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?"
"Forgot, didn't I? Barely noticed her leave. She's a quiet little mouse, I'd be surprised if she'd be any use to you lot."
"That is for us to decide, Mr Ball!" Richards explodes, furious that this gaping hole in the investigation has only just been uncovered. "I'm going to need her full name and address, and anything else you can tell me about her, like for example is she here now?"
"Oh no, she don't work here no more. She quit the day after."
"The day after what?" Willis asks, although he already knows the answer before Ian Ball utters the words. It is on the tip of Willis's tongue to say it along with him.
"Day after Chris died. Rang me up out the blue, right before she was due to start her shift, and told me she weren't coming back, ungrateful little madam."
"And what reason did she give for leaving?" Richards' voice quavers slightly with the effort to keep calm.
"She didn't, just reckon she'd had enough. She wasn't cut out for bar work, couldn't handle the banter from some of the customers. Like I said, quiet little mouse."
"Any customers in particular?"
Ian shrugs again, feeling uncomfortable as he reveals this information that now seems obviously incriminating. "Well, Chris used to give her a bit of a hard time. She was a bit scared of him, truth be told. When he was drunk he used to wind them all up a bit -"
"Them?"
"The girls behind the bar. Katie always gave it right back, or told him to fuck off, but Chloe was always too timid and you know bullies are like, they target the weak ones because they won't fight back. That's what Chris used to do to Chloe."
"And Harry Styles?"
"Well, he wasn't as bad towards her as far as I could tell, but like I told you already, he hasn't been drinking in here very long. Although I think he and Chris go back a long way, knew each other from prison I reckon."
"Mr Ball, did you not think this information might have been important?" Richards snaps, unable to hold her tongue any longer.
"Well I suppose, now you're asking me. But Chloe just sort of... blends into the background. You forget she's there half the time. Funny little thing she is. Never fitted in round here. Not sure why she stayed working here this long."
"So let me just get this straight. This employee of yours, this Chloe, left here at the same time as Styles and Henshall on the night Henshall was killed. They all left at exactly the same time, through that same door?" Richards points to the dirty wooden door through which the police officers entered the pub not ten minutes earlier.
"Yeah, that's right," Ian nods.
"And is there anyone else who left with them that you neglected to mention in your original statement?" To anyone listening, Richards sounds like she is clarifying the information. Willis, however, can hear the sarcasm and frustration in her tone.
"No, it was definitely just them three. No one else."
Richards nods. "I'm going to need to you come to the station in the next twenty four hours to make another statement, Mr Ball," she states curtly. "But first, I want Chloe's employee file, and a full description of her."
They take a physical description from Ian, and then the two officers wait impatiently while he disappears through a door behind the bar into what looks like a private lounge, and returns a couple of minutes later with a sheet of A4 paper with a name, address, national insurance number and mobile number handwritten on it. Richards glances down at it, and then up at Ian with one eyebrow raised.
"This is it? This is Chloe's employee file?"
"Yeah, well... staffing's not exactly my strong point," he mutters, at last having the decency to look a little abashed. "She lives on the same estate as Chris, in one of the high rise blocks behind the high street."
"And have you had any further contact from her since she phoned you to say she wouldn't be coming back to work?"
Ian shakes his head. "Not a dicky bird. But that ain't surprising, really. Like I said, she never fitted in round here. She wouldn't exactly pop in for a half. She had no friends, far as I could tell."
On the two minute drive from the pub to the estate, Richards calls her team and gives the order to find out everything they can about this new name that has been thrown into the investigation ("I want a full check on her - previous addresses, family, education, any other employment - anything you can tell me!") and then rants to DS Willis about the apparent stupidity of the workers at the Flute, ("Not one of them even mentioned her bloody name! Not one of them!") their unwillingness to cooperate with the police ("I mean, he couldn't care less, could he? One of his regulars has been bashed over the head only a few hundred feet from his front door, and he might as well be talking about the weather for all the interest he's shown!") and her frustration at the lack of progress they seem to have made so far with their enquiries ("Where the fuck is Harry Styles? He can't have disappeared into thin air! I'm telling you, the girlfriend knows more than she's letting on. From all accounts Styles isn't too bright. He's got to be having some sort of help to stay underground like this.")
They pull into a parking space behind the depressing looking tower block, climb out of the car and make their way to the entrance, both wrinkling their noses at the stench of stale urine that burns their nostrils as soon as they push open the door. They climb the internal stone steps, neither of them touching the blue metal handrail that is peeling in places, and push open the door at the top, leading to a long, open hallway with numbered doors all along. The first door on their right is the one they want, but before Willis can even raise his hand to press the bell, the door is pulled open abruptly from the inside and a short, stocky man with a bald head wearing blue maintenance overalls gives a start as he almost walks into the two officers.
Willis has his badge in his hand ready. "DS Willis, and this is DI Richards. We're looking for Chloe Lewis?"
The man glances down at the picture on the badge and up into Willis's face before answering. "Sorry - I cannot help you. I am here to change the lock." He has an eastern European accent.
Richards opens her mouth to question him further, but before she can speak another man appears behind the first; a miserable looking specimen of a similar build to the locksmith, with mousy brown hair, glasses and a weak chin. His watery eyes shift between the three of them. "Police? Is this about that fella that got killed last week?"
"Yes. We're here to speak to the tenant of this flat, Chloe Lewis. We believe she may have information relating to the investigation. Do you know where she is?"
"No, but she owes me two months' rent. So when you find her, let me know. She hasn't been answering her phone and it looks like she's done a runner."
There is a beat of stunned silence as Willis and Richards process this latest development. "What makes you think she's done a runner?" Richards asks eventually.
"Most of her stuff is gone - that is, there's hardly anything here. I don't think she had much to begin with, but it's pretty much bare. Come and see for yourselves."
A quick tour of the flat leaves Richards and Willis in agreement with the landlord - Chloe Lewis has cleared out her things and left, with apparently no forwarding address. They are just discussing the landlord's lack of knowledge of anything about her, when Richards' phone rings. She excuses herself and steps back out into the hallway to take the call. It is one of her team.
"You got anything on Chloe Lewis?" she asks.
"Not much so far, but there's something else we've found."
"Go on."
"We've been looking again at the CCTV of Paddington, Totnes and Frome train stations. The quality of the recordings isn't great, but I think the same female is visible each time, always a little behind Styles so that at first glance you wouldn't think they were together. But the way she walks is distinctive - sort of a shuffle, with her head down. Like she's trying to blend into the background."
Richards' stomach gives a lurch of excitement as she holds the phone between her shoulder and her ear, flicking back through her notepad to the page that holds Ian's description of his ex-barmaid and remembering his words from earlier. Chloe just sort of... blends into the background. You forget she's there half the time.
"Description of the female?"
"Hard to tell, guv. She's good at keeping her face hidden, but it looks like she has blonde hair, slim build, no taller than about five foot six at a guess?"
Richards consults her notes. Average height, nice body, long light coloured hair. Nothing special.
"Good work," she breathes, but she is interrupted before she can issue further instructions.
"There's more. Remember we saw someone exit the Manchester train at Paddington just as it was departing? We couldn't get a good image of them, and they moved out of shot so we couldn't immediately see where they went. Well, we've checked every camera in the station looking for them, and it turns out a person wearing the same black hoodie, jeans and trainers boarded the same train to Totnes as Styles. And guess what - she had blonde hair and a distinctive shuffle."
"Shit!" Richards hisses, rubbing her face with her hand as these pieces of the jigsaw fall into place, one after the other.
"One more thing. Forensics are finished with the iPhone found in Appleby's bag at Manchester Piccadilly. It's an old model from a few years ago, originally purchased in Bermondsey but likely sold on second hand so we haven't managed to trace it to anyone yet. They managed to get a partial fingerprint off the SIM card, but not only did the print have no match to Appleby, it also didn't match the prints we already have on file for Styles. So we have an unidentified print, but I'd be willing to bet a large chunk of my life savings that they belong to the female accomplice."
Richards comes off the phone, her mind reeling. Not only did Styles leave a false trail, he got someone else to plant it for him. All this time they have been searching for a man travelling alone, when he could have been hiding in plain sight as part of a couple. He's played an absolute blinder.
But this new information has now thrown up a fresh set of questions. Richards now wonders whether his girlfriend has any idea he is on the run with another woman. And just what sort of hold does he have over this mysterious girl if she is prepared to leave her entire life behind to help him escape?
---***---
So much still to happen in this story, and so much still to be revealed. The police POVs are such fun to write! I haven't stayed up past midnight to write on Wattpad in so long, it feels like the No Control days! I hope you enjoyed the update, I have a few pieces to figure out before I post the next one, and some parts that need to be slotted into the right order. I'll aim for this weekend to update again, but it's the Champions League final ⚽️🏆 on Saturday and it's an all-English final (my team Liverpool are against Tottenham Hotspur) so I will be busy that evening and may not get chance to write before then. But I'll do my best (and send good vibes for Liverpool please!) xx