For my part, I was entirely honest. Although I might think twice about leaving Odeerie alone in a room with a roasted chicken, I’d trust him with any amount of privileged information, even the kind that could result in multiple prosecutions.
I concluded with my discussion with Frank in the Wise Owl, including why and how his affair with April had ended. For a minute or so, Odeerie tapped the pen against his teeth and reviewed his notes.
‘Hell of a story,’ he said eventually.
‘I know.’
‘What I don’t get is why you want to find April. You don’t think she’s got something to do with Harry Parr’s murder?’
‘I want to apologise for the way I treated her.’
‘Weren’t you the only person who didn’t try to fuck her over?’
‘Mine was more a sin of omission.’ Odeerie’s brow furrowed. ‘I knew that she was having an affair with Frank and I should have said something.’
‘Like what?’
‘That she’d end up getting hurt.’
Odeerie shook his head and exhaled heavily. ‘You really think that would have made any difference? People are what they are, and they want what they want. We’re a fucked-up species, Kenny; you know that.’
‘Makes no difference. I kept quiet because I was on a cushy number and I didn’t want Frank to fire me.’
‘So what? It was yonks ago, and what can you do now that’s gonna put things right?’ A bit more head-shaking from Odeerie. ‘Take it from me,’ he said. ‘You’re better off letting sleeping dogs lie.’
‘I want a clear slate before I go to Manchester.’
‘How long are you up there for?’
‘I’m not coming back.’
‘What?’
I explained to Odeerie that it was a one-way ticket. He couldn’t have looked much more surprised if I’d outlined my plan to undergo gender reassignment.
‘Seriously?’ he said. ‘You’re going to Manchester?’
‘What’s so strange about that?’
‘It’s up north.’
‘I know where it is.’
‘What’ll you do for money?’
‘Get a job.’
‘Doing what?’
‘They do have agencies up there.’
‘Skip-tracing?’ I nodded. ‘You’ll stand out like a sore thumb with your accent. Although that won’t be what makes the difference in the long run.’
‘I’m not with you.’
Odeerie’s phone beeped a couple of times. He looked at the screen for a couple of seconds before tapping out a reply. ‘Look,’ he said, after returning it to his pocket. ‘Forget I said anything. Good luck, and if it doesn’t work out, give me a call.’
‘Tell me why you don’t think I can hack it.’
‘Because you’ll never be able to leave Soho. Not for any length of time, anyway. If you were moving to Croydon, I’d say the same thing.’
‘How d’you arrive at that conclusion?’
‘Same way gay men know other men are gay.’
‘You’re telling me I’m gay now?’
‘Of course not.’
An even more extraordinary thought occurred. ‘That you’re gay?’
‘For Christ’s sake, Kenny.’
‘What, then?’
Odeerie looked around the office. ‘You think I love it in here?’ he asked. ‘Staring at the same walls year after year. I just have to accept who I am and get on with life.’
‘And you think I’m in the same boat?’
Odeerie leant forward and spread his hands. ‘More or less everyone is, Kenny. Some people are stuck in shit relationships, or dead-end jobs. Others have chippy teenagers and huge mortgages hanging round their necks. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.’
‘How d’you mean?’
Odeerie warmed to his theme. ‘Look at the people we get paid to find. Can’t accept you aren’t rich? Borrow a shitload of cash you can’t pay back. Bored with your wife? Run off with your PA. And if the whole fucking deal is just too much to take, why not pretend you’re dead and set up somewhere else?’
‘That’s ridiculous. People change their lives for the better every day and things work out just fine. Otherwise we’d all be living in caves and painting our arses blue.’
‘I’m talking about running away from who you are and where you belong, Kenny. There’s a difference. Go to Manchester and you’ll be unhappy. It might not happen straight away, but it will eventually.’
‘I’m unhappy here.’
‘You don’t have to be.’
‘As long as I give up on life?’
‘Or look for the positives in what you have.’
Odeerie’s belly rested on his thighs and his chin could have been inflated with a stirrup pump. He hadn’t been on the other side of his front door in the best part of a decade. All in all, not the easiest man to take advice from.
‘The only reason you don’t want me to go to Manchester is because misery loves company,’ I said, getting up from my chair. ‘But this is my chance to be happy and I’m taking it.’
‘That’s got nothing to do with it, Kenny.’
‘Yes, it has. If you want to sit in here stuffing yourself full of crap food until your heart explodes, then good luck to you. I’ll be sure to come back for your funeral.’
Odeerie opened his mouth but didn’t get the chance to respond. I left the office and slammed the front door on my way out of the flat. A minute later I was on the pavement and heading towards Brewer Street.
The good news was that it had stopped raining; the bad news was that I had severed ties with the one man who might be able to find April Thomson.
The phone had rung at least a dozen times. I was preparing to leave a voice message or hang up when a woman answered. ‘Bannock Hotel,’ she said in an accent that sounded as though it came from the better end of the Fulham Road.
‘Could I talk to the manager?’ I asked.
‘You are.’
‘My name’s Kenny Gabriel. I wonder if you could help me . . .’
‘If you’re selling something, let me stop you there. I make it a policy never to buy on the phone.’
‘Actually, I’m trying to trace a friend of mine who used to live in Saltrossan. Her name’s April Thomson.’
‘Means nothing to me,’ said the woman. ‘But then I’ve only been here for a year. Alec would be your best bet.’
‘Alec?’
‘Our head barman. He’s lived in ’Rossan since God was a boy.’
‘Can I speak to him?’
‘Hold the line and I’ll see if he’s available.’
I was treated to a folk song about the heartbreaking difficulty of catching herrings for a while. Halfway through the second verse, the music was interrupted.
‘Alec Norris speaking.’
If I’d wanted a regionally appropriate accent, this was my man.
‘I’m trying to trace an old friend of mine and the hotel manager thought you might be able to help.’ No response from Alec, who clearly wasn’t much of a talker. ‘Her name’s April Thomson,’ I added.
‘Why d’you want tae find her?’
‘Old times’ sake,’ I said. ‘We used to see a lot of each other forty years ago, when she lived in London.’
There was a bit more silence. Had it not been for the background sounds, I’d have assumed we’d been disconnected. Just when I was about to ask if he had heard of April, Alec spoke again.
‘Would that be Peachy Thomson’s girl?’
‘Maybe. Does she still live in the town?’
‘Not for years.’
‘Might Peachy know where she is?’
‘Havenae a clue.’
‘Could you ask Peachy? Or, better still, give me her telephone number?’