Lisa sat forward. ‘Go on, then.’
Clare reached into her desk drawer and withdrew the photo. She pushed it across the desk towards the couple.
Kevin picked it up. ‘Is this him? The man who took our Abi?’
‘It’s possible,’ Clare said. ‘Our witness has a good memory so we’re hopeful it’s a decent likeness. Do you recognise him? Either of you?’
Kevin stared at the photo, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Lisa began to cry again.
‘Does he look familiar? Anything about him?’ Clare asked again.
Kevin shook his head. Lisa wiped the tears away and studied the photo.
‘Lisa?’ Clare said, her voice gentle.
Lisa stared intently at it.
Clare waited. Was this it? Was Lisa remembering something? She held her breath. Then Lisa shook her head.
‘No, sorry. I don’t know him.’
Chapter 15
When Wendy had taken Kevin and Lisa back home, Clare called Tony and Chris into her office. ‘How did they seem?’
Chris shook his head. ‘If they’re acting then they’re bloody good at it.’
Tony glanced at Chris then back at Clare. ‘I agree. Genuine grief, the pair of them.’
‘I think we’ll give it a couple of hours to see if anything comes of the press conference, then I’d like to go back and confront Lisa about the piece of paper she took from the pram.’
Tony frowned. ‘Should have done that right after the press conference, Clare.’
‘You saw how they were,’ Clare said. ‘We wouldn’t have got any sense out of Lisa. And, to be honest, it might be better if I ask her about it when Kevin’s not there. I’m not sure what’s going on with her but I reckon there’s something up; and I don’t just mean her fling with the pastry chef.’
The phone on Clare’s desk started to ring.
Tony snatched it up. ‘DCI McAvettie… Okay.’ He handed the phone to Clare. ‘Head gardener at that posh school.’
Clare took the phone and introduced herself.
‘Sorry to bother you, Inspector,’ the gardener said. ‘I spoke to two of your officers yesterday and then I remembered something. It’s probably not important, but they did say if there was anything at all…’
‘Yes, of course. What was it you remembered?’
‘Well it was young Kevin. His car. Don’t know if you’ve seen it but it’s a rather nice Volkswagen Arteon.’
‘I have seen it.’
‘He was going to sell it, you see. The baby was due soon and he said he could do with the money. I said I might know someone who would be interested, so he gave me all the details. Mileage and so on.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, let’s see – about eight or nine months ago, I think. To be honest, Inspector, I think the lad was a bit short of cash.’
‘But he didn’t sell?’
‘No. My friend was coming to see the car then Kevin changed his mind. Said he wasn’t selling it after all.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Did he seem short of cash after that? As if he was tightening his belt?’
‘Not that I noticed. I don’t pay much attention, Inspector. As long as the work gets done. But I thought you might want to know.’
Clare put down the phone and relayed the conversation to Tony and Chris. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘Could be innocent enough,’ Chris said. ‘Might have had a win on the horses.’
‘Doubt it,’ said Tony. ‘More likely he paid off a car loan with money from working on the rigs.’
‘That would run out eventually, though,’ Chris said.
‘Yeah, suppose. We’ll dig into their finances as soon as the court order’s through.’
‘I called in to the tanning salon,’ Clare said. ‘Normally I’d say it was the ideal business for Lisa putting the odd payment in her pocket, but it wasn’t exactly busy. I can’t see her being able to cream off enough to fund their current lifestyle.’
‘We might just have to ask them,’ Tony said.
Clare sighed. ‘I know. But let’s see if anything comes of the press conference first.’
Clare and Chris left Tony and went to speak to Janey, who had helped Devon with the E-FIT photo.
‘I’ve put it up on the Force portal,’ she said. ‘Hopefully someone will recognise him.’
Clare looked at the image. It showed a man somewhere between thirty and fifty, hair starting to recede on top, clean shaven. His eyes were blue, his complexion pale.
‘Bill?’ she called through to the incident room. ‘Got a minute?’
Bill came wandering through and peered at the image. ‘I’ve seen him somewhere before,’ he said. ‘What do you reckon, Janey?’
Sara was hovering. ‘Boss, it’s DCI McAvettie.’
‘What about him?’
Sara swallowed, then said, ‘He says he’s going to fucking kill you.’
Clare sighed. ‘I’d better come and see him.’
Chris made a move to join her but she held a hand out. ‘You stay put. I don’t want blood on that nice new shirt.’
She found him standing in the doorway of her office, hands on his hips, his face livid with rage.
‘You stupid bloody woman,’ he said, and he stood back to admit her, slamming the door behind her.
Clare tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Problem?’
‘Depends, Inspector. If you think it’s absolutely fine to blunder in, completely unannounced, to the home of a woman who has recently buried her newborn baby and ask her if she’s stolen somebody else’s, then no. We do not have a problem.’
‘Ah,’ Clare said. ‘Mrs Mistry been on the phone?’
‘No, Inspector.’ Tony’s eyes were flashing now. ‘Mrs Mistry is too fucking upset to come to the phone. Mr Mistry, on the other hand, was able to express his displeasure most eloquently. And after he expressed it to me, he planned to express it again to the Chief Constable. That’s his friend, the Chief Constable.’
Clare looked at him wordlessly.
‘You remember the Chief Constable, Inspector? He’s the man who could put us all out of a job.’
Clare took a deep breath. ‘Tony…’
‘Don’t even start. Don’t even try to justify it. You go clodhopping in, accusing this man’s wife of stealing a baby, for God’s sake. Did you even look round at the house? Even you must have spotted how wealthy they are.’
‘You think being rich precludes you from committing crime?’
Tony sighed heavily. ‘No, of course it doesn’t. But it does mean you can buy the best legal help available. Not that our Mr Mistry needs to do that because he’s the senior partner in Mistry & McLeod. Offices in Dundee, Perth and Edinburgh, in case you didn’t know. Mr Mistry himself defended that scabby wee gangster from Cramond last year. We should have nailed him but Mistry got him off on a technicality. And this is who you choose to upset in the middle of a busy investigation. Well played, Inspector!’
Clare sank down on a chair. ‘Tony, I had to check her out. You know that something as dreadful as losing a baby can disturb the balance of your mind. And the hospital staff thought her reaction was worrying. I had to.’
‘All right. You had to. But you could have been a bit more subtle.’
Clare shrugged at this but Tony went on.
‘Ask the neighbours, her GP, the midwife – anyone but Mrs fucking Mistry herself.’
‘Sorry, but we’re up against it here. I’d rather put Abi’s life ahead of Mr Mistry’s feelings.’
This seemed to calm him down. He sat back in his chair. ‘So would I, Clare, but there are ways of doing these things.’
She looked at him. ‘What’s happened to you, Tony? You were never known for your subtlety. I seem to recall you ruffling a few feathers in your time.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you’re thinking of the old Tony.’
‘You’ve gone corporate! You’ve s
old out. All because you’re in line for promotion.’
He eased back in his chair and crossed one long leg over the other. ‘Do you know the difference between a Chief Inspector and a Superintendent, Clare?’
‘I’ve a feeling you’re going to tell me.’
‘About ten grand a year, actually. Think about it.’
‘It still needed checking out.’
He exhaled deeply. ‘Of course it did. It just needed someone with a lighter touch than you to do it. Now fuck off and do something useful – preferably without upsetting anyone rich and powerful.’
Chris was waiting outside the door for Clare. ‘Okay?’
‘Yeah, I suppose. That woman we went to see – the one who lost her baby?’
‘Mrs Mistry?’
‘Turns out her husband’s a mega-powerful solicitor and a personal friend of the Chief Constable.’
Chris began to laugh.
‘Shut up. Or I’ll tell Tony it was your idea.’
As they wandered into the incident room, Janey glanced up from her computer. ‘That E-FIT of the motorbike man, boss. I think we’ve got him.’
‘Name?’
‘Paul Sinclair. Dundee lad.’
Clare stared. ‘Paul Sinclair? You sure, Janey? He’s the bloke the Dundee lads identified from the pharmacy. You sure it’s him?’
‘Pretty sure.’ Janey turned her monitor round to show Clare. ‘Have a look.’ She jabbed the screen with a finger. ‘This is the E-FIT that lad Devon helped us with.’
Clare looked at it. ‘Okay…’
Janey clicked the mouse and another photo appeared. ‘Now this is Sinclair’s photo from the files.’ She turned to look at Clare. ‘See the similarity?’
Clare nodded then said, ‘Can you call up the pharmacy photos, Janey?’
Janey took the mouse and located the stills taken from the pharmacy CCTV. She waited while Clare peered at them then said, ‘What do you think, boss?’
‘I think you’re right, Janey. Same guy.’ She stood thinking for a minute, then said, ‘Pre-cons?’
‘The usual. Housebreaking, drugs, assault.’
‘Done time?’
‘A couple of spells in Perth. Been out a few years now, though. Kept his nose clean. Until this.’
‘That’s definite then. There is a connection between the abduction and the break-in at the pharmacy. Get his photo circulated across the Force. Scotland wide, in case he’s out of the area now.’
‘Will do, boss. I’ll give Bell Street a call too. See if he’s turned up yet. Want it out to the press?’
Clare shook her head. ‘Not yet. If he is still around Dundee we don’t want him legging it. Let’s see if we can pick him up first. If not, we’ll go public.’
Clare noticed Jim hovering in the doorway. ‘Jim?’
‘Sorry, Clare. I know you’re snowed under with this baby search but I’m trying to clear a backlog of paperwork here.’
‘That’s fine, Jim. What’s the problem?’
‘It’s that drugs death that came in when you were on holiday.’
Drugs death. Clare searched her memory. It rang a vague bell. And then she remembered an email she had seen on Sunday, after Abi’s disappearance. It seemed light years ago now. ‘I did see the email, Jim. I’m afraid I’ve not had a chance to look at it.’
‘If you’re happy to leave it with me, I’ll finish off the paperwork. Let the parents and the school know we’re closing it off.’
‘School? Was it a youngster, Jim?’
‘Sixteen-year-old girl. Yvette Jackson. Bloody waste of a life.’
‘Local?’
‘Yes, parents lived towards Dunino, about five miles south of the town. But she was at school here. Well, I say here, but on the outskirts really.’
‘You don’t mean Melville College?’
‘I think so. Want me to check?’
‘Please, Jim. And let me have a look at the file.’
Five minutes later, Clare and Chris were on their way to Melville College.
* * *
The school was set about a mile out of town.
‘Slow down,’ Chris said. ‘It’s just along here.’
Clare dropped her speed then she saw the sign: dark blue with the words Melville College in gold lettering. She turned the car off the road and drove up a tree-lined avenue to the front entrance. The school was a substantial building with playing fields behind. Unusually for this part of Fife, it was built in red brick, not unlike the brickwork at her own Daisy Cottage. For a brief moment, her mind wandered to her plumber and the seemingly endless job of installing a new central heating system. She hoped fervently that she’d see some progress when she went home that evening.
The receptionist asked them to take a seat while she telephoned the headteacher’s office. As they waited, Clare contemplated the opulence a private education could buy. A substantial mahogany trophy cabinet was full of cups and shields while a wooden honours board had the names of the head girls over the years inscribed in gold lettering. There were fresh flowers on the reception desk and the carpet had been designed to include the school crest. Chris rolled his eyes and Clare administered a warning kick to his ankle.
A door opened and the headteacher greeted them, her black gown flying behind her. She was in her late forties and the epitome of efficiency. Her blonde hair, showing the first signs of silver, was short but immaculately cut and beneath her gown she wore a plain grey blouse and darker skirt. She led them along a wood-lined corridor and showed them into her office.
‘Tea?’ she asked, her smile fixed.
Clare suddenly found she would love a cup of tea and so the headteacher’s secretary was dispatched to make a pot.
‘You are here, no doubt, because of the Mitchell baby’s abduction.’ She removed her glasses and met their eyes. ‘It goes without saying that my thoughts are with the family, as are those of all our staff.’ She formed her lips into a smile but her eyes did not follow suit.
Clare thought the head probably didn’t appreciate unscheduled visits. But that was the least of her worries. She decided not to mention Yvette Jackson’s death at this point. If the head was happy to talk about Kevin, they might learn something the uniformed guys had missed.
Somewhere outside the room, a bell began to ring. The head clasped her hands together and waited until it had stopped. ‘Afternoon break,’ she told them when the ringing had ceased. Then she put her glasses back on and opened a desk drawer. ‘I spoke to your colleagues about Mr Mitchell yesterday and gave them details of his employment – dates, duties and colleagues. But I have another copy here if it would be helpful?’ She withdrew a sheet of paper from the drawer and offered it to Clare.
Clare thanked her and took the sheet of paper. ‘Do you find Mr Mitchell to be a satisfactory employee?’
‘As far as I am aware. But my contact with him was limited. The head gardener is the chap you need to speak to. I’ll ask my secretary to show you to his office once you’ve had your tea.’
Clare asked a few more questions but there was little more forthcoming so they drank their tea. ‘As we’re here,’ she said, taking a second shortbread finger, ‘can I ask about one of your pupils, please? The young girl who died recently – Yvette Jackson.’
The headteacher’s smile froze and her lips tightened. ‘It’s very sad, of course. But I rather thought we had dealt with that. It’s so unsettling for the girls, you see.’
My God, Clare thought. She cares more about the school’s reputation than the life of one of her pupils. She watched the headteacher carefully for any sign of emotion – regret, even. But there was only the mask of professionalism. Clare decided not to spare her. ‘Is there a problem with drugs in the school?’
The headteacher looked askance. ‘Certainly not. This was an isolated incident which occurred well away from the premises. Most unfortunate and sad, of course, for the family. But I assure you, Inspector, that Yvette’s untimely death is nothing whatsoever to do with Melvil
le College.’
Clare took a last sip of tea and replaced her cup on the saucer. ‘I’d like to speak to Yvette’s friends, please. Those she was closest to.’
The lips tightened again. ‘Is that really necessary? As I said, it’s unsettling.’
‘I’m afraid so. If you wouldn’t mind?’
The headteacher rose and excused herself. A few minutes later she returned. ‘I’ve spoken to the form mistress and she’s sending up two girls: Rachel and Ebony. Please don’t keep them long. This is an important year for them.’ She stood, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes on the door.
‘If we could see them alone, please?’ Clare said.
The headteacher gave Clare a withering glance. ‘I should make you aware that these girls are just sixteen, Inspector. I am, therefore, in loco parentis.’ She looked at Chris. ‘I am acting as their parents, you see.’
For the second time, Clare tapped Chris’s ankle with her foot and he remained obediently silent. She fixed her smile and said, ‘Of course. We understand your duties towards the girls completely. We do have the right to interview them without parental consent but we always prefer to have the parents onside. Perhaps if your secretary could telephone the parents, I could reassure them before talking with the girls?’
The headteacher’s eyes narrowed and she regarded Clare without speaking for a moment. Then she turned on her heel and left the room. A minute later she returned and resumed her seat. The telephone on her desk rang and, after speaking a few words, she passed the receiver to Clare. Clare spoke to the mother of the first girl to reassure her about their enquiries and consent was duly given. When the second phone call had been completed the headteacher rose.
‘I’ll ask the girls to come straight in. Please send them back to class when you have finished.’
And, with that, she swept from the room, closing the door behind her, a little louder than was strictly necessary.
‘You’ve made a friend for life there,’ Chris said.
A few minutes later there was a gentle tap at the door and it opened slowly. Two girls dressed in white blouses and checked pinafores stood in the doorway.
In Plain Sight Page 13
