Missing Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘Do you know this customer’s name?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘I’m sorry, no,’ the manager said firmly.

  ‘Was he local, have you seen him again?’

  ‘We asked him not to come back to the hotel and I haven’t seen him since,’ she said, and Ricardo confirmed this with a nod.

  ‘Did you report this incident to the police?’

  The manager spoke up. ‘When the man had calmed down he apologised, so there was no need to take it any further.’ She and Ricardo exchanged a glance, and Mariner wondered whose decision that had been.

  ‘And neither you nor Rosa did anything to provoke this behaviour?’ Mariner asked Ricardo.

  ‘No. I mean, men flirt with her a lot. Rosa’s an attractive woman, and she’s very . . . warm and sunny, you know. Everybody loves Rosa. But she knows where to draw the line and she’s very professional. It’s her job to be nice to customers, even the arseholes, so she’s polite but she doesn’t encourage them.’

  ‘Does she ever meet up with any of them after work?’

  ‘If she does, she’s very discreet and I’ve heard nothing about it. I think it’s unlikely, though. She always wants to get home to her little girl.’

  ‘Does Rosa have a boyfriend?’ Glover asked.

  ‘She’s never mentioned one,’ Ricardo said. ‘She was married before, though, when she lived in London, to her little girl’s father.’

  ‘Does she ever mention seeing him?’

  ‘I think he went back to Torquay.’

  ‘He’s from Torquay?’

  ‘No, you know Torkey,’ said Ricardo. ‘He’s Torkish.’

  ‘Ah, Turkish, I see,’ said Mariner. ‘How does Rosa get home at night, after work?’

  ‘She takes the bus,’ said Ricardo. ‘Sometimes she has to run. The last one is at quarter past twelve.’

  ‘Would she have made it on Saturday?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What does Rosa wear when she works in the bar?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘A white shirt and dark skirt,’ said the manager. ‘It’s the uniform.’

  ‘Does she have a locker, and somewhere she gets changed?’

  When Mariner felt they had learned all they could, he asked to be shown to Rosa’s locker. There was little in it. Taped to the inside of the door were a couple of snapshots of Dominique and stuffed in the bottom of the locker was a plastic carrier bag. Inside they found a dark skirt and black heeled shoes, the ones she would change into for her shift on the bar. There was no blouse. ‘What are the chances our washerwoman has got it?’ said Glover.

  Before they left, Mariner asked the manager if she had a photograph of Rosa on file. It would be the first one they’d managed to come by. Karpinski went to the filing cabinet and took out a shot that would have been used for the hotel publicity materials. Glover and Mariner exchanged a look. Like Grace Clifton, Rosa Batista was a young woman walking the city centre late at night, and like Grace Clifton she had dark, curly hair. They could have been sisters.

  On their way out they saw Gilda standing on the pavement nervously smoking a cigarette. After a moment’s hesitation she came over to them. ‘I heard you found that other girl who went missing,’ she said. ‘Do you think Rosa’s ended up the same way?’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ said Mariner tactfully, but walking back to the car, he checked his phone and found a message from Sergeant Paul Sholter, who was leading the search at Pepper Wood. Sholter was asking for him to call back urgently.

  ‘I’ve been trying to reach you, sir. We’ve found another mummy,’ he said. ‘Dr Gray is out here, and we’re about to move her.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  There was a symmetry to it, Mariner thought, as he and Glover sped out again between the Worcestershire hedgerows. When he’d last been here to view a body, it had been daybreak. Now, in the late afternoon, the light was fading and a shelf of thick cloud rolling in, bringing with it a mist that was beginning to obscure the fields and hedges. This time as they progressed through the trees at the deposition site, they veered off in a southerly direction and a way off through the gloom saw the white protective tent that had been erected over the find, all theatrically lit by arc lamps. The uniformed officer on guard stood back to let them through and they found Gray and his assistant squatting beside the bandaged body. The face had already been exposed, gleaming supernaturally white in the argentine light. Mariner took the newly acquired photo of Rosa Batista from his pocket. There was no doubt that this was her.

  ‘That poor kid,’ said Charlie, quietly.

  Reaching out with a gloved hand, Gray directed one of the lamps to just below Rosa’s face and lifted something from her neck. It was a fine gold chain. He confirmed what they couldn’t quite see for themselves. ‘Another letter P.’

  Before he and Glover left the scene, Mariner sought out Paul Sholter. ‘How much ground have you covered so far?’ he asked.

  Sholter shone a powerful torch onto the large-scale map in its protective cover. ‘We’ve searched all the woodland to the west and north of where Grace was found,’ he said, indicating the area on the map, ‘including this coppice where Rosa is. All we have left now is the section over here, to the south east. It’s about another square mile, mile and a half.’

  ‘OK,’ said Mariner. ‘Call everyone off for now and start again tomorrow morning when it’s light. There might be one more out there.’

  ‘You think they’re going to find Dee Henderson?’ asked Glover as they made their way back to Granville Lane.

  ‘If she met the same fate as the other two, then we should receive a parcel of clothes very soon,’ said Mariner.

  * * *

  It was late when he got home, but after a restless night’s sleep Mariner went into work on Monday morning fully expecting to find a third parcel waiting for him. His apprehension was unfounded. He even went down to harass the clerk in the post room in person, but was told that there was nothing for either him or Superintendent Sharp. Returning to the incident room, Charlie caught his eye. ‘Nothing new, boss?’

  Mariner had never noticed Glover call him ‘boss’ before. That was Tony Knox’s habit. Sharp came down from her office. She didn’t look as if she’d had a very good night either.

  ‘Nothing?’

  Mariner shook his head. ‘She’s been gone since Wednesday night,’ he said. ‘We might have reasonably expected a delivery by now.’

  ‘Do you think the press coverage might have put him off?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Mariner conceded. ‘Or it just might mean, as we’ve considered, that Dee Henderson is nothing to do with our washerwoman. We’ve already recognised that she’s not exactly his type. It could just be someone else taking advantage of the opportunity in the hope that we will make that assumption.’

  ‘Someone like Paddy Henderson you mean?’ Sharp said.

  ‘He’s got a history of mental health problems,’ Mariner reminded her. ‘He had PTSD after coming back from Afghanistan. Ellen Kingsley told us that he’s “very protective” of Dee. In some circumstances that can be code for jealous and controlling.’

  ‘Would Henderson have reported his wife missing, though, if he’s somehow behind her disappearance?’ said Sharp.

  ‘He might have done — if he’s watertight,’ said Mariner. ‘Or if he thinks he is. He’d need to do it now if he’s to take advantage of our investigation and let’s face it, he wouldn’t be the first perpetrator to put himself in the spotlight, would he?’

  ‘Go on.’ Sharp leaned back on a nearby desk and folded her arms, waiting to be persuaded.

  Mariner walked over to the incident board. ‘So far Dee Henderson hasn’t exactly matched any of the criteria of the other two. She doesn’t fit the physical profile. Different hair colour, slightly older.’

  ‘Are two victims enough to create a profile?’ said Sharp. ‘Any similarities between them could just be pure coincidence.’

  ‘True,’ said Mariner. ‘But the clothing’s a pretty
powerful signature. If we had that for Dee, we would know for sure.’

  ‘Grace’s clothing didn’t come to us directly,’ Charlie reminded him. ‘So Dee’s could just have got lost in the post.’

  ‘But Rosa’s was sent to me personally,’ said Mariner. ‘He corrected his mistake. And there are other differences between Dee and the other two,’ he went on. ‘Dee isn’t routinely in the city centre; she’s only ever passing through. And her timing varies. Depending on the train she catches, she doesn’t always get the same bus, and sometimes — when Paddy picks her up — she doesn’t travel through the city at all. She’d be harder for someone to pin down.’

  ‘Unless hers was a more opportunistic encounter.’

  Vicky Jesson came in while they were talking. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re testing out Paddy Henderson for Dee,’ Sharp told her. ‘Henderson’s alibi is comfortable, though,’ she reminded Mariner. ‘He wouldn’t be able to rely on the kids to lie for him.’

  Jesson scoffed. ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘But he’s only secure up to about nine thirty,’ countered Mariner. ‘After that, by his own admission, the kids were all asleep in bed. He could easily have slipped out to go and pick Dee up. We haven’t found her phone. What’s to say he didn’t ring or text her to say that he would collect her?’

  ‘Then what?’ said Jesson, dropping her bag and scarf on her desk.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mariner. ‘Perhaps they had a row about something.’

  ‘For instance?’ Glover asked.

  ‘That’s easy,’ said Jesson, pragmatically. ‘Dee Henderson left her first husband because she had an affair with Paddy. Nothing to stop her doing the same thing to him. Once an adulterer, always an adulterer.’

  ‘You think that might be it?’ said Sharp.

  ‘I think it’s possible,’ said Mariner. ‘And even if Dee’s not having an affair, does Paddy fully trust her? After all, he’s very familiar with her track record, so he knows how that can work. He’s been there himself too. It brings us back to that fine line between being protective and being jealous. He might even have imagined something that just wasn’t there.’

  ‘But to kill her?’ Sharp still wasn’t convinced. ‘Isn’t that taking it a bit far?’

  ‘He’s an ex-squaddie,’ said Mariner. ‘The man must be physically fit and if he’s handy with his fists it could even have been an accident. Fortunately for him various other women happen to have fallen victim to an unknown killer, and he must be experienced at operating covertly — all he has to do is dispose of the body, report Dee missing and leave us to do the rest.’ He scratched the back of his head. ‘All pure conjecture, of course,’ he conceded.

  ‘Henderson drives a van,’ said Charlie Glover, suddenly. They all turned to look at him and he glanced up from the notes he’d been reading. He held up a pocket book. ‘A dark blue one. It says so in here from whoever did the background checks. And several people reported seeing a dark-coloured van around after the Grace Clifton reconstruction. I’m just saying, that’s all,’ he added defensively.

  ‘Let’s get hold of the CCTV from the hospital site on the night Dee went missing,’ Mariner said to Charlie. ‘Paddy might have picked her up in the city centre, but it would make more sense for him to fetch her straight from work.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And it wouldn’t do any harm to check out his alibis for the nights that Grace and Rosa went missing.’

  Sharp, on her way out, turned and shot him a questioning look. ‘P for Paddy,’ he said. ‘Just covering the angles.’ When Sharp had gone he turned to Jesson. ‘How did you get on with Pippa Talbot?’

  ‘Understandably she’s in a bit of a state,’ said Jesson. ‘But she has no memory of seeing Grace wearing that necklace. If anything, I think she was surprised — said it wouldn’t be Grace’s style to wear that kind of thing. “Cheesy” was the word she used. I asked her if she thought Grace could have had a crush on her, but I think she was quite disturbed by the idea. If that was the case, I don’t think Pippa knew anything about it.’

  ‘It’s looking less likely,’ said Mariner. ‘The search team found Rosa Batista in another shallow grave in Pepper Wood last night.’

  ‘Dear God.’

  ‘She was also wearing a gold chain around her neck with a letter P charm on it, but there’s nothing to suggest that Pippa knew Rosa.’

  Jesson took a moment to absorb that. ‘So the necklace is something to do with whoever took them?’

  ‘It would make sense. Aside from what’s happened to them since they disappeared, it’s the only thing so far that we can be sure they have in common. The big question is whether they knew P before their last fatal encounter with him.’

  * * *

  Charlie Glover was onto something, or thought he was. As soon as Mariner had mentioned the Belvedere Hotel, he felt sure he’d heard of it before, so now he was going back over past cases to try and find out how that was. It had taken him a while, but he’d found it, eighteen months ago: an attack on a young woman there. The victim, Chelsey Skoyles, aged twenty, had been dragged into the yard behind the hotel and assaulted late at night. There was only one witness to the actual attack — a guest named Mr Hausknecht — and as the assailant had run off when he and the hotel’s night porter had gone out to help, there were no clear suspects. The notes also stated explicitly that the girl had been highly intoxicated, making it difficult to get an accurate picture of exactly what had happened. One cryptic note at the bottom of the page said simply ‘Sceptre.’ Charlie wondered if, at some time, there had been an Operation Sceptre that it was linked to. It sounded like the sort of meaningless title that might be used. But even if it was part of a wider investigation, it appeared that the lines of enquiry had run dry and the case had consequently been shelved. Noting who had attended the incident Glover realised it was unlikely to be re-opened.

  But it might explain why Ricardo and Karpinski had been so cagey, thought Charlie. Two separate incidents at the hotel, then a member of staff goes missing. The idea that their washerwoman was not new to preying on women made a certain kind of sense to Charlie. Chelsey Skoyles might have been a practice run — and well worth talking to again. The key witness might prove more difficult. Charlie noted from the case file that his home address was in Philadelphia, USA. But he was getting ahead of himself.

  * * *

  Early in the afternoon Mariner had a call from the city pathologist, Stuart Croghan. He was ready to commence the preliminary post-mortems for Grace Clifton and Rosa Batista. For a couple of years now forensic PMs for the city had been conducted in Sandwell, but the facility there was temporarily closed, so Mariner and Jesson met Croghan at the brand-new mortuary at Queen Elizabeth hospital. The high-tech suite included a separate viewing room, which meant that they could have chosen to watch the pathologist working through a window and a bank of high resolution colour monitors, communicating with him via a two-way intercom. Mariner, though, preferred to be right there beside Croghan, seeing what he saw at first hand. So, gowned and masked, to minimise any risk of cross-contamination, they joined Croghan in the examination room. The only disadvantage to this arrangement was the exposure to the customary unpleasant smells, which somehow could never quite be subsumed by chemicals.

  The two women, unwrapped from their coverings, had been laid out on gurneys side by side, a few feet apart, and Mariner was struck again by the uncanny physical likeness between them. He said as much to Croghan.

  ‘There are lots of similarities in their current condition too, if you take the time difference out of the equation,’ said Croghan. ‘Grace is in a greater state of deterioration, which would indicate that she was killed and buried several days before Rosa. But they are both very clean,’ he went on to observe. ‘I’m not sure that we’re going to get much in the way of forensic material from either of them. I think they’ve been bathed, or at the very least submerged in water at some point. Death in both cases was from asphyxiation
. We have a number of burst blood vessels behind the eyes that bear this out.’

  ‘They were strangled?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘That I’m not so certain about,’ said Croghan. ‘If you look at their throats, there’s no evidence, even at this stage, of any bruising, and the hyoid bones are intact, which would be unusual. Drowning is a possibility, of course, but we won’t know for certain until we open up the lungs. What is interesting, though,’ Croghan was standing nearest to Grace Clifton’s body and drew Mariner and Jesson’s attention to her face, ‘are these faint bruises on either side of the nostrils.’ He pointed to the round, purple marks. ‘You can see that Rosa has them too.’

  ‘Caused by what?’ Jesson asked.

  Croghan looked up at her. ‘That’s your domain, but I’d say their noses have been pinched or even clamped in some way. Rosa also has some old bruising above and around her left eye. From a few weeks ago, I would think.’

  ‘She was involved in some kind of fracas with a customer,’ Mariner said. ‘Are they showing any sign of recent sexual activity?’

  ‘Nothing obvious. No bruising around the pelvic area. We’ve taken the usual swabs, but my guess is that the purpose of the washing was to flush out any bodily fluids. My guess would be that you’re looking for someone who is to some extent knowledgeable about forensics.’

  ‘That could be anyone who watches TV crime drama these days,’ said Mariner. ‘They’ve been restrained too,’ he added, noting the vivid bands around the wrists and ankles of each woman.

  ‘Correct,’ said Croghan. ‘And the depth and lividity of the chafe marks would suggest that they were tied with something rigid.’ He lifted Grace’s wrist. ‘You can see how deep the marks are, and that the skin is raw and broken in places.’

  ‘So, wire or something?’ said Jesson.

  ‘Or nylon cable ties?’ Mariner hazarded.

  ‘We haven’t recovered any fibres here, so that would make sense,’ Croghan agreed. ‘We did find this on Rosa’s upper lip, though.’ Taking them over to one of the side benches, Croghan picked up a glass slide and placed it underneath a microscope, so that an image appeared on the monitor above. It was a tiny fleck of something dark.