Father, father! where are you going?
O do not walk so fast.
Speak, father, speak to your little boy,
Or else I shall be lost.
The night was dark, no father was there
He closed the book abruptly and sat down in an old armchair which creaked comfortably, and tried to think like a copper. He had found nothing remarkable, nothing incriminatory. The only oddness was an absence, not a presence.
There was no mail except the usual junk addressed to the occupier which hed found in the kitchen pedal bin. But there was nothing to suggest that anything either official or personal had ever come addressed to Mrs Jane Maguire.
And there was nothing either which referred to her dead husband, Oliver Beck.
He closed his eyes and played through what he had got, but it came out blurred and distorted with too much interference from other channels.
Hed told Parslow that Maguires Irish background was no problem, and hed meant it. But then his eyes had been wide open and hed been able to blot out the mental image of a tall, graceful woman with huge green eyes and hair aflame like a comets tail
He opened his eyes abruptly and found to his surprise that he had rolled and lit one of his capillary cigarettes.
There were no ashtrays. Maguire didnt smoke, probably didnt like the smell of tobacco in her home. He experienced an absurd guilt, told himself she wasnt going to be back here soon enough to notice, and felt guiltier still.
He went into the kitchen and flushed the butt down the sink. Then he put the kettle on and made a cup of very strong coffee.
As he drank it Johnson returned.
Youve been quick, said Dog.
Ive not been on house to house, said the constable defensively. Just the other flats, and at half of them I got no answer, and as good as none at a lot of the rest. I only managed to raise three who admitted ever having noticed Maguire. First was an old lady called Ashley who is more or less confined to the flat beneath. Didnt know Maguire by name but says that shes heard a child crying in the flat above on several occasions and the mother shouting angrily, after which the crying died to a whimper. She says she got so concerned last week that she rang the councils Social Service department and reported it.
Any action? asked Dog.
She says someone came round on Saturday morning but couldnt get any answer from Maguires flat. But later she claims she saw Maguire putting the child into her car and driving away.
I thought she didnt get out of her flat?
Her window overlooks the front. She spends a lot of time there.
What about this morning?
She didnt get up till half past nine.
Pity. OK, what else?
Number Fourteen, Nigel Bellingham, would-be yuppie, driving a Sierra until he can afford a Porsche
For Christs sake!
Sorry, guv, but its relevant, sort of. He doesnt notice people, this joker, but he notices cars. Its all resident-permit street parking round here, and those with regular habits usually end up at about the same spot. Maguire was very regular, and her car hasnt been in its usual spot since Saturday morning.
Why should he notice her car in particular?
Cars equal pecking order in his tiny mind. Maguires banger was right at the bottom of his league table.
Dog considered this, nodded, and said, OK. Ill buy that. What about the third witness?
Thats Mary Streeter, Number Six. Shes got a little girl, takes her to that park across the shopping precinct most Sundays to feed the ducks and usually sees Maguire there with her boy. Theyre not friends. I got the impression Mrs Streeter wouldnt have minded being closer but Maguire wasnt having any. Anyway, she says Maguire definitely missed the park this Sunday, and it was a fine afternoon.
So she was away for the weekend, said Dog.
So she went away after the social worker called and she didnt answer the door, corrected Johnson unnecessarily.
So what? said Cicero. Would you let a social worker into your house?
The door bell rang.
The two men exchanged glances. It wasnt likely to be either Maguire or the alleged kidnapper. On the other hand it was silly to take risks.
Dog moved quietly to the front door and squinted through the peephole.
Nothing.
Motioning Johnson to one side, he gently turned the handle of the Yale lock. Then he dragged the door open and leapt out into the corridor.
An arm like a steel bar caught him round the throat, his right wrist was seized and his hand forced high up between his shoulder blades, while his left shoulder was thrust with such force against the wall that he screamed out in pain and felt his left arm hang paralysed. He tried to lash back with his heel but his assailant was ready for that and he kicked feebly into air while the pressure on his neck redoubled.
Then a voice said, Tommy, what are you playing at? Put him down at once. This is my old mate, Dog Cicero. Dog, howve you been, old son? Long time no see. Weve got ever such a lot to talk about.
9
Funny old thing, life, said Superintendent Toby Tench.
Dog Cicero said, Cant argue with that, leaving the sentence hanging uncertainly over Toby or sir.
Tench had never lost his stoutness. At nine it had given him the bulk to back up his claim to be pack leader in the school yard. A rival had started picking on the slight, sallow, silent Italian kid and Tench had taken him under his wing to affirm his primacy. Then puberty, the great equalizer, had got to work, turning Dog into a darkly attractive young man, academically able and athletically outstanding, while it marooned Tench in a podgy, spotty, undistinguished adolescence. Their ways seemed to have parted forever when Tench left to become a police cadet and Dog stayed on to qualify for entrance to Sandhurst.
He recalled their last encounter. Hed just come from saying goodbye to Father Power at Holy Trinity. Tench, looking like the stout constable of the comic books, was walking past the church yard gate.
Hello, Dog, hed said with surface affability. Off to officer training, I hear. Youll need to watch it on that drill square.
Will I? hed asked foolishly. Whys that, Toby?
Come on, Dog! Everyone knows when you Itis hear the order, Forward March! you automatically start running backwards!
Hed almost hit him, but had had control enough to know that assaulting a policeman would probably stop his army career before it began.
Now it felt like a chance missed.
But perhaps it was going to be offered again.
The podginess had turned into a solid bulk, no less menacing for being gift-wrapped in a Pickwickian waistcoat and topped with a matching smile. The two men were sitting in the armchairs in the living room of Maguires flat. Tenchs companion was searching the bedroom. Introduced as Sergeant Stott, he had the features of a Narcissus, and if his Cartier watch and Jean-Paul Gaultier jacket stretched across pumping-iron shoulders reflected the inner man, there was no shortage of self-love here either.
From the sound of it, the body-beautiful muscles were being exercised just now in tearing the bedroom apart. Johnsons face appeared in the doorway with an expression of shocked interrogation, but Dog motioned him back inside. He had no idea what the newcomers were after, but if they found it, he wanted a witness.
Hello, Dog, hed said with surface affability. Off to officer training, I hear. Youll need to watch it on that drill square.
Will I? hed asked foolishly. Whys that, Toby?
Come on, Dog! Everyone knows when you Itis hear the order, Forward March! you automatically start running backwards!
Hed almost hit him, but had had control enough to know that assaulting a policeman would probably stop his army career before it began.
Now it felt like a chance missed.
But perhaps it was going to be offered again.
The podginess had turned into a solid bulk, no less menacing for being gift-wrapped in a Pickwickian waistcoat and topped with a matching smile. The two men were sitting in the armchairs in the living room of Maguires flat. Tenchs companion was searching the bedroom. Introduced as Sergeant Stott, he had the features of a Narcissus, and if his Cartier watch and Jean-Paul Gaultier jacket stretched across pumping-iron shoulders reflected the inner man, there was no shortage of self-love here either.
From the sound of it, the body-beautiful muscles were being exercised just now in tearing the bedroom apart. Johnsons face appeared in the doorway with an expression of shocked interrogation, but Dog motioned him back inside. He had no idea what the newcomers were after, but if they found it, he wanted a witness.
Heard you joined the local boys after your spot of bother with the mad Micks, said Tench. Surprised me, that did. Thought youd have had enough of uniforms, especially when it meant dropping down to plod level.
Cant recall what I felt, said Dog evenly. It was ten years ago.
Long as that? Well, I never. And this is the first time our paths have crossed.
Us plods dont have much to do with the Branch, said Dog.
He didnt add that one thing hed done before joining the Romchurch force was check out Tenchs whereabouts. He might have been confused, but not so confused as to take the risk of finding himself in the fat boys gang again. But now here Tench was, and clearly enjoying the ambiguities of the situation hugely.
Time to clear the official ground at least.
Whats the score, Toby? he said. Whats the Branchs interest in Maguire?
No real interest, Dog, said Tench with mock solemnity. Nothing that Id call an interest. Just that shes on a little list of ours. People with a fine thread tied to their tails. Touch em and theres a little tinkle in the guardroom, know what I mean?
The computer? said Dog. I wondered why that entry was there. Anyone asking questions jerks the trip wire, right?
Clever boy, said Tench. So tell me all you know.
Briefly, Dog outlined his investigation so far.
Tench produced a notebook, not to make notes in but to examine.
Well done, he said at the end of the outline. Missed out nothing.
Youve spoken to Parslow? You knew all this! What the hell are you playing at? Checking up on me or what?
Hold your horses, my son, said Tench earnestly. Not you. Old Eddie Parslow, hes the one we need to double check. Hes so demob happy, hes stopped taking bribes.
The muscular boy came out of the bedroom. In his hand was a foolscap-size buff envelope.
Found this in the mattress cover, guv, he said, handing it over.
Well done, my son, said Tench, smiling fondly.
You want I should organize a real search, guv? asked Stott.
Dog Cicero had no doubt what a real search meant. Hed supervised enough in scruffy Belfast terraces and lonely country farms, watching as floorboards were ripped up, tiles stripped, walls probed, while all around women wailed their woe or screamed abuse, and men stood still as stone, their faces set in silent hate.
Tench shook his head.
Early days, Tommy. Just carry on poking around.
Tommy went into the kitchen. A second later what sounded like the contents of a cutlery drawer hit the tiled floor.
Tench was peering into the envelope.
Whats in it? asked Dog.
Not a lot. Hello. Must be saving for a rainy day. Well, the poor cows got her rain. Bet shed like to get her hands on her savings!
He tossed a smaller envelope across to Dog. He opened it. It was full of bank notes, large denomination dollar bills and sterling in equal quantities, at least a couple of thousand pounds worth.
Can see what youre thinking, Dog. Thats a lot of relief massage. Maybe she upped her prices for more demanding punters. Any complaints about queues forming on the stairs?
He looked at Dog with his head cocked to one side, like a jolly uncle encouraging a favourite nephew.
No, he said. Nothing like that. Not so for.
The last phrase was an attempt to compensate for what had come out as a rather over-emphatic denial.
Tench caught the nuance, said, You dont think she gives the full service then? Just the odd hand job for pocket money?
I dont know. I just dont like running too far ahead of the evidence, thats all.
Oh yeah? Of course, shes Irish, isnt she?
Whats that got to do with anything?
Quite a lot, as it happens, my son. But in your case, it could mean youre so desperate to put the slag away that youre falling over backwards to be fair. You never were much good at thumping people just because you didnt like them, Dog. Always had to find a reason! Youll not admit it, but what youd really like is solid evidence that shes topped her little bastard, then you can go after her full pelt! Well, you can relax, my boy. Uncle Toby is here to tell you its going to be all right. It doesnt matter if shes cut his throat or shes the loveliest mum since the Virgin Mary. Youre allowed to hate her guts either way!
Dog was half out of his chair. One part of his mind was telling him to sit down and laugh at this provocation. The other was wondering how much damage he could inflict before Tommy, the gorgeous hulk, broke him in two.
Tench wasnt smiling now.
Down, Dog. Down. If you dont like a joke, you shouldnt have joined. Man whos not in charge of himself aint fit to be in charge of anything.
Slowly Dog relaxed, sank back into the armchair.
Thats better. Godalmighty, just think, if youd stayed in the Army, youd have had your own company by now, maybe your own battalion. Youd have been sending men out where the flak was flying. Few more like you, and I reckon wed have lost the Falklands. Still, not to worry, just think of the money wed have saved!
Dog said steadily, Dont you think its time you put me in the picture, sir. You called the boy a bastard. I presume you were being literal rather than figurative.
I love it when you talk nice, Dog. Shows all that time in the officers mess wasnt wasted. But yes, youre dead right. Bastard he is, or was. One thing we know for sure, Maguire never got married. How do we know? Well, Oliver Beck was never divorced, was he? Let me fill you in, old son. After she jacked in the teaching, our Jane got herself a job with a shipping line, recreational officer they called it. On one Atlantic crossing she came in contact with an American passenger, Mr Oliver Beck. On the massage table, I shouldnt wonder! Anyway, he was so impressed with her technique, he set her up in his house on Cape Cod. Oliver was living apart from his wife, natch.