‘OK, these don’t fit so I think we can assume she was using a false name. I’ll take this back, but thanks anyway.’ Jack took his laptop and placed it on his desk.
‘Is this connected to the Rodney Middleton enquiry?’ Leon asked.
Jack briefly nodded just as Sara walked up. ‘Thought you might be hungry... and I’ve put extra sugars in your coffee. I noticed how many you heaped in your tea.’
‘Very observant of you, Sara, thank you.’
‘Do you want me to accompany you to talk to Amanda Dunn?’
‘I would if she were there, but she checked out of the hostel. Leon is trying to track her down.’
Jack waited until Sara had gone back to her desk before he took a bite of his ham sandwich.
He then unlocked his desk drawer and took out the small envelope, and the note. He removed one of his burner phones from his pocket and dialled the mobile number. It rang for at least a minute before it was answered.
‘Yes?’
‘Is that Sammy Taylor?’
‘Who is this?’
Jack took a quick look around the room and lowered his voice.
‘I’m Jack Warr. Simon Ridley gave me your contact number. I need to see you urgently.’
‘Do you? Did he give you anything else?’
‘Well, your address.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Your name obviously. Are you Sammy?’
‘I could be.’
Jack suddenly remembered. ‘Badger.’
There was a short throaty laugh. ‘Can you make it in an hour?’
‘That might be a bit difficult.’
‘You said it was urgent, so make up your mind. I’m not available tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be there, thank you.’
Jack quickly stuffed the phone in his pocket. He put the old laptop in his briefcase, finished his sandwich, drained the coffee and then stood up with a loud yelp. Everyone looked over as he rubbed at his cheek.
‘I’ve just broken a crown... shit, that hurts.’
He gave a good performance, saying he was going to the emergency dental practice and asking Sara to give the details if anyone wanted to know where he was. Then he was out and running into the car park, carrying his briefcase.
Sara went over to Leon who was still trying to track down Amanda Dunn.
‘Funny... he was only eating a cheese and ham sandwich. Any update on Amanda?’
‘Not yet, that hostel lets the phone ring for bloody ages. And then when it does connect you get a shed-load of messages about their opening and closing times, and it still has all the checks you have to do for Covid. I’m trying to get Mrs Delaney on the line, but she never picks up.’
Sara rolled her eyes. Sometimes you could ask Leon a simple question and you got a lengthy diatribe, so she returned to her desk to continue the search for missing girls that might be connected to the Middleton case. Jack clearly thought Rodney could have committed arson, and then murder, which had unsettled her. She was intelligent enough to realise that Jack was holding something important back, and decided that when he returned from the dentist, she would ask him to explain.
Jack was held up in traffic, and Waze seemed to be taking him on a very circuitous route to NW3, but he eventually found himself on Platts Lane. 87B was a ground floor flat in a semi-detached, four-storey building. A sign with an arrow pointed to Flat B down a path beside the main front entrance. There was a slight slope, and there was a handrail along the entire length of the path.
Outside the brown-painted front door was an electric mobility scooter with a weatherproof cover partly draped over it, and a thick plastic covered chain and padlock. Jack noticed the CCTV cameras positioned around and above the entrance with a floodlight above the door. There was a spy hole at his level and one lower down, indicating not only a concern with security, but that the occupant could be physically challenged. Jack pressed a discreet doorbell and waited. He heard numerous locks being drawn back before the door opened.
He heard a voice say, ‘Come in, first door on your right.’
The door closed automatically behind him. He walked down a dark, rather narrow hallway to the first door on the right. It was partly open.
‘Hello, it’s Jack Warr,’ he said.
The room was dimly lit, the blinds on the window drawn. Sitting in a wing-backed chair with a footrest up, was a figure wearing a padded red velvet dressing gown with satin cuffs and collar. Beneath a bouffant blonde wig he was made up like a drag queen.
‘I’m Sammy. Excuse the costume but I do a podcast a couple of days a week... a bit unsure about the wig, though. As you can see, I have quite a collection.’
She gestured with long red false nails to an array of wigs on stands, next to a rack of sequinned gowns and feather boas. There was also a mirror with light bulbs surrounding the frame above a small table with pots of makeup. Jack couldn’t help being taken aback, wondering if this was really the contact Ridley thought could help him in his present predicament.
‘So, Jack is it, darling? You said it was urgent... so talk to me.’
‘I’m not sure where to begin...’ Jack faltered.
‘Listen, dear, if you were sent to me by the only person in this world I would lie down and die for, just talk to me, and don’t leave anything out.’
With difficulty, Sammy drew the footrest closer to the chair by a button, then slowly got to his feet. He shuffled to the chair in front of the mirror, grimacing in pain when he sat down. He placed paper tissues around his satin collar before opening a large pot of cleansing cream.
Jack did his best to explain everything as Sammy removed his false eyelashes and then spread the cream over his face before wiping off the thick makeup.
By the time he had dabbed his face with cologne, it was clear he had a slight six o’clock shadow. The last thing he removed was the wig, holding it up in one hand to inspect the weave before placing it onto the wood-based dummy head.
Jack kept going, as Sammy revealed his almost completely shaved head. The velvet dressing gown was removed and beneath it was a collarless man’s shirt and grey tracksuit trousers.
‘...and I can’t use the station’s computers because, as I said, the Essex team’s investigation will pick up on anyone trying to get information and trace it,’ Jack was saying.
‘Yes, dear, I picked that up. I think we need a bit more information about dating agency, RP... so I’d like you to make me a nice cup of tea, with a Blue Riband biscuit, whilst I have a little troll around for you.’
Sammy picked up a walking frame, and instructed Jack to follow, pointing out the kitchen at the far end of the hall. The door next to the kitchen had a coded entry and Sammy pressed various buttons before it opened inwards.
Jack stood in the small but well-equipped kitchen as he filled an electric kettle. He couldn’t quite believe he was searching for teabags in this person’s kitchen; having recounted the entire Ridley situation, it felt as if he had walked into some sort of weird dream. He doubted anyone would believe him; even Maggie would find it hard to accept that he was making tea in a transvestite’s flat, not knowing a thing about who they were.
Having found a tray, Jack arranged two mugs of tea, a sugar bowl and a chocolate biscuit that he found in the fridge when he got the milk. He carried the tray out into the hall, and gently tapped on the door with the toe of his shoe. When it opened, he almost dropped the tray.
The room was like some kind of high-tech security bubble. There were banks of screens scrolling out data at a blinding rate. Printing machines lined one wall, and the desk — which had to have been specially made — ran the entire length of the room.
There were three keyboards, with the keys lit up in red, green and orange.