Adrian Magson - No Help For The Dying

‘You obviously haven’t found any trace of her, then.’ Boothe-Davison stared hard at Palmer and wiped his nose on a chequered handkerchief, then turned towards Riley. ‘Sorry if I seem matter-of-fact about this, but we’ve had a rough time. All this waiting. Can’t help being cynical, you see.’

‘About what?’ said Riley. She had debated going into the kitchen with Mrs Boothe-Davison, but this line of talk looked far more productive. If the man became difficult, she could always take his wife outside on the balcony and threaten to throw her over.

‘Where she is… what she’s doing.’ He looked at Riley. ‘You ever had anybody go missing? It’s not pretty, I promise you. Bad enough they walk away, without charlatans coming out of the woodwork to feed off your hopes.’

‘Charlatans?’

‘People promising to find them.’ He blinked with a faint sign of recognition. ‘I’ve seen you before, young lady. You in the forces as well?’

‘No,’ said Riley. ‘We almost met a few days ago. Broadcote Hall?’ She waited while the name registered. When it did, he snapped her a second look, this one less friendly. ‘But I’m nothing to do with the Church,’ she added quickly, before he ordered her to leave. ‘I was looking for a friend of mine.’

He nodded and relaxed, then blinked at Palmer. ‘Will you find her, do you think?’

‘I can’t promise anything,’ said Palmer carefully. ‘I’ll certainly try. I’ll need a briefing first.’

The terminology seemed to help. ‘Good man. Ah, here’s the tea.’ He watched as his wife entered with a large tray and poured tea, then everyone sat down. ‘All right, what do you want to know?’

‘Why did Angelina leave?’ Riley asked. She was looking at the woman as she spoke.

Mrs Boothe-Davison hesitated momentarily, glancing at her husband before answering. Riley guessed there had been a discussion before their arrival, and she had been snapped into line. ‘Arguments, mostly,’ she said. ‘About all sorts of silly things. Everything was a trial, you see, to be fought over. We wanted her to go to boarding school, but she wanted to stay on in London, at the local school. She wasn’t getting on academically. We felt her school was allowing her to coast. She’s always been a bit airy-fairy, unfortunately, keen on doing her own thing. There was also a bad element… into drugs and all that stuff. She seemed to gravitate towards them. We wanted to take her away from that.’

‘Kids that age are rebellious,’ her husband put in, his voice showing signs of softening. ‘They push the envelope… it’s part of growing up. Not that we were allowed to in my day. But we — my wife and I — tried to move with the times and relax the reins a bit. It didn’t seem to work. We had her late in life, you see, what with all the travelling. Foreign postings aren’t the best places to bring up kids. Maybe that’s part of the problem. We’d give anything to have her back.’ He looked at them with a faint mistiness in his eyes and shook his head. ‘Anything.’

‘What about the poster?’ said Riley. ‘Who arranged that?’

Boothe-Davison looked at his wife and made a gesture. It was clearly something she had done, possibly without his agreement.

‘The Church,’ said his wife, sitting upright. Her tone gave the organisation instant status. ‘Some friends had heard of their work, and recommended them. We — I — called them and they said they might be able to help.’ The way she looked at her husband showed he had not been keen on the idea.

‘Did they say how?’

‘Not at first. They said they had people on the ground, here in London, and that if she was still in the area, there was a chance they could find her. We were ready to try anything. We were going to hire some private detectives, but they suggested they could work faster because it was their speciality.’

‘So it was you who approached them,’ said Palmer.

‘Yes. They were very good… they seemed to know about Angelina. Maybe our friends told them.’

‘Did they ask many questions?’

‘Lots. They wanted to know all about her… her likes and dislikes… friends… habits. Even things about us as a family. We told them everything they wanted to know. It seemed only reasonable.’

‘And you, sir?’ Riley looked at her husband.

‘Me?’ He gave a short bark of a laugh. ‘I did what I always do — I went along with it. Answered all their impertinent questions, gave them more than I thought was necessary, to be honest. But what else could I do? We even went along to their blessed meeting the other day. No idea what that accomplished, save them getting a fat donation, although I suppose that’s fair enough, someone has to. We are talking about our daughter. She’s important to us, d’you see? Our Angel.’ He coughed and dried up.

‘This donation,’ said Palmer after a few moments. ‘How much did you give them?’

They exchanged a look, then the husband said, ‘A thousand pounds. I said I’d double it if they found her.’

‘Who suggested that figure?’

‘I can’t remember. It… came up.’

‘It’s a fairly specific figure, though.’

‘They told us they were hoping to set up a drop-in centre for the homeless here in London,’ said Mrs Boothe-Davison. ‘I thought it was a marvellous idea. Mr de Haan said they were planning to raise money for it by asking for fixed blocks of donations, but he was trying to come to a reasonable idea of the amount of each. He thought anywhere between five hundred to a thousand pounds would be acceptable, and my husband said we would contribute a thousand.’

‘That was very generous,’ said Riley. ‘And he accepted?’

‘Damn near took my arm off,’ said Boothe-Davison sourly. ‘I don’t mind the money, to be honest — it’s not as if we can’t afford it. But I’d like to see some action in return, that’s all.’ He cleared his throat loudly, his expression edged in pain. ‘I never thought I’d do such a thing… but you find yourself ready to do almost anything in this situation. We just want to know she’s safe.’

‘Have they found anything?’

‘So far? Nothing. I had a call yesterday, saying they had some promising news, but nothing concrete. There have been a few crank calls but that’s not unusual, apparently. They said something about how these groups of kids move around a lot in the daytime to avoid the law, which makes them difficult to track down. Then some twaddle about belonging and fellowship and praying. Fat lot of good that’ll do.’ He glared at his wife as if she might contradict him, but she remained silent. Riley wondered if her starry-eyed demeanour at Broadcote Hall had been because of de Haan’s presence, and whether being away from it had allowed a cold dose of reality to creep in. Not, she thought, that it could have been all that far beneath the surface. Forces wives were generally made of stern stuff.

Palmer stood up. ‘Do you have a recent photo of her?’

Boothe-Davison nodded and turned to a burnished mahogany side table, where he opened a slim drawer. He took out a photo from a small stack and handed it to Palmer. ‘No need to bring it back,’ he said gruffly. ‘I had several done in case… ‘ He shook his head and said nothing more.

‘Ok. Leave it with us.’ Palmer handed Boothe-Davison a business card. ‘My number, in case they call with any news. We’ll see ourselves out.’

‘Wait.’ Boothe-Davison stepped forward, looking puzzled. ‘You’re not asking for payment?’

‘No.’ Palmer shook his head. ‘It’s not an issue.’

Outside on the street, he looked at Riley. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think,’ said Riley, ‘they are two very vulnerable people who were carefully lined up and allowed themselves to be conned out of a thousand quid. Or am I being cynical?’