“I’m on a reconnaissance mission.” Elea grinned, checkingthe address. She’d sweet-talked a police officer she’d met in the station toilets into giving her a lift back into the city.
“Elea, stop playing games and tell me where you are.”
“I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t call again unless you have an update.”
“Back from where? Where are you?”
She hung up, then set her phone to silent. Swann would find out where she was soon enough.
According to his Facebook profile, Phil Hobbs had just returned from the bookies. He was probably sitting down right now with a few cans of beer, barking orders at his punchbag of a wife. But Elea had someone else to see first. She entered Monks Road Café and ordered herself a black coffee from a cheerful-looking woman behind the counter. The small, brightly lit café was a cosy haven, the air thick with the aroma of sizzling bacon, fried eggs and buttered toast. The faint echo of a radio playing a nostalgic pop song added to the charm. Gary Reynolds was already sitting in the corner, mug of tea in hand. She recognised him from the staff photo on the website of The Birdcage pub. “Thanks for agreeing to meet.”
Elea sidled in across from him, resting her coffee on the table and her bag on the rung of the chair. The café was relatively busy, but its customers appeared too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice her. Gary dressed like a man in denial of his age, wearing a baseball cap that was no doubt covering a bald patch, with skinny jeans and a navy puffer jacket that had seen better days. Judging by the way his gaze kept flicking to the door, Elea guessed this was the last place he wanted to be.
“As long as it’s off the record.” Gary cradled his tea, mouth downturned.
“I told you. I’m not a cop. Just a mum looking for her little girl.”
“Hmm.” Gary eyed her suspiciously. He wasn’t buying it.
Elea heaved a sigh. “All right. I’m a detective, but in Finland, not here. And I wasn’t lying about my daughter.” She paused to check her watch. She didn’t have long. “You served Phil Hobbs the day his stepdaughter went missing, didn’t you?”
“It’s all in my statement. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“It’s what’snotin your statement that I need to hear. You know something, otherwise you wouldn’t have agreed to meet.”
Gary snorted. “You said you’d stalk me if I didn’t. I don’t need the grief.”
Elea didn’t have time to play games. “What was Phil like that day? Was The Birdcage his local?” She was referring to the pub where Gary used to work. It seemed like a welcoming place, with themed nights and a pub garden, according to its website.
Gary shrugged. “He’s in all the time, at least he was when I worked there. He hangs out with some right dodgy blokes.” A thought seemed to occur as he paused. “You’re not recording this, are you? Cos...”
Elea uttered a laugh. “This is Phil Hobbs we’re talking about, not some Mafia kingpin. I said it would be off the record, and it is.”
Gary’s shoulders dropped a little. “The guy’s a tosser, right enough. But I still don’t want this getting back to him.”
“What, exactly?” Elea tapped her nails against her cup. “Off the record.”
Gary leaned in towards Elea. “He was acting odd that day, that’s all. He was sweating, too, like he was going cold turkey. Twitchy. It was January. The pub wasn’t that warm.”
Elea nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“When you spend all day serving pints in a boozer you notice this kind of stuff, y’know? I’ve dealt with all sorts of folk over the years.”
“Right,” Elea uttered, disappointment threading her words. Was that it? Hobbs was twitchy? She’d need more than that. The bell over the café door jingled as a group of people left.
“I overheard him on the phone.” Gary’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “He was arguing about some debt, too pissed to realise how loud he was being. There was one other fella at the bar...” He rubbed his chin. “I can’t remember what he looked like, apart from having this ruddy great moustache that looked too big for his face. I kept my head down, served him his pint. Phil was still on the phone, then he started banging on about his stepdaughter, saying something about it being “a waste,” as she was being taken into social care.”
“Go on.” Elea leaned forward. He had her attention now.
Gary sighed, mouth downturned. “I might have misheard him. I mean, it could have been the beer talking. He might not have meant it...”
“Meant what?” Elea’s voice grew firm.
But Gary stared straight ahead, lips pressed into a thin white line.
Elea read the emotions playing out on his face. “It’s been keeping you awake at night, hasn’t it? Your conscience. Maybe you’ve been wondering if you should have said something at the time.” She caught his gaze and saw the flicker of guilt hiding there. “Then you justify it, telling yourself that whatever happened, happened. That there’s not much anyone can do about it now.” Her heart fluttered in her chest as Gary delivered a slow nod. “Let it go, Gary. Whatever it is. I’ll take it from here.”
Seconds passed as Gary seemed to consider his options. At last, he took a breath to speak. “Phil was hunched over his pint, phone in hand. His voice was slurred, but I could still make him out when he asked what his stepdaughter was worth. I couldn’t believe my ears.” He delivered a small shake of the head as he stared into his cup of tea. “Then he rambled on about which school she was in and how she walked home alone, as if it was some kind of asset. He said they’d have to move soon, before the social took her into care.”
