Dead of Night, page 10
part #7 of D.I. Tom Mariner Series
There were still plenty of times when Mariner missed his sergeant, both personally and professionally, and although the new team was starting to gel, he still had a sense of the odd moment of tension between Jesson and Glover. So far the only reasons he could see for this might be Jesson’s frustration that Glover didn’t seem to share her drive or sense of urgency. She had been keen to search Rosa Batista’s flat, Mariner could tell, but instead he’d asked Glover to do it. Charlie Glover had a reputation within Granville Lane for being a bit dull, lacking initiative and therefore never likely to rise above the rank of Detective Constable and Mariner knew that at the moment he was struggling to try and fill Tony Knox’s rather more inspired shoes. A committed family man and newly converted to a brand of evangelical Christianity, Charlie had also become more circumspect, rarely sharing in the often lewd office banter. But he was also reliable, a workhorse who would keep labouring away systematically at accumulating evidence.
There was a knock on the door and seeing Superintendent Sharp, Mariner quickly closed the CRIMINT page.
‘How’s it going?’ Sharp asked, leaning on the door frame, arms folded.
‘You know we’ve identified Rosa, that we found her daughter?’ Mariner said.
‘I saw on the incident log,’ said Sharp. ‘She’d been at home alone since Saturday?’
‘Looks like it, poor kid. We didn’t get much from her, but I think it was everything we could.’
‘Well, I’ve agreed to a press briefing at eleven,’ Sharp told him. ‘So perhaps before that you could bring me up to speed.’
‘We’re just waiting for Charlie Glover to get back from the search of Rosa Batista’s flat.’
‘OK, let me know when he’s here and I’ll meet you in the incident room.’
Sharp joined them as Mariner was asking the newly returned Glover about photographs of Rosa.
Charlie shook his head. ‘This was all.’ He produced the snaps of Dominique with the man assumed to be her father.
‘That’s a pain,’ said Mariner.
‘How about the teacher, Sam McBride?’ said Jesson. ‘We could get her to help us put together an e-fit.’
‘Looks as if we’ll need to,’ said Mariner. ‘Are you OK to organize that?’ She noted it down on her pad.
‘Now that we’ve got hold of Rosa’s social security details, it should be straightforward enough to trace her employer,’ Glover went on. ‘I’ve phoned it through and the DWP are going to get back to us as soon as they can.’
‘Let’s not hold our breath,’ said Sharp. ‘They’re not known for their speed and efficiency.’
‘And if there is no record?’ queried Jesson.
‘Then we have to wonder if Rosa’s extra weekend job is somehow illicit,’ Mariner said. ‘She’s young, in her mid-twenties. At the weekend she works nights, probably in the city centre and hasn’t told her young daughter exactly what it is she does, because “it’s a secret”.’
‘We recovered two hundred and fifty in cash that was stashed in a tin in the kitchen,’ added Charlie. ‘And it might explain why none of her work mates has come forward.’
Now they were all thinking the same thing. ‘But how many toms do we know who wear name badges?’ said Mariner.
‘We found an address in Acton,’ said Glover, moving along. ‘So I’ve contacted the Met and they’re going to send someone out to talk to the extended family and check things out there.’
‘Thanks, Charlie, that’s good work.’
Mariner noticed Jesson’s brief nod of approval. ‘So what do you think?’ she asked Mariner.
‘That there are too many similarities between the disappearance of Rosa Batista and Grace Clifton to discount as simply coincidence,’ said Mariner. ‘I mean, they’re obviously linked now by whatever has happened to them, but there must also be something they have in common that has made them both the target of … well … whatever it is that’s going on here. The priority is to try and establish Rosa’s last known movements.’
‘That’s going to be difficult until we’ve found out where she went to work on Saturday evening, or indeed if she even turned up there,’ Jesson pointed out.
‘We’ve got a press conference shortly,’ said Sharp. ‘Now that we have Rosa’s name, hopefully someone will come forward and will be able to fill in some of the gaps for us.’
‘Meanwhile,’ said Mariner. ‘We continue to work on finding out what, if any, common ground there is between these two women.’
‘So you think we’re talking abduction?’ said Glover.
‘It’s what would make the most sense,’ said Mariner. ‘And by someone who’s been kind enough to send us their clothes, washed and neatly pressed, the shoes polished. Someone who has taken a good deal of care over them.’
‘It’s ritualistic,’ said Jesson. ‘Or what another woman might do.’
‘Possibly.’
‘And quite clever, when you think about it,’ said Sharp. ‘If these women have been the victim of someone who has harmed them, sending the clothes to us means not having to dispose of them and run the risk of them being discovered somewhere that could incriminate them. And washing them first eliminates the risk of DNA evidence.’
‘As long as you’ve covered your tracks in sending them,’ said Mariner. ‘We need to follow up on that franking mark.’
‘Mister Toad strikes again,’ said Jesson, making them smile. ‘Looks like we’re up against a washerwoman.’
‘A washerwoman who likes to keep some mementoes for himself,’ Mariner reminded them. ‘Grace Clifton’s work shirt was missing and we haven’t got a top for Rosa Batista. We might be looking at a trophy collector. Unless there’s some substance on those garments that didn’t come out in the washing of them, which could also mean that he or she has some idea of forensics.’
‘But even after the reconstruction, no new witnesses have come forward,’ Jesson pointed out. ‘So if this is abduction, whoever has taken these women was able to do it without drawing attention – and has possibly done it twice.’
‘In the city late at night,’ said Glover. ‘How about taxi drivers?’
‘There’s nothing to suggest that either woman is in the habit of taking taxis,’ Jesson countered. ‘I think it would be an extravagance for both of them – they’re essentially on their way home from work, remember, and neither of them is especially well off. Also Grace had a firm commitment to meeting her friends. She sent a text, just as she was leaving Symphony Hall, to say that she was on her way. If that was genuinely from her and she then changed her plans, she surely would have let her friends know.’
‘It’s also probable that these women are of the same physical “type”, isn’t it?’ said Sharp. ‘Grace’s mother is Iranian, we think Rosa is Portuguese in origin. She would also have had dark hair, olive skin, surely?’
‘Could they have been mistaken for Muslims?’ Jesson wondered.
‘And if they were?’
‘I’m just thinking that Grace was a bit of a rebel. Her clothes that have come to us are a miniskirt and high heels.’
‘Rosa’s wardrobe had lots of strappy tops and dresses that would leave a lot of flesh exposed,’ said Charlie. ‘It might be someone who has a thing about Muslim women dressing more modestly.’
‘Let’s just resist jumping to any premature conclusions,’ said Mariner.
‘I’ve rung the foster carer,’ Jesson said. ‘If she gets the chance she’s going to ask Dominique again about her mum’s job.’
It hadn’t been an easy conversation. The foster carer was understandably keen that Dominique should not be subjected to anything that would make the little girl more anxious about her mother. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ was the most that she would promise.
‘What about mobile phones?’ Sharp asked.
‘Neither found and when the numbers are called, they both go straight to voicemail,’ Mariner told her, ‘which would indicate that they’ve been switched off, have run down or possibly even destroyed.’
‘So do we think this is someone they know?’ asked Sharp.
‘Potentially. We need to continue working our way through friends and acquaintances. There’s nothing yet to suggest that Grace had ever crossed paths with Rosa, but that’s something else we have to determine. We have to accept that there’s some kind of link between them; some distant acquaintance, or simply someone they have both come into contact with, maybe even in the vicinity of where they disappeared. Could be something as casual as buying coffee from the same Starbucks. Something we do know: they’ve both been described as outgoing. It’s possible someone may have read too much into that warmth.’
‘Then it could be someone asking for their help,’ said Charlie.
‘That’s true. They would need to be plausible and unthreatening, which again I suppose might point to a female. We’re told that both women are friendly but no one has told us anything to suggest that either of them is naive or stupid.’
It was just coming up to eleven o’clock and Sharp got to her feet. ‘Right, Tom, we need to go and talk to the press.’ Mariner got up to follow her.
‘You might want to ditch those,’ said Jesson.
Looking down to where she pointed Mariner saw that he’d still got the fob of Jamie’s PECs picture communication cards dangling from his belt.
‘Yes,’ said Sharp. ‘We wouldn’t want our friends in the media to think we’re finding it that hard to talk to each other.’
‘Vicky Jesson seems to have settled in well,’ said Sharp as she and Mariner descended the stairs to what was used as the main press briefing room.
‘Yes,’ Mariner agreed. ‘She did a great job with Dominique last night.’ He turned to look at the Superintendent. ‘I wish I’d known who she was though. I felt a right tit when she told me she was Brian Riddell’s partner.’
‘Ah, so you found out,’ said Sharp. ‘Sorry, but it was how she wanted it. A new start, with no fuss. I think it’s one of the reasons she chose to come here.’
‘One of the reasons?’
Sharp shook her head in disbelief. ‘You really don’t have a clue, do you?’ she said, enigmatically.
As agreed, the focus of the press conference was the continuing appeal for anyone else who may know Rosa Batista, especially her employers, to come forward. Details about her known working pattern were shared accordingly. Press co-operation was needed for two good reasons: to keep channels open, ensuring that anyone with new information would come forward, and to encourage women who may be around the city centre at night to be careful. Sharp admitted that concerns for the safety of the two missing women were growing and she ended the short interview by looking directly into the camera. ‘We now have two young women who have disappeared in unexplained circumstances in or around the city centre and we would urge members of the public, especially women, to be vigilant.’
TWELVE
On Wednesday morning, after Suli had gone to work and Haroon was fed, changed and sleeping, Millie logged on to her computer to do a little research. She began on the NHS website with ‘heart murmurs’. She’d heard the phrase before, of course, but didn’t know exactly what it meant. Once she began reading, the reasons for Louise’s excessive anxiety became only too apparent. If this had happened to Haroon, Millie would have been beside herself; even if it turned out well, the stress would be enough to put a strain on the strongest of marriages.
Next, Millie looked up ‘Pincott and Easton gunmakers’. At first glance it was far from the modest little company that Louise had implied. The website was a slick multimedia platform that proclaimed the outfit as a world leader in the production of sports and hunting rifles and pistols. The buying options, with its choice of currencies (headed up by US dollars), indicated a worldwide market, especially the United States where hunting and shooting were firmly embedded in the constitution.
Looking into the background of the company confirmed what Louise had already told her, that it had begun as a family concern and had a rich history dating back to the early nineteenth century. One of the first of its kind, Pincott and Easton was established when gunmaking was just one of the hundreds of manufacturing businesses in Birmingham. Started by Greg’s great-great-grandfather, it was now his uncle who was the chief executive. Most gunmaking companies had long since gone under, but Pincott and Easton had survived, and seemed to be thriving, mainly because it had adapted to a changing market. A whole page was given over to the London Olympics, Pincott and Easton having supplied hardware for some of the shooting events. The firm had naturally diminished somewhat from its heyday, when hunting and shooting were a way of life, but the main premises in the city’s old gun quarter had been retained. There remained a small, specialist manufacturing operation, with an emphasis very much on custom-made quality and craftsmanship rather than mass production, along with an import sideline.
There was nothing as vulgar as pricing quoted on the site, which in Millie’s experience meant that the figures were high enough to deter potential customers, but it was clear nonetheless that this was a lucrative business. Weekend breaks staying on the family’s country estate were also advertized for certain times of the year (presumably coinciding with the hunting season; as a city girl Millie didn’t know about these things), allowing customers the opportunity to properly test out the Pincott and Easton weaponry. The emphasis was very much on an individualized service and potential clients were encouraged to contact Greg directly to discuss their requirements, which made it very easy for Greg to be approached by anyone. There was nothing, on the other hand, to indicate that it was anything but above board. If Greg was up to something illicit then Millie would have to look elsewhere.
Before leaving the page Millie looked up the other company personnel. It was a small team and predominantly male, though there were also photographs of the chief executive’s PA and another female administrator, both of whom were young and attractive. She considered what Louise had told her about Greg’s behaviour: staying out late, being secretive, smelling different. It could all be explained by the age-old routine; that Greg was having an affair with a colleague. She could see how hard that would be for Louise to stomach, especially right now.
On Wednesday evening, Mariner was home for once in good time to meet the day-centre transport, and found a message waiting for him on his answer machine. It was from Simon at Manor Park, a specialist residential facility for adults with ASD, to say that they had a space that weekend so Jamie could go and stay for a couple of days. ‘Bring him over first thing tomorrow and he can stay until Monday evening,’ said Simon.
Before Anna had uprooted Jamie to Herefordshire, he had lived for a while very happily at Manor Park. By virtue of this, it was one of the first facilities Mariner had contacted when the responsibility for Jamie had landed on him. In high demand, it was full, of course, but after some negotiation, he’d managed to secure Jamie an occasional day or two back there on the understanding that if and when a more permanent place arose, it would be offered to him. The term ‘respite’ had become unfashionable, with its negative connotations of relief from some kind of burden, but for Mariner, it was the perfect description. It meant there would be three days in which he could be confident that Jamie was safe, but also enjoying the experience too. ‘You’re going on your holidays,’ he told him. ‘Won’t that be nice?’
‘Nice,’ said Jamie, as if he fully understood.
Driving into the grounds on Thursday morning Mariner was struck anew with the contrast between Manor Park and Towyn. In a rural area and similarly based around a former manor house, at Manor Park the complex was dominated by the new and modern wings that had sprouted up on either side of the original building; they were light, airy and well maintained. There were always staff about, making it impossible to walk into the establishment at will, and everyone they encountered had a smile and a greeting, first for Jamie and then for Mariner. The facility was also a prestigious practitioner training facility, so many of the employees were young and enthusiastic about their work and despite the challenging needs of many of the residents, the atmosphere was invariably relaxed. All of this meant that the competition to get in to Manor Park was fierce, and was why Jamie belonged to a privileged minority who could afford to pay the hefty fees.
‘Swimming today,’ said Dan, who came to meet them, putting a smile on Jamie’s face. One of his favourite activities, but a rare treat, it was something Mariner tended to shy away from as too fraught. Public swimming baths just weren’t compatible with Jamie’s general lack of inhibition.
Jamie happily settled, Mariner’s return journey was long and drawn out, thanks mainly to a succession of slow-moving farm vehicles that compounded the normal morning congestion into the city, but he took it all serenely. As a result, he was in the incident room catching up on overnight developments when a call came through from Detective Chief Inspector Spratt at Lea Green police station.
‘We have a Paddy Henderson here,’ said Spratt in his deep, Welsh baritone. ‘His partner, Dee Henderson, didn’t come home last night after her two-til-ten shift at the QE. Given what you’ve got going on over there I thought you might want to come and talk to him.’
‘Christ on a bike,’ said Mariner to no one in particular, covering the receiver with his hand. ‘We might have another one. Someone’s gone into Lea Green to report a missing woman.’ He looked over at Jesson. ‘Grab your coat, Vicky, you’ve pulled.’
Jesson looked up from her computer screen. ‘Actually, do you mind if I don’t?’
Mariner met her gaze and saw her colour rise a little. It was the first time she’d turned down a request. He could only guess at the reason, but he acquiesced.
Glover had noticed too. ‘What do you think all that was about?’ he speculated mildly, as he and Mariner drove out towards the north of the city.
