Behind Dead Eyes (DC Ian Bradshaw #2) - Howard Linskey Page 0,65

she ever talk to anyone,’ and when they looked blank, ‘or have a particular friend she was close to? We all need someone to confide in.’

The two Julies exchanged glances.

‘You could try Megan,’ offered Julie One, ‘couldn’t he?’

‘He could,’ agreed Julie Two.

‘Yes,’ said Bradshaw, ‘I could,’ even though he didn’t have the faintest clue who Megan was.

Freed from the need to be discreet, Helen went to her editor. ‘Who’s the best person to dish the dirt on politicians in this city?’ she asked. ‘Stuff that dates back a few years.’

‘That person is right here,’ replied her editor. ‘No, not me. I mean he is in this building – or at least his desk is. Brian Hilton has been our political correspondent since … oh probably about 1920.’ And he gave her that boyish grin again. ‘He actually started on the paper in the early sixties. He’s your man.’

‘I don’t think I’ve met him,’ Helen admitted.

‘Not in the office that much, comes and goes as he pleases. I should object to that but he always provides good copy and it’s on time so I cut him some slack. Brian is a bit of a grumpy bastard,’ he conceded, ‘but we’d be lost without him and his contacts.’

‘Won’t he mind the new girl tapping him for information?’

‘He might not,’ said Graham, ‘if you follow the official procedure.’

‘Which is?’

‘Wait until his working day is over, then buy him a pint,’ said her editor. ‘He likes the Crown Posada on the Quayside. You can usually set your watch by him.’

Tom was already standing outside a pub on the Quayside but he quickly realised his walk down here had been a complete waste of time. Sandra Jarvis had worked at the Highwayman before departing for college and returned there to do shifts during the Christmas holidays. Since her personality had changed entirely following that break between college terms, there was a reasonable chance her time at the pub might have had something to do with it. He had gone over the possibilities in his mind as he made his way there: Sandra had been bullied, harassed or possibly even assaulted, she’d had a relationship that had suddenly turned sour leaving her depressed, or perhaps she had been enticed by drugs sold on the premises. None of this sounded entirely plausible to him, but then neither did her sudden disappearance.

Any hopes Tom may have had about getting a lead from the pub were instantly dashed, for the Highwayman was no more. Despite a prime spot on the north bank of the river a short walk from the Tyne Bridge, it had ceased trading. The door was locked and boarded up, the windows already pasted over with bill stickers advertising gigs. Tom peered through a gap and saw that all of the pub’s furnishings were still there, including tables, chairs and even the beer pumps behind the bar. Whoever ran this place must have left it in a hurry.

Realising he was going to get nowhere standing outside the abandoned pub, Tom left and arrived very early for his prearranged appointment at police headquarters. They didn’t seem to mind. A helpful junior detective handed him several thick folders. These were full of witness statements, background information on Sandra Jarvis’s life and her movements plus a large number of reported sightings of the missing girl from all over the country, many of which could probably be classed as wishful thinking or mischief making.

He was allowed the use of a small room to examine the files in private and they even brought him a mug of tea. It had been some time since he had experienced that level of cooperation from the police and he had to admit he was glad of it. They left him to it and he began to read.

The pub in the market place wasn’t a typical student watering hole. It was an old-school, local boozers’ pub and, when she was not attending lectures, Megan Aitken worked behind the bar there.

Bradshaw showed her his warrant card and asked her if she had a minute. ‘No,’ she told him in a granite-hard Glaswegian accent, while eying him suspiciously, ‘I’ve lunches to get out.’ There were less than a dozen customers in the pub and none of them looked like they were there for the food.

‘I’m sure this strapping young man here can cope without you.’ Bradshaw stopped a rake-thin barman as he passed by and said, ‘You can manage on your own for five minutes while Megan