We drove on in silence for a moment.
‘Still,’ said Sutty. ‘Running girls out of your workplace takes some steel. I should talk to him. OK. Point. If someone did kill Smiley Face, they didn’t know him very well.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, if they knew he was weeks away from being worm food they’d have just let nature take its course …’
‘Counter. The fact that he wasn’t taking painkillers suggests he was pushing on as normal, maybe hiding or ignoring his illness.’ I thought for a second. ‘And his killer could only let nature take its course if it was personal.’
‘Yeurgh?’
‘Well, if he wasn’t killed for personal reasons, but because he knew something, then his killer couldn’t have risked waiting for him to pass away. What’s more dangerous than a dying man who knows too much?’
‘Point,’ said Sutty. ‘Fair enough, maybe, maybe, our man was murdered. But there’s no more mystery to it than that. He could’ve just forgotten his ID.’
‘Counter. No one’s reported him missing and the labels were cut out of his clothes.’
‘He might’ve had no friends. The clothes could be from the Salvation Army. They cut out tags with the original owners’ initials on.’
‘His clothes looked like new to me, and a good fit, and it still doesn’t explain him sewing messages into them.’
Sutty chewed on that. ‘Point. This Tamam Shud thing could just be his personal motto.’
‘Ended or finished? Pretty ominous motto.’
Sutty laughed. ‘Came true, didn’t it? Anyway, that bit of paper could be our way out of all this.’
‘How?’
‘Suicide note …’
‘It’s not a suicide note.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Murder victims don’t leave them.’
‘Stop,’ said Sutty. ‘Stop saying that. We’re not calling him a murder victim.’
I changed the subject. ‘That other thing looked like a cloakroom ticket to me. Why sew that into your trousers unless you’ve got something to hide?’
‘Hm …’ said Sutty. ‘We need to find that cloakroom. Any ideas?’
‘Looks like your standard ticket to me. Ten a penny.’
‘OK. Point. He just wanted to pretty himself up with the teeth and the lenses …’
‘Counter. Doesn’t explain the fingerprints.’
‘Point. He’s one of those mad men who thinks the government can read his mind …’
‘A survivalist?’
‘A failed one, yeah.’
‘But what was he doing in a closed-down hotel? And why’s someone gone after our one witness?’
‘Point,’ said Sutty, exhaling through his nose. ‘In every instance, the missing missing were people who wasted air while they were alive and are wasting time now they’re dead.’
I drove on for a minute. ‘Counter. For us, it’s the Palace break-in or the dustbin fires.’
Sutty conceded that one. ‘Point,’ he said. ‘Stromer’s a pathological dyke, hell-bent on the destruction of straight white men.’
‘Counter. She’s an intelligent woman who’s had enough shit from the likes of you to last her a lifetime.’
‘Point,’ said Sutty, looking at the side of my face. ‘She thinks you’re an incompetent officer with a substance abuse problem and too much baggage to work cases. Furthermore that you should be removed from active duty effective immediately and face charges of corruption.’
I drove on, trying to think of a counter, but I didn’t know what to say.
To accommodate her office hours, we’d met Stromer before our shift actually started. Although it was now early evening, Sutty decided to take a break. Most likely I’d collect him a couple of hours later smelling of drink, but who was I to judge? The CCTV I’d requested from the scene of the latest dustbin fire was available, and I returned to the office to make a start on watching it.
Sure enough, our burner had picked another surveillance black spot, and all I could see from the nearest camera was the other side of the road. I could tell when the fire started because a passing cyclist looked sharply in its direction as the light began to change, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I thought about ladies in Afghan coats instead, mothers and sons who could vanish without anyone noticing they’d gone. Smiling men.
The missing missing.
I was getting nothing from the CCTV and was grateful for the distraction when my phone began to vibrate. An unknown number.
‘Waits,’ I said, picking up.
‘This the police?’
‘Yeah, is that Earl?’
‘I found your card in Soph’s room …’
‘And?’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Dunno if I should be talking to you.’
3
Sophie had received another message from ‘that man’, Earl said. She hadn’t told him it was Oliver Cartwright and, after his earlier reaction to the name, I didn’t want to betray that either. Cartwright told Sophie he’d had the police scared off her case. He’d sent her another clip of their sex-tape to prove it, and asked her to meet him again, this time in public. She hadn’t wanted to tell Earl, he’d said, but he saw her leaving the flat, looking badly shaken.
‘Did she say where she was going?’
‘The place they first met,’ he said. ‘Wherever that was.’
When I arrived, Incognito was uncharacteristically quiet. It was after eight, still early in bar terms, and there was no queue to push past. The same bouncer who’d dragged me out last time was standing on the door, and he chuckled to himself as I approached.
‘Y’know, the goal is to try and get the drink in your mouth,’ he said.
‘I’ll bear that in mind this time.’
He grinned and I saw the veins go pulsing across his skull. ‘There’s not gonna be a this time, pal.’
‘I’m going up,’ I said, walking by him. ‘You decide if our names are in the paper tomorrow.’
He pushed me back and then held up his hands. ‘Look, I don’t want any trouble, but your fuse is too short for this place. You go in there throwing round threats and drinks, scaring people off who just want a night out, and it’s me who’s in the shit.’
‘If it makes you feel any better I don’t want to see your boss.’
‘He’s not in, anyway. Really this time.’
‘So who’s in charge?’
‘I am,’ said Alicia, descending the stairs. She was dressed more sedately tonight, the wild day-glo colours replaced with a smart, dark skirt and blouse. ‘It’s OK, Phil, I’ve got this.’ The doorman grunted, put his hands inside his pockets and shunted out of hearing distance. I was impressed by the way that Alicia carried herself, and when she looked at me, coolly, I saw that I’d misjudged her the first time we’d met. Without the tinted contact lenses there was an undeniable intelligence in her eyes, and I thought perhaps she’d worn them to hide it. Having met her father last time, I wondered if she was the brains behind the operation.
‘Miss Russell.’
‘Detective …?’
‘Waits.’
‘That was it. What can we do for you tonight?’
‘A drink would be a start.’
‘Off duty? I wouldn’t have pictured you spending your free time here …’
‘Where would you picture me?’
‘I don’t know. Somewhere dingier. Moodier. Probably sat on your own nursing something hard.’ She smiled at the innuendo. ‘Daydreaming about what might have been.’
‘All that daydreaming led me here.’
‘Of course it did,’ she said, looking at me for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose you’d better come inside then.’ I went by her and she spoke to my back. ‘This visit wouldn’t have anything to do with our friends Sophie and Oliver, would it?’
‘Who?’ I said, turning to look at her.
She was smiling again. ‘If you could just settle for throwing the book at him rather than your drink …’
The floor was so sticky it felt like part of the design. I didn’t pass anyone on the staircase, and I could tell by the subdued, hollow sound of the music that the place would be emptier than last time. I emerged slowly, not wanting to draw attention to myself. There were only around fifteen people dotted about, most of them ensconced in booths at the far side of the room. I was grateful to see that the doorman had been telling the truth about Guy Russell’s absence. His regular seat was empty.