Vanished

Chapter 22

Jack and Maggie only really kept coffee in the house for visitors because she disliked the taste of it, even on Jack’s lips when he kissed her. This morning, however, the smell of strong coffee coming up the stairs was exactly what she needed. Maggie could also hear the welcome sound of paracetamol tablets bursting through foil and held out her hand as Jack dropped two into her palm. She crunched them up without lifting her head. ‘Are you meant to chew them?’ Jack asked. Maggie said that the only risk from chewing was that it released the drug more quickly into her system, which was exactly what she needed. Jack told Maggie that her coffee and toast was on the bedside cabinet, then he began getting ready for work.

After about ten minutes, Maggie’s head started to feel a little better, so she sat up. She looked around the bedroom. Her clothes from last night were on the floor next to the washing basket. Why could Jack not walk across the room and open the lid? She saw the lipstick on his shirt and a memory came flooding back. ‘Did I see Tania here last night?’

‘She was demanding to talk to you.’ Jack turned to Maggie, so she could see how serious he was feeling about this topic. But her eyes had closed again. ‘This has to stop, Mags. If there’s a next time, I’ll have her arrested. Hannah was downstairs and could have been hurt.’ Maggie’s eyes jolted open and she squinted in pain at the sunlight coming in through a gap in the blinds. ‘Tania threw coffee across the kitchen. She’s volatile.’

Maggie reached for her now-tepid coffee and swigged it down. The deep furrows around her make-up-smeared eyes, showed she’d got the message loud and clear, and was now figuring out how to handle Dr Elliot Wetlock.

In the kitchen, everything from the worktop was on the table and Penny was wiping the last of the coffee off the wall tiles. She heard Jack walk into the room behind her. ‘When you sweep up broken crockery, darling, always vacuum as well. The tiny bits could get into Hannah’s little knees.’ Jack apologised for not cleaning up properly. ‘And I’ll make sure Maggie’s up and about by eight. Luckily she’s got a ten o’clock start.’

Jack asked if they’d had a nice time. ‘Oh, she had a wonderful time.’ Penny threw the coffee-stained cloth into the kitchen bin and started to move everything back to where it belonged. ‘Regina sang — what’s the word, you know... she sang on her own, no musicians — in front of the whole restaurant. She’s just stunning. And so brave. And I got the chef’s recipe for tarragon glazed carrots. So, I’ll do those tonight.’

Jack was glad that his mum no longer sounded worried about her place in his home. As he headed for the front door, she shouted after him, ‘A cappella!’

When Jack entered the squad room, Ridley was already in his office, door open, organising a file for the morning’s briefing. The two men nodded to each other and Jack headed for his desk. ‘Anik’s staying in Amsterdam for another couple of days,’ Ridley shouted. ‘Trying to get more on Andre Boogaard. You’re thinking he may be Adam Border’s father?’ Jack walked into the doorway of Ridley’s office and leant against the frame. ‘His old landlord told Anik that he thought Adam was Dutch, so you might be right, Jack. I’ve got Anik Zooming into the briefing this morning to hand over everything from his interview with Jessica’s parents.’

As the team filed into the squad room behind Jack, Ridley gathered his file and stood. He had a look of frustrated discontent on his face, reminiscent of the man he was months ago, before his decline into apathy which Jack now knew was due to his ill-health. ‘The elusive Adam Border seems to be the son of a drug-dealing mother, and the boyfriend of an art-thieving girlfriend. Both of whom are now dead. We must find him, Jack. We’re starting to look incompetent.’

Ridley walked past Jack and started the briefing. Jack smiled. The old Ridley was back.

The first half of the briefing was led by an increasingly enthusiastic and annoyingly arrogant Anik on camera. He got the team up to speed regarding all of the new information he’d turned up in Amsterdam — namely the stolen Rossetti and Adam Border’s possible birth name. He revelled in having all eyes on him. The team knew he’d be bloody unbearable when he got back but, conversely, they also felt an odd communal pride that their little boy was finally growing up.

The second half of the briefing centred around the team’s shaky relationship with the Drug Squad. Ridley was doing his best to play second-fiddle to Steve Lewis, but it didn’t come naturally. The truth was that as the best DCI in the Met, Ridley would never have rolled over so easily under normal circumstances, and now his decision was coming back to bite him.

‘I’m going to see Steve Lewis this morning, as he’s not volunteering much without being asked. We have now been sent the video footage showing the prelim to the murder of Avril Jenkins. Go through it with a fine-tooth comb. We need to identify those men. And the man who arrived in the Jag. A Jag driver cropped up at Avril’s funeral, Jason Marks, but we don’t know if they’re one and the same. Mike Tulley from Steve’s team followed Marks away from Avril’s funeral, but we have no idea what came of that. I’ll find out about that too. Anything else I need to get from Drug Squad?’

The question, which was directed at the room in general, was met with a sea of shaking heads. Ridley brought the briefing to an end and returned to his office. Jack followed him.

‘Sir, on the list of items Avril Jenkins reported stolen to Kingston nick there was a Rossetti painting.’

‘And you think it’s the same Rossetti mentioned by Jessica Chi’s parents?’

‘I think it’s at least worth a conversation with Arnold Hutchinson.’ Ridley told Jack to hand that conversation to Laura, as he should stay with the task of tracking Adam Border. ‘Sir, this is about tracking Adam Border. He’s the one Avril accused of stealing it, and Jessica is the one seen in possession of it. If it proves to be the same painting, of course.’

Ridley rubbed his forehead. ‘Jack, pace is important in this case. You’re not the only one who can interview people, you know.’ Ridley looked up and could see that Jack really didn’t want to delegate this particular interview. ‘Fine. You speak to Hutchinson.’

As Jack was leaving the station, he bumped into Laura coming out of the ladies’. ‘I’m off to interview Arnold Hutchinson then heading straight back.’

‘OK, and by the by, I have information about David Summers, Avril’s brother. He’s in Strangeways, been there for eighteen months, with two more years to go. He was arrested for stealing a van and selling stolen lead from a church — he’s got a long sheet of petty crime.’

Jack shrugged, and suggested she run it past Ridley to check if they needed to interview him.

Jack didn’t call Arnold Hutchinson’s office to make an appointment because he didn’t want to be told that he’d have to wait until tomorrow or next week. When he arrived, he was told by the rather frayed receptionist, May, that Hutchinson was with a client — their heated conversation could in fact be heard from the reception area. Jack threw her a reassuring smile, ignored the muffled verbal sparring coming from the next room and sat down to wait. May initially tried to small-talk over the growing argument but, when she finally gave up, Jack heard a familiar voice.

‘I’ve done everything asked of me. And I needn’t have, Arnold, I bloody needn’t have. This is totally unacceptable. I will be taking legal advice. Mark my bloody words on that.’

Hutchinson’s office door flew open and Terence Jenkins strode out with his head down, jabbing his mobile screen as he dialled a phone number. He marched out of the main door without noticing Jack. May had an awkward smile on her face as she stood up. ‘Please give me five minutes, DS Warr. To make sure Mr Hutchinson is free to see you. Then I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea.’

Arnold Hutchinson was sipping from a tumbler of water when Jack was finally shown through. The pot of tea and two cups were already on the desk, brewing. ‘The will of a client has become... complicated,’ he explained. ‘My apologies if you overheard any unpleasantness.’ Hutchinson poured the tea. ‘So, how can I help you, DS Warr?’

‘You could tell me about Avril Jenkins’ will becoming complicated.’ Hutchinson realised that Jack must have met Terence on a previous occasion and recognised him as he’d stormed out, but insisted the details of Avril’s will were confidential. ‘This is a murder investigation and so I need you to please tell me if anything has happened that could be significant in finding Avril’s killer. I understand about client confidentiality, but as the client is deceased, you can use your discretion.’ Jack could see that Hutchinson was wavering, so he gave one final push. ‘Help me, to help her.’

After a few seconds’ thought, Hutchinson nodded. ‘A second will has surfaced. More recent than the one with Terence Jenkins as the main beneficiary.’

‘So, Terence no longer gets what he was expecting to receive?’

‘I’m still verifying its legality. And he’s contesting.’ Hutchinson paused to drop two sugar cubes into his tea. He then chopped at them with the tip of his teaspoon. ‘If the new will is legitimate, everything goes to Adam Border.’

Jack let out a low whistle. The house, its contents and the grounds were a substantial inheritance — no wonder Terence was so angry. Jack asked if he could see the new will but Hutchinson shook his head. ‘I do want to help you and to see justice done, Detective Warr, but my loyalty lies with Avril Jenkins, irrespective of her death. She and her final wishes are my priority. I won’t speak out of turn, and so until I’ve verified the new will, I’ll say no more on the subject. I hope you understand.’

Jack did understand. He also knew that he couldn’t legally compel Hutchinson to share the will, so he had to persuade the details out of him. And now was not the time for that.

‘The reason I’m here, Mr Hutchinson, is to ask about the Rossetti painting that Avril included in the list of property allegedly stolen from her home.’

‘I remember it being valued some years ago for insurance purposes. I seem to remember that the authenticity of this one came into question. I can’t recall the outcome, although the insurance company will be able to tell you. I can find their number. Freddie bought and sold artworks beyond retirement, you see — he said it kept him out of trouble.’ Hutchinson snorted a gentle laugh down his nose as he fondly recalled Freddie. ‘It didn’t work. He lost on investments, as you know. Which is why Avril was forced to sell some pieces after he died. I lost track beyond Freddie’s death, because Avril would privately sell items without informing me or the insurer. She got through some insurance companies, I can tell you! They simply refused to work for her.’

Hutchinson suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if he’d said too much. He stood and went to a tall, four-drawer cabinet from which he removed a file. He took out two pieces of paper that had been stapled together. As Hutchinson diligently picked out the staple without ripping either sheet, he spoke of his friend, Frederick Jenkins.

‘Freddie and I go back decades. I’d never have put him with Avril but, well, she made him... bloom. Can men bloom? Or is it just women? Anyway, she made him happy.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s no accounting for taste. I’ll get May to photocopy this insurance inventory for you. I also have a recent inventory from Terence Jenkins, so if you compare the two, I guess you’ll come up with a third list of items that have gone walkabout. Sold, stolen, mislaid. Who knows?’

As May photocopied the relevant pages and placed them into a manila envelope, Jack asked his final question. ‘Did Jason Marks value any of the artwork in Avril’s home?’

Hutchinson said that the name sounded familiar, but he didn’t know if Jason Marks had ever supervised any actual sales. He did, however, know that Frederick Jenkins only ever dealt with the likes of Sotheby’s, so if ‘this Marks person’ moved in lesser circles, then it was unlikely he’d have been trusted to do the selling.

Jack sat in his car outside Hutchinson’s office and digested the new information, trying to make it align with what they already knew. If Avril had redrafted her will, and if Adam Border knew about it, why did he disappear? Why not stick around to collect what was his? This begged the question of whether or not Adam Border even knew that Avril Jenkins was dead.

Or worse, it begged the question of whether or not Adam Border was still alive to collect his inheritance. He too could be dead. He could even have been the first to die. If this gang of drug dealers had managed to complete the dismemberment and disposal of Avril Jenkins, the police would never have learnt about the drugs den beneath her home. It was only the impromptu fire, set on the same night that Avril died, that had brought the emergency services in to expose a murder scene.

The more Jack thought about the viciousness of Avril’s murder, the more he disagreed with Josh’s assessment of this gang being amateurs. Jack thought that Josh’s past experience in the US was not necessarily a useful benchmark. This was not America. Shootouts were not daily occurrences. And dismembering pensioners was not par for the course. Josh might be complacent about the level of criminal activity they were dealing with here, but Jack refused to be. Josh spoke of drug deaths as casually as Penny spoke of new carrot recipes. Jack never wanted to get to a stage in his career as a police officer where death was ‘expected’. Avril’s death was horrific. Jessica’s death was horrific. And if Adam Border was also dead, that would no doubt have been horrific too. Irrespective of what side of the law these people had been on, Jack didn’t believe that any of them had actually deserved to die. If Adam was out there somewhere, Jack wanted to find him alive.