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  Billy had fared a little better in Croydon town centre. Having jumped a train ride, he’d made his way from East Croydon station into town, the walk keeping him warm after the steamed-up carriage of hot bodies. He’d been tempted to sit a while, but without a ticket, he knew he’d be kicked off. He had waited on the platform for the right moment to dodge out the turnstiles. He’d spent the morning in an empty doorway like Chloe had, but Billy had his cheeky personality on his side, which he used to his advantage. If he could have sung and busked, he would have, but he could do neither, so he fell back on his sense of humour.

  “Spare a shekel for an old ex-leper?” There weren’t many people that hadn’t heard of Monty Python and The Life of Brian. And even if they didn’t toss him a coin or two, it made many of them smile, something Billy fed off because at least it was a smile, a warming human emotion.

  “Spare a shekel for an old ex-leper?” he said again, trying to catch the eye of a gentleman approaching, feeling sure he’d appreciate the humour. He was wrapped up warm in his coat, his scarf almost covering his face to keep the chill out, thick gloves on his hands. Billy saw the man take a glove off and feel inside his coat pocket, then pull out a note and some change. Billy took his spiel up a notch in volume. As the man arrived in front of him, Billy repeated it, looking the man straight in the eye, hopeful. The man spoke first.

  “If I give you this five-pound note, what will you buy with it?” No smile as yet; Billy was going to have to work for it.

  “My girl wants a new toothbrush and some toothpaste, so I’ll start with that. With the change, something other than bread. Man can’t live by bread alone, you know.” Billy painted on his best smile and willed the man to part with his cash.

  “I guess you are a Monty Python fan, then?”

  ““That I am, sir. Bloody do-gooders.” Billy gave another cheeky smile as he quoted from one of the most famous scenes. Finally, the man showed the start of a smile, and Billy knew he had him.

  “Then go and buy her a new brush and paste to go with it. She’s not Roman by any chance, is she?”

  “Oh no, sir. What have the Romans ever done for us?” Billy laughed as the man finally handed the note over.

  “What the hell. Take it all,” he said, adding the loose change too, making a total of nearly £7. “Buy yourselves something to eat to go with that bread.”

  “Thank you, sir, thank you!” Billy called after the man as he slowly walked off. “Very kind of you, sir!” he called, and the man raised a backwards hand over his shoulder in acknowledgment. Some folks could be generous with both time and change, and Billy was grateful for both from the stranger. He wondered who he was and where he was headed. Perhaps he’d see him again on his return trip. Maybe he’d stop and chat a little more. Billy pocketed the money and smiled to himself. He needed to stop and buy Chloe a toothbrush and paste on the way home later. There was a budget grocery store not too far away.

  But first he needed to get back to work.

  “Spare a shekel for an old ex-leper?” he called to anyone who would listen.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jack parked the car in the driveway of their semi-detached home. They lived on a quiet street, not far from the town centre. It was only the second home they’d owned together. The first had been a small flat not far from their current spot, and they’d saved hard to make it up another rung of the property ladder. With Janine and himself both working full time, they had done well for themselves though it had been a struggle at first to meet the mortgage repayments. While their friends were going out on a Saturday night to the cinema or for a meal, Jack and Janine would rent a DVD and stay in with a budget bottle of wine, and Janine would make a nice supper. They’d never been flash with their cash, and since they enjoyed each other’s company, staying in with a movie instead of going out didn’t much matter to either of them. One thing all their scrimping and saving had taught them, though, was the value of money. Their home had become their savings bank for the future, a place to start their family in. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had had her own agenda, and so the spare room had never been turned into a much-yearned-for nursery. Instead, it now contained boxes of stuff they no longer used – board games, old books that stood no chance of being read again by either of them, clothes for the charity shop, an old iron. All in all, the room looked messy, drab and sad.

  Jack was stood in there now, looking through the window out into the darkness dappled in orange sodium at the other houses in the street, the odd car making its way back home for the night. They knew a few of their neighbours, and their street over the years had become like a bowl of stew with various ethnicities continually coming and going, the pot’s contents changing constantly. There were a couple of houses where more senior owners still lived, most now on their own, their partners long gone, Jack and Janine were the decent neighbours who looked in on them occasionally. And that reminded him that he hadn’t done so in a few days. With the current cold spell, he’d call in on them all tomorrow. He looked around the small room again and tutted at its lack of purpose; they could do better with it. Maybe a room for him to relax in, though why would he sit upstairs when he could be down with Janine? Perhaps a sewing room for her; she’d used to enjoy making clothes for herself but couldn’t recall her doing so for some years. He’d have to ask her.

  “Jack,” Janine called up the stairs, “dinner is ready.”

  “On my way,” he called back. He headed down, thoughts of the spare room fresh in his mind. He took his seat at the table, where a plate of hot meat pie and gravy awaited him.

  “This looks good, love,” he said, grabbing the salt pot, something he always did before he’d even tasted the food, and something Janine could never understand.

  “How do you know if it needs it before you’ve tasted it?” she’d asked him on so many occasions that now she didn’t bother. She gave him a questioning look anyway.

  “What?” he said, smiling, though he knew anyway. He tucked in, gathering mashed potato onto the side of his fork.

  “What were you doing up there”? she enquired, and waited for him to finish his mouthful before he answered.

  “I was in the spare room. We should do something with it rather than leave it gathering stuff that should be at the charity shop. It’s a real waste.” He cut a forkful from the meat pie and savoured it, gravy gathering in the corner of his mouth as he chewed. “Do you still have your sewing machine? You used to make clothes. Why don’t we make it a sewing room for you?”

  “Well, that’s a thoughtful gesture Jack, but I’ve not made anything for maybe ten years, and I don’t even have the machine anymore. Clothes aren’t that expensive these days and working full time, I’ve not that much spare time anyway.” She returned her attention to her own meal but added, “I get your point, though. It could do with a clear-out. Maybe we could decorate it, smarten it up a bit. It wouldn’t take long when it’s empty.”

  “Then we should do something with it. What about a lodger?”

  “Yes, I agree, but not a lodger. I like my space and privacy. And with you coming and going all hours, I’d rather know who was in the house with me at any one time. No, we’ll think of another use for it. Though if we can get the stuff down to the charity shop, I bet someone would appreciate the old board games and books at Christmas. It’s only a couple of days away.”

  Jack piled peas onto his fork and hastily bent to eat them before they rolled off. Only a handful made the journey and he mixed the remainder into his mash instead. They couldn’t escape from him so easily.

  “Let’s do it when we’ve finished dinner. I could drop them all in tomorrow when I go past as long as I can get a parking spot close by. I don’t fancy dashing in the rain getting soaked but I’ll be past again later so I’ve a couple of shots at it.”

  “Talking of shops, have you done all your Christmas shopping?” She smiled at him coyly and he knew exactly what she was referring to – had he bought her gift yet or not? There wasn�
�t much time left. Luckily, he had and could reply honestly.

  “I have bought your present, as it happens, my love. I’ve just got to collect it from the store. It’s all ordered and paid for,” he said in his best-satisfied tone. “You’ll not catch me missing Christmas present-giving. I’ve had all year to get it organized.”

  He looked smug, and Janine smiled at his cocky attitude as he pushed mashed potato and peas into his half-smiling mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It looked to Jack like Eddie had been burning his candle at both ends again. He was rubbing his already swollen eyes as he entered the squad room. Jack and a few of the others including Clarke had already been in for a couple of hours, albeit to sip coffee and mull over the case so far while awaiting their official briefing from Eddie. And from the way Eddie looked, they wouldn’t be getting one until he’d had at least another two strong mugs full. Clarke glanced at Jack as she too noted the condition he had arrived in. Had he slept in his suit? Jack crossed the room and ushered Eddie to the coffee cupboard, where he closed the door behind them.

  “What the hell, Eddie?” he hissed. “You’re the boss, for goodness’ sake. What’s happened to you? We’ve all been here a couple of hours already. Where have you been?”

  “Long story, but I thought Sue wanted me back so I went round.”

  “And?”

  “And I was wrong. In fact, she was there with her new bloke and that got me pissed off so I banged a few times on the door with my fist.”

  Jack knew where the story was going. Eddie had a temper.

  “And the new bloke didn’t take too kindly to your knocking, and you ended up scuffling, that it?”

  “Pretty much. I went back to the pub for a couple, got hammered and slept in my car. And before you say anything, I know. I screwed up and I look like shit.”

  “On that, I have to agree. And you smell like it too, I’m afraid,” Jack said, wrinkling his nose up. “You’ll have to get off home and have a shower, take the smell of stale booze off at least. I’ll cover for you with Morton. He’s probably down the bookies, anyway. I’ve not seen him yet either. So turn around and get off, then you’ll be back in a better frame of mind to do some bloody detective work.”

  Jack couldn’t help raising his voice over the last sentence, because he meant it, whether Eddie Edwards was his boss or not. With more vans identified by the traffic cops, they had work to follow up with; there was no time to bother about whether Sue had a new bloke or not and deal with the fallout from Eddie getting inebriated.

  “Right. Back soon,” Eddie said, and made a dash for the door before anyone else stopped and smelt him.

  Jack shook his head. With more junior officers already in and working, between him and DI Morton, who the hell was supposed to be showing a bit of leadership? He took a couple of deep breaths in and out and felt a little calmer. If the team needed leadership, that left Jack to do the job. Clapping his hands loudly, he made his way to the front of the squad room. The crime boards displayed both Leanne’s and Kate’s pictures and precious little else save for an image of a dark Transit van that someone had probably lifted from a web page. The whole board looked far too sparse for his liking.

  “Listen up, everyone.” He waited until all heads were turned his way before starting the briefing. It wasn’t something he’d done much of before. “DS Edwards will be back shortly, so in the interest of time marching on, I’d said we’d go over the case together in his absence and fill him in later. So let’s get cracking.” He looked directly at Clarke. “Clarke, where are we at with the van list to follow up on?”

  Clearing her throat, she stood and addressed the other half dozen people in the room, a mixture of detectives and civilian researchers. “Thanks to traffic, we’ve a list of six to follow up with, and preliminary vehicle checks have been done with all of them through the system. I believe Mo has been looking further into owners and drivers. Mo?”

  As Mo stood, Jack couldn’t help watch as her midriff settled itself at the sudden movement of standing. As a researcher on the team, she spent large chunks of her day sitting in front of a computer terminal looking things up, usually with a packet of digestives close by her never-ending mug of tea. Her low-cut shirt showed off her ample chest, which was rapidly turning beet red from standing and addressing the team. It never got any easier for her.

  “Interestingly,” Mo began, “one of the vehicle owners is a name we’ve come across before, though not where minors have been involved. Remember that case a few years back when a woman was kidnapped and taken to Manchester? GMP found her in a derelict house on the outskirts of town, safe but severely traumatised, several weeks after her abduction. We never did find the real reason she was taken, but she did manage to identify one of the men in the ring. He was successfully prosecuted and served five years in Strangeways. Despite being offered a deal, he didn’t cough up the names of his accomplices, so that’s why he did time. He was released last year. His name is Martin Coffey, and obviously not the rather dead Martin Coffey.”

  “Dead Martin Coffey?” Jack asked, for the benefit of the rest of the room.

  “Yes, hanged in Strangeways in 1946 for murder. He was one of the last to be executed there, but no relation.”

  “So, Martin Coffey has a dark Transit van that was down here recently for us to spot it. That warrants a deeper look. Right – Mo, you get on to Martin Coffey and get digging. Let’s see his whereabouts. Find as much camera footage as you can from the nearby trunk roads close to Wickham and Sparrows Lane. See if we can place his van anywhere near there on the day of the abductions. If it was in or around the Croydon area, let’s know about it. Now, that’s going to take some time, but it’s all we have so let’s get to it. Good work, Mo. We have a name at least.”

  Mo’s ample cheeks reddened at the compliment, and he half felt bad about delivering the compliment publicly, though praise for a job well done went a long way. Heads swivelled back to computer screens and Jack walked briskly to the coffee cupboard for a quick one before DI Morton made it in.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  By lunchtime, Jack’s stomach was growling like an angry lioness protecting her cub. He craved something hot and tasty and not the cheese sandwich that was sat on his desk. Through the opaque Tupperware lid, the outline of the roll looked meagre and unappetizing, and Jack wished there were a couple of hot fat sausages and a smearing of ketchup in it instead, but since he’d put it together himself before breakfast, he knew there was no chance of that.

  Not unless the fairies had been while he’d been away from his desk.

  Still, if the lion were roaring, the sandwich would tide him over until he braved the outside cold and a mobile food van down the side street not far away. Some men had a secret woman on the side or a quiet gambling habit, but not Jack. While he loved Janine, she did keep a tight watch on his diet, so secret hot sausage sandwiches were his side vice, although he tried to limit his intake. He set the cheese roll on the plastic lid as a plate and took two enormous bites, filling both cheeks with food so he looked like a giant hamster. The roll was gone in three more mouthfuls.

  The squad room was relatively quiet. Most desks were empty now, as his colleagues had also gone off in search of sustenance after a busy morning. The discovery of Martin Coffey’s name and the presence of his vehicle in the area had to account for something, and none of the team believed in coincidence. Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he swallowed the last bite and looked at his watch. The charity shop would be open now, and the boxes were in his car, so he figured he might as well head over while things were quiet.

  “What the hell,” he said to himself, knowing he was using the trip to the charity shop as an excuse to arrive back via the mobile food van. He was only kidding himself. Jack grabbed his coat, wrapped his scarf around his neck and headed out to his car. For a change, the sky was pale blue like a faded deckchair left out in the sun too long, the sun barely warming the tarmac under his col
d feet, but at least it wasn’t raining. Thank goodness for small mercies.

  Ten minutes later, he was looking for a parking space not far from the charity shop. He spotted a small green shopping trolley–type car about to pull out so he put his indicator on to show the driver he wanted the spot – he hoped his car would fit. Cars were building up behind him as he waited for the old lady to finally pull out; he saw her small dog balancing its front paws on the dashboard. He was tempted to use his horn to hurry her up, but a car two back honked so now he didn’t have to. Finally, she pulled out and Jack squeezed his in at an awkward angle, leaving the rear end hanging out into the road. The car that had honked swerved past him now, its driver showing his displeasure with a one-finger salute and a rev of the engine.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” muttered Jack. He stepped out of the car, opened the boot, and lifted out the two boxes of games and books, balancing one on top of the other. As he turned to close the boot lid, he could feel the lower box wobble and he fought to control the both of them before one or both fell to the pavement. He was about to scream an obscenity when a voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Steady on! Here, I’ve got it.” A pair of hands took the box from the top and nimbly prevented things from crashing down. Jack looked up and was surprised to see a face he’d seen before, and only recently.