No Help For The Dying

Chapter 16

Nikki Bruce in the flesh turned out to be older than her picture in the Post suggested. Tall and bony, with pale skin and a brittle smile, she wore a burgundy designer suit with knife-edge creases. A rattle of jewellery accompanied her as she pushed through the door of the coffee shop and checked out the pre-lunchtime crowd.

Riley waved and indicated the chair on the other side of the table. The Post reporter sat down and gave her a wary once-over. ‘Well,’ she said dryly, ‘this is different.’ The coffee shop was an independent, situated just off Wardour Street, and what it lacked in big-chain glitz and bustle, it more than made up for in atmosphere.

‘Sorry it’s not the Savoy,’ said Riley. She wondered if this had been a mistake. She had met many reporters in her time, and found most were generous in the help they would give to a fellow journo. Others jealously guarded every scrap of information as if the next acquaintance was going to wrestle it away and sell it for a small fortune. Time would tell which category this woman fell into.

‘You said you had information,’ said Bruce, flicking back her sleeve to reveal a slim gold watch. ‘I’ve got twenty minutes.’ She had agreed to meet Riley without particular enthusiasm, and then only if it was in the Soho area.

Riley ordered coffees, then said: ‘I was intrigued by your story about the dead kids. It might tie in with something I know, and I wondered how far back it goes.’

‘Not far. Why the interest?’

It as the question she’d been expecting. After setting up the meeting yesterday evening, she had wondered how much to tell Bruce. If the Post reporter was generous, it would be no problem. But right now she wasn’t so sure. ‘It’s a personal thing… a story I worked on some years ago. A fifteen-year-old girl walked out of her house one day and disappeared. It seems she did so voluntarily, but it made no sense at the time. There was nothing in the family background and no obvious reason which drove her away. The usual stuff, on the surface. Your piece set me thinking about what might have happened to her, that’s all.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not after your story, by the way.’

Bruce looked faintly sceptical, but shrugged as if it was no big thing. ‘My stuff doesn’t go back that far. My boss put me on it weeks ago because he thought it would run. In my opinion they’re just rough sleepers being fed poor quality shit by dealers who couldn’t care less. To be honest,’ she allowed a hard smile to edge around her lips, ‘it’s not as if I need to worry about it anymore. Not after today.’

‘Really?’ Riley felt a flicker of irritation at the woman’s coldness. She was dismissing those dead kids as no more than detritus cluttering the streets of the capital.

‘I’m moving into telly. The pay’s fantastic and my contract means I won’t be scratching around with all the other cruddies for stories nobody wants to read. Sorry — no offence — but give it a few more days and I’m out of here.’

‘Good for you.’ Riley felt like throwing her coffee over the snooty bitch, but kept her cool. She’d never been called a cruddy before. ‘So who’s the lucky channel?’

‘Star Central. You won’t have heard of them, darling; to be honst, until they contacted me, neither had I. They’re an offshoot of a Japanese/Aussie tie-up. They cover society and celeb news anywhere between here, LA and the Pacific Rim.’ She smiled coolly, her eyes drifting off centre for a moment as if picturing the future. ‘And that’s a hell of a lot of society, believe me.’

‘So you can’t help me.’ Riley felt an odd sense of deflation and got ready to leave. If Nikki Bruce had any interest in news, it no longer mattered unless it carried the glitzy tag of fame, wealth and fortune. ‘Can I ask why you agreed to meet me? You obviously know what I do.’

Bruce shrugged again. ‘Habit. Curiosity. Professional interest… I wanted to see what you were like.’ She looked Riley squarely in the eye for the first time. It was a bit like being studied by a feral cat. ‘I’ve heard your name quite a bit recently. Is it true you nearly got killed in Spain a while ago? Gossip mentioned a bunch of mercenaries and a mine-shaft. Sounds hideous.’

In spite of herself, Riley was surprised. She never gave much thought about her standing in the business; as far as she was concerned she did her job and others did theirs. Reputations were hard-earned but transitory, like the news itself. ‘Gossip got it wrong. The Spain bit was right, though. Listen, I appreciate this is old news for you, but I’m just trying to make sense of a situation. I thought you might have some information I could use.’

Nikki Bruce stared at Riley with raised eyebrows. ‘What are you offering — a trade-off? I show you mine if you’ll show me yours?’

‘I haven’t anything to trade.’

‘Oh, that’s right — it’s personal. Listen, that’s professional suicide.’

‘Maybe. But can you think of a better reason to follow a story?’

Bruce conceded the point. ‘Fair enough. Look, I’ve picked up a lot of stuff over the last few weeks. Some of it makes sense, some not. Most of the deaths were explained away, like dirty drugs or infection — or both. That’s it.’

‘Most of them?’

‘Well, two, maybe three were borderline. There were possible natural causes like choking — this latest one, for instance — or the effects of pneumonia, stuff like that. They could equally have been helped along; a fight, maybe… being in the wrong place at the wrong time — a spat over drugs. It happens all the time.’

‘I know. I’ve been there.’

Bruce raised her eyebrows again. ‘Really? Yeah, I guess you have. Anyway, I think the police took the easy way out when they were offered it, and because nobody turned up to make a fuss and demand an investigation. Sad, really, when you think about it. Everyone should have somebody who cares.’ For an instant she actually sounded less like the hard face and more like someone with human instincts. She shook her head and looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go.’

Riley nodded, deflated by the lack of information. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘No problem. I’m sorry it doesn’t help with your girl, but I don’t think the circumstances are the same. She might turn up again one day. Some do, you know.’

Riley considered the news Donald had given her about Katie Pyle. She took out the cutting about the dead woman and passed it across the table. ‘Actually, she won’t. Katie’s dead.’

Nikki’s eyes widened. ‘You’re kidding. This was her?’ She sat down again and read the cutting, then looked at Riley. ‘I can see why you’re intrigued.’ She gave a grudging smile and seemed to relax. ‘And I can see why you weren’t too quick to give away the bit about her being dead. I wouldn’t have done, either, in your position.’

To her surprise, Riley felt herself warming to the other woman. ‘You’d better go to your meeting.’

Nikki sat back and waved her hand. ‘To hell with it — I can be a bit late. We’re only meeting to sort out a couple of minor contractual points.’ She chewed her lip and stared off into space. ‘Look, I don’t know how I can help. People go missing all the time… mostly to get away from bad marriages or impossible debts. Some just discover they’ve had enough of the life they’ve got. They’ve run out of mental gas or something. The archives are stuffed full of people who went walkabout and never came back.’

‘But that’s older people. Your reports are about kids.’ A kid like Katie, she wanted to say.

‘Sure. But name a reason for running away and there’s a kid out there to match it; abuse, neglect, bullying, alcoholism, fear of failure, broken hearts, drugs — even a row over the colour of the school uniform. It’s a tough time — some just pick up and run without thinking. By the time they look at the issues clearly, it’s often too late to go back. Too much water and all that.’ She looked at Riley with what could have been sympathy. ‘Is that the problem here?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You obviously feel bad about this Katie Pyle. I can understand that, although I think you’re nuts if you let it get to you. We’ve all had our Katie Pyle stories, believe me.’ She held up finger. ‘That’s one issue. Then there’s the question of timing. Things have changed hugely over the last ten years. Runaways now… they live differently. They’re not into it for the adventure, not like some were years ago, packing a few things into a rucksack and heading off on the hippy trail to get stoned, drunk and laid. For these kids it’s the only way of surviving. They take bigger risks because they have to; it’s a much nastier world out there, and after living on the streets for a while they don’t always care what happens to them. If they’re lucky they get help. Most don’t want to know because they see it as another form of control.’

‘You mean help from the agencies?’

‘Sure. They want to be free of all that. It’s very rare you get a kid leaving a good, safe, happy home. Most of them are rotten.’

‘But not all.’

‘No. Yes. Well, most of them — look at the statistics.’

‘Katie’s wasn’t.’ The thought made her wonder about Katie’s parents. She would have to check to see if they were still around. It was a long shot but if anything made them re-surface it would have been the discovery of their daughter’s body. No doubt the police would have searched for the next of kin, and the press wouldn’t be far behind. She would have to move quickly.

Nikki was staring off into space, ruminating. ‘Let me dig out what I can. To be honest, I think you’ll find it’s all to do with the home.’

‘It’s still worth looking, though.’

‘If you say so. But so what? What if they trot to church every Sunday and Brownies on a Tuesday evening? Social position, class, religion — none of that guarantees a caring environment. Some of the stories I’ve covered among the so-called upper socio-economic groupings would make your eyes water. Like, if the four-wheel-drive and green wellie set love their kids so much, why do they send them to boarding school from the age of six? No wonder some of them are so fucking dysfunctional.’ The words came out with such venom, Riley wondered whether the reporter was quite as cold as she liked to pretend.

‘I appreciate your help.’

‘Sure. But don’t hold your breath.’ She glanced at her watch again. ‘Sorry — this time I’d better be off. I wouldn’t want to push my luck. These telly people can be so temperamental, darling.’ She smiled and rolled her eyes.

‘There’s one other thing.’ Riley was acting on instinct. ‘Have you ever heard of the Church of Flowing Light?’

‘It rings a bell. Is it important?’

‘It could be, but I can’t tell you why.’

‘Fair enough. I’ll ask around.’

As Riley walked outside, her phone buzzed. It was Palmer.

‘Are you busy?’ he asked. ‘I need your womanly charms.’