‘According to Khan, they said Chalky was lying if he claimed any kind of friendship with them. They avoid him as far as possible . . . He’s frightening when he’s drunk and verbally abusive when he isn’t. The last time they saw him was about three months ago.’
‘What about the hostels and the drop-in centres?’
Beale shook his head. ‘Same story. We’ve left contact details in case he turns up, but they all said he never comes in during the summer. He’s a bit of a loner, by all accounts. We can’t find anyone in the homeless community who claims to spend time with him.’
‘What about the alleyway?’
‘A patrol’s been looking in twice a night every night. He hasn’t shown up there either.’
‘Is he still in London?’
‘No idea . . . but we’ve put out a general alert to the neighbouring forces and we’ve had nothing back. He appears to have dropped off the radar completely.’
‘Have you checked the hospitals?’
‘Only the London ones. Shall I extend the radius?’
Jones seemed unduly pessimistic that evening, as if the long hours were finally taking their toll. ‘I’m not sure it’s worth the effort. What’s Chalky going to say if we do find him? He told Dr Jackson he’d only known Ben for a month, and Ben didn’t put it much longer. Six weeks at most.’
‘Assuming either of them is telling the truth.’
‘Why wouldn’t they be? Ben doesn’t know what Chalky told Dr Jackson.’
Beale shrugged. ‘I can’t get my head round the relationship. Why would an antisocial drunk even notice if a kid was being propositioned by gays?’ He flicked his indicator to turn off the main road towards the Crown pub. ‘It would make more sense if it was the other way round, and it was Ben who took pity on Chalky.’
‘Why?’
‘Chalky’s the one who gets pissed on.’
*
Jackson was taken aback by Acland’s casual reference to Jen being a ‘cheap whore’. It seemed as out of character for an intensely private man – calculatedly out of character? – as his earlier willingness to discuss his parents. She recalled the end of her conversation with Robert Willis when he mentioned something Susan Campbell had told him. ‘According to the police, Jen’s a high-class prostitute. They asked Susan if Charles’s reasons for wanting to marry her were because he wanted to save her.’ The psychiatrist paused. ‘I suggest it’s the other way round . . . that he had no idea what she did and only found out late in the relationship that he’d been sharing her with her clients. He wouldn’t have handled that well.’ ‘Not many men would.’ ‘Indeed,’ said Willis, ‘and I imagine quite a few in the same situation would have taken the sort of revenge that Charles took. Sex is a major issue for him – probably because it was offered and withheld at whim.’ ‘That doesn’t make him safe,’ said Jackson. ‘What if he’s developed a taste for rape?’ ‘All the evidence points the other way,’ said Willis. ‘He wouldn’t be so ashamed of himself if he felt comfortable with what he did. Frankly, I’d be a lot more worried if you told me he sat in the bar all day staring at Daisy without saying anything. Predatory rapists have strong sexual appetites and tend to use pornography and Peeping Tom activity to support their fantasies . . . but that’s not a description that fits Charles.’ No, thought Jackson, reaching for the ignition and turning the key. The most apt description was the superintendent’s ‘monk’. She put the car into gear. ‘Are you saying Jen’s a prostitute?’ she asked Acland, as if it was something she didn’t already know.
‘She bills herself as a hostess, but it amounts to the same thing.’ He sounded indifferent.
‘What does she need the money for?’ Jackson asked, pulling out into the road.
He stared dispassionately through the windscreen. ‘She lost her meal ticket. I used to pay for everything until I wised up.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘I thought she was a struggling actress who couldn’t afford her rent. Some joke.’
‘What was she really spending the money on?’
‘Take your pick. She was freebasing on crack the last time I went to the flat.’
The day of therape...?‘What happened?’
‘She told me to snort some coke myself and loosen up.’
‘Did you?’
Acland shook his head.
‘When was this?’
‘End of September . . . the weekend before I went to Iraq. In a funny sort of way it was a relief. It’s easier to accept things if you can blame a drug.’ He lapsed into silence.
‘What things?’
‘Being an idiot. She was the most confident person I’d ever met at the beginning. Nothing fazed her. It was like winning the jackpot . . . looks and personality all wrapped up in one.’ He made a sound in his throat that sounded like a laugh. ‘I should have realized it was too good to be true.’
Jackson flicked him a sympathetic glance. ‘What do you know about cocaine addiction, Charles?’
‘It destroys people.’
‘It certainly alters aspects of the personality,’ she said calmly. ‘It can produce a variety of responses – euphoria, heightened sexuality, overwhelming confidence – but you wouldn’t assume those were drug-induced traits unless you were told. The downsides are aggression and paranoia, particularly in long-term users.’
Acland didn’t say anything.
‘When did you find out?’
‘About what? The drugs or the prostitution?’
‘Either.’
‘The day I told her it was over.’
‘At the end of September.’
Acland shook his head. ‘Closer to the beginning. She didn’t like me being the one to end it. A man doesn’t walk out on Jen . . . not without being made to look a fool first.’
Jackson pulled up outside her next patient’s house and killed the engine. She found the timeline, and details, of when and how he ended the engagement confusing. ‘Why did you go back at the end of September?’
Acland set to squeezing his knuckles again. ‘To fetch my stuff. She wasn’t supposed to be there. The agreement was I’d use my key and leave it behind when I left. She reneged on that the way she reneged on everything else.’
‘I’m surprised you thought you could trust her.’
He stared at his hands. ‘I didn’t. I just hoped she’d show a bit more sense.’
*
Beale drew his Toyota into a parking space in front of the Crown and leaned forward to watch a woman emerge from the side of the pub. ‘Do you see the blonde?’ he asked Jones. ‘That’s Jen Morley . . . Charles Acland’s ex . . . the call girl Khan and I interviewed the other night, the one who fancies herself as Uma Thurman.’ The superintendent followed his gaze and took in the swept-back hair and high-necked, figure-hugging outfit that the girl was wearing. ‘She could pass for her tonight. I’ve seen a lot worse.’ They watched her walk to a waiting cab where a small, portly man climbed out of the back and held the door open for her. ‘Did you check to see if she’s on file?’ asked Jones, watching the vehicle pull away. ‘She was arrested a couple of years ago during a blitz on crack