Minette Walters - The Ice House

McLoughlin pictured her fireplace awash with cigarette ends. "Don't tell me," he said gloomily, "let me guess. He looks like Rudolph Valentino, Paul Newman and Laurence Olivier, all rolled into one." He opened his car door and reached for his radio.

"Tut, tut, tut," clicked Fred impatiently. "He's a big man, dark, full of life, clever in his way. Always reminds me of the one who plays Magnum ."

Tom Selleck! I hate him, thought McLoughlin.

Sergeant Jones was leaving the Station as McLoughlin came in. "You know that tramp you're after, Andy?"

"Mm."

"Got a sighting from your friend the Vicar in East Deller. Wife claims she gave him a cup of tea."

"Any idea of a date?"

"No, but the Vicar remembers he was writing a sermon at the time and was annoyed by the disturbance, found himself praying to the Good Lord for deliverance from tramps, then had to reprimand himself for his lack of charity."

McLoughlin chuckled. "That sounds like the Vicar all right."

"Apparently he always writes his sermons on a Saturday while he's watching the sport on telly. Any good?"

"Could be, Nick, could be."

The phone rang on McLoughlin's desk the following morning. "You're a jammy bastard, Andy. I've got a lead on that tramp of yours," said his mate in Southampton. "One of the uniformed sergeants recognised the description. Seems he picked up the old boy about a week ago and took him to a new hostel out Shirley way. No guarantee he's still there but I'll give you the address. You can check it out for yourself. He's called Wally Ferris and he's a regular down here during the summer. Sergeant Jordan's known him for years." McLoughlin wrote down the address, Heaven's Gate Hostel, and thanked him. "You owe me one," said the other cheerfully and hung up.

Heaven's Gate was a large detached Victorian house, probably much sought after in the days before motor cars, but its appeal was diminished now by the busy thoroughfare which mewled and milled about its front door.

Wally Ferris bore no resemblance to the description McLoughlin had circulated, except in age and height. He was clean. Scrubbed rosy cheeks and gleaming pate with frill of washed hair dazzled above a white shirt, black slacks and highly polished shoes. He looked, for all the world, like an elderly schoolboy on his first day in class.

They met in the sitting-room and Wally gestured to a chair. "Take a pew," he invited.

McLoughlin showed his disappointment. "No point," he said. "To be honest, I don't think you're the person I'm looking for."

Wally did a rapid about-turn and beetled for the door. "Suits me, son. I'm not comfortable wiv bluebottles and that's a fact."

"Hold on," said McLoughlin. "At least, let's establish it."

Wally turned and glowered at him, "Make yer bleeding mind up. I'm only 'ere because the lady of the 'ouse arst me. She's scratched my back, in a manner o' speaking, so I'm scratching 'ers. What you after?"

McLoughlin sat down. "Take a pew," he said, echoing Wally.

"Gawd, you're a shilly-shallyer and no mistake. Can't make yer mind up, can yer." He perched on a distant chair.

"What were you wearing when you came here?" asked McLoughlin.

"None of your effing business."

"I can ask the lady of the house," said McLoughlin.

"What's it to you, anyway?"

"Just answer. The sooner you do, the sooner I'll leave you in peace."

Wally sucked his teeth noisily. "Green jacket, brown 'at, black shoes, blue jumper and pink trews," he reeled off.

"Did you have them long?"

"Long enough."

"How long?"

"All different. 'Ad the 'at and jacket near on five years, I'd say."

"The trousers?"

"Twelve monfs or so. Bit on the bright side but a good fit. 'Ere, you're not finking I nicked 'em, are you? I was give 'em." He looked thoroughly indignant.

"No, no," said McLoughlin soothingly. "Nothing like that. The truth is, Wally, we're trying to trace a man who's disappeared and we think you may be able to help us."

Wally planted his feet firmly on the ground, one in front of the other beneath his, chair, poised to take flight. "I don't know nuffink about nuffink," he said with absolute conviction.

McLoughlin raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Don't panic, Wally. As far as we know, there's no crime involved. The man's wife asked us to find him. She says you came to the house the day before he disappeared. All we're wondering is if you remember going there, and if you saw or heard anything that might help us find out why he went."

Wally's rheumy eyes looked his suspicion. "I go to a lot of 'ouses."

"These two gave you a pair of brown shoes."

Something like relief flickered across the wizened features. "If the wife was there, why can't she tell you why 'er old man went?" he asked reasonably.

"She's become very ill since her husband went," said McLoughlin, stretching the truth like a rubber band. "She hasn't been able to tell us much at all."

"What's this chap done?"

"Nothing, except lose all his money and run away."

That struck a chord with Wally. "Poor bastard. Does 'e want to be found?"

"I don't know. What do you think? His wife certainly wants him back."

Wally considered for several minutes. "No one bovvered to come looking for me," he said in the end. "Sometimes I wished they 'ad 'ave done. They was glad to see the back of me, and that's the trufe. Go on then. Arst yer questions."

It took over an hour, but in the end McLoughlin had a clear picture of Wally's movements during the last week in May, or as clear as the old man could make it, bearing in mind he had been tight most of the time. "I was give a fiver," he explained. "Some old geezer in the middle of Winchester popped it in me 'and. Put the lot on a gee-gee called Vagrant, didn't I. Came up eleven to one. Ain't 'ad so much cash for years. Kept me plastered for free weeks 'fore it ran out."

He had hung around Winchester for most of the three weeks, then, when he was down to his last few quid, he'd made his way along the back roads to Southampton in search of new pickings. "I like the villages," he said. "Reminds me of cycling holidays in my youf." He remembered stopping at the pub in Streech. "It was pissing down," he explained. "Landlord was a decent sort, gave me no bovver." Paddy's wife, by contrast, was a fat old cow whom, for unspecified reasons, Wally didn't take to, but he winked ferociously a couple of times as he mentioned her. At three o'clock, they turned him out into the rain. "Ain't no fun when it's wet," he said lugubriously, "so I took meself off to a little shelter I know of and spent the afternoon and night there."

"Where?" asked McLoughlin when the old man fell silent.

"Never did no 'arm," said Wally defensively. "No call for anyone to complain."

"There haven't been any complaints," said McLoughlin encouragingly. "I won't rat on you, Wally. As far as I'm concerned, if you behave yourself, you can use it as often as you like."

Wally pursed his lips into a pink rosette. "There's a big 'ouse there. Easy as winking to pop over the wall. Been in the garden a few times, never seen no one." He gave McLoughlin a speculative look to see if he was interested. He was. "There's a sort of man-made cave near the woods," he went on. "Can't fink what it's for but it's got some bricks stacked in it. The door's 'idden by a big bramble but it's a doddle to creep in be'ind it. I always take bracken in wiv me to give me a good kip. 'Ere, why you looking like that?"

McLoughlin shook his head. "No reason. I'm just interested. Have you any idea what day this was, Wally?"

"Gawd knows, son."

"And you didn't see anyone when you were in the garden?"

"Not a soul."

"Was this cave in darkness?"

"Well, there ain't no electricity, if that's what you mean, but while it's light you can see. If the door's ajar, of course," he added.