Murmuring the Judges

56

‘T. Regan.’ Detective Sergeant Steven Steele muttered aloud the name on the door of the neat little terraced cottage, confirming to himself that he was at the correct address.

Years had gone by since the links between Newtongrange and mining had been severed, apart from the industrial museum which was its main attraction, and since then some of the old colliers’ dwellings had been renovated and turned into modern homes. They were very attractive in their new clothes, but on occasion, as the young sergeant had discovered, there was little logic about the pattern of the addresses.

He pressed the button of the buzzer, and heard it sound loudly inside. After a few seconds he saw a figure in the obscured glass panel set in the front door, making its way slowly and laboriously towards him.

The door swung open to reveal a small, wiry figure, a grey-stubbled man who looked to be in his late fifties. He was wearing baggy trousers, a faded Viyella shirt, carpet slippers, and incongruously, a flat cap.

‘Aye?’

‘Mr Regan?’

‘Aye, that’s me, Tommy Regan.’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Steele, from Edinburgh. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your daughter.’

A look of concern swept across the little man’s face. ‘Oor Arlene? Whit’s the matter wi’ her?’

‘Nothing that I know of, sir,’ said Steele. ‘We’d just like to trace her, that’s all. I’m hoping that you can help.’

‘Aye, aye. Come oan in, son.’

Tommy Regan had not been easy to find. The agency through which Nick Williams and his girl-friend had rented their flat had no note of parental addresses. Steele had been forced to pull strings with the Department of Social Security, to trace Arlene’s employer, a specialised engineering company on the outskirts of the city.

There he had learned that like her boy-friend, she had left her job without giving notice. Indeed, on her last day in the office she had helped herself to money from the firm’s petty cash box, leaving a note to say that it was in lieu of the wages which she was due. Her manager had been reluctant to give the detective any information, but had eventually told him that she believed Arlene had connections with Newtongrange.

Her father hirpled awkwardly along the corridor, as he led the way into his living room. He pointed to his hip. ‘Industrial injury,’ he said. ‘I was up a gantry when it collapsed, and smashed my leg, right at the top there. Got a right few quid in compen., mind you.’

‘Mmm,’ said Steele. ‘Are you on your own here?’

‘Naw, only during the day. Betty works in the co-op. Sit doon, son, sit doon,’ he muttered, lowering himself awkwardly into an armchair, its seat raised by an extra cushion.

The young policeman sat facing him, across the empty fireplace. ‘When did you last see your daughter, Mr Regan?’ he asked.

‘The Saturday before last, she was out here, wi’ thon young Nick fella.’

‘Did either of them say anything to you about giving up their flat?’

Tommy Regan looked at him, his expression one of blank surprise. ‘Naw. Have they?’

Steele nodded. ‘Do you read the papers?’ he asked.

‘Sports pages, mostly,’ the little man replied.

‘Well, do you remember reading about a robbery in the jeweller’s where Nick Williams worked?’

‘Ah remember seeing something on the telly, but ah never kent that was where the laddie worked, like.’

‘Yes, Nick worked in Raglan’s. The funny thing is that on the day of the robbery, he called in sick. Arlene didn’t go to work that day either. Instead, the pair of them left town, without trace as far as we can tell.

‘So, Mr Regan, I need to ask you, have you had any communication from your daughter at all since then? A postcard, a letter, phone call. . anything?’

The father looked bewildered. He shook his head, slowly. ‘Is oor Arlene in bother, like?’

‘Would it surprise you if she was?’

‘Of course it wid! She’s a good lassie. Aye got a good word for folk, and she’s good tae her father and mother. It’s that Nick, ah’ll tell ye. He’s a sleekit wee bastard, yon yin.’ Regan’s voice rose in a mixture of alarm and annoyance.

‘I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions, about either of them,’ said Steele. ‘Let’s all try to find them first. Will you help me do that?’

‘Aye, if ah can. Ah trust ma lassie.’

‘Okay, in that case, I want you to call us as soon as she gets in touch with you or your wife. If she sends a card, let us see it. If she phones, ask her where she is, and ask her to come home.’

The little man nodded, making his cap shake on his head.

‘Meanwhile,’ the policeman continued, ‘can you think of anyone else who might have an idea of where she could have gone?’

‘No’ really. She disnae hae ony friends out here noo. Ye could try her part-time job, though.’

‘Where was that?’

‘She worked behind the bar at the Territorials’ place; up Fountainbridge way. Someone there might ken something.’

‘We’ll do that,’ said Steele, rising to his feet. ‘Don’t get up, Mr Regan, I’ll see myself out.’ He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and handed over a personal card. ‘Remember, as soon as Arlene gets in touch, please call me. That’s my number.’