by Carol Wyer
The dark expression that crossed Libby’s face indicated she’d struck a nerve.
‘What about him?’
‘You know him?’
‘I’ve known him most of my life. I went out with his brother, Nadir, when I was younger. He helps out sometimes when I can’t leave Mum – picks up shopping, calls by, that sort of thing. His sister, Kiraz, watches Mum for me when I need to go out for an appointment, shopping or a quick coffee with friends, that sort of thing. It’s never for too long.’
‘So, he’s a good friend?’
Libby raised her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug.
‘You wouldn’t say it was more than a friendship?’
‘He’s married and his wife’s expecting. Does that answer your question?’ Libby folded her arms and glared at Robyn.
‘Not really. I believe he sent you a text asking you to keep quiet about something. Forgive me for asking, but what was he referring to?’
Libby’s mouth fell wide open. Her words were a gasp of astonishment. ‘You read my texts?’
‘Your phone lit up when I was sat next to it. I only glanced at it.’
‘That’s an invasion of my privacy. I’d like you to leave now.’ Libby’s face darkened further and she marched towards the front door, opening it wide.
‘Miss Gregson, I don’t wish to pry. I’m merely ensuring we can track down the person guilty of murdering your brother.’
‘You think Tarik killed him?’ Her voice rose in indignation.
‘His van was captured on a camera near the area where your brother was discovered. I have to follow up on that, eliminate him from our enquiries, and find whoever is responsible.’
Libby floundered. ‘He can’t have been there. He was at work.’
‘Could you explain the gist of the text, please? At the moment, it incriminates him.’
Libby let out the longest sigh. ‘Okay, okay. I have been having an affair with him. I’ve always held a torch for him. I know he’s married and he’ll never leave his wife, but I’m so lonely. I was in other relationships prior to looking after Mum full time, and they all ended up disastrously. I’m rubbish at finding the right bloke. Tarik’s different. I know it can’t be anything other than it is, but I need him. The text was about our affair. Tarik comes over when Mum’s asleep, and recently, his wife’s started to question his movements. The text was about me keeping it under wraps if his wife asks me any searching questions. Of course, I’d never let on. And that’s all there is to it.’ Her lips turned downwards. ‘He wouldn’t do anything to hurt Henry.’
‘Thank you, Miss Gregson. I’m truly sorry to have caused you any distress.’
‘So, you’ll leave Tarik alone?’
Robyn avoided answering. ‘I appreciate your honesty and I’ll do everything I can to track down your brother’s murderer.’
Anna waited until they were on the road back to Stafford before asking if Tarik was no longer to be considered a suspect.
Robyn chewed her lip before responding. ‘Not sure. I think I’d like to talk to that chap Brett at JJ Parts first. There was something about the way Tarik dragged Mike into the conversation to back him up that didn’t seem right. Okay, let’s head back – I’ll call Brett on the way, let’s hope he’s working late. Connor is due in at eight, and if we’re lucky, we should just make it in time.’
* * *
Connor, dressed casually in a navy jumper and jeans, arrived at 8 p.m. on the dot, looking fresh-faced as if he’d been relaxing on holiday rather than working a crime scene all day. He meandered into the office, beamed at Anna and pointed at the sleeping feline in the cage next to her desk.
‘Is it bring-a-pet-to-work day, PC Shamash?’
Her face broke into a rare smile. ‘Highly amusing. If it were, my ferocious hound, Razzle, would be sitting faithfully by my side.’
‘I’ve met Razzle and the only thing ferocious about him is his appetite. Am I over there?’ He waved at a table at the front of the room sandwiched in between two desks, right in front of the whiteboard.
‘That’s you. Sorry it’s a bit of a squeeze. We’ve got squatters,’ said Anna.
‘I’ll manage. There’s not a great deal to report. Apologies for the casual dress,’ he said as Robyn lifted her head. ‘Got to meet up with a certain person and take her out to make up for missing Valentine’s Day.’
Matt let out a groan. ‘If you cave in to her now, man, you’ll be under her thumb forever. Take it from one who knows.’
Connor laughed and organised his notes.
‘The floor’s yours,’ said Robyn.
‘Firstly, I have bad news regarding the fingerprints I received. Tarik Akar’s fingerprints don’t match the one we found on the door of the Kia.’ He caught Robyn’s look and smiled apologetically. ‘As for Tessa Hall, we’re still securing the crime scene. I have a list of tagged and bagged items so far.’ He passed over three sheets of paper and Robyn read through them quickly.
‘So far we haven’t located the weapon used in the attack. With regard to fingerprints – there are quite a few. Most of them belong to Tessa, but there are a few that don’t. There are partials and full fingerprints in the kitchen, on the kitchen table, and in the downstairs toilet. We used fingerprint identification technology to establish the gender of the prints, and a quick male/female response revealed one set of these prints, found on a kitchen stool and over surfaces in the sitting room – television control, television buttons and CDs – belonged to a male. Prints lifted from the Valentine’s card in the kitchen matched those we found elsewhere. We’re still working through the rest of the house.’ He put up a series of transparencies showing the fingerprints.
‘Her boyfriend must have left them,’ Mitz said.
Robyn agreed. She read through the items taken from the house and stabbed at the paper. ‘Fingernail?’
‘It’s being tested for DNA to see if it belongs to Miss Hall. It was found under a piece of loose skirting board near the fridge and might have been there for years. Right. I’d best be off. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I have more.’
Connor collected up his documents and, with a wink at Anna, left the office. Robyn took over.
‘I know we’re working two cases here but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Let’s go back to Henry Gregson for a minute. We’re excluding Libby Gregson from our enquiries for now. Tarik Akar is still a person of interest. He was in the area at the time of the murder, has size ten feet to match the prints at the murder scene, and although his alibi holds up, I believe he’s hiding something.’ Robyn thought back to the phone call she’d made to JJ Parts. Brett had sounded vague and evasive when she’d questioned him. Tarik Akar was involved in something. Her instinct told her so, and even under duress, her instinct was rarely wrong.
Twenty
DAY THREE – THURSDAY, 16 FEBRUARY, EVENING
* * *
The Skype call was the antidote Robyn needed. Amélie’s voice shrieked in excitement once she saw the kitten. ‘Oh-mi-gosh. He’s so adorable.’ She ran her hand down her screen, and Schrödinger pawed at it. ‘I want to stroke him.’
Robyn studied the face of the excited girl, so like Davies’. She had the same chestnut-brown hair, snub nose and wide smile. Amélie had accepted Robyn in her life as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have her there.
A surge of affection rose like a powerful wave and threatened to overcome her. After her father’s death, Robyn had taken it upon herself to watch over her, support her and be a friend. In her free time, she arranged trips out with Amélie and Amélie’s best friend, Florence. The girls both confided in Robyn, treating her as an older sister, or aunt. While their relationship was strong, nothing changed the fact that Amélie was not hers: she was Davies’ and Brigitte’s, and had a family who adored her. In many ways, Robyn would do better to sever links and move on with her own life, yet however much she might want to, Robyn couldn’t detach herself emotionally from this bright, enthusiastic teenager w
ho reminded her more each day of the man she’d loved.
‘So, what’s he called?’
‘Schrödinger, after a Nobel Prize-winning Austrian physicist.’
‘That’s a bit weird, isn’t it? I’d call him Shadow.’
The cat pawed at the screen again.
‘See, he prefers Shadow.’
Robyn smiled. ‘In that case, I’ll have to change his name. So, when do you want to come around and meet him properly?’
‘It’s half-term this week and I’m going to Birmingham with Florence and her mum tomorrow, but we’ll be back by six. Can I come around in the evening?’
‘Sure. How about eight? I should be back by then. You can stay over if you fancy.’
‘Great. Want me to bring a DVD to watch?’
‘Why not? You choose.’
Ending the call, Robyn stroked the kitten, now standing on the edge of the dining table. The animal turned and rubbed his head against her hand.
‘Better get you settled in.’ She lifted him and placed him on the floor. He raced off to the other side of the room and back again, making her smile.
It was good Amélie was coming. She hadn’t stayed over for a while and it would give them plenty of time to talk. She rubbed her neck. The muscles were bunched up and sore to the touch. Her gaze fell on the red anemones. She ought to start phoning florists and ask about them. No. She was working an investigation. There was no point in chasing after ghosts or hoax photographs. Davies couldn’t have sent the anemones. It might be no more than a generous gesture from one of her team to lift her spirits. She refused to consider any other explanation. She shut her eyes, but a vision of Tessa’s bloodied face made them fly open again. Her restlessness was due to frustration. She wasn’t making sufficient progress in either case. Her brain was swollen with possibilities and the seemingly impossible task ahead.
It was going to require a marathon effort from all her team to interview everyone known to both victims, and without motive or suspects they would inevitably become demoralised. DCI Flint would be waiting for her to nosedive. He might be polite to her face and seemingly respectful, but she could sense the undercurrent of loathing under that façade. She slumped back onto her chair. That was nonsense. Of course Flint didn’t loathe her. Where was all this negativity coming from? What was the matter with her? This self-pitying attitude was unlike her, and why did she suddenly care what DCI Flint, or anybody, thought of her? She needed to regain her grip on reality.
The answer was the same as it had been the last few weeks – Davies. The cat leapt gently onto her knee and headbutted her. As she caressed Schrödinger’s head, she questioned her motives for inviting Amélie over and for bringing the cat home. Was it simply because she cared about the girl, or was she somehow unconsciously trying to lure Davies out in the open and to her?
Twenty-One
THEN
* * *
The boy opens the front door to a weedy man with long arms. His smile reminds the boy of a predator – a crocodile.
He holds out a milky-white hand and says, ‘Hello. I’m Clark. I’ve come about the room.’ Clark’s voice is soft and lilting, from a place the boy has never visited – southern Ireland. He wears round spectacles that make his insipid blue eyes look distorted and washed out, and he tugs repeatedly at a pale ginger moustache that barely covers his top lip.
The boy doesn’t take Clark’s outstretched hand. Instead, he opens the door wide and says, ‘Mum’s in the kitchen.’
He’s cheesed off about the whole thing. He doesn’t want a lodger to be using his room, especially someone who looks like Clark.
‘I don’t know how else I’m supposed to pay the rent,’ his mother had said, arms folded and a determined expression on her face, when he’d protested about giving up his room. ‘If we don’t take somebody in, we’ll all be out on the streets.’
He’d had no choice and carried his meagre pile of belongings to his sister’s room. His mother got a mattress from the charity shop and laid it on the floor next to his sister’s bed. It smelt of sweat and was covered in stains, but they’re now hidden under a sheet, and he’ll spend each night on it, listening to his sister’s soft breathing while Clark sleeps in his old room.
His mother is all over the man, almost curtsying at the sight of him. He’s equally polite, complimenting her on her clean house and charming son. She’s bought a sponge cake especially for him, to make him feel welcome, and cuts him a generous slice. The boy watches as Clark breaks off small pieces with his slim, ladylike fingers, and pops them one by one into his mouth, making appreciative noises as if his mother had baked the cake herself.
His sister is called downstairs and she enters the kitchen with a skip until she sees the man at the table, then she is suddenly shy and says hello in the quietest voice before sitting at her place, opposite her brother. Their mother cuts them both small slices of cake but for once the boy has no appetite.
Clark licks the crumbs from his fingers, all the while never taking his eyes from his sister, and then says how lovely it is to be part of a family. His mother simpers in an irritating fashion and thanks him before making another pot of tea. As she turns away, she doesn’t see what the boy sees – Clark staring at his sister, like he’d rather eat her instead of the cake.
When the boy’s mother returns, Clark smiles at her again and thanks her. The boy notices the smile never reaches his hooded eyes, and he is suddenly anxious for them all. What has his mother let into their house?
Twenty-Two
DAY FOUR – FRIDAY, 17 FEBRUARY
* * *
Even though a sharp frost had fallen overnight, it was unbearably stuffy in the office. Robyn had been forced to scrape ice from her windscreen before leaving home and travelling the fifteen minutes to work. In spite of taking painkillers, she still had a dull headache. Normally, she’d have ignored it and gone for a run, but she’d spent the time instead ensuring everything was ready for Amélie later that day, and all evidence of her search for Davies locked away in a cupboard. She’d set up a clean litter tray and bowls of food and water for her new lodger, who appeared to be house-trained, and left Schrödinger sitting on the back of the settee, staring out of the window. It would be nice to have someone to welcome her when she returned.
It was very early but she wanted to get started before any of her officers arrived. She picked up the list of Gregson’s contacts and double-checked none had been ex-military or had any history of shooting. It was a task she’d not wanted to put off for so long but it yielded no positive results.
A siren wailed in the distance. The sound increased as it approached, and she moved across to the window to watch the blue light of an ambulance as it sped past the station in the direction of the hospital. Two more cars had pulled into spaces in the car park below. It wouldn’t be long until it was full and some latecomers would have to use the car park ten minutes away by foot.
She spun around. The door had opened. Shearer, face unshaven, walked in.
‘Should have guessed you’d be here,’ he said with a wry grin.
‘Says the man who looks like he’s slept in the cells all night.’
‘Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford. Thought I’d come in and get started.’
‘Great minds,’ said Robyn. ‘Fancy a coffee? I was about to kick the machine into life.’
Shearer yawned and stretched. ‘Sounds like a great idea. I’ve run out of milk at home. Don’t suppose you’ve got a bacon roll hiding anywhere?’
She laughed. ‘I can only offer coffee.’
‘That’ll do. I’ll pick up something later. I’m not interrupting you, am I?’
‘Yes, but I can manage. I needed some peace and quiet to order my thoughts. I managed that and now I’m ready to tackle the cases.’
‘Yeah, handling two cases simultaneously is a bit crap. I’d offer to help out but we’re still tidying up the assault in Stafford. Can’t believe how some people behave. It’s mad out there.’
Robyn was only half-listening, thinking instead of how best to approach each investigation. She’d probably keep Matt and Anna working together on the Gregson case.
Shearer took a sip and winced. ‘That is mega-hot. What is it with this machine? It either produces stuff that tastes like soap or it scalds your tongue off.’
‘It’s decent coffee. Blow on it and stop moaning.’ Robyn marched back to her desk.
He blew on the coffee and scowled at it then took a tentative sip. ‘This is still hot.’
‘You really are an old grouch, aren’t you? Want me to blow on it for you?’ Robyn crossed her arms and pursed her lips.
Shearer snorted in a friendlier manner. ‘I’ll manage. And of course I’m a grouch. I had two hours’ sleep last night. I’ve got a stack of paperwork to sift through, a case to close, a disgusting individual who held a woman and baby hostage to interview again, and I’ve got to appease my boss. And to top it all, I’ll have to try and prevent PC Murray from knocking into you every two minutes. It’s going to be a long day.’ He stomped to his desk and, dropping onto his chair, plonked his mug down and grabbed at a file. ‘Cheers for the coffee. It’s just what I needed,’ he muttered.
Robyn smiled to herself.
* * *
At just before eight, Robyn checked her watch. She’d been so busy she’d not noticed the time tick by. She had arranged a visit to the fertility clinic in Tamworth, and she’d need to get going if she was to reach the place before nine.
The clinic looked like an ordinary, brown-brick office block rather than a place that could transform people’s lives. Robyn felt an instant of sorrow as she pressed the buzzer outside the door. She hadn’t needed to attend such a place, but she understood the pain of desperately wanting a child.
