The Various Haunts of Men (45 page)

‘Mr Sharpe?
Hello. Is there anything I can help with?’

‘Aidan, please.’

‘I wasn’t sure if this was official.’

‘My dear, nice as it is to see you, I’m afraid this is official. It’s about the missing girl, Debbie Parker.’

‘Right, we’ll go in here.’

He followed her into a small interview room.

‘Do sit down. Sorry about the furnishings. Can I get you a coffee?’

‘Cup of poison, you mean.’

‘In the case
of station coffee I have to agree with you.’

‘Well, remind me to tell you one day just what frightful things coffee does to your entire system, mental and physical.’

He sat down. She was prettier than he remembered, sharp-looking, with such a shining cap of hair. He had been right, of course, to come down and not to telephone,
and the timing had been right too, to arrive as she was leaving the
building. He sat down, looking across at her with pleasure. She would listen too, what he had to say would not be dismissed, if only because they had met socially, and she had good manners. Adrian Sharpe smiled.

‘Now, Debbie Parker. We did a reconstruction of her last known movements early this morning.’

‘Really? Her last known movements? So it is known where she was last seen?’

Freya made
a small face. ‘Not exactly. We are pretty sure she went for a walk, and we are also fairly sure it was in the area of the Hill. That’s where she had taken to walking quite a lot in recent weeks, and from what we can piece together, it was likely to have been very early in the morning. We hoped someone might just have seen her … memories can be jogged surprisingly long after the event if we get it
right.’

‘Have you had a lot of response?’

Freya shrugged. ‘This and that. There are always a fair few cranks, of course … people who would have seen the moon turn pink if we put it about that we wanted them to contact us about it.’

She seemed so charming, so relaxed, so friendly, but she was clever, she was giving nothing away, she was throwing up the usual smokescreen. He was not deceived
for a moment. The reconstruction had brought in no response from the general public that was of any use to them. But then, that was always going to be the case.

‘I’m DS in charge at the moment, so if you do think you have anything that might help us, I’m the person to tell.’

He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and sighed. ‘I don’t know, I simply don’t know. All I know is that I’ve been
worrying about it. It is going to sound very
feeble and pathetic if I tell you that I haven’t been here before simply because I forgot. No excuse. I forgot.’

‘What did you forget?’

‘That Debbie Parker had been to see me.’

‘You mean as a patient?’

‘Yes. She came just once. She had rather bad acne, poor thing … frightful skin, and she was depressed, partly as a result of her appearance. She
was rather overweight too. I don’t know if you know that?’

Freya merely nodded.

‘Acupuncture does have a proven effect on skin conditions. It’s one of the areas we really can see benefits from the treatment over time.’

‘What, you mean not everything responds?’

‘By no means. We have our strengths … just as Nick Haydn – you remember you met him at Meriel’s dinner as well?’

‘The osteopath, yes.
I didn’t get much chance to talk to him.’

‘His discipline has enormous success in some areas and is quite unsuited to the treatment of others. You wouldn’t send anyone with acne to him.’

‘When did Debbie Parker come to see you?’

‘I looked it up in the database. It was October. She had an initial consultation, which is quite long, and one treatment. I suggested she come back for three more but
she never did.’

‘Did she contact you to explain why?’

‘No. I wasn’t surprised, in fact.’

‘Why?’

‘She seemed uneasy. Nervous.’ He thought about the expression on Debbie’s fat, unattractive face. ‘Some people simply cannot take the needles. They don’t hurt,
but people are afraid of them. They can’t relax. Debbie was an unhappy girl.’

‘Unhappy enough, in your opinion, to take her own life?’

He paused. ‘That is always very difficult to answer.’

‘Just an opinion. But it could be important.’

‘Then – in my professional opinion, yes. I think she was just the sort of young woman to do so.’

He looked into Freya Graffham’s face, but it gave nothing back. Did she believe him? He could not have said, and the fact annoyed him.

‘Did she mention having suicidal feelings?’

‘Oh no. Nothing
like that. So far as I remember, she said she sometimes felt “a bit down” – but then, so do many patients.’

‘You didn’t think there was immediate risk of her committing suicide?’

He sighed again and shook his head. ‘But you can see why I now blame myself, can’t you?’

‘We have no reason at all to suppose Debbie has taken her own life – that she is dead at all.’

‘Off the record, don’t you think
it the most likely explanation?’ Tell me, he thought, urging her, tell me what you think, tell me what the official police verdict is going to be, tell me.

But Freya Graffham merely shook her head slightly. ‘I’m grateful to you for coming in. It’s never too late. It just slots another piece into the puzzle. So thank you. And don’t worry about not remembering earlier.’

Efficient. Cool. Professional.
But not tough, he thought, certainly not tough.

She walked out of the station and down the steps with him.

‘I don’t suppose you would remember if either of the other two missing women had consulted you?’

It was a typical ploy, to leave one last question and then spring it, as an afterthought, unimportant, scarcely worth mentioning, but … He was not remotely taken by surprise, did not stumble,
did not hesitate.

‘I read about one other woman. I’m afraid I can’t remember the name though.’

‘Angela Randall.’

He stood, thinking for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I’ll check of course, but I don’t think so. But you mentioned that there were two others besides Debbie? Isn’t this becoming rather worrying to you? How many women normally go missing in a small place like Lafferton in the course
of a year, let alone a few weeks?’

‘Not too many. There was an appeal about the three of them on local radio and television.’

‘Then I’m afraid I missed it.’

‘The third hasn’t been seen for a couple of days.’

‘Oh, in that case …’

‘Yes?’

She is watching me. She is looking at me and trying to discover something. ‘How long is it before you panic?’ he asked, smiling.

But she did not smile back.
‘We don’t. We take everything more or less seriously according to individual circumstances.’

‘And what were these?’

‘Different from the other two.’

Yes. Different. Unplanned. A mistake.

‘I doubt if I’ll uncover any more patients among your missing persons but give me a name.’

‘Chater. Mrs Iris Chater.’

‘Age?’

‘Seventy-one.’

‘I’ll go over my records carefully … for how far back, do you
suggest?’

‘That’s up to you … try a couple of years initially. Do you keep full records for longer?’

He pressed the remote control and his car headlights flashed in response. He walked over to the driver’s door, opened it, and only then turned back to her with a smile.

‘I never destroy any records at all. I’ll check and telephone you. May I have a number?’

‘If I’m not here at the station,
a message will always reach me.’

She stood on the bottom step and watched his car move off. As it turned out into the main road, Aidan Sharpe waved.

‘Can you look up a man called Aidan Sharpe?’

‘Hang on, Sarge … Let me grab a pen.’

‘S-h-a-r-p-e … he’s an acupuncturist. Been in Lafferton a few years and I don’t know where before that. Look up the national register, double-check his qualifications
… it’s unlikely there’s anything else, I’m sure he won’t have form, but run it through.’

‘What am I looking for?’

‘I don’t know. Anything. Nothing probably.’

‘Thanks a bunch. How hot is this, Sarge? – only the DCI’s gone mad, twenty-four hours to find every dealer and user in a fifty-mile radius, search every garage and lock-up, pull in everyone with ten minutes over on their parking time,
I don’t know who’s on his back.’

‘Bevham. It’s out of control, they know it and they’re trying to shift the focus. Spare me five minutes.’

‘What is it about this guy Sharpe?’

‘He wears a bow tie.’

‘Girl’s blouse then.’

Freya’s phone rang.

‘Sarge? Your bow tie.’

‘Anything?’

‘Nope. Fully qualified, got all his letters and that.’

‘Where did he train?’

‘London and China. He got a pigtail
and all?’

I am frightened. You always knew what to do when I was frightened. You left the lamp on low, you talked to me in a quiet voice, you stayed close to me. But now I need you far more than I did then and you don’t hear, you don’t reply, you have withdrawn yourself and that is cruel of you.

The phone drilled into Cat Deerbon’s strange dream about a white pony. It was half past three. She answered automatically, before remembering that she was not on call.

‘Cat? It’s Karin … listen, I’m so sorry to wake you …’

Cat sat up. Chris stirred, mumbled, and slept on.

‘It’s OK, don’t worry, but just hold on a few seconds. I’ll put this phone down and pick up the other.’

She slipped
out of bed and went quietly down to the kitchen. The cat was on the old sofa at the Aga end, and Cat settled next to it.

‘OK, I’m here. What’s wrong?’

There was a silence. Cat waited. Instinctively, she knew that Karin would respond better than if she were pumped with questions.

The dishwasher hummed faintly on the last stages of its cycle. The kitchen was wonderfully cosy.

‘I’m scared. I’ve
been awake for a long time. I couldn’t not ring you.’

‘I’m glad you did. Is Mike there?’

‘No, he’s in New York. Anyway, I can’t talk to him.’

‘OK.’

‘I know I’m doing the right thing, I still know that. There’s no way I can go down the other road.’

‘This isn’t just pride talking, is it? If so, forget it. Doesn’t matter.’

‘It isn’t pride.’

‘Has something happened?’

‘No … not really.’

‘I’ll
take that as a yes, then.’

‘I’ve had awful backache. I don’t mean gardening backache.’

‘Where?’

‘In the middle and a bit lower down. Not between the shoulders.’

‘All the time?’

‘On and off.’

‘But more on.’

‘Just for a few days.’

‘Do you want me to come over now?’

‘Christ, no, please. I’m just scared, Cat. I haven’t been scared before. I’ve had it all under control.’

‘Part of the problem?’

‘I don’t know. But tonight … everything … death … tombs … earth in my mouth … oxygen masks … going under … pain. Awful pain they can’t do anything about.’

‘Give me half an hour.’

‘No, listen –’

‘And I shall need a double espresso.’

Cat clicked off the phone.

In the field, the grey pony loomed out of the night and stared at her, ghostly white, over the fence. ‘You broke my dream,’ she told
it, and let the car slide down the slope for some yards before starting the engine and turning out into the dark lane.

Karin opened the front door. She was wearing a long white waffle dressing gown, and her hair was tied up. There was never anything unkempt or dishevelled about her, Cat thought, even in the early hours of the morning. But she had lost weight, too much weight too quickly, and
her face had a new look – something about the eyes, something about the prominence of the bones.

Cat kissed her on both cheeks and gave her a long hug. Her body felt slight.

‘You’re a saint,’ Karin said.

‘Nope, just a doc.’

‘And a friend.’

‘That first.’

‘Did you really mean double espresso?’

‘Maybe better tea?’

‘Definitely better.’ Karin filled the kettle. ‘I didn’t even ask if you were
on call, I was in such a state.’

‘It’s irrelevant.’

‘It got to me. I don’t think it has until now.’

‘It had to.’

‘I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never been so scared. I haven’t looked death in the face like that until now. I didn’t care for its expression.’

‘Apart from the frights, how have you been?’

‘OK, until I got backache. That’s a bore. What do you suppose it is?’

‘I’ll have a look
at you in a minute if you like. I don’t know. You said it wasn’t gardening backache but have
you been working out there? You know how it is – first warm days of the year, everyone goes out to dig and we get the fallout.’

‘I haven’t been working in the garden.’

She set two full mugs in front of them. Cat noticed that, for once, Karin’s was plain Indian tea too, not herbal.

‘Anything else?’

‘Not really.’

‘What?’

Karin shrugged. ‘Tired. That’s nothing.’ Her skin, always beautiful, had a transparent sheen.

‘Will you go for a scan?’

‘Oh, Cat, what’s the point? We both know what it is, what’s happening to me. Why have it underlined? I’d rather not know.’

‘That isn’t like you.’

‘It’s like this me.’

She lifted her mug, took a sip of tea, set it down again, and looked across at Cat,
her eyes brimming with tears. ‘What’s going to happen?’ she said.

‘I am being absolutely truthful when I say that I don’t know. I need something to go on, Karin.’

‘Educated guess.’

‘No.’

‘OK then, I’ll do it for you. Secondaries. Probably in the spine. I’ve been coughing as well. So, lungs too. But I’m
not
going to go to hospital, I’m
not
seeing an oncologist. When I need a doctor, I’ll have
you if that’s OK. I’m going on with my healer. I’ve an appointment tomorrow. It really helps.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m being stricter with the diet as well.’