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Authors: Clare Curzon

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BOOK: The Glass Wall
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In the penthouse Alyson rang Sheena after breakfast for a report on Carlton Merritt's visit, but there was no answer. Mrs Judd, hearing the phone ring as she was letting herself in hampered by her shopping bags, struggled to release the key from the door's lock. She clucked with annoyance, hearing the phone cut off as she reached it. She dumped her plastic carriers by the kitchen table, eased her aching back and dropped into a chair. When she had kicked her shoes off, she called aloud for Sheena. The girl was idle, still lying abed like that and letting the phone ring on and on.
It was after the kettle had boiled and she was dropping tea bags in two pottery mugs that she realized the girl's sleep must be unnaturally deep or she'd gone out unusually early. She stomped along to the bedroom next to her own and looked in. The bed was made up exactly as she'd left it the previous day. Sheena hadn' t merely been late home, she'd been out on the tiles all night.
Little madam, not saying a word or phoning in! Mrs Judd fumed. So much for the boyfriend being such a gentleman! If she went on this way, throwing herself at him, she'd lose him for sure. No good could come of it. He'd take her for a flighty bit, and that wasn't the sort they married, unless they got cornered. But at least Sheena knew better than to go and get herself pregnant.
Not that marriage was quite what it was once reckoned. Youngsters weren't all that keen these days to get wed, even quite
respectable ones. All the same, there was nothing like having a ring on your finger and people calling you Mrs. Keep a bit of distance between and you're more likely to get a lad who'd stick with something legally binding.
Besides, it'd be nice to have all the fuss of a proper wedding. Sheena had missed out on that last time, going off and doing that hole-in-a-corner business at a registry office with witnesses off the street. It'd be expensive, of course, but the girl must have something put by. She needn't expect it to come out of her Mum's pension, though she'd buckle to and help provide some of the goodies for the reception back here.
The uncles would expect to be invited, and a few neighbours. One in the eye for that snooty Mrs Parker whose slutty daughter had an illegitimate baby and nobody to father it. And maybe this time Sheena would settle down, have a baby of her own. It would be nice having a little one in the house again. The future looked crammed with possibilities.
Still no message from the girl, not even to say she'd not want a meal before going on duty. If she didn't buck up she was going to be late for work, and she'd need to drop by to pick up a clean overall.
Mrs Judd went back to the phone and pressed in 1471. The number she was given sounded vaguely familiar. She had herself connected. It was Nurse Orme who answered. So the previous call had come from her. Sal Judd was at a loss for words.
‘Hello,' Alyson repeated into the silence, sounding short of patience.
‘Oh, you rang me earlier,' Mrs Judd managed to get out.
‘I was ringing Sheena. Is this her mother?'
‘Yes. Well, she's not here at the moment. I'm expecting her back any time now.'
‘I'm sorry to bother you. I thought she might have rung to say how she got on with the man from the insurance. But never mind, perhaps she'll get here a few minutes early. She can tell me all about it then.'
Mrs Judd's face screwed into a scowl. There was no way Sheena was even going to be on time.
‘Sorry I can't help you, Nurse.' And that was a lie if ever there was one.
She firmly replaced the phone. There was a big row coming up and she'd no intention of being anywhere near it. If Sheena didn' t look out she could lose her job. That's what came of letting a man get to your head. She'd really gone overboard this time.
‘Look,' the man said, wrapping the towelling bathrobe more closely round him as sleet drove straight into his doorway, ‘I've had all this from your lot already. For God's sake can't you get it into your heads that I'm satisfied little harm's done and I'll be more careful in future. So you can clear off. It's not easy being a night-worker, and this is my sleep time.'
It would be hard to decide, Beaumont considered, taking in Allbright's disagreeable face, squat body and mottled bare legs coated in long black hairs, to decide which of the two combatants was the uglier, though DI Salmon's purposeful expression might just give him the edge on the other.
‘We're letting the weather in,' the DS observed mildly. ‘How about us going inside, sitting down together and settling it for good. Then you can go back to bed.'
‘Five minutes,' Allbright allowed eventually, scowling and winning outright on the non-beauty points. He stood back to allow the two detectives to go past. A rush of warm air met them from the hall radiator and sent shivers wriggling down the sergeant's back. He eased off his wet parka and dropped it on the quality carpet. The rest of the house looked quality too, he decided, as they were ushered through into a stainless steel and smoked-glass kitchen. Floor and wall tiles were pale lavender. A bit girly, to his mind.
Nightwork at a warehouse clearly paid a deal better than policing. ‘Nice place you've got here,' he remarked flatly.
Salmon appeared less interested in his immediate surroundings and scorned to take one of the seats on offer. ‘Mr Allbright,' he launched straight in, ‘we are not satisfied with your account of the theft from your bank account. Particularly since examining the film taken at the cashpoint where the money was withdrawn.'
That was blatant bluff. All the team had examined the film. If Allbright had been present then he'd had the sense to stand well out of view. But there was no mistaking the way Micky Kane had glanced up before touching the keyboard as if memorizing a number or waiting for instructions.
Allbright's mouth opened but he checked himself in time. He could have been about to deny being at the cashpoint. His mind was working overtime to deflect suspicion. And he had no idea of the range of the video camera lens.
‘Look,' he said, ‘I wasn't quite straight before. The truth is I felt sorry for the kid. I saw him begging at the station; had a cardboard box he'd spent the night in. He never stole the money. I offered to lend him – well, give him, I suppose – something to tide him over and get him back home.'
‘Fifty pounds?' Salmon sneered. ‘He was a Londoner, only came from Wimbledon.'
Allbright shrugged. ‘It was to cover a decent meal and his train journey, with a bit left over to cheer him up. I ran away from home myself when I was a bit older than him and I remember how godawful it was.'
Salmon took on a masterful stance. ‘There was no cardboard box. Since the attempted rapes on women travelling late at night, there's been a regular security sweep at and around the station. No homeless hanging out there; no beggars.
‘And you don't need to travel by train, Mr Allbright. You work locally, and beyond that you've a more than adequate car for the purpose, and a Harley-Davidson besides. It's because you've no reason to visit the railway station that you know so little about it. Now, suppose you tell us why you've found it necessary to lie to the police, and exactly what services you were paying this young boy for.'
Allbright looked more than scared. Almost sick. And Beaumont was impressed that the DI had already followed up on his registered vehicles.
‘When did you first meet the boy?' Salmon pursued. ‘How long has he been living under your roof since then?'
Allbright sank on to the breakfast bench. His bathrobe fell open to reveal more of the gorilla legs and the edge of striped silk boxer shorts. Not a pretty sight.
He was silent, staring at the floor, fists bunched, a tide of crimson rising up the bull-like neck to flood his face.
‘While you're thinking up something suitable to tell us,'
Beaumont suggested pleasantly, ‘how about a tour of the house, and in particular the place where he was sleeping.'
From that point Allbright put up no resistance. Micky had actually been allocated a single room of his own, and searching the wardrobe there produced a school duffel bag with Smiley stickers and a name tape on it. Inside were his neatly folded school uniform, two books – one on the night sky, the other a paperback thriller – a Parker pen and a well-thumbed notebook which Salmon pocketed for later examination. No change of underclothes, so perhaps the boy hadn't meant to stay away overnight. Nevertheless he had certainly settled in here. So much for Allbright's solicitous intentions to pack him off home.
‘You can't take that stuff!' Allbright protested as he started putting the stuff together. ‘It's Micky's.'
Now it was Salmon's turn to be caught with his mouth agape and the wrong words nearly out. He caught himself in time. Either Allbright didn't know the boy was dead or he was more quick-witted than his appearance suggested. Let the doubt stand for the moment.
‘I must ask you,' the DI said sourly, ‘to come with us to the local police station where you may be required to answer further questions.'
‘Are you arresting me?' He sounded incredulous.
‘Not at this point.' Salmon almost smirked. ‘That's not saying that the possibility won't arise.'
Allbright rose from where he'd slumped on the bed and stared back with intensity. ‘I prefer to make a voluntary statement. And I want my solicitor with me.'
‘You have that right, Mr Allbright. Would you care to make that call now?'
He chose to do this from another room, although there was a wall-fitted white phone right there. Salmon nodded Beaumont towards it, and stood listening by the open door ready to give the sign to lift the receiver. Beaumont, adept at interceptions, complied.
Allbright spoke to a woman receptionist at Callendar, Fitt and Travis. After a certain amount of faffing and fussing while he
explained his requirement, Fitt himself came on to explain unhappily that they didn't normally cover criminal cases, but he would send someone along who could advise him on how much, or how little, to admit when questioned.
At that point Beaumont replaced the receiver in synch with the man cutting off the call. Salmon strutted after Allbright and could be heard instructing him to get dressed.
Wrapped against the weather, a tight-lipped Allbright climbed into the rear of the unmarked police car, having been denied his own. ‘We shall provide a lift back,' Salmon intoned, ‘if that becomes necessary.'
 
Alyson Orme sometimes claimed that, like any ITU nurse, she was good at management by crisis. This time she knew she was out on a branch and alone. Two further phone calls to the Judd house had produced progressively surly negatives from Sheena's mother.
‘I honestly don't know what she thinks she's up to,' the woman said in final exasperation. ‘It's having this new boyfriend. It's quite gone to her head.'
‘Do you mean she's still missing? When did you last see her, Mrs Judd?'
Sal Judd thought back. ‘Yesterday midday before she went off to work. She was looking sort of pleased with herself. Like she was planning some treat.'
‘And she didn't come home last night? So maybe we can reach her through this man friend. Can you give me his number?'
‘I don't know it. Nor who he is neither. Well, you know what girls are these days. Never tell their mums anything.'
Rebuffed, Alyson said goodbye, rang off and dialled Ramón's number. She would need him to cover for Sheena since she didn't appear to be coming in. Time was running out for Alyson to be at the ITU herself.
Again at the Crown hotel someone was sent to find him. When he came on she explained the fix she was in. ‘Did Sheena say what she had in mind for yesterday evening – where she was going?'
‘No. She tell me nothing,' he said cautiously.
‘Did she ever mention a man friend to you?'
‘No name, but – there is a person interested, I think.'
‘Yes?'
‘He visits. I find coffee things used. Two mugs.'
‘Ramón, I need someone to fill in for her. Emily can't be left alone and I have to get to work. I could be late already.'
‘You want I come? I regret, impossible.' Over the phone her silence got to him. ‘I work here. In hotel.' It sounded like a confession.
‘I see, but surely someone there could replace you. I have nobody at all. You know how helpless Emily is.'
‘Emily, yes. I am sorry.'
‘I will pay double. If you could arrange …'
He made up his mind then. Monday lunch service in the bar wasn't heavy. It was mostly regular drinkers who only wanted a stuffed baguette or crisps besides. Roseanne could manage on her own and he would give her something extra. Also today's duty manager had his restaurant lunch brought to the office, and probably slept it off there afterwards.
‘I arrange something. I come in half an hour.'
Alyson drew a deep breath of relief. She thanked him and rang off. When she was connected with ITU she found Bernice was already in charge.
‘Well, if it can't be helped,' she grumbled, ‘I'll expect you when I see you. Are you sure it's not a mammoth hangover from last night?'
‘No mammoths in it, pink or otherwise,' Alyson assured her. ‘I don't do hairy monsters.' Suddenly her spirits had soared. Crisis over. She'd been near panic point a few minutes before at realization of what fragile arrangements kept Emily going. Somehow she'd have to organize a back-up system, though it wasn't yet clear how. Perhaps an agency nurse.
There was no chance to exchange more than a greeting when Ramón arrived. As she dodged through the traffic on her way to the hospital it struck her fully what he'd said about the hotel. He was actually employed there. That was why it took time to find him when she rang. He didn't have a guest's room with a phone, but would live in cramped staff quarters. And he had that only
because of the job. He could have put it at risk by pulling out from whatever duties he was responsible for that afternoon.
She felt a rush of sympathy for the little man. It wasn't just the offer of double pay that had made up his mind. She remembered his voice softening as he said, ‘Emily, yes. I am sorry.' Real regret. It could be he already felt some bonding with his patient. There had been none of that with Sheena. If only he could take her place on a permanent basis.
She scuttled into the unit, locked away her outer clothes and went through to confront Bernice's raised eyebrows. ‘Panic over,' she assured her, pulling on plastic apron and latex gloves. ‘Now, what's new here?'
 
The wind had turned north-easterly, slicing with Siberian savagery. ‘Too cold to snow again,' Beaumont predicted as Z stepped out of her car at the mortuary door.
‘I'm not sure that follows.'
‘Aw, leave me some sort of comfort. I've had all morning with the Charm Fairy and just left him grilling Allbright.'
‘How's it going?'
‘He's a definite maybe. Let's go in.'
Z watched him throw down a half-smoked cigarette behind him and grind his heel on it. Something had started him off again. It seemed he'd given up on the nicotine patches too soon. Or there was some new irritant in his home life.
‘How's the family?'
‘Huh! None-too-subtle extensions of female empire. She wants the living-room redecorated. The boy's dormant at present. I haven't dared ask after his grades. How's your love life?'
‘Also hibernating. Max has gone to Iraq. Doesn't really need to. He just wanted a wider view of things, so he's with the Americans up north.'
Beaumont gave a sympathetic grunt. Max wasn't the investigative kind of journalist but his commentaries on everything from the use of loofahs to the human condition made lively reading. ‘He'll be all right,' he assured her. He knew as well as she did that serendipity was the real enemy when terrorists were involved.
They removed their coats and went to join the mortuary attendant
who was readying the body. Professor Littlejohn appeared from the ante-room snapping on his surgical gloves. ‘A bright good afternoon to all,' he boomed.
Opposite the two detectives the coroner's officer took up standard police at-ease stance as the pathologist clipped the mike to his apron.
‘We have the body of an adolescent male.' He raised one eyebrow at his assistant who promptly reeled off height and weight measurements.
‘He appears to be fine-boned, lean, but well nourished. No obvious disease or disablement.' He droned on, only looking up and nodding as the swing doors opened to allow Superintendent Yeadings to join them.
BOOK: The Glass Wall
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