Delaney sat the bar with a pint of lager in front of him as a horde of SOCOs and uniforms headed down to the cellar. Duncton, red-faced as ever, panted as he came up the stairs and into the bar, followed by the red-haired barman, Terry Blaylock. He was clearly less than pleased as he stood aside to let the SOCO get down into the cellar.
‘I’m telling you it’s a waste of time. There’s nothing down there.’
‘Anything, sir?’ Sally asked Duncton, who shook his head and looked across disgusted at Delaney, who raised his glass back at him as in a toast.
‘Your boss is a disgrace, detective constable. Anybody ever tell him that?’
Sally nodded, with a small smile. ‘Everyone does, sir – he takes it as a compliment.’
Sergeant Emma Halliday walked in from outside, her mobile phone held to her ear. She finished the call and crossed to Duncton and the red-haired barman. ‘They’ve searched the house.’ She shrugged, disappointed. ‘Nothing.’
‘What I told you,’ said Blaylock aggressively.
‘Why didn’t you tell us you’re related to the boy?’ asked Delaney from the bar.
Duncton swung round at Delaney, annoyed. ‘We’ll do this properly down at the station, thank you very much.’
‘I’ve got nothing to hide. My old man died fifteen years ago and my mum hasn’t spoken to her brother for twenty years. And neither have I.’
‘Why not?’
The man glared, his voice growing more belligerent by the minute. ‘I don’t know and quite frankly I couldn’t give a fuck. Ask her.’
‘We’re asking you, sunshine, and we’ll do it properly,’ said Duncton, every bit as bellicose. He nodded to his tall assistant. ‘Take him in, sergeant.’
Delaney finished his pint and stood up, gesturing to Sally to follow him as he walked behind Emma Halliday, who was steering Blaylock to the exit.
‘Get back to White City and process some parking tickets or whatever it is you’re good at, Delaney,’ Duncton called after him.
Delaney smiled coldly to himself but carried on walking. Outside, a uniform was holding the back door of a police car open and Sergeant Halliday was about to guide Blaylock in when Delaney called out to her.
‘Hold up, sergeant, I know your boss might object, but can I have a word with him?’
Halliday grunted dismissively. ‘What Duncton objects to is no longer my problem. I found out this morning that I passed my inspector’s exam.’
Delaney smiled. ‘Good for you!’ Then the smile died as he turned to the overweight barman. ‘Where’s your lock-up, Mister Blaylock?’
Blaylock shook his head, shuffling his feet slightly. ‘I don’t know what you’re taking about.’
‘Yeah, you do. Where is it?’
‘Look, I’ve told you. I had nothing to do with that boy’s disappearance. I’ve never even spoken to the kid.’
‘Where’s the lock-up?’ said Delaney again, pointedly stepping in close to him, getting in his face.
‘All right, all right. It’s round the corner.’
Halliday nodded. ‘We’ll take my car.’
Blaylock shook his head, resigned. ‘There’s no need. Like I said, it’s only round the corner.’
Halliday looked back at the pub for a moment and then gestured to the barman. ‘Lead on, McDuff.’
As they walked away from the pub Sally fell into step beside Delaney and asked quietly, ‘How did you know he had a lock-up?’
‘Remember those boxes he had stashed when we were last here?’
Sally nodded.
‘Half of them were filled with booze. I think he’s been depleting the stock before handing over the keys.’
A short while later Blaylock veered into a small yard that had twenty lock-up garages. Ten on each side, facing each other across a cracked and pitted drive, overgrown with weeds, that looked like it had been laid in the early 1970s and left to rot ever since.
Blaylock walked up to the last garage on the right and reached into his pockets to pull out a key. He put it in the lock in the handle on the centre of the door, twisted it and lifted the door up and in. He gestured with his hand and stood back, his arms folded. ‘Knock yourselves out.’
Delaney walked in with Sally and looked around the garage. It was small, piled high with cardboard boxes and packing crates – a lot of them filled, as Delaney had rightly surmised, with bottles of spirits liberated from the pub. There was no sign of an eight-year-old boy. Delaney moved a few of the boxes aside but a couple of minutes later they had to concede there was no evidence of the boy’s presence.
Delaney walked out and looked at Blaylock. ‘Stocking up early for Christmas, are we?’
Blaylock’s already red face flushed an even deeper hue. ‘I can explain about that.’
‘Don’t bother,’ said Delaney brusquely. ‘Frankly, we’ve got more important fish to fry.’ He gestured for Blaylock to shut the door and watched as he pulled it down again.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Delaney said as the door was closing. ‘Open it up again.’
