Blue Monday

Chapter Sixteen

When Tanner opened his front door he looked surprised. Detective Chief Inspector Malcolm Karlsson introduced himself.

‘My assistant talked to you,’ said Karlsson.

Tanner nodded and led him through into a dingy front room. It was cold. Tanner got on his knees and fiddled with an electric bar heater that had been placed in the hearth. As he fussed around making tea and serving it, Karlsson looked around the room and remembered going out with his grandparents when he was a child to see their friends, or vaguely distant relations. Even thirty years later the memory gave off a smell of dullness and duty.

‘I’m doing your old job,’ said Karlsson, thinking as he said it that it seemed like a rebuke. Tanner didn’t look like a detective. He didn’t even look like a retired detective. He was wearing an old cardigan and shiny grey trousers and he had shaved himself clumsily, leaving patches of stubble.

Tanner poured tea into two different-sized mugs and handed the large one across. ‘I never planned to stay in Kensal Rise,’ he said. ‘When I took early retirement, we were going to move to the coast. Somewhere away to the east, like Clacton or Frinton. We started to get brochures. Then my wife got ill. It all became a bit too complicated. She’s upstairs. You’ll probably hear her shout for me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Karlsson.

‘It’s meant to be the men who get ill straight after retiring. But I’m fine. Just knackered.’

‘I spent a few days looking after my mum when she had an operation,’ said Karlsson. ‘It was harder than being a copper.’

‘You don’t sound like a copper,’ said Tanner.

‘What do I sound like?’

‘Different. I guess you went to university.’

‘I did, yes. Does that stop me being one of the lads?’

‘Probably. What did you study?’

‘Law.’

‘Well, that’s a bloody waste of time.’

Karlsson took a sip of his tea. He could see little spots of milk floating around on the surface and there was a slight sour taste.

‘I know why you’re here,’ said Tanner.

‘We’re looking for a missing kid. We drew up some parameters. Age of child, time of day, type of location, means, opportunity, and a name popped up on our computer. Just one. Joanna Vine. Or is it Jo?’

‘Joanna.’

‘My one’s called Matthew Faraday. The papers call him Mattie. I suppose it fits better into a headline. Little Mattie. But his name is Matthew.’

‘She disappeared twenty years ago.’

‘Twenty-two.’

‘And Joanna was taken in Camberwell. This little boy was in Hackney, right?’

‘You’ve been following the story.’

‘You can’t avoid it.’

‘True. Go on, then.’

‘Joanna was in summer. This was winter.’

‘So you’re not convinced?’

Tanner thought for a moment before he replied, and he started to look a little more like the senior detective he had been. When he spoke, he counted points off on his fingers. ‘Convinced?’ he said. ‘Girl, boy. North London, south London. Summer, winter. And then there’s a gap of twenty-two years. What’s that all about? He snatches a child, waits half a lifetime, then takes another. But you think they’re connected. Is there some clue you haven’t told the press?’

‘No,’ said Karlsson. ‘You’re right. There’s no obvious reason at all. I approached it from the other direction. Thousands of children go missing every year. But once you eliminate the teenage runaways, the ones taken by other family members, the accidents, then already we’re down to a very small number. How many children are killed by a stranger every year? Four or five?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Suddenly these two disappearances look like each other. You know how difficult it is to take a child. You need to get the child without a fuss, avoid being seen and then … what? Dispose of the body so that it’s never found or send them abroad or I don’t know what.’

‘Have the press got on to this theory of yours?’

‘No. And I’m not going to help them.’

‘It’s not a fact,’ said Tanner. ‘You can’t base the whole inquiry on it. That was our problem. We were sure it was the family. Because that’s what the numbers tell you. It’s always the family. If the parents are separated it’s the father, or an uncle. The way I remember it, he didn’t have a proper alibi at first, so we spent too much time on him.’

‘Did he have a proper alibi?’

‘Proper enough,’ he said glumly. ‘We thought it was just a matter of making him crack and hoping he hadn’t killed his daughter already. Because that’s what always happens. Except when it doesn’t. But you don’t need me to tell you all this. You’ve read the file.’

‘I have. It took me a whole day and there was basically nothing there. I wanted to ask you if there was anything you hadn’t put in the file. Suspicions, maybe. Instincts. Guesses.’

Tanner leaned back on the sofa. He was breathing deeply. ‘Do you want me to say I’m haunted by the case? That it’s why I took early retirement?’

‘Is it true?’

‘I could deal with the dead bodies. I could even deal with the people walking free that I knew had done it. I could deal with their solicitor standing next to them on the pavement talking about his client being vindicated and grateful to the jury for seeing sense. In the end it was just the paperwork and the targets. In the end I just couldn’t be doing with it.’

‘Joanna Vine,’ said Karlsson, gently. ‘What happened with the inquiry?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll tell you what it was like. I’ve got this cupboard door in the kitchen and it doesn’t have a handle. To open it you have to push your fingernails into the crack and just get a bit of purchase on it and ease it open. The Joanna Vine inquiry was like going through the motions. We set up an office and we took hundreds of statements and we wrote reports and we gave press conferences and we had meetings about our progress. But there wasn’t a single actual piece of evidence. There was nothing you could push your fingernails into and ease away at.’

‘So what happened?’

‘We needed smaller rooms for the press conferences. We ran out of things to do. Suddenly it was a year later. Nothing else had happened. Nobody had cracked.’

‘What did you think?’

‘Think? I just told you what I thought.’

‘I mean, how did it smell to you? What was your guess?’

Tanner gave a sour laugh. ‘I couldn’t work it out. After a couple of days, I thought we’d find her in a ditch or a canal or a shallow grave. With these sick bastards it’s usually an impulse thing. Then they just try and get rid of the evidence of what they’ve done. This didn’t feel like that, but I didn’t know what it did feel like. There was just nothing. How do you analyse nothing? Maybe he – or she – just buried her in the right place. So how’s your inquiry going?’

‘It reminds me of yours. For a few hours we hoped he’d turn up, that he’d got lost or hidden in a cupboard or stayed with a friend. We interviewed the parents. They’re not separated. We talked to an aunt. The wife’s brother lives nearby. He’s unemployed, drinks. We really leaned on him. And now we’re waiting.’

‘What about CCTV?’

‘He’s either clever or lucky. The camera at the school turned out on inspection not to be working. It’s a closely guarded secret that about a quarter of cameras are either faulty or not switched on. But we know he walked away from school. There are a few cameras on shop fronts and next to a pub just before his home. He didn’t show up on these, but I’m told they were poorly angled, so this was inconclusive. But the walk home passes along the side of a park that has no cameras at all.’

‘Can’t you check number-plates driving in and out of the area?’

‘What? In and out of Hackney? This isn’t a red-light district at two in the morning. We wouldn’t know where to start.’

‘Maybe you’ll need to wait another twenty-odd years.’

Karlsson stood up. He took a card from his wallet and handed it to Tanner, who looked wryly amused. ‘You know what I’m going to say,’ said Karlsson. ‘But if there’s anything, anything at all, just give me a ring.’

‘It’s not a good feeling, is it?’ said Tanner. ‘When you need to come and talk to people like me?’

‘It was helpful,’ said Karlsson. ‘I’m almost glad that it was as bad for you as it’s been for me.’

They walked together to the door.

‘I’m sorry about your wife,’ said Karlsson. ‘Is she getting better?’

‘Worse,’ said Tanner. ‘It’ll take a long time, the doctor says. You need a cab?’

‘My driver’s outside.’

Karlsson stepped out and then thought of something, something he hadn’t meant to say. ‘I dream about him,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember the dreams when I wake up but I know they’re about him.’

‘I did as well,’ said Tanner. ‘I used to try a couple of drinks before I went to sleep. That helped sometimes.’

‘I missed you last night,’ Sandy said.

Frieda looked around the kitchen. It already seemed like foreign territory.

‘I was just having breakfast. Do you want …’

‘No, thank you.’

‘At least it’s not raining any longer. You look lovely. Is that a new jacket?’

‘No.’

‘I’m gabbling like an idiot. I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry. You were right to be angry.’

‘I’m not angry any more.’

‘No,’ said Sandy. ‘Because you’ve decided not to come with me. Is that right?’

‘I can’t leave everything,’ she said. ‘Even to be with you.’

‘But aren’t you scared of losing what we have?’

She hadn’t meant it to happen, but somehow they were kissing each other, and then he was peeling off her jacket, her shirt, and they were stumbling on to the sofa together, his mouth against hers, her hands on his naked back, pulling him closer for the last time. He called out her name, over and over again, and she knew that she would wake in the night and hear that cry.

Afterwards, she said, ‘That was a mistake.’

‘Not for me. I don’t leave until after Christmas. Let’s spend that time together. Try to work things out.’

‘No. I don’t do long goodbyes.’

‘How can you bear to leave, after that?’

‘ ’Bye, Sandy.’

After she had gone, he stood by his window and looked down at the square she would come out on to. And after a few minutes there she was, a slim and upright figure making her way swiftly towards the road. She didn’t look up.