Keep Her Close

by M. J. Ford

  ‘Thanks, Heidi.’

  With the Korean food losing heat and filling the car with its scent, Jo turned around and drove to the address in the north east of the city. Her toes still stubbornly refused to warm up. Ronald Myers’ place was a quaint cottage in Marston that opened right onto the narrow pavement. Jo drove past once and, seeing lights on, parked around the corner. She walked between the pools of light from the streetlamps, her breath clouding on the air. She used the heavy brass knocker.

  As he opened the door onto a narrow and cosy hallway, Jo’s first impression was that Myers wasn’t all that old. A swarthy black beard covered his lower face; he looked more like a sea captain than a tutor of history. The thick and slightly shapeless jumper he wore only added to that impression, and his broad forearms stuck out through the bottom of the shrunken sleeves. His nails, on his squared fingertips, were thick and yellowing.

  Jo introduced herself. ‘We’re investigating the disappearance of a former student of yours – Malin Sigurdsson.’

  Myers’ brows contracted around a deep vertical cleft. ‘Has something happened to her?’

  ‘Maybe I could come in?’ said Jo.

  Myers moved aside. ‘Go on through,’ he said.

  Jo squeezed past and found herself in a cosy lounge, lined on two sides by floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. A wood-burning stove was blazing and she was too hot at once. On a small table was a set of car keys with a branded Morris Garages keyring.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Myers, with his back to her. He crouched, opened the stove and placed on another log.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I won’t take up much of your time. When did you last see Malin Sigurdsson?’

  Myers straightened, turned to face her and spread his shovel-like hands. Jo wondered how he’d feel about giving fingerprints. ‘I haven’t seen her for weeks,’ he said. ‘Months. Not since I retired. Before the summer break.’

  ‘So you’ve had no contact since then?’

  He sat on a sagging armchair and placed both hands on his knees. ‘Perhaps you could explain what this is about?’

  ‘Malin’s missing,’ said Jo. ‘We’re following a number of leads to ascertain what might have happened.’

  ‘I assure you I know nothing of that,’ said Myers.

  ‘Can you tell me exactly the nature of your relationship with Malin?’

  ‘I was her tutor.’

  ‘Until you … retired?’ He nodded. ‘You see, I heard you left under something of a cloud.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Jo. ‘You were attracted to Malin, though?’

  ‘Is that a crime?’

  ‘You tried to kiss her and she didn’t like it.’

  ‘I went through all this with the college,’ he said. ‘I made a mistake, as foolish old men are wont to do.’

  ‘Sounds like sexual assault to me,’ said Jo.

  ‘All right – I’d like you to leave,’ said Myers.

  ‘We haven’t finished talking.’

  Myers stood up. ‘Do I need to call your superiors?’ he said. ‘I’m quite aware of my rights.’

  Jo stood as well. ‘Don’t worry – we’re on top of things,’ she said. ‘All right if I have a look around?’

  She began to walk towards another door. It looked like there was a dining area on the other side, with a set of stairs running right to left. Myers blocked her path.

  ‘It isn’t,’ he said. ‘This is my home, and I’ve made my wishes clear.’

  ‘We can come back with a warrant,’ she said.

  ‘Then do so.’ He gestured towards the door, impatient and resolute. ‘Good evening, detective.’

  She showed herself out into the cold street, looking up and down. He was probably watching her from inside. She walked back to her car, drove slowly back past his house, then pulled up in a layby a couple of streets away. The fact he hadn’t consented to a search didn’t mean much, in her experience.

  The food would be stone cold. She texted Lucas to let him know she’d been delayed. It wouldn’t be the first time work had got in the way of sustenance.

  After five minutes, the headlights of a car emerged from the side street beside Myers’ house. They reflected in her mirrors. Jo pressed herself down in her seat. An MG sports car passed, indicated left and turned out of sight. Jo started her engine and followed.

  ‘Where are you off to, Ron?’ she muttered.

  They hit the A40, joining traffic and heading south. Jo stayed a couple of cars back. After less than a mile, Myers drifted across to the exit for Barton. Jo copied his signals. Her stomach felt light with nerves. He’d looked surprisingly strong for his age. If it came to it, she had a police-issue telescopic baton in the car, and CS gas spray.

  He slowed as he drove past a small parade of shops, pulling into the car park. There were a few people around, and he reversed into a space. Jo felt the tension dip as she stopped on the road opposite. Maybe he was just coming out for a pint of milk. Was this the closest shop? When he got out, he was carrying a plastic bag. He walked away from the shop though, down a path between an illuminated launderette and a closed chip shop. Jo tucked the baton into her inner coat pocket, got out and crossed the road in pursuit.

  There was a sign saying ‘Recreation ground’ pointing up the alley.

  Jo wondered for a moment if she’d lost him when she reached a set of traffic lights at a smaller road. Behind a low fence opposite was a large open space lined with trees. Netting suspended between several trunks told her it was probably a cricket ground in the summer months. She saw a movement further up the pavement, as Myers dipped in through a gate. He was walking more quickly. She went across herself, and vaulted the fence, staying under the trees. She was breathing hard, but it was only nervousness making her heart pump faster. Myers walked towards a bench with a bin beside it. She knew what he was going to do, before he did it. He peered into the bin, then placed the bag inside. Jo smiled grimly, waited for him to leave, then hurried across to the bench herself, taking her pocket-torch from her handbag. The bin was empty but for the bag. She used a tissue between her fingers to fish it out. It wasn’t heavy, but several items jostled inside.

  She crouched and carefully tipped them onto the frost-covered grass. Four objects. The first three – a toothbrush, a pot of expensive face cream, a hairbrush – might feasibly have belonged to Myers himself. The last – a flimsy silk camisole nightdress – sealed it.

  Got you, you fucker.

  Jo wanted nothing more than to apprehend Myers herself, but she fought the urge. No rush. She bagged up the things, and walked calmly back towards her car, dialling Andy Carrick on the way. She could feel the lightness of her breath as she filled him in and the adrenalin of the pursuit seeped from her veins. As ever, he listened patiently without interrupting until she’d finished.

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Following on foot. My guess is he’ll head straight home.’

  ‘Good work, Jo. Stay back and observe. We’re on our way.’

  Jo hung up, thrilled with the triumph, trying to imagine the look on DCI Stratton’s face when they brought Myers in. There’s no way you can keep me out now …

  * * *

  In the end, Myers did stop at the shop, and Carrick was already at his house with two squad cars by the time he returned. The retired tutor didn’t try to run, and Jo walked over to hear Carrick asking him to come to the station to answer questions relating to the possible murder of Malin Sigurdsson.

  ‘You think I killed her?’

  ‘Did you?’ asked Carrick.

  ‘Of course I bloody didn’t,’ said Myers.

  ‘Then you won’t mind helping us with our enquiries.’

  ‘I don’t see how I can,’ said Myers.

  Jo watched as they took him across to the squad car.

  ‘Mind if I join you inside?’ she said. ‘In a purely observational capacity, of course.’

  ‘Be my gues
t,’ said Carrick. ‘And again, sorry about earlier.’

  ‘It’s academic now,’ said Jo.

  Dimitriou was organising uniforms laying out the cordon.

  ‘You’re making us look bad,’ he said, as Jo entered the house again.

  She walked straight through to the pantry-style kitchen. A washing machine was running, and she switched it off at the wall. Then she went up a set of spiral stairs with a wrought-iron balustrade. The house was a two-up, two-down, with a small extension at the rear over both storeys. The room at the front had more books, and was given over to stacked storage crates; the rear one was Myers’ bedroom with an en-suite. The bed was stripped. The pictures on the walls were tasteful watercolours. She checked the wardrobe, the linen basket, and any cupboards she could find.

  Carrick was out in the garden, looking in the shed.

  They met back downstairs.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  Dimitriou joined them. ‘The shopping bag is full of cleaning products – bleach, clothes, rubber gloves, brushes. He was trying to cover his tracks.’

  ‘He’s washed his bedsheets,’ said Jo.

  Carrick was frowning.

  ‘You’re wondering why he took the toothbrush and the face cream,’ she said. ‘Trophies?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe, but there was a toothbrush in her college room as well. I’ve just come from there.’ Jo cast her mind back. She didn’t remember seeing one, but Carrick’s nickname was Nikon, because of his freakishly photographic memory.

  One of the uniforms came in. ‘Excuse me, sir. We’ve done a preliminary search. Pretty sure the girl isn’t here.’

  She was at one point though, thought Jo. So where’s he put her?

  ‘Thanks,’ said Carrick. He looked at the books on the shelves, as if one of them might contain the answers they needed. ‘Dimi, stay here and coordinate. Knock on the neighbours, see if they can give us anything. Comings and goings, noises, suspicious behaviours.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Jo.

  ‘You’re off shift, aren’t you?’ said Carrick.

  ‘Stop winding me up, Andy,’ said Jo. ‘Let me come with you and have a crack at Myers.’

  ‘The Chief won’t be happy. But, well …’

  ‘Fuck him?’ said Jo.

  Carrick grimaced. In the seven months since Jo had first met him, she’d never heard him use a single expletive.

  ‘I agree with the sentiment,’ he said, ‘if not the manner of expression.’

  Chapter 6

  They had to call him though, and DCI Stratton arrived back at the station just before nine pm, as Jo and Carrick were getting ready to speak to Ronald Myers in IR1. Carrick had obviously briefed him on Jo’s involvement, because he didn’t say anything other than a mumbled, ‘Great work, Detective Masters.’

  ‘What’s the old bastard done with her?’ he said next.

  ‘Dimi’s standing by at the property,’ said Carrick. ‘Let’s talk to Myers first before we rip the place up.’

  ‘I’ll be watching on the monitor,’ said Stratton. ‘And hold fire on communicating with Nick Cranleigh until we’ve got something concrete.’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ said Carrick.

  He and Jo entered the interview room, and Myers started talking at once. ‘I hope you’ve seen sense.’ His lawyer sat beside him, a man of about the same age, but plump and florid, with badly-dyed blond hair.

  Carrick started the tape and introduced Myers, himself and Jo for the record, then asked the counsel to state his name.

  ‘Freddie Allgreave,’ said the man. ‘For the record, my client denies having anything material to do with the disappearance of Malin Sigurdsson.’

  ‘We’re investigating her death, now,’ said Carrick.

  ‘That as well,’ said Myers. ‘For God’s sake, this is preposterous. You have no evidence.’

  ‘Care to tell us why you were disposing of Malin’s property a mile from your home?’ asked Jo.

  Myers glanced briefly at his lawyer, who nodded.

  ‘I panicked. You seemed to think I was guilty of something, wanting to snoop around. So I tried to get rid of her things.’

  ‘Why did you have those things in the first place?’ asked Jo.

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ said Myers.

  ‘Did you steal them from her, maybe?’ asked Jo. ‘We know you liked her. You told us that before. Wanted something to sniff?’

  Myers looked horrified. ‘I’m not a pervert.’

  Jo fought back her laughter. You’re a lot worse than that.

  ‘If you tell us where she is, right now, it’s going to reflect a lot better on you when it comes to sentencing. Mr Allgreave will confirm that.’

  The brief leant across and whispered something in his client’s ear.

  ‘I don’t know where she is,’ said Myers. ‘I want to help.’

  Jo took a breath. She didn’t think he’d hold out long. Her vague theory was that he’d done something in a fit of temper, and all she needed to do was play on the same short fuse in the IR and he’d crack again. She was almost looking forward to it. ‘Tell us about Malin,’ she said. ‘What was she like as a student?’

  Myers pouted, as if he expected a trick. ‘She was gifted,’ he said. ‘Our tutorials were stimulating.’

  ‘I bet,’ said Jo. ‘And the one where you tried to stick your tongue down her throat. Did she find that stimulating?’

  ‘I said before – it was a misunderstanding.’

  ‘And dealt with internally at the college,’ said Allgreave.

  ‘Swept under the carpet, more like,’ said Jo. Carrick was sitting back and listening carefully, letting her take the lead. She wondered in the back of her mind how Stratton, watching from the AV suite, would take the line of questioning. Not that she cared. She’d always scored highly in interrogation test scenarios.

  ‘It was the friend who sent you on this wild goose chase, wasn’t it?’ said Myers.

  Jo folded her arms. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied.

  ‘You know why the complaint was dropped, don’t you?’ said Myers. ‘Because she never wanted to make it in the first place. It was that little minx Anna Mull who put her up to it. She’s hated me ever since I told her to buck up her game.’

  Jo didn’t let her face betray her surprise. It might not even be true, but now wasn’t the time to start digging. Carrick’s phone, on the table in front of them, beeped. He turned it over and looked at the message, before showing it to Jo. It was from Dimitriou. ‘Neighbours opposite report seeing blonde girl arriving with Myers three days ago by car. Leaving next morning.’

  What the hell did that mean?

  ‘Time to be open with us, Ron,’ said Jo. ‘Because we’re this close to turning your house upside down. When did you last see Malin Sigurdsson?’

  Myers’ lips were sealed.

  ‘Come on, Mr Myers,’ said Carrick. ‘If you didn’t take her, that means someone else did. The quickest way to eliminate yourself from our enquiries is to tell the truth. We can still charge you with obstruction of justice for the unauthorised disposal of her possessions.’

  Allgreave put a hand on Myers’ arm. ‘I’m sure my client will do his best to help you. He’s an innocent man.’

  Myers nodded gratefully. ‘I saw her on Monday,’ he said.

  Three days ago …

  ‘For what?’ said Carrick.

  Myers folded his arms. ‘What do you think?’ he said.

  ‘Extra tutoring?’ said Carrick.

  ‘We enjoyed each other’s company,’ said Myers.

  ‘You had sexual intercourse?’ said Jo.

  ‘And it was entirely our private right to do so,’ said the professor.

  ‘You and Malin Sigurdsson?’ said Jo.

  Myers looked at her with utter disdain.

  ‘So you say you haven’t seen her since Monday,’ asked Carrick. ‘Any contact at all? An argument, perhaps?’

  ‘No,’ said Myers.
‘We parted … amicably.’

  ‘And you didn’t visit her in college?’

  ‘I think I’ve answered that.’

  ‘Answer again.’

  ‘No, I didn’t visit her in college. I don’t even have a security pass anymore, and you can check with the porter’s lodge to see if I signed in.’

  ‘We’ll need to take your fingerprints.’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘No.’

  Jo suspended the interview, and was glad to be out of the room with Carrick.

  ‘Are you buying it, guv?’

  Stratton joined them.

  ‘We’ll need to confirm the visitor was her,’ said Carrick, ‘but the days matched. Maybe Anna Mull can clarify. Sounds like she wasn’t particularly fond of Myers.’

  ‘I hope I’m not being shallow,’ said Jo, ‘but can you really see Malin Sigurdsson going for a bloke like that?’

  Stratton cut in. ‘If there’s one thing this job has taught me, it’s not to make assumptions about women.’

  Jo guessed from his smile that it was supposed to be a joke. ‘She accused him of sexual harassment. He lost his job. In my experience, women don’t run to shag their sex pests.’

  ‘He said the complaint was dropped,’ said Stratton.

  ‘We’ll check with Frampton-Keys,’ said Carrick. ‘I’m with Jo on this, sir. Even if she dropped the accusation, I’m not sure how it squares with voluntarily spending the night at his house.’

  Maybe, thought Jo, we’re not looking at a square.

  * * *

  They took the prints, and Heidi gave the files a cursory scan before sending them to the lab for a confirmation.

  ‘I’m ninety-nine per cent sure they’re not a match for Malin’s room,’ she said.

  Stratton looked aggrieved. ‘I’m not sure we can hold him.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Carrick, though Jo saw it pained him to admit it. ‘We checked the evidence manifest from Malin’s room, and it included a toothbrush. Which makes it more likely that the one at Myers’ house was indeed a spare, taken there voluntarily.’

  ‘We’ve got him on obstruction, though.’

  ‘Pretty sure his lawyer could argue that was simply panic,’ said Carrick, ‘and he’s not an ongoing material threat.’