Peggy didn’t surprise easily. She liked to think she could spot a toff a mile away. After all, she’d grown up with them. And, however much she denied it, in some ways she was still one of them. Sure, she’d walked away from her background – turning her back on her family’s wealth and privilege. She’d made her own way in the world and hadn’t accepted money from anyone in her family in more than fifty years.
But a person’s upbringing never left them. Not really.
So what did this Mitch person see when he looked at Peggy? Did he see the crusty old punk most people did? Or did he see Margaret Persephone Trent, daughter of Edward ‘Stucky’ Trent of Trent Pharmaceuticals and the Conservative peer Maude Wolston Trent, better known as Baroness Bromley?
Perhaps he could see the Peggy Trent who spent her formative years in a home with a name rather than a number. Orchard House had been featured in Ernest Newton’s Book of Houses, published in 1890. Or the Peggy who’d spent seven years at Wycombe Abbey, a prestigious boarding school for girls.
If Peggy hadn’t seen past Mitch the thug to Crispy Crunchy Todmorden, as Madge had dubbed him, then maybe he hadn’t seen beyond Peggy the pink-haired lesbian. Who could say?
When Peggy looked up, Baz tapped the papers still in her lap with a ruby fingernail. Unlike Peggy’s fingernails, Baz’s polish was never chipped. ‘I’ve got a long list of shell companies he’s got an interest in. Through them, he owns properties all over the UK, including quite a few in this neighbourhood.’
‘Well, well, well,’ Peggy muttered.
Baz took another drink of her tea before setting the mug down. ‘He owns commercial buildings, flats, houses, hotels, pubs – from ex-council flats to grand country estates and everything in between. Not only does he own the nursery premises, he also owns the flat upstairs from you. Where Emmy and Amrita live. Where Wilson lived until he went missing.’
‘Rich landlord owns multiple properties.’ Peggy shrugged. ‘This isn’t news. It’s interesting – but I don’t see what use it is to us.’
Baz dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. ‘No, I suppose it’s not news. But what he’s doing is illegal. If HMRC got wind of his activities, he’d end up owing the tax man. Maybe even a custodial sentence. I don’t have enough information to hazard a guess at how much he’s earning from this property empire, but we’re definitely talking about significant figures.’
Madge relinquished one of her knitting needles and stroked her chin. ‘Hmm. So the same scoundrel harassing the lovely folks from Royal Tea – performers and audience members alike – is also responsible for trying to put innocent, hardworking Debs out of business?’
‘Indeed.’ Peggy tapped her index finger on the arm of her chair. ‘I propose we set the info you discovered on this despicable fat cat aside for a while as we consider the missing persons case.’
Madge was already back to her knitting. ‘I concur.’
Baz’s shoulders fell. ‘Oh.’
Peggy lifted both hands and held them up, palms outwards. ‘No one is suggesting we not act on the information you’ve obtained. We absolutely should. We’re merely proposing to give this some time to percolate while we discuss the other case.’
Baz brightened again. ‘Ah, okay. Thank you.’
Peggy opened her computer once more and glanced at the words on-screen.
Kit sighed. ‘Do you really have to go so soon?’
Will pulled himself from his lover’s arms. ‘We both know I can’t get caught here.’ He held up the stump of his candle. ‘This is barely enough to get me home as it is. If I don’t go now, I’ll get caught here – and then where would we be?’
Then she closed her writing project and opened the new file she’d created last night, MisPer. It brought together their findings so far. Scrivener could be useful for more than just books. ‘After we left yesterday and based on what the police—’
Carole shook her head and began a foul-mouthed rant.
However much Peggy wanted to speak, it was never wise to interrupt Carole. Fortunately, it wasn’t a particularly long rant. When Carole finished providing her thoughts on the Metropolitan Police, Peggy continued. ‘Based on what they told us about Operation Wellesley, I did a bit of digging.’
Madge nodded. ‘Very good.’
Peggy ran her finger around the laptop’s trackpad, not clicking anything. ‘One thing I noted in Peter’s little … speech was that Fifi went missing while the task force was active, which implies that there were enough people reported missing even before her to raise suspicions.’
When the others indicated their agreement, Peggy carried on. ‘There wasn’t much about Operation Wellesley online – just a few short articles and blog posts. That gave me the names of three more vic—’ She held a hand up to Madge, forestalling any further arguments about what led to the disappearances. ‘Three more people who seem to fit the pattern. The disappearance of Hassan Abbas was reported in 2018. The next was Samuel Musa in 2019. And Moses Okello in late 2020.’
Baz frowned. ‘Is there anything that connects them to Eddie, Wilson, or Fifi?’
‘Well.’ Peggy took a breath. ‘Excellent question. I wondered the same thing myself.’ She ran her finger over the screen, trying to find her place. ‘Now, it was Moses Okello’s disappearance that spurred the task force. The police were swift to connect it to the Samuel Musa case. Okello was reported missing by his estranged partner, Floyd Gallo.’
‘So he’s gay.’ Madge nodded. ‘That’s a link.’
Peggy tried not to chuckle. ‘We can’t say for certain what his orientation is. But presumably he’s not straight. The police report showed that he and Floyd Gallo were in a relationship from 2019 until the summer of 2020.’
‘What about the immigration angle?’ Baz was rubbing her chin.
Peggy waggled an index finger at Baz. ‘Aha. Now that is the question. I couldn’t find anything for certain – at least not that was available publicly. So I did the same as you.’
Baz cocked her head. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I reached out to a former colleague to see if they could dig up any more details,’ Peggy said.
Baz opened her mouth but then closed it.
Something dawned on Peggy – Baz didn’t know about her career. ‘I was a journalist. Mainly I covered politics – but I did make a few forays into police corruption and the like. Most of my former colleagues are now retired but I do still have a few contacts. I emailed a couple people who I thought might be able to assist in getting to the heart of this. The Independent ran a story on Operation Wellesley back in early 2021. The reporter wasn’t anyone I knew, but I called a former colleague to see if she could dig up a bit of dirt for me.’
‘And?’ Madge was squinting at the scarf she was knitting. She plucked a strange little tool from her case and did something to the wool.
‘And she replied overnight.’ Peggy had been pleased when she’d seen just how much information her young friend had turned up – until she realised she’d have to spend an evening socialising with her and her insufferable husband to make up for it.
Peggy sighed. ‘The paper did a freedom of information request to get everything the police had. She sent the file over. Some of it was redacted of course, but I read through what they had.’ She scrolled down to the appropriate spot in her notes. ‘Hassan, Samuel, and Moses were all caught in our immigration system, fitting the pattern we’ve observed so far. However, the police don’t seem to have picked up on whether they were part of the LGBTQIA+ community. But their countries of origin are … well, they’re not exactly known for their wholehearted embrace of queer people.’
Baz opened her bag and retrieved her embroidery work. She pulled the needle towards herself, a long steely blue thread trailing. ‘What countries are those?’
‘Pakistan, Nigeria, and Uganda – respectively. We know Moses had a long-term boyfriend but we don’t know anything about Hassan or Samuel. It’s entirely possible they weren’t part of the community. But…’ Peggy picked a piece of lint from her jeans. ‘Hassan’s friends were interviewed and a few of them mentioned pubs they’d visited together. Lo and behold, they all run occasional drag nights. We don’t know whether he’d been there for that, of course, but it’s a bit of an interesting titbit, I thought.’
‘Excellent,’ said Madge. ‘I had a word with young Peter last night.’
Peggy bit down on a chuckle. ‘I’ll bet you did.’ She wished she could’ve been a fly on the wall for that conversation. Then again, Peter was a decent sort. Madge would have given him a dressing down he wouldn’t soon forget.
‘I managed to get him to fill me in on some of the details of this Operation Wellesley,’ said Madge.
Baz’s jaw fell slack. ‘You did? Good heavens.’
Madge had a certain gleam in her eye. ‘Of course I did.’
Baz narrowed her eyes. ‘How on earth did you manage that?’
‘Well.’ Madge touched her hair. ‘He agreed to fill me in on a few little details to satisfy my own curiosity.’
‘And why would he agree to do that?’ asked Peggy.
Madge released her needles again. ‘He may have done so on the condition we desist our investigation. Since the matter had drawn to a conclusion and the police found no evidence of foul play, he says we have every reason to drop the matter.’
The women sat in the relative silence of the busy urban café for a few seconds.
And then, one by one, all four women burst into fits of hysterical laughter. Every time she thought she’d got control of herself, Peggy would look up and catch the eye of one of her friends.
Sarah flew around the corner into their little room. She glanced around the group and thumped herself on the chest. ‘What on earth is going on in here? I thought someone was being murdered!’
Peggy looked down at her lap, blinking rapidly and waving a hand in front of her face. She used her sleeves to wipe the tears from her eyes. ‘Sorry, Sarah. I regret to inform you we are all very much alive.’
Baz held two fingers to her lips and shook her head.
Madge pulled a tissue from one of her pockets and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Sorry, dear. Didn’t mean to scare you.’
Carole looked up at Sarah. ‘I told them. I did. But the joke’s on them.’ She beckoned Sarah to come close. When she did, Carole whispered, ‘I don’t even like clam chowder.’ She burst into giggles again.
‘Okay.’ Sarah stood upright and backed away. ‘You’re sure you’re all okay, yes?’
Peggy, Baz, and Madge all nodded.
Sarah put a hand on her hip. ‘Okay, but don’t go scaring me like that again.’ Before heading back to the main room, she cleared the dirty dishes off the other tables.
The women stayed quiet for a few minutes, as they fought to regain their composure. Or at least, it was a battle for Peggy. She could feel the urge to cackle bubbling up from deep inside her.
At length, Madge cleared her throat. ‘Anyhoo. Much of what young Peter told me aligned with what you said.’
Madge used her knitting to gesture at Peggy. ‘The police don’t seem to have connected the dots with regard to the sexual orientation of the missing people. But they did pick up on the immigration angle. Hassan and Samuel both came to this country as students. I’m not sure how Moses first arrived in the UK. Two of them applied for asylum, whereas Hassan had actually applied for a work visa after he finished his studies. All three had their applications denied. I don’t know the reasons behind the rejections. But they were all classed as over-stayers.’
Madge paused to study her knitting for a moment. She undid a few stitches before starting back up again. ‘Now, what your journalist friend was missing was that the police looked at another disappearance in connection with Operation Wellesley. They decided they didn’t have enough to act on that case. I got the name of that individual as well.’ She set her knitting down and pulled out her notebook. ‘Abdullah Sultana.’
Peggy pressed her forehead. ‘So, we’re talking seven missing people. People who’ve just – poof – vanished from our community. People do not disappear.’ She thumped her fist onto the arm of her chair, startling Cookie.
‘Peggy—’ Madge began.
Peggy wagged an angry finger at her friend. ‘Don’t start with me. Don’t you dare. One person up and leaves his home, well, maybe he had good reason. Two people?’ She bobbled her head. ‘Maybe. But we’re talking about seven people who’ve disappeared. Seven! I’m sorry but no. This is not a coincidence.’
‘Peggy—’ Madge tried again.
Peggy’s muscles clenched and twitched. ‘I don’t want to hear it, Madge. You can’t possibly believe that seven people can just disappear and we—’
She looked down at Madge’s hand on her arm.
‘Peggy,’ Madge said softly. ‘I believe you.’
Peggy crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Go on.’
Madge sighed. ‘After speaking to Peter, I rang Chukwuma. We had a good long chat. Samuel was one of his clients. And this other man the police mentioned, Abdullah, was a client of one of his lawyer friends. They’ve been convinced for a while that there’s something going on. Samuel’s case for asylum was solid. They were weeks away from getting a decision.’
Peggy wanted to shake her head. Of course it would take Chuk’s intervention to persuade Madge. Still, she’d take it.