‘Who are the other people in the picture, Mrs Blaylock?’ asked Sally. ‘Your son doesn’t remember them.’
Mrs Blaylock threw her son a dismissive look. ‘Yeah, well, it was before his time, wasn’t it? When the pub was a successful ongoing business.’
‘I didn’t ban smoking, Mum. I didn’t bring on the recession.’
‘No, you didn’t do anything, did you? Just like your uncle!’ she snapped back at him.
Delaney gestured towards the picture. ‘Mrs Blaylock?’ he prompted.
Sergeant Halliday’s phone trilled. She glanced quickly at the caller ID and switched the phone off.
‘They called themselves The Rockabillies.’
Delaney reacted. ‘A musical group?’
Mrs Blaylock snorted and shook her head. ‘No. They were a pub-quiz team, that’s all. They dressed up like that for the final. They thought it was funny.’
‘Why The Rockabillies?’ asked Sally.
‘Garnier’s second name was Bill – well, William, anyway. And the guy standing next to my brother was called Bill too. He was always singing some rock-and-roll tune or other. So that’s what they called themselves.’
‘Bill who?’ said Delaney.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t remember his surname. He was a fisherman. Down on the coast. He inherited a house somewhere in the area. He supplied us for a little while. My husband dealt with him.’
‘And who are the others?’
Mrs Blaylock held up the photo: five men all wearing Elvis-style quiffs, some of them wigs. One of the men, wearing a black suit, had his back to the camera. Mrs Blaylock pointed to the fourth man in the group, a young man somewhere in his twenties, considerably younger than the others. ‘I know him because he used to work for me as a commis chef. Just sorting out the vegetables, that kind of thing. He was never going to be a cook.’
‘What’s his name?’ Delaney pulled out his notebook.
‘Tim Radnor,’ the woman replied. ‘He left when my husband died.’
‘Where did he go? Do you know?’
‘He went to work at Harrow School. Up on the hill, you know?’
Delaney nodded. ‘Yeah, we know it. And who is the man with his back to the camera?’
Mrs Blaylock looked down at the picture and shook her head. ‘I don’t know, I’m sorry. ‘
‘You absolutely sure?’
‘Yes. Sorry.’ She handed the photo back to Delaney. ‘What does it all mean?’
‘We don’t know, Mrs Blaylock.’
‘But you think it might be one of those men who have taken my brother’s grandson?’
‘Maybe,’ said Sergeant Halliday.
‘Well, it can’t be Peter Garnier or my brother.’
‘You sure you can’t remember the fisherman’s name?’
‘Sorry, no. It’s so long ago now. I just knew him as Bill, I never really spoke to him. I was never front of house much – that was Gerald’s area.’
‘Gerald?’ asked Delaney.
‘My dad,’ said Terry Blaylock.
Mrs Blaylock threw him another critical look. ‘A proper publican!’
Delaney looked over at the tall sergeant. ‘Fancy a trip out to Harrow School,
She was about to say, ‘Sir,’ but caught herself and grinned instead. ‘Can I borrow your DC?’ she asked.
Delaney nodded. ‘I want her back, mind.’
*
An hour later and Delaney was standing with Kate at the burger stand around the corner from the station. Kate pulled the zipper of her jacket up to her neck and threw Delaney what he thought of as an old-fashioned look.
‘Couldn’t we have gone to a proper restaurant for a change? A pub at least? Somewhere inside. You know, a place with four walls … and heat.’
‘I needed to think, Kate.’ Delaney shrugged apologetically. ‘And sometimes only Roy’s bacon sarnies can help.’
‘Right,’ said Kate, resigned.
Roy flipped some rashers of bacon on the griddle. Then he put on a pair of catering gloves and started buttering some bread. Delaney smiled to himself: he was pretty sure he had never seen the man wearing catering gloves before and he was also pretty sure that the reason Roy was wearing them now was all to do with Kate Walker. Roy was one of the most irritating men he knew at times, with absolutely no respect for authority, but he seemed to scamper around Kate like a puppy dog wagging its tail.
