YOUNG GIRL FOUND DEAD AT BYRON’S POOL MAY HAVE BEEN MURDERED
THE BODY OF A GIRL FOUND at Byron’s Pool last week has yet to be identified. Blond and blue-eyed, she was found by fishermen last Wednesday by the car park at Byron’s Pool, a favourite Cambridge nature spot near Grantchester that is popular with walkers and anglers. Following a postmortem police believe she died from a blow to the head suffered prior to being unceremoniously dumped at the popular dog-walking and fishing spot. Detective Inspector Victoria Stubbing, who is leading the investigation, now suspects foul play and is treating it as a murder investigation.
Coincidentally, Jackie Rowling, from north London, has been reported missing by her parents after visiting Cambridge University. According to her parents, Jackie didn’t come home last Tuesday night after taking the first steps to fulfilling her dreams of becoming a doctor by attending the medical school open day at the university and hospital.
DI Stubbing refused to comment on speculation that the body found at Byron’s Pool was Jackie Rowling, despite the fact that they are of a similar age and description. We have learnt that Jackie’s parents are abroad visiting a sick relative and have therefore been unable to identify the body, but are travelling back to do so. DI Stubbing reiterated that Cambridgeshire police were following all leads, and that they didn’t want to jeopardise inquiries at this stage, or to attach undue importance to any one piece of evidence.
Byron’s Pool has become an impromptu public shrine to the dead girl…
And so it went on. Linda had seemingly written the piece using a trowel, noting that the missing girl Jackie was of course loved by all her classmates. Her headmaster said she was destined for great things and had her heart set on going to Cambridge to study medicine. There were pictures of flowers at Byron’s Pool, where there was already a sizeable shrine created by members of the public.
The whole thing, to be blunt, was a reporter’s wet dream of a story, down to the blond and blue-eyed nature of the victim. I don’t know whether Stubbing had agreed the piece or even told Linda more than she was letting on but the way Linda had written it made it sound like the police had something that they were withholding.
15
WHEN ANTONIO WASN’T LOOKING I POCKETED THE NEWSPAPER in retaliation for the biscotti and strolled back to the office. I was unsurprised to see the Ford fucking Focus. It was pointing away from me, and as I approached I could see the two heads of Bill and Ben, the blond Bill in the driver’s seat and the brown shaven head of Ben in the passenger seat, both looking down at what I presumed to be a phone. Occasionally one of them would glance at my office building. Time to get acquainted with these clowns.
I strode purposefully up to the car and could see through the passenger window that they were engrossed in watching a football clip on a small screen. I rapped hard on the window. Their reaction was priceless, and if I’d owned a smartphone such as the one they were watching, I’d have filmed it and posted it to YouTube, admittedly with a little help from Jason. Bill dropped the phone and his passenger Ben stared at me, mouth agape. He’d sadly missed out on orthodontic treatment as a boy and his current expression would have made an ideal “before” photo for any cosmetic dentistry practice. Bill scrabbled around for his phone in the footwell while the orthodontically challenged Ben urged him to drive off. Bill started the car and pulled out into the path of a slow-moving open-topped tour bus which had to stop with a wince-inducing screech of brakes and surprised shouts of those early-season tourists on the top deck who were trying to save their expensive cameras and selfie-sticks from flying overboard. The Focus also stopped, the driver just inches from the front of the bus.
I felt bad for nearly causing an accident but it quickly passed when the tourists started to lean over the side and photograph the scene. The Focus eventually got away and the bus followed. I crossed the road to see Galbraith’s Porsche in the drive. Well, first the wife, then the husband. At least it saved me trying to get hold of him.
Upstairs, I found the office door open and Sandra fawning like a teenage girl over Galbraith, who was sitting in the visitor’s chair in front of my desk. I’d not seen this side of her before and it wasn’t pretty. Like most people of his background he was holding forth with a confidence and self-assurance that I’d always envied. She was rapt. I mean elbows-on-her-desk, head-in-hands rapt. I thought she was immune to this sort of bullshit. He was talking about some rake-like celebrity with whom he’d done an episode of his show and was describing her ridiculously strict diet.
“She looks gorgeous of course. I mean, I like a thin woman, but is it worth it?” he was asking. I wondered if he’d taken in Sandra’s size or whether she just didn’t figure on his radar in that way. But Sandra was just nodding as if Galbraith were the Dalai Lama come to impart much-needed wisdom.
I coughed and they both looked up. Sandra sat up, to her credit looking embarrassed.
“Ah, George. I was just about to ring you,” she said.
“I was on my way to the hospital,” Galbraith said. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by.”
“Of course not. I’m assuming Sandra has offered you something?”
“I’m fine. I haven’t got long.”
Sandra made some excuse, smiled at Bill and winked at me behind his back as she left the office, closing the door behind her.
“So,” Galbraith said as I took the Argus from my jacket and flung it on my desk before sitting in my chair. “I thought we could sort out this meeting with Aurora. I’m keen to get it done as soon as possible. I have to fly off at the end of the week so, you know…”
“Sure. I did try to contact you yesterday. I’m about to ring Aurora to arrange something.”
He leaned forward. “Great, why not ring her now and we can do it while I’m here. Saves you trying to reach me – I’m all over the place at the moment. It’ll be done and dusted.” He brushed his palms together to illustrate, crossed his legs and sat back expectantly, like he’d just made an incredibly sensible suggestion that I should have thought of myself. He was right that it made sense, but I wasn’t jumping up and down at the idea of calling Aurora while he was in the room. I didn’t really have much choice, though.
“I only have an intermediary’s number, and he might be at work. Like I said, I don’t actually know where she is.”
His smile was fixed as I dialled Joshua’s mobile. I watched Galbraith as it rang interminably. He checked his watch and fiddled with his wedding ring, then absently picked up the newspaper, holding it up to ask permission to unfold it. I nodded and thought of his wife and the other man at the hotel. Did he have even a suspicion? A sleepy voice in my ear replaced the incessant ringing.
“Hello?”
“Hi. This is George Kocharyan. I met with Aurora yesterday, while you were there,” I said, avoiding saying his name in front of Galbraith. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“Yes, you did. Who do you want?”
“I want to speak to Aurora, if I may,” I said, in case he thought I’d called him up for tips on basketball dribbling techniques.
“Hang on a minute,” he said, not sounding too pleased. There were noises as he got out of bed and opened a door then called out Aurora’s name. Galbraith was deeply engrossed in the newspaper. “She’ll ring you back,” Joshua said.
“She’s going to ring us back,” I informed Galbraith, who had to be coaxed out of whatever he was reading.
“Oh, erm, right.” He looked at his watch, bothered. “Look, George, I’m going to have to dash, I’m afraid. Surgery lined up, have to scrub in, you know how it is.”
“What about done and dusted?” I asked, a little tetchily. He stood up, his fists knuckle-white around the newspaper.
“Sorry, but I’ve just had a text. Complications have set in with a patient, surgery’s been brought forward.” Now, unless I’m losing my powers of observation, which I’m not ruling out, I did not see him look at his phone. In fact I was pleasantly surprised to see that he wasn
’t the sort of person who automatically pulls one out whenever they have fifteen seconds to kill.
“When are you free?” I asked.
“Tonight. Let’s do it tonight. Just let my medical secretary know what time.” He was itching to get off.
“You mentioned compensation, for Aurora. How much are we talking about?”
“I was thinking a thousand.”
“Make it fifteen hundred,” I said. “She needs to fly home.”
“Fine,” he said impatiently. He turned on the heel of his pristine trainer and strode out, taking my newspaper with him. The mobile phone rang.
“Mr George?”
“Aurora, how are you? Are you ready to go and see Mr and Mrs Galbraith?”
* * *
It was late afternoon when I got back home and I was up for a siesta. I’d agreed with Aurora, via Joshua, that I’d pick her up at seven-thirty from outside the church in Cherry Hinton and we’d go to Fulbourn together. I’d let Galbraith’s secretary know we’d be at her boss’s house for eight. I’d told Sandra to try to trace the registered owner of the Ford fucking Focus that thankfully had not reappeared. I’d also given her the licence plate of the Toyota that Kristina’s mystery man had driven off in. On the way home I’d stopped to part reluctantly with money for a new copy of the Cambridge Argus, partly because it had Linda’s article on the front page. Although I wasn’t keeping a scrapbook of her cuttings I wanted to show her that I’d read it; I understand it’s a big deal to make the front page. But I’d bought it mainly because I thought there was something in it that had spooked our surgeon, and naturally I was curious to know what.
I lay on the sofa and leafed through it, looking for anything beyond the boring small-town ephemera that made up the bulk of its content. At first I thought that he may have been interested in the piece about the body at Byron’s Pool but then I came across a one-paragraph story about Addenbrooke’s. Nothing earth-shattering – something about the director of medical audit being dismissed for using his computer inappropriately at work, which could only mean one thing. If and how it related to Galbraith I didn’t know. There was a connection with something or someone I knew or had met but it eluded me. I let the paper drop to my chest and had a pleasant daydream about Linda and the washing-up before drifting off.
16
I’D BEEN SLOPPY SOMEWHERE ALONG THE LINE BUT I WASN’T sure how or where; that reckoning would have to happen later when I did some sort of self-debriefing exercise, as I was busy braking hard in front of the descending railway barrier on Cherry Hinton High Street. Companies have policies and procedures to offset the stupidity of people in their employ. The best I had were some basic rules. I adhere to these basic rules even if they seem counterintuitive, which can compensate for sloppiness. This train of thought, appropriately enough, swirled round my head as I waited anxiously and impatiently at the flashing lights of the railway crossing, my eyes straining to keep visual contact with the Ford Focus which had just crossed the barrier.
I was thirty minutes early. Indeed one of my basic rules is Always Be Early. Nothing dents your professionalism more than being late, and you also never know, like now, what being early will reveal to you. I’d been driving up the Cherry Hinton High Street towards the Catholic church outside which I’d arranged to meet Aurora when I realised that Bill and Ben were in the FFF in front of me just as the warning lights on the old-fashioned railway crossing started to flash. They, of course, accelerated across before the barriers started to descend, because it was the sort of idiotic thing they would find fun, even if it put their own and other people’s lives at risk in the process. Either that or they’d spotted me, but that seemed beyond them. I thought of joining them in a mad dash across the track, fearing the worst for Aurora, but the red and white gates descended as the sparks came off the bottom of their car scraping the hump created by the railway track.
Now I was waiting desperately for the train to arrive, praying that it wasn’t one of those extra-long waits when the gates stayed down after it had passed to allow for another one coming from the other direction. A train eventually trundled past, at a seemingly snail-like pace, and I gripped the steering wheel, hoping that Bill and Ben being here was simply a coincidence and nothing to do with my meeting Aurora. Again, that was for later analysis. The train, which also seemed unusually long, passed by, as I rocked back and forth, praying for the gates to go up. Please let there not be another train.
“Yes!” I shouted, as the barriers started to rise. I accelerated like a joyrider, the gates still rising and lights still flashing and felt a clunk as the bottom of the Golf met the road. Densley would be pleased. I created some distance from the cars behind me and reached the church in time to see Bill and Ben on either side of Aurora, each holding an arm, cajoling her to cross to the Focus parked on the other side. They got her to the kerb, she looking confused, clutching what I took to be Galbraith’s briefcase. I blocked their progress by screeching to a halt in front of them. For the second time today they seemed surprised to see me as I came out of the car roadside, the engine still running, and headed quickly towards them.
Another basic rule of mine is that in these situations you need to go in like you mean it. Like you’re crazy enough to not care about the consequences of what you’re doing. People like that are scary – I should know, they’ve scared me more than once – so it sort of, sometimes, if you’re lucky, makes sense. This approach has a better rate of success if you are bigger than the person or persons you are trying it on. In this case it was true of one of them but not the other, who although shorter, was stockier to compensate.
Luckily it made sense here and now, because Bill, the weedy-looking white guy with the blond hair and beard, let go of Aurora’s arm and stepped back. Weight-lifting Ben, he with the crooked teeth and perhaps a little slower on the uptake than his colleague, merely appeared confused by my presence. He looked to Bill for an explanation and I took Aurora’s free arm and pulled her towards me.
“Let go,” I shouted at him, which surprisingly he did, clearly used to following instructions without thinking. I pulled Aurora towards my car but Bill had recovered enough to realise that this wouldn’t do at all. He took a step towards me as I pushed Aurora towards the passenger door, hoping she would be proactive and get in. Ben reached for something in his back pocket. I didn’t wait to see whether it was a business card he was retrieving to give me, but instead kicked him where his tracksuit bottoms met in the middle. He groaned and buckled satisfyingly. I glanced back at Aurora who was standing there, mouth open.
“Get in the car,” I urged.
She opened the door and Bill took the opportunity of my distraction to take a swing at my head. I only managed to escape the worst of the impact by jerking back. He caught me a glancing blow on the cheek and it was enough to get me off balance. I could see in my peripheral vision that he was coming for me again but the brass corner of Galbraith’s briefcase caught him on the side of the head and he slammed into Ben who was on his feet but bent over, still unable to stand upright. Their collision bought me enough time to run round to the driver’s side.
“Get in,” I shouted to Aurora, who was standing legs apart, clutching the briefcase handle with both hands, perhaps surprised at what she’d just done. This time she obeyed.
Ben was coming towards me, a butterfly knife in hand, murder in his face. I slipped in to the well-worn seat as he grabbed the passenger door handle and pulled. His other hand held the now open butterfly knife. As it was opening I put the car in gear and accelerated without closing my door, narrowly missing a cyclist on my outside who swerved onto the other side of the road, causing an oncoming taxi to take evasive action and crash into the parked Ford Focus. Ben had let go of the door handle so I slowed down.
“Close your door, Aurora,” I said, shutting my own. She just sat there, looking forward, probably in shock. I reached over her and pulled her door closed, my eyes on the road. When I put my left hand back on the steering whe
el I saw blood on the cuff of my shirt. I glanced at Aurora.
“Are you injured?”
She looked at me, confused.
“Are you hurt, Aurora? Your left arm.”
She checked her bare arm and touched it with her right hand. She showed me the bloody hand. Shit. I wasn’t prepared to stop this close to Cherry Hinton, even though Bill and Ben were probably busy politely exchanging insurance details with the taxi driver. I reached to the glove box and pulled out a small first-aid kit. Let it not be said that I’m not health and safety conscious. I gave it to Aurora who nodded and, using the briefcase as a lap-desk, took out a bandage and proceeded to use it on her wrist.
Driving aimlessly, I pondered what to do next. The Galbraiths’ was out of the question until I had figured out what had just happened. First I had to make sure Aurora was OK and not seriously injured.
“Is it bad?” I asked her.
She shook her head. Good, but I would still need to get it checked. Her mate Dolores lived in Cherry Hinton and I wasn’t going back there in case the men turned up again.
Sometimes there is really only one place you can take a woman in trouble, and that’s to another woman. So that’s where I steered my car.
17
“WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH HER?” SANDRA SAID AT the front door of her terraced house in north Cambridge, looking beyond me to the car where Aurora stood clutching the briefcase which she hadn’t let go of since getting in the car. I hoped she appeared vulnerable and forlorn enough to summon Sandra’s pity.
“It’s just for the night, Sandra.” She huffed and puffed and relented, as I knew she would, and I gestured to Aurora who came forward tentatively.
“What’s with the briefcase?” Sandra asked.
“It’s her bargaining chip,” I said, although I was beginning to think there was more in it than just patients’ notes. For the moment though, I needed to talk to Galbraith and told Sandra so as we all went inside.
The Runaway Maid Page 8
