Lynda La Plante - Backlash

‘It’s not far from the stables,’ Joan said.

Anna was buzzing.

‘She turned up at four-fifteen,’ Barbara went on. ‘The woman who owned the premises said four women had applied to see the room and they viewed it on the same day. She recalled Fidelis as being Irish, that she carried a small rucksack and said that if she took the room she would want to move in straight away.’

‘Never called back?’

‘Right. So we now have a sort of description of what she was wearing – we didn’t have anything to go on before: blue anorak, jeans, dark-coloured jumper and knee-high boots.’

‘Hmmm… this girl who owns the lease has a very good memory. I mean, it was eighteen months ago.’

‘She said she pays particular attention to anyone coming in to see the room as they would obviously be sharing the kitchen and bathroom.’

‘She recognized her straight away,’ said a new voice.

Anna turned as Barolli walked in.

‘This is good work, Paul.’

‘Thank you. I needed to get my mind off sneezing from the bloody hay at the stables. As you can see, the Shepherd’s Bush flat is not far from Ladbroke Grove and within walking distance of the Tube station and the stables.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ Joan said mournfully. ‘I’ve been on the phone for so long my ear lobes are ringing.’

‘Great work, all of you. Congratulations,’ said Anna, with feeling.

Anna went in to see Mike and filled him in on that morning’s conversation with Langton. She also suggested they send some flowers to Pete Jenkins’ home address for his wife and new baby.

‘Anything more from Kumar?’ she asked.

‘Nope. He went over the disclosure stuff and left without saying a word. I spoke to the prison for an update on Oates. The governor says he’s stopped playing up and should be moved to solitary in the next couple of days for his own protection and be closely monitored.’

‘Be good if we could crack either Fidelis’s or Rebekka’s disappearance. I’m not having much luck so far, nothing new, but it’s a big development on the Fidelis Flynn case. I’m trying to contact two boxers that knew Oates way back, see if I can get more on his background. One of them lives in Hammersmith close to the Jordans’ place.’

Mike nodded and then opened out a large map, covering his desk. They had investigated building sites across West London, on the possibility that Oates had worked in the Shepherd’s Bush area. They were now sifting through any likely building sites and companies that might have hired unskilled or cheap labour over the last six years. Parts of the map were circled with a highlighter pen.

‘It’s not unusual to use Eastern European guys paid on a daily rate for less money than a skilled labourer. Day’s rate for a builder, carpenter, anyone with training, is around a hundred and ninety quid, but these casual workers will accept a hundred.’

‘Cash?’

‘Yeah. The obvious site is the Westfield Shopping Centre, which was started in 2003 and took five years to complete, so it fits the time span for Rebekka, but not for Fidelis.’

‘The security on Westfield must have been massive?’

‘It was, so it doesn’t look likely he could have put Rebekka’s body there. Barolli’s spoken to the contractors to see if Oates ever worked on site but they’re being very cagey. But here’s one Paul reckons we should look into.’

Mike pointed to a red-circled area just off Shepherd’s Bush Green.

‘What is it?’

‘Multi-storey car park built as an overflow for Westfield and the timing is right for Fidelis’s disappearance. Two years ago they had a big rebuild and put in footings and supporting pillars going down twenty feet. They built lifts, used tons of concrete and heavy mixers, but they didn’t really need guys with qualifications.’

‘What was the security like?’

‘One night guard in a Portakabin.’

‘Terrific. Good luck.’

‘Thanks.’ Mike smiled and cocked his head to one side. ‘So how is he?’

‘Langton?’

Mike nodded.

‘Pain in the butt. He keeps on calling me to get in groceries for him, his place is a pigsty, and he looks worn-out, but he told me he’s getting a cleaner in today.’

‘Where’s his wife and kids?’

‘Apparently at his place in the country. You know how he keeps his private life close to his chest, so I have no idea where it is.’

‘I’ll call him and give an update about the Flynn girl.’

‘Don’t mention I said anything, will you?’

‘As if I would. I might even drop in to see him. I owe him a visit.’

Anna walked to the door and then grinned. ‘He likes his vodka!’

‘Listen, if it’ll keep him out of my hair I’ll get him a crate!’

By the time Anna was back at her desk, Joan had succeeded in tracking down Timmy Bradford. He had changed address, having been made redundant six months ago. Unemployed, he was now living back with his mother on a council estate in Kingston.

‘Terrific. Thank you, Joan.’

‘My pleasure.’

The Kingsnympton estate was huge, with a warren of lanes, but very well maintained and it was apparent that a number of the flats were privately owned. Anna parked and walked to the block where Mrs Bradford lived. It was unlike many of the council estates she had been to previously. This block was clean and the stairs were freshly painted; all the front doors looked as if they had just been painted too.

The bell had a jingle like a nursery rhyme and the bright blue door was opened by a pleasant white-haired woman wearing a tracksuit and fluffy slippers.

‘Mrs Bradford?’

‘I was, dear. I remarried. I’m Mrs Douglas now and you are the detective lady, right?’

Anna showed her ID and introduced herself as Mrs Douglas led her across a floral-carpeted narrow hallway through frosted glass doors and into a sitting room. There was more floral carpet and a velvet suite with a large foot-stool and in the corner of the room was a huge plasma TV. Glass-fronted cabinets were filled with china and ornaments, and there was an electric coal-effect fire glowing against one wall.

‘Do sit down. Timmy’s just popped out for some fresh milk. I used to get it delivered, but bottles would go missing. Kids, you know…’

Anna almost disappeared into the deep cushions of the velvet chair. Mrs Douglas came closer to her, evidently anxious.

‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?’

‘I am just here to ask for his help in an enquiry. He knew the person we are investigating and nothing more.’

‘That’s a relief. Poor boy needs a job, but it’s been years on and off. Every time he stays with me he says it’s just for a few weeks, but this time it’s been over six months. He lost his savings, you know, with that bank that closed down. He lost every penny he earned and he’d been saving to buy one of the flats here; there’s a lot coming up for sale. It would mean we’re not on top of each other – not that I mind, he’s a good boy.’

‘Is your husband at home?’

‘Oh no, dear. He passed on two years ago. And that was another thing – they never got on. He called him a bit of a freeloader and maybe he was right, but he’s my only son. I suppose I should be glad of the company, but to be honest, he’s very untidy and I like things to be just so. He says I’m obsessive, but I’m the sort that’s up and ready by seven, always do the crossword in the paper, and nothing gets me more irritated than the newspaper all split up before I’ve even read it.’

She hardly drew breath, but thankfully Anna heard the front door opening and Mrs Douglas hurried out.

‘She’s in here, dear. Did you get the biscuits too?’