Lynda La Plante - Backlash

‘Or if he was working odd jobs there’s a possibility he might have had access to a vehicle,’ Anna suggested.

‘Shovelling shit,’ he muttered.

She closed her notebook.

‘That’s it then, is it?’ he asked.

‘Fraid so. Do you want me to fix you a sandwich or something? I see there are some groceries in the fridge apart from what I brought.’

‘Nah, I’ll get something later.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘I don’t want a fucking sandwich, all right?’

‘Fine. I’m going to take off home, it’s been a long day.’ He reached out for her hand. ‘Sorry. Thank you, but I’m not hungry. Why don’t you make yourself something to eat?’

‘No, I’ll get back home, have a shower and-’

‘There’s a chicken.’

‘No, thanks. I see the flat has been tidied up.’

‘Yep, had a visit from Laura’s sister. She was not happy about the mess. Gave me a headache thudding around with the hoover and her duster, repeatedly reminding me how neat and tidy Laura and the kids are.’

He paused and sighed. ‘Christ, my Kitty’s not much younger than Rebekka was when she disappeared. Time goes fast – not for that poor little soul though. Sometimes when I look at Kitty, the way she’s growing up, I think of what it must feel like to be the Jordans; their child will never grow older, will always be exactly as she was the day they last saw her.’

‘They keep her bedroom as she left it.’

‘Yes, I know.’

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

‘I’m going off home now. Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?’

‘Nope. I’m fine. My wallet’s on the table over there so take whatever I owe you for the groceries and this.’ He picked up the bottle of vodka and topped up his glass yet again.

‘On me, and maybe ease off on the vodka if you’re taking painkillers,’ Anna suggested cheerfully.

‘Go on, get out, you sound like my wife.’

Anna was surprised. He had never, as far as she could recall, ever called Laura his wife, which of course she was.

She put on her coat, eager to leave, and, picking up her briefcase, she couldn’t resist throwing a little dig.

‘Well I’m glad she’s looking after you.’

‘Get the money I owe you, Travis, or I won’t be able to tap you for doing anything else for me.’

Anna crossed to the living-room dining table and picked up his wallet. It was well-used, worn leather. Inside on one half were credit cards and on the other side a flap with photographs of his children Kitty and Tommy. She took out a twenty-pound note and was replacing the wallet when she noticed that beneath the table was the doll’s house. When she had last been at the flat it had been open; but now it was shut and she could recognize the exterior.

‘Good heavens. I hadn’t noticed that this is a replica of the Jordans’ own house.’

‘Yeah, Stephen made it. Kitty isn’t interested in it any more. Laura’s sister put it under there. I dunno what to do with it. I can’t throw it out.’

Anna bent down, drawing the doll’s house further out from beneath the table. It was exceptionally well made and beautifully painted. The front door and porch area with its two tiny pots of plastic flowers were just like those of the Jordans’ house in Hammersmith. She eased it further round to see the back of the house.

‘It was made before the extension,’ Langton said.

Anna leaned forwards on her hands and knees. There was some kind of a back garden attached to the house. A tiny swing was still upright, there was a mock crazy-paved patio made of small cut-out cork squares and close to the back door was a broken tree and some small squashed shrubs made of Plasticine. There were marks where there had been a fence and a hand-painted brick wall was still partly upright, the paper torn.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just looking at how well constructed this is, but I can see from the kitchen that as you say it was crafted before they extended the house. There’s no Aga cooker and it’s now all white with painted floorboards. This must have taken hours of work. Have you seen the little stools and tables? Perfect.’

She closed the doll’s house and stood up, linking the hooks to fasten it shut. Beside the house was a plastic bag containing more furniture and some tiny dolls.

‘I’m going,’ said Anna.

‘Talk tomorrow.’

‘Yes, I’ll call you.’

As she left she could hear him switching on his television. She let herself out and closed the front door. Heading down the stairs, not paying attention, she almost tripped on the frayed carpet.

There was something about the doll’s house that stayed in her mind, but she put it to one side because as she stepped out of the house the rain was lashing down. She ran along Warrington Crescent to Maida Vale Tube Station, and then endured an uncomfortable ride to Tower Bridge, having to switch Tube lines, and did not get home until after ten.

Her coat was still sodden from the rain so she hung it over the heated towel rail in her bathroom before having a shower.

Anna’s own fridge was virtually empty. She sighed, knowing she should have bought some groceries for herself, never mind Langton. She made some beans on toast and a mug of tea, taking them on a tray to eat in her bedroom. Her initial nagging thoughts about the doll’s house returned. Putting down the tray on the floor beside the bed, she reached for her briefcase and took out her notebook. She flicked back a few pages, but nothing triggered a response until she got to the name Andrew Markham, the tree surgeon used by the builders for the Jordans’ extension. She got off her bed and turned on her computer. Andrew Markham had a very professional website describing his company, with landscaping and tree surgeon qualifications alongside pictures of gardens he had designed in the past few years. She knew he was away until the end of the week, but from the website she was sure he would have other employees she could talk to.

Still unable to stop her mind churning, she opened her bedside table and searched for a pencil. If the doll’s house represented how the Jordans’ property had looked before the extension, there had to have been a considerable amount of earth removed to be able to lay down the new foundations. She recalled one of the Henderson brothers saying there had been a sixty-year-old tree that needed to be removed, as well as shrubs, a fence and brick wall. It seemed to Anna that there must have been a lot of work for one landscape gardener to complete on his own. She wondered if Andrew Markham might have used cash-in-hand labour to remove the debris from the Jordans’ back garden. Still unable to switch off, she sat on the edge of her bed, checking the files to see if Andrew Markham had made a statement or had even been interviewed. There was no reference to him; perhaps due to the fact the work had taken place so long before Rebekka went missing. Had Langton, unaware of the ground clearance work, missed the possibility that Andrew Markham could also be a suspect? She wrote his name in her notebook, underlining the importance of talking to him as soon as she could.

By the time she turned off her bedside light it was after midnight, but it still took her half an hour to eventually fall asleep.

Mind if I sit with you?’ Anna asked Barbara the next morning. She’d decided to get to work early and have breakfast in the canteen.

‘Good heavens, no.’ Barbara put her Daily Mail to one side, eyeing up Anna’s loaded tray, piled with eggs, bacon, sausages and fried bread, plus coffee, in stark contrast to her own bowl of half-eaten bran cereal. ‘Not on a diet then?’

Anna smiled and shook her head.