There was a muffled sound as he snatched Laura’s mobile.
‘Jack?’ Ridley boomed before realising that he was shouting. ‘Jack,’ he said more quietly, ‘when you get back, I want a full debrief in my office.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Jack, trying not to sound out of breath.
Should he explain to Ridley about the importance of buying his dying dad a prime fillet steak for the last time and hope he cared enough to be lenient? Or should he stick to the lie he’d planned about helping the Port Authorities with an invented disruptive passenger? Would Ridley believe he was a dutiful policeman? In reality, this thought process only took one second, and before he could begin his lie, Ridley cut in.
‘You running? Where are you?’
Jack braced himself for a bollocking.
‘Um...’ he began, but Ridley interrupted him again.
‘Hang on, Jack. Laura says there is a “Grange B & B” in Taunton with the registered owner showing as Connie Stephens. How did you get to that?’
‘It was something Ester said about Connie never having an original thought in her life, sir.’
Jack could hear a change of tone. ‘Well done. I’ll see you when you get back later. What time do you expect that to be?’
Jack looked at the post office up ahead. Maybe he’d be lucky.
‘Public transport’s a bit of a pain, sir, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Ridley handed Laura back her mobile.
‘That boy thinks I was born yesterday,’ he mumbled. Then louder, ‘Right, you lot! Let’s face front for a minute, please.’ Ridley’s team turned towards him. He picked up a whiteboard marker and wrote underneath the photo of Connie Stephens, The Grange B & B, Taunton.
‘Missing Persons is an arduous task, so thank you all for your hard work so far. Our murder victim is in there somewhere, he has to be, so keep at it. Laura, what do we know about the kids’ home Dolly Rawlins was planning?’
‘It’s legit, sir. There’s a paper trail of loan applications, building inspections and quotes, legal documents from social services, and a background check on Dolly Rawlins. The prison warder at Holloway gave her a glowing report, saying she was a model prisoner who helped guide the young mums. Rawlins frequently talked about opening a kids’ home when she was inside. Half her wing wanted her to take their kids on till they got out.’
‘Right, so it seems The Grange women weren’t in Aylesbury under false pretences. Anik?’
‘ “Sheila” isn’t Danny Green. As of last night, Danny’s in lock-up downstairs for flashing at a girls’ hockey team. So the word “pervert” painted on the wall probably does relate to him and not “Sheila”.’
‘And Jack’s on about the Fisher brothers. Why?’ Ridley turned to Laura.
‘Because they’re part of Dolly Rawlins’ past. Arnie’s dead and Tony’s inside. I think the connection is more to do with Harry Rawlins than Dolly. The men all shared the same patch back in the eighties, so ran in the same circles. Harry Rawlins was the one behind the Strand underpass robbery in ’84. I think Jack’s looking at how involved Dolly might have been.’
‘Well, if Jack was here, we could ask him, couldn’t we?’
Laura didn’t like being spoken to as though she was in cahoots with Jack, although it was true.
‘Right,’ Ridley continued, ‘the priority is still to identify our murder victim so, tomorrow, it’s straight back on to Missing Persons, please, for all of you. We’re running his DNA against the Misper database, aren’t we?’ There was a sea of nodding heads. ‘Good.’
Ridley went into his office and closed the door.
Ridley’s door was always open until that time of day when he wanted no more conversations, no more questions and no more work to cross his desk. It was the moment his team knew they could wind down, finish what they were doing and slowly filter out over the next hour or so. Ridley would be last to leave. He always was.
It was nine o’clock by the time Jack got home and Maggie was curled up on the sofa with a glass of red wine from their very own bargain box.
‘How did it go?’ she asked.
‘Why aren’t you at work?’ Jack asked, as he sat down next to her with an empty glass and an expectant look.
Maggie filled his glass for him. ‘I took the night off to be with my lovely man, after his very tricky day.’
Jack let his head flop onto the back of the sofa.
‘Very tricky...’ he said. ‘Between the pervy old weirdos and keeping Ridley off my back, I’m exhausted.’
He glanced at Maggie with a tired smile on his face. She wasn’t smiling back.
‘I was talking about saying goodbye to Charlie and Penny.’
Jack put his hand on Maggie’s knee. His day had been so hectic, he’d almost forgotten how it had started.
‘Sorry, love. I bought them a pub lunch, we shared a bottle, I waved them off. They had huge grins on their faces the whole time.’ Jack glugged half his wine down in one go and rested his head back again. ‘I know they know what’s happening, Mags, but it’s like they’re in a world of their own.’
‘Best place for them, I expect.’ Jack loved that Maggie was so wise. ‘Go on then. Tell me about work.’
‘Nah, it’s too late for work talk.’ Jack rubbed his eyes hard. ‘I’ve got a couple of new leads on finding Jimmy Nunn though. One of the women I’m tracking down lives in Taunton, so when I go to interview her, I’m also going to call on Aunt Fran. She fobbed me off the other day on the phone, so I’m going to sit her down and make her tell me what she knows. And a guy called Tony Fisher apparently knew Jimmy really well, so I’m going to see him as soon as I can sort the visiting order.’
He couldn’t see Maggie’s face as he was still rubbing his eyes, but she was now scowling.
‘So,’ she said, ‘the only man you can find who knew your birth dad really well is in prison. Dare I ask what for?’
Jack looked at her with his bloodshot, watery, very tired eyes. He slowly sipped the remains of his wine. She didn’t need to know that Tony Fisher was in for killing someone.
Chapter 9
Laura was at the vending machines deciding how much sugar to have for breakfast when Jack walked past.
‘How was the Isle of Wight?’
She hadn’t noticed that he was on his mobile. He raised a finger.
‘Yes, OK, well, will he be back on the wing tomorrow? Ah, day after... Yes, it’s in relation to a current investigation. It has no bearing on any conviction he’s in for, no, just background stuff on an old acquaintance... If you could, please. Great.’
‘Tony Fisher?’ Laura guessed.
‘The guy’s a pensioner and he took on some 20-year-old wannabe.’
‘And I bet he won. You should read his file, Jack. He’s a genuine, old-school psycho.’
Laura collected her chocolate, crisps and can of pop.
‘Apparently Tony pinned the kid down and snapped both of his middle fingers so that, and I quote —’ Jack put on a gruff, cockney accent — ‘ “You won’t be able to wank proper for a munff”!’
Laura let out a loud screech. ‘Is that what Tony sounds like?’
‘Probably.’
Jack laughed and they both headed for the squad room. As they walked down the corridor, Anik ran to catch them up.
‘What’s the joke?’ he panted.
‘You had to be there,’ said Laura dismissively.
Anik’s face fell.
There were two evidence boards at the front of the squad room now, gradually filling up with information dating all the way back to 1984. Ridley sat at Jack’s desk while Jack led the room. He pinned up three photos with their names scrawled underneath — Harry Rawlins, Joe Pirelli and Terry Miller — and a black silhouette with a big question mark on the face. Pirelli’s and Miller’s photos were mugshots, but Rawlins’ photo was an old newspaper cutting from the opening of a Soho art gallery back in the early eighties. He had a champagne flute to his lips, his head tilted back and his shoulder towards the camera. In truth, it could have been anyone.