‘No, he seemed agitated, and so we did tail him; at least as far as to the home of another his associates we are watching, where he borrowed a car.’
‘And did you follow the car?’
‘No need. Cars are easy — the numberplate is logged every time they’re picked up on a traffic camera. The last trace was on the motorway, southbound, probably the same road you travelled northbound on to come here this evening. Our bet guess was he turned off it soon after though, at least before the next camera placement; and carried on either along minor roads, or else stopped very close by, before he had travelled far enough to be picked up at a traffic lights or major junction.’
‘Somewhere like a motorway services?’
‘It was a possibility. However, we didn’t want to enlist your forces in a search, and risk revealing our interest, until, well…’ The man’s mood had darkened considerably, ‘To tell the truth, Inspector, we were hoping beyond hope that you would turn up some trace of Carman at the hotel; that you could tell us that he had met someone there, maybe whoever it was who called from there earlier. Perhaps Isobel may have been there too? Who knows.’
He had only known him one evening, but Grey thought this was about as despondent as the Nottingham man was ever likely to get.
‘So how did she get hurt?’
‘We don’t know,’ Nash sat down on a small chair by the bedroom door. ‘She came back with what looked like a cut, but nothing too serious. Of course we were worried, but she seemed fine in herself, and then spent most of that day in bed. It wasn’t until the evening, when Carman still hadn’t returned, and she was up and about and looking groggy, that we worried. And then today, I have to admit, has been a bit of a nightmare.’
Grey wasn’t purposefully tormenting Nash here, it was just the run of negative answers the man was being forced to give. However, just then Sullivan emerged from the shadows, and asked for a moment alone with his boss; Nash offering Grey his apologies as the pair of them entered the boys’ bedroom and shut the door.
A moment later, free at last to break cover, Cori followed Sullivan from the lightless room to speak to her colleague in the now empty landing,
‘Sir, I didn’t mean to overhear Sullivan’s conversation.’
‘No, no.’
‘But it was a call from another officer in the field.’
‘Come and tell me outside. I need some air.’
Chapter 19 — A Moment of Decision
Grey emerged into the evening, barely comprehending under Nottingham skies. Around him, the night silent but for traffic hum, were red-brick walls and alleyways and terraces. He stood in the backyard of the once lived-in house and breathed. It was getting on for ten o’clock.
‘The man who called Sullivan is watching another of Carman’s gang,’ resumed Cori as she joined him. ‘They are getting restless after two days with no word from Carman. The field officer is asking for a decision: on whether they try and salvage something from the operation, before what’s left of the network panic and run for the hills.’
Grey’s head had long been hurting at the combination of detail, but now he was baffled,
‘Tuesday,’ he began in summing up. ‘The day of Isi’s phone call, her leaving, and her return. Also the day we now learn that both Thomas Long and Stephen Carman were last seen, their presence last recorded each in the vicinity of the motorway services. I mean… what is this place, the Bermuda Triangle? How many people were swallowed up there that night? And have we found one person who could tell us what went on there?’
Cori, hearing all this was lost for words.
‘You know, I had wondered whether this whole hotel business wouldn’t prove to have been just a sideshow, the latest chapter in Isi’s private life, and nothing at all to do with Carman and his trade. At least, that was, until he vanished from the face of the Earth.’
Grey turned suddenly to find Nash standing at the kitchen door, embarrassed to have the Chief Inspector eavesdropping. He continued,
‘She’s not the first girlfriend of a crook to tire of the life. She’s alone in that flat most evenings, and it must drive her spare. No wonder there’s other men in the frame. But lovers are as furtive as criminals, Inspector, and we can’t leave what could conceivably be a coded call to another dealer’s hotel room uninvestigated.
‘No, of course,’ Grey did his best to answer calmly.
‘Now my team could drive themselves spare, working out who knew what and who called who; and it really would be good to get this Southney nonsense wrapped up before it throws everything out of kilter. But we are at a critical point in our investigation — I really wish I could tell you both about it — and so I may have to leave it for you to look into, after you have left here; and all I will ask is that the moment any trace of Stephen Carman’s whereabouts, or any concrete intel of what the pair were up to that night, crops up, you let me know right away. Is that a deal?’
It was a deal, with neither Cori nor Grey wanting to reveal they knew more of Nash’s operation than he imagined. Grey thought that might have wrapped things up, but Nash continued,
‘It is hard to know what went on that night though, when two people are missing, and another is up there in that room, inapproachable. And as for this Mr Smith — well, he could be Lord Lucan for all anyone knows. I’m sure Isobel was at the hotel though. And her being a local too; how would you say it: Southnite, Southnilian, Southpaw? ’
‘She’s notorious back home though,’ advised Grey, ‘virtually a public figure; and she’d be spotted the moment she returned. She’s as eager to keep herself hidden as you are, I expect; and Carman for that matter.’
‘Yes, we all have our differing reasons for anonymity,’ conceded Nash. (There was a wistful, regretful air about the man now, noted Grey, while wondering what such a weathervane must be like to work for?) ‘And it is of course pure speculation on my part. So, for the record then, Inspector,’ he seemed to be gathering himself up here, ‘you have no evidence to say Carman was at the services on Tuesday, or any time after?’
‘Not yet,’ answered Grey, ‘but our team are going through the carpark CCTV as we speak…’
‘…and the hotel receptionist will be back soon,‘ continued Cori. ‘We’ll know a lot more about who called Isobel tomorrow morning.’
‘I don’t have until tomorrow morning.’
‘But once we have a description for Smith from the receptionist,’ continued Cori hopefully, ‘then we can look for him in the hotel security footage: see when they checked in, if they met anyone in the foyer, in the bar maybe?’
‘Sergeant,’ the Chief Inspector interrupted her, with what promised to be another of his characteristic soliloquies; however before it was able to get underway, they were interrupted by a disturbance from inside the house.
They arrived upstairs to raised voices, Nash’s steps quickening as he neared the darkened room.
‘I can’t watch this… freak show any longer,’ called Gill Pullman, her voice disembodied in the velvet dark. ‘I became on officer to help people, not to sit and watch them in agony.’
‘Nash, get her out of here,’ called another shapeless form.
‘Leave off, Sullivan,’ Sergeant Pullman shouted back, ‘You don’t outrank me.’ (Grey liked Sergeant Pullman.) ‘But how can you bear it?’ she implored.
‘What is going on in here?’ Nash thundered, silence obviously not a requirement of this particular undercover operation.
‘It’s Isobel,’ answered Sullivan. ‘She’s slipped over and fell out of the chair.’
‘Well, well,’ began Nash ruefully, ‘this rather brings things to a head.’
‘But what are we going to do?’ Pullman demanded?
‘This does put us in a fix, sir,’ Sullivan chimed in. ‘If she calls an ambulance now…’
‘Is that all you care about? The success of “the operation”?’
Nash silenced the pair of them, ‘Please, please, let me think awhile.’ Then spoke thoughtfully, ‘You are both right. On this occasion the needs of the subject and of the operation intertwine: we cannot leave her like that; nor
