooks me, Donna. Walker or whoever he is is one step ahead of us all the time. Sometimes I think he’s watching us. It gives me a bad feeling. Don’t go. Please.’
‘I’ll be fine. Honestly. I know what I’m doing, Briony.’
‘Then you have to promise to phone me first thing tomorrow morning. If I haven’t heard from you by nine, I’m going to raise the alarm.’
Briony ate the Mars bar as she walked to the tube station, threading her way through the crowds that were milling around the theatres in their best clothes. She felt cold in her cotton shirt and Piccadilly looked gloomy under the fading sky, in spite of its perpetual light show. Autumn was coming. The entrance to the tube suddenly struck her as an ugly dark cave. Instead of plunging into it, she crossed the road to the island and sat under the statue of Eros, instantly attracting a crowd of pigeons. She broke the remains of the chocolate into chunks and began to throw it to them, watching how the scramble for the pieces brought out the bullies and the victims among them. Identifying a lame one on the outer edge of the huddle, she aimed directly towards it, but just as it got the prize in its beak, it was attacked by a larger bird with brilliant purple neck feathers. A burst of indignation shot through her and she jumped up. ‘Get away!’ she hissed at it. A few heads turned among the crowds on the other side.
33
In her dream, Briony was looking through the glass door panel into the waiting room where several people were sitting. One of them was Donna, wearing a red beret, and opposite her sat a man whose face was a paper mask drawn up like Quin’s Identikit portrait, but with holes cut out in the eye sockets. Briony was tapping on the glass, then calling out, trying to warn Donna, but couldn’t make herself heard above the drilling noise. Then she was out in the street and could see the red beret ahead in the Piccadilly crowds, with the masked man following. But Briony herself was surrounded on all sides, and couldn’t move fast enough to catch up. She made a frantic effort to shout a warning as Donna headed into the tube station with her pursuer only a couple of steps behind, but it was no good, only a useless croaking noise came out, and it woke her up. She switched the lamp on and looked at the clock on her bedside table: it was only two thirty.
This nightmare was trying to tell her something, she was convinced. It was too real to be just a dream, too urgent. What if Donna didn’t ring? Daylight was a long time coming, with several hours of sleeplessness eventually giving way to another dream, this time about looking for things in the fridge, using a fingerprinting brush on assorted packets of leaking meat and suppurating vegetables. The alarm cut in as she was trying to force the door shut on them.
Briony got up and stared at the real thing in the kitchen. She picked out the liver and dropped it in the bin. And the lettuce. Then she tried to boil an egg, but it cracked in the water and made a frilly, frothy mess. That went into the bin as well. She set off for work, intending to stop at Lyons for a cooked breakfast, but the bus got stuck in traffic and it was eight thirty by the time she got to Piccadilly. She had to be at her desk in time for Donna’s call.
Nine o’clock went by. Then five past. Then ten. Briony dialled Donna’s home number, but there was no answer. To make things worse, the clock on the wall was four minutes faster than her watch. The minute hand jerked and clicked as it changed position. When the phone rang at 9.22, her heart thumped so violently she could hardly speak into it. It was Macready. He wanted her in his office immediately. She could put it off no longer, anyway. She’d rather have reported to Palgrave first off, but it was hardly going to make much difference, since Macready would eventually have to know.
The door of his office was wide open and before she reached it she heard the sound of a camera. Jimmy, with one foot up on a wooden chair and his shoulders at an awkward angle, was photographing something soft and pink in a plastic container on Macready’s desk. Oh, hell. Another parcel. Of course. Steve was looking at what must be the note, contained in a plastic cover. He passed it to her.
This speaks for itself. Walker
No one was saying anything. She walked out of the office and leant against the wall with her eyes closed.
When she opened them, Steve was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching her. ‘Hey, you okay?’
‘Donna Caldwell’s gone missing.’
‘How come?’
‘She had a lead and went out last night with a bloke who had information—’
‘What, on a date you mean?’
‘Yes. I didn’t like the sound of it. I tried to stop her and I told her to call me this morning at nine — so I’d know she was all right — but she didn’t call.’
‘Probably just forgot. Donna’s been round the block a few times. Knows how to handle herself. She’s not like you, Briony.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Oh, you know what I mean.’
‘Do I? I know I’ve got to report this to Palgrave.’
‘Let me deal with it. I’ll make a few checks, see if she’s turned up at Gresham. If you report her missing and it’s a false alarm, you’ll just look daft. There’s too much else to worry about.’
‘Can I have that advice on the record?’
Steve looked at his watch. ‘I’ll be back around twelve with the first instalment of the translation. Better be here.’
When Briony got back to the incident room, the phone on her desk was ringing. Donna’s voice came through loud and clear.
‘Where have you been? This is the third time I’ve rung! I need to talk to you, but not at the station. Can you come to Gower Street?’
‘I suppose I could. You owe me a coffee at least.’
