Peter Turnbull - Deep Cover

Vicary sat in the armchair which stood furthest from the door so that he had his back to the window as dusk enveloped the street. Halkier sat opposite him in a matching armchair. He remained silent but stared intently at Vicary.

‘No easy way of telling you, Mr Halkier, but a body has been found. It is a body which matches the description of Rosemary but. . but I have to say that the identity has to be confirmed.’

Joseph Halkier’s head sagged forward. He held it like that for a few moments before recovering. ‘I’m glad she isn’t here. .’

‘Sorry?’ The reaction astounded Vicary.

‘Oh. . no. . sorry. .’ Halkier stammered, ‘don’t get me wrong. I mean my wife, Mrs Halkier.’

‘I see.’

‘She died a year ago without knowing what had happened to Rosemary, but she always lived in hope. Even just before she died she would say things like, “She’ll be in a hospital somewhere, not knowing who she is. . lost all her memory, that’s why she hasn’t contacted us. She’ll phone soon, you’ll see, just you wait and see. . it happens all the time.” I never said anything but. . after a week I knew we’d never see her alive again. It was so not like her to not let us know where she was. But the identification will be positive. Where was she. .’ Halkier paused, ‘where was her body found?’

‘Her body — if it is hers — was found on Hampstead Heath.’

‘The Heath.’ Halkier sighed. ‘All these years and she was so close. . as the crow flies. . ten miles, perhaps a little more. That’s close considering where she could be, like the north of Scotland, but at least my wife died before she was found. She never gave up hope.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘So, whereabouts on the Heath?’

‘Close to the Spaniards Road entrance.’

‘Spaniards Road?’

‘Yes. If you go to that entrance you might probably see the remains of blue-and-white tape strung about the bushes. There will be a hollow just inside the shrubs, hidden from view.’

‘A hollow. . a shallow grave?’

‘Yes,’ Vicary replied solemnly, ‘it was a shallow grave for someone, a female, possibly mid-thirties, just five feet tall.’

‘That’s Rosemary.’

‘And who has given birth.’

‘Again. . that’s Rosemary.’

‘We still need something to make a positive identification.’

‘Such as?’

‘A full-face photograph, the name and address of her dentist. . something with her DNA on it. . a sample of your DNA, a sample of her children’s DNA.’

‘You can have all of them from me, but her ex-husband has custody of the children.’

‘Alright, that is not a problem. I will arrange for someone to call tomorrow to collect a sample of your DNA.’

‘Very well, I’ll also try and find something with her DNA on it.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll wait in. . then I’ll go up to the Heath — Spaniards Road entrance?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll buy some flowers, then go up there.’

‘Yes,’ Vicary replied softly for want of something to say. ‘Yes, I can understand you wanting to do that.’

‘Dare say I’ll be going up quite often from now on. What father has two graves to visit for one daughter? I’ll visit the one she was in and the one she’s going in.’

Vicary remained silent for a moment and then asked, ‘Can you tell me anything about her disappearance?’

‘Went out. . leaving the children here, and she didn’t return. That’s it.’

‘She was living here at the time — not with her husband?’

‘No. She was divorced. We were pleased about that, her husband was no good, a real waster. . he probably still is, and I fear for my grandchildren with him for a father. They live with him in Clacton. . Clacton.’ Halkier shook his head slowly. ‘He does summer work in the amusement arcades and on the dodgem cars. He lives for the summer, all those bright lights and machines making noises, and in the winter he just mopes about. In his head he’s about six years old. Eventually Rose left him and brought the children back here, and she and my wife looked after them. They settled into the school and after a bit of a slow start their school work improved no end. Rose got interim custody of the children, pending the final divorce settlement, and got a job, a telephonist in a call centre; modern day sweatshop she always used to call it but at least it was a wage coming in.’

‘Was she seeing anyone at the time she disappeared?’

‘I think she was but we never met him. I didn’t like the sound of him.’

‘Oh?’

‘Lived well south of London, large house, but was very cagey about what he did for a living. . always a bad sign.’

‘Indeed.’

‘But that was our Rosemary, lovely looking girl, just five feet nothing but. . oh so beautiful. . and such a personality, men really went for her. She could have had her pick but would she pick a good man? Just a halfwit who likes amusement arcades and a dodgy sounding character who lives in a huge house in Surrey, and won’t tell her how he makes his bundle — total, total, total shtum about that bit. Dodgy.’

‘Sounds it.’

‘But it was more than casual; she would go to live with him for a week at a time, longer sometimes. Then she took a bag of clothes and just didn’t come back. She said she went to work each day from his house.’

‘I was going to ask. .’

‘Yes, well, once her husband found out she had been reported missing, he came up from Clacton on the first old train he could get and took his children back with him. I do fear for them with him as a father.’

‘You can’t do anything, sir.’

‘I know. Just exchange cards at Christmas now; send the children birthday cards as well, and things like book tokens instead of cash, but that’s all I can do. I’ll go for a pint tonight — that’s what I do when I have things to think about, walk to the boozer, then walk the streets.’

‘Don’t like it.’ The man screwed the cigar stub into the large ashtray. ‘The Old Bill have found her, that’s what they called to tell me. They weren’t interested in Irish Mickey Dalkeith, the little toerag; it was that old brass they found under his body. I know it was a bad call telling him to get rid of her body; I should have had more loaf. The Bill just called to tell me they are going to pull me for it.’

‘You don’t know that.’ The woman sat on the settee with her legs folded up beneath her and pulled on a cigarette held in a long, ivory holder. ‘You weren’t even there, was you?’

‘I didn’t need to be. . do me a favour. . I didn’t need to be. I gave the nod didn’t I?’

‘Have it your own way, but I reckon you’re panicking for nothing.’

‘Yeah. . well it ain’t your bonce on the old block is it?’

The woman, sensing she was caged with an angry tiger, picked up a copy of Cosmopolitan and hid behind it.

Harry Vicary walked from the Halkier house to Leyton High Road and crossed it at a pelican crossing, and continued down winding Longthorne Road, past the hospital and turned left into Leytonstone High Road. He crossed the high road, also at a pelican crossing. The traffic being heavy by then, and in his opinion the crossings were the only safe way to cross the road after dusk had turned to night; like most police officers who had attended numerous road accidents, Vicary had developed a strong sense of caution. He turned off the main road into quieter Lister Road, enjoying the walk and the peace, and the sense of space that it afforded. He chose to follow Bushwood Road, with thickly wooded Wanstead flats to his right. At that moment, the flats looked bleak and sinister, with the tall, leafless trees standing motionless in the dark, while to his left the homely lights burned in the houses. He turned into Hartley Road and walked up to the front door of the house, which was of similar vintage and design to Joseph Halkier’s home. He let himself in and was instantly aware of the silence within the house, and he knew something was amiss.