Lynda La Plante - Backlash

‘Yes, always is for part-timers. I think he’s got a group of guys he uses on a regular basis when they are needed.’

‘Do you have their names?’

Mari chewed her lip and then picked up the lighter, sticking her roll-up in the corner of her mouth.

‘Now, they may be in his address book. He’s mind-blowing cos he uses a big old leather thing from years ago. We buy him new ones, but he likes to keep the old moth-eaten one cos he can’t be bothered to transfer all the names and addresses.’

Mari was now looking over the desk, moving stuff aside and opening drawers.

‘What about a computer?’

‘He uses a laptop all the time, carries it with him. It will probably be at his house.’

‘Would he have a record of employees on his computer?’

‘Yeah, he might have.’

Anna was getting frustrated. The Jordans’ file contained invoices, a list of plants, costings for the removal of a small fishpond and plans for a new garden layout and large new pond. There were photographs of the back of the Jordans’ house, showing the trees and shrubs that required removal. Amongst the papers were more diagrams of the brick wall that was to be replaced, the fences and then many samples of materials for the extension and proposed garden changes. It was almost impossible to find anything about how many people would be required to do the job, but it confirmed her belief that it would have been impossible for one man to do the clearance. She knew from the builders that Markham had excavated areas of the garden so the footings and foundations could be laid for the extension. From the dates on the invoices she calculated that Markham started the clearance work at the end of June 2006 and it probably took about two weeks to complete.

Mari dumped a thick leather-bound diary onto the desk. Page after page was covered with Post-it notes, stuck with Sellotape to some pages, and at the back were names and addresses, hundreds of them. There were so many scribbled notes and crossings-out, it was difficult to decipher anything, but Anna began to sift through it anyway.

‘When did this girl go missing?’

Anna looked up as Mari began rolling another cigarette. ‘Five years ago.’

‘Oh wow, long time. How come you are asking questions about it now?’

‘We have a suspect.’

‘Wow, that’s interesting. And you think he might have worked for Andy?’

Anna looked up, surprised that Mari had worked it out.

‘Yes, it’s possible, but I really need to talk to Mr Markham.’

The sounds of a horse’s hooves clattering on the cobbled stones outside made Mari yank open the caravan door.

‘Daisy, I’m in here! I washed down the stall so you can give him his feed!’ she yelled, then shut the door and pointed to a black-and-white photograph pinned on a noticeboard.

‘That’s him, he’s such a dozy lovable nag. He’s seventeen hands and twenty years old now.’

Anna smiled as she glanced at the photograph. Mari lit her second roll-up.

‘Is that Mr Markham riding?’

‘No, that was his father. Do you want a coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

DS Paul Barolli had a fear of horses – in fact it was almost a phobia. He’d been given one lesson, aged seven, and the horse had trodden on him and injured his foot. He hated the smell of the manure, his stomach churned and he wanted to pinch his nose. The stables were very busy with young children having lessons in the manège area, the horses’ hooves throwing up sand as the instructor shouted for her pupils to sit up straight and gather in the reins for a trot. There were youngsters and adults mucking out stables, grooming horses and buffing up leather saddles. Barolli, not paying attention to where he was going, found himself stepping in a fresh mound of horse muck.

The stable manager’s assistant, Kelly, a young girl in jodhpurs and thick polo-neck sweater, was removing her boots when Barolli was ushered into the reception office. He attempted to explain the reason for his visit, but was constantly interrupted as another girl answered the telephone, arranging rides and lessons and asking Kelly for timetables. It was hard for him to concentrate as he was sweating profusely, but he began to ease up when Kelly suggested they use an adjoining small office where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Barolli showed Kelly the photograph of their suspect.

‘We are interested to know if there is anyone working here who recalls seeing this man. He may have worked part-time and used the name Henry Oates.’

‘Five or six years ago?’ Kelly said, looking at the photograph.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve heard about the girl that went missing, but you do know the whole stables have moved as it’s a much bigger organization now and we also have an equestrian training ring and large indoor-’

He interrupted her. ‘Yes, yes, we are aware of that, but would you know if there are any employees still working here from the old stables?’

‘It’s likely, though I wouldn’t know, to be honest, I’ve only been here eighteen months, but I can get someone to find out for you.’

‘Thank you.’

Kelly returned to the larger office and Barolli could hear her asking if it was possible to run a check on the computer for a Henry Oates. She came back in and explained that they had a big turnover of people at weekends and that they also had a lot of trainers and owners coming through as they stabled privately owned horses.

‘It’s more likely this person worked mucking out. I doubt if he would have owned or ridden a horse, just been part-time labour,’ Paul told her.

‘What happened to the girl?’

‘Her name was Rebekka Jordan. It has been an ongoing investigation, but we’ve had a couple of new leads so they have to be looked into.’

‘But you don’t know what happened to her?’

‘No we don’t.’

Kelly glanced at her wristwatch and apologized, saying she only had another few minutes before she was due to teach a lesson in the indoor arena.

‘I can walk you round the stables if you like. I presume you’ll want to show everyone this photograph.’

‘I’d like to wait to see if there is anyone from five years ago and then talk to them in here. I’m allergic to hay, I get hay fever.’

It took Anna over an hour to read through the whole of Markham’s diary and finish checking the files for the job at the Jordans’. Mari had returned now and again to top up her mug of coffee. By the time Anna left she felt it had been a lot of time wasted and she still had no connection between Andrew Markham and Henry Oates. She had found some memos listing cash payments for part-time labour, but no names had been mentioned. She had made a copy of the dates and times Markham had worked for the Jordans, but his payments for the clearance had been settled by the builders. The fee for his work on the redesign of their garden, after the extension had been completed, was paid directly to his company account. Markham had finished working at the Jordans almost six months before Rebekka went missing.

It turned out that the head groom and one of the riding instructors had been employed as young stable hands at the old yard when Rebekka went missing, but neither of them were able to identify Henry Oates. They remembered Rebekka, particularly as both had been questioned by Langton’s team. They did recall that often part-time labour would be used when the stables were being repaired. The previous owners used to hire from a job centre, but they were often youngsters. Barolli had heard enough, and couldn’t wait to get back to the station.

Barolli and Anna arrived back at the incident room at the same time.

‘Got nothing new from the stables,’ he said. ‘There were two blokes who’d worked there for over five years and they’d also been questioned by Langton’s team and cleared, but they didn’t recognize Oates as ever being seen around there.’