Missing Without Trace

by

P.F. Ford

Cover Design by Angie Zambrano

Edited by KT Editing Services

© 2013 P.F. Ford

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

The little house was the end one of a short terrace in a quiet street less than five minutes’ walk from the centre of town. It was the sort of quiet, unassuming, leafy street you might expect to find in Tinton, a small, nondescript town in the south of England.

The house was owned by my friend and part-time mentor Dry Biro. I know, it’s a strange name. It’s a nickname that was given to him many years ago now when he retired as a journalist. Dry Biro – no longer writing... get it?             

He was in his eighties now, but he still possessed a razor-sharp mind, and although he was no longer writing he still liked to keep his eye on what was going on. If there was a wrong that needed putting right around here, he knew about it. He was no longer fit enough to investigate these things himself, but he felt I was just about ready to take over and carry on the good work.

My name is Alfie Bowman. I suppose you could call me a writer; at least, that’s been my aim since I realised, after 20 years of unhappy marriage, that it was time to re-start my life. It’s a long story, which I won’t bore you with – let’s just say the moral codes of myself and my ex-wife were at odds with each other.

I knocked hard on the front door. There was a muffled yowling from the back of the house. That would be Betty the basset hound, DB’s dog. She didn’t really bark; it was more of a howl. Imagine the sound you might expect from the Hound of the Baskervilles and you’ve got the picture.

A door opened somewhere inside and the volume rose as Betty neared the front door. A voice rose above the din. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me. Alfie.’

The dog howled even louder as she heard my voice. Betty and I were old friends – she just knew my arrival guaranteed a good fuss. As the door opened she rushed out to meet me, tail drumming loudly against the door as it waved furious circles of delight.

‘Come in, my boy, come in,’ said the old man, backing up to let me past. We walked through to his kitchen, warm and welcoming on this cold November afternoon. ‘Sit yourself down.’ He pointed to a chair by the table. ‘How are you now, and how is that arm?’

He was referring to my right arm, which had been fractured when I was attacked by three guys with baseball bats a few weeks ago. I’d ended up in hospital that night with multiple bruises and stitches in the back of my head.

I had actually been attacked ‘by mistake’, can you believe? But in the end, I had helped reunite a young Serbian girl and her long-lost aunt so that had made it worthwhile. To be honest, I was fine now and I’d put it behind me.

‘I’m fine now,’ I said. ‘All the bruises are gone, and my arm’s working pretty well.’ I flexed my right arm to demonstrate. ‘It’s still a bit stiff at times, and it doesn’t quite straighten out fully, but I’m good to go!’

We exchanged a few pleasantries while he made tea and I made a fuss of Betty. Finally, he set two mugs down on the table and sat down beside me. Recognising the signs that we were getting down to business, Betty heaved a big sigh then padded off to her bed.  

Dry Biro reached across the table to a battered folder, about an inch thick, and dragged it across in front of me. He tapped the folder.

‘This is all the research I have on Daphne’s missing son. There are newspaper cuttings, interviews I conducted, and my own notes. I want you to take it away and see what you make of it. A fresh pair of eyes might see something I missed. But first, I’ll fill you in on the story.’

Daphne Younger was something of a local legend. She had become famous locally through misfortune when her son had gone missing 30 years ago. She had never really got over it, and now she was more famous for the way she appeared to handle her grief, looking through the bottom of a glass.

She had been just thirty-two when her son, Simon, went missing. Ten years old, he always caught the same bus home from school. On this fateful afternoon he had been late leaving school, and instead of catching the usual bus outside school, he had intended to walk into town and catch a later bus home from the bus station. But he never reached the bus station, and he seemed to have simply vanished into thin air.

The police investigation had quickly focused on one of the teachers, Mr Rooke, but no hard evidence was ever found to link him to the crime. Eventually, the investigation had fizzled out and now was just another unsolved crime from many years ago.

As for Daphne, she had blamed herself for not being able to meet Simon after school every day. The fact that many other mothers also relied on their children catching the school bus home didn’t make any difference, as far as she was concerned.

To make matters even worse, he was also the only child she would ever have – a difficult birth had resulted in surgery that made it impossible for her to have another.

Her husband had been a tower of strength for her, and it was thought she would have gone totally off the rails if it hadn’t been for him. But fate can so often be cruel, and it dealt Daphne a further blow when her husband had died five years ago. With her prop gone, she had turned to the bottle to help her forget and could often be found in The Cask, my local pub, quietly drinking herself into oblivion.

It had been an incident in the pub one night that had led me to ask Dry Biro what he knew about Daphne and why she was always plastered. And that’s why was I was here today.

‘So,’ I said. ‘Basically, the police thought it was the teacher, Mr Rooke, but couldn’t prove it. Wasn’t there anyone else they were interested in?’

Dry Biro scratched his head. ‘That’s the odd thing. As far as I could tell, they never even considered anyone else,’ he said. ‘And another thing – the detective running the case was always very evasive when I tried to talk to him about it.’

‘Who was that?’

‘His name was Nash. Detective Inspector Tommy Nash. He’s retired now.’

Telling the story seemed to have drained the energy from him and he slumped tiredly in his chair. I could understand that – it certainly wasn’t the happiest story I’d ever heard.

I would definitely look at Daphne in a new light now. I used to think she was just an old soak. It just goes to show you shouldn’t judge people without knowing their story. Now I felt distinctly ashamed for doing exactly that.

It was time to go. I stood and put my hand on his shoulder. ‘You feel bad about this, don’t you?’

‘I watched a woman in her prime become an empty shell.’ His eyes glistened with suppressed tears. ‘She never even had a chance to bury her only son. I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t do it. I always felt that something wasn’t right but I couldn’t find it. I feel I let her down.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s not right. It wasn’t your responsibility to find out what happened. You did your best. And you never forgot.’

My attempt at consoling him didn’t seem to work, but I thought of something else that might help.

‘When did you last look at this?’ I asked him.

He thought for a moment. ‘Not for many years if I’m really honest.’

This thought seemed to make him slump even further into his chair. Now even Betty seemed to pick up on his sadness and she climbed from her bed to join him. Placing her chin on his knee, she gazed mournfully up into his eyes as he gently caressed her head and those long, velvet-like ears.

This just wouldn’t do. I couldn’t leave him feeling down like this. Then I had an idea.

‘Remember when we first talked about this? You told me it’s never too late to help someone and right a wrong. Well, you were right. Maybe now, between us, we can right Daphne’s wrong.’

This had caught his attention. ‘But I’m too old to help you,’ he said, confused.

‘No, you’re wrong. There’s plenty you can help me with. Don’t forget this all happened 30 years ago. Back then you couldn’t access information online like you can now.’

It was like I had just switched a light on in his head. At last, a smile creased his face.

‘Of course! I can poke around online and see what I come up with.’

I patted his shoulder. It just goes to show what can happen when you allow someone to get involved and feel useful. Now I could get on with my part of the deal.

‘Just one more thing before I go. You know Daphne – can you call her and see if she’ll speak to me?’

‘I’ll do that later and let you know what she says.’

When I left, he was making a fresh pot of tea, humming to himself as he anticipated the job he was about to start.

Chapter Two

Daphne’s house was a mile out of town, set back from the road at the top of a steep drive. In the summer, she must have enjoyed commanding views over the town to the front and over fields and woods to the rear, but in the gloom of a cold November evening, all that could be seen was a smudge of light emanating from the town centre.

She had been surprised to hear from Dry Biro and it had taken some careful persuasion on his part, but she had finally agreed to speak to me. It was his idea for me to come straight away, suggesting that she was more likely to be sober at this time of day.

The house looked surprisingly cosy. I’m not sure what I was expecting, really. I suppose somewhere in the recesses of my mind I imagined a lonely widow sitting on her own in the dark and cold. But that’s not the impression the house gave.

I stood in the glow of the porch light and rang the bell. The hall was in darkness through the glass but suddenly bloomed into life as a door opened inside and a light was switched on. A small dog began to yap enthusiastically.

‘Coming, coming,’ called a warm, soft voice as a blurry figure approached the frosted glass.

The door opened and the smell of home cooking seemed to fill the air as a small, poodle-like dog rushed out and began circling my legs at high speed, yapping like a mad thing.

‘Mrs Younger? My name’s Alfie Bowman.’

The lady before me was sixty-two years old and stood about five foot four inches tall. Her short dark hair was immaculately styled and her green eyes sparkled in an intelligent face. She knew what I was here to discuss, but she looked calm and serene. The only thing that gave her away was the two dark rings beneath her eyes that hinted at many sleepless nights.

‘Cissie, Cissie, dear, be quiet.’ She looked benignly down at the frantic dog, her kindly face breaking into a smile. ‘It’s Mr Bowman and he’s our guest.’

To my great surprise, the dog stopped its frenetic yapping and circling, taking her place beside her owner and seeming to adopt a matching smile.

Daphne shook my hand and ushered me inside. There was a long, low bookcase in the hall. Two large framed photos dominated the top. I guessed these must be Simon, her missing son, and her dead husband. The photos were so strikingly similar I couldn’t help but stare.

She followed my gaze. ‘Just like his father,’ she said, sadly. ‘They could have been twins.’

The sadness was only there for a moment, but I felt as though I could almost touch it. But, just as suddenly, she was smiling again.

‘Let me take your coat,’ she said. ‘And do come inside. It’s so horrible out there.’

She led me through into an immaculate lounge. It was almost perfect, like a show-home. A log fire blazed away in the hearth, and she pointed to a chair next to it.

‘Do sit down, dear. Dinner won’t be ready for a while yet.’

I tried not to show my surprise, but my face must have registered the fact that I wasn’t expecting dinner. A look of panic swept briefly over her face.

‘Don’t you want dinner?’ She was flustered now. ‘I’m sorry. I just assumed. I don’t have company very often and I’ve no one to cook for these days.’

I tried to rescue the situation. ‘No, don’t worry. Dinner would be wonderful. It smells delicious.’ I had no plans anyway, and it really did smell delicious.

‘Oh good,’ she said. ‘Now do sit down, you’re making the place look untidy.’

As soon as I sat down, Cissie decided to jump up onto my lap.

‘Oh goodness!’ cried Daphne. ‘Cissie, get down.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said, cuddling the dog. ‘She knows I love dogs. They can always tell.’

Daphne took the armchair opposite me. The next half hour was filled with small talk about dogs, the weather, and the news, as we both did our best to avoid the elephant in the room, but eventually the small talk ran out.

I had been completely thrown by the way Daphne had invited me into her home like a long-lost friend. I was half expecting to find some sad old biddy tottering around half-cut, and to be confronted by this warm-hearted, confident lady was a surprise to say the least.

It was Daphne who finally broke the ice. ‘It must be very difficult for you,’ she said, ‘coming to talk to me about this. People see me out and they think I’m a sad, lonely old widow, but I’m really not like that. Well, at least I’m not like that all the time.’

She rose from her chair and knelt in front of the fire, expertly poking and prodding it. Finally, happy with her creation, she added a fresh log and sat back.

‘The thing is, it’s difficult to face the world,’ she said, staring into the flames. ‘When I’m here at home I feel safe with my memories. But when I have to face the world I seem to need a prop to help me get by.’

She turned to me. ‘Do you see what I mean? It’s just so hard for everyone. No one knows what to say to me, and I don’t know what to say to put them at their ease. And I feel guilty if I feel happy. I know what people think of me when I drink too much, but a drink just makes it easier, that’s all.’

She was certainly right about not knowing what to say to her. I was certainly floundering right then.

‘Look,’ I said, awkwardly. ‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me-’

‘But you thought it, didn’t you?’ she asked.

Wow! What could I say to that? Bull by the horns time.

‘Can I be completely honest with you?’

‘I rather hope you will be,’ she said, smiling.

Right, here goes.

‘When I first saw you,’ I began, ‘you were in the pub in town, on your own, and you were, let’s say, a little drunk.’

I kept my eyes on her but she showed no emotion so I carried on.

‘That’s not something you see every day,’ I said. ‘And I wondered why. The thing is, I knew someone I could ask, and when he told me I understood why.’

She nodded. I took that as a sign to continue.

‘But there are lots of people out there who don’t understand. They have no experience of their own to compare with your loss, so they can’t understand. And then on top of that, convention says you’re wrong to do what you do.

‘I honestly have absolutely no idea how I would cope in your situation. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like, and I’m not going to patronise you be pretending to know. But I’m pretty sure about one thing. Convention wouldn’t work for me – I’d need a prop too.’

She stared at me for moment or two, then gave another little nod of her head. She had made up her mind. Whatever the test was, I’d passed.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I think dinner’s ready now.’ She held out her hands. ‘Could you help me up. I seem to have got stuck.’

I leant forward, took her hands, and pulled her to her feet.

‘That’s better,’ she said, smoothing her skirt. Then she was all bustle as she hurried out to the kitchen. ‘Would you like to open a bottle of wine?’ she called over her shoulder.

Dinner tasted even better than the aroma had promised. Shepherd’s pie followed by apple crumble – all homemade. As we ate, she told me her story, illustrated with more photographs of her beautiful family.

It was a classic tragedy and I swear I could hear my heart breaking at times that evening, and on more than one occasion I had to turn my attention to my food so Daphne wouldn’t see me welling up.

By the time I left, I was determined to do everything I could to try to find an answer for this wonderful lady who was trying so hard to cope but just couldn’t quite deal with the fact she didn’t know what had happened to her lovely son.

I felt the world owed Daphne Younger an explanation. Maybe we could bring her the peace that would allow her to once again face the world outside her home.

Chapter Three

I called DB next morning and filled him in on my meeting with Daphne.

‘She’s really very sweet, you know,’ I told him, ‘and I’m sure if we could find some answers we could make a huge difference to her life.’

‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t make any startling discoveries yesterday, but I did manage to come up with an address for Tommy Nash.’

‘That’s a good start,’ I assured him. ‘He’s the person I need to speak to next.’

He gave me the address, then we agreed to keep in touch and I left him to carry on with his online research.

‘One more thing,’ he added as we were saying goodbye. ‘He’s got a son. He’s followed in his father’s footsteps. He’s the current Detective Inspector Nash, right here in Tinton. Apparently he has a nickname. He’s known among his colleagues as Nasty Nash.’

The retired Detective Inspector Nash owned a small bungalow in a village about ten miles west of Tinton. He sounded surprised when I asked if I could come and speak to him about the disappearance of Simon Younger, and was rather reticent at first, but when I explained I was writing a series about children who had gone missing he seemed to relax a bit.

‘I suppose it’ll be alright then,’ he decided. ’You can come over this afternoon if you like. I shan’t be going anywhere, and there’s not much you can do in the garden this time of year. About two-thirty suit you?’

I agreed. Two-thirty would indeed suit me.

Number 22 Ridgeway Gardens was a neat corner plot at the end of a cul-de-sac. Even now, in November, it was obvious the owner was a keen gardener with the greenest of fingers. I couldn’t help but admire the neat and tidy garden as I walked up the path to the front door.

He must have been watching through the front window. The door opened just as I got to it.

‘Mr Nash?’ I asked the obvious question. ‘I’m Alfie Bowman.’ As we shook hands, I figured it would do no harm to start with a compliment. ‘Lovely garden,’ I said. ‘Very neat and tidy.’

He beamed modestly. ‘Not much else to do at my age. It keeps me active and reasonably fit.’

He ushered me inside. I’d obviously started him on his favourite subject. Once inside, he pointed through the window at the back garden, which was filled with fruit bushes of varying types and small fruit trees.

‘Wow!’ I said, and I meant it. ‘This lot must keep you busy.’

‘Oh yes,’ he said proudly. ‘I used to have an allotment down at Tinton as well. But I’m too old to look after both now. I used to grow all my vegetables down there and the fruit up here.’

He settled me in an armchair and sat down opposite. ‘But you didn’t come out here to ask me about my fruit and vegetables, did you?’

It was almost as if a physical barrier had suddenly been placed between us, and to emphasise the point he crossed his arms and his chin jutted defiantly.

I decided to tread carefully and see where it led. ‘I don’t want to upset you, Mr. Nash,’ I began. ‘I’m just trying to get a feel for what happened and what you feel stopped you solving the case.’

He looked thoughtful for a few moments. ‘It was the worst case of my whole career,’ he said, and as he said it, he seemed to sag in his chair. ‘I knew who’d done it, but we just couldn’t find the evidence to prove it.’

‘So you actually knew who had taken the boy?’

‘It was that bloody school teacher, Rooke. There was no doubt in my mind at all. He didn’t even have an alibi. Just said he was at home on his own. I knew he was lying. I just couldn’t prove it.’

‘Didn’t anyone else come under suspicion?’

‘No. Absolutely not. He was the only one. I had a nose for these things.’

His tone and manner made it clear there was no room for discussion on this. It struck me as a bit odd that no one else had even been considered worthy of suspicion, but I didn’t want to push it too far. And so we continued in the same manner for a few more minutes: me tiptoeing around trying to prise a little more from him, and him quite adamant there was no more to it. The longer it went on, the more hostile he became.

It became quite clear there had been nothing to suggest the teacher Mr Rooke was guilty apart from former DI Tommy Nash’s ‘nose’. I couldn’t help but think it was no wonder the case had never progressed far, but then what do I know? Maybe I was just being uncharitable in the face of his growing hostility.

I suppose it was inevitable he would get fed up with me eventually.

‘I don’t know why you’re poking your nose in now anyway,’ he said. ‘It was thirty bloody years ago. What makes you think you can do any better than I could with the whole damned police force behind me?’

‘I’m not suggesting I can do any better, Mr Nash. It’s just that I met Mrs Younger a few weeks ago, I heard her story, and I saw the pain she still endures. He was just ten years old, her little boy, and here we are thirty years on and she still doesn’t know what happened.’

‘Do you think I don’t know all that? You’re way out of order coming here asking me about this. My own son was ten at the time. I could understand exactly how she was feeling and I tried my hardest to prove that man was guilty, but I just couldn’t do it.’

He was visibly upset now, and I began to feel seriously uncomfortable. Maybe I was out of order. He certainly seemed genuine enough.

‘Look, Mr Nash, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Maybe I’d better go.’

‘Yes. I think you should go. You can see yourself out.’

Dismissed in such a fashion, I crept guiltily out of the room to the front door. ‘Goodbye,’ I called out, ‘and I’m sorry for upsetting you.’

‘Just bugger off,’ he called, bitterly, ‘and don’t come back.’

As I drove back towards Tinton, I congratulated myself on my brilliant interviewing skills. Well, let’s face it, I had him eating out of my hand, didn’t I? No, you’re right. I didn’t think so either. And he was obviously so looking forward to welcoming me back anytime never.

I did feel guilty about upsetting him, but at the same time, I felt as though there just might be more to this than first meets the eye. I mean, surely there must have been other people who could have been considered suspects, yet Tommy Nash was adamant there were none. Now, I’m no detective, but it seemed unlikely to me. It was almost as if I was being steered in one particular direction.

It wasn’t even four o’clock yet, so I headed for DB’s. He was on my way home anyway, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give him an update and find out what he’d discovered today.

As I stepped from my car outside his house, I was delighted to see a familiar car parked a couple of cars down. It was my friend Positive Pete’s car. Pete and I go back quite a long way, having the misfortune to have married two sisters who were totally unsuitable for either of us.

I had been the luckier one of us, having walked away relatively unscathed from my own marriage, but Pete had been driven into deep depression by his. Nowadays, he was a firm advocate for the power of positive thinking and saw himself as the positive influence that would save me from a similar fate. It wasn’t something I needed, but I knew he would walk across a bed of nails for me, so I was happy to play along.

Sure enough, it was Pete who answered the door when I knocked. He had a permanently mournful expression, and as a result, people often thought he was miserable, but that was far from the truth. The fact was, he’d been desperately unhappy for so many years his natural expression had become one of abject misery. The man himself was happy enough inside, it was just that his face seemed to have forgotten how to smile.

DB had been telling Pete all about Daphne’s story and what we were doing, so he was just about up to speed by the time I arrived. I told them both about my meeting with Tommy Nash, and how I had the feeling there was more to this than meets the eye.

‘I always thought he was being evasive thirty years ago,’ admitted DB. ‘But I didn’t have anything to go on then.’ He smiled triumphantly. ‘But I just might have stumbled upon someone who can shed a little light on what happened that day.’ He sat back, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

‘Well, come on,’ I said. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense!’

‘I’ve been following up on the teachers who were at the school at the time. It was only a small school, with not many staff. Two of them have passed away and, of course, Mr Rooke, Tommy Nash’s only suspect, took his own life two years after the boy went missing. But I have managed to track down a lady teacher, Miss Goodie. She was quite new to the school at the time and was actually away on the day in question.’

‘Well done,’ I said. ‘That’s great work. Do you have an address for her?’

‘I have indeed.’ Dry Biro beamed. ‘And a telephone number. I even called her and she said she would be happy to talk to you. All you need to do is call and arrange a time.’

Chapter Four

I waited until ten o’clock the next morning before I called Miss Goodie. She was living in a retirement home about an hour away and was happy to see me later that afternoon.

I had just put the telephone down after my conversation and was thinking about plucking up the courage to go down to the tea shop for some company when my doorbell rang. Then, almost immediately, and before I had time to reach the door, there was a loud pounding on the door and an accompanying shout.

‘Come on, open up. We know you’re in there!’

I opened the door. An Inspector Clouseau lookalike (a la Peter Sellers) stood on my doorstep. He had it all, even down to the mustachio, hat, and coat.

I managed to suppress the smirk that was threatening to take over my face and waited for him to speak. I knew if he had a funny accent I was going to be in trouble.

But this man was no bumbling idiot. He flashed a warrant card in front of my face. It was way too close for me to read, but that didn’t seem to matter as he brushed me aside and forced his way in.

‘Alfred Bowman? I’m Detective Inspector Nash. And this,’ he said, pointing over his shoulder to indicate his colleague, ‘is Detective Sergeant Slater.’

Slater looked at me uncomfortably and nodded.

‘Why don’t you come in?’ I said to Nash’s back as he walked into my flat. Then I had a thought. Hang on a minute. Who does he think he is barging in like this?

He marched into my lounge and began to inspect the room.

‘Do you have a search warrant?’ I asked.

‘Do I need one?’

‘I think you do if you’re going to come barging in here poking your nose around.’

He obviously thought he’d scored the first point and looked pleased with himself.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s funny you should mention poking your nose in. That’s exactly why I’m here.’

He was wearing a pair of black leather gloves, which he slowly peeled from his fingers. I supposed this was intended to intimidate me, but all it seemed to do was make his colleague, Slater, even more uncomfortable.

‘Is this some new quiz show?’ I asked. ‘Do I have to guess what you’re referring to to win the prize.’

‘Don’t get smart with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been poking your nose into police business. Now that would be bad enough, but what’s even worse is you’ve been upsetting my dad.’

Ah right. I’d been wondering what was going on, but now the penny dropped. Of course. This was Tommy Nash’s son, Nasty Nash.

‘I was just trying to get some background for a story I’m writing,’ I started to explain.

‘It’s an ongoing investigation, and you will keep your nose out. Understand what I’m saying?’

The ‘understand what I’m saying?’ was a threat, not a question. I looked at Slater, but he looked distinctly embarrassed, as though he would like the ground to swallow him up.

‘Is that a personal threat, or an official police threat?’ I asked.

‘Perhaps you’d like me to look into a complaint I have against you from a few weeks ago. Let me think, what was it now? Oh yes. Threatening behaviour. Or perhaps it was assault.’

He was referring to an incident a few weeks ago in which I’d been beaten up by three guys with baseball bats; the local police appeared to have conveniently forgotten about it.

‘Ah!’ I said. ‘Was that when I head-butted a baseball bat so hard, I needed twelve stitches in my head, and damaged another one when I broke my arm against it? Is that the incident you mean? The one that you lot didn’t bother to investigate at the time?’

Nash curled his lips into a sneer. ‘From what I heard, you were drunk and disorderly and started a fight. You were fortunate the gentlemen involved didn’t want to press charges at the time, but that could always change. Understand what I’m saying?’

Slater was looking at both of us. He obviously didn’t have a clue what we were talking about.

‘It looks like this is all news to you, Sergeant,’ I said. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ I turned back to face Nash. ‘Funny you should know all about that, Detective Inspector, don’t you think? After all, someone in your station must have decided a serious assault wasn’t worth investigating. Is that a decision someone in your position would take?’

‘What are you suggesting?’

He might have looked like Peter Sellers playing the part of Clouseau, but sadly he was no actor and his attempt at indignation failed to impress either me or, evidently, Slater.

‘If you’d bothered to carry out an investigation, Mr Nash, you would know there is a witness who saw the whole thing.’

‘I’ve got three witnesses who say different,’ he spat.

Now I knew who had beaten me up, and I very much doubted that Nugent and his guys would be interested in getting involved in this development. So I figured Nash was bluffing. As for Slater, he obviously had no idea what was going on.

I decided I’d had enough of this. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘You carry on and do whatever you want. Now if there’s nothing else, I suggest this conversation is over. Let me show you out.’

Nash was turning purple and I wondered what would have happened if Slater hadn’t been present. Nash managed to keep cool enough to leave quietly, but the rage and threat in his eyes were clear enough.

Phew! I closed the door and leaned back against it. Now wasn’t that interesting? We seemed to have ruffled a few feathers. And Nash knew all about my assault. Now that made it doubly interesting.

I nearly jumped out of my skin as the doorbell rang again. Surely this couldn’t be Nasty Nash back already. But it wasn’t Nash. It was my gorgeous neighbour, Sophia.

I’m quite happy living on my own, but even for the most hardened loner, there are times when you need a bit of company. I was fortunate to live above a small tea shop down an alley off the High Street in the centre of Tinton.

The shop was owned by Sophia, who also owned the two flats above the shop: one of which I lived in, the other was her home. So my neighbour was also my landlady.

I didn’t really know Sophia well, but I had recently helped reunite her with her long-lost niece Jelena, and that had brought the three of us together, so I think it would be fair to say we were definitely friends.

Until Jelena’s arrival, the tea shop had been mostly closed, but now the two of them were trying to make a success of the shop and it was open every day. So, if I wanted some company I could always take the short walk from my front door, around the corner, and into the tea shop.

But there was a problem, and it was Sophia. Well, to be honest, it was my attraction to Sophia. I thought she was the most gorgeous woman I had ever met, but I was also convinced she wouldn’t have time for someone like me. I mean, she appeared to be seriously cool whatever the situation, whereas I seemed to become a bumbling idiot whenever I was around her.

I thought I’d made a breakthrough when I got her together with Jelena, but then, at the little celebration we had, I made an enormous gaffe. Sophia told me how grateful she was, and asked if there was anything she could do to show her gratitude. For some bizarre reason, I gave her a saucy wink and told her if I thought of anything I would let her know.

Talk about a mismatch – on one side this gorgeous, sophisticated lady, and on the other side this clumsy idiot doing the nudge, nudge, wink, wink routine. What on earth had I been thinking? Well, of course, the problem was I hadn’t been thinking, had I? It was one of those moments when the mouth had engaged top gear before the brain had even got out of neutral.

Sophia had immediately made an excuse about going to the ladies and I’d hardly seen her again that night. Ever since, I’d been so embarrassed, I’d been effectively avoiding her and Jelena. And, of course, the longer you allow that situation to go on, the harder it is to make it right.

‘Oh, Sophia! What a surprise!’

She’d caught me on the hop. I had intended to think about how to apologise before I spoke to her, but here she was looking lovelier than ever. Ahhh! What should I say?

‘Hello Alfie,’ she purred. ‘How are you? It’s so long since we saw you.’

Her voice was like dark chocolate – deep, smooth, with just a slight trace of an accent long gone, which sometimes made an ending ‘g’ sound like a ‘k’. When she spoke, I tended to go weak at the knees.

‘Err, erm, I’m fine, how are you?’ I could feel a stupid grin take over my face and I just couldn’t stop it. Oh, no. This was pathetic. It was like being a little boy all over again. I realised she was speaking.

‘I still didn’t thank you properly for helping Jelena find me. I wondered if you would like to come to dinner. Let me cook you a meal, it’s the least I can do.’

‘Oh wow, yes, please!’ I gushed.

Oh wow, yes, please? I’m just so sophisticated, aren’t I? Was this really the best I could do?

‘Friday evenink then.’ She smiled. ‘Eight o’clock. And don’t be late.’

She gave me another big, beautiful smile and turned to go. I watched her glide elegantly to the corner of the building. As she turned the corner, she looked back at me, gave me a cheeky grin, and pursed her lips to form a kiss before disappearing round the corner.

Was she teasing me? I guessed she probably was – she’d have to be blind to not see the effect she had on me: a grown man reduced to a quivering wreck. I realised I was still on the doorstep. I hadn’t even asked her in. You see what I mean?

Chapter Five

Miss Goodie was small, and at first glance she appeared fragile-looking, but the spark in her eyes told me not to be fooled by that. She had a sharp mind and could certainly be feisty enough when she needed to be. In her seventies now, she had chosen to live in the retirement home because she was on her own and wanted to be useful. She saw herself as one of the staff and made a point of looking out for many of the less able-bodied residents.

She was a bit suspicious of me at first, but once I had convinced her I wasn’t out to pin the blame on the unfortunate Mr Rooke she began to warm to me.

‘It was all very unpleasant,’ she told me. ‘But that policeman wouldn’t believe him. I knew David Rooke very well. There was no way in the world he could be guilty of such a crime. He was such a kind, sweet man.’

She had become more animated as she spoke, her hands making small fluttering movements rather like a pair of butterflies dancing in the air.

‘The policeman,’ I asked, just to make sure. ‘That was DI Nash?’

‘Oh yes.’ She pulled a face. ‘Ghastly man. And those terrible accusations. David wasn’t guilty, you know, but when you get labelled with suspicions like that...’ She paused as if lost for the right words. ‘It ruined his career. And he lived for teaching...’

The butterfly hands settled in her lap, and she became lost in her thoughts for a moment.

‘That’s what drove him to commit suicide, you know.’ Her voice wobbled as she said it. ‘And it could have been avoided so easily if it hadn’t been for his wife.’

This was something new.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘His wife? How do you mean?’

‘It was all a misunderstanding, you see. David and I were just good friends, but his wife thought it was something more. I could have proved where he was that afternoon, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He didn’t want his wife to know and he didn’t want to get me involved in a scandal. He made me promise, you see. Promise not to tell anyone.’

She was off on another silent reverie, but deep inside me, something was beginning to tingle. I tried to be patient and wait for her to tell me but it was no good. I was going to burst.

‘He made you promise not to tell what, Miss Goodie?’

She looked at me and made a decision. ‘Well, I suppose it can’t hurt now, can it? I mean she’s dead now anyway and there really was nothing wrong.’

The butterflies fluttered from her lap to her face, as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

‘He was with me, you see. When the boy went missing. David was with me, at my house. I had been off sick that day and he came to my house after school to see if I was alright, if I needed anything. He was like that you see, very kind, a real gentleman.’

‘And the police were never told this? He had an alibi and you didn’t tell them?’

‘He wouldn’t let me. I wanted to, but he wouldn’t let me. He said it didn’t matter because he was innocent and that would see that when they caught the...’

Her voice trailed off and her butterfly hands settled to cover her face as the enormity of it all hit her. Then she continued, almost in a whisper.

‘And then, of course, they didn’t catch anyone else, and suddenly it was too late. The damage had been done and it couldn’t be undone.’

It took some time for Miss Goodie to regain her composure, but eventually she managed to get herself back together, apologising profusely for being upset.

She made me promise that I would do my utmost to make the world see that David Rooke had been a good man on a mercy of mission that day and not the bad man Tommy Nash had made him out to be.

I said I would, but I also understood that while the world would now have to remove him from suspicion of abducting Simon Younger, they were unlikely to believe his visit to Miss Goodie’s house had been entirely innocent.

In today’s cynical-thinking world, it was more likely people would point out the fact that the man’s wife had been suspicious, and if it was all so innocent, why not say so before?

‘There’s no smoke without fire,’ they’d say, despite having just accepted the ‘smoke’ of his guilt about abducting the child had been completely without a trace of fire.

By the time I had got back to Tinton, it was early evening. I had collected a protesting Positive Pete on the way into town and we were now on the way to the snooker club, home of would-be gangster Nugent the Nutter. Well, it wasn’t actually his home, but it was where he ran his business, and I knew it was where he and his cronies usually hung out.

Positive Pete detested people like Nugent, and with good reason. Nugent was the nice man who had arranged for me to be beaten up. He later admitted it had been a mistake, but that was as close as I had come to an apology. However, I knew that within his twisted moral code he felt he owed me, and right now I wanted to ask him a couple of questions.

I needed to know about Nasty Nash and how close Nugent and Nash really were.

Chapter Six

I had rather been hoping there wouldn’t be too many people around when we got to Nugent’s club as he does like to play to an audience, but unfortunately, it was not to be. As soon as we walked in, I could hear his voice. Imagine Boycie from Only Fools and Horses and you’ve got it in one. He looked a bit like him too.

‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Batman and Robin,’ he announced loudly for the benefit of everyone present. ‘Or is it Laurel and Hardy?’

He laughed loudly, a sound not dissimilar to that of a braying donkey. His cronies obediently joined in the laughter.

‘Wanker,’ I heard Pete mutter quietly, as we walked towards the bar.

As usual, two heavies moved forward to block our path, but Nugent was obviously in a benevolent mood tonight.

‘Alright, alright,’ he warned. ‘Let them through. They’re friends of mine.’

This seemed to be news to everyone judging by the faces turned towards us, but who was going to argue? Certainly not us. In fact, it would suit our purposes just fine if he was feeling benevolent towards us.

Nugent met us at the bar. ‘Well, get a drink for my friends,’ he said impatiently to the barman. ‘We’ll be sat over here,’ he added, leading us over to a quiet corner table.

I was rather taken aback by this unexpected level of hospitality. Nugent had a reputation for being both unpredictable and violent – he wasn’t called ‘Nutter’ for nothing – but tonight it seemed he was in a good mood. I wondered how long it would last.

‘So,’ asked Nugent, once the barman had delivered the beers. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ Turning to me he added, ‘Bruises all healed now? Arm okay?’

‘I’m okay, no thanks to you and your thugs,’ I muttered.

‘I was going to send flowers, but it’s not really my style, you know? I don’t want people to think I’m going soft.’

‘How touching. I’m sure you’ve been really beating yourself up about it.’

Nugent shifted uncomfortably. ‘Now look, I’ve told you it was a mistake, and I did apologise.’

‘I don’t actually remember you saying sorry.’

He thought about this for a moment. ‘If you’ve come here thinking I’m going to grovel for your forgiveness, you’ve had a wasted journey.’

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I’ve come here looking for information.’

He laughed, tapped his nose and gave me a conspiratorial wink. ‘I’ve told you before. Client confidentiality. Data protection act. My lips are sealed. Know what I mean?’

I couldn’t help but smile. The idea of Nugent and the data protection act was laughable.

‘I thought your business was all word-of-mouth and cash up front.’

‘Well, yeah. Of course it is. But discretion is my middle name.’

All this time, Positive Pete hadn’t said a word. He hated this place and these people. He couldn’t understand the violent world they lived in – it made him nervous. And me arguing with Nugent made him even more nervous. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see he was getting a little twitchy as his nerves began to take hold.

Nugent had noticed it too. ‘Alright, Granddad,’ he boomed. ‘There’s no need to get nervous. You’re among friends here.’

He liked to poke fun at Pete just because he could. Underneath it all, he was just a bully, plain and simple.

Pete looked around. It was true no one was paying any attention to us, but it was also true that one word from Nugent would bring them all running.

‘Yeah, right,’ he mumbled. ‘That must be why I feel so safe and secure.’

Nugent’s braying laugh filled the room. ‘No, honestly.’ He clapped Pete on the shoulder. ‘You are among friends, especially now I know you and me have something in common.’

Pete looked horrified that Nugent should even consider they might be friends, but Nugent did have a point. He and Pete did have something in common. Pete had been married to Marie, who was my ex-wife’s sister. Recently, Marie had been Nugent’s ‘bit on the side’.

‘It wasn’t quite the same,’ Pete pointed out. ‘It was because of people like you who wanted a bit on the side that I wasted thirty years of my bloody life.’

‘I’ll admit she didn’t make as big a fool out of me as she did you,’ conceded Nugent. ‘But it was a close thing.’ He considered the situation for a few seconds. ‘She’s like a bad accident waiting to happen to someone, that woman. I had a near miss, but you had the head-on collision.’

He patted Pete on the shoulder again. ‘I feel for you, really I do.’

Wow! Was this compassion from the chief thug? Just in case we thought it might be, he added an afterthought.

‘But what a bloody idiot you were to marry her and stay with her for all those years.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Pete, deflating slightly. ‘Thanks for that. I needed a reminder.’

Happy now he’d spoiled Pete’s day, Nugent turned back to me. ‘While we’re on the subject of the wonderful Marie, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’

‘Me?’ I said, surprised. ‘Why me?’

‘Because you told me she wouldn’t have the guts to tell my missus about me and her.’

‘What? She really did?’ I was genuinely surprised.

‘She bloody tried.’ Nugent smacked his lips. ‘Fortunately my wife already knew what a scheming liar Marie was so she didn’t believe a word she said.’

‘You jammy bugger.’ It was all I could think of to say.

‘Yes, I can’t deny I was a tad fortunate.’ Nugent smiled. ‘Apparently, my missus heard about the bloke who got battered in error because Marie had dropped him in the shit by telling everyone he was a wife-beater.’

He laughed out loud, and then nudged me in the ribs. ‘Ring any bells? Eh? Eh?’

‘Arsehole,’ I grumbled. He was just rubbing my nose in it. The story he was telling was about me. His thugs had battered me with baseball bats on Marie’s say-so. That was why he had asked about my bruises.

Satisfied he’d now spoiled my day, as well as Pete’s, he sat back in his chair. ‘Well, that’s enough idle gossip about people who would be better off not existing.’ He gave me an enquiring look. ‘So what are you really doing here?’

‘What can you tell me about Detective Inspector Christopher Nash?’

Just for a moment, Nugent’s eyes narrowed. ‘Nasty Nash? What makes you think I can tell you anything about him?’

I sighed in exasperation. ‘Oh come on, Nugent, don’t mess around. It didn’t take a genius to work out. I get my head caved in by your guys and the police don’t think it’s worth following up. He’s your man on the inside, isn’t he?’

You could almost hear Nugent’s brain working as he thought about what I’d just said. Finally, he spoke.

‘It’s not quite like you think, but yes, I’ll admit we do communicate sometimes. What’s it to you anyway?’

‘I had a visit from him. It seems I’ve upset his dad.’

‘Did he threaten you?’ asked Nugent.

‘Does he make a habit of threatening people?’ I laughed.

‘I wouldn’t laugh if I were you,’ warned Nugent. ‘Nasty Nash is not someone you want coming after you. He’s been known to stitch up people in the past.’

‘So, he’s a mate of yours, is he?’

‘No, he bloody well isn’t! He is a two-faced arsehole. It’s just that in my business, where we bend rules sometimes-’ He was interrupted by Pete choking on his beer. He glared pointedly at Pete before carrying on. ‘Where we bend the rules sometimes, it’s worth having something we can use to smooth our path.’ He smiled. ‘Know what I mean?’

‘So you didn’t know he was after me?’

‘How would I have known that? We don’t speak that often. I don’t actually like the man. He’s just useful to know because he has a price.’

This was beginning to confirm my suspicions. When Nash had threatened me earlier, I didn’t think it was likely Nugent’s mob would want to press charges.

‘Remember the night your guys beat me up? He tells me he’s going to charge me with being drunk and disorderly, threatening behaviour, assault – he says he’s got three victims who are willing to press charges.’

‘That’s total bollocks,’ said Nugent, laughing. ‘He’s taking the piss if he thinks any of my lads would co-operate in something like that with him.’

He looked at me. ‘Besides, why would I want to stitch you up like that?’ He reached his arms out to Pete and me. ‘I like you two,’ he said. ‘Honestly, I do.’

Nugent might profess to like us, but he begrudged wasting too much time on us. He knew there was no way he could make any money from us so, in his eyes, he was doing us a big favour sparing us any of his precious time. Now he made it clear our time was up and he now had other, more important, business to attend to. He did invite us to continue enjoying the warm atmosphere of his club, but somehow that didn’t appeal to us so we made it clear we also had other business to attend to.

He left us with a warning. ‘Watch out for Nash. There’s a good reason he’s called ‘Nasty’. And don’t be fooled by his dad. Remember, there’s hell of a lot more of the iceberg hidden beneath the surface.’

Then he tapped the side of his nose and added what seemed to be something of a catch phrase. ‘Know what I mean?’

Pete was often a man of few words, so there wasn’t much conversation on the way back, but he did make me laugh just before he got out of my car.

‘Well, aren’t we the lucky pair?’ he said. ‘Nugent likes us. I’ll try not to get too excited about that.’ Then, as he shut the door, he added in a perfect Nugent voice, ‘Know what I mean?’

As I drove home, I smiled to myself. Yes, I knew exactly what he meant. But I was intrigued by what Nugent had said about Nash’s father, and I wondered just how much of that particular ‘iceberg’ was hidden beneath that particular surface.

Chapter Seven

I woke early next morning after a troubled sleep. Something had been nagging away at me all night but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Perhaps it was the warning Nugent had given us about Tommy Nash and his son.

I wondered if he had told us the truth about his relationship with Nasty Nash. Did Nugent know something about this case that we didn’t? What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on a copy of the police investigation. Even a list of the people they had interviewed would help.

I mulled over the idea of trying to work out the sequence of events for that day, but did we have enough information to make sense of it? Then I realised that sitting around asking myself questions wasn’t going to solve anything either.

Painstakingly, I went over all the material Dry Biro had given me once again. After two hours, I had worked out a ‘sort of’ timeline. I say a ‘sort of’ timeline because there were some gaping holes in it, but at least I felt as if I was getting somewhere.

It had been a quite normal school day. As usual, school had finished at three-thirty and the kids had headed for the bus stop to catch the school bus home. All, it seems, except for Simon Younger and the other members of the choir, who had stayed behind for choir practice.

Afterwards, Simon had headed into town on his own to catch the later, regular bus home. It was a journey he made every time they had choir practice, so he knew where he was going, but this time, he’d never made it to the bus station. In fact, there seemed to be no trace of him once he left school.

But at least now we could rule out Mr Rooke as a suspect. He had been with Miss Goodie from around three that afternoon, and, according to her, he hadn’t left her house until five-thirty.

All the other teachers had been accounted for, so it seemed obvious to me that whoever was responsible had been from outside the school. I wondered why Tommy Nash had been so adamant about Mr Rooke. Even without an alibi, he seemed an unlikely suspect.

Of course, it was possible this had been a completely random act and the boy had simply been snatched off the street, but if that was the case, we were never going to get to the bottom of what happened, so I didn’t want to think about that until I’d explored every other possibility.

I thought about who would be in a position to know the kids and perhaps be trusted enough to create an opportunity. Who would maybe see the kids every day? What about the bus driver? I knew DB had made some notes about the bus company. There was a single sheet of paper somewhere. Ah! Here we go.

Hmm. This didn’t look very promising. The bus driver’s movements were accounted for from before three o’clock until after five. Of course they were – he was driving the damned bus with forty kids on board! And anyway, Simon hadn’t caught that bus.

I was just about to throw the paper down in disgust when something caught my eye. The bus driver that day had been a relief driver. Apparently, the regular had been off sick. I wondered where he lived. Had he been at home? I searched through the notes again. That was strange. DB was always pretty thorough, yet he didn’t seem to have any information about the regular driver. Just a name. Brian Mallory.

I thought about using the phone to call him, but we needed to catch up anyway, and I could do with some fresh air. It was only ten minutes’ walk.

‘I’m trying to remember,’ said DB, concentration creasing his face. ‘Although I was living here, I was still working up in London when Simon disappeared. I started working here a few weeks later. So the investigation had been running for a few weeks by the time I started looking into it. I was always playing catch-up.’

He paced up and down the kitchen, trying to recall the events from thirty years ago. I swear I could hear his brain working.

‘I seem to remember Brian Mallory left the bus company just a couple of weeks after the boy disappeared. I remember asking Nash about it. I asked him if he thought it was a coincidence, and I’m sure he told me Mallory had an alibi and had been excluded from the investigation.’

He paced a bit more and then sat down. ‘That’s it. I remember now. He told me I was barking up the wrong tree and Mallory was definitely not involved. He was adamant.’

A grim smile appeared on his face. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘back then there was no internet and it could be difficult to get hold of information. Things are different now. Let me spend a few hours online and I’m sure I can learn a lot more about our Mr Mallory.’

‘You quite like the internet, don’t you?’

‘I certainly do,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m way too old for chasing around after people, but you don’t need to be young and fit to find information online. You just need to know where to look.’

I left him to it. He was like a dog with a bone and didn’t need me getting in his way. On the way back home, I couldn’t help wondering if we were really going to find something important that might help us work out what happened, or if we were just going around in circles. Surely the police would have done all this research at the time. What could we learn that they didn’t already know?

Later that evening I was summoned to join DB for breakfast.

Chapter Eight

Positive Pete had also been summoned, so there were three of us for breakfast. DB had some news for us, but it was his habit to make us welcome, settled, and comfortable. No matter how impatient we were to hear his news, we would have to wait until he was satisfied we were comfortable.

I turned to him impatiently. ‘So what have you discovered?’

There was a look of dismay on his face. ‘Whatever happened to patience?’ He shook his head. ‘The world isn’t going to stop turning if you have to wait a few minutes, you know.’

He continued to shuffle around the kitchen, settling us at the table with bacon sandwiches and cups of tea. I’m sure the old devil was taking longer than usual so he could enjoy the fact that he was in control.

Eventually, he sat down facing us with a broad smile on his face.

‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ said Pete. ‘This must be good. But please can you tell us what it is? The suspense is killing me.’

‘Okay, okay. I’m not sure what I’ve discovered actually makes any difference to anything in the end, but it certainly raises some questions, and former Detective Inspector Nash does not appear to come out of this very well.’

‘Sounds like you’ve been busy,’ I said.

‘Indeed, I have, and what I have discovered is…’ He struggled for the right word. ‘Shall we say, disturbing.’

He shifted in his seat and consulted the notes he had made. ‘To start, it was a little confusing. At first, it seemed as though Brian Mallory had appeared out of thin air just a year before he started his job with the bus company, but then I realised that was because Brian Mallory was not the name he was born with.’

He had an annoying habit of embellishing stories with dramatic pauses for effect. He even did it in the pub when he was telling a joke, and this was what he did now. I was about to tell him how annoying it was but he continued just in time.

‘He had changed his name a year before this all happened. He was originally christened Brian Nash.’

‘That’s a weird coincidence,’ said Pete.

‘Oh, it’s no coincidence.’ DB paused for more dramatic effect before he continued. ‘He’s Tommy Nash’s younger brother.’

There was a stunned silence as that little bombshell settled into our minds. 

Pete let go of the breath he had been holding. ‘Bloody hell.’

I began to get a bad feeling about where this was going. ‘Why did he change his name?’

‘Brian Nash was convicted of molesting a little boy and served time in prison. It seems when he came out of prison he changed his name and moved down south from Manchester so he could be near his older brother.’

‘Or so his older brother could keep an eye on him,’ I suggested.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the room as we thought about what this might mean and where it might lead.

‘But even so,’ I said. ‘Didn’t the guy have an alibi for that afternoon?’

‘Well, did he?’ asked DB. ‘All we were told is that he was off sick that day and Tommy Nash ruled him out of the enquiry.’

‘Are you saying Nash was wrong?’

‘Maybe,’ said Dry Biro. ‘Don’t forget, he always seemed evasive when I asked him about the bus driver. He would always dodge questions and start talking about his only suspect, Mr Rooke.’

‘You think he was covering up for Mallory?’ asked Pete.

DB shrugged his shoulders.

‘But why do you think that?’ I asked.

‘Maybe I’m wrong.’ He sighed. ‘And I certainly don’t have evidence to prove my suspicions, but listen to this.’ He picked up his notes again although it was obvious he didn’t need them.

‘When I started to check out his employment record at the bus company, I found he got the job on the strength of one particular reference. That reference came from none other than the local police, namely Detective Inspector-’

‘Tommy Nash,’ I finished.

DB nodded sadly. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

‘Holy shit!’ exclaimed Pete. ‘So Tommy Nash recommended his brother for a job driving a school bus, knowing he had a liking for little boys...’ His sentence tailed off in disbelief.

The conclusion was obvious, but I stated it anyway. ‘So Brian Mallory would have to have been a suspect. Even Tommy Nash would have been able to see that. But there seems to be no doubt he was deliberately steering the enquiry away from him.’

‘And straight towards David Rooke,’ said DB, ‘who couldn’t escape the accusations and eventually killed himself.’

‘And then,’ Pete added, ‘a couple of weeks after the event, Brian Mallory quits his job and disappears. It’s all very convenient, isn’t it?’

There was an uncomfortable silence as we absorbed the enormity of what we seemed to have uncovered.

It was DB who broke the silence. ‘He did disappear too,’ he said. ‘Into thin air. I can find no trace of him anywhere after he quit his job.’

‘So he could have literally got away with murder,’ said Pete, ‘aided and abetted by his older brother.’

It’s a funny thing – up until that point, I hadn’t really thought about the fact that we were investigating a murder. I mean, I’m sure we all accepted that poor little Simon Younger had possibly, maybe even probably, been murdered, but we didn’t really know it for sure, and no one had actually come out and said as much before. Now the very idea seemed to fill the room with an oppressive darkness.

Once again, DB was first to speak. ‘We’re going to have to tread very carefully. At the moment, all we have are our suspicions. We have no proof. Once Tommy Nash knows we’ve found out this much, who knows what will happen. I’m sure his son will be on the warpath.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘But I’m also sure we’re getting close to finding out what happened, and I’m not stopping now. I’m going back to see Tommy Nash. Let’s stir up the hornet’s nest and see what happens.’

Chapter Nine

Next morning, I made the journey back out to see Tommy Nash for a second time. I hadn’t bothered phoning to arrange an appointment. He had made it quite obvious last time that I wasn’t going to be made welcome, so I thought it might be best to arrive unannounced.

I rang the doorbell and waited. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a beaming Tommy Nash, but the smile vanished as soon as he realised who I was.

‘What the bloody ‘ell do you want?’

‘I was wondering if you could spare me a few minutes,’ I began.

‘I told you before. Bugger off and don’t come back.’

He started to close the door but I had been expecting that, and my foot was wedged in place before he had even started.

‘I’ve said all I’m going to say, so you’re wasting your time,’ he snarled. ‘If you don’t take your foot away, I’m going to call the police.’

‘Like you did last time?’ I asked. ‘Nice man, your son. Has a very nice line in threats. Chip off the old block is he?’

‘You’ll find out if you don’t piss off.’

He was leaning heavily against the door, trying to crush my foot. It hurt like hell but I wasn’t going to let him see that.

‘What about your brother, Brian? He wasn’t like you and your son was he?’

For a moment, he looked as if he’d been slapped, but he quickly recovered. ‘I don’t have a brother.’

‘Sure you do. He changed his name to Mallory after he got caught with a little boy. You must remember that, surely?’

‘I told you before, it was that teacher bloke. No doubt about it.’

‘You ruined that man’s life, Mr Nash, do you realise that? He didn’t do it.’

‘Of course he did it. I’ve-’

‘Got a nose for these things, yes you said,’ I finished the sentence for him. ‘The thing is, your nose was wrong.’

‘No!’ he cried.

‘David Rooke has an alibi,’ I said. ‘He was with Miss Goodie. You remember her don’t you? Surely you must have interviewed her?’

‘She never said!’ shouted Nash.

‘You never asked her, did you? David Rooke told her to keep quiet because he didn’t want his wife to know he was with her.’

‘No!’ He was still shouting, his face red and angry. ‘If it’s true, why didn’t she say at the time?’

‘You could have found that out if you’d tried, but you didn’t want to, did you?’

Suddenly, he stopped shouting and pushing on the door and a look of shocked realisation crossed his face. Then he leant inside behind the door, emerging a second later with a cricket bat, which he raised above his head with both hands.

‘If you don’t piss off, right now,’ he threatened, ‘I’ll break your bloody arm.’

I had my hand on the door frame, making my arm an inviting target. I just managed to get out of the way as the bat whooshed down, narrowly missing me. I’d only just recovered from one broken arm, and I didn’t fancy another one just yet, so I took a step back.

‘I’m going to call the police and make a complaint about you,’ he threatened, triumphantly. ‘Then we’ll see how bloody clever you are.’

‘You do that, Mr Nash,’ I said. ‘But don’t think I’m going to stop now. I know what you’ve done and you’re not going to get away with it.’

He slammed the door so hard I almost expected it to come flying down the path at me.

I walked back to my car, congratulating myself on another successful interview. On the plus side, he hadn’t really tried very hard to deny it, and I was now convinced we were on the right track and getting closer to finding out what had happened.

However, I seemed to have racked up a few negatives getting this far. I’d definitely allowed myself to get carried away and said much more than I had intended. I had even accused him of a cover-up. I figured accusing a former DI of perverting the course of justice probably wasn’t the most sensible thing I’d ever done.

I had no doubt Tommy Nash would indeed make a complaint of some sort, and I was equally convinced it would be his son who would be investigating that complaint. As I drove away, I wondered when I could expect another visit from that nice man Nasty Nash…

But I didn’t dwell on that thought for too long because it was Friday. How could I? Tonight, the gorgeous Sophia was cooking dinner for me...

Chapter Ten

It was just before eight o’clock. Nearly time to leave. I had agonised for hours over what I should wear. I had been through my entire wardrobe trying to imagine what Sophia would expect. This was my chance to make a good impression, and I so wanted to get it right. But I needed to be comfortable enough to relax... Arrrggghhh!

In the end, I decided I had to be true to me. I had made the mistake many times before of trying to make a good impression and failing miserably because I was trying to be the person I thought people wanted me to be and not who I really was.

I reminded myself I had left that old life behind. These days, I was me and if people couldn’t handle that, well...

So, here I was in jeans and a good shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had to admit, I scrubbed up fairly well, although I figured George Clooney wouldn’t be too worried by the competition. But then again, I was pretty confident Sophia wouldn’t have invited him tonight anyway. His loss, of course

I was just sliding my arms into a jacket when the doorbell rang. I wondered who it could be at this time on a Friday evening, but before I could open the door, someone began to pound upon it and a familiar voice shouted out.

‘Police! Open the door!’ It was Nasty Nash.

I opened the door with a big smile on my face. ‘Inspector! How nice to see you…again. Unfortunately, I’m just going out.’

‘Oh no you’re not!’ He shoved a folded sheet of paper into my hand as he barged past me. ‘This time, I do have a search warrant.’

Half a dozen assorted police officers followed him through the door and began to disperse through my flat as Nash directed them.

‘And I want a thorough search,’ he shouted. ‘Every cupboard, every drawer, even under the mattresses.’

An unhappy-looking Detective Sergeant Slater was the last one to enter my flat.

‘What are you expecting to find?’ I asked him.

He shrugged helplessly.

‘Stolen goods,’ boomed Nash from behind me.

‘What?’ I gasped. ‘What stolen goods?’

An evil grin spread across his face. ‘You’ve been associating with a known criminal.’ He was obviously enjoying my discomfort. ‘I have reason to believe-’

Before he could finish, there was a loud crash from the kitchen. I ran to see what had happened. The kitchen looked as though a pack of gremlins had run wild. All the drawers had been tipped out on the floor, the contents of the cupboards had been added to the pile, and then, to finish it off, a clumsy constable had dropped an armful of plates.

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ I started to say.

A smiling Nasty Nash peered over my shoulder. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Tut, tut, Constable. How very clumsy of you.’

More sounds were coming from upstairs as they systematically trashed my flat. I could see where this was going, and it seemed there was nothing I could do about it. But there had to be something, surely.

‘Going somewhere nice were you?’ asked Nash, evidently trying hard to make me feel as bad as possible.

‘Just next door for a meal with my neighbour, if you must know.’

‘Desperate for company, your neighbour?’ he sneered.

I could quite happily have rammed his search warrant down his throat, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of winding me up. I could do better than that.

Slater was looking distinctly ill at ease, so I decided to try and ignore Nash and turn my attention on him.

‘So tell me, Sergeant, what reason do you have for suspecting you will find stolen goods in my flat?’

‘Like I said,’ interrupted Nash. ‘You’ve been associating with a known criminal, and we’ve had a tip off. Understand what I’m saying?’

I kept my eyes on Slater, but his face told me nothing. My mind was racing. Strictly speaking, it was true; I had been associating with a known criminal, but would Nugent have dropped me in it? I didn’t think it was likely.

I knew from experience that baseball bats and a dark alley were more his style if he wanted to teach someone a lesson. Besides, he had told me himself that he didn’t like Nash.

‘This is about me speaking to your father, isn’t it, Inspector?’

This time, it was clear Slater had no idea what I was talking about.

‘Keep quiet,’ snapped Nash, but there was no way I was going to stop now.

‘Didn’t the inspector tell you, Sergeant? He’s a bit annoyed because I’ve been investigating an old case that was never solved, and it looks as though his dad-’

I didn’t get to finish the sentence because Nash had me pinned against the wall by the throat. His face was purple and it looked like he was going to burst a few blood vessels.

Everyone had stopped what they were doing and were staring at us.

‘Guv!’ shouted Slater in alarm, grabbing Nash and pulling him away from me. ‘Calm down, come on.’

Nash was glaring at me, his eyes boring into me. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet,’ he hissed.

The doorbell rang, breaking the tension. I looked at Slater.

‘Am I allowed to answer my doorbell? Or is that against the law now?’

He was still holding onto Nash, who was trying to stop me answering the door, but he managed to nod his head.

‘Yeah, go ahead. Just don’t do anything stupid.’

It was Sophia. Like a light in the darkness. Despite everything that was going on around me, I found time to congratulate myself for choosing the right clothes. Sophia was wearing a pair of jeans that highlighted her lovely figure, and an expensive-looking blouse. Well, come on, people. I am a man, and she did look fabulous!

‘Alfie,’ she said, alarm clear in her voice. ‘I heard a lot of noise.’ She could clearly see the state my flat was in and the assorted police uniforms. ‘What’s going on?’

Nash had regained some of his composure now. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, madam,’ he explained, striding towards her. ‘We’re just conducting enquiries into a robbery last Saturday evening. I have reason to believe this man was involved. We’re just going to take him in for questioning. He’s our chief suspect.’

‘I’m afraid you must be mistaken,’ said Sophia, without even stopping to think. ‘He can’t have been involved. He was with me.’

I don’t know who looked more surprised, Nash or me. I felt all the heads in the room turning my way in disbelief.

‘But, but...’ he started to protest. ‘It could have been early hours of Sunday morning.’

‘When I say he was with me, I mean he was with me all night,’ said Sophia defiantly.

To be fair, I think we all had trouble believing a woman like Sophia would have spent all night with a guy like me. Nash clearly didn’t believe it and for a moment, his mouth gaped open. Slater, bless him, seemed to have found all the events of the last half hour quite unbelievable, so one more thing made little difference to him.

‘I should remind you, madam,’ said Nash, trying to regain control of the situation, ‘perjury is a serious offence.’

‘Yes,’ said Sophia, coolly. ‘Right up there with perverting the course of justice, I would imagine.’

Hearing Sophia put Nash in his place I thought she was amazing. She would do this, for me?

Watching Nash at that moment was rather like watching a balloon deflate. In the space of just a few seconds, he seemed to become almost half the size. All his bluster and bullshit drained out of him at the same time. Then, scraping together as much dignity as he could, he silently marched past us all and out into the night.

It was left to Slater to clear the rest of the troops from the wreckage of my flat. When they had all left, he turned to me.

‘We need to talk,’ he said.

I resisted the urge to swear at him. ‘Don’t you get it?’ I said. ‘This is all bollocks. I haven’t stolen anything.’

‘Yeah, I realise that. That’s what we need to talk about. Nash is way out of order, and it’s not the first time. I can’t just ignore this – I’d be failing in my duty.’

I surveyed the wreckage. ‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘But now’s not a good time.’

‘Of course it’s not. I didn’t mean now. I’ll have to come when I’m off duty – it’s going to be a bit awkward otherwise.’ He took one last look around. ‘I’m sorry about all this.’

I didn’t know what to say. I was just starting to realise what they’d done to my home.

‘I think you should leave now, Sergeant,’ said Sophia, bluntly.

‘Err, yes, right.’ And then he was gone, quietly closing the door as he left.

Chapter Eleven

I stared at the mess that had been my lovely flat. What had they done to my home? Where on earth was I going to start? They’d done a seriously good job of destroying just about everything. I felt a hand on my back, and then Sophia was close to my side, putting her arm around my waist.

I felt close to tears, but I tried not to let her see how upset I was. My voice was a croak. ‘Where do I start?’

‘Come on,’ she said softly. ‘You are in shock. Come with me and have something to eat. This can wait until the morning. Jelena will be back in the morning. It will be easier to sort out with three of us.’

Keeping her arm tight around me, she steered me out and around the corner to her flat, pausing only to open her own front door and then close it behind us. Once inside, I removed my shoes and my feet sank into the luxurious carpet. She led me up the stairs into her lounge and showed me to a soft, comfortable settee in front of the open fire. I sat quietly and stared sadly into the fire.

Sophia said nothing, but I was vaguely aware of her moving around in the room somewhere behind me, then I heard soft music in the background. With her standing about five feet and an inch or two tall, she had been too short to comfortably place her arm around my shoulders earlier, but now she moved behind the settee and began to gently massage my shoulders and the back of my neck, easing away the tension.

Neither of us spoke for the next five minutes but words weren’t necessary. Sophia knew what she was doing and gradually, I began to relax. As I did, I started to recall what else had happened in my flat just a short while ago – like the amazing lady, currently massaging my shoulders, providing me with an alibi for last Saturday night.

‘Are you feeling a little better now?’ she asked.

‘Much better,’ I said. ‘And I owe you a big thank-you.’

‘For a little massage? It’s no trouble.’

‘Well, yes I owe you a thank-you for that, but I meant the way you dealt with that idiot Nash. I don’t know many women who would put their reputation on the line like that for a guy like me.’

She laughed quietly. ‘Maybe you just don’t know the right women. And as for my reputation, do I have one? And what do you mean for a guy like you? I don’t understand.’

‘Well, you know,’ I said awkwardly. ‘I mean, look at you – beautiful, classy, stylish, and then look at me. I’m not exactly in line for this year’s best-dressed man award, and the only class I get close to is working class.’

Then, as I remembered what she had said to Nash, I began to laugh. ‘And did you see their faces? I don’t think a single one of them found it possible to believe you spent the night with me!’

I could feel her smile, even though she was behind me. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t say I spent the night with you, I said you spent the night with me. It’s not the same thing. And do you really think I would only be interested in what you wear and how you talk? I hope I don’t seem that shallow.

‘It’s what’s inside a man that matters, and I know what’s inside you because Jelena told me. To her, you are a hero and a gentleman, and if that’s what she says, that’s good enough for me.’

‘Well, that’s told me,’ I said, somewhat taken aback by what she had just said. Me? A hero and a gentleman? And there I was thinking I’d blown it a few weeks ago…

‘You shouldn’t put yourself down,’ she said. ‘That’s the sort of thing that will put me off.’

She gave my shoulders one last squeeze, as what she had just said started to sink into my disbelieving brain. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘I hope you are hungry.’

Sophia’s cooking didn’t disappoint – the meal she created that evening was fabulous. She was a very attentive hostess and she was wonderful company; for a couple of hours, I completely forgot the mess I had waiting for me downstairs in my own flat.

In that couple of hours, I learnt a lot about Sophia, and she learnt a lot about me. She also told me about how well her long-lost niece Jelena was doing. I had helped to reunite them a few weeks back and I was pleased to hear she was progressing. I wondered why she hadn’t joined us for dinner, but it turned out she was away for the night.

I had fully intended to go back to my own flat after dinner, but you know what it’s like. Sometimes you just get captivated by the situation and the person you’re with, and your intentions just seem to fade away...

I can’t actually remember when, but at some stage, we had moved back to the cosy comfort of the settee in front of the fire. I stretched comfortably and sleepily, warming my toes in front of the fire. Sophia was curled up next to me, gazing into the fire. It was a three-seater, so I made sure to keep to one side with a space between us. I wanted to get closer, but the last thing I wanted to do was spoil the moment by appearing to be too forward.

I suddenly realised it was gone midnight. ‘It’s been a wonderful evening,’ I said, ‘but I think I’d better get going.’

‘I already told you that you can stay here,’ she said sleepily, adding, ‘and anyway, I don’t want you to leave. It’s been a wonderful evening for me too, even if it didn’t start very well.’

‘Really?’ I asked in surprise.

‘Yes, really!’ She smiled a warm smile. ‘You have no idea how long it’s been since I had an evening like this where I can just relax and enjoy being with a nice man who is happy to enjoy my company and not make me feel as though he expects a reward at the end of it.’

I wasn’t sure if that remark had been issued as a warning, but if it had been, it wasn’t necessary; I genuinely was happy just to enjoy her company with no strings attached. And anyway, these days I wasn’t even sure I’d know where to start if it came to anything else.

‘I know that feeling,’ I agreed. ‘It’s been a long time since I had an evening where I felt so completely at ease.’ I paused for a moment. ‘It’s funny. I’ve been almost frightened to speak to you. In case I was a disappointment, you know?’

Very deliberately, Sophia turned to face me with a disapproving look on her face. Then she reached across and took my arm, placing it along the back of the settee.

‘I told you earlier,’ she said, shifting along next to me so she was close against my side, ‘putting yourself down will put me off.’ She snuggled up closer still and pulled my arm down around her shoulders. ‘And that would be a shame.’

Unable to quite believe my luck, I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so I settled for giving her a little squeeze and began gently stroking her arm. I had no idea how much we had actually had to drink between us, but I’m pretty sure the warm fuzzy feeling that was enveloping me had far more to do with being up close and cosy with Sophia.

Feeling like the biggest lottery winner ever, I rested my head against hers. She was falling asleep, and she snuggled still closer. I swear I heard her purr like a cat. But then again, it could have been me...

Chapter Twelve

I woke to the smell of fresh coffee and a warm, numb feeling down my left side. I wasn’t sure where I was, but I seemed to be lying on my back on a settee with a blanket thrown over me. By why was my left side warm and numb, and why couldn’t I move my left arm?

Then it began to dawn on me. Carefully, I used my right hand to feel around. I patted the blanket, going from right to left. Oh, my goodness. There was someone under the blanket on my left side, on top of my left arm. Sophia!

There was a loud sigh from under the blanket and Sophia stretched luxuriantly, if a little stiffly, beside me, her left arm snaking across my chest and emerging from beneath the blanket alongside my left cheek. The hand felt around carefully, gently feeling my cheek and my face in the same way I had just done across the blanket.

Slowly, she eased the blanket down, levering herself up on her right elbow, blinking sleepily into my face. The ‘what am I doing here?’ look on her face matched the one on mine.

‘Oh, so both awake now, huh?’ said a disapproving voice. ’Is this what happen when I go away?’

Sheepishly, we untangled our limbs and sat up, guilty looks on our faces. We both knew the owner of the voice – it was Jelena, Sophia’s niece. She had obviously come home earlier than expected.

‘I didn’t think you would be home until later this morning,’ said Sophia guiltily.

‘Yes, I can see that!’ said Jelena sternly. She must have been standing in the doorway at the back of the room, where we couldn’t see her.

I could remember feeling like this once before when I was about fourteen and Rita Shaw’s dad had caught me with my hand up her jumper. But Sophia was made of sterner stuff than I.

‘Jelena,’ she said, standing and turning to face her lecturer. ‘All you have done is find two people who have fallen asleep.’

I turned to see what the weird noise was. It was the sound I imagined a penguin might make if it was being strangled. Only it wasn’t a penguin being strangled. It was Jelena trying desperately hard not to laugh out loud. The noise was the sound of her giggling behind the hands covering her mouth.

‘Ach! You, you...’ Sophia couldn’t find the right words, but she could see the funny side of the situation. She heaved a cushion at Jelena as she began laughing too.

‘I come home early,’ explained Jelena. ‘Get here just after one-thirty. You fast asleep together. Look sweet and peaceful. Like lovebird. So I find blanket, cover you, keep warm. I think is good, yes?’

I could feel my face burning with embarrassment.

‘Don’t look so bad, Alfie,’ she said. ‘You are lucky man. Sleep Aunt Sophia on first date.’

‘Jelena!’ said a shocked Sophia.

‘What?’ Jelena grinned, clearly enjoying herself hugely. ‘Is not first date? You definitely sleep together.’

The conversation went on in similar fashion for some time. Jelena was delighted to have caught us sleeping together, no matter how innocent the situation, and was going to make the most of our discomfort. It seemed to me she was also pleased that we had obviously enjoyed our evening together. And, bless her, she’d made breakfast for us.

Over breakfast, Sophia told Jelena what had happened to my flat last night and how we intended to clean up today.

‘Of course I help. You help me, I help you,’ she said. I had done her a few favours when she first came to Tinton, and she was eager to repay my kindness with kindness of her own. And it appeared that included playing matchmaker for her Aunt Sophia and me.

I borrowed Sophia’s telephone and called Positive Pete. He was often at a loose end on a Sunday so I guessed he might be willing to come over and help.

‘Pete says he’ll be over in a while,’ I told the girls.

‘You mean Positive Pete?’ asked Jelena. ‘He nice man. I like tease him. Good fun.’

Pete liked Jelena too. In fact, everyone liked her. She had an innocent sense of fun and a charm all of her own. The fact that she was stunningly attractive, without even realising it, just added to her appeal.

I knew she would flirt with Pete and tease him mercilessly, but I knew Pete would love every minute of it. It was harmless fun and after a pretty crappy life, it was just what he needed.

It was gone midday by the time we walked back into my flat.

‘Oh my,’ muttered Jelena, seeing it for the first time. ‘Big mess!’

Unfortunately, it didn’t look any better than it had last night, and I couldn’t think where to begin. But I didn’t need to worry about that. Sophia took charge, asking Jelena to start in the kitchen while we started upstairs.

In among the wreckage of the lounge, something was bleeping. I knew it was my mobile phone ringing and I searched frantically for it. To my surprise, it was Miss Goodie, the teacher.

‘Miss Goodie. What can I do for you?’

‘You did say I should call if I thought of anything else that might help.’

I held my breath.

‘You probably know this already,’ she carried on. ‘But one of the girls from the school said she had seen Simon Younger after he left school. I’m sure she spoke to the police at the time.’

I could feel my pulse begin to race. ‘Do you remember her name?’ I scrambled for one of the numerous sheets of paper strewn across the floor and a pen.

‘Oh yes,’ she said confidently. ‘Her name was Allison Warren.’

If she had been there in the room with me, I would have kissed her. Now I felt as though we were getting somewhere, although once again we had no prior knowledge of any witness. Nugent’s comment about not being fooled by Tommy Nash came into my head like an alarm going off.

But it was all going to have to wait until tomorrow. First of all, this mess had to be cleared up.

It was well after one o’clock and I was just wondering what had happened to Positive Pete when the doorbell rang.

‘I get,’ called Jelena from the kitchen.

I ran down the stairs just in time to hear a startled Pete say ‘Bloody hell!’ as he saw the state of my lounge.

‘What the hell happened?’ he asked. ‘I know you said there was a bit of a mess to clear up, but this looks like a bomb went off.’

I quickly filled him in on what had happened last night. ‘Apparently,’ I told him, ‘I’ve been seen associating with-’

‘A known criminal?’ he finished.

‘How d’you know that?’

‘The reason I got here so late,’ he explained, ‘is because I got stopped by the police on my way over. They held me up for ages – told me I’ve got to produce all my documents even though they can quite easily check them online from their car.’

We hadn’t heard Sophia come down the stairs. ‘This is harassment,’ she said. ‘They’re trying to put you off. You must be on to something.’

‘I hope they’re not going to start hassling DB,’ said Pete. ‘He doesn’t need that sort of crap at his age.’

‘Well,’ I suggested, ‘let’s work on the assumption they’ve seen us at Nugent’s club, but that they haven’t seen us at DB’s house. I’ll call him and tell him we’re going to stay away from him for a few days.’

Sophia was looking thoughtful. ‘I’ll make some phone calls tomorrow morning. I’m sure I can get this stopped before it goes too far.’

Pete raised his eyebrows. ‘You can do that?’

‘Don’t forget why I’m here,’ she said mysteriously. ‘I still have contacts, and some of them are very influential.’

The determined look on her face gave me no doubt she meant to do her best.

‘Ok, people,’ announced Jelena, cheerfully, lifting the mood at once. ‘Kitchen is finish.’ She looked around her at what was left of the kitchen. ‘Well, best to do. Not much left. But now time tea break. Is right?’

She looked purposefully at Pete.

‘Peter, you come stand next me.’ She winked cheekily at him, setting his face aglow with embarrassment. She smiled wickedly as he joined her. ‘Aunt Sophia want be next Alfie.’

I could see what was coming next but I was too far away to stop her. Pete, of course, was all ears. This was all news to him.

‘They have first date last night.’ Jelena grinned triumphantly. ‘I come home-’

‘Jelena!’ cried Sophia, blushing scarlet. ‘Stop it!’

Jelena pouted and affected a look of pure innocence. ‘What? I was just say Alfie is lucky man...’

Pete looked at me enquiringly. Now I was blushing too.

‘Don’t listen to her, Peter,’ pleaded Sophia. ‘She is just teasing.’

‘...to sleep with Aunt Sophia on first date,’ finished Jelena.

Pete’s mouth fell open. Sophia looked mortified.

‘Now don’t jump to any conclusions,’ I said. ‘There was nothing to it. Jelena is just exaggerating, making mischief. We literally just fell asleep on the settee in front of the fire.’

‘In each other arm,’ teased Jelena. She looked at our faces. ‘What is problem? Lovebird. Romantic. Not wrong. No problem. Is good.’

She had a point. We hadn’t actually done anything we shouldn’t have. And Pete was a mate. He wasn’t going to go blabbing to everyone. And she was just teasing. So I guess I was okay with it. But what about Sophia? Suppose she hadn’t thought of it as a date?

‘She’s just teasing us,’ I explained hopefully.

I looked at her face. Was she ok about it? Was that a hint of a smile? Yes, I think it was. She was trying to avoid my gaze, but then I caught her eye and she looked straight at me. For a moment I feared the worst, then there was that gorgeous smile. Yeah, she was okay about it too.

Jelena certainly seemed to think everything was okay. Satisfied she had achieved her intention of lifting the mood, she threaded an arm through Pete’s and beamed happily at the world.

I made a mental note that this young lady was going to suffer acute embarrassment at my hands one day soon. I would just bide my time. My chance would come. But I had to admit, she had a way with her. How could our spirits not be lifted with someone like this in our midst?

Chapter Thirteen

My computer had been ‘accidentally’ damaged during the search of my flat, but Sophia came to the rescue once again and allowed me to use hers. It didn’t take me too long to trace Allison Warren, or Allison Beatty, as she was now.

Billy Beatty, Allison’s husband, was well known in Tinton for various petty crimes such as shoplifting, vandalism, and being drunk and disorderly. He was an incompetent criminal who never committed any major crimes but was a source of perpetual nuisance to the local police force.

Except for those occasions when he was inside. Like right now. He was currently doing six months at Her Majesty’s pleasure after getting caught attempting to break into a betting shop.    

The Valleys estate was known locally as The Dump. It was the sort of small estate that would love to look clean and tidy, but, as the local name suggested, it failed miserably. Or at least, the people who lived there failed miserably. The place was littered with dead cars, broken bicycles, and the odd fridge and washing machine.

It was depressingly appropriate for Monday morning. And there seemed to be shopping trolleys at every corner. Gathered in small groups, it was almost as if they had stopped for a chat. I wondered how on earth they got there. It had to be at least two miles to the nearest supermarket.

Number 12 was the stand-out house in the street. Not because its occupiers had made the effort to look after their garden, but because theirs was the only house with its own mountain of rubbish. A huge pile overflowed from the wheelie bin at the side of the house. It was already blocking access to the side door and was slowly spreading along the path towards the street.

As I contemplated this amazing sight, a large, balloon-like woman emerged from the front door carrying a bin bag full of rubbish. I couldn’t decide which was more attractive: the cigarette dangling from her lips; the shapeless tracksuit bottoms that seemed to be in danger of bursting at the widest part of her backside; or the filthy vest doing an inadequate job of covering an enormous pair of breasts that would have benefited from the support of a decent bra. In fact, any bra would have provided more support than she currently enjoyed.

She walked halfway to the river of rubbish and heaved the latest bag roughly in the right direction, watching with disinterest as the sack curved upwards in a gentle arc, missing the pile and landing instead on the concrete path where it burst and spread its contents in all directions.

‘Fuck it. Missed,’ she muttered.

She scratched an armpit and tugged at the backside of her trousers, where her knickers appeared to be in danger of being swallowed up and lost forever. I guessed it was probably a thong, judging by the depth of her excavations, but I didn’t want to dwell on that thought too much.

Whether or not the tugging had released the errant thong, it was difficult to tell, but I clearly heard the sound of a fart roaring its way to freedom, so something had definitely been released.

As she turned back to the house, her swinging breasts coming dangerously close to escaping the already inadequate cover of the overstretched vest, she finally noticed me standing in the street.

‘‘Choo starin’ at?’ she said aggressively. She fixed me with a stare and was obviously attempting to look hard, but the smoke from her cigarette was going in her eyes. She spat it out. Now she could see me properly.

‘Allison Beatty?’

‘No,’ she snapped. If there was an award for the world’s most unconvincing liar, she already had it in the bag.

‘Formerly Allison Warren?’

‘If it’s about money you can fuck off,’ she yelled. ‘I don’t owe you nuffin’, an’ I ain’t got none anyway.’

I started to walk up the path. ‘It’s not about money, Allison.’

‘Well, piss off anyway!’ She looked warily towards the front door, apparently calculating whether she could get there before me.

‘Go on. Sod off, ooever you are. Whatever it is, I never fuckin’ done it, right? I wasn’t even there.’

‘Allison, listen,’ I pleaded. ‘I want to talk to you about something that happened thirty years ago.’

‘You’re one of them dirty pervert people, ain’t you? I don’t do that sort of fing no more, so like I already said, you can fu-’

‘It’s about Simon Younger,’ I interrupted. ’The little boy who disappeared when you were at school.’

She thought about this for a couple of seconds before adding another denial. ‘I didn’t have nuffink to do with that neither.’

This was getting ridiculous. I mean, how much of a persecution complex did this woman have?

‘Allison, listen. I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I just want to ask you what you remember about the day Simon disappeared.’

‘I told the coppers back then. You already know what I saw.’

‘I’m not with the police. I’m trying to find out what happened because I think there’s something fishy about the whole thing.’

She eyed me suspiciously. ‘What? Bent coppers, you mean?’

‘I’m not sure. That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

That was my breakthrough moment. As soon as Allison realised I wasn’t with the police, but I might actually be working against them, I was no longer the enemy. I had just become a potential ally.

‘So, whatcha wanna know?’

‘Just tell me what you remember from that day.’

She looked at the neighbouring houses. ‘Lots of ears out ‘ere,’ she warned. ‘You better come in.’

I have to admit, this wasn’t the best offer I’d had that day, but I figured if I was going to hear what Allison had to say, I had no choice. I just hoped the house wasn’t as bad on the inside as it was on the outside.

To my relief, the inside of the house was nothing like the disaster area outside. Allison certainly wasn’t the house-proud sort, but it was untidy rather than dirty, and surprisingly cosy. It was almost as if she occupied two different worlds.

She looked at my face, and it was obviously far too easy to read.

‘That surprised yer, dinnit?’ She laughed, leading me through her front door. ‘You thought you was coming into a pigsty, di’n’t yer?’

My confusion was obvious, and I really didn’t know what to say. I wondered if I was going to be on the receiving end of another foul-mouthed outburst, but she saved my discomfort with a warm smile.

‘Me house is like me life,’ she explained. ‘I’m like two different people. Inside my home, in my own little world, I can just about keep fings under control, but out in the open I turn into a complete mess. Them shits buggered me up when I was a kid, see, an’ I ain’t never been right since.’

She seemed to withdraw into herself for a few moments and I struggled for something meaningful to say. I mean, what do you say to something like that? ‘Sorry’ seemed totally inadequate. Not for the first time in my life, I found myself feeling ill-equipped to deal with another person. Then a little smile flitted briefly across her face and she was back with me.

‘But that ain’t your fault, is it? An’ it’s not what you’re ‘ere for. Come in and siddown.’

She led me through to a surprisingly clean and tidy living room and pointed to an armchair.  I sat down and she slipped into a similar seat opposite mine.

‘Right,’ she said, giving me her full attention. ‘I’m all yours.’

‘I’m told you saw Simon in town the day he disappeared. I need to know what you saw that day.’

‘It weren’t just that day,’ she said. ‘It weren’t that simple.’

And then she told me her story...

Brian Mallory was a bus driver who particularly liked little boys and girls, so, for him, it was the perfect job. Allison Warren, an unhappy and impressionable ten-year-old, had soon fallen under the spell of ‘Uncle’ Brian and he began abusing her. He had ensured her silence by telling her that what they were doing was their special secret and that something terrible would happen if she ever told anyone.

The abuse had been going on for some time before Simon Younger had caught Mallory’s eye. Simon had been a beautiful child, with an angelic face, blue eyes and blonde hair. It was in his nature to trust everyone and he, too, had become one of Uncle Brian’s favourites, although Allison didn’t think he had actually abused Simon at that time.

The day Simon had disappeared, Allison had seen him walking with ‘Uncle’ Brian when he was supposed to have been on his way to the bus station. Mallory was holding the boy’s hand and they were walking down a quiet alleyway away from the safety of the town and the bus station.

She had told the policeman, Detective Inspector Nash, but he had told her she shouldn’t tell anyone else unless he said it was ok.

Then next day, ‘Uncle’ Brian had told her she had been a bad girl and that he and Inspector Nash were both angry with her. He told her that if she ever mentioned it again, he would tell Inspector Nash what a bad girl she was and then she’d be in real trouble. Inspector Nash would lock her up and throw away the key.

Terrified and confused, the once bright and intelligent Allison had retreated into her shell, becoming regarded as a hopeless case by those trying, and failing, to educate her. She had kept her terrible secret to herself, knowing she would surely be locked up and the key thrown away if she so much as mentioned it again to anyone.

And she’d never said anything since because she didn’t think anyone would take the word of a failure like her against that of a man like Detective Inspector Tommy Nash.

As I drove away from The Valleys estate, I reflected again on how easy it is to judge people on appearances without knowing the story behind the person. Allison had been a bright kid. If she’d never had the misfortune to meet a predator like Brian Mallory and then been let down by authority, in the form of Tommy Nash, who knows how she would have turned out. As Allison had said herself, ‘them shits’ had ruined her life.

Judging without knowing was a habit many of us had fallen into, but I knew I was using that as an excuse. Even if it was a habit shared by many, it was nothing to be proud of, and I promised myself it was a habit I was going to try and break. After all, what makes me so special that I should presume to judge?

 But whatever I thought about judging people, one thing now seemed crystal clear – if Allison was telling the truth, and she had certainly convinced me, Tommy Nash had definitely covered up for his younger brother and it was beginning to look as though he had probably covered up a murder.

Chapter Fourteen

On the way back home, I stopped to call DB. If I was right, Nasty Nash didn’t know of the old guy’s involvement with what Pete and I were doing, so I wanted to stay away from his house just in case we were being followed. It seemed a bit paranoid but I didn’t want to take the risk of leading a bully like Nash to his door.

DB saw it as an affront to his dignity, and he made a point of telling me so in no uncertain terms. I accepted his criticism that I was being melodramatic but told him I would rather be melodramatic now than be sorry further down the line.

When he had finished lecturing me, I told him about Allison Beatty and what she had told me.

‘Her identity was definitely never revealed,’ he assured me. ‘But are you sure she’s telling the truth? Her husband’s always in trouble with the police – she’s not just trying to get even, is she?’

‘I’m pretty sure she is telling the truth. And why would she pick on a retired policeman? He wouldn’t have anything to do with putting her husband away, he retired years before that.’

‘She could be getting at Tommy Nash to get at the son,’ he suggested.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I replied. ‘Remember, she didn’t volunteer this information. I had to ask her. And anyway, the schoolteacher Miss Goodie is convinced Allison made a statement all those years ago.’

He agreed that it seemed to be sound enough. ‘But how are we going to prove it?’

‘Still no progress on finding Mallory?’ I asked.

He sighed in disappointment. ‘No. He seems to have left the bus company and vanished into thin air, just like the boy.’ Then he ended the conversation with a final thought. ‘It’s as if they both ceased to exist.’

The people who worked in the shops, and those of us who lived in the flats above them, parked our cars in a small, private car park behind the shops. There was usually only a handful of cars parked here, and they were nearly always the same few, so it was easy to spot something different.

I noticed the dark blue Ford as soon as I turned the corner and headed for a space in the corner nearest our flats. The light wasn’t good enough to see who was inside, but there was definitely someone. I wondered if this was the prelude to another of Nash’s attempts to intimidate me.

Then I realised this was getting ridiculous. I wasn’t going to live my life looking over my shoulder all the time. Even so, when the doorbell rang almost as soon as I had shut the door, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Cautiously, I opened the door a crack. A sheepish-looking Detective Sergeant Slater was outside, nervously checking left and right.

‘Oh, great!’ I said with heavy sarcasm. ‘Have you come back to smash the rest of my crockery? You did miss a few bits and pieces.’

‘Can you let me in, please?’ He sounded a bit desperate.

‘Can you think of one good reason why I should?’

‘I can think of at least two,’ he said, checking left and right again. ‘One, you need my help. Two, if I get seen on your step on my day off I won’t be able to help you ever again.’

He certainly sounded sincere.

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘How do you know you can’t?’

Good point. He had me there. I opened the door. ‘Come on in,’ I said.

He quickly checked left and right again and then slipped through the door. He stood awkwardly in the hallway.

‘This is all a bit cloak and dagger, isn’t it?’ I asked. ‘And what do you mean, I need your help?’

‘I don’t know exactly what you’ve done, but you need to understand you’ve made a big mistake stirring up Nash. He might be my boss, but he can be a real nasty bastard when he’s got it in for someone, and he’s certainly got it in for you right now.’

He looked genuinely concerned and I remembered the warning Nugent had given me about getting on the wrong side of Nasty Nash. But it also occurred to me that this guy worked for Nash. Suppose this was just some ruse to gain my confidence so they could find out what we knew? I needed to be a bit careful.

‘Forgive me if I don’t seem too pleased to see you, Sergeant-’

‘Dave,’ he interrupted. ‘I’m off duty. The boss has no idea I’m here. He’d rip me a new arsehole if he knew where I was.’

‘Just cast your mind back a couple of days,’ I explained. ‘You and your lovely boss, and half a dozen storm troopers, invaded this very flat, my home, and all but destroyed it, supposedly searching for stolen property which you knew you weren’t going to find. Remember?’

‘I can explain that,’ he mumbled.

‘Oh please do. I can’t wait to hear it. But just bear in mind I may be a little sceptical. I’m sure you can understand why.’

It turned out Nash had claimed to have had ‘a tip off’ about raiding my flat. The guys involved had only had a few minutes’ warning before they got here. As far as they all knew, it was the real thing. And you don’t question the boss, do you?

But it seems this sort of thing had happened before. As Nash’s sidekick, Slater should have been privy to where some of these tip-offs came from, but he was never told. He told me he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he and his colleagues were simply being used by Nash to extract revenge on people whenever it suited him.

Slater also believed his boss was on the take. Certain criminals always seemed to be one step ahead of them and never got caught. 

‘He might be my boss,’ he explained. ‘But I’m fed up with people thinking I’m bent as well. In fact, people around here are beginning to think all coppers are bent, and that’s just not right.

‘I’ve been checking up on a few things that were said about you. Like this thing about you being drunk and disorderly and attacking some guys.’

‘That’s bollocks,’ I said. ‘I was walking home minding my own business when I was attacked by them. Three of the buggers all armed with baseball bats.’

‘That sounds like the sort of thing Nugent the Nutter would arrange,’ said Slater. ‘You haven’t been pissing him off as well, have you?’

‘Let’s just say it was a misunderstanding.’

‘Well, whatever it was,’ said Slater, ‘there’s no trace of it in our nick. As a crime, it seems to have mysteriously disappeared, but I bet it could very quickly reappear, with you as the villain, if the boss wants it to.’

‘Your boss is mates with Nugent, is he?’

‘I have my suspicions,’ said Slater. ‘But don’t you know Nugent too?’

‘Knowing someone isn’t a crime yet, is it?’

Slater conceded the point. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, ‘as long as you’re not too friendly. Anyway, what I’m most interested in is this old case you’ve been looking at. It’s not an ongoing investigation, as my boss claimed, it’s an unsolved, closed case. So I’m wondering why he’s so upset about you looking into it?’

So now we’d got to the million-dollar question. But I still wasn’t sure I could trust this guy. 

‘Well, here’s my problem,’ I said. ‘I’m looking into the case of a small boy who disappeared thirty years ago. I want to try and help his mother achieve some sort of closure. The thing is, it seems I’m being deliberately obstructed by the very institution that failed to do the job properly when the trail was fresh. And now an officer from that same institution wants to know what I’ve discovered.’

I let him absorb that for a moment. ‘You can see my problem, surely?’

‘You still don’t trust me,’ he said.

‘Got it in one. I’m sorry, but I’m going to need a bloody good reason before I tell you anything.’

His next question surprised me. ‘What have you got on old man Nash?’

I must have shown my surprise.

‘I’ve looked at the summary notes,’ he explained. ‘It seems a bit weird he only identified one suspect, don’t you think? And if Nasty’s after you, it figures you’ve got something on his old man.’

I tried to look non-committal.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘if you’ve got something on the old man, do you really think you can prove it on your own? Nasty will stitch you up before you can prove anything. And he’s good at it. I know he’s done it before, but he’s so good I couldn’t prove it. Like I said earlier, you need my help and I need yours. Tell me what you’ve found and I’ll make a promise to you that I’ll follow it up and get the case reopened.’

He sounded genuine enough, but we were too close to risk messing it all up now. I needed to check this guy out, but how could I do that? Who could I trust? And then I had an idea. I knew just the person.

‘I’m sorry I don’t seem to trust you, honestly,’ I said, hoping he would understand. ‘But I need to be sure. Can you give me twenty-four hours?’

‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’ he said reluctantly. ‘I’m on duty in the morning. I’ll have to come over later.’

‘I’ll be here.’

We shook hands, then just before he left, he added a warning. ‘By the way, Nash knows who you’re working with.’

‘Yeah, I know. Pete got stopped by two of your lads yesterday.’

‘He knows about the old guy too.’

A look of panic crossed my face.

‘Don’t worry.’ Slater tried to reassure me. ‘I don’t think he’s in any danger. It’s you he’s got it in for.’

As I closed the door behind him, I hoped he was right.

Chapter Fifteen

‘Well, look what the cat’s dragged in! It’s Batman!’ Nugent, looking and sounding more like Boycie than ever, looked over my shoulder. ‘What? No bodyguard tonight?’

This was an acknowledgement of the fact that Positive Pete usually rode shotgun when I came here. But I knew how much Nugent got on his nerves so I’d decided to leave him out of it this time. Besides, I was pretty sure Nugent didn’t regard me as an enemy.

‘He had something important to do,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’d like to think I don’t need a bodyguard to come in here.’

‘And you’re right. You don’t,’ Nugent said, grinning. He nodded approval to the giant behind the bar, who started to pour me a pint.

I looked around the deserted bar. ‘It’s quiet in here, isn’t it?’

‘They’re all in the other room watching Miss World on TV. Bloody philistines.’

He looked me up and down approvingly. ‘You don’t look too bad for someone on the wrong side of Nasty Nash,’ he acknowledged. ‘But let me know when you’re ready for some advice about improving your appearance.’

I accepted the insult with the same good humour in which it had been delivered. Stepping back to get a good look at him, resplendent as usual in an immaculate three-piece suit, I shook my head slowly.

‘Nah,’ I said, ‘I’ll pass on that offer if you don’t mind. I’ve no desire to look like an estate agent.’

‘There’s no need to be offensive,’ he said, sniffing.

My pint sat invitingly on the bar. I started to reach for my wallet, but Nugent shook his head. ‘On me,’ he said.

I offered my thanks and took a mouthful. There was no doubt they served an excellent pint of beer in here.

He tilted his head enquiringly. ‘I’m sure you haven’t come here to exchange sartorial tips, so what can I do for you?’

‘I need to know if you’re behind all this shit I’m getting from Nash.’

Just for a moment, he looked taken aback. ‘Well, don’t beat around the bush, will you? Say it how it is.’ He was clearly trying hard to sound offended, but he didn’t quite manage to pull it off.

‘I can’t afford to pussyfoot around,’ I said. ‘Things are starting to get a bit heavy. I’m just trying to work out who I can trust and who I can’t, that’s all.’

‘Thank you so much for that vote of confidence,’ he said huffily. ‘I thought we’d got past all that and we had some sort of understanding.’

‘Don’t try and make me feel guilty,’ I protested. ‘It’s only a few weeks ago I was in bloody hospital because of you.’

‘You’re not still going on about that are you? I told you it was an accident.’

I shook my head in wonder. ‘You’re amazing, Nugent, do you know that?’

‘Well, thank you,’ he said proudly.

‘That’s not a compliment! I mean your idea of right and wrong is just unreal. Don’t you ever venture into the real world?’

‘Look,’ he said patiently, as if he was talking to a five-year-old. ‘Let me explain. I’ve told you before I actually like you and your dad-’

‘His name’s Pete.’

‘Yeah, that’s him. Well, anyway, I actually like you two. And the reason is it’s not often I meet people I can trust. I mean in my business they’re mostly a load of crooks. You can’t trust any of them.’

I couldn’t help but smile at his audacity. I mean here he was, the biggest crook in town, and he’s telling me how crooks can’t be trusted.

‘You know, Nugent, I have to hand it to you. You really are amazing.’

He smiled indulgently at what he perceived to be a compliment. ‘You just keep remembering that and, like I said, we have an understanding.’

We had a brief time-out to enjoy our drinks.

‘A little birdie tells me you’ve been associating with known criminals,’ he said. He tapped his nose and winked. ‘Know what I mean?’

‘That arsehole turned my flat upside down,’ I said, sighing.

‘I did warn you about him.’

‘Did you tell him?’ I asked.

He sighed patiently. ‘There you go again,’ he said. ‘Are you terminally thick or what? I don’t tell him anything. I told you, he tells me things I need to know. If he’s seen you here, it means he’s spying on you, not that I’ve told him. And, if he’s doing that, you must have him worried.’

‘So how come he leaves you alone? What have you got on him?’

He smiled wickedly and tapped his nose again. ‘Enough to keep him under control. Let’s put it this way: if he steps out of line, he’ll be finished. Know what I mean?’

‘What can you tell me about Nash’s DS, Dave Slater? Is he bent too?’

‘No way! Detective Sergeant Slater is one of the good guys – straight as you like.’

‘You almost make that sound as if you respect the guy,’ I said.

‘That’s because I do. The fact we’re on opposite sides doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate someone who does his job well. Honestly, if he’s on your side you can definitely trust him.’

‘He’s a bit concerned about my relationship with you.’

‘Well, he doesn’t need to be,’ said Nugent. ‘We just drink in the same snooker club, that’s all. There’s no law against that.’

He had a point. You could question the morality of my choice of company, but there was nothing illegal about it.

So, Nugent reckoned Dave Slater was one of the good guys. I felt quite relieved. Slater had been right when he said I needed his help. I mean, what was I going to do with Tommy Nash? Make a citizen’s arrest? Ha! I didn’t think so. Much better to hand it all over to the professionals and get it done properly.

I was a little uncomfortable about having to turn to Nugent for an opinion, and about trusting his opinion. I wondered what that said about me. Should I start to have a look at my own morals? Or was it just the case that sometimes you have to make unfortunate compromises to get where you want to go?

I reasoned that it would be stupid to trust Slater without question, hand over all our evidence, and then find out he was in league with Nash. But even so, why was I so happy to trust a thug like Nugent?

It was just after nine o’clock when I got back to my flat. I felt quite depressed by it. The girls and Pete had worked really hard to help me get things up straight but we’d had to throw away a lot of stuff that had been damaged.

There wasn’t much to eat either. Apparently, it’s not unusual to find stolen goods in refrigerators and deep freezers (or at least, that was the excuse they had used), so the contents had been dragged out and strewn across the floor. There were only two mugs left unbroken, but at least that meant I could make a cup of tea.

The TV had been broken too, so I resolved to have an early night, and tomorrow morning I would do some shopping to start returning my flat back into my home.

Chapter Sixteen

Like many guys, I’m not a great one for shopping. I like to know what I want, and where to get it. That way, a shopping expedition doesn’t last long enough for me to get bored. So the prospect of spending a large part of Tuesday traipsing from shop to shop, not really sure of what I wanted, wasn’t inspiring me.

I had woken up starving, which was a bit of a pity as there was very little to eat. However, there was a ready-made solution on my doorstep. To be precise, it was just around the corner from my doorstep. I had the good fortune to live above Sophia’s tea shop, which, since the arrival of Jelena, was now open most days and offered superb food.

What was once a mostly empty shop in a quiet back street was fast becoming a popular haunt for a growing, and appreciative, number of customers. They had even taken on a third member of staff to help them cope. And it wasn’t just the excellent food that attracted so many people; Jelena’s happy brand of cheeky charm was drawing people in like a magnet.

This time of morning was quiet in the shop, so Jelena had time to thoroughly spoil me. Not that I had any complaints, of course. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat chatting to me as I ploughed through a huge breakfast. I told her how much I wasn’t looking forward to my day.

‘Not like shopping?’ It was one of her favourite pastimes.

‘I can think of things I would rather be doing.’

‘You need make fun.’

‘Sorry, but I just can’t see any way I could make shopping fun.’

‘If I come you have fun,’ she assured me. ‘But work all day.’

I was almost relieved to hear that. Much as I loved Jelena’s outlook on life, I wasn’t sure I could cope with her teasing me all day long.

‘I’m glad to hear Sophia’s making you work,’ I teased. ‘Where is she anyway?’

Never one to miss an opportunity to try to embarrass me, Jelena saw her opportunity. ‘Is that lovebird calling?’

I felt myself redden. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘about the other night-’

‘When you sleep Aunt Sophia?’ she interrupted, grinning wickedly. ‘When is next date?’

You see what I mean? Can you imagine spending a whole day being teased like this? Then I had an idea.

‘Here’s a word for you to look up and learn,’ I said. ‘Impertinent. Have you got that?’

I spelt it out for her as she scribbled it down on her order pad.

‘Impertinent,’ she repeated. ‘What mean? Is good word?’

‘It’s the perfect word for you, young lady. You’ll see why when you look it up.’

It had been Sophia’s idea – to help Jelena to improve her English, she would give her words to look up and learn.

Now it was Jelena’s turn to have an idea. ‘I have idea. Take Aunt Sophia shop with you.’

‘I couldn’t do that. I’m sure she’s far too busy.’

‘No. Tuesday quiet day. We manage shop okay. Make next date. Is good, yes?’

When Jelena finished with ‘is good, yes?’ it usually meant she had made her mind up, things were settled, and whatever she had suggested was the solution. As far as she was concerned, Sophia was going shopping with me.

‘Don’t you think we should ask her first?’

She leaned across the table and lowered her voice.

‘She need spend time with nice man. She like you. Is good. No argue.’

Oh. Right. That’s told me, then.

The bell tinkled above the door and Sophia glided into the shop. She looked a little bashful when she first saw me, but then a gorgeous smile took control of her face.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

‘Alfie has question for you,’ announced Jelena, before I could say anything.

Sophia gave me an enquiring look.

‘Err, no, it’s nothing really,’ I said. ‘She’s teasing.’

Sophia looked at Jelena and shook her head. ‘Well, there’s a surprise,’ she said.

‘I’ve just told her a new word,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ asked Jelena suspiciously. ‘What impertinent? Alfie say it good word for me.’

Sophia laughed out loud. ‘Oh yes,’ she agreed. ‘That’s a very good word for you. It’s perfect.’

Jelena gave me an impish look. ‘Alfie need someone go shop with. I tell him you happy go.’

She poked her tongue out at me as she rose from the table and headed for the kitchen. ’Now I go check impertinent.’

I didn’t quite know what to say to Sophia. She obviously wouldn’t want to come shopping for household stuff with me, but at least she didn’t look as uncomfortable as I felt.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ I mumbled. ‘She seems determined to...’

The sentence tailed off as I wasn’t sure what I was really trying to say. Sophia sat down opposite me. Now she did look uncomfortable.

‘Jelena thinks I need to spend more time with you,’ she said quietly. ‘She thinks it’s time I realised that not all men are like those from my past.’

‘Ahh!’ I said, not sure where this was going. ‘And what do you think?’

‘I don’t know what I think.’ She sighed, staring at her hands. ‘I like you, and I had a lovely time the other night. But I’m frightened at the same time. I know you think I’m cool and that I look as if I’m in control, but that’s just like a wall I’ve built. I’m actually quite scared.’

Wow! And I thought I was the one with a problem.

‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ I said, watching her face. ‘You’ve probably noticed I make lots of silly mistakes, like saying the wrong thing. That’s because I’m scared. So we’re both scared.’

She gave me a sad little smile. ‘So what do we do now?’

Her hands were on the table in front of her. Very deliberately, and slowly, I reached across and put my hands on hers. She watched my hands all the way. I half expected her to pull away, but instead, she looked up into my eyes.

‘I’m going shopping now,’ I said, ‘and it would be really nice if a lady with style and class would like to come along and help me. I’d really appreciate her advice about what to buy.’

She said nothing but continued looking at me as if trying to make up her mind.

‘No strings,’ I added. ‘Just friends.’

She gave just the slightest nod of her head. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I think I know a lady who can help you with that. She’ll be with you in five minutes.’ She gave me another beautiful smile and headed off to get ready.

Slowly, I let out the breath I had been holding. I thought she was so cool, and all the time she was just as nervous as me! I was roused from my thoughts by the sight of Jelena marching towards me brandishing a wet cloth.

‘Impertinent, huh?’ She grinned. ‘I show you impertinent.’

It’s a good job I was closer to the door or I might not have escaped...

I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed shopping. But then, of course, it wasn’t the shopping I had enjoyed, it was the company. Being with Sophia filled me with delight on the one hand and with sadness on the other. I’d had a pretty crap marriage with Gloria, and Positive Pete had suffered at the hands of his ex-wife Marie, but neither of us had had to endure the sort of thing Sophia had gone through.

When we had talked before, she had only told me what she wanted me to hear. Now we had moved to another level and she was sharing stuff she had probably shared with very few other people. She had been through some serious horrors in her life. It was no wonder she had a problem trusting men.

All in all, it had been a day of highs and lows, but right now I think we were both pretty relaxed and happy to be sharing the late afternoon. We were back in my flat with a huge pile of bags to sort through. They were spread all over the floor in the lounge and we were just about to start sorting things and putting them where they belonged.

And then, of course, the doorbell rang. I looked at Sophia, kneeling on the floor surrounded by bags.

‘Go on, answer it,’ she said. ‘I’ll carry on here.’

It was Dave Slater. I must have looked surprised to see him.

‘I did say I would call back today,’ he said.

‘No, it’s okay. I’ve been out. I’d almost forgotten you were coming. Come on in.’

I stepped back to let him in. ‘Come through,’ I said, leading him into the lounge.

Sophia looked up suspiciously as Slater entered the room. She obviously didn’t think he should be here again.

‘It’s okay,’ I reassured her. ‘This is Dave. He’s one of the good guys.’

Slater looked uncomfortable under the fierce glare from Sophia.

‘This is Sophia.’

‘Err, hi.’ He couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable.

‘Hi,’ she said coldly, then indicated the bags. ‘We’ve just been shopping to try and replace all the damage from the other night.’

Slater looked at me helplessly. ‘Maybe we should talk somewhere else.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘We can talk in front of Sophia. It’s okay, she’s on my side.’

It felt good saying that. She gave me a little smile.

‘Now we have some mugs,’ she said, making her point once again, ‘I can make us all a cup of tea.’

She went off to the kitchen.

‘You wouldn’t want her as an enemy,’ Slater said to me after Sophia had gone.

‘That’s why I’m glad she’s on my side. And what do you expect after what she saw the other night?’

‘Okay. Fair enough, I suppose,’ he reluctantly agreed.

‘Sit down, mate,’ I said. ‘You’re making the place look untidy.’

We got settled. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Where do you want to start.’

‘Before you do start,’ said Slater, ‘I’ve got to tell you, we’ve had a bit of luck. It’s changed everything, and it’s working in our favour.’

Sophia came back in, carrying a tray with three mugs of tea, which she shared out before curling up on the settee opposite me.

‘Nash is out of the picture!’ announced Slater.

‘How come?’

‘Apparently there’s been some sort of complaint about him.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ I said. ‘I thought about doing that myself.’

‘No. I don’t mean a local complaint. This must be a real big deal. This has come from somewhere up high. When the assistant chief constable arrives in person to deliver a bollocking, it means some serious shit has hit the fan. Nash has been “suspended pending an enquiry”. It means I haven’t got to keep out of his way. I can take whatever you’ve got and we can run with it.’

Sophia had suddenly become very interested in an old magazine that was on the coffee table next to her.

‘It’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’ I said.

‘Coincidence? It’s like Christmas has come early!’ Slater was grinning from ear to ear.

‘It makes you wonder who dropped him in it,’ I said.

I was thinking hard. Surely Nugent couldn’t have done this. Did he have enough clout to reach that high? I thought it unlikely, and anyway, I doubted he would risk getting caught in any fallout. In fact, he was probably none too happy to see Nash in a position where he might start shouting his mouth off to save his own arse.

So who could it have been? Sophia was keeping very quiet, seemingly deeply involved in her magazine. You’d have thought she would have been pleased to hear Nash was in the shit after the other night. She’d had enough to say at the time. 

A little bell started ringing in my head. Hadn’t she said something on Sunday morning about still having contacts?

I looked hard at her. She returned my gaze but quickly returned her focus to the magazine. I continued to stare at her, and then, finally, a tiny smile broke out on her face. She really was something else. Slater was right. You wouldn’t want her as an enemy.

‘You alright?’ asked Slater.

I realised I hadn’t spoken for a couple of minutes. ‘Yeah. I’m just fine,’ I said, looking at Sophia again. This time, she returned my smile.

‘Right then,’ said Slater, rubbing his hands together. ‘What have you got?’

And so I told him everything we knew about the unsolved case of Simon Younger, who had just vanished without trace thirty years ago.

It was some time later when Slater left. He was quite confident that with the information from Miss Goodie and Allison Beatty, they would be able to put enough pressure on Tommy Nash to find out what had really happened to Simon, and also where Brian Mallory had run off to.

‘I had better go too,’ said Sophia.

I had to hide my disappointment. ‘Okay. No problem. I can’t thank you enough for all your help with the shopping.’

‘It was fun.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve had a lovely day.’

‘As for dealing with Nash, well, I don’t know how you managed that.’

‘I just called in a favour,’ she said mysteriously. ‘There’s no point in having contacts if you can’t use them now and then.’

‘I’m not going to ask,’ I said, ‘but you must have some seriously powerful contacts.’

‘Now that would be telling.’ She was at the door now, ready to go.

I stood by the door. Should I just open it and let her go? Should I kiss her goodbye? Oh, hell. I never was any good at this, and I knew I needed to be careful. I thought it best to play it safe and opened the door.

‘Thanks again,’ I said.

We were toe to toe in the narrow hallway.

‘It was a pleasure,’ she said.

‘Maybe we could do it again sometime.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, smiling again. ‘We’ll see.’

There was another moment of silent awkwardness, and then suddenly she was up on her toes to give me the softest and lightest of kisses on the lips. And then she was gone.

I closed the door and leaned back against it, closing my eyes and reliving that moment. If I had dropped dead right then, I would have died a very happy man. But my lounge floor was still covered with shopping bags, so there was no time for that.

Chapter Seventeen

It was a week later. As promised, Dave Slater had formally interviewed Miss Goodie and Allison Beatty, and Tommy Nash was now in custody. He had finally admitted that he had covered up for his brother, but so far he had been unwilling to say any more.

Where Simon Younger’s body was, or where Brian Mallory had gone, he just wasn’t saying. It was frustrating to get so near yet still be so far away from a conclusion, but Slater was confident they would get there in the end.

I hadn’t set eyes on Sophia or Jelena, and I wondered if Sophia was avoiding me. I hadn’t even been in the tea shop for a week. Of course, it never occurred to me that she might think I was avoiding her.

They had told me that Tuesday morning was quiet – wasn’t that why Sophia had been able to come shopping with me? So, this morning I had put all my fears aside and plucked up the courage to go inside. Only, for whatever reason, the place was packed.

It seemed both Jelena and Sophia were busy in the kitchen. I sat at the only empty table in the room and stared out of the window. This hadn’t quite been my plan.

Someone had left a newspaper on the seat next to mine. I opened it and read absently just for something to do. Maybe things would quieten down in a while and I’d get a chance to see Sophia.

I’d been minding my own business in this way for about ten minutes when I became aware someone was stood by the empty chair next to mine. I looked up. A little old man nodded a greeting.

‘Mind if I sit here?’

‘No, of course not, sit down, please.’

I moved my cup and plate aside to make room for him on the table.

He sank down into his seat with a big sigh. He had what appeared to be a bag full of vegetables which he tucked under his seat.

I pointed to the bag. ‘Been shopping?’

He looked down. ‘Oh, no. I’m waiting for the lady who runs the shop. I’m hoping she’s going to buy from me.’

‘You’re selling then?’

‘I’m from the local allotment association,’ he explained. ‘If we can flog some of our stuff to local shops and restaurants, we can make a few quid. It makes the pension go a bit further.’

‘Ah! I see. That’s a good idea. Have you had the allotment long?’

‘Longer than I can remember.’ He laughed. ‘I used to manage the place, but I’m too old for that now. Still grow some good stuff, though. Keeps me fit, you know? I’m eighty-two. You wouldn’t believe it, would you?’

I had to admit he did look pretty good for his age. Then I had a thought. ‘I was talking to someone the other week who used to have an allotment a few years ago. If you used to manage the place, maybe you remember him?’

‘Oh yes. What’s his name?’

‘Nash. Tommy Nash. He used to be a detective inspector with the police.’

‘I know him,’ said the old man. ‘He was a bit miserable. We all used to muck in up there, but he always kept himself to himself.’

He thought about it for a minute, then he went on. ‘That must have been about thirty years ago.’

‘That sounds about right,’ I said. ‘Your memory’s pretty good.’

He pulled a face as he searched for more memories. ‘When he first got his allotment, he couldn’t use it. There was some big case on and he didn’t have any spare time.’

‘There was a young boy went missing,’ I prompted.

‘That’s right. I remember now. And then he started coming down at night. I thought it was a bit odd, but he told me he couldn’t sleep at night thinking about that boy. He said working on the allotment helped him to deal with it. Must have been stress, I suppose.’

‘And he used to work on the allotment at night?’ I asked, trying to encourage more information from him. This was getting interesting.

‘That’s right, yes. He worked like a Trojan, too. He double-dug the whole blooming plot. He used to dig into the night. By morning, he’d be gone, but you could see how much he’d done. I told him he didn’t need to dig so deep but he said he was going really deep to improve the drainage. And he must have added sacks and sacks of manure; he always seemed to arrive with loads of stuff in the boot of his car.’

He smiled at the memory. ‘It takes all sorts I s’pose. I tell you what, though,’ he finished, giving me an approving look. ‘It all paid off. He grew some cracking vegetables.’

I was nearly bursting. ‘If I went up there, would I be able to find his plot?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘My grandson’s got it now. He’s nearly always there. Just ask for Geoff Wilkins. He’s still growing great vegetables.’

I looked at my watch. ‘I’ve got to go now. It’s been nice talking to you. I’ll definitely pop up and see Geoff. Maybe I’ll see you up there too.’

‘It’s nice to sit with someone who wants to talk these days,’ said the old man, smiling. ‘Thank you for taking the time to listen.’

‘My pleasure,’ I said, shaking his hand.

Then I jumped up and almost ran from the shop, only dimly aware of the door to the kitchen opening as I rushed out the door.

It was only a ten-minute drive to the allotments. It wasn’t a very big site, but it was big enough for about thirty or forty good-sized plots. Geoff Wilkins was pointed out to me by the first person I asked. He was a big, round man with huge hands and a personality to match. He was only too happy to show me around his plot. He was particularly proud of his sweetcorn.

‘Grows like mad just there,’ he said, pointing out the area in question.

‘I tried celery and marrows there, but they were terrible. I don’t know what sort of fertilizer the other old guy put under it, but it suits the sweetcorn just right. It’s weird because it grows best on chalk but there’s no chalk here. It’s amazing. I’ve never been able to grow it like this before.’

I was no expert on sweetcorn, but it didn’t take an expert to see how well it was growing.

‘You say it grows best on chalk,’ I said. ‘That’s calcium, isn’t it?’

‘Calcium carbonate to be exact, yeah,’ Geoff agreed. ‘Are you after a plot up here, then?’

‘Err, thinking about it, yes,’ I lied. ‘I saw your grandfather in town and was chatting with him. He said to come up and see you.’

‘You’ll need to get your name on the list,’ he said. ‘But you’ll probably have to wait a while.’

‘Well, I’m just thinking about it right now,’ I said. ‘Is it ok if I have a look around?’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Have a chat with some of the others if you like.’

I left him to it and found myself a quiet corner where I could use my mobile phone without being overheard. I fished the card out of my pocket with the unfamiliar number written on it and tapped it in.

There were just two rings and then a voice said, ‘Slater.’

‘Get your arse up to the allotments. I’ve got something here that might interest you.’

‘What? What have you got?’

‘Ha! Just you wait and see,’ I said. ‘Oh, and bring a spade.’

‘Do what? A spade?’

I hung up on him. He’d find out soon enough, but I had a feeling Geoff Wilkins wouldn’t be too happy by the time we’d finished.

The excavation of Geoff Wilkins’ allotment revealed not one, but two, bodies. The first was that of a small boy, the other was that of an adult male. Forensic examination subsequently revealed the bodies to be those of Simon Younger and Brian Mallory.

DB had been right – they had both ceased to exist.

Tommy Nash was charged with the murder of Brian Mallory. His story that Mallory had murdered Simon Younger and that he, Tommy, had only hidden the body was accepted.

Chapter Eighteen

It had taken a long time, but eventually, the day arrived. The car swept quietly up to the church and the bearers carried the little white coffin into the church, followed by Daphne holding my arm on one side and Positive Pete’s on the other.

The church was packed, in part due to a story which had appeared in the local newspaper telling how the mystery of Simon Younger’s death had been solved and announcing when the funeral would be held. The story carried DB’s byline. He might have retired years ago, but he still had a way with words, and, of course, he had been an integral part of the investigation.

As we walked slowly to our seats, I saw some familiar faces. Miss Goodie was here. Dave Slater was just one of half a dozen police officers who had worked on clearing up the case. Even Allison Beatty was here, looking better than she probably had in years – counselling could do that for you.

I had another quick look around before I sat down. I could see Sophia and Jelena several rows back. I hadn’t really seen them to speak to recently and I felt a bit guilty about that. Or maybe I was feeling guilty about that fact that it would be easy to talk to them if I really wanted to, but I hadn’t made the effort.

I resolved I would try to talk to both of them later, especially Sophia. But I really didn’t know where to start. Sometimes, I really envied those people who always seem to know what to say and when to say it.

I had expected DB to be here but I couldn’t spot him anywhere. He had said he would be here. This was very strange – it wasn’t like him at all.

The service was just beautiful. Daphne had been planning this for thirty years. I was in bits by the end, but then I’m totally useless with these things. Pete wasn’t a lot better. Daphne was the one who seemed to cope best of all. That is, until the tiny coffin was lowered into the ground.

She gripped Pete’s arm so hard I thought she was going to break it, and then when she finally gave way to tears, it was Pete who took her in his arms and held her until she composed herself. From that moment, she held onto his arm with two hands. For the rest of the day he was to be her rock. And he was awesome in the role.

I still hadn’t seen DB anywhere, and I was beginning to worry. Where had he got to? Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. Making sure Pete was okay looking after Daphne, I made my way back across town to his house.

Even before I got to the front door, I knew something was wrong. I was used to the sound of Betty the basset howling a joyful greeting, but the sound I could hear wasn’t to welcome anyone. This was no happy howl at all; it was a low, sorrowful wail – a sound I had never heard from Betty before.

I rang the doorbell and knocked on the door, but there was no sound of anyone shuffling to the door. Even Betty seemed to have chosen to ignore my arrival and continued her mournful howling. Falling to my knees, I peered through the letterbox but it gave no clue as to what was going on inside.

I ran down the side of the house, through the gate, and round to the back of the house. As I passed the kitchen window, I stopped to look inside. I could just see the table with the chairs neatly arranged around it. All except the one, which was untidily out of place. Paperwork was strewn across the table. Dry Biro was a neat person – this wasn’t right.

The howling was louder now. Betty was obviously close to the kitchen door. I couldn’t quite see enough to be clear, but was that a foot? I rushed to the back door, trying to open it on the run, but it was locked. I thought it unusual he should have the door locked when he was at home, but there were more important things to worry about.

There were two small flower pots close to the back door. I snatched up the first one and was immediately grateful that he had never taken my advice not to leave a key under it.

In my panic, it momentarily became impossible to fit the key into the lock, but eventually, there was a click and the key was turning.

The poor old guy was slumped on the floor behind the door. There was just about enough room to squeeze through. Betty, sitting by his side, didn’t seem to notice me sliding around the door. She nudged the inert body with her nose, then threw her head back and let out another heart-wrenching howl.

‘Okay, Betty, it’s okay,’ I said, trying to sooth her.

There was panic in those big droopy eyes as she turned to acknowledge me, but she had no time for pleasantries and went back to nudging and cajoling her master, who was stretched out on his back looking pale and fragile. My first thought was that he must have fallen, and I saw a small patch of blood had oozed from beneath the back of his head as if to confirm it.

I’m pleased to say my brain chose the cool and collected path from there on in. I don’t want to think what might have happened if I’d gone for the full-blown panic option.

I knelt by his side and tried to find a pulse. A faint fluttering told me he was still with us and, putting my face close to his, I could just about feel his breath. So, at least he was alive.

In just a couple of minutes, I had an ambulance on the way. I’d been advised not to try to move him, but to keep him warm. I found a blanket from upstairs to do that. There didn’t seem to be much more I could do for him, so I sat beside him and did my best to try and comfort Betty while we waited.

After the frenetic activity that had heralded the arrival of the ambulance, and the subsequent journey and arrival at the hospital, there had been an agonising wait while he was examined. It was the not knowing that was worst of all.

Now I sat by his bedside. The monotonous hiss, click, hiss, click of the respirator led a quiet orchestra of hums and beeps, indicating the presence of the machines keeping him going. I’d been told they believed he had had a heart attack and hit his head as he collapsed. He was in a coma, stable but very weak. Right now, it was too soon to know what the outcome might be.

I’d been asked if I could supply the names of his next of kin. That was the moment it really came home to me that he didn’t have any. Positive Pete and I were the nearest he had to a family.

I just hoped we weren’t going to be attending another funeral anytime soon...

***