Declan felt so sorry for Michael; he knew first-hand just how manipulative his brother had been.
‘Look, Michael, what we need to do now is forget this shit, and hunt down Steven Golding. Mrs Singh is a fucking shrewd old bird. I’ll get on to the Old Bill now, see what they can find out. About time they earned their fucking keep anyway. Then we can work from there.’
Michael Flynn nodded in agreement. ‘I just want to know Jessie’s all right.’
Declan patted his friend’s shoulder gently. ‘Of course you do, Michael, she’s your daughter!’
Chapter One Hundred
and Twenty-One
DI Timothy Branch was relieved to finally be able to give Michael Flynn some useful information. In fact, he’d excelled himself. He drove into the scrapyard and parked his BMW neatly, walking into the Portakabin like a conquering hero.
Michael and Declan were already there as he had expected. He bowled into the room all smiles and smugness until he registered that both Michael Flynn and Declan Costello looked tired and angry. It occurred to him that Michael’s daughter was still missing, so he removed his smile, and settled his face into what he saw as serious work mode.
‘I got here as soon as I could. I think you will be pleased with the information I’ve gathered.’
He waited to be offered a seat. Michael obliged, sweeping his arm out towards the old typist’s chair, saying tightly, ‘Sit and talk. It’s about fucking time you earned your keep.’
Timothy sat down as requested, but his earlier euphoria was gone. Michael Flynn was a very scary man, there was no doubt about that. Declan and Michael were both watching him warily, waiting to hear what he had to say to them.
Timothy Branch knew that this was his only chance to redeem himself. He opened up the file he had on Steven Golding which he had brought with him, and cleared his throat noisily, feeling very nervous once again.
‘First of all, from what I have found out, Steven Golding has been under psychiatric care for many years. When he was fifteen, his mother, father, and two young sisters were all killed in a fire. It was an arson attack – deliberate. He had stayed overnight at a friend’s so he survived. But he has never fully recovered; he has been in and out of psychiatric facilities for the best part of the last thirty-odd years. He was released again, four months ago, having accrued a large amount of money over the years from his benefits, et cetera. It came to over twelve thousand pounds in total. It seems he removed that from the bank in cash, and no one has seen him since. He hasn’t turned up for any of his outpatient appointments, and he hasn’t been near the flat he was allocated by the housing trust. He is unknown to the police – never been arrested for anything. According to his doctor, he suffers from delusions, and he is often unable to differentiate between fantasy and reality. But they have assured me that he is not violent. He is on quite heavy medication, Dolmatil and – ’ Timothy Branch stared down at the page, unable to read his own writing – ‘I can’t read that, I’m afraid. But I assume it’s an anti-psychotic drug of some description. Steven Golding has a very high IQ and is an avid reader – he can read a book in a day. He was last seen three weeks ago when he withdrew all his money out of the bank.’
Michael Flynn opened his arms out in a gesture of supplication. ‘Is that it, then?’
Timothy Branch nodded. ‘That is everything I could find out. I’ve got my people watching out for him.’ He quickly pulled out a picture from his file, and handed it to Michael. ‘This is a recent photo of him.’
Michael Flynn looked at it. Steven Golding appeared older than he actually was – he was as grey as a badger and his eyes were the same dull grey; he looked almost lifeless. He was looking directly into the camera, his mouth was hanging open, his teeth were black, rotten, and his skin looked thick, like orange peel. He was not a man anyone would stop to talk to, that much was obvious.
Timothy Branch took a deep breath, and then said seriously, ‘From what I can gather, if he doesn’t take his medication he can become paranoid and quite aggressive. But I must stress that, according to his doctor, he is not a violent man – when he is taking his meds, of course.’
Michael handed the photograph to Declan. ‘So, Timothy, let me see if I’ve got this right. Basically, he left the nut house three weeks ago, he cleared his bank account, and he is now on the missing list with twelve grand and, to add insult to injury, without his meds, he has a seriously bad fucking attitude?’
Timothy Branch didn’t know what he could say to that. He was hoping that someone spied the fucker somewhere, so he could help Michael to track him down.
Declan passed the photograph back to Michael. ‘Fuck me, Michael, what a smooth-looking bastard he is! Mouth full of dog ends, and a face like a bag of fucking hammers. At least he won’t be hard to pick out in a crowd!’