Lost Souls (7 page)

The boy was still asleep, the television off now, just the flicker of the oil-lamp for company.

He leaned forward, watched the rise and fall of his chest, the slight movement of his lips as he breathed. He looked angelic, young and untroubled, a long way from the problems at home. In that light, unaware of his surroundings, he was just another young boy.

He scuffed his feet on the floor, the noise of his soles in the dust loud, as if the surroundings weren’t used to sound. The walls were thick with cobwebs, the ones above the oil-lamp dancing in the heat of the flame, grey flicks as they waved in the half-light.

He stood up and stretched. He knew he couldn’t stay there all day. He knew the boy would be all right. There was still enough sedative in him to keep him quiet until the next morning. Just one more night and then it would all be better.

He leaned over the boy, watched his face for a moment. His hand reached down and moved the boy’s hair to one side, as if to keep it out of his eyes. He smiled, almost paternal, and then leaned forward to kiss him
on the forehead. His lips touched softly, just a light brush.

He would be back, to make things right.

‘I always knew there was money in property,’ said Pete.

Laura looked up, and through the windscreen she saw what he meant.

They were approaching a pair of high steel gates sitting between brick pillars, the central point of long brick walls that surrounded a house she could see at the top of a sweeping gravel drive.

The house stood out as a blemish in a quiet green valley, Laura thought. It was too new for the setting, the ivy planted around the base of the walls not up to the ground-floor windows, so that the brickwork still gleamed. Maybe in a hundred years or so, when the roof had dipped in a few places and the walls had weathered darker, it would look desirable, but Laura thought that it seemed more lottery-win than country-set.

Pete had to bark stern words at the intercom to get the gate to open, but within a couple of minutes his tyres crunched on the gravel and they had parked in front of the large oak double doors at the front of the house. Jimmy King stood on the front doorstep. He was wearing a shirt open at the neck, but the rest of his attire was smart, with crisp pleats in his pinstriped trousers and a deep gleam to his shoes.

‘What are you doing here?’ he barked.

‘Good afternoon, Mr King,’ said Laura, stepping ahead of Pete, guessing that her diplomatic skills would be better than his. ‘We are currently holding your son, Luke,
at Blackley police station, and we just need to have a look around.’

‘Do you have a warrant?’

‘Do I need one?’ It was a clichéd question, but it usually worked.

Jimmy King paused for a moment, and then stepped forward to block Laura’s way. ‘Yes, you do,’ he said, before turning around and walking back into the house.

Laura and Pete exchanged looks, and before she could stop him, Pete was bounding up the steps to the front doors, large and imposing, a stone above the entrance engraved with a motto:
Strength in Unity.
Pete jammed his foot in just as the door was about to close.

Pete grinned. ‘No, we don’t.’ When Jimmy King stepped back, surprised, Pete continued, ‘Your son is under arrest and we have the authority of an inspector to be here, so we can do it with or without your co-operation.’

‘Which inspector?’

Pete shook his head. ‘That doesn’t concern you. So it’s arrest or search. Which do you fancy?’

‘I’ve met bully-boys like you before,’ said Jimmy, his face impassive, his voice cold. ‘You need to remember that it’s only a job, that you’ll want to go home at night and forget about it.’ His look hardened. ‘
I
don’t forget anything.’

Pete glared at him. ‘And I’ve met plenty like you before,’ he said, and pushed past him and into the house.

Laura shook her head. She admired Pete’s style, but she wondered how many complaints he could fend off and stay in the job.

When they went in, Laura saw how unlike a country
house it was. There were no panelled walls or dark corners, no oak beams across the ceilings. Instead, the light almost bounced its way around the house as it streamed through large windows and off the gold stripes on the wallpaper. The stairs went up out of the hall and fanned out to both sides of the house. Laura thought she saw a chaise longue at the top, below a large window that streamed light down into the hall. The rooms on either side of her were carpeted in pristine cream, and flowers adorned every spare piece of surface. It made Laura realise how much she had to do in her own home, with so many boxes still unpacked and none of the rooms in colours she liked.

Laura was pulled back to the reason for the visit by Dawson’s growl.

‘Where’s Luke’s car, the blue Audi?’

Jimmy King stared at them both for a few seconds, and then sat down. ‘I thought this was a search,’ he said, his fingers together, steepled upwards. ‘So find it then.’

‘I’ll show you,’ said a female voice from the top of the stairs.

Laura looked up and saw a woman in her late fifties, with bottle-blonde hair swept back into a tight wave. She was wearing a yellow jumper, her shirt collar up, and a string of pearls, like a woman who ached to be accepted for what she would like to be, higher up the social scale than everyone else. It was the unpleasant rise to her smile that gave her away, looking down on Laura like she was trying to sell her lucky heather.

Laura glanced towards the pictures on the wall, dominated by a family portrait: the success story with
his society wife and his two perfect boys. Luke King was the youngest, and he looked nervous in the gaze of the lens. The woman at the centre of the picture, sitting on a throne-style chair, was the woman now coming down the stairs towards Laura.

Laura smiled. ‘Thank you.’

Mrs King nodded as she passed and then walked towards the back of the house, through a large kitchen full of the stainless-steel trappings that looked like they cost as much as Laura earned in a year, and then into a brick-built conservatory filled with wicker furniture and pot plants.

As they stepped into the garden, Laura saw someone watching them from the end of the lawn, a tall, dark-haired man, lean and fit in his jeans and T-shirt. But he headed off to a brick workshop tucked away into a corner as soon as he saw them. Laura watched him as he padlocked it and then headed back to where he had just been, pocketing the key as he went.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Laura.

Mrs King followed her gaze and then said, ‘Danut, our gardener and handyman.’

‘Danut?’

‘He’s Romanian.’

‘Has he worked for you for long?’

‘Started at the beginning of the summer.’

As Laura watched Danut, she noticed how he avoided her gaze, how he seemed suddenly engrossed in putting his tools away.

‘He’s a good worker,’ continued Mrs King, seeing that Laura was watching him. ‘Honest, strong, very good with
his hands.’ She looked at Laura. ‘Do you want to question him?’

Before Laura could answer, Mrs King waved him over.

‘Danut, come here.’

Danut stayed where he was for a moment, and then began to walk slowly along the lawn. As he got closer, Laura could sense that he was wary of them. When he came to a stop, he looked at Laura and clenched his jaw nervously.

‘These are two police officers,’ Mrs King said, ‘and they would like to…’

‘Where’s Luke’s car, the blue Audi?’ Pete interrupted sharply, cutting out any prompting.

Danut glanced at Mrs King, who nodded, almost imperceptibly.

‘The blue car is for valeting,’ said Danut, his English broken and heavily accented.

‘Where is it, though?’

‘I just say, I took it for valeting this morning. They wax and polish and I collect soon.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Only twelve pounds, and it come out like from showroom.’

‘When did you take it?’ Pete barked.

‘Early. Before nine.’

‘Who asked you to take it?’

Danut looked at Mrs King again before answering. ‘Luke. He asked. He said take it for valeting.’

Mrs King looked at the floor as Laura made notes. Pete stepped away, his face screwed up with frustration. He turned round quickly. ‘Which valeting place?’

Danut shrugged. ‘In town. Small place. I don’t know street.’

Pete stormed off and headed back into the house.

‘Where are you going?’ It was Mrs King, running to catch up. Laura followed.

‘To search your son’s room.’ Pete began to look around him when he reached the hallway, deciding where to go. ‘Are you going to show me where, or do I have to go through every room?’

Laura saw how Mrs King looked dejected for a moment, an instant of weakness that passed in a second, and then she hurried after Pete, catching him as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

‘I’ll show you Luke’s room,’ she said quietly. Laura noticed for the first time that the rims of Mrs King’s eyes were red, as if she had been crying, and she detected a tremor in the woman’s hands.

As she passed through the hallway behind the others, Laura saw that there were no other family pictures on the wall, and as she glanced into the rooms she couldn’t see any in them either. There were some country views, a hillside and a lake in one, an old hunting lodge in another. It seemed like the family didn’t celebrate the ordinary things, the laughs, the unexpected moments. It all seemed too orderly. She could hear Jimmy King hissing into a telephone.

Pete and Laura followed Mrs King up the stairs. As they got to the top, Laura looked out of a large window. She saw Danut staring up at the house.

‘What are we looking for?’ whispered Laura to Pete.

‘Last night’s clothes, if we can find them, and check out the sheets and towels. Bag them and tag them.’

‘Anything else?’

Pete almost smiled. ‘Don’t forget we are missing two eyes and a tongue.
They
would be useful.’

As Mrs King opened the door to Luke’s room, she stepped to one side.

‘Do you want to keep an eye on us, to make sure you’re happy with what we’re doing?’ asked Pete. It was partly a dig, but Laura wasn’t sure Mrs King got it.

Mrs King shook her head and stepped away, looking at the floor.

‘No, go ahead.’

They walked into a room that seemed to belong more to an adolescent than someone Luke’s age. There were posters on the wall, some rock bands Laura didn’t recognise, with a large television in one corner and a games console underneath, along with game boxes scattered on the floor. Next to the television was a cabinet filled with DVDs. Laura cast a quick eye over the titles, but they seemed mundane. A few slasher movies and Far East martial arts titles, but the rest were recent classics and
Simpsons
box sets.

They carried on looking, going through drawers and bookcases. There were computer disks and comics, and science fiction figures all around the room. They found diaries, and those were bagged up along with the computer disks. But nothing unusual.

Laura stood by the computer. It was on, a screen-saver showing a series of
Star Wars
images in a constant loop. She jiggled the mouse and was greeted
by the welcome screen, partially obscured by the password box.

She looked over at Pete, who had his hands in a drawer.

‘Anything yet?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing, but maybe he keeps things hidden.’

‘Any sign of girlfriends in here?’

‘Not a thing. No porno, but no photos or love letters. You’d expect one or the other.’

‘Don’t judge everyone by your standards.’

Laura looked out of the window and saw Danut still looking up at her. She stopped for a moment and studied him, trying to work out his interest. He noticed her looking and turned to walk away. As he went, his head was down, his pace slow and deliberate. Laura made a mental note to find out more about him.

She turned around when she heard someone else come into the room. It was Jimmy King, and he had a telephone in his hand and a smirk on his face.

‘It’s your inspector,’ he said.

Laura and Pete exchanged glances before she took hold of the phone. ‘Hello. DC McGanity here.’

‘This is DI Egan.’

Laura pulled a face at Pete.

‘You have to leave the King house now,’ continued Egan.

‘But sir, you gave us consent,’ Laura protested.

‘It’s withdrawn.’

‘What about the things we’ve collected?’

‘Anything incriminating?’ When she didn’t answer
immediately, he barked, ‘Leave them,’ and then the phone went silent.

Laura handed the phone back to King, who smiled at her. And she knew what it meant, that he had the power.

Pete almost knocked King into the doorframe when he walked out of the room. King glared at him angrily. Laura smiled now. She knew that the best weapon was patience. If Jimmy King’s time was due, then it would come.

I scanned the grounds with my camera, said a silent thanks for zoom lenses, and I saw why the garden looked so good. As I looked through the lens I watched a young man walk across the garden. He went towards some concrete outbuildings at the end of the lawn. When he got there, he had a look back towards the house and then slipped into a garage-type building, rectangular pale concrete, with green double doors at the front. I got some shots and then turned back to the house.

I was starting to feel stiff when I saw movement by the front of the house. I raised the camera and zoomed in. It was Laura again.

I saw Jimmy King walk with them. It seemed like he was making sure they left quickly.

I took pictures until Laura left, and then I checked my pocket for the number I had jotted down. One call to some old contacts at the local paper had got me Jimmy King’s home number.

A woman answered. She sounded terse.

‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘I’m Jack Garrett, and I’m a
reporter. Do you have any comment to make on the arrest of your son?’

There was silence. And then the phone went dead.

I jumped down from the tree and started to walk back to my car, feeling pleased with myself. Even no comment is sometimes worth reporting.