Vanished

Chapter 11

Maggie sat at the kitchen table flanked by a stack of unwritten wedding invitations in their open envelopes on her left, and a stack of neatly addressed sealed envelopes on her right. This was one of the jobs Jack felt to be an utterly pointless waste of valuable time, pointing out that half of the people on the guest list lived within walking distance of their house or worked at the hospital, so he couldn’t for the life of him fathom why Maggie was insisting that they got their invitations by post.

But she’d explained that having a wedding invitation drop through your front door felt lovely and special, and that wasn’t something Jack was able to argue with.

Maggie’s hair was wet from her usual after-shift shower and she’d climbed straight into her pyjamas, regardless of the fact that it was only five o’clock. In front of her was an ever-expanding list, which she added to every time something popped into her busy mind. The kitchen was silent, apart from the tinny sound made by the lid on the slow cooker as it was lifted then dropped by the building steam beneath. With no Hannah, Penny or Jack, Maggie was being very productive.

As she sealed an envelope with one hand, she jotted an addition to her list with the other: 2nd dress fitting on Tue. Me, Pen & Han (ask Jack). Two minutes later, she did the same thing again: Best man? (ask Jack). Maggie gave a heavy sigh. When jobs were dependent on Jack doing something, she always worried about them getting done at all.

Jack and Laura were huddled together over the contents of Jessica Chi’s duffel bag, which sat on a plastic sheet on a large white table in Angel’s SOCO lab. Their gloved hands carefully opened the sodden make-up bag and the toiletries bag, as these were the only two items yet to be fully examined and their contents logged. At the same time, Laura was on hold with Jessica’s college and they were both trying hard to ignore the godawful music playing in the background when Laura found a bottle of CBD oil in Jessica’s make-up bag. ‘Hemp oil. Not exactly drugs but... was she ill, do you think? Anxiety maybe? I can’t get my head round CBD. Once the THC has been removed, what’s the point? With no active cannabinoids, it can’t actually work, can it?’

‘We’ll get it tested. Just because the bottle says CBD, doesn’t mean it is. Jessica was certainly anxious when I spoke to her, but that was because she was worried about Adam. I didn’t get the impression she was a drug user.’

‘Certainly not to our knowledge!’ The high-pitched, indignant voice came from Laura’s mobile. The music had stopped, and the college receptionist was back on the line without either of them realising.

‘Apologies.’ Laura picked up their conversation from where they had left off. ‘Did you manage to find someone authorised to talk to us about Jessica?’

‘I’ve been given the authority to answer your questions within certain boundaries. You ask me what you need, and I’ll answer what I can.’

Laura thanked the receptionist, whose name she’d forgotten, and asked her to initially confirm that Jessica was indeed a student with them. ‘She was registered on our Business and Economics course. Started last year. She was on a student visa. I can let you have her home address if you need that.’ Laura confirmed that they already knew it, but double-checked that it was the same address the college had on file. Laura then said that she was interested in any family Jessica may have had.

‘I don’t have any record of next of kin. Sorry. Is she in trouble? Drugs, did you say?’ Laura ignored the receptionist’s questions, instead asking what Jessica was like, who she hung around with and whether she had a boyfriend. ‘I never met her. I work in the offices. I have her file details, which I’ve now shared with you. I can ask her tutor to contact you when she returns from maternity leave?’

Without giving anything away, Laura emphasised the urgency of the situation and requested that Jessica’s tutor should be contacted at home and given Laura’s mobile number to call at her earliest convenience.

Jack left Laura to process the CBD oil, whilst he headed back to the station to go through Avril’s little red notebook in private.

By the time Jack returned to the squad room, there was a large evidence bag sitting in the middle of his desk, containing the rest of Avril’s personal property from the cellar.

His mobile screen silently lit up:

Jack didn’t reply, which he knew Maggie would interpret as meaning that he was going to be home later than seven. He tipped out the contents of the evidence bag, picking up an oversized photograph, which seemed to be a soft-focus image of Avril and Frederick on their wedding day. She was beautiful and elegant, with her strawberry blonde hair held high on her head by numerous butterfly clasps which cleverly left just two slender ringlets free to frame her lovely face. She wore a chic satin gown that subtly showed off her athletic figure. She looked nothing at all like the quirky woman he’d met, dressed in clothes more suited to a child and with her grey hair held in a scruffy bun by a scrap of floral fabric. Frederick was older, taller and he reminded Jack of the late Duke of Windsor: with his tailored suit, slender hands and immaculate shirt cuffs with heavy gold cufflinks, he looked quite aristocratic and effeminate. Not interesting, not exciting, perhaps — but trustworthy.

The second larger photograph that caught Jack’s eye was of Avril as a much younger woman, standing with a small boy at a coastal fairground. Behind them was a long pier with some kind of building at the far end which Jack assumed to be a theatre or restaurant. Avril wore a low-cut summer blouse that tied in a knot between her breasts. Her hair was long and flowing, and it tousled in the strong coastal breeze around her bare shoulders and neck.

Next, Jack sifted through an extensive pile of smaller photos, some from a 35 mm camera, some from an instant Polaroid. Most didn’t particularly draw his attention until he got to one of the same small boy, this time standing alone, dressed in a school uniform. Jack picked up his mobile and took a photo of the badge on the boy’s blazer, then he zoomed in to try and see the name of the school. He couldn’t see any wording, but the picture on the badge was of a bird seated on an open book. The final photo that caught Jack’s eye was of Avril standing next to a tall suntanned man outside the Bowler Hat restaurant in California.

Jack put these four photographs to one side, then moved on to a small, leatherbound photo album. It was packed with hundreds of overlapping black-and-white photographs, mainly showing a rundown estate with children playing football in the road and having picnics on front doorsteps. Two girls were skipping — with one end of a washing line tied to a lamppost. A sparse playground beyond back garden fences was overrun with excited children and dogs being watched over by smoking parents. Avril, at various ages in her late teens, was in every photograph — and somewhere in the background there was always a thin blond boy, wearing a frown far too sombre for his young face.

Trying to create a visual timeline of Avril’s childhood, Jack began pinning all of the photos to one of the evidence boards.

Avril seemed to be a confident, free-spirited child, always playing outside with other children, mainly boys, and mostly older than herself. She wore a variety of clothes, some quite tomboyish, which Jack assumed to be hand-me-downs from older males in the family. Most of the photographs were not posed: they were just random snapshots of life. The ones that were posed showed Avril to be less at ease, and the most intriguing were a series of images showing her standing next to another young man in military uniform.

Jack’s mind kept drifting back to the crime scene. He wondered what was happening in his absence, what Ridley and Steve were deciding to tell the press, what Moley had found on the security system, and what Mal and Josh had unearthed in the various drugs dens found at the property. Everyone seemed to be actively involved in something far more exciting than him right now. Even Anik was at the heart of the operation, as he was shadowing Moley with the Drug Squad.

Jack took a second to refocus on the task at hand and remind himself how important it was to learn about and understand the victim. And this was his forte. He had an intuition for spotting important details amongst a mess of background noise that surpassed anyone else on Ridley’s team. That was why Jack had chosen to be back at the station sifting through the personal property of their murder victim.

Laura returned from forensics with a wad of paper in her hand. ‘Did you know...’ She then read in her head for a good fifteen seconds, leaving Jack hanging on the silence, ‘that in the past four months, Avril Jenkins received two calls to her landline from California and three calls from an unidentified mobile. Apart from that, nothing. No one calls her. I think that’s sad. And most of the outgoing calls she made from her landline were to Kingston nick and food shops. The woman had no friends.’

‘The calls from California could be Terence, Frederick’s brother.’ Jack pointed to the photo on the board of Avril and a tall man outside the Bowler Hat restaurant. ‘This could be him. And the mobile could be Jessica Chi? She used to call the house to speak to Adam Border and allegedly Avril would hurl abuse and then hang up on her.’

‘Well...’ Again, Laura started a sentence and left Jack hanging. She had numerous annoying little habits, but this was one of her worst. It forced Jack to remain silent, flicking through one of Avril’s personal files collected from the cellar, until Laura snapped back into life: ‘. . . each call from the mobile did last less than twenty seconds — is that long enough to slag someone off and accuse them of stealing jewellery you’ve actually buried in your own back garden? There was no mobile in Jessica’s duffel bag to compare it to, unfortunately.’

Jack had found Avril’s marriage certificate. ‘Twentieth of June 1998. Frederick Jenkins marries Avril Summers. Can you look into her life before this, please, Laura, now we know her maiden name? We know she had no kids with Frederick, but...’ Jack turned to the timeline of images he’d created on the board and pointed to the small boy dressed in his school uniform. ‘Who’s this? I’ll send you a close-up of the badge on his blazer.’

‘You think it could be Adam Border?’ Jack had believed Avril when she said she’d only met Adam recently, but then again, she was hiding a cannabis farm in her greenhouse and she did get herself embroiled in something that resulted in her being dismembered in her own bathroom, so perhaps she was an accomplished liar.

‘You think she went on holidays to Brighton with her stalker when he was a kid?’ Laura was standing next to the photo of the pier on the whiteboard. She was momentarily bemused by the blank expression on Jack’s face in response to her question. ‘Oh my God, Jack! You didn’t know that was Brighton Pier? How long have you been living over this way? It’s literally just down the road. Never mind that, there’s somewhere else that’s just down the road: Hove. And who lives in Hove? Hester Mancroft, the lady who once owned the to-die-for property in Tetcott Street, where Adam Border was a... boarder.’ Laura sniggered at her feeble joke for a second before carrying on. ‘Hester’s son, Julian, was done for drugs several times and died of an OD. Remember?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I remember.’ Jack was troubled by all of these old connections. ‘God, I hope Avril wasn’t some bloody drugs empire mastermind dating back to the seventies. I liked her when she was just an eccentric old woman who could start an argument in an empty room.’

It was half past nine when Jack slid his key in the front door as quietly as possible. Coming down the stairs, wearing his dressing gown, was Penny. ‘Maggie’s asleep. Hannah’s just gone back down, although I don’t think she’s in the mood for sleeping.’ Penny passed Jack and headed for the kitchen. ‘And I’m wearing your dressing gown because Hannah was sick on mine.’ Penny flicked the kettle on, then went to the fridge and got out a clingfilm-covered plate of beef stew with a dauphinoise potato top. She put it into the microwave, set it to heat for three minutes, then began making two cups of tea.

She pointed to the stack of wedding invitations on the kitchen table, sealed, stamped and ready to go. ‘Maggie asked if you could post those on your way to work in the morning. And she said, remember you still need to sort out your best man.’ Penny smiled at Jack. He looked exhausted. ‘I’m sure Simon will say yes, dear.’ Penny’s assumption that he’d ask Ridley to be his best man was a sound guess, seeing as he was the man Jack had entrusted his little girl’s guardianship to. But her words stung, nonetheless. Because who else would Jack ask? Who else could he ask? He didn’t know anyone. His only friend in London was his boss and he’d never been to Brighton. Jack needed to get a life!

Penny picked up her tea and put a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘Make sure your dinner’s hot in the middle.’ She then went onto her tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek and headed back upstairs. ‘If madam wakes, leave her to me, darling. You get some sleep.’ Jack left his cup of tea and beef stew in the kitchen, took a glass of wine into the lounge, sat down on the sofa and took out the one piece of evidence that, so far, he’d chosen not to share with anyone else.

The red A5 notebook was worn and tatty, with age-old greasy fingerprints ingrained into the leather. It was partly used as an address book and partly as a notebook, with no real semblance of order to it. Jack imagined that whenever Avril needed to write something down, she simply wrote on the nearest blank page to where the book fell open. Some addresses and phone numbers had been scribbled out over the years; some had worn away because they were only written in pencil; and the odd page had even been torn out. One phone number had the unfamiliar area code of 0113. Jack did a quick online search: Leeds.

He then began working his way through, starting with the most thumbed pages.

Towards the middle, scribbled across both pages, was a list of schools, all with the Leeds area code. He also found Hester Mancroft’s old address in Tetcott Street, her new address in Hove and both associated phone numbers. There was also Terence Jenkins’ address in California.

The last few pages were taken up by a list of bottle companies, complete with dimensions, delivery prices and phone numbers. Underneath a strip of yellowing sellotape was a picture from a magazine of a small brown bottle and, next to that, the words ‘corks extra’. Finally, on the same page, was the name MedGlobal and a phone number.

Deep in thought, Jack lifted his glass of wine to his lips — just as someone rapped on the living-room window. He jumped, spilling his wine on the notebook and leapt up, shaking the excess liquid from the pages and resisting the temptation to wipe them on his trouser leg in case the ink smudged and he lost vital evidence. He had no time to dab the pages dry, so he slid the open notebook underneath the sofa and went to the front door. At this time of night it would either be a scantily dressed, pissed and stoned teenager offering sex, or it would be Ridley.

‘Sorry it’s late.’ Ridley jumped in with his apology before the front door was fully open. ‘I knocked on the window because I didn’t want to wake Hannah.’ The troubled look on Ridley’s face said that something had gone wrong since Jack left the crime scene earlier in the day. Jack led the way into the lounge, poured Ridley a glass of wine without asking, then sat ready to listen.

‘Steve Lewis has been handed the operation. I’m not just playing second-fiddle now, he can actually pause our investigation if it’s getting in the way of his.’ Ridley savoured his wine as though it was the first alcoholic drink he’d had in weeks. ‘It’s the fentanyl, that’s what swung it. International intelligence from Josh says, together with cocaine and heroin, it’s coming in from China or the US. Steve thinks the marijuana’s just a cover... there to be found. Then, whilst the police are patting themselves on the back over that, the bigger deals are going on underground. Literally, in this case. I’ve got a meeting with Steve and Raeburn in the morning, when I can voice any objections.’

Jack asked Ridley what he intended to do.

‘I’m going to let Steve have it.’

Jack swirled the last of his wine round his glass as a distraction to try and hide his disappointment in Ridley’s newly resurfaced passivity. Ridley could see it as clearly as if Jack had called him a coward to his face and was determined to explain himself.

‘Two things: first, with a drug-smuggling operation of this size, it’d be catastrophic if we let it reach the streets. Hundreds could die. It’d be churlish not to use the expertise of Steve, Mal and Josh. Second, Avril and Jessica weren’t even mentioned in the meeting I’ve just had.’ Jack looked up and met Ridley’s stare. ‘I’m not having that, Jack. Foxy’s only halfway through Jessica’s post-mortem, but he called me this evening to let me know that she died of smoke inhalation. She was alive in that fire.’

The tiny muscles in Jack’s lower eyelids flinched, as the horror of what Jessica must have gone through flashed through his mind.

‘That’s the reaction I wanted from Steve when I told him. But you know what he said? “Who’s Jessica Chi?” He’d already forgotten the name of the victim in the greenhouse.’ Ridley drained his glass. ‘So, he can lead on the investigation. He can have his international drugs gang and all of the kudos that goes along with that, and we’ll help him when he needs it. But we will go after the people who killed Avril Jenkins and Jessica Chi.’