But if only one of the deaths was important, which one was it? And who was she important to?
Was it Adam Mellor? All they knew was that it seemed possible – and nothing more – that Leo had disappeared, and if she had, Mellor might be involved. This was based on the fact that somebody looking like Leo had been followed by Adam Mellor’s van, and that he had met Leo and knew she wasn’t going to the races last Saturday. It was a stretch, but if Mellor was involved in Leo’s disappearance, did that mean she was the real target? And was she already dead?
The other killings seemed to have happened within hours of the girls being taken, so if Leo had been abducted, was her body yet to be discovered?
Tom swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to focus as Becky nudged the door open with her foot, two cups of tea in one hand and a pile of papers in the other. He was glad of the interruption. Becky was less emotionally involved in this and hopefully could see it all a little more clearly.
‘Here you go, boss.’
Having deposited the tea she pushed her hair behind her ears, every inch of her shouting, ‘We’re getting somewhere.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Adam Mellor went to Manchester University, studied economics and was in his third year at the time of the first murders. However, we can’t find a single thing that links him to either of the girls who were murdered or the one who was almost killed. Of the names given to us by Louisa Knight, both Ben Coleman and Malcolm Doyle attended Manchester University as well, both obviously studying medicine. They’re both slightly older, but of course they would have been students for a lot longer. We’re assuming that Hayley was going out to meet somebody from work that night, but we don’t know that, do we?’
Tom had to admit they didn’t, but when Hayley spoke to Louisa about this man, it had sounded very much like a colleague – she had been adamant she couldn’t say who it was because it might affect Louisa’s relationship with him. So it had to be somebody at the hospital. But Hayley’s date that night could have been with somebody entirely different.
Charlie Dixon, it turned out, could be ruled out of the murders twelve years ago because he was in New Zealand at the time.
‘Okay, Becky, one last thing, then I think you should go home. It is Sunday after all. Find out when Ben Coleman left for his holiday, will you. And check if he actually got on the plane.’
Tom looked back at his scribblings. They had names but absolutely no way of connecting them to any of the murders. It was a step further than twelve years ago, though, when names had been notable only by their absence.
42
12 years ago – mid June
Tom knocked on DCI Victor Elliott’s door and waited to be told he could enter, another one of the time-wasting rituals that were slowly driving him to distraction. He looked through the glass panel, and the DCI held his hand up, palm out, as if to say ‘Stay’ to a dog. Tom gritted his teeth but held his ground.
He knew his superior’s behaviour was getting to him, and he shouldn’t let it. In any murder enquiry tension always ran high, but in his opinion Victor Elliott was making him jump through hoops that were entirely unnecessary. Fortunately, Tom had his ever-willing trainee, Philippa Stanley, who seemed keen and eager to do just about anything she was asked. Sadly, this had encouraged some of the guys to take the piss and send her on fools’ errands, but Tom had put a stop to that. He needed her to focus. She hadn’t taken kindly to his intervention, though.
‘I knew what I was doing, sir,’ she said. ‘I can deal with idiots like them.’
‘Right. So when you were sent for some holes for the hole punch, you knew that was a wind-up, did you?’
She had turned to him, her skin slightly flushed. ‘Of course I did. I was biding my time. Waiting for the moment when I could make the tossers suffer.’
Tom had known she was right: he hadn’t needed to come to her aid. He was beginning to realise that Philippa Stanley was nobody’s fool. As a result of her help in this investigation he had been able to get off home a little earlier a couple of times this week. He hated leaving her to do all the grunt work, but he needed to spend some time with Kate.
He tried to talk to Kate about the baby, about how excited he was, but she changed the subject all the time and Tom had been forced to admit to himself that he was scared. Scared Kate was going to leave him. Scared the reason she had become so much happier just before she fell pregnant was because she had met somebody else. Scared the baby his wife was carrying that he was so excited about wasn’t his.
He was jolted back into the here and now by a signal from his boss. Waving him to come in. Elliott hadn’t been on the phone or talking to anybody else; he was simply posturing.
‘Where are we up to? Any more names in the frame? Still got a bee in your bonnet about Alexander?’ His first words, and they intensified the waves of irritation that Tom was feeling. It was true that Alexander – Tamsin Grainger’s ex-boyfriend – had a cast-iron alibi, but there was something there, Tom was sure. He could see it; feel it. Sadly he hadn’t been able to follow anything up because he kept being sent on wild-goose chases.
‘I’ve been looking at all lines of enquiry. There’s the lecturer who had the affair with Tamsin Grainger, Edward Price – goes by Teddy, apparently.’
‘We’ve cleared Price. He was at home with his wife.’
‘And do you consider his wife a good enough alibi? What about the wife herself? She had as much of a motive as anybody, although killing somebody for an act of fellatio on your husband seems a bit steep.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. A woman scorned, and all that. Do we know if it was the first time, or had Tamsin been blowing him for weeks?’
‘He says it was only the once, but sadly the only person who could confirm or deny that is Tamsin.’
‘Fair point, Douglas. So what are you thinking?’
Tom was silent for a moment. ‘If it was Price’s wife, she wouldn’t necessarily get the right girl first time. It’s possible she killed the first girl by mistake, and learning what she had done, went back for the right one.’
‘So her husband’s covering for her? Is that what you mean?’
‘It’s possible, but I don’t believe it. Women rarely slash throats, do they? I don’t think it’s either of the Prices. I wish I knew what the symbol meant on the top of the leg, though. The profiler says it may be connected with the idea of the power of three.’ Tom shrugged, and neither man spoke for a moment.
‘Okay, tell me more about Price. I know you don’t think it’s him, but humour me,’ Victor said.
‘He works in the psychology department, and he specialises in cognitive psychology.’
‘And what the chuff might that be?’
‘Attention, perception, memory, reasoning. Quite interesting, I imagine.’
Victor raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘Really?’
‘So how did Tamsin know him, then?’
‘I gather Tamsin was hanging around waiting for Alexander, who was doing psychology as an elective, and she caught Price’s eye.’
Victor laughed. ‘Not difficult, from what I’ve seen. My sister used to wear a skirt like Tamsin – so short my dad called it a curtain pelmet.’
Tom stifled a sigh. ‘We’re working our way through all of Tamsin’s exes, sir, and if possible I’d also like to take a look at the warehouses and some of the derelict sites around Pomona. I know you sent uniforms down to check if they were secured, but…’
He saw Victor Elliott’s face turn red.
‘Don’t waste your time. I’ve told you. You’re not looking in the right place. Focus, Douglas. I want this guy found.’
43
Maggie crept along the landing, trying to make no sound at all, hoping the rain beating against the windows would mask any noise. She didn’t put the light on, and there was little light from the moon coming in through the window on the landing. Step by step she inched her way down the stairs. She didn’t need to do this, but she didn’t want to e
xplain herself either.
Finally reaching the bottom, she stretched out her hand to the exact spot where she knew her car keys would be, grabbed her raincoat from the hallstand and gently turned the latch on the door. As she turned the handle, the hall was flooded with light.
Suzy was standing at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas. ‘What on earth are you doing, Maggie?’ Her sister’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
Maggie stopped. ‘Sorry, Suzy. I knew the kids would be okay with you, and I didn’t want to tell you I was going out.’ She hissed out the words, anxious not to disturb the children.
Suzy walked halfway down the stairs and the conversation continued in hushed tones.
‘Why not?’ Maggie heard the hurt in her sister’s voice and understood.
‘Because I didn’t want you sitting up all night worrying about me.’
‘Crap reason, if you don’t mind me saying so. But go on – do what you’ve got to do. I presume you’re going to see Duncan?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘I only have a rough idea where he is. I’m going to look for him.’
‘What, randomly drive around Manchester, you mean?’ The frown on Suzy’s face was difficult to miss, and Maggie felt she had to defend herself.
‘Not quite. I know roughly what area he’s in, so I thought I’d see if I could find him.’
She could hear the hopelessness in her own voice and realised how stupid she was being.
Suzy came to the bottom of the stairs and reached out a hand to her sister. ‘Why don’t we try to be a bit more methodical than that? Get your laptop and come into the kitchen. I’ll make you a hot drink before you go and we can make a plan. Ten minutes isn’t going to make any difference, is it?’
Maggie’s desire to be doing something, her need to find Duncan – see him, touch him, hold him – had overridden her common sense.
She followed Suzy and opened her laptop.
‘Okay, tell me what you know.’
‘Not much,’ Maggie said. ‘When he called me earlier he was in a call box close to Heaton Park.’ Maggie loaded up Google Maps and pointed to the location on the map.
‘And what’s your thinking?’
‘I think he’ll be staying in a cheap, faceless hotel. He won’t be using a credit card – he knows I could check that. Duncan does lots of jobs for cash. And don’t look like that.’
‘Like what?’ Suzy asked with a look of innocence.
‘People think if they pay in cash he’s going to give them a discount, which he doesn’t, but he’s lazy about going to the bank. It’s all recorded though. He knows I would go ballistic if he was working on the black.’
Neither of them commented on the fact that it seemed Duncan had actually hidden far more than a few bookkeeping inconsistencies from his wife.
‘How were you planning on finding out which hotel?’
‘I was going to look for his van.’
‘It’s a bit hit and miss, Mags. It could take you all night. Even if you find him, the best the hotel will do is let you call his room. They won’t give you his room number, so he can ignore you if he wants to. I’ve got a better idea. What’s Duncan’s van’s registration number?’
Maggie told her.
‘What was the name of the female detective who came to see you?’
‘Detective Inspector Robinson, I think. I can’t remember her first name. Why?’
Suzy took control of the laptop and clicked on the first hotel shown by Google maps. She picked up the phone and pressed 141.
‘What are you doing, Suzy?’ Maggie asked, not entirely trusting her sister and recognising the code to withhold her number.
‘Shh,’ she replied as she typed in the number of the hotel. ‘Hello. It’s Detective Inspector Robinson speaking from Greater Manchester Police. Can I speak to somebody in authority there, please?’
Maggie looked at her sister in horror. It was a serious offence to impersonate a police officer. What was she doing?
‘Oh, I see. You’re the night manager. I’m hoping you’ll be able to help. I presume you ask your guests to provide the registration numbers of their vehicles? Well we’re looking for a white van in connection with a serious offence. Can you please check your records for this number?’
Suzy read out the number as Maggie frantically waved at her to stop. She was tempted to drag the phone out of her sister’s hands, but that would probably raise more suspicions than if she kept quiet.
‘I see. Well, thank you for your help. I won’t leave my number. If he’s not with you already, he won’t be coming. Goodnight.’ Suzy disconnected. ‘What?’ she said, looking Maggie squarely in the eye.
‘I can’t do this, Suzy. I could lose my job.’
‘Listen. The guys on duty at night at these places aren’t going to question getting a call about a vehicle. I’m not trying to extort money or anything. Worst case, I’m trying to help you find your husband. And in the highly unlikely event that we get caught, I’ll say you knew nothing about it. I was working on my own initiative. Stop fretting and give me the next number.’
Maggie blew out a long breath. She had to admit this was better than trailing round car parks all night.
Suzy tried the next hotel. There was no joy.
She was on hotel number five when Maggie noticed her sister sit up straighter in her chair.
‘Right. Can I have your name, please? Okay, Mr Trainer. I don’t want you to alert your guest to the fact that we are on our way to visit him. Can you tell me under what name he has registered?’ She paused. ‘And his room number?’
Suzy was scribbling madly on a piece of paper. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Trainer, and please do not mention this to your colleagues. We need to be sure that we stay under the radar on this one. Somebody will be with you within the hour.’
She ended the call and looked at Maggie.
‘Room 307. He’s checked in under the name of Eric Smith. Not a very imaginative surname, but there you go.’
Maggie felt slightly sick. She knew where he was. She was going to find out why he had left her. Much as she desperately wanted to know, she dreaded finding out. What if he had left because he had somebody else? What if there was another woman in that hotel room with him?
‘What do I do now?’ She spoke so quietly that Suzy had to lean forward.
‘You can’t go in impersonating a police officer – I know that. Here’s what I suggest.’
Maggie sat there, listening to Suzy’s suggestion. It made sense, but she couldn’t stop shaking. She didn’t know if she could pull it off, but she had to try.
The car park of the hotel was packed, and Maggie had to drive around twice to find a spot, narrowly missing the car next to hers as she reversed into the space.
‘Shit,’ she muttered. ‘Calm down.’ But she couldn’t. Her hands were sticky and her limbs tense. She tried taking deep breaths, but felt as if she was struggling to breathe at all. She had to get back in control. This was Duncan. There was going to be a logical reason for everything.
Forcing herself to move, she opened the car door and hurried through the cold drizzle into the warmth of the reception area. She was going to play this the way Suzy had suggested.
‘Can I speak to Mr Trainer, please?’
The man behind the desk seemed to be on his own. ‘That’s me,’ he said. ‘How can I help?’
‘I understand you had a call from DI Robinson earlier about a man calling himself Eric Smith. She explained the situation, I presume?’
The man nodded, his eyes wide. It was clear this wasn’t an everyday occurrence for Mr Trainer, and she imagined him enjoying telling the tale over a pint, revelling in his part in it.
‘She told me he’s in Room 307. I’m his solicitor.’ Maggie passed him one of her cards. ‘He doesn’t know the police are on their way, but I want to speak to him first.’
‘Should I call and tell him you’re here?’ said the night manager.
‘Please don’t. If he knows the police a
re coming, he might try to get away through one of your emergency exits. That would set off an alarm and create pandemonium I would imagine.’ Mr Trainer looked horrified at the thought. ‘I need to go and see him, prepare him for the police visit. Where will I find his room?’
Mr Trainer seemed a bit worried. This probably hadn’t been part of his training. He looked again at her card, and Maggie held her breath.
‘You’ll need a key card to get access to the corridor,’ he said, holding out a piece of white plastic. ‘Our security’s pretty good.’
He looked quite smug when he mentioned the security, but Maggie smiled and refrained from commenting.
‘If DI Robinson turns up, perhaps you could ask her to wait. I’ll bring my client down when I’ve had a chance to speak to him.’
Maggie took the key card from Mr Trainer, hoping he didn’t notice how much her hand was shaking.
She wanted to sit down. She wanted, somehow, to delay the moment. Her stomach lurched with nerves. What if there was another woman in the room with him? What would she do?
She had to retain a professional air, so she marched purposefully towards the door leading to the rooms, grasping her briefcase tightly in one hand and the key card in the other.
The corridor was long and badly lit, with a patterned carpet designed no doubt to hide as many stains as possible. The walls were scuffed and there was a smell of air freshener. This was the type of place that Maggie knew Duncan would normally hate. She followed the corridor to a junction and for a moment couldn’t work out which way she had to go to get to Room 307. The numbers seemed jumbled, and she hesitated.
‘Left,’ she mumbled, turning down another endless, narrow corridor. Room 307 was towards the end.
She stood facing the door. The moment had come, and she couldn’t put it off any longer.
She knocked. She could hear a television playing quietly inside but no movement.
Tom Douglas Box Set 2 Page 52
