‘So when Errol left Cornwall you came with him?’
‘Well, not exactly. He came to London before me and then I packed up everythin’ to be with him.’
‘How many months gone are you?’ Helen asked.
‘Seven. Feels like a year, I’m tellin’ you. I wasn’t like this with me others.’ She puffed out her cheeks.
‘Would you mind looking at some photographs to see if you recognise anyone on them?’ Paul opened his briefcase.
‘Yeah. Is this to do with that little bastard Sammy Marsh?’
Paul glanced at Helen.
‘It is actually, because we know he took the photograph . . . this one.’ Paul passed over the photograph with the surfers.
Sandra peered at it and then pulled a face. ‘Nah, dunno them.’ She turned it over in her hand to look at the studio watermark print.
‘We reckon that Sammy tipped off the cops about Errol and that’s why they picked him up.’
‘But Sammy has disappeared, hasn’t he?’
‘We believe so,’ Helen said, passing the photograph back to Paul.
‘Is it him what’s missing? ’Cos I know a lotta people would like to strangle him. He was a really nasty little sod.’
‘Errol shared a flat with him, didn’t he?’
‘I wouldn’t call it sharin’. He dossed down on his floor then we met and he moved in wiv me and the kids.’
‘Can you look at this photograph?’
Paul now passed her the single shot of Alan with his surfboard. Again Sandra gave it a good look-over, but shook her head.
‘I didn’t really mix wiv them.’
‘There’s a cafe called the Smugglers . . .’
She leaned forward. ‘Which one? There’s quite a few called the same name. The one in Newquay is very nice, and then some are a bit cheap, know what I mean – summer openers. They close ’em down for winter.’ She jabbed her finger at the photograph. ‘Yeah, that’s where I worked.’
‘Did a lot of the surfers use it?’
‘Yeah. It’s right on the beach and open all hours.’
‘Do they do drugs there?’
‘They do everythin’ – it’s a bit of a rough place. Sammy used to be kingpin. He could get you anythin’ you wanted.’
‘And you never saw any one of these guys in the cafe?’
The young woman shifted uncomfortably. ‘Me back is killin’ me,’ she said. ‘I think if you don’t mind you should leave.’
‘Just take another look, love. We really appreciate this,’ Helen said encouragingly.
Sandra suddenly became cagey, shaking her head. ‘I’m not getting into anything, not in the state I’m in. I’ve said enough. I don’t want no trouble.’
‘Do you think you would get into trouble?’ Paul said.
‘I could, and I’m not wanting to start yakking on about any connections to Sammy. He’s someone you don’t mess with and I got to look out for Errol and the kids.’
‘Is he looking out for you?’
‘Yes, he fuckin’ is. At least he’s gonna marry me, said he’s gonna take good care of me when he gets out.’
‘I hope he keeps his word. He has fifteen other children, did you know that?’ Paul replaced the photograph into his briefcase.
‘You are fucking joking, ain’t ya!’ she gasped. ‘He’s got no others.’
‘You sure he’s not just using you to be able to try and stay in the country?’ Helen wished Paul hadn’t been so abrasive.
Sandra heaved herself upright. ‘I want you to go. Go on, both of you!’
‘He’s an illegal immigrant, love. The judge recommended him for deportation.’
The girl pursed her lips and then flopped back down again. Paul was unsure how to proceed, but Helen moved to stand by Sandra.
‘Can I get you a glass of water, love?’
‘Yeah. In the kitchen there’s some bottles in the fridge. Thanks.’
She closed her eyes. ‘To be honest, you know what? I don’t care any more. If what you say is true, where does that leave me?’
Helen returned with an open bottle of water and handed it to Sandra, who sipped and then burped loudly.
‘There’s no way I should’ve had that curry,’ she hiccuped.
Helen stood by her and patted her shoulder.
‘Could you just have another look at the photographs, love? The person missing is this blonde guy, the one in the middle. It’s nothing to do with Sammy Marsh, we’re not interested in him.’
Sandra held out her hand for the photograph again.
‘I dunno, Sammy is such a bastard,’ she mumbled.
‘How well did you know him?’
‘I didn’t. I kept well out of his way, but like I said, he was a sort of kingpin with these surfer guys. They like to get stoned or coked up.’
She looked at the photograph again.
‘Yeah.’ Then she passed it back up to Helen and took a drink from the bottle of water.
‘What do you mean, yeah?’ Helen asked.
‘I seen him. Don’t know him, but he used to be in the Smugglers. Got a real fancy car. Sammy was often with him. You know he’s a poof, don’t ya?’
‘Sammy?’
‘Yeah. These guys are all muscle and suntanned. They were sort of a clique, if you know what I mean. Acted like they was above everyone else and . . .’ She sighed. ‘Sammy used Errol ’cos of his size, like a henchman so nobody messed with him. That’s all I know. It’s the God’s truth.’
Paul took the photograph from Helen.
‘Do you know if this man, the blonde guy in the middle, was also a homosexual?’
Sandra shrugged and took a gulp of water. ‘He was very friendly with Sammy so he could be one of ’em.’
‘Did you ever see him use drugs?’
‘Nah, I told you. I didn’t get into any of that.’
‘But Errol was involved—’ Paul began, but he was interrupted.
‘He’s no fuckin’ poof, he got me up the spout. I’m gettin’ tired of all this. I’m gonna go and lie down.’ Sandra hoisted herself out of the chair and gestured for them to get out. As they went into the hall she asked rather plaintively if it was true.
‘What’s true, Sandra?’
‘That Errol’s got fifteen other kids?’
‘You should ask him. That’s what we were told, but let him tell you himself.’
Sandra opened the front door.
‘I’m sick of it all,’ she said tiredly. ‘Sick to death of people lying to me. You’d think by now I’d be old enough to know better.’
Paul walked out ahead of Helen, who remained a moment with Sandra.
‘We really appreciate you taking the time to talk to us.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘It looks as if you’ve had a few unpleasant callers . . . your door has been kicked in.’
‘Yeah. When they come for Errol they almost kicked it right off its hinges. I stuck that board over my letterbox to stop getting the fucking junk mail.’
