Buried in the Past (10 page)

‘Missing, as in vanished, disappeared, lost or stolen. Except that I think stolen is the most likely case.’

‘What on earth happened?’

‘That’s what is exercising the so-called brains of the department at the moment. All they were able to tell me is that every adoption file from the year Nattrass was born and the three years afterwards has gone. They reckon there is no way they could have been
accidentally
lost, or mislaid, so they feel sure they must have been taken deliberately.’

‘Have they any evidence? Any sign of a break in?’

‘None whatsoever. The only thing they could think of that might have some relevance was a false alarm they had about three weeks ago. Somebody phoned the fire brigade to report a fire in the council offices. The whole building was evacuated whilst the fire brigade checked it out, and it was over an hour before they were allowed back in. The chief reason they remember it,’ Viv’s tone was sarcastic, ‘is that it was pouring down that day and they were all soaked through by the time they got back inside. Actually, I remembered the incident once they mentioned it, because the fire department turned out a couple of appliances and a raft of men, for what turned out to be a hoax. Some of the men were furious.’

‘And you reckon the phoney alarm call was designed to give the thief time to remove those files whilst he was sure to be
undisturbed
? How would he get in, though, if everyone was being kept outside?’

‘He could have stayed hidden in the building or gone in dressed as a fireman. And if that was the case, who would challenge him?’

‘That sounds feasible,’ Nash agreed after a moment’s thought. ‘But it does mean we’re at a dead end as far as Nattrass is concerned, at least for the time being. It might change if we are able to find out what his original name was, but at the moment I can’t see how we could do that. Better go back to trawling through the theatrical agencies and see if you have any more luck tracing the mysterious Frankie Da Silva.’

It wasn’t until late that afternoon that Nash’s sense of frustration lifted, and then only marginally. Pearce came into his office bearing a mug of coffee and news that Nash hoped signalled the beginning of a change in their fortune. ‘I’ve managed to locate Frankie Da Silva’s agent,’ Viv told him. ‘Luckily, the receptionist at the agency has been there over thirty years, and remembers not only all their clients, but which particular agent handled them. The bloke who handled Frankie has retired now. He lives in Chichester, and when I rang him he was really helpful’ – Pearce grinned – ‘once I could get him off the subject of gardening.’

‘Did he come up with anything useful?’

‘Yes, he remembers Frankie well. He reckoned she had potential for a big showbiz career and it was one of the biggest
disappointments
of his time as an agent when Frankie told him she’d decided to quit.’

‘So she didn’t simply vanish without informing him, then?’

‘Not according to him. He said she went in to see him, he wasn’t able to recall the date, but said she told him that she had decided to retire because her circumstances had changed.’

‘What did he think she meant by that?’

‘He said she didn’t exactly spell it out, but he got the impression it had something to do with Ray Perry. I got the feeling he didn’t like Perry much, possibly because he thought Ray was taking away a rich future source of income. He told me Frankie had been working at one of those dinner-cum-cabaret spots. She was on a rolling engagement there and apparently the management were quite peeved when she decided to leave.’

‘I don’t suppose the agent kept her file, by any chance? We
couldn’t be that lucky.’ Nash’s despondent tone reflected their lack of progress.

‘He didn’t need to.’ Pearce smiled and tapped his temple. ‘It’s all in there. He recited everything he knew, even down to her last address. I know it’s correct because I checked Ray Perry’s charge sheet, and he’d got it, spot on.’

‘Did he tell you her real name, or was that asking too much?’

‘No, he remembered that too, pretty much. Like us, he thought her name was too exotic to be real; invented for her stage career. But apparently, when he challenged her about it, she proved it. The agency insists that all their prospective clients fill in a biography, with next of kin and so forth, and when he told Frankie he didn’t believe her, she produced some document, passport, driving licence, he wasn’t sure which, that proved it to be correct.’

‘That should make her easy to trace; there can’t be that many people called Da Silva around.’

‘It was her Christian name he had a problem with. He said Frankie wasn’t exactly correct. Everyone called her that, but her proper name was longer. Like Mike and Michael, I suppose.’

‘I get you. So her real name could be something like Francine, or Françoise?’

‘That sort of thing, certainly, although I tried both of them on him and he said they weren’t right.’

‘Nevertheless, the fact that he was able to confirm her surname is a start. Did he know where she came from? Before she moved to London, I mean? Although I suppose she could have been from London all along.’

‘No, the only information he had was a London address, even before she and Ray Perry moved in together. Where she came from originally, he’d no idea.’

With the intervening weekend, it was Monday before Mironova returned to work. ‘Do you want to bring me up to date with what’s happened whilst I’ve been away?’ she asked Nash.

‘That won’t take long,’ he muttered. He related the curious tale of the missing adoption papers, and then gave her details of Pearce’s success with the agent. When he’d finished, Clara sat for a few moments in silence.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Nash asked.

‘I’m not sure. I was trying to look at what Viv was told, viewing it from a woman’s perspective, and it doesn’t seem right.’

‘What doesn’t seem right?’

‘We were told that Frankie was allegedly going to run off with Callaghan, but if that was true, the last thing she’d do was tell her agent and the management of the place where she was working that she was quitting. That would be inviting all sorts of trouble if word got back to Ray Perry.’

‘Perhaps she did, and Ray actually did murder Callaghan.’

Clara shook her head. ‘No, that’s wrong. A woman wouldn’t think or act like that, especially if she was cheating on her partner, given that he had a reputation for violence. There had to be some other reason.’

‘Any idea what that might be?’

‘I can think of two possibilities. Either because she had decided to get married, or—’

Nash caught on quickly. ‘Or because she was pregnant?’

‘Exactly, and of the two, I’d go for the latter as being the more likely explanation. Women don’t stop working simply because
they’ve got married, but they do when they’re going to have a baby.’

‘If your theory is accurate, that means all our previous ideas about Frankie, and all we were told about her, are wrong. Is that what you think?’

Clara nodded. ‘No way would she consider eloping, unless the child wasn’t Ray’s. All her thoughts would be about protecting her baby.’

‘Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe she got pregnant by Callaghan, and that gave them reason to run off, to get out of Perry’s reach. But Ray got to him first.’

‘I still don’t buy it. If Ray wasn’t the father, she’d certainly not have told her agent or the place where she was working. That would be close to suicidal.’

‘That story of the diamonds is also less credible now. For much the same reason. If she was intending to nick a fortune in precious gems, she wouldn’t want to give anyone a clue beforehand. Which puts us back to square one. I think when we do visit Sister Evangeline to tell her about Ray we should try to get some
information
from her.’

‘She might be too upset to be of any real help.’

‘I don’t think so. Women are surprisingly resilient, even when faced with the worst possible news.’

The caller display on Margaret Fawcett’s phone simply read INTL. Margaret knew only one person who would be ringing her from abroad.

‘Hi, Mom, how ya doin’?’

The accent was passable American, but Margaret knew better. ‘Hi, Tina, darling. How are things in the land of the free?’

‘Pretty busy at the moment,’ Christina abandoned her
transatlantic
twang. She’d been called Tina since her first day at pre-school nursery, and in the end even her mother had adopted the shortened version.

‘The good news is that we’ve made really good headway towards finishing the contract,’ Tina continued. ‘In fact, if the next few days’ work and the testing go OK, we should be finished and I could be back home in a week.’

‘You mean home, as in home for good?’

‘Yep, apart from an annual visit to install more systems and a bit of maintenance, that’s it.’

‘That’s terrific. Oh, damn.’

‘What’s wrong, Mum?’

‘I’ve booked a continental coach tour starting next week. I’ll have to cancel it.’

‘Don’t be daft; you’ll do no such thing. It’s been nearly two years; a few more days won’t matter. I’ll be fine at home on my own. I can take care of myself, you know.’

Margaret did know. Tina always had been self-sufficient,
independent
; at times wayward. She listened, and although it took some time to persuade her, eventually Margaret agreed to continue with her planned excursion. Tina’s deciding argument was that the money Margaret had paid would probably be lost if she cancelled now.

‘How will you go on for transport? Getting food and things? You can’t go using taxis, and there’s only one bus a week into Helmsdale. My car will be here in the garage.’

‘That’s all right, Mum. I’m not covered to drive yours anyway. The firm will pay for a rental car. It’ll be waiting for me to collect at the airport.’

‘That sounds very extravagant.’

‘Mum, that’s the way it works. Since I’ve been out here, all my hotel bills, food and transport have all been on expenses. The only things I’ve paid for are clothing and having my hair done. Right now I’m ringing on my cell phone, but the company is picking up the tab.’

‘I’ll leave a set of keys next door, shall I? That way you’ll be able to get in whenever you arrive. He never goes anywhere. Not during daylight hours, anyway.’

Margaret smiled as she put the phone down. Tina had said ‘rental car’ and ‘cell phone’, very American. It was time she returned home.

Nash had gone through to Netherdale when Ramirez phoned Helmsdale. Mironova took the call. ‘What can I do for you,
Professor?’ As soon as she asked the question, she realized that she had laid herself open to the sort of innuendo Mexican Pete thought amusing, but it appeared he was in business mode. ‘I’ve been going through that file again, the one Nash asked me to look at,’ he told her.

‘Was that the Max Perry murder case?’

‘That’s right, and I believe I have something that might be significant. It’s to do with the place where Perry’s body was found. It was an old railway arch that he had rented and used as a lock‑up. At some time in its history, the place had been whitewashed. Over time, with the vibration from the trains constantly passing overhead, some of that dried whitewash would have flaked off, and dropped from the roof. Bear in mind we’re talking really small
fragments
here. When the pathologist conducted the post-mortem, they found minute traces of the whitewash on the body.’

‘OK, I follow that,’ Clara wondered where this was leading.

‘What they didn’t pick up on at the time, and I confess it escaped me when I first read the file, was that a substantial amount of the whitewash they recovered had found its way into Perry’s wounds.’

‘How is that significant?’

‘I’m not saying it is, only that it might be. What it suggests is that Perry was held captive there for some time before he was killed, probably before he was tortured, even.’

‘I see, thanks, Professor. I’ll be sure to let Mike know.’

After lunch when Nash returned, and entered his office, his phone was ringing. The caller was Brian Shaw. ‘I had a word with my boss. He’s been here since charge sheets were written in Latin, so he knows all there is to know about some of our more distinguished citizens.’

Nash smiled at Shaw’s sarcasm, and listened with interest to what he had to report.

‘Here’s what my governor says about Phil Miller. This is more or less word for word, right? “He’s a slimy character, good with numbers. Miller’s been suspected of being behind a lot of
computer-based
crime. You know the sort of thing, spoof letters in imperfect English from Nigeria purporting to be from someone with millions to dispose of. Just give us your bank details and we’ll empty your account. Phil Miller’s a pure money-making machine. All business,
highly successful and totally devoid of scruples. He appeared some time after Max Perry was killed, took over his business empire having moved into Corinna Perry’s bed. If ever a man shagged his way to the top, it was Phil Miller. He wasn’t even on the radar beforehand.”’

‘Did your boss say where Miller appeared from?’

‘I asked him if anyone knows anything about his background, and he said, “Miller goes out of his way to discourage anyone from getting too close or asking indiscreet questions. He emerged from the shadows and very quickly took control of Max Perry’s
organization
. It was after that he moved in and tried to annex part of Callaghan’s old operation.”’

‘What happened, then, did he say?’

‘He told me Miller came up against Callaghan’s replacement. Apparently, Callaghan had been grooming him to succeed when he retired. That’s the man I told you about, Trevor Thornton. My boss agreed with my opinion of Thornton; as nasty a piece of work as you could come across. The clubs Thornton runs are a one-stop shopping experience for every kind of vice you can think of. Gambling, nightclubs, drugs, booze, prostitutes, both his and hers, you name it, Trevor supplies it. At a cost, of course. Anyway, rumour was he and Miller cut a deal so the big turf war everyone was anticipating never took place.

‘One thing you should be aware of, if only to show how things have changed. Although Max Perry was never involved in the drugs trade, Phil Miller goes in for it in a big way. We’ve never had
sufficient
on him to put him away; witnesses tend to get amnesia. You know how it works. It’s a bloody shame, because if we could put him out of circulation I reckon we could roll up a good percentage of the drugs trade in the area. He lives part of the time in Spain. Got a ruddy great palace of a house near Marbella.’

‘Anything else I should know?’

‘Only a word of advice. If you’re planning on going near him – don’t! But if you have to, watch your back and those of everyone around you. He doesn’t deal kindly with anyone who crosses him. There are one or two women down here who are still wondering if they’re widows or not because their husbands upset Phil Miller.’

‘If it comes to it, I’m really looking forward to meeting him.’

Nash could almost see Shaw’s grin as the DI replied, ‘I didn’t think that would faze you much. All I’m saying is be extremely careful.’

‘Thanks, Brian, that’s been very useful.’

After Shaw rang off, Nash told Mironova what he’d learned. ‘Which more or less confirms what Wellings told us,’ she responded after he finished. ‘This Miller character sounds really unpleasant, and the other guy, Thornton, doesn’t sound much better. By the way, I’d a call from Mexican Pete whilst you were out.’

She reported what the pathologist had told her. ‘What do you make of that?’ Nash asked.

‘I had a look at the file. I wondered if they tortured Max to get the combination of a safe or something from him. If that was the case, they’d be desperate to keep him alive until they’d got it.’

‘If they succeeded and got hold of the diamonds, that wouldn’t explain why people are running around frantically looking for them now,’ Nash pointed out.

‘Oh, no, I hadn’t thought of that. Why now?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Why have those diamonds suddenly become so important, if that truly is the reason for these crimes? According to what your pal in the Met told you, Miller doesn’t need the money, hasn’t needed it for years by the sound of things. Admittedly, all criminals of his sort are greedy, but that sort of greed wouldn’t wait a quarter of a century, either.’

‘I don’t honestly know. Perhaps it was to do with Ray Perry being released from prison.’

‘But if he’s been locked away all this time, he wouldn’t know where they are. Unless he hid them, in which case why try to murder him? You’d be more likely to want to capture him and torture him for the information. Besides which, I can’t remember the exact dates, but wasn’t Ray Perry arrested soon after his Uncle Max was killed? He’d hardly have had time to stash the diamonds away somewhere that would remain safe for twenty-five years.’

‘All very valid points, Clara. And they illustrate the difficulty of looking into events that occurred such a long time ago. Scratch Ray Perry as the catalyst then, but speaking of him, have you had any
success raising Sister Evangeline?’

‘No, she was giving a lecture this morning. I’ve to call back later this afternoon.’

‘What on, water divining as a source of prayer?’

‘I don’t think you’re treating the pious community with the reverence you should,’ Clara told him.

Shortly before he left for the day, she reported progress. ‘We can visit Sister Evangeline the day after tomorrow, if that’s convenient.’

‘Good, that will give me time to prepare myself. I’ll take you along, to ensure I’m on my best behaviour. Do me a favour
beforehand
, will you? Get me a couple of phone numbers. One for Northumbria Police, and one for the Freeman Hospital in Newcastle.’

Margaret glanced at the clock for the fifth, or was it the sixth time in as many minutes. She checked her handbag again, making sure her passport was inside, and that she hadn’t forgotten the euros and traveller’s cheques she’d collected from the bank. It was the fourth time she’d done that. Then she walked through to the kitchen, and read through the various post-it notes she’d left for Christina on the work surfaces, the fridge-freezer and the larder cupboard door. She made certain she’d written the milkman and newsagent’s phone numbers down correctly, together with those for the greengrocer and butcher, who each had vans that delivered in the village.

She walked back into the lounge and her gaze went
automatically
to the photo on the mantelpiece. It had been taken several years ago when Christina had graduated from university. In the photo, Margaret and Christina had been standing together outside the imposing edifice of Durham Cathedral. Those few people, neighbours or tradesmen who had seen the photo on her fireplace commented on the likeness between them, but Margaret knew she had never been as lovely as Christina. Margaret was by no means an ugly sister, but she was nowhere near as stunning, as
head-turning
as Christina, or for that matter…. She shook her head at a distant memory.

Her suitcase was positioned ready, close to the front door. She fiddled with the labels, making sure they were firmly attached.
She ran through everything she’d packed, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. She’d checked everything off against her list as she’d put it in the case, but in her mounting excitement, that fact had slipped her mind.