Dead of Night, page 26
part #7 of D.I. Tom Mariner Series
But something in the atmosphere tickled at Mariner’s senses. This didn’t feel right; it was too staged. ‘Suicide?’ said one of the armed response.
But Mariner shook his head. ‘I’m reserving judgement ’til the pathologist’s seen him.’ As he spoke, a door slammed somewhere in the building. All three men moved to the window in time to see a figure running across the yard towards the gate. Mariner had a flash of recognition and realized with a start it was the same figure he’d seen running away from his house when he returned from fetching Dominique Batista. ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘There’s no one outside.’
The two armed response men thundered down the stairs, across the yard and out into the street, but they were too late. Whoever it was had vanished into the night.
After calling the SOCOs and notifying Sharp, Mariner phoned Millie to tell her what they had found. ‘We’re going to need to come and talk to Louise. It might help if you’re there too.’
‘Will that be OK?’
‘It shouldn’t be a problem. You’re not part of the investigation.’
By the next day, the Pincott and Easton premises had been thoroughly searched for evidence that any of the women had been brought there, and for any trace of Tiffany Davey. Though there were a number of empty offices along with bathroom facilities, none of them showed any sign of recent use. Greg Easton’s computer was taken for forensic analysis.
Mariner went to Louise Easton’s house to talk to her. She was sandwiched on the sofa between Millie and an older woman, introduced as her mother, Olwen. Louise’s eyes were red and swollen and all the time they were talking she twisted a handkerchief in her hands. When Mariner broke to her what they suspected, he saw a fresh wave of grief hit. ‘I can’t believe that Greg would do something so bad,’ she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
‘I wasn’t sure if it was what you were trying to tell me,’ said Millie.
‘No!’ Louise was shocked at the suggestion. ‘A few years ago the firm was investigated. One of the staff had been illegally importing guns on the side. Filing off serial numbers and selling them on. It was nothing to do with Greg, but the company isn’t doing well and I thought … I thought he might have got involved in something like that. But not what you’re saying.’
‘We don’t know for certain that we’re right,’ said Mariner. ‘I’ve got a list of dates here. When you feel ready, it would help if you could confirm where Greg was on these occasions.’
‘I can tell you where he said he’d be, but I don’t know if he was telling the truth,’ Louise said, bitterly.
‘And we’ll need to know the dates of your appointments at the hospital with your daughter. Do you know if Greg has had cause to go back to the hospital recently?’
‘Not for a couple of weeks, there’s been no need.’
But Mariner knew that there didn’t have to be a legitimate reason. There was nothing to stop anyone going into those smoking shelters. Who would know? ‘If Greg is involved in this,’ he said tactfully, ‘is there anywhere else he might have taken these women?’ But if there was, Louise didn’t know.
CCTV from RedZone was unhelpful. The one external camera pointed away from where Tiffany might have met the mystery man; they saw her head pass in and out of shot in a matter of seconds. One of the bouncers interviewed had a vague recollection of her going out for a smoke, and someone standing beneath an awning a little way down the street, but all he could say for sure was that it was a man. The dog-ends from that spot were dutifully collected but there were a couple of dozen at least, so the process of elimination and possible identification through DNA could take days.
The post-mortem on Greg Easton was equally inconclusive. ‘He undoubtedly died from a close-range gunshot wound, fired by the weapon that you found in his hand,’ said Croghan, as he and Mariner stood over Easton’s body. ‘But whether or not he pulled the trigger will be almost impossible to ascertain.’ And Mariner had seen Carlton Renford running away. He was sure of it. He just couldn’t work out what it meant.
Along with the post-mortem report, Croghan gave Mariner the detailed forensic report on the cloth used to wrap Grace and Rosa. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It matches neither the sheet from the Belvedere or the one from here. You’re back to the drawing board with that.’
‘Have you got a bit I can take with me?’ Mariner asked.
‘I can soon get you one.’ Croghan returned moments later with a small corner of soiled cloth.
Mariner took the sample to Sunita in the linen store. ‘What can you tell me about this?’ he asked.
‘It needs a good wash,’ she said, taking it from him. She felt it all over, tugging and rubbing it between her fingers. ‘Oh, this takes me back,’ she said. ‘It’s pure cotton and good quality. I’d say it’s a thread count of about one-sixty or one-eighty. We don’t use anything like this any more. It’s all new ones here, cotton and polyester. They’re supposed to be more durable and hygienic because they breathe more, but it was such a waste. Not as if the NHS has got money to burn, is it?’
Before returning to Granville Lane, Mariner went to the atrium cafeteria, bought a coffee and took a vacant table close to the one he and Jesson had occupied before, and where, at a stretch, he could watch the activity in and around the smoking shelters. He had thought about the possibility of trying to trace anyone who had used them on the days when Rosa, Grace and Tiffany would have, but he could see straight away that it would be a monumental task, given the rate of turnover. And the encounters would have been so casual, they could easily have gone unnoticed.
‘Penny for them,’ he heard someone say, and looked up to see Ellen Kingsley. She was holding her own beaker of coffee. ‘Can I join you?’
‘Of course,’ said Mariner. ‘Though I might not be very good company. You may have heard – we cocked up.’
‘I’m sure it’s not that simple,’ she said, taking the seat opposite him, nonetheless.
‘I’m so sorry about Dee,’ said Mariner, ‘and Leo Hayden. You must be missing them both.’
‘We’re still trying to get used to it,’ she said. ‘Though I’m relieved Leo didn’t kill all those women. It all seems so unreal. I went to see Paddy yesterday. He’s devastated. Do you have any idea who …?’
Mariner shook his head slowly. ‘Dee and Coral Norman made absolute sense when we thought it was Leo Hayden, but now it’s hard to see where they might fit in.’ He didn’t like to tell her that hospital staff were coming under scrutiny again. An army medic in uniform walked past. ‘How’s Private Lomax?’ he asked.
‘About the same,’ she said. ‘Dee hasn’t missed much there.’
‘I saw the news item about his unit receiving their awards,’ he said. It felt like weeks ago. ‘I didn’t realize his father was a serving soldier too. You’d think it would be enough to put him off letting his son join the army.’
Ellen frowned. ‘I don’t think Lomax’s dad is around,’ she said. ‘I’m sure on his medical records it says that he was in care before he joined up.’
‘So who was the man who came in to sit with him, the first time I talked to you?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Oh, you mean Captain Clarke. Lomax and the other two are in his squad. He was here almost every day to begin with. He was hurt in the blast as well, so was on recovery leave. I haven’t seen him for a few days, so I think he must have gone back on tour.’
‘Is it unusual, that he would have spent time here?’
‘Not really. A lot of the commanding officers come in to see their men. They’re pretty tight-knit units generally. Although it was a bit different with Clarke.’
‘Different how?’
‘I think I mentioned that we had the MPs here? I understand the area where Lomax’s unit were on patrol hadn’t been swept for IEDs and there was a question mark over why they were there at all. I suppose the Captain equally wanted to know what had happened; to get Lomax’s side of the story first. I know he was gutted he wasn’t here on the day Craig briefly regained consciousness.’ Her pager bleeped. ‘Sorry, this is urgent, I’ve got to go.’ She got to her feet. ‘Nice to see you again, and I hope you reach a resolution soon.’
‘Thanks, you too,’ said Mariner, watching her go.
TWENTY-NINE
In the days following Greg’s death, Millie made an extra effort to stay in touch with Louise, as much for Abigail’s sake as anything else. The funeral would be delayed because of the post-mortem and inquest, and Millie knew from experience that this could be the most difficult time for families. It didn’t help that there was a question mark over the nature of Greg’s death, and the potential stigma of suicide. She went round to the house on one such morning. Olwen, as always, was pleased to see her. ‘Louise seems to just have retreated completely into herself. I’m worried for her and for Abigail.’
As they went through to the lounge Olwen called out, ‘Your friend Millie is here, Louise.’
Louise was curled up in a corner of the sofa, cradling a mug of tea in her hands. Despite the mild day she was wrapped in a thick fleece and the purple smudges under her eyes were the only colour on her face. Seeing Millie and Haroon, she managed a weak smile.
‘How are you?’ said Millie, not expecting a reply. ‘I wondered if you and Abigail might like to come to the mother and baby group down at the church. We went last week and it’s lovely, really friendly. Haroon thoroughly enjoyed it.’
‘I’m not really dressed for going out,’ said Louise. ‘Maybe another day?’
‘Nonsense,’ said Olwen. ‘It won’t take you long to get ready, Louise. It’s only a baby group. And you have to think of Abigail darling, she needs to get out.’
Louise reluctantly disappeared upstairs and while she was getting ready, Olwen and Millie between them got Abigail into her coat and pushchair, so that when Louise returned they were all ready to go.
‘Have a nice time,’ Olwen called after them.
The two women walked along the pavement in silence for several minutes, until Louise said, ‘Thanks. It’s really good of you to do this. I already feel a bit better for just getting out of the house.’
‘I can’t imagine how tough this is,’ said Millie. ‘But I’m sure it will get easier, little by little.’
The group was underway when they arrived, so parking their pushchairs alongside the others in the lobby, they took the babies into the church hall, where the floor was covered with coloured mats, littered with toys, and echoed to the sound of children’s excited chatter and mums’ murmured conversations. Millie introduced Louise to a couple of other women she’d met on her previous visit.
Haroon and Abigail were both happy to be placed on one of the mats and lay looking at each other, waving their arms and legs. ‘The start of a beautiful friendship,’ said Millie. Louise had struck up a conversation, so Millie risked leaving her for a few minutes to get them a drink. When she came back, Louise was talking to a woman she’d recognized as one of her near neighbours. ‘This was such a good idea,’ she said to Millie as the woman moved off. ‘It makes me feel almost … normal again.’
After about an hour, the woman running the session announced circle time. ‘It’s a way of closing the sessions,’ Millie told Louise. ‘We sing a few nursery rhymes and then it’s all over. You’ve done brilliantly.’
While the mats were being arranged in a circle, Louise left Abigail with Millie while she went to the loo. The older children sat on the floor in the middle of the circle clutching musical instruments, while the mums with younger babies sat around the outer edges. The group leader led the singing, with the mums joining in, though Millie’s contribution was minimal. Not for the first time she realized she was going to have to brush up on her nursery rhymes. Millie wasn’t really sure what happened next. She was sitting on the floor with Abigail and Haroon tucked in on her lap, side by side, trying to follow the words of the song, when she heard a piercing scream from right behind her, and Louise bounded over to snatch up Abigail before rushing out of the room. The singing faltered momentarily as the other women all turned to stare, prompting the leader to sing with increased gusto, to get them back on track again. Holding Haroon, Millie got up and went out to the lobby, where she found Louise, sobbing hysterically while she struggled to get a now-screaming Abigail into her pushchair.
‘Louise, what on earth is the matter?’ said Millie. ‘What’s upset you? What’s happened?’ She looked out on to the street through the glass doors but there was no one and nothing out of the ordinary. Louise was still fumbling unsuccessfully to fasten the pushchair straps and Millie reached over to help, but as she did so Louise gave up and collapsed on to the floor, weeping and hugging Abigail tight to her.
Millie slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘What’s going on? Tell me.’
Gradually Louise brought her breathing under control. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I was just overcome by this terrible feeling of panic and a fear that Abigail was in danger. I just had to get her out of there.’
‘You’re bound to be fragile,’ said Millie. ‘You’ve been through such a lot. I’m sorry, this is my fault. I shouldn’t have made you come out today. Perhaps it was too soon after all. Come on, let’s go home.’
Together they got the children into their pushchairs and as they set off down the road Louise seemed to recover a little. ‘Oh God, I made a real fool of myself in there, didn’t I?’
‘Not at all,’ said Millie. ‘They hardly noticed, and so what if they did? You’ve had a horrible time. Losing Greg—’
‘Except I don’t think this has anything to do with Greg,’ Louise insisted. ‘I just came into the room and heard the singing and something cold crawled up my spine. It freaked me out. There’s something about that song.’
‘Which one?’ Millie tried to recall what they’d been singing.
‘You know, the one about the princess in the tower. I can’t bear it.’
Millie shrugged. ‘You don’t like princesses. You told me and I get that.’
‘But it’s so stupid,’ said Louise. ‘I don’t even understand where this aversion has come from. God knows why Greg stuck it out with me. I’m so ridiculously neurotic about everything. No wonder he—’
‘No!’ Millie was unequivocal. ‘That was not your fault.’
‘But now I’m going to pass my anxieties and all that crap on to Abigail and she hasn’t even got her daddy to try and make things right for her,’ said Louise, the tears beginning to flow again.
‘That’s not true,’ said Millie. ‘You’re a great mum.’
‘Greg was wrong, you know. I’m not a feminist. Far from it, in fact, but I hate anything to do with princesses. I find them so sinister. It’s practically a phobia …’
‘Like clowns,’ said Millie. ‘Coulrophobia. A lot of people are frightened by clowns and there’s no logical reason for that either, is there? Clowns are meant to make us laugh, just as we’re meant to admire princesses for being beautiful.’
‘Yes, I suppose that must be it.’ Louise wiped her face. ‘I know I can’t stand to have anything to do with them in the house. It was fine until Abigail was born and then suddenly we were inundated with all these twee little gifts with princesses all over them, and I hated it. I got so upset that Greg separated out the worst things and stuck them in a cardboard box in the garage. I think he hoped that I might change my mind one day and let Abigail have them. I won’t though, I know it.’ She stopped and turned to Millie. ‘Would you do something for me? Would you find that box and get rid of it? Take it to a charity shop or something? I can’t face it, especially now …’
‘Of course I will,’ said Millie.
The following morning Millie went back to Louise’s, taking a homemade casserole in the hope that it might encourage her to eat something. Wheeling Haroon’s pushchair into the hall, she followed Olwen through to the lounge. ‘I’m catching up with some correspondence,’ Olwen said, of the papers spread out across the dining table. ‘It’s old-fashioned, I know, but some of my pals and I still like to exchange proper letters.’
‘How’s Louise doing today?’ Millie asked.
‘She’s lying down,’ said Olwen. ‘She didn’t sleep well last night again so she’s exhausted.’
‘Of course,’ said Millie. ‘I just thought that Abigail might like the company.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ said Olwen. ‘She’s napping too at the moment but she’s due to wake soon.’ Olwen went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, returning with a tea tray, complete with pot; another traditional touch. ‘How did the baby group go yesterday?’ she asked, pouring a cup for Millie. ‘Louise didn’t say very much about it when she got back.’
‘It was fine,’ said Millie. ‘She got a bit upset towards the end, but that wasn’t surprising. It’s been such a difficult time. I think she was very brave to go. I wondered if I pushed too hard.’
‘Not at all,’ said Olwen. ‘I remember when Ted passed away. Sometimes it was people’s kindness that was the most upsetting.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure if it was that exactly,’ said Millie. ‘I suppose grief just comes out in funny ways, doesn’t it? Actually,’ Millie went on, ‘Louise mentioned a box of things in the garage that she wants me to dispose of. I think they’re too much of a reminder of Greg. Now might be a good time to see if we can find them, while she’s resting.’
Olwen let Millie into the garage, which clearly doubled as a storage space. Wall to wall shelving held a number of cardboard boxes of assorted shapes and sizes. ‘What is it we’re looking for?’ she asked.
‘Apparently there’s a box somewhere containing all the princessey stuff Abigail was given when she was born,’ said Millie. ‘Louise really isn’t into girly things, is she?’
Olwen smiled. ‘You can say that again. She was quite a tomboy as a child.’
Millie began lifting boxes off the shelves to see what was inside and for the first time realized what a big job this might be. They contained all the sort of stuff that she and Suli kept in their loft: boxes of old china, pictures that were no longer needed, shoe boxes of old black and white photographs.
