and Tom had turned to see, but then a bus came and stopped between them; and by the time Larry had got over to Tom’s side of the road he had gone.’
‘He was waiting for a bus?’
‘Larry wasn’t sure, he said he could have been just walking by there. It’s not Tom’s stop anyway, his is up by the betting shop. I see him waiting there sometimes.’
‘But he could have caught the bus?’
‘Larry looked though the windows, but couldn’t see him. And the streets were packed — it would have been busy in the High Street at that time.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Grey completely unprofessionally. ‘So he had a good look for him. Then what?’
‘Well he couldn’t see him, so he got his food and came back.’
‘Gave up a bit easily, didn’t he?’
‘He only went out for a sandwich!’
‘Mr Barnes. This could be our most recent sighting of Thomas Long. Are you convinced your friend was telling the truth?’
‘He only wanted to speak to him.’
‘I saw the anger in his eyes for myself.’
‘He was angry at Aubrey, not Tom!’
‘But he upset with what Tom had told you, at least he was the night before. He could have called after him, chased him, demanded to hear it for himself; threatened, scared the wits out of him. There are garages around there aren’t there, alleyways between the shops, quiet places…’
‘No! No, Larry wouldn’t do anything like that.’
Grey was standing before he’d even asked his final question, ‘I do understand, son, why you didn’t want to tell us. But if your mate even spoke to Thomas that evening we need to know it. One of the Constables will take your witness statement, and I’ll be checking it, so don’t leave anything out. Now, is there anything you know about the disappearance of Thomas Long that we haven’t already covered?’
‘No. But I’ll let you know if…’
Grey sensed he meant it. ‘I know you will. Then thank you.’
And with that Chris Barnes was released from a meeting both men were relieved to be done with, released to find his way back to his machine, with or without his friend there to help him operate it.
Grey did think of asking the man to keep what he thought he knew of the state of the company’s finances to himself, at least for the time being; but then considered how useful that instruction might be, when he had evidently spent the last couple of days spreading that particular secret around?
Once out of the room, Grey shot off instructions like a machine gun, to his Sergeant and the two returned Constables: to take Chris Barnes’ statement; to get someone to Larry Dunn’s house, and to trace his 4x4’s registration; to find what busses stopped at that point by the sandwich bar, and what exact bus came by at that time; and to check precisely when Dunn had left on break, and just as importantly, when he had returned.
The Inspector however had a different duty to perform, and following Chris Barnes down, but only as far as reception, turned to ask the more than willing woman there for one more favour that day.
‘Philip Long? Oh yes, Phil’s here, poor lamb. He was telling me earlier how coming to work took his mind off worrying. He doesn’t want them all knowing though,’ she added in a whisper. ‘Let me take you.’
With a beaming smile cast back at the Inspector at every opportunity, she led him swiftly through a complex set of corridors and yards, to a small but just as industrious room at the back of the site.
There was only the one machine here, the man beside it powering it down upon seeing an official-looking figure by the door with Shauna. The room fell eerily silent, the only sounds those of a couple of apprentices muttering nearby; and a clacking and fluttering overhead, which turned out to be a pigeon flapping about amid the beams.
‘Don’t mind the birds,’ the man said, seeing Grey’s upcast gaze as he moved to shake his hand. ‘It’s a devil to shift them once they get up there. I reckon they get in by the skylights. The whole lot needs replacing. I suppose they do offer a bit of interest though, so long as they don’t get any mess and feathers in the machine.’ The man chuckled, but Grey was alert to the emotions he must be feeling underneath.
As it was, introductions proved unnecessary, ‘You’re with the lot who’ve been upstairs all afternoon?’
‘Yes I am.’ It seemed that even a back room like this was still in the loop when it came to the old bush telegraph. ‘Inspector Rase. Your wife spoke with my colleagues earlier. I wanted to come and tell you that we are doing all we can to learn your son’s movements in these last couple of days.’
‘But still no idea where he might be, Inspector?’
‘The last days before a disappearance are a launchpad, Mr Long: understand what a person was doing in those hours, and you can have an idea of where they might be now.’
‘I know you are doing all you can.’
He was a small man, considered Grey, and quiet in his demeanour, not as physical as the others in the main hall — an engineer and not a labourer. His overalls were kept neat, with buttoned shirt beneath.
‘Has Alex Aubrey got anything to do with it?’ It was blunt question, deference to his employer stripped away. ‘I heard he took a clobbering and all, young Aubrey. Well I’m sure he had it coming to him, if the rumour’s true.’
‘You seem well connected out here.’
‘The lads are coming and going with parts,’ he gestured to the youths across the room, ‘and I’m in the main hall sometimes — they call me over to fix the machines. We pick enough up between us. There’s not much that doesn’t reach us one way or another.’
‘They didn’t know about Thomas over there though when I asked them.’
‘I keep my own cards close to my chest, Inspector.
‘Very wise.’
‘Who did you speak to?’
‘Chris Barnes.’
Philip Long gave a snort of derision, ‘A yobbo that one, drunk half the time he’s not working, half the time he is most likely. I’d sooner clip him around the ear than tell him my family dealings.’
‘Do you know Larry Dunn also?’
‘His mate? Hot headed.’
‘He’s just done a bunk.’
Another snort, ‘You check your files, I’m sure he’s found his way into your bad books.
Hates Aubrey too, and I mean hates him. Listen, has he got anything to do with our Tom?’
‘We’ve nothing to support that.’
‘And if it’s to do with fighting, then our Tom couldn’t have been involved. He hasn’t got an ounce of fight in him, that lad. More’s the pity, I might have said, and Lily would’ve corrected me: He’s not rough like you other men, leave him alone, that boy has done us proud, she’d say. And he has done, Inspector. He earns a good wage, and without ever having to roll his sleeves up. He’ll see us right, you’ll see.
‘Is it anything to do with this place?’ he asked. ‘He was in a state on Monday night. Is it the payroll? Has he cocked it up again? This isn’t just because he was scared to tell me he’s messed up my pay? I had words with him last time, Inspector, what with all the trouble that it caused some of the lads. I told him we were better off with the old weekly wage packets, and that they couldn’t afford to make mistakes in those days, no sir.’
Grey feared this upright fellow going aquiver as Gail Marsh had; but Philip Long held his upper lip stiff,
‘Anyway, work to get on with. Inspector.’
‘Mr Long.’
Grey wished him good day, as with the flick of a switch the machine resumed its humming, and the Philip Long returned his expert hands to the quick-moving lathe, the fact of having his fingers inches from whirring metal and shearing blades as natural to him as holding files at his desk was to the Inspector.
Chapter 7 — Mr Foy of the First National Savings and Loan
