Twist Of Fate

Twenty Nine

THE FLUTE AND FIDDLE, SOUTH EAST LONDON

DI Richards and DS Willis exit the police car and pick their way carefully along the pavement, avoiding a couple of discarded beer bottles that are partly smashed and nestled in an alcove of the dirty exterior wall of the pub. They exchange looks, both taking in the crumbling render, the filthy windows and the rotting wooden frames. DI Richards pushes the door open with her hand and immediately wishes she hadn't, as she is sure she has been left with traces of something sticky on her palm from the dirty brass handle. She doesn't want to risk wiping whatever it is on her Karen Millen suit so she settles instead for helping herself to a paper napkin from the little tray on the bar while she waits for the owner, Ian Ball, to finish serving his customer. 

Ian is already eyeing both police officers with suspicion, wondering what the fuck they want this time. Their presence around these parts over the last week since Chris was killed has had a detrimental impact on trade: nobody wants to do business in a pub with the filth sniffing around. He hands the pint of bitter to his customer, accepts the coins dropped into his hand, enters them into the till and makes his way reluctantly along the bar to the waiting officers. He is aware the already quiet lounge has fallen deathly silent as the bloodshot eyes of the few punters currently nursing their drinks fix upon him, waiting for the latest update in the story.

"Mr Ball," DI Richards greets Ian, with a nod of her head. "I was wondering if I might have a few minutes of your time."

"Ain't nothing else to tell you," Ian shrugs. 

"We're trying to track down Harry Styles," Richards presses on, ignoring Ian's comment. "He's proving to be a difficult man to find. Do you know of any connections he might have in the South West?"

"That's the posh end, innit?" Ian shrugs again. "Don't know why he'd head over there. I thought he was from round this area."

"No - I don't mean South West London," Richards elaborates. "I mean South West England. He's been spotted in Totnes and Frome, but he seems particularly skilled in keeping out of sight. We've traced him via CCTV, and we believe he has either cut his hair or is wearing it tied up to avoid being recognised. Is there anything at all you can tell us? Does he have any friends or acquaintances in that area that could be hiding him? Do you know of any links between his girlfriend and that area?" 

"Why don't you ask her?" 

"We already spoken to her," DS Willis answers, a little impatiently. "She's not giving anything away. Claims she hasn't heard from him since he disappeared."

Ian inclines his head and raises his eyebrows. "There's your answer, then." 

Willis and Richards exchange another look. "Mr Ball, a man has died. He was attacked after leaving this pub with a customer known to you, who according to your statement waited for over an hour for him to arrive, and then took him outside for a word, alone, from which he never returned."

"They weren't alone." 

There is a beat of silence, while Richards and Willis exchange their third look in less than five minutes. "What do you mean, they weren't alone? You told one of my officers that Styles and Henshall left together, through the main door, Styles with a face like thunder. You never mentioned anyone else."

Every pair of eyes in the pub is unblinking, and turned towards the three people standing around the bar. No one makes a sound. This is the best entertainment they have had in months.

"Well it was only Chloe, the barmaid. She was finishing her shift at ten. She was leaving just as they were." 

"You're telling me someone else left this pub with Styles and Henshall?" Richards demands, unable to keep her voice from rising. "Someone who works for you, who has connections to both men, who may well be a key witness in this investigation?"