CHAPTER 18: A Soured Romance.

Tuesday Evening Do you like curry?' Lauren pushed her empty plate away, and settled back into her chair with a groan. I think I'm going to burst. And you haven't answered. Don't think I haven't noticed.'

It's okay. There are just too many of them over here.'

Too many what?'

Indians. Pakis. Immigrants of all types. Bleeding us dry.'

Lauren looked horrified. Did you know that in the First World War India lost seventy-five thousand dead in France fighting for Britain? And the same number wounded? And in World War Two they had about the same number of soldiers killed, but also lost about two million civilians?'

So?'

I always quote those figures when people make a racist comment about them. They fought and died for us, particularly in the first war. The least we can do is to show them some respect, surely?'

Are you saying I'm a racist?'

No, I didn't say that. I said it was a racist comment.'

Same thing, isn't it?'

Not necessarily. A person can be a racist, but not make any comments about it, so no one would know. Or someone needn't be a racist, but could make racist comments without meaning it just by choosing the wrong words, particularly if they've had a few drinks. Like you've had.'

So you're giving me the benefit of the doubt?'

This time.'

Are you patronising me?'

No, I'm telling you what my dad would say. He was born in India. My grandmother was Indian although my grandfather was a Yorkshireman. He was in the army.'

But you're blonde and have blue eyes.'

My brother's eyes are darker. But you still wouldn't know by looking at them. But you'd find out pretty quick if you made that kind of comment in their presence. They wouldn't react calmly like me. They'd have just gone for you.'

I can look after myself.'

Lauren laughed. One is in the local sea-rowing club and is a lifeboat volunteer. The other is an amateur middleweight boxing champion for the region. You wouldn't stand a chance. Don't kid yourself.'

If anything, the comments made him even surlier than he'd been previously. He remained silent.

Lauren frowned and bit her lip before continuing. If what you said is really what you think, then there's no future for us. I'll make that clear now. I have Indian relatives, and I love them. I've visited India, and I think it's fantastic. I won't put up with racism. I'm going to leave my share of the bill and go. Think it over, and phone me if you want to continue seeing me. I'd like you to, but I won't compromise on what I know is right.'

She put some money on the table and left.

She cried as she walked away from the Indian restaurant. He had seemed so nice over the weekend. So perfect. Too good to be true - that's what her dad would say. She'd picked up on his new mood immediately. He was withdrawn and irritable. Even his hello kiss seemed half-hearted. What had happened? She was mystified, but just because he was in some kind of a strop didn't mean that she had to tolerate the nasty comments he'd just made. She hadn't done anything to cause his bad mood and he'd refused to say what was wrong.

She stopped to hunt for a tissue in her bag, and loudly blew her nose. She heard footsteps behind her. He was there, reaching out for her elbow. She pulled back, away from his outstretched arm.

Lauren, I'm sorry. I've upset you, I know, and it's not your fault. I've had a bad day, and I just feel really tense. I don't know what made me say those things. Forgive me?'

He tried again to hold her arm, but she shrugged off his hand.

I'll forgive you when I know that your apology is genuine. Let's have another couple of evenings out later in the week and see how things go. I'm not saying no, but I'm not saying yes either.'

Can I at least walk you home? I don't like you being out alone this late at night. I'll be worried about you.'

Okay, but promise you won't try and come in with me. You leave me at the front door, and just say goodbye. I don't even want a kiss from you until I've thought this through and decided what I want. And I'm only saying yes because I promised my dad I wouldn't be out late on my own.'

As they walked along the quiet pavement together, Lauren was surprised at how much his mood seemed to have changed again. He was almost back to his relaxed and cheerful self. How could his temper have changed so rapidly? And who was he, really? The man who was such good company over the weekend, or the moody one of this evening? She hadn't heard his question.

What was that?' she said.

I asked why your father is worried. Why today? Has something happened?'

Apparently the police are dropping charges against that Latvian guy for the murders over in Swanage. It was in the evening paper. They're looking for someone else now. I told Dad that Southampton's far enough away. But he worries about me.'

Stupid morons. Releasing him like that,' he muttered. Look, let's get a move on. I've got things to do.'

Shaz was late coming home. She was also unsteady on her feet, having knocked back several glasses of wine too many after finishing her shift at the cafe. It had been just what she'd needed, bumping into one of her closest friends on her way out of the door. And she was on the late shift again the next day, so why not relax and enjoy herself? Tuesday evenings were always quiet at the nearby wine bar, so they'd settled in for a real gossip-session, running down anyone they could think of, and howling with laughter. Therapeutic, that was the word for it.

She put the key unsteadily in the outer door and turned it, almost falling over as it swung open under her weight. She staggered in, hiccupping, and started to giggle.

Shushh,' she said to herself. Fucking keep quiet, you drunk cow.'

That caused her to giggle some more as she staggered down the hallway to her own door. The landlord still hadn't changed the locks. Was it worth hassling him anymore? That Andy wanker-bastard had vanished completely. He wasn't going to appear now. She leaned against the door breathing heavily, trying to line up the key in her hand with the lock in front of her. Fuck. Why wouldn't it stay still? Finally the key slid in.

Reminds me of sex,' she slurred to the empty hallway. Everything reminds me of sex. Want some.'

The door opened and she stepped forward into the void.

Good evening, sir. Sorry to delay you, but this shouldn't take long.'

It was three in the morning and the A31 - the dual carriageway stretching east-west between the Bournemouth conurbation and the end of the motorway network at Southampton - was almost deserted. An occasional car, van or lorry passed. Most of them were waved into the long lay-by by the police traffic team, eerily visible in their luminous yellow jackets. PC Kenny Morton disliked the overnight shift, particularly on chilly, damp, misty nights in the middle of winter. He sniffed again. Must be coming down with the winter cold that so many of his colleagues were suffering from. He walked towards the white van that he'd just called into the lay-by and asked the driver to switch off his engine.

I haven't done anything wrong, have I?'

Not that I'm aware of, sir. This is the first night of our anti drink-driving campaign. It'll go on until the New Year. Were you aware of the campaign from our adverts?'

No.'

Did the driver's voice sound a little strained? It was maybe worth prolonging the conversation and taking a sniff of his breath.

Do you live in Dorset, sir?'

No. Southampton.'

Is the van yours?'

The driver nodded.

And your name, sir, if you don't mind me asking?'

Again Morton noticed the slight pause before the man replied.

Why are you out so late at night, sir? I'm just curious. It isn't the most pleasant of times.'

I've been delivering some emergency engineering parts to a client in Poole. They're needed tomorrow.'

There it was again, a hint of tension in the voice.

Can you open the rear doors, sir, please?'

Oh, for God's sake, is that really necessary?'

Morton looked at the driver coolly and nodded without speaking. The driver got out, walked round to the back of the van and unlocked the rear doors. The policeman shone his torch into the interior.

Seems fine, sir. What are in those boxes?'

Refurbished heat exchangers for a refrigeration unit. They've just been serviced.'

Open them, please. I just need to do a quick check.'

The two boxes that lay along one side of the van's interior contained exactly what the driver had described.

So why are you really stopping people?'

Illicit booze and fags. We think there's a consignment coming in tonight at Poole, and being driven along to London. Nothing yet.'

Can I go now?'

Morton nodded, running the beam from his torch over the mud-spattered wheels and sills. He'd already noticed the mud on the driver's boots and trousers. Drive safely. The road's a bit slippery with the rain, and you were speeding a little as you approached us.'

Sure.'

The driver locked the van and returned to his seat. He started the engine and drove back onto the main carriageway heading east, passing the police team who waved him on.

Fucking wanker,' he mouthed through his smile as he waved back in return. He obviously wasn't aware that a high proportion of the Dorset Force were trained to lip-read. It had formed part of their inclusivity workshop, designed to help them understand the problems faced by deaf people. Morton watched the van disappear out of sight. I'll have you one day, he thought.

CHAPTER 19: The Dark Pool.

Wednesday Morning Lydia Pillay was tired. She'd spent the night in the hotel room next to the one used by Tracy Beck and her family. She'd woken regularly through the night, looked at the clock and then lain awake for what seemed like hours before drifting off once more. She'd seated herself at a table near the family while they ate breakfast, until she was finally relieved by another officer. Now here she was in Bournemouth, knocking on the door of a ground-floor flat that seemed to be unoccupied, judging from the lack of response. The building was dingy, with a badly soiled carpet running the length of the ground floor corridor. The walls looked as though they hadn't been painted in a decade. The interior light didn't work so the sole illumination for the landing came from a dirt-encrusted window that looked out onto a small paved yard. A slightly raised bed of earth ran down the side of the yard, looking as though someone had once made an effort to grow a few flowers or shrubs. There was nothing there now but weeds.

A middle-aged Asian couple came out of the front flat.

We heard you knocking,' said the man. She may be at work.'

They looked frightened. Lydia took out her warrant card and held it out for them to see.

Dorset police,' she said. I'm DC Pillay. The lady who lives here may be able to help us with an investigation. Her name is Shaz Fellows. Is that right?'

The woman nodded. Sharon is such a pretty name. Why do girls have to alter their names like that? She was here last night because we heard her before we went to bed. There was some bumping.'

Where does she work?' asked Pillay.

A cafe ten minutes' walk away towards the gardens. It is called Waterside cafe, though it is away from the stream. But you can see the flower beds in the park gardens from the front tables. It is nice for tourists. Good food. What is the word when nothing has been put on the food?'

Organic?' suggested Pillay.

That is it. It is an organic cafe. Expensive.'

Do you know Shaz well?'

No,' came the hesitant reply. Some local girls are good, and courteous . . .'

But Shaz isn't?' prompted Pillay.

You know what some young girls are like in these days,' explained the man. They have no moral centre to their lives. It is the drink. She can be nice but we would be ashamed if our daughter were to behave like her at night. It is good to see a young Asian woman like you in the police. Why do these English girls have no dignity?'

Pillay didn't answer. She still enjoyed her wilder moments at parties, but was careful to keep the gory details well away from her immediate family. She smiled at the couple.

Well, thank you for your help. We may want to speak to you again.'

She took a note of their names and telephone number. Then she walked outside to call back to the incident room. As well as the name Shaz Fellows on the list of Susie Pater's contacts, Pillay remembered also seeing the word Waterside. Sophie's instructions were for her to visit the cafe.

The cafe owner was harassed and short-tempered.

She's let me down again,' he hissed at Pillay, as he passed with a tray of coffee and buns. I'm sick and tired of it. And she knew I was depending on her today. I told her when she left yesterday evening. I really don't want her back, but I just can't find anyone else to fill the mid-week slots. It's a nightmare. I've got someone coming this afternoon for an interview and if she seems any good I'll take her on right away, and Shaz can just fade into oblivion as far as I'm concerned.'

Does she often take days off without warning?'

He stopped to think, wiping his hands on his pristine white apron. Now you come to mention it, this is the first time. She's always let me know by phone before.'

So why do you feel so negative about her?'