‘Who’s chasing Harris?’ he asked.
‘The DCI gave it to WDC Boyd. She’s on it today, apparently.’
He nodded, satisfied. I didn’t tell him about the Vamen/SO7 angle. Knox would probably bring it up at the meeting the following day but for the moment it could wait. I didn’t want Capper sniffing round and taking hold of leads I’d worked hard to build up myself. ‘No sign of Fowler yet, then?’ he asked.
‘Nothing at all. He might have a connection to this Jean Tanner, though.’
‘How’s that, then?’
‘You know I said she was a prostitute? Apparently she used to work at a brothel which was or is supposedly run by Fowler.’
‘Really?’
‘A place called Heavenly Girls.’
Capper tried to hide it but I saw immediately that he knew the name, and that for some reason he wanted to keep that knowledge quiet. ‘Hmm, that’s interesting.’ His words tailed off, and we sat in silence for a few moments. ‘Where did you hear about this brothel?’ he asked eventually.
‘From McBride, the one who gave us most of the information.’
‘I’ve never heard of the place,’ he said, a little too forcefully. ‘Do you reckon he was telling the truth?’
I shrugged, not bothering to mention that we’d effectively blackmailed the information out of him. ‘I would have thought so. There’d be no point lying about something like that, would there?’
Capper nodded, acknowledging this fact. ‘No, I suppose there wouldn’t.’
At that moment, Berrin came in, looking dishevelled but considerably better than he had the previous morning.
‘A bit late, Berrin,’ said Capper, getting to his feet.
Berrin quickly apologized to both Capper and me in that order, and took a seat. Capper told him bluntly to get his house in order and went back to his own desk. He might have thought that I was potentially useful, but he clearly didn’t feel the same way about the younger officer. Plus, Berrin was a graduate, and, though he never said as much, Capper didn’t like graduates. Berrin looked suitably chastised for a couple of seconds, then pulled a face at Capper’s back, before sitting down in the chair he’d just vacated.
As the two of us went over the day’s itinerary, I stole an occasional glance at the DI, who was now staring intently at his computer screen. I couldn’t help but wonder what he knew about the Heavenly Girls brothel and how much of a bearing his knowledge might have on the investigation as a whole.
Roy Fowler wasn’t answering any of his numbers; the Arcadia was closed; it was proving impossible to locate any outfit called Heavenly Girls; and the day was getting progressively hotter as Berrin brought the car to a halt about twenty yards short of Jean Tanner’s apartment building. According to the Land Registry, she’d bought it in 1998, while it was still being built, and now owned thirty per cent of the equity, while the other seventy belonged to her mortgage lender. According to them, she’d never missed a payment. Obviously Jean was getting quite a lot of money from somewhere, which pointed perhaps to a relationship with a wealthy gangster like Neil Vamen, who was going to have a lot more cash than most of the punters she’d ever been with. The question was whether he cared for her enough to kill a possible love rival like Shaun Matthews.
However, once again she wasn’t responding as I pressed the buzzer on the flashy-looking intercom system for the third time.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Berrin eventually.
‘What all coppers have to get used to doing,’ I told him. ‘Wait.’
‘She might have gone away. We could be waiting for days.’
‘Look, Dave, I’m not driving back out here again, and I’m not phoning her and giving her advance notice of us turning up just in case she’s got something to hide, so, for the moment at least, we’re going to stay put.’
‘But even if she is Vamen’s girlfriend, where does that leave us?’ he asked, leaning back against the wall of the porch. ‘We don’t even know if she was seeing Matthews. And where does Fowler fit into it?’
‘I don’t know is the short answer,’ I said, thinking that he had a point. ‘But at least we can hear what she has to say. If Vamen’s got something to do with it, and if she thought more of Matthews than he deserved, then maybe she’s feeling bad about it, and we may be able to get her to talk.’
Berrin nodded wearily. ‘Fair enough. Shall we go and get a cup of tea from somewhere while we wait? I need to rehydrate.’
‘Were you out again last night?’ I asked him in vaguely disgusted tones. I think I was jealous. He told me he was. Out drinking in the West End with one of the station’s more attractive WPCs. He started telling me all about it, but I couldn’t handle that, not after a night alone in front of an excruciating edition of Celebrity Stars in their Eyes, so, on a whim, I pressed the buzzer below Jean’s. Three seconds later a none-too-youthful male voice came on the line. I told him who we were, pointing my warrant card at the camera above our heads, and asked if we could come up.
‘Of course,’ he said, sounding interested.
We were greeted at the top of the stairs by a very short gentleman in his early seventies who had a very wide head that was far too big for his spindly body, giving him more than a passing resemblance to ET. He had large amounts of fine white hair, tinged with orange bits, and big black heavy-rimmed glasses. A taller lady, about ten years younger, with a tent-like flowery dress on, stood behind him. They both smiled as we approached.
‘Good morning,’ said the man, as we produced our warrant cards. ‘We’re the Lackers. Peter and Margaret.’ He shook our hands formally with a surprisingly firm grip.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ said Margaret Lacker with an easy smile.
‘Yes, thanks, that’d be nice,’ I said, wishing there were more people I dealt with like the Lackers. Polite, accommodating, and not totally pissed off to see you.
They led us into their richly decorated apartment and motioned for us to sit down in their lounge, a place that looked more like a drawing room of old. ‘So, how can we help you?’ asked Peter Lacker, sitting down in a chair opposite. ‘I hope there’s nothing wrong.’
‘Nothing at all,’ I said, smiling. ‘We’re just interested in one of your neighbours, a Miss Jean Tanner. I understand she lives on this floor.’
‘That’s right. Next door. She’s all right, isn’t she?’
‘I certainly hope so. We need to speak to her in connection with a matter she might have some information on.’ Suitably vague, I thought. ‘We called yesterday but she wasn’t at home and she doesn’t appear to be at home now. Do you know if she’s gone away anywhere?’
‘I don’t think so. She was definitely there last night. We heard her.’
‘Heard her?’
He looked a bit embarrassed. ‘Jean’s a good neighbour, don’t get me wrong, please, but she does have male visitors and sometimes she can have disagreements with them. There were some loud voices last night.’
‘What? Like an argument?’
He nodded.
‘How many people were involved?’ asked Berrin.
‘Just two of them. Jean and someone else. A man. I didn’t immediately recognize the voice.’
‘She’s not in trouble, is she?’ asked Mrs Lacker, coming in with a tray containing a china teapot, four puny-sized china cups and a selection of what looked like custard creams.
I smiled reassuringly as she sat down in a chair next to her husband. ‘Not at all, but it is important we speak to her. You haven’t seen her this morning, then?’ They both shook their heads. ‘How violent was this argument you heard last night?’
‘It wasn’t violent as such,’ said Mr Lacker. ‘It was just quite loud.’
‘It didn’t last that long either, did it?’ added his wife, passing me a cup. ‘Jean tends to keep herself to herself. She’s not a difficult neighbour at all. Is she, Peter?’
‘No, not at all. She’s lived here for a long time. Three or four years, I think.’
>
I asked them how often she received male visitors but they were vague on this. Now and again, said Mr Lacker, adding that he and his wife were sexually liberal and so of course didn’t disapprove of such arrangements, which as far as I was concerned was one detail too many. They were also vague on how often Jean had had violent disagreements with said visitors. Mr Lacker backtracked somewhat on his earlier statement and said not very often at all. Mrs Lacker said she couldn’t remember the last time before the previous night.
I couldn’t help feeling vaguely concerned about what I was hearing. I took a sip from my tea and put the cup down. ‘I’d like to try her flat again, if I may,’ I said, standing up. Berrin, who was munching on one of the custard creams, followed suit with only limited enthusiasm. It looked like he’d been enjoying his sitdown. ‘Can you show me which one it is, Mr Lacker?’
‘Of course,’ he answered, and led us back out into the hallway. He pointed to a door at the far end. ‘That’s it.’
I stepped past him with Berrin following and knocked hard on the door. Nothing. I waited a few moments, then tried again. If she was in there, she would definitely be able to hear me. I put my ear against the door and listened to the silence. I tried the handle but it was locked. Then I had an idea. A highly irregular one, but on a day like this I wasn’t going to be fussy. ‘Have you got a key to Miss Tanner’s flat, Mr Lacker?’
‘I have,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure I should be—’
‘I have reason to believe that something might have happened to her,’ I told him, ‘and I need to see if this is the case or not. To do that, I need access to her flat. You can come in with us if you want to satisfy yourself that we’re not doing anything in there that we shouldn’t be.’
‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I’d better go and get it.’
He turned and went back inside and Berrin looked at me quizzically. ‘Don’t worry,’ I whispered. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ Which of course were famous last words if ever I’d heard them.
A few seconds later, Mr Lacker emerged with the key in his hand and a worried-looking Mrs Lacker in tow. ‘I do hope everything’s all right,’ she said to me. ‘She always seemed such a nice young lady.’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ I said, taking hold of the key, ‘but I think it’s best to stay on the safe side.’ With everyone crowded behind me, I turned the key in the lock and slowly pushed open the door.
The layout was different to the Lackers’ place and the door opened directly into a spacious lounge with an open-plan, newish-looking kitchen to the right. A wide-screen plasma TV hung from the wall in front of two expensive-looking leather sofas, and the whole effect was very minimalist but also very tasteful. It also looked very unlived in. There were no dirty cups or dishes and the large glass ashtray on the coffee table in the centre of the room was clean and empty. And no evidence at all of a row.
‘Well, she’s not short of a few bob,’ said Berrin, looking round admiringly at the furnishings, particularly the TV.
‘She never said what she did for a living,’ said Mrs Lacker, who had come in behind us. Her husband, meanwhile, hung back in the doorway. ‘It’s very nice, isn’t it Peter?’
Peter nodded. ‘I expect that kitchen cost a pretty penny,’ he said. ‘Those are granite worktops in there. They cost a fortune.’
Berrin looked across at me, presumably for guidance as to what to do next, now that we were in the place. The problem was, I wasn’t sure. I’d hoped there might be some clues to her where-abouts lying about – not that I was quite sure what – but there was nothing. It looked like the apartment had been cleaned from top to bottom – a slightly worrying sign in itself.
To our left, a short hallway ran down to the rest of the apartment. ‘Let’s take a look down here,’ I said. Berrin looked at me like he wanted to say something but was unable to do so because of the presence of the Lackers. I knew what it would be as well. Something along the lines of ‘What the hell are we doing here and what would a defence lawyer have to say about it?’ A good point, but I’d worry about that one later.
‘I’ve never been in here before,’ said Mrs Lacker, wandering into the kitchen area and looking up at the metallic pots and pans hanging there. ‘It’s very nice.’
‘Don’t touch anything, please,’ I told her. ‘Either of you.’
We started off down the hallway. Mr Lacker meanwhile remained standing in the door, looking around with just a hint of suspicion, as if he too was trying to work out what Jean Tanner did for a living and how she’d managed to accumulate such pricey belongings. It looked like he was jumping to correct conclusions, and was perhaps realizing that he wasn’t as sexually liberal as he’d previously thought.
There was a bathroom on our left with the door slightly ajar. I pushed it open with the key while Berrin stepped past. I noticed that two tooth-brushes were out on the sink and the lid was off the toothpaste – not that any of that was much use. The shower, however, had been used quite recently, certainly that morning. The curtain was damp and there were still drops of water in the bath tub.
I stepped back out of the bathroom and saw Berrin, who’d put on gloves, opening the door to one of the bedrooms. At the same time he removed another of the Lackers’ custard creams from his pocket and began munching it surreptitiously.
I followed him into the bedroom, conscious that Mrs Lacker was coming up behind me, doubtless for more of a nose about. I was just turning round to tell her to stay back when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Berrin stop in front of an imposing dressing-room cupboard at the end of the double bed, and pull a face. He started to say something but his mouth was full of custard cream and it came out like gibberish. And then, the next second, he was opening the door.
There was an immediate crash as the naked corpse came tumbling stiffly out, arms at its sides, like something out of The Mummy Returns. It smacked straight into Berrin, who let out a high-pitched howl, spitting crumbs everywhere, and fell back on the bed with it on top of him. I yelled too, and jumped back as he instinctively shoved it away from him, unfortunately in my direction. It bounced loudly against the corner of the cupboard, then came crashing down by my feet, face upwards, and right in the doorway. Mrs Lacker saw it immediately, let out the biggest scream of the lot, then put her hand on her face and fainted dramatically, hitting her head on the bathroom door as she fell backwards.
‘What’s going on?’ yelled Mr Lacker, running over to his wife.
‘Stay back!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t touch anything! This is a murder scene!’
Then I looked across at Berrin, whose hair was now standing on end. His face was as white as a ghost’s and he was staring off into space. ‘Oh my God,’ he kept saying, over and over again.
I looked down at the blank dead eyes gazing up at me, then at the familiar tattoos on the upper and lower arms. A Chinese dragon on the left, a military emblem on the right. ‘Shit,’ I said as I stared down at the corpse of Craig McBride and wondered why on earth he should be lying dead in the apartment of a woman he was not even meant to know.
I called Capper from the Lackers’ apartment, where Mr Lacker was mopping Mrs Lacker’s brow with a damp cloth, while Berrin sat bolt upright in his original chair, sipping the tea Mrs Lacker had poured him five minutes and one cuddle from a corpse ago. He didn’t look too good, which was hardly surprising.
Capper answered on about the tenth ring and I told him what had happened. ‘What the hell was McBride doing in her flat?’ he demanded, as if it was somehow my fault.
‘I don’t know.’
‘And there’s no sign of her anywhere?’
‘Nothing that I can see.’
‘Have you touched anything in there?’
‘No, we’ve secured the scene, but you’re the first person I’ve called.’
‘Any indication how he died?’
‘Well, there was no blood but I didn’t really look too closely. Put it this way, he was all right this time yesterday so, whatever it is
, I wouldn’t think it’s natural causes.’
‘All right, wait where you are and make sure no one contaminates the scene. What’s the address?’
I gave it to him, said my goodbyes, and put down the phone. I looked over at the Lackers. Mrs Lacker appeared to be coming back to earth. ‘It was horrible,’ she said as her husband continued to dab her brow. ‘Something like that in a respectable neighbourhood like this.’
‘I know this is a difficult question, but did you happen to recognize the deceased? Is he someone you’ve seen here before?’
Mrs Lacker gasped melodramatically as if I’d just asked for her bust measurements. ‘I don’t know, I didn’t see. All I remember was him falling into the doorway and then … And then, that’s it.’ She finished the sentence with another gasp and her head fell back on the seat.
‘Mr Lacker,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t see either. I was too busy looking after Margaret.’
‘That wasn’t what I was going to ask. I know it’s not going to be easy but I’d appreciate it if you could come in with me, view the deceased, and let me know whether you’ve ever seen him here before. It could prove very helpful.’
‘What do you think’s happened to Jean?’ asked Mrs Lacker worriedly.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, thinking that I wouldn’t mind an answer to that question as well. ‘Mr Lacker?’ He nodded and stood up. ‘Dave, you stay here and look after Mrs Lacker. OK?’
Berrin nodded, beginning to look slightly healthier now. ‘Sure.’
I led Mr Lacker back into Jean’s apartment, again reminding him not to touch anything, and walked back through the darkened hallway to where the body lay. Mr Lacker paused a few feet behind me, and put his hand against the wall to steady himself. ‘It’s so stifling in here, isn’t it?’ he said, sounding breathless. ‘I don’t know how you can do this sort of thing every day, I really don’t. I’ve got nothing but admiration for you.’
The Murder Exchange Page 12
