There had been a surprising number of men called Gabe Kemp online, scores of Facebook profiles, and there were even more David Lamb profiles. Kate had started to make a list when she thought her first search should be the UK Missing Persons Unit. When she’d been a police officer, the first place she always looked were criminal records, and then missing persons. She didn’t have access to the former, but the UK Missing Persons Unit was a free public internet search site where you could find the details of any person who’d been reported missing in the UK. Kate had only their names and that they were male, but she instantly found one missing person profile for David Lamb and one for Gabe Kemp.
The photo used for David was from an instant passport photo booth. He had short, spiky brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin, and a confident, pouty stare. He wore a white V-neck T-shirt and a gold chain. David Lamb had been reported missing in June 1999 in Exeter, but the address listed was “No fixed abode.” His birth date was June 14, 1980.
“Just nineteen,” said Kate, staring at the photo. There were two photos on the profile, and she clicked forward to the second. It looked to be taken from the same photo booth at the same time. In the second, David was grinning. He had beautiful teeth and dimples, and he was looking to one side. Kate stared at it and wondered if there had been a friend on the other side of the photo booth curtain, making him laugh.
Gabe Kemp had been reported missing in Plymouth, forty-three miles from Exeter, in April 2002. He was also listed as living at “No fixed abode.” Like David, he was dark haired and over six feet tall. There was one photo of Gabe where he was sitting on a set of steps, smoking a cigarette. It looked like it had been cut out of a larger photo—one side of the picture was square, but the opposite side had a curved edge running past Gabe’s head and shoulder. He had a harsh beauty. Chiseled features, and a shaved head. It said his eyes were brown, but the photo must have been taken at night, because the flash had given him red-eye.
Kate saved both images and then went back to Google, inputting the details of the two young men. There were no social media profiles for either of them, and there were no articles about them going missing.
Kate sat back and rubbed her eyes, feeling tired and hungry. Her urge to drink was itching at the back of her throat. It was like an old friend, the craving for alcohol. She looked up at the calendar and counted back. Her last meeting was eight days ago. Kate checked her watch. It was eight forty-five p.m.; if she left right away, she could just make the nine o’clock AA meeting in Ashdean.
Kate grabbed her bag and car keys, pulled on her thick fleece, and left the office.
It was just after ten p.m. when Tristan left the Boar’s Head with Ade. They’d ordered food, and the conversation had moved on from Noah Huntley and George, but Tristan was turning it over in his head when they parted at the bottom of the seafront and he started back to his flat.
There was still the faint glow of dusk on the horizon, and the bars and clubs were now busy with students queuing up outside. He ran into Kate just before his flat.
“Hey,” he said, surprised to see her.
“Evening,” she replied with a smile. “The only parking spot I could find was outside your flat. I’ve just been to a meeting.”
Tristan didn’t feel the need to comment on it. Kate going to meetings was now par for the course.
“I was going to ring you; I’ve just had a very interesting conversation with my friend Ade about Noah Huntley,” he said.
“Yeah? I have some news too,” said Kate. She looked across the road. There was a burger van that set up on the esplanade to catch the students who got the munchies when the pubs closed. The smell made her stomach rumble. “I haven’t had dinner; do you fancy a burger?”
Tristan had already eaten, but the smell of the grilling meat was making his mouth water. He smiled and nodded. They joined the short line at the burger van, ordered cheeseburgers, and then took the steps down onto the beach.
The air was still, and the tide was now far out. A group of students had lit a fire close to the water’s edge, and a couple of dreadlocked young men were throwing logs onto the bright blaze. Sparks flew up into the air, and voices whooped and laughed. They found a quiet spot and sat down on the dry sand. Kate bit into the huge steaming burger.
“My God, this is good,” she said, adding through a mouthful, “The sesame bun is the pièce de résistance.” Tristan took a big bite and nodded. The juicy, tender beef and cheese melted in his mouth. He ate fast and finished when Kate was still halfway through her burger. He told her what he’d found out about Noah Huntley.
“And who is this friend, Ade?” she asked, finishing the last of her burger.
“He was a policeman, now retired. Early retirement. I think he’s fifty.”
“How long have you known him?” There was something in the way Kate asked—it was as if she were gently probing to see if he and Ade were an item.
“Oh. It’s nothing like that,” said Tristan. “I got to know him at the Boar’s Head, during gay bingo.”
Kate smiled. “That sounds much more fun than straight bingo, not that I play bingo.”
“Ade’s the bingo caller . . . He’s one of those people who knows everybody. He told me that Noah Huntley was well known on the gay scene for sleeping with guys behind his wife’s back, and that ties in with what Joanna found when she was researching her story about Noah. This whole George-the-barman thing could be something and nothing. He thinks it’s more likely that George did a midnight flit to avoid paying his rent.”
“Does Ade know George’s second name?” asked Kate.
“No. He said he’s going to ask around.”
Kate told Tristan about finding the names David Lamb and Gabe Kemp on the inside of the box. She took her mobile out of her pocket and showed him the photos.
“And Bev is sure that the writing on the inside of the box belongs to Joanna?” asked Tristan.
“She sounded a bit drunk when I phoned her, but she also said the writing on the box label was Joanna’s. They match . . .”
“Do you think that David Lamb and Gabe Kemp were talking to Joanna about Noah Huntley?”
“David Lamb was reported missing June 1999, Gabe Kemp in April 2002. Joanna didn’t publish her exposé on Noah Huntley until March 2002, but she could have been working on it for a long time,” said Kate.
Tristan’s phone pinged in his pocket.
“It’s from Ade,” he said, looking at the message.
LOVELY TO SEE YOU,
AS ALWAYS, MISS MARPLE.
I HOPE YOU MADE IT SAFELY
BACK TO ST. MARY MEAD.
I JUST SPOKE TO MY FRIEND NEIL. HE HAS THIS PHOTO FROM HALLOWEEN ’96
NEIL SAYS HE WAS GEORGE ‘TOMASSINI,’ HERE DRESSED AS FREDDIE MERCURY WITH NEIL, AS HIS ALTER EGO, MONSTERFAT COWBELLY ? x
Tristan showed Kate. Ade had taken a picture of the photo in the album. It was taken behind the bar of a pub. George was tall and slim, dressed in a blue tuxedo with black lapels and a black bow tie. A crude mustache was drawn on his face, and his long brown hair was swept back in a ponytail. Beside him was a large drag queen, dressed in a powder-blue caftan covered in glittering crystals, with her jet-black hair coiffured and swept back off her heavily made-up face.
Kate smiled. “Oh, Freddie Mercury and Monsterfat Cowbelly . . .”
“I don’t get it,” said Tristan.