The Mystery of Mercy Close (8 page)

He was short. Not much taller than me and I’m five two, but shortness is no bar to being effective, even terrifying, or so I’m told.

A Diet Coke appeared from somewhere even though I had no memory of asking for it and a coffee was put in front of Parker. A well-run machine, the Hartley household. John Joseph sat next to me on one of the four very long couches.

‘Let’s go,’ he said.

‘Okay. First things first,’ I said. ‘Was Wayne into drugs? Or borrowing money from dodgy people?’

‘Not at all. He’s not a bit like that.’

‘You’ve known him how long?’

‘At least fifteen years. More like twenty. We were in Laddz together.’

‘I believe he does some work for you?’

‘A lot. Usually on the production end of things. We do most of our stuff in Turkey, Egypt and Lebanon.’

‘Assuming Wayne’s using ATMs or credit cards, the fastest way to find him would be to get into his computer. Any idea what his password might be?’

John Joseph put his head to one side and assumed a dreamy, staring-off-into-the-distance face. ‘I
am
actually thinking,’ he said. ‘It’s just the Botox that Jay made me have that makes me look like I’m brain dead. I’d furrow my brow if I could.’

It wasn’t enough to make me smile but I
was
amused.

After a short while he shook his head. ‘No. No idea. Sorry.’

‘It’s really important. If you think of anything, let me know. I’ll give you my card.’

I had to go through a dispiriting song and dance with a biro. ‘That office number doesn’t exist any longer.’ I crossed it out. ‘And that home number has changed.’ I scribbled out my landline number – my
ex
-landline number. God, it was heartbreaking. I wrote my parents’ number instead.

‘I should really get new cards printed …’ I said vaguely. There wasn’t a hope. ‘And can I have your number?’

He gave me a mobile number – just the one. People like him usually have at least four different mobiles and a plethora of home and office contacts, but one mobile was all he offered and, in fairness, I suppose that was all I needed to get in touch with him.

‘Right, John Joseph, you’re the last person we know of who spoke to Wayne. You rang him last night? Twenty-six hours ago? How did he seem to you?’

‘Not good … Finding the whole reunion thing hard. He said he’d moved on from all that boy-band stuff, that he was
mortified singing the songs, that he couldn’t stick to the diet and he’d never fit into his costumes.’

‘So you weren’t surprised he didn’t turn up for rehearsal this morning?’

‘Actually, I
was
surprised. He’d made a promise to me last night that he’d show. I’d believed him.’

‘Are you worried about him?’

‘In what way? Do you mean, like, that he might …?’

‘Well, yes, you know, top himself.’ Call a spade a spade, I didn’t have all night.

‘God, no! He wasn’t that bad.’

‘Could someone have abducted him?’

John Joseph seemed astonished. ‘Who’d abduct him? He’s not that kind of person.’

‘What were his last words to you?’

‘“See you in the morning.”’

‘Not exactly illuminating. Obvious question, but any idea where he might have gone?’

He shook his head. ‘Not a clue. But it won’t be a luxury hotel or anything like that. Wayne’s a bit … quirky …’

‘I’ve already asked Jay and he didn’t know for sure, but you’d probably know the answer to this question.’

‘Work away,’ John Joseph said.

‘Does Wayne have a girlfriend?’

‘No.’

He was lying.

I didn’t know how I knew, maybe he’d answered too quickly or his pupils had contracted, but there was some sort of subconscious tell that I’d picked up on.

‘What’s the story?’ I asked.

‘No story.’ Hard to tell in the medieval-style lighting but John Joseph looked like he’d gone pale. Silence stretched between us and, going against all my training, I was the one to break it.

‘Gloria.’

‘Who’s Gloria?’ He was so blustery and defensive that I actually felt sorry for him.

‘You don’t know who Gloria is?’

‘I don’t.’

‘How about if I show you a picture of her? Refresh your memory.’ I rooted around in my bag and found the photo of Wayne and the girl. ‘There,’ I said.

He looked at it for half a second and said, ‘That’s Birdie.’

‘Who?’

‘Wayne’s ex-girlfriend. Birdie Salaman.’

‘Never heard of her.’

‘She’s a civilian. Not in the business we call show.’

No, no, don’t say things like that.

‘They split up – I dunno, maybe nine months ago.’

Nine months, eh? A long time ago and he still had a photo of her face-downwards in the spare room, radiating sadness.

‘You have a number for Birdie?’

‘I’ll find it. I’ll text it to you.’

‘And you really have no idea who Gloria is?’

‘Really no idea.’

There was
def
initely something there: a flicker, a twitch, too small for the naked eye to see, but it was there. I’d have to come back to it, though; I wasn’t going to get anything from him right now. After a while of doing this job you learn when to press things and when to park them. Time for a different tack.

‘You’ve been in touch with Wayne’s parents?’

‘His mum rang me around six this evening, wondering if I knew why he wasn’t answering his phone. His parents haven’t a clue where he is. He has a sister, Connie, also living in Clonakilty, and a brother, Richard, living in upstate New York. I rang them. He’s not with them either.’

‘Yes, but … if he has gone to ground with his family, they’d hardly shop him to you, would they?’

John Joseph looked confused. ‘But why would Mrs Diffney
ring me? And you don’t understand! I’ve known them a long time and we’re very close; I’m almost like another son to them. They wouldn’t lie to me. Believe me, he’s not with any of them and they’re as worried about him as I am.’

I’d have to verify that info for myself, but it had the ring of truth about it; I’d hold off on the epic trip to Clonakilty for the moment.

At least I could discard the brother in upstate New York; there was no way Wayne could have got into the United States without his passport.

‘I’ll need the names, addresses and phone numbers of the Clonakilty bunch.’

‘I have them,’ Jay called, from further along the couch. ‘Texting them to you right now.’

I refocused on John Joseph. ‘Does Wayne smoke?’

‘No. Gave up years ago.’ Right, so those lighters in his drawer were just for the scented candles.

‘Does he have a cleaner?’

‘No. Carol – that’s his mammy – trained him well. And he says he finds it relaxing.’

Jay Parker gave a contemptuous tsk and I turned my coldest look on him because, as it happened, I also found housework relaxing. I’d spent most of my life oblivious to filth. I would have quite happily lived in a ditch, so long as it had SkyPlus, but the moment I’d bought my own place I’d finally understood the allure of hoovering and polishing – the sense of satisfaction, the pride … But back to Wayne.

‘Does he have any medical conditions that might be relevant?’

John Joseph shrugged helplessly. ‘We’re men; we don’t talk about that sort of thing. He could have testicular cancer, his bollock could have fallen off and we’d still be talking about the football.’

‘Speaking of which, who does he support?’

‘Liverpool. But in a normal way, not in a, you know, mad way.’

‘I noticed he had some –’ I could hardly bring myself to utter the word, because I hate it so much – ‘
spiritual
sort of stuff in his bedroom.
The Wonder of Now
, that kind of shit.’

‘Ah, he’s always buying books and things from Amazon, but never reading them.’

‘Look, this is an awful question, but I have to ask it …’

John Joseph stared at me, very alert.

‘Did, does Wayne do … yoga?’

‘God, no!’ John Joseph seemed aghast and Jay was spluttering with shock.

‘Or does he meditate?’

‘No! He’s an ordinary bloke,’ John Joseph said. ‘Don’t mind those bloody books.’

Oh my God! Here came Zeezah, John Joseph’s new wife, and suddenly I’d lost all interest in everything else. Although I’d seen Zeezah’s wedding pictures on the front of
Hello!
, I was keen to see her in the much-lauded flesh. I feasted my eyes on her and stored up phrases to repeat at a later date to people I liked. Strutty and pouty. International blow-dry. White jodhpurs. Shiny black riding boots. Short, fierce-waisted jacket. Lip liner so heavy it looked like a thin moustache. And, best of all, carrying a little black riding crop.

‘Hi, Zeezah,’ Jay said.

‘Oh, hiii,’ she said vaguely.

‘Zeezah,’ Jay said. ‘This is Helen Walsh.’

‘Oh, hiiii,’ she said even more vaguely. Then she walked to the fireplace, and on the pretext of something or other she turned her back to us and, I swear to God, I’ve never, before or since, seen a booty like it. Such roundness, such white perfection. I was mesmerized by those buttocks. Veritably mesmerized.

Nevertheless I was not intimidated. I went so far as to
hide a smug little smile. Oh yes, Zeezah, you’re very sexy
now
. Oh yes, right
now
, you’re so ripe and lush, you look like you’re going to burst. But in ten years’ time you’ll be morbidly obese. You have the look of someone who’ll die under general anaesthetic while having liposuction.

Next thing, she flicked her riding crop in the direction of the dogs and they whimpered and cowered away from her.

I don’t like dogs. In point of fact, I hate dogs. But even I thought that was a bit much.

John Joseph looked embarrassed. ‘Leave the dogs alone, baby.’

She crouched down and said in crooning tones, ‘I’m sorry, doggies.’ She nuzzled and stroked them and they slobbered all over her in loving gratitude. Eejits.

‘Is it not strange,’ she said, ‘that a little cruelty makes them love me all the more?’

She smiled, looking young and mischievous, and to my great surprise (category: pleasant), I found that I liked her.

‘Come and talk to Helen,’ John Joseph said. ‘She’s here to help us find Wayne.’

‘Okay.’ She came and sat beside me and actually took my hand. Earnestly, she said, ‘Please. You must find him. Wayne is a good man.’

‘No one’s saying he isn’t,’ Jay said defensively.

‘You do. You say he is weak.’

‘I didn’t say weak. I said he had no willpower.’

‘You think Frankie Delapp does not eat Jammie Dodgers late at night?’ Zeezah was scornful. ‘You think Roger St Leger is not drinking beer?’

‘He’s not drinking beer. He’s drinking vodka and he’s allowed to drink vodka because it’s low in carbs.’

Again with the carbs.

‘Zeezah, would someone want to harm Wayne?’

‘Wayne is a good man.’

‘Have you any idea where he might be?’

‘No.’ She sighed and let go of my hand. ‘But give me your number and I will call you if I think of anything.’

‘Sure.’ I scrambled for my card. When I’d woken up this horrible morning who could have guessed that I would end the day giving my phone number to a superstar, even if she was only big in the Middle East?

‘And if I need to contact you …?’ I said delicately. ‘Will I go through John Joseph?’

She became very stern. ‘I am my own person, with my own phone. I am texting you my number this exact very moment.’

‘Good, cool … yeah.’
Wait
till I told Mum that I had Zeezah’s number. Just
wait
. No, maybe not; she might steal the number and start sending Zeezah hate-texts. ‘Okay, can I ask all three of you to let your imaginations go wild for a moment and give me a one-liner as to where Wayne might be. Be as out-there as you like. Sort of like a game. I’ll start. I think Wayne is … doing a bread-making course in Ballymaloe House.’

‘Bread!’ Jay yelped.

‘Sushi, if you prefer. John Joseph?’

‘I think Wayne is … in a clinic having liposuction on his stomach.’

‘Really?’ Jay lit up. ‘Will it have healed by Wednesday night?’

‘This is just a game,’ Zeezah said. ‘I think Wayne is … visiting his parents and getting some TLC.’

‘I think Wayne is …’ Jay said, ‘in that Buddhist place in West Cork, learning to meditate.’ Oh! Such bile! ‘No, I’ve changed my mind. He’s at a pie-eating contest in North Tipperary, where he’s blowing all of the competition out of the water. He’s a shoo-in for the nationals.’

‘Zeezah,’ I asked, ‘do you know Wayne’s friend Gloria?’

‘Gloria?’ I swear to God, her face sort of froze. Just for the briefest moment, but I saw it. ‘Who’s Gloria?’

I said nothing. I waited for her to fill the silence.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know this Gloria.’

Maybe she didn’t. Maybe I was imagining things. After all, I wasn’t really myself.

‘Zeezah, the most important question of all: any idea what Wayne’s computer password might be? Six letters.’

As she considered, her eyes were faraway and her forehead was very smooth. Surely Jay hadn’t made her have Botox too? She was only twenty-one. Or perhaps the unlined forehead was down to her youth.

‘Six letters?’ She was suddenly animated and my heart lifted. ‘I know!’ she declared. ‘How about Zeezah?’ She gave a playful chuckle and, in polite but weary response, I attempted a few laughter-like noises, which might have been a bad idea because I sounded like a sea lion and everyone looked at me in mild alarm. Also I felt like I might have pulled a muscle in my chest.

‘What now?’ We stood outside John Joseph’s mansion. I was tired. It’s always so hard going against my natural inclinations and being pleasant to people, but the only way to get information is to make them like you.

‘I’ll drop you home,’ Jay said.

At his words, something terrible washed over me. I’d spent the day wishing for it to be night time, but now that the sky was dark it was even more menacing. I was afraid to look up because I was certain I’d see two moons hanging there. I felt like I’d undergone some catastrophic cosmic shift and was living on a different planet, one that was superficially similar to earth but wasn’t earth at all. This one was all wrong; it operated on different vibrations. Sinister and ominous, in an indefinable but dreadful way.