Chapter 65

It was Saturday morning and Nancy Chappell was on her way in to the office. She had texted Derry Hacker from the train back to London the previous evening to tell him that she’d like to meet today. He’d replied that he’d be in the office as he was planning to work over the weekend. Progress with his investigation into the Khans was going more slowly than he’d hoped, but one of his network of informers had agreed to meet him that afternoon and there were a few things he needed to check out beforehand.

Nancy was an unlikely champion of Derry’s. She knew that to most female colleagues he came across as laddish and a bit of a male chauvinist pig, but she had a lot of time for Derry. He’d given her a chance when others had been dubious about her capabilities and he’d never shown the slightest prejudice of her otherness. He was the only one of her colleagues who knew her true identity; she had no qualms about that, even though it meant she had literally entrusted him with her life. Another great thing about Derry was that as a subordinate you could argue the toss with him and he’d always listen and often agree; and even if he didn’t agree, he wouldn’t hold it against you.

Nancy intended to challenge him now. She knew that Derry’s sole present objective was to catch enough of the senior Khans to break up their criminal empire. Although he’d replied favourably to Juliet’s request to search CCTV footage for images of Margie Pocklington, he certainly wouldn’t be making it a priority without a lot of encouragement. Nancy wanted to impress on him how urgent it was and she knew she could achieve it only by spelling out the probable link between Margie’s disappearance and Ayesha Verma’s.

Derry was looking careworn and in need of sleep, but his greeting was as jaunty as usual.

“Great to see you. Couldn’t they find enough for you to do in the boggy lands, or did the fact that nothing much happens there just give you the screaming abdabs?”

“Quite a lot ’appened, as a matter of fact, but I fought I could be more ’elp ’ere. As you know, another girl ’as disappeared from Spalding. Margie Pocklington. Juliet Armstrong told you about ’er. What she didn’t tell you and Superintendent Fornton didn’t tell the media is that clothes belonging to bofe girls were dumped in the River Welland. I fink the clothes was planted deliberately so the police would find them. It’s just a feeling, but I wouldn’t mind betting that bofe those girls are ’ere in London somewhere.”

“Woman’s intuition?” said Derry mischievously.

Nany didn’t rise to it.

“If you like,” she replied. “Fank you for agreeing wiv Juliet to ’ave the King’s Cross CCTV footage checked for images of Margie Pocklington. If I’m right, looking at it would be more than a routine elimination of one line of enquiry. It could be an enormous ’elp in finding ’er. And it may be that we ’aven’t got very long.”

Derry shifted around on his seat and made a great show of squaring up the papers on his desk.

“Yes. Happy to help, of course. I’ve got all available hands checking footage for the Khan enquiry this weekend, but I’ll make sure someone gets on to it next week.”

“It’s urgent,” said Nancy flatly. “It needs doing now.”

“We spent quite a lot of time checking King’s Cross footage for Ayesha Verma. We didn’t find anything. What makes you so sure that this time it’ll be different?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just a feeling, as I said, but I don’t want to give up on it. Ayesha Verma may already be dead: you know as well as I do that the odds are stacked against finding ’er alive now that it’s ten days since she disappeared. But we’re still in wiv a chance with Margie Pocklington.”

“I still don’t see why you think she’s more likely to be in London than anywhere else, including lovely Lincolnshire.”

“It’s lovely Lincolnshire that’s the problem. It’s not a place I’d associate with ‘honour killings’, for a start. That was a red ’erring, though probably one started by the police themselves.”

“Ah, yes. Poor old Tim. I expect he’s got a red face now. He’s going to have some explaining to do about his little jolly to India.”

“But what if they were abducted and someone wanted to encourage the idea of an honour killing?”

“Doesn’t make sense. Margie Pocklington’s an unlikely honour killing victim and the police have had no contact with the perpetrator, have they?”

“No. But the fact that clothes belonging to bofe girls were found together shows there was a perpetrator. They didn’t bofe just run away. And if the perpetrator’s a serial killer, why dump the clothes so they could be found?”

“You tell me. Stranger things have happened.”

“Agreed. But if we aren’t looking at honour killings or a serial killer, the fird possibility is that someone is taking girls for a purpose. If that’s so, London is the likeliest destination, especially from Spalding. It’s only a ’undred miles away.”

“So remind me why you think the clothes were dumped in Spalding?”

“I’ve fought a lot about that. Putting us off the scent is an obvious explanation. But perhaps someone was trying to tell us somefing else as well.”

“You’re getting a bit deep for me there. I hear what you say and, while you haven’t convinced me, I can see a sort of logic in it. But honestly, Nancy, I really don’t have anyone to put on inspecting that footage this weekend. You know how time-consuming it is.”

“Let me do it.”

“You can’t do it on your own.”

“I’ll get a team of students to ’elp me. You know I keep a list of law and criminology students who are keen on getting involved in police work. I’m always on the look-out for somefing suitable for them.”

“I’m not a big fan of unpaid work.”

“Well, pay them then. Minimum wage. They’ll be over the moon.”

“OK, Nancy, you win. I wasn’t expecting you to come back until next week, so it’s up to you what you do this weekend. You can recruit four students to help you. You’re only checking a few days’ footage, so that should be enough. If you haven’t found anything by close of play on Monday, we’ll assume that’s because there’s nothing to find. Ok?”

“Ok. Fanks. I knew you’d want to ’elp.”

“Probably against my better judgment,” said Derry. “But good luck with it.”