ARCHER RETURNS TO THE THIRD floor. She notices Hicks and Felton have gone and that DCI Pierce is in her office. She knocks on the door.
Pierce beckons her inside.
Archer updates the DCI on everything they know to date.
‘. . . and no one has seen or heard from Jordan Kelly since his mother went missing.’
‘Let’s consider him a missing person and make finding him a priority for this investigation. Is it possible Jordan was with his mother when she went missing?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Revisit the Aylesbury Estate and go door-to-door. Talk to his friends. Find out what you can. Nothing is insignificant.’
‘I’ll get the team on it.’
‘Good. You may be interested to know I had a breakfast meeting with the Chief Constable. In light of the latest murders he is giving us more feet on the ground.’
Archer holds back from saying the extra resources should have come after the first five murders. ‘That’s good to hear, ma’am.’
Archer stands to leave but stops midway as she notices a copy of Hamilton’s newspaper sticking out of the DCI’s bag. Archer locks eyes with Pierce and feels frozen for some odd inexplicable reason.
After a moment the DCI says, ‘I remember that case. I remember your father too. He was a good detective.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
The DCI removes the newspaper from the bag.
‘DI Archer, it seems Mr Hamilton has more of your history to excavate. I am concerned this will impede your ability to lead this investigation.’
Archer stiffens. ‘It will not, ma’am. I can promise you that.’
Pierce’s large bird-of-prey eyes study her for what seems like the longest time. She drops the paper in the bin. ‘See that it doesn’t. That’ll be all.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Archer leaves the DCI’s office and breathes. She notices Klara watching her.
‘Are you OK?’ mouths Klara.
Despite the article, Archer is pleased they will have more support. She feels a renewed vigour, smiles and nods at her friend.
‘DS Quinn,’ calls Archer.
The Irishman looks back at her.
‘Would you like to go clubbing?’
‘I can bust a few moves, ma’am.’
‘I can’t promise you any fun. Maybe we can watch some movies together.’
Quinn nods. ‘Sounds good. I’ll bring the popcorn.’
As Quinn drives them to Clapham the shock of the article is still playing on Archer’s mind. Her thoughts turn to Hicks.
‘How well do you know Hicks?’ she asks Quinn.
‘I’ve known him for about five years. We’ve worked together on a few cases. It might not have escaped you that he is a first-class asshole.’
‘Do you trust him?’
‘Not especially. He’s a coaster. He gets away with doing the bare minimum, which Pierce doesn’t have the wit to see. He’s also jaded and angry. The force can do that to long-standing officers; however, I don’t think it’s anything to do with his job. I think that’s just who he is.’
Archer mulls Quinn’s words over in silence despite there being nothing that surprises her.
‘I do think you have your work cut out with him, and DCI Pierce, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Thanks. I figured that already.’
‘Rees and Hicks were the alpha males of our section. Hicks was Rees’s unofficial second-in-command, if you know what I mean. They had the younger officers and analysts in the palm of their hands. They were a clique that almost shattered when Rees was arrested. But Hicks kept it going, inserting himself into Rees’s position and asserting his halfwit mate, Felton, as his unofficial second-in-command. Pierce is blind to it, or chooses not to acknowledge it. Pierce likes Hicks, because occasionally Hicks gets results. Results, I should add, that come from other people: Toze, Pike, Phillips and me. And then suddenly you come along and threaten everything with your fancy NCA methods of working.’
‘Do you see me as a threat?’
‘Not at all, ma’am. The opposite, in fact.’
They arrive at Infernos and are greeted by a surly thickset man with a beard and a buzzcut. He wears a security badge with the name ANTONY TRAVIS on it.
Archer shows her warrant card. ‘My name is DI Archer and this is DS Quinn.’
‘Can you come back another time? We’re getting ready for a private party tonight.’
‘A private party? Good for you, Mr Travis,’ says Quinn. ‘Nice to have some extra revenue at a time when business is slow.’
Travis grunts.
‘I’m afraid you’ll need to cancel tonight,’ says Archer.
‘No, we ain’t. It’s all paid for already.’
‘Too bad. Your CCTV recordings hold vital evidence that we need.’
‘No can do.’ Travis goes to shut the door, but Archer wedges her boot in it and asserts herself. Levelling her gaze at the man, she says, ‘DS Quinn, put a call through to Charing Cross and get this place shut down immediately.’ Archer hopes Quinn can sense her bluff.
‘Yes, ma’am. Straightaway.’
Archer can hear Quinn dialling his phone then talking to someone she’s never heard of.
‘You can’t do that,’ splutters Travis. ‘You have to apply to the court. It could take weeks.’
‘I can apply for a temporary closure in minutes in the matter of an important investigation, which is what this is. Sorry, Mr Travis. The curtain has dropped for your private party. In thirty minutes, four squad cars will be here and we will turn this place over.’
Travis’s face falls. ‘OK, OK, wait. I’ll have to speak to my boss.’ Travis eases his weight off the door.
Archer enters. ‘Show us where the CCTV is and by all means speak to your boss.’
Travis frowns and hesitates. ‘You’d better be quick.’
‘Quinn, put the team on hold for the minute,’ says Archer.
‘Will do.’
Travis leads them through a small hallway. The walls and ceiling are painted black. He takes them through to the club and bar area which is lit up with revolving red lights. It feels like the interior has never been aired as there is an overwhelming smell of sweat and stale booze mixed with domestic bleach, which makes Archer wrinkle her nose. Travis shows them through to the security office where the CCTV is installed. Sitting at a desk, he switches on a PC and indicates a directory of files.
‘We only have one month’s worth of backups. We don’t go back any further. These folders are dated. Click inside and run the file to view it.’
‘Thank you, Mr Travis.’
‘How long will this take?’
‘As long as we need it to take.’
Travis grunts again and leaves them to it.
Archer selects and plays the file dated from the last night that Elaine and Jackie visited the club. The footage is grainy and dark and shows people gathering, but there is no sign of Elaine or Jackie. One hour passes with nothing of interest. The fast beat of thumping music begins to thud through the walls. Travis re-enters. ‘Are you done yet?’
Archer and Quinn ignore him.
Quinn speaks. ‘I have a flash drive. Let me download these files and we can look them over with Pike and Toze later.’
‘Er . . . are you allowed to do that?’ asks Travis.
Archer doesn’t need to be persuaded. She had hoped the footage would provide a quicker answer, but thoughts of sitting in the office for the next few hours, listening to that pounding thud, is more than she can bear. ‘Good idea. Let’s give the file to Klara. I’m sure she’s got some wondrous software that might be able to pick out Elaine’s face.’
She turns to Travis. ‘Mr Travis, perhaps you and I could have a quick word while DS Quinn finishes up.’
‘I’m busy.’
‘Aren’t we all? Did you manage to speak to your boss?’
‘No . . . but I’ve left a message. He ain’t going to be happy.’
Archer gives a half smile and steps out of the office to an assault of pounding rap music. ‘We could really do with your help, Mr Travis.’ She takes out her phone and opens up the photo of Elaine and Jackie. ‘Do you recognise this woman on the left?’
Travis studies the picture for a moment with a blank expression.
‘She was a regular at this club,’ says Archer.
Travis nods. ‘I’ve seen her a few times. Nice girl. Friendly.’
‘Did you ever see her with a man?’
Travis thinks for a moment. ‘She was always with her girlfriends. They probably spoke to other men, not that I’d have noticed. This is a nightclub and people cop off with each other all the time. It’s not unusual.’
Archer notices there are two people inside the nightclub. One is a DJ hauling a set of record cases toward a platform. The second is a barman carrying a crate of bottled beer behind the bar. He glances across at Archer with a cautious expression before turning his back and dipping behind the bar.
Archer turns to Travis. ‘Do you think you could turn down the volume for a few moments?’
Travis bellows at the DJ and the music fades.
Archer approaches the bar and peers down at the barman, who is filling a fridge with the beer. ‘Hello.’
He seems to flinch but finishes placing the bottles in the fridge. He stands, wipes his hands with a cloth and curiously doesn’t look her way. He has a slim build, pale skin and dark hair that shines with too much hair gel.
Travis is beside her. ‘Jason, Detective Inspector Archer.’
The barman nods and wipes down the surface of the bar.
Archer holds out her phone. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’
He glances at the phone. His mouth twitches.
‘She was a regular visitor to this club,’ says Archer.
The barman scratches his nose and shrugs. ‘Was she?’
It doesn’t take an expert to see he is lying.
‘Perhaps you served her, or spoke to her?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Take a look again.’
He looks directly at Archer, a cold gaze lingers for a moment, before his eyes drop to the phone.
He shakes his head. ‘She looks like a hundred girls that come ’ere.’
Archer puts the phone back in her pocket. ‘Thank you, Jason.’
Quinn arrives. ‘All sorted.’
‘For the record, Mr . . .?’ she asks the barman.
‘Why do you want to know?’ he asks, frowning.
‘Paperwork.’
The barman can’t seem to stop wiping the bar.
‘Fuck sake, Jay, just tell ’em your name,’ says Travis.
The barman mumbles something indecipherable.
Travis interjects, speaking loudly on his colleague’s behalf, ‘Armitage. Jason Armitage.’
Armitage picks up the tray, glares at Travis and walks to the other side of the bar.
‘Thank you, Mr Travis. Enjoy the party. Both of you.’ She offers a parting glance to the barman and knows that they will be talking to him again soon.