As if to order, the doorbell rang. The duty policeman’s head appeared over the rim of the floor. ‘Two people, Sarge. Say they’re friends of Mr Rudd. A Mr Tait and a Ms Wilkes.’
‘Oh, thank Christ,’ Gabe said, sitting upright.
‘All right, let them up,’ Kathy said, and immediately the couple burst into view.
‘Gabe, Gabe,’ the man cried.‘You poor old feller.’
‘Oh, Jesus, Ferg,’ Gabe sighed, jumping to his feet. ‘You’ve no idea.’
Kathy recognised the newcomer as the man she’d seen on TV with the Irish accent. Though much shorter than Rudd, he caught him in a clinch and rocked him back and forward in his arms as his companion, a stocky dark-haired girl, put the bags she was carrying on the coffee table and turned to Kathy.
‘You’re with the police, are you? Are you looking after him?’
‘Yes. DS Kathy Kolla.’
The woman scrutinised Kathy critically, as if wondering whether she was up to the job.‘I’m Poppy Wilkes, and that’s Fergus Tait, Gabe’s dealer. We saw the in-laws leaving and we thought he might need some moral support.’
‘I kept out of their way,’ Gabe said. ‘They spoke to Kathy. I suppose they said it was all my fault.’
‘Well, that’s only to be expected.’ Fergus Tait patted his shoulder. For a small man, he had a big presence. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, dazzling white shirt and a large, green satin tie. His red hair was expertly layered, and his big round glasses gave his eyes a hypnotic stare. ‘But we’ve brought you the antidote, old chum.’ He reached into one of the plastic bags and drew out a bottle of vodka.‘Glasses, my love,’ he said to Poppy, who seemed to know where to look. She returned with four tumblers and some plates.
‘Ah…’ Kathy began to object, but Fergus ignored her, pouring four drinks and picking one up. The other two followed suit. Fergus winked at Kathy. ‘Won’t you have a little drink with us, Sergeant? To the success of your hunt for little Tracey? We shan’t tell on you.’
‘I’d like Gabe to keep a clear head,’ Kathy said.
‘I can assure you that Gabe’s head gets clearer with every one of these that he puts away, is that not right, boy?’ He tipped the glass and swallowed in one gulp. The other two did the same, then Rudd sank back against the cushions and drew his long legs up to his chest.
‘Oh Jesus,’ he sighed. Poppy went to sit beside him and put her arms around him.
‘They’ll find her, Gabe,’ she said, and from the way she looked at him Kathy guessed that this must be his ‘friend’.
‘You’re feeling bad, of course you are.’ Tait poured another drink.‘How else could you feel?’
‘Helpless. I feel helpless.’
‘You need something to eat,’ Poppy Wilkes said briskly. ‘We brought you some lunch from Mahmed’s. Oh, Stan sends his love too, of course. He’d have come himself, but you know how he is with the pigs.’ She shot a mischievous grin at Kathy.‘Come on, Gabe, have some food.’
‘No, no, I couldn’t.’
Poppy ignored his protests, unpacking Turkish bread and dips and cold meats and salads onto the plates. They looked good and Kathy suddenly felt hungry. Then she caught Tait watching her. He winked.‘Tuck in, Sergeant. There’s plenty here.’
‘Thanks. Maybe later.’
‘What’s going on out there?’ Gabe asked, reaching forward to tear off a chunk of bread.
‘They’re searching the building site,’ Poppy said. ‘The builders have had to leave and they’re really annoyed at the delay. So is Mahmed.’
‘Why Mahmed?’ Kathy asked.
‘He owns the building. And most of the builders are his relatives.’
‘Batty Betty barged in here. She claimed she heard a scream in the night.’ Gabe was speaking with his mouth full, and Kathy noticed he was watching Poppy’s reaction.
‘Maybe that’s why they’re looking at the building site next door to her.’
‘What time was that?’ Poppy was making a sandwich.
‘Five past two. She was very precise.’
Poppy shrugged.‘She probably saw little green men, too.’
The drink had brought some colour to Gabe’s face, and when he spoke again he was a little more voluble, his voice fluid. ‘It’s like a horrible dream, Trace disappearing like that, you’ve no idea. I still can’t take it in, you know? I feel sick thinking about her out there somewhere…’
‘What you need, old son, is something to occupy your mind while this is going on,’ Fergus Tait said decisively. ‘Work, that’s what you need! Get down to some work.’
Gabe shook his head in protest. ‘No way. I couldn’t. Not while Trace…’
‘That’s exactly the right time. Do it for her. Better than sitting around chewing your nails.’
‘I think he’s right, Gabe,’ Poppy said cautiously, as if she half-expected Gabe to round on her. But he just looked thoughtful.
‘You’ve been promising me something for ages now,’ Tait went on.‘So get off your backside and do it, will you? Art is pain, Gabriel, you know that.“Real pain for my real friends, champagne for my sham friends”-you know the old line. So show us your real pain. Remember Night-Mare, eh? Pure pain it was, and you can do it again.’
This seemed to be a common theme, Kathy thought, watching Gabe’s bowed head as he took this in. Tait’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Kathy noticed Gabe’s right index finger begin to tap the side of his leg.
‘I suppose I could try… maybe once they’ve found Trace…’
‘No, no. Right now, boy, this very minute. I’ll tell you what, I’ll make things easy for you, I’ll give you a deadline. I’ll send out the invitations this very day to the opening of Gabriel Rudd’s new one-man show at The Pie Factory on this Friday coming.’
‘Friday!’ Gabe looked incredulous ‘Don’t be daft, Ferg, that’s only four days away.’
‘Well, you’d better get moving then, hadn’t you?’
‘It’s totally impossible, Ferg… Maybe in six months, a year …’
‘No, Friday,’ Tait insisted. ‘I’m serious, deadly serious. The eyes of the world are on you, Gabe. Strike while the iron is steaming hot.’
Poppy, seeing that he really was in earnest, said,‘But my exhibition, Fergus. It’s still got two weeks to run. Why don’t we wait till then?’
‘Sorry, love, I’ll make it up to you. This has to happen now.’
Gabe stared at him. ‘You’re crazy.’ But his mind was working and it seemed to Kathy that there was a spark of excitement in his eyes. She wondered if it was Poppy’s objection that had persuaded him.
‘What’ll we call the show?’ Fergus asked. ‘How about Scream, in honour of Batty Betty? And Munch of course- we can put an image of his painting on the invitations.’
‘Too corny,’ Gabe said immediately. ‘How about, No Trace?’
‘Brilliant! That’s it!’ Fergus cried. ‘I’ll get the designer working on the invitations and posters right away.’
‘But Poppy’s right,’ Gabe protested, though without much conviction, Kathy thought. ‘Let’s make it a month, three weeks at least. We’ll know then…’ he stopped, before adding in a whisper,‘… about Trace.’
‘That’s exactly the point, Gabe, don’t you see? We have to do this now, while it’s front page news. And it can only help the police, with the publicity and all.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’Kathy said.‘You’d better hold off any firm plans until I’ve got clearance.’
‘You go ahead, Sergeant,’ Fergus waved airily as he got to his feet. ‘I have to go. Have you been to The Pie Fac tory yet?’
Kathy said no.
‘Well, you must come over and see us. Poppy here has a fabulous show on at the moment, The Loss of Many Little Things-you’ll love it. Are you coming, my dear?’
Poppy said she’d stay with Gabe for a while.
‘Good idea,’ Fergus said, heading for the stairs. ‘Get a few ideas flowing for No Trace.’
Kathy started to protest, but he was already gone.
Poppy moved closer to Gabe and began talking to him in a low, insistent monotone. It was to do with his work, Kathy realised, picking up phrases, ‘… a narrative of pain… absence and loss
