The Mystery of Mercy Close (25 page)

‘And why would Docker be driving a five-year-old car?’

Okay, so it wasn’t Docker. Docker was thirty-seven and looked ten years younger. He was six foot tall and as lean as a butcher’s dog. He had a full head of hair and star quality you could spot a mile away. He was more likely to have landed a seaplane in Mercy Close than to be driving a five-year-old Toyota. But it had been worth asking. It was always worth asking.

A pause followed.

‘That’s all,’ Artie said. ‘That’s all they know.’

‘But what about Wayne?’ I asked. ‘Where’s he gone?’

‘That’s Wayne’s business,’ Officer Masterson said.

‘But he was acting out of character. Like, distressed.’

‘How?’

‘He’d shaved his head.’

‘With that hair, who’d blame him?’

‘He ate cake.’

‘He shaved his head? He ate cake? Right, I’ll just get on to the chief of police and we’ll organize a television appeal.’

‘That’s sarcasm, is it?’

‘Well spotted.’

‘He’d been crying.’

‘Sometimes men cry. It’s not illegal …’

‘Have you any idea how many people are running away at the moment?’ Quigg, the female police officer, asked me. ‘Girlfriends and wives are showing up at every police station in the country, saying their partner hasn’t come home. Men are disappearing because they can’t pay their mortgage, they can’t pay their employees. It’s an
epidemic
.’

‘Wayne didn’t owe big money. His mortgage was up to date, his credit cards were paid on time.’

‘We’ve no reason to think he’s in danger.’ Masterson and Quigg were getting to their feet in that lumbering fashion that they must teach in Guard School – a version of the deportment lessons taught in finishing schools. ‘And you two,’ they turned their attention to Cain and Daisy, ‘you’re lucky you’re not facing a charge of wasting police time.’

They were also lucky not to be facing a charge of having a gardenful of cannabis, but it looked like they’d got away with it.

All of us filed down the hallway and out of the house. It took some time. Masterson and Quigg got into their squad car and drove away. I itched to touch Artie but I didn’t want to blur the boundaries any more than I already had. ‘Thank you for this,’ I said. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as I can.’

He shook his head and laughed, half-exasperated, then he too got into his car and drove away.

Man of few words, Artie.

When I first started seeing him, it was
weeks
before he’d tell me why he and Vonnie had split up. Every time I broached the subject he got a bad attack of the Strong and Silents, but I kept chipping away until eventually I got it out of him.

Apparently they’d both been working long, distracting hours, Vonnie making houses beautiful and Artie investigating badzers, and they weren’t having much alone time
together; then somewhere along the line Vonnie met someone else. Who was ten years younger than her. He worked in design – it was how they’d met – but sometimes he DJ’d at festivals and wore the pork-pie hat of a hipster.
Hon
estly.

I’d met him a few times and he was actually very nice, he had a good sense of humour, he was fun. But I couldn’t imagine wanting someone like him when you could have someone like Artie. He was a bit of a … 
lightweight
, I suppose is the best way of putting it.

Artie had suggested that he and Vonnie go for marriage counselling but Vonnie flat-out refused. She knew what she wanted. She wanted Pork-Pie Hat Boy (whose name was Steffan) and she didn’t want to be married any more.

‘And how did you feel?’ I’d persisted with Artie.

‘It was …’ He paused. Being a cop he had to choose exactly the right word. ‘It was devastating. When we got married, I thought it would be … for ever. Without Vonnie, without our family, I didn’t know who I was. But there was nothing I could do. I tried … very hard … to persuade her to try again but she was adamant. And what it came down to in the end was the kids. Taking care of them was the most important thing.’

‘All sounds very civilized,’ I said. ‘No shouting? No plate breaking?’

‘Some shouting, yes,’ he admitted. ‘But no plate breaking.’

I would imagine not. I wouldn’t dare break a plate of Vonnie’s. If they weren’t hand-painted one-off works of art by Graham Knuttel, they were part of a very rare dinner service that had once belonged to a nobleman in Gustavian Sweden.

Vonnie bought a new house and Artie and Vonnie decided to share equal custody of Iona, Bruno and Bella, who had bedrooms in both homes. And, oh, Vonnie’s house! I had thought that Artie’s house (which Vonnie had designed) was the most beautiful dwelling place on earth, but that was before I’d seen hers. (I won’t go into the details, just think of a neo-Gothic
grey-blue stone-built ex-vicarage, which retains all the original character but has been given every modern comfort, like under-floor heating and mood-coloured lighting.) Sometimes I wondered if she’d left Artie just because she wanted a new house to play with.

Jay Parker, John Joseph, Zeezah, Frankie, Roger and I had an impromptu meeting on the pavement outside Cain and Daisy’s house.

‘What’s this Docker business?’ Roger gave me a shrewd stare.

‘Nothing. Forget it. Just fishing. So the bottom line – are we agreed on this? – is that yesterday morning Wayne went away with a man. An unknown man.’

‘Is he gay?’ Frankie screeched. ‘He’s trying to copy me.’

‘You’re not gay any more,’ Jay pointed out.

‘Just not
at the moment
. But I
could
be. Any time I wanted.’

‘Wayne is not gay,’ Zeezah said. ‘Please do not disrespect him in this way.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being gay,’ Roger said. ‘I’m gay myself from time to time, if I’m stuck.’

‘Please!’ I said. ‘If we could just keep to the matter in hand. A man in his fifties, they said.’

‘A Daddy Bear,’ Frankie lamented. ‘A big cuddly Daddy Bear.’

‘Do any of you know the man?’ I asked. ‘Does the description fit anyone you know?’

‘How would we know anyone in their fifties?’ Frankie sounded disgusted.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘You’re a terrific help. All of you. Right, here’s how things stand.’ I looked from Frankie to John Joseph to Zeezah to Roger and finally to Jay. ‘That fine-looking man who was sitting in on the interview, did you notice him? Well, he’s my boyfriend.’ I took a moment to make sure that Jay had registered that fact. I couldn’t be sure,
but I think he went a little pale. ‘His name is Artie Devlin. It’s Friday evening,’ I said. ‘I could go round to Artie’s house and spend the next several hours having sex.’ Not strictly true because his kids would be there, but no need to get sidetracked. ‘Or do you want me to keep looking for Wayne?’

John Joseph looked as though the thought of Artie and me having sex was a little distasteful to him, but he seemed prepared to get past it. ‘We need Wayne found,’ he said. ‘Of course we want you to keep looking for him. But what have you?’

What had I? I had the Docker connection. I had the house in Leitrim.

Some strange eye-snag bounced between Jay Parker and me, a silent complicity.
Don’t tell him
, his glance said.
Whatever it is, don’t tell him
.

But I’d already decided I wasn’t going to tell John Joseph. I didn’t trust him. And I didn’t like him. ‘I’d rather not say just yet … I might be wrong.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Parker said.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s him or me,’ John Joseph said.

‘Or me,’ Roger said.

‘It’s not fucking you,’ John Joseph said to him, with unexpected savagery. He returned his attention to me. ‘Right now we’re paying you, we own you. You’re not going rogue. Whatever line of enquiry you’re following, one of us comes with you.’

I looked at him steadily. I didn’t want to spend several hours trapped in a car in his company.

‘What about Frankie?’ I asked.

‘Me!’ Frankie screeched. ‘Sweet redeemer! I don’t want to be looking for Wayne. No offence, Helen, pet, you’re an absolute dote, but I don’t want to get into danger!’

‘I too would prefer to avoid potential danger,’ Zeezah said politely.

‘Okay,’ I said, still coolly staring John Joseph down. ‘Parker, get in the car.’

Parker scampered towards the car, like a puppy realizing he was about to be taken for a walk. And as I switched on the ignition and headed for the open road, there was a moment when it felt like we were setting off on a road trip, when I felt almost giddy.

‘Just so you know,’ I’d said to Artie. ‘I never sleep with anyone on a second date.’

He’d flicked me a half-smile and opened the door to let me go ahead of him into the restaurant. It was our first date in the outside world; the first time we’d met since the day I’d encountered Bella at the Christmas fête and ended up having sex with her dad.

As Artie was leaving my apartment that day, he’d said he’d call and I’d doubted he would. I suspected he might think I was just too much trouble, but I was wrong: he called the following day and asked if he could take me to dinner.

‘Maybe we could get to know each other a little?’ he suggested.

‘God, I’d have said we already knew each other very well,’ I said.

‘I think we skipped some of the details. We could work backwards. Would Wednesday night suit?’

As it happened, Wednesday night didn’t suit; I was baby-sitting for Margaret’s nippers. ‘Thursday?’ I said. ‘Or Friday?’

‘Can’t,’ he said. ‘I have the kids.’

And there and then the marker was laid down.

We agreed on Tuesday the following week. He booked the restaurant and picked me up at my apartment and seemed a little overwhelmed to see me in a tight black dress, very high heels and blown-out hair.

‘Wow,’ he said.

‘What? You expected me in my jeans and trainers? You’d better not be taking me to Pizza Express.’

He was looking fairly wow himself. A dark-blue fitted shirt
with the sleeves rolled back, showing his lovely forearms, black tailored trousers and, the sexiest part of all, a belt with a flat silver buckle. It was a simple design but somehow it drew a lot of attention to itself; it made me want to open it. But maybe that was just because I already knew about the lovely things that lay inside.

I put on my short, black, swingy,
Mad Men
-style coat – very proud of that coat I was. I’d got it for a tenner in a charity shop, but it had still had the tag on it and it had never been worn.

In his car (a black SUV, I should mention) he told me where we were going. It was a fairly fancy joint – not in the Michelin-star category, but well-known for being intimate and pricey. I wondered how he’d managed to get a table there ten days before Christmas.

Just before we went in, I asked anxiously, ‘Are you paying for this?’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘I am.’

‘Then I suppose you’re expecting me to have sex with you?’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled again. ‘I am.’

‘Just so you know,’ I said. ‘I never sleep with anyone on a second date.’

‘That’s a bummer.’ He pushed the door open. ‘In that case, don’t order the caviar.’

‘You’re in luck,’ I said. ‘I’d rather set myself on fire than eat caviar.’

In we went where, with great efficiency, we were seated, menus were brought, drinks arrived and food was ordered. Then I focused on Artie. ‘So go on,’ I said. ‘Say things. Tell me, as very, very annoying people say, “all about yourself”.’

‘What would you like to know?’

‘Come on.’ I was a little impatient. ‘It was your idea that we get to know each other. I was perfectly happy just having sex.’

‘Okay, well, I work. A lot, I suppose.’

Bit by bit I got it out of him, his life. He went for four-mile runs several mornings a week, sometimes with another guy called Ismael. He played poker once a month with some work buddies.

But his time with his kids was sacrosanct and he made that very clear. And honestly, the things they did together, it sounded like the Waltons on Walton’s Mountain. I questioned him closely, trying to piece together a picture of his life with them.

They often went to the movies. ‘Even Iona?’ I asked in surprise. In my head I had conflated Iona and Claire’s daughter, Kate, and the only reason I could think that Kate would go to the movies would be to burn the cinema to the ground.

‘Of course Iona,’ he said.

A few weeks ago they’d all gone on a bread-making course, and in early January they were planning to do a day course in Vietnamese cooking, the four of them. ‘Even Iona?’ I asked again.

‘Yes, Iona,’ he said. ‘Why not?’

They went for walks in Wicklow.

‘Like … ramblers?’ I was ready to pick up my sparkly clutch bag and leave. I would not,
could
not, throw in my lot with ramblers.

‘Not like ramblers.’ He was laughing. ‘Like people going for a walk.’

At some stage our starter arrived and I ate it but barely noticed it, then our main course arrived and it was the same story.

‘So, Helen, tell me,’ Artie said, ‘as very annoying people say, “all about yourself”. What do
you
do?’

I thought about it. ‘Nothing. Apart from work, and there’s precious little of that going on at the moment, so basically I do nothing.’

‘No?’

‘Nothing. I don’t exercise, I don’t read, I’m not a gamer, I don’t care about food, I live on cheese and coleslaw sandwiches.’ With a twinge of fear I said, ‘Christ, I’d no idea how boring I am.’

‘But boring is the last thing you are.’

I perked up. ‘I watch a lot of box-sets. I like Scandinavian crime. And sometimes I go to the movies. If they’re showing some Scandinavian crime. And I like watching yokes on YouTube, potbellied pigs tap-dancing, that sort of thing. And I like buying stuff, especially scarves. That’s it, Artie, that’s me in a nutshell.’

‘Do you like animals?’

‘In real life? You mean not on YouTube? No. I hate them. Especially dogs.’

‘Art? Theatre? Music?’

‘No. No. No. Hate them all. Especially music.’

‘Are you close to your family?’

I considered it. ‘Close’ was one way of putting it. ‘We’re
close
,’ I said cautiously. ‘But we’re very mean to each other. This morning I told my mum that if she didn’t stop acting old I was going to lobby for a law on euthanasia, so a bus would come round every Monday morning and take away all the old people who complained that they couldn’t hear the telly or couldn’t see the buttons on their mobile phone or that they had a pain in their hip, and put a bullet in their heads. But we’re
close
.’