Vicary remained silent for a moment and then asked, ‘Can you tell me anything about her disappearance?’
‘Went out. . leaving the children here, and she didn’t return. That’s it.’
‘She was living here at the time — not with her husband?’
‘No. She was divorced. We were pleased about that, her husband was no good, a real waster. . he probably still is, and I fear for my grandchildren with him for a father. They live with him in Clacton. . Clacton.’ Halkier shook his head slowly. ‘He does summer work in the amusement arcades and on the dodgem cars. He lives for the summer, all those bright lights and machines making noises, and in the winter he just mopes about. In his head he’s about six years old. Eventually Rose left him and brought the children back here, and she and my wife looked after them. They settled into the school and after a bit of a slow start their school work improved no end. Rose got interim custody of the children, pending the final divorce settlement, and got a job, a telephonist in a call centre; modern day sweatshop she always used to call it but at least it was a wage coming in.’
‘Was she seeing anyone at the time she disappeared?’
‘I think she was but we never met him. I didn’t like the sound of him.’
‘Oh?’
‘Lived well south of London, large house, but was very cagey about what he did for a living. . always a bad sign.’
‘Indeed.’
‘But that was our Rosemary, lovely looking girl, just five feet nothing but. . oh so beautiful. . and such a personality, men really went for her. She could have had her pick but would she pick a good man? Just a halfwit who likes amusement arcades and a dodgy sounding character who lives in a huge house in Surrey, and won’t tell her how he makes his bundle — total, total, total shtum about that bit. Dodgy.’
‘Sounds it.’
‘But it was more than casual; she would go to live with him for a week at a time, longer sometimes. Then she took a bag of clothes and just didn’t come back. She said she went to work each day from his house.’
‘I was going to ask. .’
‘Yes, well, once her husband found out she had been reported missing, he came up from Clacton on the first old train he could get and took his children back with him. I do fear for them with him as a father.’
‘You can’t do anything, sir.’
‘I know. Just exchange cards at Christmas now; send the children birthday cards as well, and things like book tokens instead of cash, but that’s all I can do. I’ll go for a pint tonight — that’s what I do when I have things to think about, walk to the boozer, then walk the streets.’
‘Don’t like it.’ The man screwed the cigar stub into the large ashtray. ‘The Old Bill have found her, that’s what they called to tell me. They weren’t interested in Irish Mickey Dalkeith, the little toerag; it was that old brass they found under his body. I know it was a bad call telling him to get rid of her body; I should have had more loaf. The Bill just called to tell me they are going to pull me for it.’
‘You don’t know that.’ The woman sat on the settee with her legs folded up beneath her and pulled on a cigarette held in a long, ivory holder. ‘You weren’t even there, was you?’
‘I didn’t need to be. . do me a favour. . I didn’t need to be. I gave the nod didn’t I?’
‘Have it your own way, but I reckon you’re panicking for nothing.’
‘Yeah. . well it ain’t your bonce on the old block is it?’
The woman, sensing she was caged with an angry tiger, picked up a copy of Cosmopolitan and hid behind it.
Harry Vicary walked from the Halkier house to Leyton High Road and crossed it at a pelican crossing, and continued down winding Longthorne Road, past the hospital and turned left into Leytonstone High Road. He crossed the high road, also at a pelican crossing. The traffic being heavy by then, and in his opinion the crossings were the only safe way to cross the road after dusk had turned to night; like most police officers who had attended numerous road accidents, Vicary had developed a strong sense of caution. He turned off the main road into quieter Lister Road, enjoying the walk and the peace, and the sense of space that it afforded. He chose to follow Bushwood Road, with thickly wooded Wanstead flats to his right. At that moment, the flats looked bleak and sinister, with the tall, leafless trees standing motionless in the dark, while to his left the homely lights burned in the houses. He turned into Hartley Road and walked up to the front door of the house, which was of similar vintage and design to Joseph Halkier’s home. He let himself in and was instantly aware of the silence within the house, and he knew something was amiss.
He found his wife in the front room. She was sitting upright on the settee, quite still but not in any form of resting position. Her eyes were wide open yet she seemed to be registering nothing at all. Vicary groaned. She had been doing so well, so very, very well. They both had. The gin bottle lay on the floor at her feet. Empty. He took his wife and gently pulled her off the settee and laid her on the floor in the recovery position, lest she vomit in her condition, or later, when she had fallen asleep. He took off his coat and phoned his wife’s place of work, explaining that she had been taken ill and because of this she would not be at work tomorrow, and probably not the day after either. He placed a frozen pizza in the microwave and ate it quietly with a marked lack of enthusiasm. After he had eaten he searched their house. One bottle would mean, two, or three, or four. . and they would be somewhere she had not used before. Room by room, cupboard by cupboard he searched the house and found them: two bottles of Gilbey’s, as he had expected, in a place she had not used before. On this occasion he found them under the eaves in the attic conversion. Beneath the table by the wall was a small one-foot-square doorway used to access the wiring of the house. He opened up the door and one of the bottles fell into his hand; the other was to be seen lying on its side. Both were full and unopened. He emptied the contents into the sink.
Then, like Joseph Halkier, he went out to walk the streets, but unlike Joseph Halkier, he could not, would not, dared not, seek comfort and refuge in a pub.
THREE
Josie Pinder blinked and drew on the cigarette. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, pulling the Bakelite ashtray across the yellow Formica surface of the kitchen table. ‘This is a bit early for me.’ She pulled the towelling robe around her.
‘You’ll be able to get back to bed in a while.’ DC Brunnie spoke softly but firmly. ‘Tell us about the girl in Irish Mickey’s room, then you can snuggle up to your mate for a bit more sleep.’
‘No, not so lucky, sunshine, I’ve got to go and see the Gestapo this morning.’ She glanced at the inexpensive battery operated travel clock which sat on the narrow window sill. ‘In fact, it’s probably a good thing that you did bang on the door.’
‘The Gestapo?’
‘The dole office — if I miss an appointment, they stop my benefit. And they enjoy doing it. They’re the bottom of the pile, you see, so they need someone beneath them; that’s what Sonya says, you see.’
‘I see.’
‘So they’ll want to know what effort I have been making to find a job.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Well, find me a job and I’ll do it, I say, but since I have never worked at all. . not one single job since I left local authority school with no qualifications. . I am not a good employment prospect.’
‘Never?’
‘Nope. . not ever.’ She drew heavily on the cigarette and exhaled the smoke through her nostrils. She was small, with short yellow hair. Brunnie thought she was barely over five feet tall and her pale complexion spoke of a poor diet. ‘Sonya’s the same, she’s never worked either, but we get by.’
‘Like the way Billy Kemp does? Cash in hand job at the Chinese eatery?’
‘Yeah. . but not proper work, we’re not paying National Insurance stamps and all that malarkey.’