“First, you’re going to give her a bell and tell her what’s happened. Your dad shows up, she’ll ring the police straightaway if she has any sense and she seemed to have sense when I met her.”
“An’ what about my mum?” he asked.
“We’re going to find her,” Deborah promised. She sent a prayer heavenward that they could.
THE NARROW WAY
HACKNEY
NORTH-EAST LONDON
Mark decided to take a sick day. He knew that the team could function perfectly well on their own. All he had on was a meeting with them in the late afternoon, so he rang DS Hopwood, gave her the word, and told her he’d be back the following morning. Anything you need? was her only question.
Rest is the key, he told her. It was just a summer cold and sore throat.
Lots of fluids, she informed him.
Exactly what he had in mind, he said.
What he also had in mind was Pete: the contradiction that seemed to exist between what she was doing and what she said she was doing. He had to sort it out. Otherwise, the torn-up feeling was only going to become less endurable every day.
He began in their bedroom, and it didn’t take long. Pete had never been one for personal enhancements She used no makeup other than lipstick. She wore no jewellery other than her wedding ring and a pair of cultured pearl earrings. She dressed identically every day: white on top and blue denim on the bottom. But as there was always a chance that something more was going on than he was privy to, he quietly went through her drawers, the pockets of jeans and jackets hanging among her clothes, and the medicine cabinet. He advanced to the airing cupboard and from there to the kitchen. But nothing was missing and nothing had been added to their meagre possessions.
She was reading to Lilybet as he did this, children’s verses by the sound of it. Robertson was running the hoover. No one was attending to his own activities. As he had given Pete the excuse of a cold, he was free from his duties to Lilybet as well. She couldn’t afford to be exposed to anything that might complicate her already compromised condition. So when he called to her, “I’m stepping out, Pete. Need anything from the chemist?” she said that nothing at all was required but to please make certain he stocked up on whatever he needed for that sore throat.
He assured her that he would and set out. Not for the chemist, but for The Narrow Way. There, he went to the pawnshop at the top of the pedestrian street. He looked at the window display before going inside. It comprised, as usual, largely rings, necklaces, brooches, and watches. And of course, none of it had once belonged to Pete because Pete had never owned any in the first place.
One piece, though, caught his eye. It was an intricate, elongated, tear-shaped pendant strung upon a silver chain, something quite easily mistaken for costume jewellery. It shone splendidly beneath the special lighting in the shop window—all jewellery did—and while it might have been a marcasite piece complemented by a large teardrop blue stone and two others fashioned as sashes, Mark knew this was not the case. It was Art Deco, it was white gold, and the stones were diamonds and sapphires. Its value was beyond several thousand pounds. And it belonged to his mother.
He entered and walked directly to the counter, calling out for Stuart. He had to call out two more times when Paulie’s brother-in-law did not quickly appear. Finally, he emerged from the back of the shop, a mug of tea in one hand and a piece of well-buttered toast in the other. Without preamble, Mark said to him, “Bring me the jewellery and silver she pawned. I want to see it. And don’t mess me about, Stuart. I’m not in the mood.”
Stuart didn’t bother with a hem or a haw this time. Instead, he nodded and went to the back. He was gone for more than five minutes, which made sense. He would have to remove everything from the shop’s safe. He knew what he had—or at least Paulie damn well knew—and while the pendant in the window might be mistaken for something else, there was no way Paulie would risk the entire collection in that way, on view to anyone who happened to walk by.
Mark knew there were fifteen pieces in his mother’s collection. She always chose from among them what to wear on special occasions: weddings, christenings, out to dinner for their anniversary, the ballet once a year, the opera twice. His dad had given them to her throughout the years. Mark didn’t want to consider how they’d ended up in this shop.
Stuart had four other pieces: a pair of geometric earrings fashioned from platinum and decorated with seven diamonds each; a platinum ring with a large oval jelly opal set between two chevrons fashioned with diamonds; a platinum bracelet with jade and diamonds; an azure-blue aquamarine in an emerald cut, set with diamonds in a platinum ring.