“God knows. Or cares. Last I heard of him he was working on the ferries from Immingham to Rotterdam. Up to something, no doubt, some scam or other. Lenny was a loser, but it took me a long time to realize it.”
“I presume that if Michael does a lot of digital photography, he’s got a computer, right?”
“We share mine. I’ve had it for ages, since before we met. He’s just about computer illiterate. I pretty much had to teach him everything he knows. He hadn’t used a computer before we got together.”
“Not even at school?”
Alex shrugged. “Maybe. He never spoke much about school. He certainly didn’t know his way around a computer, anyway.”
“We might need to examine it later.” It was a delicate situation. Annie knew the rules on computers. No one but a qualified techie was supposed to touch one, and only then after it had been photographed from every angle, including what was showing on the screen and where the various devices were plugged in at the back, front or sides. Although this wasn’t a crime scene, if any information gleaned from Michael Lane’s computer indicated that a crime, or crimes, had been committed, then its value in court would be greatly diminished if Annie and Doug Wilson had been interfering with it first. On the other hand, she wasn’t at a point in her investigation where she had any reason to bring in the CSIs and have it removed. If there was incriminating information on it, there was nothing to stop Alex from erasing everything after Annie left. She decided to have a quick look before then, with Doug Wilson and Alex Preston present as witnesses. She asked Alex if that was all right.
“It’s fine with me,” said Alex. “Now?”
“Later will do. We have a few more questions first. Does Michael have a steady job at the moment, or has he managed to get into a photography course?”
“He’s doing his A levels at night school, so he has a better chance of getting in college next year, if he does well, but he’s still unemployed. And it gets him down sometimes. He does odd jobs to help make ends meet.”
“What sort of odd jobs?”
“Farming stuff, mostly. That’s all he knows, apart from drawing and photography. But there’s plenty of it about, depending on the time of year. A lot of it’s unskilled, of course. Casual manual labor. Harvesting and such like. But he’s got a real knack for sheep shearing, and that makes good money sometimes. But it’s all so seasonal. Why are you asking me all these questions? Has something happened to him? Has he had an accident? Or done something stupid?”
“Why would you think that?”
Alex studied the backs of her hands. Annie noticed how long and tapered her fingers were, how nicely manicured and clean the nails. “He can be a bit hotheaded sometimes, that’s all. When he gets frustrated. I don’t mean with me or Ian. He’d never lay a finger on us, and I’d never stand for it. Not after Lenny. So what is this all about?”
“It’s nothing to worry about, really,” said Annie. “His father’s neighbor’s farm was broken into on Saturday night. A valuable tractor was stolen.”
“Beddoes?”
“That’s right. Do you know him?”
“I’ve never met him, but Michael mentioned him sometimes.”
“In what way?”
“He said Mr. Beddoes never liked him. Used to chase him off his land. Called him a layabout and a retard. Michael said Beddoes seems all right on the surface, but he can be a nasty piece of work when he’s got a mind to be.”
“Like?”
“He told me Beddoes hit him once.”
“John Beddoes hit Michael?”
“That’s right. Clipped him around the ear, was how Michael described it. Said it didn’t hurt. He didn’t even bother telling his dad. And once Beddoes thought Michael had been upsetting his precious pigs, chucking stones at them or something. Beddoes threatened to drop him in the sty and said they’d eat him. Michael was just thirteen or fourteen. He was terrified.”
“I see,” said Annie. “But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”
“Not to them, I don’t think. Long memories. They bear grudges.” Her eyes widened. “Maybe he’s done something to Michael? Beddoes. Maybe he blamed him for stealing his tractor?”
“It’s unlikely,” Annie said. “Mr. and Mrs. Beddoes didn’t get back from holiday until late last night. The first thing they did when they noticed the tractor missing was call the police.”
“Well, maybe you should talk to them again? Search the premises, or whatever you do.”
“Don’t worry,” said Annie, “we’ll be thorough. Has Michael ever threatened Beddoes? You said John Beddoes terrified him when he was younger. Do you think he might have wanted revenge?”
“You think—”
Annie held her hand up. “I don’t think anything yet, Alex. I’m only asking. Michael’s father was tending to the farm while the owners were away. I talked to John Beddoes, and he mentioned a ‘tearaway’ son. His words, not mine. Frank Lane didn’t speak so highly of his own son, either. Or of you. He said he’d never met you, that Michael had never brought you home for tea to meet him.”
“Ha!” said Alex. “As if we were ever invited. He knows nothing about me. To him I’m just the scarlet woman. A tart.”
Annie let a few seconds go by. “I just want to talk to Michael,” she said. “That’s all.”
Alex gave Annie a disappointed glance, and for some reason, it hurt. “You’re all the same, you lot. Just because someone’s made a mistake once, you think they can never put things right, don’t you? Well, me and Michael are doing just fine. OK? And he was here with me on Saturday night, all evening and all night, but I don’t suppose you believe that, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” said Annie. “You say you last saw him on Sunday morning?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you think he might have another girlfriend, and that’s where he is?”
Alex reddened, and her lower lip trembled. “No,” she said, squeezing her fists together and putting them to her temples. “What are you saying? Why are you saying horrible things like that? What are you trying to do to me? I’m already going out of my mind with worry. Stop this.”
“I’m sorry,” said Annie, “but we have to know what’s going on.”
“Why don’t you just do your job and go out and find Michael? He might be lying hurt somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Just somewhere.”
“OK, I’m sorry. Calm down, Alex. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“You’re more interested in a missing tractor than in what’s happened to my Michael. Admit it.”
“That’s not true.”
Alex leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “Then help me,” she said. “Please help me find Michael.”
THE FRONT gates stood wide open and a young uniformed constable waved down Banks and Gerry Masterson as they approached the airfield. Gerry came to a halt, and the officer asked for their identification. Banks didn’t blame him. The young PC wasn’t from Eastvale HQ, and there was no reason he should know who they were. The officer noted their names down carefully on his clipboard and waved them through. Three patrol cars and Winsome’s Polo were parked willy-nilly on the cracked concrete outside the hangar, five officers leaning against them chatting, two of the men smoking. When Banks and Gerry flashed their warrant cards, the officers all straightened up, and the smokers trod out their cigarettes. Banks glanced down at the smudges on the wet concrete, then back at the culprits, who looked at him sheepishly.
“Sorry, sir,” one of them mumbled.
“That’s all right, son,” said Banks. “You can explain the contamination of the scene to the CSIs when they get here.”
The officer turned beet red.
“In the meantime,” Banks went on, “don’t you think you could be doing something useful, like organizing a house-to-house of the immediate area?”
“What for, sir?” asked one of the female officers.