A Darker Shade of Blue (37 page)

‘This isn't a social call.'

‘Not exactly.'

Kiley sat on one corner of his desk and waved Jennie towards the easy chair. ‘Fire away.'

A heavy lorry went past outside, heading for the Great North Road, and the windows shook. The Great North Road, Kiley thought, when had he last heard someone call it that? Seven years in the Met, four in uniform, the remainder in plain clothes; two years of professional soccer and the rest spent scuffling a living as some kind of private investigator. All the while living here or hereabouts.

The Great North Road – maybe it was time he took it himself. He'd been in that part of London for too long.

‘This woman,' Jennie said, ‘Mary. Mary Anderson. Lives near me. The flats, you know. She used to look after Alice before she started nursery. Just mornings. Alice loved her. Still does. Calls her Gran. She's got this son, Terry. In the Army. Queen's Royal something-or-other, I think it is.'

‘Lancers,' Kiley offered.

‘That's it. Queen's Royal Lancers. They were out in Iraq. Till – what? – a month ago, something like that. End of last week, he should have gone back.'

‘Iraq?'

‘I don't know. Yes, I think so. But not, you know, straight off.'

‘Report to the barracks first.'

Jennie nodded. ‘Yes.'

‘And that's what he didn't do?'

She nodded again.

‘AWOL.'

Jennie blinked.

‘Absent without leave.'

‘Yes.'

‘Does she know where he is? His mum.'

‘All this last week he was staying with her, her flat. Thursday morning, that's when he was due to go back. All his kit there ready in the hall, wearing the uniform she'd ironed for him the night before. He just didn't go. Stood there, not saying anything. Ages, Mary said. Hours. Then he went back into the spare room, where he'd been sleeping and just sat there, staring at the wall. Mary, she had to go out later, mid-morning, not long, just to the shops. When she got back, he'd gone.'

‘She's no idea where?'

‘No. There was no note, nothing. First, of course, she thought he'd changed his mind. Gone back after all. Then she saw all his stuff, his bag and that, all dumped down beside the bed. ‘'Cept his uniform. He'd kept his uniform. And his gun.'

Kiley looked at her sharply.

‘Mary had seen it, this rifle. Seen him cleaning it. She searched through everything but it wasn't there. He must have took it with him.'

‘She's phoned the barracks to make sure …'

‘They phoned her. When he didn't show. They'd got her number, next of kin. She did her best to put them off, told them he'd been taken ill. Promised to get back in touch.' Jennie shook her head. ‘She's worried sick.'

‘He's what? Twenty? Twenty-one?'

Jennie shook her head. ‘No, that's it. He's not some kid. Thirty-five if he's a day. Sergeant, too. The army, it's a career for him. Mary says it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do.'

‘All the more reason to think he'll turn up eventually. Come to his senses.'

Jennie was twisting a silver ring, round and round on her little finger. ‘She said, Mary, before this happened, he'd been acting strange.'

‘In what way?'

‘You'd best ask her.'

‘Look, I didn't say—'

‘Just talk to her …'

‘What for?'

‘Jack …'

‘What?'

‘Talk to her, come on. What's the harm?'

Kiley sighed and eased his chair back from the desk. The man in the charity shop below was sorting through his collection of vinyl. The strains of some group Kiley vaguely remembered from his childhood filtered up through the board. The Easybeats? The Honeycombs? He could see why people would want to get rid of the stuff, but not why anyone would want to buy it again – not even for charity.

Jennie was still looking at him.

‘How did you get here?' Kiley asked. ‘Drive?'

‘Walked. Suicide Bridge.'

Kiley reached for the phone. ‘Let's not tempt face twice. I'll get a cab.'

*

When the council named the roads on the estate after streets in New Orleans they couldn't have known about Hurricane Katrina or its aftermath. Nonetheless, following Jennie through the dog shit and debris and up on to the concrete walkway, Kiley heard inside his head, not the booming hip-hop bass or the occasional metallic shrill of electro-funk that filtered here and there through the open windows, but Dylan's parched voice singing ‘The Levee's Gonna Break'.

Mary Anderson's flat was in the same block as Jennie's but two storeys higher, coping missing at irregular intervals from the balcony, the adjacent property boarded up. A rubber mat outside the front door read ‘
Welcome
', the area immediately around swept and cleaned that morning, possibly scrubbed. A small vase of plastic flowers was visible through the kitchen window.

Mary Anderson herself was no more than five three or four and slightly built, her neat grey hair and flowered apron making her look older than she probably was.

‘This is Jack Kiley,' Jennie said. ‘The man I spoke to you about, remember? He's going to help find Terry.'

Kiley shot her a look which she ignored.

‘Of course,' Mary said. ‘Come in.' She held out her hand. ‘Jennie, you know where to go, love. I'll just pop the kettle on.' Despite the cheeriness in her voice, there were tears ready at the corners of her eyes.

They sat in the lavender living room, cups of tea none of them really wanted in their hands, doing their best not to stare at the pictures of Terry Anderson that lined the walls. Terry in the park somewhere, three or four, pointing at the camera with a plastic gun; a school photograph in faded colour, tie askew; Terry and his dad on a shingle beach with bat and ball; a young teenager in cadet uniform, smart on parade. Others, older, head up and shoulders back, a different uniform, recognisable still as the little lad with the plastic gun. Bang, bang, you're dead.

On the mantelpiece, in a silver frame, was a carefully posed shot of Terry on his wedding day – in uniform again and with a tallish brunette in white hanging on his arm, her eyes bright and hopeful, confetti in her hair. Arranged at either side were pictures of two young children, boy and girl, Terry's own children presumably, Mary's grandchildren.

Jennie's cup rattled against its saucer, the small noise loud in the otherwise silent room.

‘You've heard nothing from him?' Kiley said.

‘Nothing.'

‘Not since Thursday?'

‘Not a thing.'

‘And you've no idea …?'

She was already shaking her head.

‘His family …' Kiley began, a nod towards the photographs.

‘They separated, split up, eighteen months ago. Just after young Keiron's fifth birthday. That's him there. And Billie. I always thought it a funny name for a girl, not quite right, but she insisted …'

‘Could he have gone there? To see them?'

‘Him and Rebecca, they've scarce spoken. Not since it happened.'

‘Even so …'

‘He's not allowed. Not allowed. It makes my blood boil. His own children and the only time he gets to see them it's an hour in some poky little room with Social Services outside the bloody door.' Her voice wobbled and Kiley thought she was going to break down and surrender to tears, but she rallied and her fingers tightened into fists, clenched in her lap.

‘You've been in touch all the same?' Kiley said. ‘With Rebecca, is it? To be certain.'

‘I have not.'

‘But—'

‘Terry'd not have gone there. Not to her. A clean break, that's what she said. Better for the children. Easier all round.' She sniffed. ‘Better for the children. Cutting them off from their own father. It's not natural.'

She looked at him sternly, as if defying him to say she was wrong.

‘How about the children?' Kiley asked. ‘Do you get to see them at all?'

‘Just once since she moved away. This Christmas past. They were staying with her parents, Hertfordshire somewhere. Her parents, that's different. That's all right.' Anger made her voice tremble. ‘“We can't stop long,” she said, Rebecca, almost before I could close the door. And then she sat there where you are now, going on and on about how her parents were helping her with the rent on a new house and how they were all making a fresh start and she'd be going back to college now that she'd arranged day care. And the children sitting on the floor all the time, too scared to speak, poor lambs. Threatened with the Lord know what, I dare say, if they weren't on their best behaviour. Little Billie, she came up to me just as they were going, and whispered, “I love you, Gran,” and I hugged her and said, “I love you, too. Both of you.” And then she hustled them out the door.'

Kiley reached his cup from the floor. ‘Terry, he knows where her parents live? Hertfordshire, you said.'

‘I suppose he might.'

‘You don't think Rebecca and the children might still be there?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘All the same, if you had an address …'

‘I should have it somewhere.'

‘Later will do.'

‘No trouble, I'll get it now.'

‘Let me,' Jennie said.

With a small sigh, Mary pushed herself up from the chair. ‘I'm not an invalid yet, you know.'

She came back with a small diary, a number of addresses pencilled into the back in a shaky hand. ‘There, that's them. Harpenden.'

Kiley nodded. ‘And this,' he said, pointing, ‘that's where Rebecca lives now?'

A brief nod. West Bridgford, Nottingham. He doubted if Rebecca had joined the ranks of disheartened County supporters, all the same.

‘Thanks,' he said, finishing copying the details into his notebook and passing back the diary.

‘A waste of time, though,' Mary said, defiantly. ‘That's not where he'll be.'

Kiley nodded. Why was it mothers insisted on knowing their sons better than anyone, evidence to the contrary? He remembered his own mother – ‘Jack, I know you better than you know yourself.' Occasionally, she'd been right; more often than not so wide of the mark it had driven him into a frenzy.

His gaze turned to the pictures on the wall. ‘Terry's father …'

‘Cancer,' Mary said. ‘Four years ago this March.' She gave a slow shake of the head. ‘At least he didn't live to see this.'

After a moment, Jennie got to her feet. ‘I'll make a fresh pot of tea.'

Further along the balcony a door slammed, followed by the sounds of a small dog, excited, yelping, and children's high-pitched voices; from somewhere else the whine of a drill, someone's television, voices raised in anger.

Kiley leaned forward, the movement focusing Mary's attention. ‘Jennie said your son had been acting, well, a bit strangely …'

He waited. The older woman plaited her fingers slowly in and out, while, out of sight, Jennie busied herself in the kitchen.

‘He couldn't sleep,' she said eventually. ‘All the time he was here, I don't think he had one decent night's sleep. I'd get up sometimes to go to the lavatory, it didn't matter what time, and he'd be sitting there, in the dark, or standing over by the window, staring down. And then once, the one time he wasn't here, I was, well, surprised. Pleased. That he was sleeping at last. I tiptoed over and eased open the door to his room, just a crack. Wanted to see him, peaceful.' Her fingers stilled, then tightened. ‘He was cross-legged on top of the bed, stark naked, staring. Staring right at me. As if, somehow he'd been waiting. And that gun of his, his rifle, he had it right there with him. Pointing. I shut the door as fast as I could. I might have screamed or shouted, I don't know. I just stood there, leaning back, my eyes shut tight. I couldn't move. And my heart, I could feel my heart, here, thumping hard against my chest.'

Slowly, she released her hands and smoothed her apron along her lap. Jennie was standing in the doorway, silent, listening.

‘I don't know how long I stayed there. Ages it seemed. Then I went back to my room. I didn't know what else to do. I lay down but, of course, I couldn't sleep, just tossing and turning. And when I asked him, in the morning, what kind of a night he'd had, he just smiled and said, “All right, Mum, you know. Not too bad. Not too bad at all.” And drank his tea.'

Jennie stepped forward and rested her hands on the older woman's shoulders.

‘You will find him, won't you?' Mary said. ‘You'll try. Before he does something. Before something happens.'

What was he supposed to say?

‘I can't pay very much, you know. But I will, what I can.' She rummaged round in her bag. ‘Here. Here's twenty pounds left over from my pension. I can give you more later, of course.'

Kiley took ten and gave her the other ten back.

‘You're sure?'

‘Sure.'

‘Bless you.'

*

‘Terry,' Jenny said. ‘What do you think?'

They were walking along the disused railway line that ran east from Crouch Hill towards Finsbury Park, grassed over now to make an urban footpath, the grass itself giving way to mud and gravel, the sides a dumping ground for broken bicycles and bundles of free newspapers no one could be bothered to deliver.

‘I think he's taken a lot of stress,' Kiley said. ‘Seen things most of us wouldn't even like to consider. But if he stays away there's always the risk of arrest, dishonourable discharge. Even prison. My best guess, he'll get himself to a doctor before it's too late, take whatever time he needs, report back with a medical certificate and a cartload of pills. That way, with any luck he might even hang on to his pension.'

‘And if none of that happens?'

A blackbird startled up from the undergrowth to their left and settled again on the branches of a bush a little further along.