The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) Page 7

  He was relieved she did not accept an invitation from Marcus Masters. Marcus Masters. The name repeated in his head over and over. He felt his anger rising. No, he must calm himself. She was in all ways Marcus’s superior. Sophia needed a strong man, an intelligent man. She needed him.

  She told him so. He saw her looks, her eyes, how they pleaded with him to make the pain stop. They thought alike. She was the only one; he picked her. She was perfect.

  He watched Sophia enter her sanctuary. Living on the third floor of a Sands End apartment block, he knew she enjoyed the luxury her family wealth afforded her. He would keep her secret; he was so happy she had it. From his car, he watched her exit the underground car park door and push the button for the lift in the brightly lit lobby. No one would see him, no one ever saw him.

  You must not tire yourself out, my dear, he thought when she opened her mouth wide, yawning. You need to be at the top of your game. The next few days will be trying on you. You must not fail me.

  The lights of her flat went on above him. The blinds were shut, but he could see her silhouette fading in and out of view within. She wouldn’t sleep, not for another hour or so. He knew she wouldn’t. He could watch her; imagine what she was doing inside. If only she knew how much he cared for her, for her career.

  Someday, she would know. Someday, she would thank him.

  Chapter 8

  Liam Foxton walked into Sophia’s building, stood at the intercom system and looked up at the CCTV camera. He knew this one action would cause him grief, but he had to appear to live there. He punched in a five-digit code, and when he heard the door buzz, entered the lobby.

  Although he had wished to visit Sophia’s flat, this was his first time—Sophia hadn’t wanted him there. Ever. He had rung his team to confirm Marc was at home and, to be on the safe side, he drove around her block of flats three times. Marc’s car wasn’t parked anywhere within walking distance. That should count for something.

  It didn’t. Sophia didn’t even smile when she opened the door. Or say hello.

  “You better have a good reason to be here,” she said between her teeth.

  “I thought you might like to know how I got on today.”

  That didn’t appease her.

  “Can I come in?” he said, looking behind her into the flat. She might have slammed the door in his face if it hadn’t been for the neighbor returning home that very minute. Instead, she stomped off into her kitchen.

  He entered and shut the door behind him.

  Her house was immaculate and modern in a sixties sort of way.

  “I love the yellow and brown design scheme you have here,” he said and followed her into the kitchen.

  “It has its problems.” She reached under the sink for an almost full bucket of water and dumped it into the sink. “What have you come to tell me?” she asked. She poured herself a cup of coffee then lifted the pot to him. He nodded. She poured him a cup. Even when she was mad and standing there in her lilac linen pajamas, she looked gorgeous.

  Best get to the point, he thought. “Do you have sugar?”

  Sophia reached into a top cupboard and pulled down a tin and from a drawer, a spoon.

  “How was your day?” he asked her.

  “Do you know why I don’t want you coming here?”

  “Because you hate me?” he said.

  “Because you have put my family, my mother and my father, at risk. Your job may be a game to you, but it’s not a game for me. It’s not a farce. It’s not lackadaisical. It’s dangerous. It’s—”

  “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to tell you what happened today.”

  “You couldn’t have done that by email or phone or mobile or text?” Sophia looked like she was on the verge of punching him in the face. She took a deep breath and said, “All right.” She led him to her sofa and they sat down. Crossing her hands in front of her on her lap, she smiled. “Tell me about your day, Liam.”

  “Our team had a busy day trying to gather information about Lorna McCauley. We bugged her flat, followed a DI Blackwell and his sidekick, He-Man, throughout London. Almost got discovered at an Italian restaurant but managed to get away in time.”

  “And?”

  “They still view it as a missing person’s case, not a murder.”

  “What did they say when you showed them the photo?” Her soft brown eyes examined his. He could hide nothing from her. “You didn’t tell them?”

  “We wanted to gather more information first.” He placed his hot mug down on her coffee table. She handed him a coaster.

  “Who? Who needed more information? We need to work with the police. How are they supposed to find a murderer if they don’t even know that’s what they’re faced with? When do you plan to show them what we have?”

  “Soon.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. As soon as I get permission to involve them, we’ll join forces.”

  “What have you found out about the men who chased me though the forest? They were men from your McFee case, weren’t they?” She stopped and stared at him. “You’re a bloody idiot. You invited me for lunch at the Moran last week, but you didn’t realize they were following you.” She stood. “And the bloody file. While we were eating, you indiscreetly handed me a file—you nearly had me killed.”

  He didn’t reply but looked at her computer instead. Flashing images caught his eyes as pictures raced through a recognition program. He stood up and went to the computer. A bowl of pretzels sat on the desk, and he grabbed a handful. Busy on the prowl, he never had a chance to eat. “I ordered three meals today, ate none.”

  “Good for you,” Sophia said. She moved in front of her monitor and blocked his view.

  “What are you working on?”

  “This is not your case.”

  “True, but maybe I can help.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’ve had a busy day helping Marc dust his library. I found nothing and I’m exhausted. I need to get this work done, and I need to be alone to do it.”

  “Maybe I can help? I know a bit about ships.”

  Sophia grabbed the photos from her desk and hid them behind her back.

  “For example,” he said, “I think that ship is called the Thomas Nelson.”

  The picture came out from behind her back. “Are you sure?”

  “My father was in the Navy. All he talked about were ships. You would have to confirm but I’m sure that’s the American ship, right there.” He pointed to the picture and saw her eyes light up.

  Stopping the program, she typed the information into a search engine. “Here it is!” she exclaimed. “Do you know how long I’ve been searching for it? God, Yuri can never make it easy for me. I think he likes to challenge me.” She turned to him. “Thank you, Liam.”

  “You just have to ask. I want to help you. Look, Sophia, about Masters… ” Then, he did it. He grabbed her hand and held it. It came naturally to him, like the rapid heartbeat and the sweaty palms, and it got the reaction he expected.

  She pulled her hand away. “I don’t want to talk about him. I’m doing my job. Now it’s late, I’d like you to leave.” She turned him around and pushed him toward the door. “Liam, I like your company… at work. At home I like only my company. I think you understand, don’t you?”

  Five seconds later he stood out in the hall. Alone.

  Chapter 9

  Early the next morning, the phone rang and woke Theo. He knew who it was. “Morning, Dorland,” he said as he turned over to look at his clock. Half-past six. “It’s still bloody dark out.”

  “Did I get you up?”

  Theo heard deep breathing on the line. “Why are you panting?”

  “I talked to Deveau.”

  “All right, whatever floats your boat.”

  “What are you on about?” Dorland said. “I’m doing chin-ups.”

  “He was up at this hour?” Theo wiped the drool from the side of his mouth.

  “Who? Deveau? Not only was he up,” Dorl
and replied, “he was in the office. You requested officers to help today in a door-to-door search and got two. I think we’re going to have to make an early start of it.”

  “Two? There must be…” Theo sat up in bed and immediately his head started to pound. It was going to be a long day.

  “I know. How many did you think Deveau would give you? I was surprised he gave you any—this only being a missing person. Let’s not kid ourselves; we’re already deep in the hole with lack of decent evidence.”

  “Thanks. You’re a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Dorland?” He got out of bed and headed towards the toilet. He muted the phone while he took a piss. He hadn’t finished his business when Dorland asked him what time they could meet.

  “Boss? Theo? Hello?”

  “No, hello, sorry, dropped the phone,” he lied. “Can I meet you there at half ten?”

  Dorland made some sort of grunting sound into the phone and rung off.

  Theo was starving. After a night of drinking he always woke up hungry. He had arrived home at two in the morning and after an hour-long lecture from his mother had closed his eyes at three. Complete waste of a night. Again. It was always the same pub, the same girls, the same drinkers, the same conversations, the same problems.

  Ten-thirty came too soon. Theo spent the morning tip-toeing around his mother and wife while he readied himself. He decided breakfast out was preferable but cursed his judgment when he saw the line at the corner coffee shop. Don’t these people go to work?

  When Theo arrived at Lorna’s address, Dorland was standing in front of his wing mirror scraping something black off his front teeth. Two uniforms were already making their way down the street, entering houses and annoying people with questions. Dorland took his coffee.

  “You have your warrant card?” Theo asked him.

  Dorland patted his jacket pocket. “I remembered this time.”

  People didn’t open the door in this neighborhood without seeing some form of identification, and they liked it even less when you were the police. Finding anyone home with pertinent information was unlikely, especially on a weekday.

  Funny how things had changed in twenty years. When Theo was growing up, he knew everyone who lived on his street. The children his age were his friends, the ones two years older were bullies. He knew which mums made good cookies, and he could point out five houses whose windows you wouldn’t want to break with your homemade catapult. Back then, there were no known pedophiles living on his street. His mum sent him alone to the shop for eggs and feta. And, if instead of there and back, he would go to Tommy’s house on his way home without asking permission, his mother knew and never worried. When the ingredients became necessary for dinner, she had no problem walking over to Tommy’s and dragging him home by his ear.

  Now times were different. No one knew their neighbors and if they did, they warned their children not to talk to them. The neighbor’s son or daughter did not babysit; children went home to their computers and Wii. No one brought over a cake to welcome you to the neighborhood. Instead they searched through your letterbox and the Internet to learn your life’s history. Sometimes Theo wished it was he who had lost his memory instead of Agneta—to be innocent, to begin again. The longer he lived and remembered the more he wished he lacked the capacity.

  Theo and Dorland worked the four streets around Lorna’s house. Only three people recognized Lorna McCauley. Some knew her son from the photograph. One man thought Lorna McCauley was an actor in a movie and spent ten minutes trying to figure out the title. Another thought he saw lights coming from what looked like a round saucer-like object in the sky and could that be helpful to their investigations?

  They finished the street by noon. Feeling hungry and a little dejected, Theo followed Dorland and the other two uniforms for sandwiches at a nearby deli.

  “One woman recognized the boy,” said Constable Lasco. She lifted her note pad and read without pausing for breath. “She said she saw the boy on the bus. The only reason she noticed him was because he was picking his nose and making rude faces at an elderly man in the seat across. Never had a good look at the mother; apparently, she had her face down, busy reading a book or something, never even knew the son was behaving in this manner. She thought that Lorna lived nearby, because they got off at the same stop. When I asked whether she had seen the woman in the last few weeks, the answer was no. When I asked whether she was on the bus with them every day, she said no. When she saw the boy, it was because she had got off work early, it wasn’t her usual bus.”

  “Thank you, DC Lasco,” said Theo, nodding. “We had about the same bloody luck. After lunch, this is what I want you two to do: find the nearest supermarkets, cheap restaurants, McDonalds, anywhere child-friendly and circulate her photo. They won’t know if she was depressed or thinking of running away from her life, but they may know if she came in with a boyfriend or a girlfriend. If she did, get detailed descriptions. Oh, and I want you to get a police, missing person’s poster prepared and put up on her door and around her neighborhood. If she has any friends that live nearby, hopefully they will contact us with information.”

  When the constables left, Dorland said, “Disappointing morning. What now?”

  Theo shrugged.

  They headed back toward Lorna’s flat. As they approached, Theo saw a man, short, bald, and heavy, looking in Theo’s Jeep.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Theo asked. They hurried toward him. Within seconds the Jeep’s alarm went off.

  Theo motioned Dorland across the street out of view so as not to startle the man into running. But the man stood with his arms out, smiling and waiting for Theo to reach him. Theo pushed the key fob to silence the blaring sounds.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Theo yelled at him, out of breath.

  The man asked, “You police?”

  Theo took out his warrant card and stuck it in his face. “We are police, and this vehicle is a police vehicle. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Nathan Peters.” He held out his hand to them. “Landlord to this here building. Tenant phoned me and told me you’re looking for a missing woman—the McCauley woman.”

  Theo leaned against his Jeep to catch his breath. “Please, let’s sit in my Jeep, all right?”

  They got in. Nathan got into the back seat. Alcohol radiated off his body, permeating the vehicle.

  “As you’re aware, we’re looking for Lorna McCauley,” Theo said, turning around to look at him.

  “Yeah, number three,” he said as he sniffed a large amount of nasal mucus back into his throat and swallowed it. “No real complaints. She pays her rent on time. She’s a looker. Noisy kid though.” He rubbed his nose with his sleeve. “Come to think of it, I did get complaints from the neighbor beneath her. Apparently the kid would jump up and down on the floor and drive her mad.”

  Theo grabbed some Kleenex from a small case behind his sun visor and threw it in the landlord’s lap. “Blow your bloody nose. In addition, we don’t need comments about how she looked. We want to know what information you can provide us as to her whereabouts.”

  “First of all, I have a nasal infection. And second, I don’t know where she is.”

  “Then why are you wasting our time?”

  “I thought I might be able to render some of my moral support.”

  Theo turned back around in annoyance. “If you have information ring the police. Now I would appreciate it if you’d get out of my car. Don’t touch the door handle.” Theo jumped out of his Jeep, opened the back door, and the landlord got out.

  “When do you think I can move her stuff out of there? I’m wasting money leaving her flat empty.”

  Theo took a deep breath. “As soon as the police are done with the flat, we’ll let you know. I’ll make this clear, you’re not to enter her flat and take anything that belongs to her or you’ll be hearing from me. Do you understand?”

  “Clear as crystal.” Nathan saluted him.

  After he left
, Theo took a box of nappy wipes from under the back seat and cleaned the leather where the inebriated man had sat. “Vultures,” Theo said. “Everyone wants what they want. Nothing for anyone else. Damn, I don’t know how much longer I can hold the landlord off if she doesn’t show up soon.” He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

  An incoming text to his mobile interrupted him. He read the message aloud to Dorland. “Checked grocery, shops, all no. Will make poster, put up. Contact if more required.”

  “What the hell does all that gibberish mean?” Dorland asked.

  “It means we have nothing to go on. It means we need a break or we’re screwed. No, I’m screwed.”

  “I can’t imagine they checked all the shops. In such a short time?” Dorland replied.

  “I don’t know,” Theo said, closing his eyes. “How far out can we expand our search? I’ll check a few more shops on my way home. After some sleep, I’ll come back and ask the shops again.”

  “Why?”

  “If Lorna went out to buy cigarettes, she went at night. We need to question those who work the night shifts. Perhaps, if only a few shops remain open at night, it will limit our search.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Try to locate the boy’s father. He seems to be out of the picture now, but maybe she wanted money. Maybe things in her life were desperate. Maybe the father didn’t want to pay so he killed her. We have to explore that route. Right now we’re hitting a brick wall.”

  Separating there, Theo drove round the neighborhood, partially looking for a place to buy aspirin to relieve his pounding head and partially to appease the guilt he felt. Where are you, Lorna? Are you scared? Who’s hurting you? You can tell me, I want to help you.

  He entered a small shop. He grabbed a pint of milk, a bottle of aspirin, and a package of chocolate biscuits from the back. The shop, filled to the brim with every foodstuff imaginable, felt cramped. He placed the items on the counter with a loud thud and leaned down to pick up a box of Smarties, a favorite when he was feeling daft.