Nash bid them into his office, where behind the desk he launched himself into an expensive-looking steel and leather armchair — at least expensive originally, it being as lived-in as everything else he possessed. The room was as basic as the rest of the slightly underwhelming annex to which they had been bidden; redirected as they were from the main reception, along a ground floor corridor seemingly leading them away from the main body of the city police headquarters. But at least in Nash’s office there was an effort made at cosiness, with artefacts and keepsakes dotted around, between the Ordinance Survey maps and filing cabinets required of any such working room. These personal objects gave off the kind of effortless authenticity Grey was beginning to notice the man strived for in all things, he suspecting from them that he had travelled, even lived for a time, by the Mediterranean, perhaps in North Africa? It was as though, Grey thought, looking at the hangings and sculptures, that the Chief Inspector was only happy with things carved from twisting tree limbs or hewn from the raw earth. The overall impression threw that of Grey’s own stark cell into sharp relief.
‘Welcome to my hidey hole,’ smiled Nash, ‘Please, sit down,’ which they did, on simpler but no less stylish furnishings.
‘Thank you for seeing us so late,’ Cori rushed in politely as they adjusted themselves.
‘Not at all. We don’t keep office hours here; and I know you have your other case to concentrate on. ‘Have there been any developments?’
‘Only very local ones, I fear,’ Grey replied.
‘We’ve brought in a man who worked with Thomas Long at Aubrey Electricals,’ answered Cori for them. ‘He’s making a statement at the moment. But we think he’s more likely to be a witness of his movements, rather than a suspect. He was working at the time of the hotel sighting. Not that we know where Thomas went afterward…’
She noticed as she finished that Grey seemed away with his thoughts for a moment.
‘Well,’ said Nash, ‘I think it goes without saying that I wish you all the luck in the world with finding your missing boy. As much luck in fact — albeit dumb luck — as we seem to have had in finding your missing girl.’
He said this with a glow of pride that Cori for one thought thoroughly justified. Yet he seemed to end on an air of uncertainty, as though there might be more he held back from saying.
The Chief Inspector paused, then placed his hand on a large card folder on his cluttered desk,
‘Well, as promised here are the edited highlights of our file on Stephen Carman, and by proxy Isobel Semple; we not being interested in her for herself, you understand, so any data we have on her is merely the result of the couple’s association. It is rather thrown together I’m afraid, sifted from their joint surveillance. But, if anyone can make a meal of it… You might find something of interest. But,’ he paused for effect, ‘you remember we require that you gain our consent before taking any action against the pair of them. I had that agreement from you when we spoke with your Superintendent. But once we have Carman, well, then you can do what you will regarding her.
‘I have to go and speak to my people in the field, so I’ll leave it with you. You can work here as long as you need to; I could be out all night I shouldn’t wonder. Well, enjoy.’
And with that Nash was gone, leaving them to their bounty, Grey noting the urgency in Nash’s desire to reconnect with his team.
‘I hardly know where to start,’ said Cori as she moved her hands slowly to the folder, unremarkable to look at but, she hoped, brimming with secrets.
Grey was also left with an impression: that not only was the Chief Inspector his ranking superior, but that for all his bohemian adornments and blunted sartorial corners he was sharper all around. Also, that whatever may be in that bulging file, they were only been shown the tip of an iceberg.
Chapter 17 — The Nottingham File
‘I think I’ve made a mistake,’ said Inspector Rase glumly, deep in thought and after an hour of ploughing through the documents piled before them. ‘It was a mistake to come here in the middle of the Long enquiry. I’ve let the two cases get confused in my mind — I can’t remember what parts relate to the one or the other: I found myself thinking just, that what we should have done was gone hell for leather to find that receptionist, Josie, dragged her back from family time regardless, got a description of Mr Smith, had her go through CCTV until she could point him out checking in, asked her when he came and went, if she spoke to him, what was said… completely forgetting that we don’t know that this Smith has anything to do with Thomas Long at all.
‘I’m confused, Cori,’ he concluded, as downcast as she had known him. ‘I’m quite simply confused.’
‘Well, we’ll see Josie tomorrow,’ offered his Sergeant, ‘and we can ask her all that then. Anyway, it is getting late,’ she said, placing a bundle of papers back on the desk. ‘Perhaps after we’ve slept on it it will all come clear?’ But even as she tried to sooth him, she didn’t feel very hopefully herself.
‘Well, if there is a link between the cases,’ he continued, ‘then going through this rubbish isn’t going to help us find it,’ he gestured dismissively at the papers before him.
‘So what have you got, sir?’ she asked anyway, knowing his professionalism would win out over apathy if called upon.
‘The stuff of life: Xeroxed gas bills and circulars; receipts from local food stores. What does Nash think we’ll get from all this?’
‘He did say the file was thrown together, everything not sensitive to Carman.’
‘Well, they must have a Constable hiding in the letterbox.’ He tossed the bills he had been reading back on the pile. ‘Yourself?’
‘Not much more to be honest,’ answered Cori, while moving papers between her nimble fingers. ‘I know they have a nice flat and nice furniture.’
‘Who says crime doesn’t pay?’
‘I have copies of receipts from at least four stores I’d be glad to shop at myself!’
‘How big is this flat?’ asked Grey in mock-amazement as he saw how many purchases they had been making for themselves.
‘He must have a lot of customers for what he’s selling,’ Cori reflected. ‘Nottingham doesn’t seem the kind of place.’
‘Everywhere is the kind of place,’ answered Grey depressingly. ‘What else have you got?’
‘Only this,’ she said, sifting for it under other pieces. ‘The edited records of calls made to Isobel’s phone over the past few weeks.’
‘Edited isn’t the word,’ said Grey upon seeing the rows of redacted lines. ‘What would these deleted numbers be?’ he speculated. ‘Calls from Carmen’s drug buddies? Calls Nash has already traced and know have nothing to do with Isobel?’
‘There’s not a lot of it not blacked out,’ Cori admitted. ‘In fact, take away the call received from the hotel on Tuesday morning, and there’s only one other number listed here.’
‘Nash did mention another call, didn’t he?’ remembered Grey from the phone conference. ‘He asked if we had any idea who might have made it?’
‘It looks like they’ve called before,’ she said, leafing back through the photocopied data, ‘but not often and not for a while; the last time being late on Monday.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Grey, spotting a hand-written note on one of the pages. He read, ‘“Handheld device on a private network. No phone company info!”’
‘It must be from when they tried to trace the number.’