NO HELP FOR THE DYING (Gavin & Palmer) Read online

  Palmer had been at it for two hours now, trawling the hidden corners and niches on the fringes of Oxford Street, and was fast running out of options. The rush hour was just building, and few of the street people who had surfaced this early had given the photo of Angelina a glance, shutting off further questions with a sour look or a shake of the head. Whether out of indifference or ignorance it was hard to tell. The older ones merely retreated behind blank faces, immune to involvement. They had their own problems. The young ones were quick to ask for money when he approached, but equally quick to melt away when he mentioned missing kids. Not their business; best not get involved.

  Palmer continued on through the underpass, and wondered how Riley was getting on. He checked his watch. Wherever she was, it had to be more fragrant than this place. The rumble of traffic around Marble Arch sounded overhead and his footsteps echoed off the curved walls. He stepped over discarded sheets of stained cardboard, crumpled coffee mugs and a torn blanket that were the previous night’s debris, and saw a needle glistening in the gloom. Close by, a square of scorched silver foil fluttered away on the wind, and he felt a deep sadness at the squalid conditions existing barely yards away from the prosperity of the shops above. The long tunnel smelled of damp, carrying with it the sharp tang of urine and hopelessness, and he found himself holding his breath as he approached the exit stairs to the west side of Park Lane.

  On the pavement above, he breathed fresher air and hailed a taxi, giving directions for the embankment south of the river. One youth earlier, tempted by the promise of cash, had muttered a vague comment about the area behind Waterloo station. Before Palmer could press him for more details, another man had appeared and the youth had clammed up and moved away. Palmer had stored the information and left. He wasn’t offended by their suspicions; few people wished them well, and it was no surprise if they believed that anyone who came asking questions rarely had the best of intentions.

  He took Angel’s photo from his pocket and studied it again, wondering if she was still at large or had found shelter of some kind. Her background would have ill-prepared her for the harshness and brutality of life on the streets, while her age, clothes and skin would have marked her out for special attention among the monsters prowling the shadows, always on the lookout for fresh meat.

  There were hundreds of places where street kids congregated. Covering them all would take weeks, always assuming he could keep up with the ever-shifting population. But a hint was all he needed to pick up a trail – if it still existed. At least it would be somewhere to start, rather than wandering aimlessly in the hope of a chance sighting.

  He had the taxi drop him off outside County Hall, and made his way on foot to the area east of the station, where the smells of the river were sharp and pungent on the breeze. He saw no signs of youths on the way, none of the customary shuffling figures and wary, pale faces turned towards him; no listless bundles squeezed into grubby corners. Perhaps they were busy up west, where the pickings were sometimes easier.

  He reached the river and scanned the surrounding streets. It was as if the place had been evacuated, save for a couple of Japanese tourists. It was colder here, the early wind lifting off the water and bringing with it a bone-slicing chill that added nothing to the grey concrete and blank windows.

  He turned away from the riverside and eventually entered a narrower street bordered by blocks of flats. It was quiet here, even normal. He was about to turn back when he caught the smell of cigarette smoke. Too fresh to be far away, it held an underlying sweet tang familiar from his time prowling back-street dives in Germany, where squaddies hung out and thought they were being cool by indulging in banned substances.

  He rounded a corner and found a narrow alley with two large rubbish skips parked inside, taking up nearly all of the available space. A profusion of building rubble and domestic cast-offs were barely held in place by nylon netting, and a scattering of debris on the floor of the alley betrayed the visit of skip pirates searching for treasure.

  A faint fog of smoke hung in the rear of the alley, and a slither of noise came from the shadows. Palmer stepped forward, deliberately scuffing his feet. The last thing he wanted was to panic anyone into coming out in a rush, weapon at the ready.

  He stopped when he saw movement beyond the skips, and a tall, stocky youth stood facing him. He was dressed in an oversized black coat and dirty jeans, and a pair of new Timberland hiking boots. His face was broad and weathered, with a wisp of beard around the chin and a cluster of sores at the edges of his mouth. The youth’s eyes were unnaturally bright, his whole manner tense with suspicion.

  ‘What do you want?’ he demanded aggressively, his accent betraying Tyneside origins.

  Palmer put out a calming hand and stood still. Best not push it too far. ‘I’m looking for someone,’ he explained. ‘A kid. I’ve got a photo.’ He pointed at his coat pocket.

  The youth said nothing. In the shadows behind him, someone else stirred and a whisper came fast and furious, followed by a giggle. Palmer got the feeling he’d interrupted some urgent business. He prayed it wasn’t Angelina back there.

  ‘She’s too young for this,’ he said quietly. ‘The girl I’m looking for.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ muttered the youth with no sign of humour. He coughed and leaned forward, carefully dribbling a wad of yellow spit onto the floor in a show of indifference. When he looked up again he smiled, showing a discoloured front tooth. ‘Show us, then.’

  Palmer stepped forward and held out the photo. The youth put out a hand, then dropped it with a subtle shift of his shoulders. Palmer heard a metallic click and felt a twitch in his gut. When he looked down he saw a glint of metal in the youth’s hand, just a few inches from his stomach.

  Palmer tensed. He hated knives. He’d come across too many of them over the years, mostly in the hands of idiots. They were as indiscriminate as bullets and just as likely to cut you by accident as on purpose. Either way they could hurt. Or kill.

  ‘Put it away, sonny,’ he said softly, ‘or you’ll be wearing it.’

  The youth blinked, as if unaccustomed to such cool indifference and unsure how to react. He hesitated a fraction too long. Palmer reached out and clamped a hand over his knife wrist, then pulled and twisted. It was no contest. The youth yelped and bent his knees to counteract the pain, which put him conveniently close to Palmer’s other hand. There was a sound like a paddle on meat, and the youth fell in a heap, his weapon clattering to the ground.

  While the youth collected his senses, Palmer bent and retrieved the knife. It was a cheap mass-market item with a well-worn blade and scarred, imitation bone handle. But still deadly in the hands of someone prepared to use it. He stuck the point in a crack in the wall and snapped it cleanly, then flipped the handle into the nearest rubbish skip.

  ‘Bastard,’ the youth said sourly, sitting up and rubbing his wrist. Palmer wasn’t sure whether he was annoyed at the pain or the broken knife.

  He flapped the photo in front of the youth’s face. ‘All I want is a yes or no. That’s not too hard, is it? Now, let’s try again. Have you seen her?’ The words were slow and deliberate, the gritty tone behind Palmer’s voice making the youth blink harder and shuffle urgently backwards on his rump until he bumped against the side of the skip.

  ‘Might have.’ He glanced sideways towards the shadows, but got no help from that direction. He sighed. ‘Aye, all right. She was down here yesterday. Pretty lass. That’s why I remember her. She was with us for a bit…then someone came by and she left.’

  ‘Who did she leave with?’

  The youth shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Some bloke. It wasn’t any of my business. He came, he spotted her and they went away. Maureen would know, though. Maureen knows everything.’ He looked up and smiled coldly. ‘That’s if you can get her to talk. She doesn’t like men much. You’d be best taking her a pressie. Know what I mean?’

  ‘Tell me where I can find her,’ said Palmer. ‘But set me up or try to screw me,
and I’ll come back and haunt you.’

  Chapter 21

  It was too much of a coincidence. Two men, one of them thin and dressed in dark clothing, asking about Katie. It was as if a veil had suddenly been drawn across the windows, dimming the sunlight. ‘Did the man say why?’

  ‘He wanted to know if she’d been in touch, and where she might be. Of course, Susan didn’t know – she thought the poor girl was dead. She told them that, but they didn’t believe her.’

  ‘You said Susan went downhill. Was it after these men called?’

  ‘Definitely. I don’t mean he did anything…physical. He asked questions, then he went away again. But the shock affected Susan. It was like something had been stirred up inside her. Not hard to guess what it was.’ She shook her head with a look of distaste. ‘Then, when the police called a day or so ago to tell her… well, you know, it seemed to be the end. I think you’d best speak to her. She’ll tell you what she needs to.’

  Riley followed Mrs Francis back out into the hallway and up a flight of broad stairs, past three doors to a room at the end, overlooking the front of the house. The view was of a line of low sand dunes, and beyond them the grey tint of the sea. Mrs Frances nodded wordlessly towards the door, then disappeared downstairs.

  The room was large and elegantly decorated, but sparsely furnished. Susan Pyle looked tiny and lost, staring up at the ceiling from the middle of a vast double bed.

  Riley stepped across the carpet. Up close, Susan looked as frail as spun sugar; her hands had the knobbly appearance of twigs, and the veins stood out across her knuckles and wrists like blue snakes on cold marble. Her hair was almost white, and impossibly thin and lifeless after the rich, dark colour Riley remembered from years ago.

  ‘Hello, Miss Gavin,’ Susan said softly. The voice was the same, only weaker, less vibrant, as if all the goodness had been sucked out by the pain of the years. The eyes were different, too, lacking light as if that, too, had been dimmed almost to extinction.

  ‘Susan.’ Riley reached for the woman’s hand. It was cold and stiff, the flesh unyielding, though the answering grip was surprisingly strong.

  ‘Mary told you,’ she said. Her eyes searched Riley’s for confirmation. ‘Mary Francis.’

  ‘Yes. I’m so sorry.’ It seemed a pointless thing to say, but Riley couldn’t immediately think of anything else. She found a chair and sat down. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about Katie-’

  Susan shushed her. ‘No. Don’t say it. There’s no need.’ She swallowed with difficulty and took a deep breath. ‘What’s done is done. It’s time to accept things as they are… to let go.’ She sighed and looked down at her fingers, twisting the sheet in a knot. ‘I still can’t believe she was alive, after all this time. They say mothers always know. But I didn’t.’

  ‘She never made contact, then?’

  ‘No. She never did. That wasn’t normal, was it?’ Susan stared at Riley with a look of intense pleading, as if confirmation of her daughter having been beyond helping herself in some way would confer a degree of mitigation for her lack of contact. ‘Could you get me some water, please?’ She pointed towards a glass on the bedside table.

  Riley held it out so she could sip from the straw on one side. She swallowed and sank back, nodding in gratitude. Even the few words spoken so far had plainly been an effort. The minutes ticked away, punctuated by Susan’s shallow breathing and the noise of birds in the trees outside. In the distance a petrol engine sputtered into life, then faded to a buzz. Riley held onto the bony hand and wondered if she hadn’t been wrong to come here.

  ‘You look well, ’ said Susan suddenly. Her voice was stronger, and her hand held Riley’s with renewed vigour, as if the brief silence had recharged her depleted batteries. ‘I’m glad you came.’

  They talked for a while, exchanging pleasantries, with the sounds of Mrs Francis moving around downstairs. The talk centred mostly on life here, what Susan did, had done and planned yet to do. There was no mention of her illness. From what she said, life had not been easy and her move to the coast had not offered the escape she had been searching for. She asked Riley about herself, but her interest seemed to wane after a few minutes, and in spite of holding hands it was like talking to someone behind a screen.

  After a brief lull in the conversation, Susan said, ‘There’s something I have to tell you, Riley. About Katie.’

  Riley felt her stomach tense. Was there anything she didn’t already know? Surely not.

  ‘When Katie… when she went, there was something I didn’t tell you. Didn’t tell anyone. She and her father had been… on different sides for a long while. She was going through the difficult age and nothing was ever simple. She was a teenager, what can I say? Everything was black and white… no grey areas, and neither John nor I could say much without causing an argument. Poor man, he took the worst of it. Rows, sullen behaviour, furious sulks, throwing things, staying out all night... it was pretty unpleasant. Then, one day she came home and told me she was pregnant.’

  The surprise was total. Katie pregnant? Of all the things Riley might have expected to hear, this wasn’t even anywhere near the list.

  ‘By whom? Since when?’

  ‘I didn’t believe her at first. God knows, I didn’t want to. She was so young… still at the beginning of her life. I had no idea she was already doing… that. But in the end I was forced to face up to it.’ She gave a weak cough, and Riley helped her to more water.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ The words came out slightly sharper than Riley intended, but given the climate at the time, she was sure it would have made a difference to the attitude and response of the authorities.

  Susan seemed to read her mind. ‘She was only two months gone,’ she said softly. ‘I wanted to tell the police - and you - but John… he would have been so upset. It would have destroyed him.’

  ‘You never told him?’

  ‘I know - you’ll think that was wrong. So do I, sometimes. But I knew him, you see… knew how he thought. How much he loved Katie. Sad enough that his only daughter leaves home; think about how much worse it would have been if he’d learned about her expecting a child.’ She shook her head slowly, eyes closing. ‘He was a very moral man, you see. Much more so than I. His parents were very strict churchgoers, and he was ingrained from birth. The idea of an illegitimate baby would have been unthinkable. It was better he believed she had gone alone than because of …’ She rolled her head on the pillow and opened her eyes again to look out of the window. ‘A few moments of careless fumblings and your whole life becomes a mess. That’s all it was… carelessness. I know what he would have said. He would have closed his mind to the whole thing, shut it away like a sordid little secret in some deep part of his mind, never to be mentioned or talked of again.’

  ‘Would Katie have known that?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She didn’t hold with his views, you see. She thought he was narrow-minded and pious. Too anal, I think she called him one day, when they argued. I didn’t really know what it meant, but John was furious.’

  Riley felt her breathing beginning to tighten as an awful prospect began to take hold in her mind. Yet her instincts kicked against it. ‘Did they argue a lot?’

  ‘A fair bit. Sniping, mostly, from Katie, once she knew how to get under his skin. He couldn’t stand up to her when she began shouting.’ She paused and stared into the distance. ‘But inside he would have been dying. He loved her so much. You have no idea what this… this kind of thing can do to a family. One minute things were fine. Next our world seemed to be tearing itself apart.’

  ‘But you bore it.’ Alone, she almost said, trying to imagine the woman’s torture.

  ‘Not so well, as it turned out. I don’t like saying it and may the Good Lord forgive me, but there were moments when… well, I actually hated Katie. Hated what she did to her father… what she did to us. And there was no reason for it. That’s what I find so hard to understand. If it was simply the pregnancy, I would have helped her. I m
ight even have found a way of convincing John. But once she’d gone, it was too late.’

  ‘Was there anything else it could have been - that made her leave, I mean?’ Riley squeezed the question out, dreading the reply.

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I don’t think so, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Not long before she left, Katie became… secretive. As if she knew something the rest of us didn’t. Something huge that we weren’t in on and never would be. She used to get all starry-eyed and say odd things, about how much we didn’t know or how we were unaware of things - especially her father. Yet she never told us what those things were. It was like she was laughing at us for being ignorant, when all the time she was the only one who knew what she was talking about. It was as if she had an invisible friend, urging her on.’

  Was that something they had all ignored back then, Riley wondered. The possibility of someone waiting in the background? But would that have been enough to pull Katie away, even given the atmosphere Susan had described?

  Riley recalled Donald mentioning that the body by the Thames was wearing a crucifix. After what Susan had just told her, she was surprised Katie would have tolerated ever wearing a symbol of her father’s faith. But people change. Maybe Katie had, too, over the years. ‘Well, she evidently believed in something,’ she said gently, rubbing Susan’s hand. ‘Maybe in the end that’s all she needed. Did the police say when they would send you her things?’

  Susan’s head rolled on the pillow, her eyes closing. ‘Things? Oh, there wasn’t much. They said they had identified her by a bracelet. I’d like to have that… something to remind me.’

  ‘And the crucifix. You’ll want that, too.’

  Susan’s eyes flickered open, confused. ‘Crucifix? No, dear, that can’t be right. Katie wouldn’t have worn a crucifix. They must have made a mistake.’ She stared hard at Riley, shaking her head with insistence.