The Unquiet Dead Page 2

  ‘You said that yesterday.’

  Jessie growled.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Tucking a rogue piece of hair behind her ear, Jessie put on her mental body armour and pushed open the double doors that led to the Criminal Investigation Department. Someone had put up a new sign on the notice board. It read: YOU CAN ALWAYS GET ANOTHER WIFE. YOU ONLY GET ONE CHANCE IN CID. Jessie sailed past it. It wasn’t the worst she’d seen. Or the last.

  She took a surreptitious peek through the window of her office door and saw two overly dressed, heavily made-up, middle-aged women sitting in front of her desk. Ageing actresses were a sight for sore eyes, and that morning she had very sore eyes. The two women were talking animatedly; one of them Jessie did not know, but she recognised Sarah Klein immediately. Over the years Jessie had seen her in numerous TV dramas and stage plays. But not so many recently.

  As she pushed open the door she took in Ms Klein’s appearance – the underwired bra, the unladdered stockings, the matching shoes and handbag, the repeatedly applied lipstick – and wondered how long it had taken her to dress that morning. Too long, Jessie decided, if you thought your daughter was missing.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, interrupting the women.

  ‘Jessie Driver!’ exclaimed Sarah Klein, standing up. ‘P.J. said you’d –’

  Jessie stuck out her hand. ‘Detective Inspector Driver,’ she cut in, trying to get her point across without sounding prim. ‘You must be Sarah Klein.’

  ‘Well of course I am. P.J. said you’d –’

  Jessie interrupted her again; she didn’t want to hear his name for a third time. ‘Please, let’s deal with the problem in hand. My colleague tells me that you think your daughter is missing.’

  ‘I know she is missing! Don’t you give me that policeman crap as well. I came directly to you so that I wouldn’t have to go through the usual hoops.’

  ‘The usual hoops are there because, thankfully, most “disappearances” are nothing more sinister than simple misunderstandings.’

  ‘She is missing, I tell you. Her phone is switched off – she never switches her phone off, she even keeps it on during the movies!’

  How considerate, thought Jessie.

  ‘P.J. is a very good friend of mine. Call him, if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Ms Klein, it isn’t a question of believing you; it’s a question of dealing with this in an appropriate manner. What did she say to you when she left?’

  ‘Bye, Mummy, I love you.’ Sarah Klein spoke in a far-away, slightly childish voice. ‘I remember it specifically because it was so odd.’

  ‘It was odd that she told you she loved you?’

  ‘No,’ she replied defensively. ‘It was odd because she wouldn’t normally say it when she was popping out for coffee. She also told me what time she’d be back. Usually she’s very vague about that sort of thing, always changing her plans, but yesterday she said she’d be back at five because there was something she wanted to watch on TV.’

  ‘So she changed her plans often, you say?’

  ‘Yes, but …’ Ms Klein frowned. Jessie stared as the actress’s perfectly arched brows fought against the effects of Botox. ‘She would have phoned. She always phones – maybe not immediately, but she’d never stay out all night without calling me. And even if she did, she’d have phoned me by now.’

  ‘It’s only ten in the morning. Is it possible that she decided to go out with her friends, met someone and …’ How to put this delicately? ‘… is still with them?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ The actress slammed her hands down on the armrests for maximum effect. ‘There is no way Anna Maria would go out without coming home to change first.’

  There was a knock on the door and Niaz came in with a steaming mug of coffee. Jessie inhaled the aroma. Canteen coffee had never smelled so good. But she didn’t get to taste it, or thank him, because Mark Ward suddenly burst through Jessie’s door, slamming into Niaz and causing the coffee to spill. Her fellow DI swore under his breath.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, backing out of the room. ‘Didn’t know you had company.’

  Sarah Klein stood up. So royalty rises, thought Jessie, though not for women and not for people of ethnic origin. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘Sarah Klein.’

  Ward was looking worried.

  ‘What is it, Mark?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it can wait,’ he said, retreating to the corridor with a final frantic glance at Jessie.

  Jessie stood. ‘Niaz, please stay with Ms Klein. Take a statement, a detailed description of what Anna Maria was wearing, her mobile number, the names of her friends and where and when she was planning to meet them. Then, Ms Klein, I suggest you go home and wait. Hopefully, Anna Maria will be back by the end of the day. If not, we’ll have everything in place to act.’

  ‘That isn’t enough,’ exclaimed Sarah Klein.

  ‘With all of that we can start looking at CCTV footage. We’ll be able to map her movements quite easily, provided you can give us that information.’

  ‘And then you’ll get the press involved?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Jessie, curious. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s the quickest way to get maximum coverage – for sightings and things. I hate the press myself, but I’ll do whatever I have to do, for Anna Maria.’

  What was it with these people? ‘Let’s start with the information I’ve requested. We’ll go from there.’

  ‘She has blonde hair and was wearing a Dolce and Gabbana dress –’

  ‘Please,’ said Jessie, taking the dripping coffee mug from Niaz. ‘Tell PC Ahmet.’

  Sarah Klein looked briefly at Niaz, but she was a good actress and disguised her disappointment well.

  As Jessie had suspected, Mark Ward was waiting for her in the hall. She mimicked strangulation as the door closed behind her. ‘I bet you a fiver the daughter has legged it,’ she whispered. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘I don’t know, how did that go?’

  ‘A couple of ageing actresses first thing in the morning, how do you think?’

  ‘Shit,’ said Mark.

  ‘Tell me she isn’t appearing in a play that’s dying a death. Can you believe how far these people will go to get good box-office receipts?’

  ‘But that’s just it –’ Mark stopped but Jessie had already felt the draught. Her office door was open. She turned. Sarah Klein’s clone was looking at her with a very unnerving expression on her face. Clearly she’d heard what Jessie had said. Her only option was to bluff it. But before she’d even managed to force her mouth into a smile, or utter polite platitudes, the angry woman spoke.

  ‘That was very unimpressive.’

  ‘I’m sorry if you think that, but in my experience –’

  Mark pushed the back of his shoe into Jessie’s heel. She ignored his warning. She’d had enough of the arrogance of vaguely famous people, assuming they were more important than everyone else and therefore deserving of special treatment.

  ‘– these sort of situations –’

  ‘How can you possibly judge the situation when you didn’t ask the right questions?’

  ‘If you have anything to add, please go ahead.’

  Mark pushed her aside and stepped forward. ‘Driver, perhaps you haven’t met –’

  ‘Careful,’ protested Jessie.

  ‘I think he is trying to tell you to be careful. Thank you, Mark, but I think we can handle this from here.’

  Jessie looked from her colleague to the heavily made-up woman and back again.

  ‘Handle what?’ asked Jessie.

  ‘That will be all, Mark. Thank you,’ she said imperiously. To Jessie’s astonishment, Mark nodded curtly and left. A little hole opened up beneath her feet and she looked longingly into it. But the ground was solid; she wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘DCI Moore,’ said Jessie, offering her hand. ‘I don’t believe we’ve properly met.’

  ‘No. Seems you were u
navailable to attend my induction yesterday afternoon. DI Ward said you were …’ she paused looking Jessie up and down, ‘indisposed.’

  Bollocks was the only word that sprung to Jessie’s mind. Bollocks. Bollocks. Bollocks.

  ‘I wouldn’t have got where I am if I didn’t know the difference between indisposed and a hangover. You, DI Driver, have a hangover. I can smell it.’

  Jessie opened her mouth, then closed it again. A series of other swear words were now filling the void in her head where fabulous excuses should have been.

  ‘I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume your performance in there is down to your,’ she paused again, ‘indisposition. However, had I been Ms Klein’s lawyer – and for all you knew I might have been just that – I would have advised her to make a formal complaint against you. Don’t ever treat a victim of crime like that again.’

  Getting defensive wasn’t going to get her out of this. ‘I apologise,’ said Jessie. ‘I shall take over from Niaz immediately.’

  ‘Who is this Niaz? What’s a PC in uniform doing here in CID?’

  ‘He’s been seconded to CID from Putney. He shows true promise and I’m hoping he’ll take the exams.’

  ‘“True promise” in whose judgement?’

  Jessie didn’t reply. She wasn’t going to let DCI Moore tar Niaz with the same brush. Moore turned on her high heel and walked away, leaving Jessie reeling. What bloody induction? Where was Jones? He wasn’t supposed to be leaving for another week. And why didn’t Mark warn her? She kicked Mark’s door open. He held up his hands as if she were wielding a gun.

  ‘She turned up about an hour after you called in.’

  ‘Why didn’t you phone me, tell me to come back?’

  ‘I tried to, but your mobile was switched off.’

  Jessie had a vague memory of listening to some messages when she and Bill got home that evening. But by then she’d been drinking for ten hours and was in a fairly shoddy condition.

  ‘I feel like shit.’

  ‘You look like shit. I came to find you first thing. I didn’t know she was going to hide in your office like that.’

  ‘What was she doing there, anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe you share a common hobby.’

  Hungover and slow on the uptake, Jessie just frowned.

  ‘Star-fucking,’ said Mark gleefully.

  ‘I’m not going to dignify that with a response,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Only because you can’t.’

  ‘What is it, fuck on Jessie day? And what the hell does “indisposed” mean?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You told that overly made-up harridan that I was indisposed.’

  Mark’s eyes suddenly widened and he appeared to swell. Jessie didn’t dare turn around.

  ‘Mark,’ said the cool voice of DCI Moore over Jessie’s left shoulder, ‘I was wondering if you would give me a tour of the premises. Jones isn’t going to be able to make it in again today.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ The words exploded out of him on his pent-up breath.

  ‘Thank you.’ Jessie heard the heels click away from her; she must have been tiptoeing earlier. The clicking stopped. Jessie braced herself. ‘Incidentally, Driver, you should think of doing something about your hair.’ Jessie turned reluctantly, imagining what it would feel like to turn into a pillar of salt. ‘You may not be in uniform, but you still represent the police force. Most importantly, you reflect your superiors and that means more than getting out of bed in the morning and hoping for the best.’

  Again, the doors closed behind her. She turned to Mark. ‘I’m fucked.’

  He shrugged.

  She could have killed him.

  Bill and Jessie sat on her sofa, their feet up on the coffee table, tea in hand. Neither her day nor her hangover had improved. Bill had made comforting noises when she finally fell through the door, but Jessie knew he didn’t really understand. He wasn’t a locker-room sort of man, whereas Jessie lived in one.

  ‘So what have you been doing all day, while I’ve been having my balls busted?’

  ‘Eating crap food and watching videos. Malcolm X, excellent film. I’d never got round to –’

  She lifted the remote control and increased the volume. ‘Shh, this is it.’

  ‘Our main story tonight,’ said the newsreader. ‘Anna Maria Klein, the only child of actress Sarah Klein, is missing. The schoolgirl was last seen in London’s red-light district –’

  ‘She won’t like that,’ interrupted Jessie.

  ‘– where she was supposed to be meeting friends at a coffee shop. Amanda Hornby is there now. Amanda, what can you tell us?’

  ‘She’s foxy,’ said Bill. Jessie hit him.

  ‘Good evening. Well, the police are telling us very little at the moment. Anna Maria was reported missing by her mother this morning at West End Central police station. After initially being told to wait and see by one senior officer, the panicked mother was finally taken seriously late this afternoon.’

  ‘Why the change in approach?’

  ‘Sarah Klein apparently spent the day calling her daughter’s friends, until she found who Anna Maria was supposed to be meeting. The friends then confirmed that Anna Maria had never arrived at the coffee shop just behind me.’

  ‘And this had them worried?’

  ‘No. They say that Anna Maria often changed her plans.’

  ‘See? Flaky,’ said Jessie.

  ‘But time is very much of the essence in situations like these,’ redirected the newsreader.

  ‘That’s right. Every second counts, and it’s true many hours were lost before an investigation into Anna Maria’s whereabouts got underway. Now the teenager is facing her second night away from home and all her mother can do is hope for her safe return. This is Amanda Hornby, Soho, in London, for Channel Five News.’

  Jessie quietly shook her head.

  ‘It sounds serious,’ said Bill.

  ‘Wait for the CCTV footage and then tell me if you think she’s been abducted. They’ll show it at the end of the bulletin, that way they keep the viewers glued.’

  ‘This cynicism doesn’t suit you, Jessie.’

  ‘It isn’t cynicism,’ she said, looking at her brother. ‘It’s instinct. And if I’m wrong, Moore will have my guts for garters.’

  The newsreader went on until it was time to go to a break. After the ads, as Jessie had predicted, they showed the CCTV clip. Jessie had rounded up the film from all the public cameras around Soho that covered the coffee shop and its various approaches. She had also checked the ones around the actress’s house. If suspicious circumstances were ever confirmed, Jessie’s next step would be to gain access to the non-public CCTV footage: the cameras outside local shops, garages and offices. Jessie didn’t think it would come to that. By five that afternoon, after hours spent scanning the footage frame by frame, Anna Maria had been caught on film. The cab she had taken from her mother’s house had dropped her at the beginning of Carnaby Street. She had walked through the throng to the corner of Poland Street and Broadwick Street. There, directly under the eye of a surveillance camera, Anna Maria had waited for some time before moving off towards Marshall Street. Once out of range of the camera, she simply disappeared.

  Bill and Jessie watched the actress’s daughter, stationary amidst the rushing crowd. She was noticeable by her stillness and her Dolce & Gabbana fur-trimmed coat and high-heeled boots.

  ‘Obviously she’s waiting for someone. Perhaps she misunderstood the plan with her friends?’ said Bill.

  ‘If she was waiting for someone she’d be looking around, glancing at her watch, maybe making a call to see where her friends are. She’s doing none of those things; she’s just standing there. And look at the bag.’

  ‘It’s big,’ said Bill.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘But that’s fashionable.’

  ‘Bill, you’ve been in the back of beyond for months, how do you know what
is fashionable?’

  Bill grinned. ‘Didn’t I tell you about the air hostess on the flight back?’

  ‘You swapped fashion tips with an air hostess?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Remind me not to let you anywhere near my friends.’

  ‘You’ll have to if you’re going to be burning the midnight oil on this case.’

  ‘Bill, there isn’t a case, unless it’s a prosecution for wasting police time. I offer you my final piece of evidence.’ She passed him a copy of the previous day’s Evening Standard. ‘You find me a programme at five o’clock that a sixteen-year-old girl would leave her friends for to return home and watch. There isn’t one. Anna Maria Klein is up to something, and it’s possible her mother is directing the show.’

  ‘I don’t know, Jess, she looked distraught on the news piece I saw.’

  ‘She’s an actress. It’s her job to convince people.’

  2

  Jessie woke early to wash her hair. Determined to rectify the situation with DCI Moore, she dressed with her new boss in mind. She wouldn’t stretch to a skirt; not just because they made chasing criminals very hard, but because the piss-take she’d receive would be extreme. More extreme than normal. Instead, she opted for her black trouser suit, hoping it would endear her to the woman. If looking good was important to her new boss, well, this suit made Jessie look good, even if she said so herself. DCI Moore was obviously a hard nut. Fair enough, you had to be hard to succeed in this game. Jessie would dance to her tune. The line of command was more important than personality.

  Clipping her hair off her face with slides, she put on enough make-up so that a woman would notice but a man wouldn’t. If Anna Maria hadn’t reappeared from wherever she was holed up, there was the possibility Jessie would be in front of the camera before the day was out. But when she saw herself in the hall mirror she nearly tore it all off. Dressing like this went against her self-imposed laws of survival. Rule number one: camouflage. You can’t attack what you can’t see.

  Bill appeared from his bedroom in his boxer shorts, smiled at her sleepily and went to the bathroom. She envied him his fitness. The more she progressed in the police force, the more sedentary her life was becoming. She made a promise to herself that she would run home from work at the end of the day and went into the spare room to fetch her kit.