FORTY-THREE

During the short drive to a nearby pub, little more than introductions were exchanged. The young man's name was Mark Howlett. He lived over the river in Bermondsey. Chelsea was not his normal stamping ground, something the contrast between his car and most of those parked in and around Elm Park Road had already made obvious. He said no more for the moment, but a stack of posters which Harry found himself sharing the back seat with hinted at the cause of the stress he was clearly under.

HAVE YOU SEEN HER? was printed above a head-and-shoulders photograph of a woman about Howlett's own age, with short fair hair, delicate features and a calm, almost studious expression. Beneath was the imploring message HELP ME FIND KAREN SNOW — PHONE MARK 07698 442810. There looked to be at least fifty copies. Discreetly, Harry folded one up and slipped it into his pocket.

—«»—«»—«»—

The Anglesea Arms was full without being overcrowded. Harry bought the drinks while Chipchase navigated a path through the ruck to a table by the window, Howlett trailing distractedly behind him. The lad's hangdog air seemed of a piece with the pitiful note struck by the poster. It was possible to believe, despite all evidence to the contrary, that he was more parlously placed than they were. He took a large gulp from the lager Harry delivered to him and accepted the offer of a cigarette from Chipchase. Then his gaze swivelled to and fro between them and he asked, 'Who are you guys, then?'

'We already told you,' said Chipchase. 'He's Harry. I'm Barry.'

'Yeah, but… who are you really?'

'Old National Service chums of Ailsa Redpath's late benefactor, Lester Maynard,' said Harry.

'Who?'

'Lester Maynard.'

'The name doesn't mean a thing to me.'

'What about… Peter Askew?'

'Askew?' Howlett's eyes lit up. 'You know Askew?'

'We used to,' said Chipchase, before theatrically running his forefinger across his throat.

'He's dead?'

'Got off a train while it was still moving up in Scotland last week. Moving at top bloody speed, actually. Very bloody, for poor old Askew.'

'Askew's dead?'

'It was in the papers,' said Harry.

'I haven't… been following the news. I…' Howlett rubbed his eyes. 'When was this?'

'A week ago yesterday. He was on his way to an RAF reunion in Aberdeenshire. I was on the train myself. Barry and I both served with him. Back in the fifties.'

'In the RAF?'

'Strange as it may seem,' said Chipchase, rolling his eyes.

'Friday?'

'How did you know him, Mark?' Harry asked mildly.

'I didn't. It's just… the name. Karen, my girlfriend, knew him. Well, met him.' A frown of uncertainty formed on Howlett's face. 'I think.'

'Where's Karen now?'

'I don't…' He licked his lips. 'I don't know.'

'Hence this?' Harry took the poster out of his pocket and unfolded it.

Howlett's mouth sagged open. He nodded. 'Yeah. She's been missing more than a week now. Since the day before your friend died, actually. No-one seems bothered about it. Except me. If Askew's dead…' He raised a hand to his face. 'Christ, what does that mean for her?'

'When did they meet?'

'The evening she went missing. Thursday. Well, I don't know for a fact that they met, but…' He sighed. 'We were supposed to be going to the cinema that night. She phoned and cancelled. Said she had to meet a guy who might be able to give her some information about the Haskurlay mystery. She didn't actually name him, mind. I got that from the jotter beside the phone at her flat. Askew, 7.30, Lamb. The Lamb's a pub she sometimes goes to after work. She's a palaeontologist at the British Museum. Anyway, she—'

'Hold on,' Harry interrupted, backtracking furiously in his head. 'What's the… Haskurlay mystery?'

'Oh right. Yeah. I suppose you don't know. Though that was in the papers as well. Four years ago this month.'

'You'll have to fill us in, Mark.'

'OK. Right. Well, Karen was at Leeds University then. So was I. That's where we met. Anyway, she went off during the Easter vac with some other archaeology and palaeontology students to do a dig on Haskurlay. It's an island in the Outer Hebrides. Uninhabited now, but there are remains of ancient settlements, including a burial mound. So, they got digging… and turned up something… they didn't expect.' Howlett paused to slurp some lager.

'Which was?'

'A couple of skeletons… from the recent past… buried in the mound along with the prehistoric bones.' Howlett took another gulp of lager. 'Recent… as in about fifty years old.'