The health centre was much like thousands the country over. He walked through an automatic sliding door, across a plant-adorned foyer and into the reception area, joining a short queue at the desk. The place was busy and the waiting area quite full of miserable looking people.
As he reached the front of the queue, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. As usual, he was going to wing it. He produced his warrant card for the receptionist and introduced himself. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Henry Christie from Lancashire Constabulary … I wonder if I could have a word with your practice manager, please.’
‘Could I say what about?’
He pushed his card into his top pocket. ‘Not really,’ he said painfully. ‘A delicate matter, police business.’
‘OK.’ She picked up a phone and punched in a number. ‘Helen? It’s Rachel on reception … there’s a police officer here wishing to see you … no, he didn’t say … OK.’ She hung up. ‘She’ll be along in a couple of minutes. Would you like to take a seat?’
Henry stood browsing the notice boards, fearing for his very existence if he didn’t eat five portions of fruit and veg per day, didn’t exercise for twenty minutes, three times a week, and had erection problems. Sometimes he wished he did have the latter. An erect penis had put him in so many hairy situations.
A pleasant looking middle-aged lady appeared by his side, smelling strongly of smoke. ‘Hello. I’m Helen Baxter, the practice manager. I hope I haven’t done anything wrong, but if I have, I don’t mind being handcuffed.’
It was an admission that stumped Henry for a moment.
‘Just kidding,’ she said and tapped him on the arm.
‘Ha ha.’
‘So what can I do for you, DCI Christie, is it?’
‘Yes, it was an odd thing,’ Mrs Baxter — ‘call me Helen’ — was saying as she looked at the photograph Henry produced from his case. It was a close-up of the woman’s face with no one else in it. ‘She just upped and went.’
‘So this is definitely Sabera Ismat?’
They had retreated to Mrs Baxter’s small office in the far reaches of the health centre and were awaiting tea. She was being helpful in a playful sort of way.
‘Oh yes, that’s definitely her. She came as a locum and then started running a sort of clinic/self-help group for Asian women who’d been abused. It was very popular and she was doing some good work. But to be fair, I can’t say I knew her all that well.’
There was a knock on the door and an Asian lady came in bearing a tray of tea and biscuits.
‘Excuse me,’ she said politely.
‘That’s OK, Aysha — just put the tray down here.’ She pointed to a coffee table by the desk. Henry glanced at the woman and his glance turned to a squint as he recognized her as the Asian woman positioned behind Sabera Ismat in one of the photographs. She began laying out the cups and saucers.
‘So she just disappeared?’ Henry said, slowly taking back the photograph from Mrs Baxter.
There was a clatter and a crash as a cup dropped on to the tray. It did not break. The tea-bearing lady said sorry and stood the cup upright on a saucer.
‘You can let us do the mothering,’ Mrs Baxter said.
The young woman turned to leave and Henry watched her go, fleetingly catching her eye, seeing a troubled look on her face.
He did the honours and poured the tea. ‘What do you know about her, then?’
‘Not a lot, really,’ Mrs Baxter said thoughtfully. ‘Look, what is this about?’
‘I just need to find her and speak to her about something. Beyond that, I can’t really tell you a lot. You understand?’
Mrs Baxter tapped her nose. ‘Police business?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Mm, OK, let me think … she sort of came from nowhere, I suppose. Dr Khan took her on. He wanted her to start immediately as a locum, even without interview, but that’s not too unusual. Dr Khan’s one of the practice partners and what he says goes, I suppose.’
Henry nodded. ‘Does he know what happened to her?’
‘He told me she’d had to deal with a family emergency. I asked him if she’d be coming back and he said he doubted it.’
Henry nodded. ‘I need to speak to him, then, I suppose.’ He paused. ‘Do you have any employment records for her, just out of interest?’
‘I do.’ Mrs Baxter rose and crossed the office to a filing cabinet. She slid open the top drawer and riffled through the suspension files with her fingertips. She got to the end, then worked her way back, muttering, then started her search again. ‘Odd,’ she said, this time going slowly through the files, peering carefully at the tabs. ‘Strange … her file isn’t here … and I know I haven’t archived it.’
They were words which sent a suspicious tingle down Henry’s spine. As ever, when he became excited by the prospect of prey, his bum twitched with anticipation. ‘Is Dr Khan in today?’ he asked calmly.
‘I haven’t actually seen him, to be honest,’ Mrs Baxter said, her face still down looking for the missing file. ‘He is in, though, because he had an early surgery, although …’ She raised her head and looked at the wall clock. ‘He could well be out on home visits now.’
She slammed the filing cabinet drawer shut. ‘Not here,’ she pouted, ‘definitely not here.’ Back at her desk she picked up the phone and dialled an extension at which there was obviously no response. She redialled. ‘Oh, hello Aysha, it’s Helen … has Dr Khan gone out on home visits? Yes? Right, OK, thanks for that.’ She hung up and said, ‘About half an hour ago.’
‘Right.’
‘He’s usually out all morning, but he has another surgery at two. Why don’t you call back about one thirty? He should be in by then, and available.’
‘I might just do that.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Fire away.’
‘Is Sabera in trouble?’
Henry got a brief mental glimpse of a pathetic, charred corpse. ‘Like I said,’ he grimaced in a way which suggested he really would like to tell her something, ‘I can’t really say.’
‘I understand,’ she said with disappointment. ‘Ooh, I know! She was quite friendly with Aysha, the lady who came in here with the tea? She’s a receptionist. I think her and Sabera were pretty pally. It might be worth having a chat with her.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Come on.’ Mrs Baxter stood up and led Henry back through the complex. ‘You’ve come a long way,’ she commented. Henry nodded. ‘Sabera was from up north, I’m pretty sure. Blackburn, I think.’ She led Henry to a door at the back of the reception desk. ‘Rachel?’ she called to the girl who had greeted Henry earlier. ‘Is Aysha about?’
Rachel, sitting at the counter behind the Plexiglass screen, turned with a harassed expression. There was a queue of patients and two phones were ringing. She was the only one there. She glared at Mrs Baxter. ‘No, she just put her coat on and dashed out, leaving me to sort all this.’ She held up her hands to indicate her world of chaos.
‘Where has she gone?’
‘How would I know? Just ran out.’ Rachel forced a smile at one of the people in front of her and said, ‘Just one moment,’ then picked up a phone and said a curt, ‘Yes?’
Mrs Baxter turned to Henry. ‘Strange.’
‘Lots of strange things going on, but no matter,’ he said. ‘I’ll pop back and see Dr Khan later … and thanks for your assistance … Helen …’ He shook her hand quickly and headed at a pace for the exit on the off chance he might be able to catch up with the receptionist who had gone AWOL.
The pavements were still wet from the overnight downpour, but the rain had ceased and the clouds were dispersing. Henry rushed out of the health centre clutching his briefcase under his arm and dashed on to Old Brompton Road, scanning as he went.
The young woman could not have gone far, but as Henry knew, people could disappear within the blink of an eye. He had no way of knowing in which direction she had legged it, so he took a fifty/fifty chance, followed his instinct and hurried towards the West Brompton tube station on the District Line and caught sight of her standing on the road bridge opposite Earl’s Court Exhibition Centre spanning the underground line. She was talking into her mobile phone, constantly looking around as she did, as though the cops might be after her. Henry ducked into a doorway, keeping her in sight, his arse doing some real twitching now.