The Only Game

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‘Yes,’ said Dog. ‘What was it you heard?’

‘I heard this man, Parslow, saying the reason you’re interested in Jane Maguire is because her son’s missing, that you believe he’s dead, and that you want to find his mother in order to charge her with murder!’

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It wasn’t as bad as the priest made out, but almost. Close questioned, Blake calmed down enough to admit that Parslow hadn’t stated categorically that it was a murder hunt, only that the child was missing, the police were anxious to interview his mother, and the possibility of foul play could not be ruled out.

‘Look,’ said Dog. ‘Why don’t you go in and see what you can do for Mrs Maguire? She knows the boy’s missing and that’s been shock enough. I’ll get onto my office to see if anything else has come up.’

‘And you’ll let me know? The truth this time?’ said Father Blake harshly.

‘I’ll tell you everything I can,’ said Dog jesuitically.

Reluctantly, the priest went through into the sitting room leaving Dog to his thoughts.

The whole thing stank of Tench. He must have decided his devious purposes would best be served by going public. And he’d get no argument from Parslow. Steady Eddie would have made the statement dressed as Santa Claus, so long as his pension rights were safe.

Dog cooled down a little. Perhaps he was being unfair to both Tench and Parslow. Perhaps something new had come up.

He picked up the phone from the hall table and dialled.

‘Romchurch police, can I help you?’

‘CID, Sergeant Lunn.’

When he heard the sergeant’s voice, he said, ‘Charley, are you alone? What’s going on?’

‘Maguire, you mean? There was some kind of media leak, I gather, so they wheeled out the super to make a statement. But why he decided to throw petrol on the fire beats me, specially as I’d talked to the social worker who tried to see Maguire, and while he said a couple of odd things, there was nothing there to reinforce the murder theory.’

‘Tell me,’ said Dog.

‘This chap confirms he rang Maguire’s bell and got no reply. Then he had a word with Mrs Ashley, the old lady who’d made the complaint. He wasn’t all that worried, it seems, ’cos evidently it’s quite a hobby of Mrs Ashley’s ringing up with allegations about domestic mayhem. And in this case he reckoned she’d really slipped over into fantasy land because there was no record of a child living in the flat anyway.’

‘Maguire hadn’t been in the area all that long,’ said Dog.

‘All the same, kids usually figure in the records very quickly. Health, education, that sort of thing. I checked with the DHSS about Child Allowance and there’s no trace there either.’

Cicero said, ‘Would going to a private kindergarten make a difference to the records?’

‘Officially, no. I mean, children have to be accounted for and County Hall would have a record of all the Vestey Kindergarten kids. But until someone bothers to do a cross check, the fact that a pupil at the kindergarten doesn’t figure elsewhere wouldn’t come up.’

‘Whereas if the child had been registered at a local authority nursery school, it would automatically be fed into the whole system?’

‘Right. Why so interested in that aspect, Dog? It was the same when I told Parslow. That chap, Tench, from the funny buggers, was there and he didn’t seem much bothered that the child abuse thing was probably a fake alarm either.’

‘Oh, I’m bothered, Charley. Anything else?’

‘No. Oh yes. Five minutes ago they rang up from the desk to say there was this woman asking for you and did we know when you’d be back. A Miss Edmondson. Said she worked with Maguire.’

‘First name Suzie? Long blonde girl, not bad looking?’

‘Don’t know. Never saw her.’

‘You mean you just let her go?’

‘Of course not. I went down but by the time I got there, your Mr Tench had swallowed her up. Willy on the desk, though, did have a languid look on his face so maybe your description fitted. She’s probably still in the super’s room … hang about, I hear Mr Tench’s merry laugh now … I’ll just have a word …’

‘No!’ snapped Dog, though why the word came out he did not know. But it was too late anyway. There was nothing on the end of the line but background noise of footsteps and a door opening, voices, distant and tinny, silence, more steps, then in his ear Tench, merry and bright.

‘Dog! Just been talking about you. How goes it, my son?’

‘What’s going on?’ said Dog. ‘Why have we gone public?’

‘No choice, had we? Press got onto it, probably one of the mums at the kindergarten tipped them off. You’ve got to cooperate with the media, Dog, or they won’t play ball with yours.’

‘But why stress the possible murder angle?’

‘Because that’s what it looks like more and more. Don’t knock it, my son. Once we’re absolutely sure it’s some batty slag topping her toddler ’cos he got on her nerves, I’ll be on my way and you can get back to the five-hour siesta!’

‘What did Suzie Edmondson say?’ said Dog, refusing to let Tench irritate him off course.

‘What? Oh, the girl from the Health Centre, you mean. You didn’t mention her, did you? Saving her for yourself, were you? Don’t blame you, very tasty. But she just about wrapped it up, Dog. Thought you were just enquiring about the Jacobs business till she heard the news. Then she recalled a couple of odd things Maguire had said to her this morning. Like when she got bawled out for being late, she’d told Suzie she was sick of this and was thinking of looking for a real full-time job with better money. Suzie said, what about the kid? And our little charmer shrugged and said she had a life to live too. Now I know it’s hearsay and what Suzie says about Maguire’s tone of voice would not be admissible, but it all adds up, my son. How’ve you got on with the mother?’

‘Maguire came up at the weekend. Saturday. With the boy. They didn’t stay. There was a row and she left.’

As he spoke his hand toyed with a spring-loaded index by the phone, its right angles exactly matching those of the highly polished table. He touched M. There was only one entry: Maddy, with a number after it.

‘A row, you say? What about? Any idea where she went?’

‘Oh, just the usual mother and daughter thing,’ said Dog. ‘And Mrs Maguire assumed she’d drive home.’

‘But we know she didn’t. Could be that’s when it happened, Dog,’ said Tench. ‘And she spent all Sunday thinking up her fantasy. Well, it’ll all come out in the wash. What time will you be back?’

‘Oh, a couple of hours,’ said Dog vaguely.

‘See you then if I’m still around. Take care, old son.’

‘I will,’ said Dog, replacing the receiver. He’d no idea why he’d lied, except as a defensive response to a gut feeling that Tench was lying too. But about what? He picked up the phone again, dialled Directory Enquiries, identified himself, gave the number next to Maddy, and asked for a name and address. It took half a minute.

Madeleine Salter, The Warden’s Flat, South Essex College of Physical Education, Basildon.

He went back to the sitting room. Father Blake was kneeling beside Mrs Maguire, holding her hands and talking urgently to her in a low voice, but there didn’t seem to be any response. Dog motioned with his head and the priest followed him into the hall.

‘Look,’ said Dog. ‘I’ve been on the phone to my station and it’s not as bad as it sounds.’

‘Will you spell it out to me, Inspector,’ said the priest grimly. ‘If I’m to help this poor creature, I’ve got to know how much reassurance I can honestly give her.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Dog. He gave a rapid digest of the facts, missing out any reference to Special Branch.

‘So there’s nothing to show that Janey had hurt the boy?’ said Blake fiercely.

Dog hesitated. Then he said quietly, ‘Father, be as comforting as you can, but until we can see our way clearer, it would be wrong to promise certainties.’

The gazes locked. It was Dog who turned away first, unable to meet the pain and anger he saw in the priest’s eyes.

‘I’ll get the local force to send someone round,’ he said. ‘It won’t be long before the press get onto her, I imagine, and it’ll take a uniform to fight those boys off. Take care of her, Father.’

He made for the door. At the telephone table he paused, wondering whether to ring the local station. Better to call personally as he passed. There would be anger there if they’d heard Parslow’s statement especially as Denver already suspected he’d been holding out on him earlier. He shrugged. The anger of colleagues was nothing compared with the pain he was leaving here.

He noticed he’d moved the telephone index slightly off square. Carefully he realigned it before he left.

It was the least he could do for Mrs Maguire.

Worse, it was probably the most.

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The trip south was no better than the trip north. It felt like the wee small hours when Dog hit home territory, but his dash clock told him it was only eleven.

He saw the Romchurch sign, but kept his foot hard on the accelerator. When you’re on a rush, you don’t eat, you don’t crap, you hardly breathe. Just play. Gospel according to Endo.

Basildon. He looked at a map as he drove, located the college. Five minutes later he was parked on the verge by the main gate.

The college occupied a flat windswept site south of the A127. There was still agricultural land here but it would have taken an unreconstructed East Ender, or an estate agent, to call the location rural. The lights of housing prickled in all directions and there was a constant drone of traffic from the arterial road.

But, set in a couple of acres of playing fields, and emptied now for the Christmas vacation, these inelegant boxes of concrete and glass still managed to chill Dog’s heart like a Gothic mansion.

There was a hoarding by the gate bearing a diagram of the complex. He studied it, located the warden’s flat, then slipped through the gate. There was a caretaker’s lodge just inside but he didn’t want either the bother or the disturbance of explaining his presence so he cut away from it across the grass to minimize sound. The rain had finally stopped and the skies were clearing. Tendrils of mist from the sodden ground curled around his ankles and from time to time he stumbled in the tussocky grass. He doubted if this was doing his expensive shoes much good. Or his career.

He reached the block where the flat was located. The main double glass door was locked, but presumably the warden would have her own personal entrance. Even a college lecturer was entitled to a private life.

He moved cautiously along the flagged walkway running alongside the building. He had to make a full circuit to the other side before he found what he was looking for. There was a car park here with a solitary car parked in it, right outside a conventional single door with a bell push.