Dead of Night, page 25
part #7 of D.I. Tom Mariner Series
‘She didn’t have to be.’ Lex was defensive. ‘I mean, it was only a bit of fun. She could have stuck with us if she’d wanted to.’
‘So what happened when you met these boys?’ asked Jesson.
‘Tiff said she was going outside for a smoke. We keep nagging her to quit, but she won’t listen. Anyway she was gone for ages and when I looked at my phone there was this text saying that she’d pulled and that she’d see us tomorrow.’
‘Can I see?’
Lex tapped into her phone and scrolled through the messages before passing it across to Mariner. He read the text, noticing that it had been sent at nineteen minutes past eleven. ‘When did you pick this up?’ he asked Lex.
She turned down the corners of her mouth. ‘About twelve, probably.’
‘Didn’t it worry you that Tiffany might have left with a complete stranger?’ asked Jesson.
The girls exchanged a look. ‘We didn’t think she had. We just thought she’d gone off in a strop, you know, got a taxi and gone home. She just made up this bloke to make it sound better.’
‘So you’ve no idea who he might be? Was she talking to anyone in the club, or is there anyone she’s mentioned before?’
‘There is no bloke,’ Lex persisted. ‘If there is, we never saw him and it would be a first for Tiff. She’s never had much luck before.’
As they climbed the stairs to the incident room after speaking to Tiffany’s friends, Jesson said, ‘Do you think we might be looking at a doctor from A&E? I mean, first Rosa Batista and now Tiffany. The meeting with Grace Clifton could have been a chance one, like we thought with Hayden.’ They moved aside as a couple of DCs passed them on their way out for a cigarette. Mariner sighed. ‘That opens up a whole new line of enquiry, but yes.’ He stopped, his foot hovering over the step. ‘Grace Clifton smoked, didn’t she?’
‘So did Rosa,’ said Jesson. ‘Ricardo said the two of them used to have a cigarette before going home.’
‘And we’ve just been told that Tiffany smokes too.’
In the incident room, Mariner went straight across to the board and pinned Tiffany Davey’s photo alongside the others. ‘We have another potential victim,’ he announced, eliciting a number of assorted expletives. ‘However we might also have another lead. One factor we’ve overlooked with all these women is that they’re all smokers. These days smokers bond – they’re often in the minority and outside in adverse weather. I think our man has made his first approach in a smoking shelter. What easier way to initiate contact, by either offering a light, or asking for one?’
‘It would be conveniently out of range of the CCTV cameras too,’ said Glover. ‘So do we still think he’s hospital staff?’
‘A doctor, or someone posing as one, would automatically command a degree of respect,’ said Mariner. ‘The women would be off their guard and more likely to talk to him.’
‘That would open up the possibility of dozens of men who will have been around on all the dates we’re looking at,’ said Jesson despondently. The phone beside her began ringing and she picked it up.
‘So we start with those on duty in A&E and work out from there,’ said Mariner. ‘A doctor would have easy access to the post room, to scrubs and to sheets,’ said Mariner. ‘Did we ever get the results from those linen samples? If not, we need to follow that up. We should find out if there’s any CCTV outside RedZone too. If we can link anyone to Tiffany Davey last night, it will be a start.’
Jesson replaced the phone. ‘That was Stuart Croghan,’ she said. ‘You were right about Hayden. He was dead before his car was filled with exhaust fumes. He’d been strangled, probably manually.’
‘So as we already know, this is someone fit and strong,’ Mariner said. ‘See if West Mercia can help us out,’ he said to Jesson. ‘Whoever drove Hayden’s car up to Titterstone Clee had to get away afterwards. It’s in the middle of nowhere. I can’t believe he wasn’t seen at some point.’
With strict instructions that he must be contacted immediately if there were any developments, Mariner left the incident room early on Sunday evening. He needed time to get Jamie ready for the move tomorrow. From Jamie’s point of view, the sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could adjust to his new home environment. It had been a tricky few months but somehow they’d got through it.
On his way home Mariner picked up a Chinese takeaway. Suzy had texted him to say that she’d gone back to Cambridge earlier in the day, so, sitting round the table in his living room with Jamie and Mercy, Mariner felt as if he was part of some weird dysfunctional family.
‘I’m going to miss you, Jamie,’ said Mercy.
Jamie continued shovelling fried rice into his mouth.
‘We’ll miss you too,’ said Mariner, on his behalf. ‘But he’ll be back here some weekends, so I’m sure we’ll need your help again from time to time.’
Mercy glanced around the rather less-than-tidy living room. ‘I could come round and clean for you, if you wanted me to,’ said Mercy. ‘It would be no trouble. Do a bit of ironing …?’
Mariner realized in that moment that Mercy was probably lonely. ‘How’s your Carlton?’ he asked.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, that boy. I hardly seen him now for days.’
After dinner Mercy helped Mariner to pack Jamie’s things. There wasn’t much, just a couple of suitcases of clothing, his DVDs and iPad. Mercy had brought him a new sweatshirt, identical to those he already had, and she’d even remembered to cut out the labels that he found so irritating. Before settling Jamie down for the night, Mariner and Mercy took him through the photo book of Manor Park, his preparation for going there the following day. Then they said their goodbyes.
When Mercy had gone off in her taxi and Jamie was in bed, Mariner phoned Suzy. ‘I’m sorry about last night and today.’
‘So am I,’ she said, feelingly, then: ‘I understand, although I was very glad when Mercy appeared. She’s a treasure, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is,’ said Mariner, wondering if having a cleaner might be worthwhile after all.
On Monday morning Mariner drove Jamie over to Manor Park. They were shown up to Jamie’s new room, where Mariner unpacked his belongings and put them away in the wardrobe and drawers before setting out the few pictures and personal possessions Jamie owned. He was zipping up the empty suitcases when Izzy appeared. ‘Hi, all set then, Jamie?’
‘I think so,’ said Mariner.
‘I’m glad I caught you,’ she said. ‘A friend of mine gave me this. He didn’t know what to do with it, but I thought that you might.’ She handed him a CD in a white paper envelope.
‘OK,’ said Mariner, curious about what it might be. But before he could ask, one of the sirens sounded, signalling that morning activities were about to start.
‘Come on, Jamie,’ she said, holding up the black and white drawing. ‘Gym time.’
‘See you, mate,’ Mariner called after them. Jamie just smiled. That easy. Driving back to the city, Mariner felt oddly empty inside.
On Monday afternoon, Millie had just returned to the house from her first foray to the mother and baby group at a nearby church. Haroon was tired and fractious, and she hadn’t yet decided what she and Suli would eat tonight, so was feeling slightly fraught when the doorbell rang.
‘Greg,’ she said, in surprise. He looked awful. When she’d seen him before, Greg was clean-shaven, his hair groomed and clothes immaculate, but today he looked dishevelled and he had at least a couple of days growth on his chin. He looked past Millie and into the house, then back along the street, his right foot tapping a regular beat on the ground.
‘Did you want to see Suli?’ Millie said. ‘I’m afraid he’s not home yet.’ For some reason she felt reluctant to let him inside.
‘No, it was you I … um …’ He looked away again, indecisively. ‘Actually, no …’ he said. ‘It’s fine, no. Forget it.’ Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he turned abruptly on his heel and retreated down the path again.
‘Greg, wait. Is everything all right?’ Millie called after him. ‘Is Louise back yet? I’ve just been to the baby group, and I’m sure she’d like it too.’
‘No!’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘I mean, no … she’s not back. Sorry.’
‘Perhaps I’ll text her,’ Millie suggested.
‘What? Oh … yes, fine,’ said Greg, his head down. ‘I’ve got to go.’
The whole exchange was just weird, but it wasn’t until Millie was back upstairs that a terrible thought occurred to her. She got out her mobile to text Louise, but then thought better of it. It would be easy enough for Greg to just text back, pretending to be his wife. The developing field of text analysis made it possible in many cases to ascertain who had composed and sent a message, but Millie didn’t know enough about Louise’s text style for that to be of any help. No, she would feign ignorance and instead she punched in Louise’s number and pressed ‘call’. The phone rang and rang, eventually cutting to voicemail and Millie’s uneasiness began to blossom into outright fear. She didn’t leave a message. Now what? She could hardly challenge Greg on the grounds that Louise wasn’t answering her phone. She was trying to work out what she should do when her mobile rang, making her jump.
‘Hi, Millie, it’s Louise. Did you just call me?’
Millie felt the relief wash through her, though she doubted that Louise was entirely convinced by her ‘just called for a chat’ excuse, especially, delivered as it was through a barely controlled adrenalin rush. ‘I felt pretty silly,’ she told Suli, when he came home.
‘Maybe we’ve got Greg all wrong,’ said Suli. ‘It could just be that he’s far more dependent on Louise than we thought. You know, one of those guys who can’t look after himself when the wife’s away.’
‘Like you, you mean?’ Millie teased. ‘I’m sure there was something on his mind that he wanted to talk about, before he clammed up.’
‘Well, if it was important he’ll come back again,’ said Suli.
Later in the evening they settled down to catch up on a box set on TV, but Millie couldn’t keep her eyes open.
‘Time for bed,’ she said. It was ridiculously early but it couldn’t be helped. Only a couple of hours and then she’d need to be up to feed Haroon anyway. But she was woken long before that by Suli there beside her in the bedroom.
‘Mil, you asleep?’ he held out the phone. ‘It’s Louise and she’s in a bit of a state. I think you need to speak to her.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rousing herself, Millie took the phone from Suli.
‘It’s Greg,’ said Louise without preamble. ‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘Where are you?’ said Millie. ‘I thought you were at your mum’s?’
‘We got back a couple of hours ago, but Greg’s not here and I can’t get hold of him.’ She sounded in a complete panic. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Calm down,’ said Millie. ‘I’m sure there’s a very simple explanation. Do you want me to come over?’
‘I’m sure he’s in some kind of trouble,’ Louise went on, ignoring the offer. ‘He more or less made me go to Mum’s. He kept saying he was going to have a difficult few days at work and that I had to go. But now he’s not here and I don’t know what’s going on.’
‘Leave it with me,’ said Millie. ‘I’ll talk to someone.’
Millie rang Mariner’s mobile. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know who else to call. Greg’s not exactly a MisPer, I just need someone to check up on him. I’d go myself but—’
‘But you’re not at work and if Suli’s got any sense he wouldn’t let you. It’s OK, I’ll look into it.’
‘I expect you’re scratching around for something to keep you occupied now anyway,’ Millie said cheekily.
‘Not exactly,’ said Mariner. ‘It turns out that Hayden wasn’t our washerwoman after all. And now another young woman has gone missing.’
‘Oh, shit,’ said Millie. ‘Look, if you haven’t got time for this—’
‘It’s fine,’ said Mariner. ‘It won’t take long.’ He was about to ring off when a bizarre thought came out of nowhere. ‘Does Greg smoke?’ he asked.
‘He has the odd sly one, though Louise doesn’t like it. Why?’
‘Oh, nothing probably.’ Mariner sat back in his seat. ‘We think now that our washerwoman has been trawling smoking shelters.’ The line went silent. ‘Millie? You still there?’
‘Oh, God,’ said Millie. ‘This is going to sound seriously weird, but before you got Hayden, I did wonder about Greg.’
‘You thought he could be our washerwoman?’
Millie sighed. ‘Oh I don’t know. Put it down to baby-brain. But I’ve had a feeling about him all along.’
‘Tell me,’ said Mariner.
‘All right,’ said Millie. ‘Louise admitted eventually that she’d actively sought me out because she was convinced that Greg was caught up in something he shouldn’t be. He often stays out late at night and is cagey about where he’s been. A couple of times he told her he was out entertaining clients, but she then found out that it wasn’t the case. That kind of thing. My first thought was that Greg was having an affair. They’ve got a new baby and Louise doesn’t exactly dress to please her husband – well, you’ve seen that. Louise told me too that some of Greg’s clothes have gone missing. But it’s old stuff, not what a man would wear to impress another woman.’
‘So he might have needed to get rid of them?’
Millie’s silence said it. ‘When Greg found out I was in the police he was shocked,’ she said. ‘I mean real colour-change shocked. Even Suli noticed. Up until that point Greg had been friendly, but after that it was like he regretted it and he tried to put us back to arm’s length – well, apart from today.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He came here, to our house. He was a total bag of nerves, ticking and twitching all over. When I told him Suli was out, he said it was me he’d come to see, but then he just changed his mind and left.’
‘You think he might have been about to turn himself in?’ Mariner asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What does Suli think?’
‘I haven’t told him everything.’
‘How did the shooting trip go?’
‘That’s the other thing,’ said Millie. ‘Greg Easton is a man who is at home with a whole range of guns. Although he’s in sales, Louise says he knows the manufacturing process inside out and he certainly knows how to handle guns. We’ve – sorry you’ve – been wondering how it is that these women just go with their abductor. Perhaps it’s simple. Perhaps he just holds them at gun point.’
‘But we think he’s made the initial contact at the QE,’ said Mariner. ‘All these women have been there recently.’
‘Greg and Louise have been up there regularly since Abigail was born,’ said Millie. ‘She had a suspected heart murmur, so to start with they had to go for weekly check-ups.’
‘Christ. There certainly seems to be a lot here that fits,’ said Mariner. ‘I just can’t get my head around the coincidence of it.’
‘It has to be someone,’ said Millie. ‘And like I said, Louise befriending me wasn’t any accident. I wonder if she’s suspected all along, but can’t bring herself to admit it.’
‘And now he’s gone AWOL?’
‘Louise is going out of her mind,’ said Millie. ‘She knows Greg’s in trouble, she just doesn’t know exactly what kind.’
‘Do you have any idea where Greg might be?’ Mariner asked.
‘You could start by checking out where he works. The Pincott and Easton factory is off Vesey Street by St Chads.’
‘You know a lot about this,’ observed Mariner.
‘I looked them up,’ Millie said. ‘Call it background research. I have to do something to stop my brain turning completely to mush.’
‘OK, we’ll go and have a look. What car does he drive?’ Millie gave him the make and registration number. ‘Good to know you haven’t lost it,’ he said, before ending the call.
The area around St Chad’s Roman Catholic Cathedral was, and had been for two hundred years, a light industrial district, whose streets at the end of the working day were deserted. Pincott and Easton Gunmakers was housed in the original double-fronted Victorian factory, with gates in the centre opening on to an inner courtyard, and according to the date embedded in the archway above, was started in 1841. Mariner drove a little way past, parked up and walked back to reconnoitre. As he approached the yard he saw a light shining from a first floor window on the opposite side. The main gates were padlocked, but a side gate swung open, meaning that Greg Easton must have also parked out on the street, though it wasn’t immediately obvious where. Mariner considered his position. What he’d potentially got here was a man backed into a corner, sitting on a pile of guns that he was skilled enough to use. He was not about to take any stupid risks.
Walking back to his car, Mariner contacted CAD and, with a brief explanation, requested support from the nearest area armed response vehicle. He was given an ETA of approximately ten minutes. Then he put on the stab vest he carried in his boot and sat and waited, watching all the while to make sure that Greg Easton stayed where he was.
During the time it took for the unit of two armed officers to reach him there was no activity from the factory. Once Mariner had briefed them, they approached with stealth, denying Easton the chance to destroy any evidence. Crossing the courtyard they found the door leading up to the first floor offices unlocked, and the two armed policemen proceeded up the staircase ahead of Mariner. At the top of the stairs, Mariner heard the lead officer yell out a warning before easing open the door, weapon raised. He steeled himself for the gunfire, but nothing happened.
‘No threat here, sir,’ the officer called down. Mariner stepped into the room to see the man he presumed to be Greg Easton sitting behind his desk. He didn’t raise his head as Mariner went in, and nor would he again. Blood as dark as molasses dripped from his open mouth, and organic matter was spattered over the glass case behind him. His right hand lay in his lap, loosely gripped around a pistol, his forefinger on the trigger. An open drawer to one side of him contained a box of cheap gold necklaces, each one strung with the letter P.
