no, why would I be joking.” Price said, looking genuinely puzzled.
“This is in Elm Street’s area. They’re the ones who police around here. Don’t you think it odd that we just turned up here without contacting the Elm Street station?”
“Well, now you come to mention it…” Price said, clicking on the document folder.
“You’ll notice that no one from Elm Street is actually here with us as we root around an apartment in their area.”
“Yeah, I did notice.” Said Price, nodding unconvincingly. He had neither noticed nor wondered about any of that until Hazel had pointed it out. “What am I looking for?”
“Everything.” Hazel said. “Anything that’s going to tell us where he might have run off to. Emails from friends and family. Social media. Just see what there is.”
“OK.” Price pulled up an old wooden chair and sat down.
Hazel said. “We didn’t tell the Elm Street police we were coming here because we don’t want them to know. We also don’t care if the locals don’t respect the Elm Street police because no one respects the Elm Street police. Do you understand?”
“No. This computer is filled with pornography.”
“Well of course it is.” Hazel took a magazine called Dirty Blondes from a drawer. Everywhere else is, why would the computer be any different.” She sighed. “You’ve not heard about the Elm Street police in Dransfield then?”
“What about the Elm Street police?” Price had shifted his interest to social media. “He spends most of his time on line posting about how fit various actresses are.”
“Blonde ones?” Hazel said.
“Yeah. Yes…They’re all blonde.”
“The local police….” Hazel said, paused, then continued slowly, “….are not really to be trusted. If we do meet any, let me do all the talking.” She was thinking about blondes. Not the blondes on the computer or the wall, Hazel was fairly certain they were Russian porn models. In the last couple of decades the Russians seemed to have captured the market in pornography. Which probably made some oligarch very happy. Along with a small army of teenage boys.
Hazel was thinking about blondes in the city. She was fairly sure Harris would be with one of them. She didn’t see a man like that fantasising about blondes without having access to a real one.
“What did you say?” She was vaguely aware that Price had said something to her.
“Richard Softwood.” He said, speaking slowly and clearly.
“Who?”
“I asked if you knew who Richard Softwood was.” Price said again. “Harris has been emailing him. Or the other way round, I don’t know. But there’s a load of emails here. He’s got no sense of keeping these things secure. I bet he’s got really cheap virus protection.”
“Never mind the virus protection.” Hazel said, “What were you just saying?”
“He’s got some free anti-virus system I never even heard of. This computer’s going to be full of stuff a lot worse than some pornographic pictures.”
“The emails.” Hazel said, “Could we concentrate on those?” She gave up the seemingly fruitless search amongst the porn and came over to look at the emails on the laptop screen.
“Richard Softwood.” Price said, “See. He’s sent Charlie Harris a whole load of emails over…well….looks like years. Do you know him?”
“It sounds like a made up name.” Hazel said, “If it’s real then he probably doesn’t have happy memories of his school days. Can you look him up?”
“I should be able to.” Price said, “The emails are pretty ordinary. Asking how he is, If he’s well, birthday and Christmas greetings. Here we are Richard Softwood. Softwood Salvage. Recover, Reclaim, Recycle.”
“Scrap dealer.” Hazel said. “North of the city?” Most of industrial areas were located in the North of Temple Caneston.
“Belasko Industrial Estate.” Price said, “Yes. He has a unit there. Let’s see…” He clicked on a link, “Here we are. Unit 27. Softwood Salvage was started forty years ago by Richard Softwood and Charles Harris. That doesn’t sound like our Charlie Harris if it was forty years ago.”
“It’s his father.” Said Hazel, who had read Harris’ police file. “Our man is Harris junior.” Though there had been no details about his father. Hazel would have remembered a name like Softwood. “I thought his father was dead.”
“He is, he’s been dead eight years.” Price said, reading from the screen. “This Softwood…hang on….” He went back to the email screen. “Yes….He started all the emails to Charlie about eight years ago. Sort of checking on him. Maybe he wanted to keep the kid out of trouble.”
“Harris was no kid eight years ago.” Hazel said, “And maybe softwood wanted to make sure he was in trouble.”
“Don’t get you, Sergeant.”
Hazel shook her head. She wasn’t entirely certain she understood it herself, “Come on, let’s pay Mr Softwood a visit.”
Travelling down the stairs was a lot easier. Out in the street a police Freelander was parked behind their undercover car. A beefy black policeman waited by the Freelander, leaning casually against the door.
“Hello, Sergeant Vernon.”
“Constable Stanger.” Hazel said. “Nice to see you again.”
“I’m surprised to see you at all. We had no warning you were coming here.” Stanger looked over at Price. “Jon Stanger.”
“Jerry Price. I….”
“He’s a new recruit.” Hazel said quickly inventing a lie. “We were just passing through.” She’d told Price to keep his mouth shut and let her do the talking. Why wouldn’t the idiot listen?
“This about Charlie Harris?” Stanger said, “It’s all in the papers. We’re keeping an eye out for him.”
Hazel nodded and opened the car door, “Well so are we. In you get, Price.” She found it difficult to be friendly to either of them. Stanger she didn’t trust and Price was a fool.
“Find anything?” Stanger said.
“We’ll see you around.” Hazel bustled Price into the car.
“Yeah, well, give us a call next time you’re in this part of town, Sergeant Vernon, then we can help you.”
“What did you do that for?” Price said as they drove off, “He’s a cop too. We’re all on the same side.”
“No.” Hazel said, “We’re not.”
Chapter
