by Carol Wyer
The office, if you could call it that, didn’t feel used to Robyn. Apart from the chair, the only other piece of furniture was a shabby square table that looked like it had been rescued from a skip. There weren’t the usual notices on the walls advertising services or price lists. An old tyre leant against the tall counter that separated the room from the closed workshop door. Behind the counter was a dusty shelf, housing several small boxes of spark plugs and other accessories. For Robyn, who took her own car for regular services and was used to garage waiting areas, this one felt false. Brett was shuffling uncomfortably as if he wished she’d leave.
‘And what was the reason for his visit?’
‘He came to collect some parts,’ Brett replied, squeezing his nose with his thumb and finger. ‘For Mike.’
Robyn pulled out a notepad and pen. ‘Can you confirm he came to collect a distributor for a VW Passat?’ She watched carefully as he digested her words. She had deliberately set him up, knowing full well that was not what he’d said. Brett fell perfectly into the trap.
‘Yeah. That’s right. For a VW Passat.’
‘And you had to send out for one because you had the wrong one in stock?’
‘Yeah.’ His eyes had moved from the plastic chair to a pile of boxes stacked in one corner of the room.
‘How many mechanics work here with you? It’s not a very big place.’
‘Only one other guy – Steve. He’s out at the moment.’
‘Would you mind if I took a look around?’
‘There’s nothing to see,’ said Brett, too quickly for her liking.
‘You’re not working on anything at the moment?’
He shook his head. ‘Bit quiet. Don’t do much on a Saturday. Just tidying up. There’s been an oil spillage out there. Don’t want you to slip over or get messed up.’
Robyn nodded. There was no doubt he was hiding something. The location of the garage, hidden away on an abandoned industrial estate, and the general set-up inside, led her to wonder if there were illegal or dodgy dealings going on.
She thanked him, left the office and drove to the next street where she parked her car between a Ford Escort and a van. She doubled back to the garage on foot, padded silently to the shuttered door and listened to the faint voices and hammering coming from inside. Brett had lied. There were two men inside working on a vehicle. She found a spot in the doorway of a brick building, close to the garage, where she waited, listening to distant traffic and trying not to pay too much attention to the smell of stale urine. Ten minutes passed, then ten more. She stamped away the pins and needles in her feet and then cocked her head to one side to make out a new noise. It was the whirring of metal shutters as they were raised, followed by the growl of an engine starting up.
She dashed forwards, her body blocking the path of the Porsche being backed out. Brett spotted her in the rear-view mirror, braked and dropped his head into his hands. The man working the opening mechanism tried to drop the shutter again, but Robyn pressed forwards, stopping to take in the number plates recently unscrewed from the vehicle on the floor. It took no time to work out what was really happening in the garage. She held up a finger to the man. ‘Don’t think about running. We’ll track you down in an instant.’ She tugged at the driver’s door handle and opened it. Brett didn’t look up.
‘If you’d like to get out of the vehicle, sir, we can talk about exactly what happened on Tuesday the fourteenth.’
* * *
It didn’t take long to extract a confession. With officers en route to Mike’s Motors to arrest the man and his employees, Robyn listened in silence as Brett told her the truth.
‘It’s Mike’s operation. He gets requests for certain makes and models of vehicles to be nicked, and sends out a couple of guys to steal them. I get a call telling me what to expect in the garage, and when. Once the vehicle comes here, we respray it, or make a few modifications, swap the plates for false ones, and then it gets shipped off to Mike’s contact.
‘Sometimes we have a few issues with the cars. If there’s a real problem, Mike sends over one of his mechanics to sort it. We don’t have those skills. We took in an Audi Sunday. Needed to turn it around quickly. Got it ready for Tuesday morning as instructed and started it up to put it on the trailer and move it, but the engine cut out. We tried to fix it but it wouldn’t go. I rang Mike, who said he’d send Tarik over to look at it. Tarik got here about lunchtime, but the bastard thing wouldn’t work. Took him a good few hours to fix the problem. We got it loaded around 4 p.m., after he’d gone.’
‘So how long was he here?’
‘From twelve forty until almost four.’
‘The whole time?’
‘Yeah. He didn’t go until it was working. Moaned about it taking so long.’
Robyn signalled for the officer by the door to take Brett away. She’d cracked a case, only not the one she wanted to resolve. It appeared Tarik Akar was in the clear and Robyn was facing a dead end.
* * *
The office was as busy as when she left it. Matt was coming to the end of a phone conversation. Mitz, with his back to the door, was also on the phone, and so deep in conversation he didn’t hear Robyn return.
‘Okay, thank you very much. If you could send that all over, that’d be a huge help. Thank you, sir.’ Matt ended his call and immediately sprang up, notepad in hand.
‘Schrödinger Securities is set up in Grand Cayman and only has one company director, Tessa Hall. It has assets equivalent to about a million pounds. If you’re going to ask me how a nurse got her hands on a million pounds, I won’t be able to answer.’ He relaxed against the desk, his chin supported by his open hand.
‘She can’t have saved it all from her wages,’ said Mitz. ‘Maybe it’s from an inheritance, or a windfall.’
Everything about Mitz smacked of perfection, from his shining black hair and immaculate, squared-off nails to his shirt, impossibly white and neatly tucked into black trousers that appeared to be freshly pressed no matter what time of day. Aspects of his attire reminded Robyn of Davies, who would never leave the house without a belt and gleaming shoes. That, in turn, reminded her of the conversation with Amélie. She forced such thoughts from her mind.
‘When was the account set up, Matt?’
‘Only last month. January the tenth.’
Robyn flicked through her notes on Tessa Hall, puzzling over where the money had come from.
‘What did you learn from her parents, Mitz?’
‘They spoke regularly on Skype and Tessa would drive down to see them some weekends. Good, loving daughter. Never been in trouble. She wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps and be a paediatrician but decided she couldn’t face years and years at university after school, so opted for nursing. Enjoyed going out. Had lots of friends but after a bust-up with a boyfriend last year, decided to move away to the countryside. Tessa hadn’t told them about any new boyfriends recently although she did tell them she’d been given a present – a kitten. I haven’t spoken to them about this offshore account, obviously.’
‘She had a bad break-up?’
‘I asked about that. I don’t think so. They were together five years and she’d had enough of the relationship. She dumped him. He was clingy and kept pestering her, so she decided to move out of the area. Mum and Dad agreed and helped her out financially. Since then, he’s found a new girlfriend and moved to New Zealand with her.’
Robyn sighed. ‘Not him, then. I wonder who bought the kitten. Could be the same person who bought the Valentine’s card. We’ll have to ask her parents about the million pounds.’
‘Want me to go back and see her folks?’
Robyn paced the floor, almost colliding with a desk, and grunted. Tessa was hiding the money for a reason. Why? ‘Yes. We have to find out where it came from.’
‘I’ll be subtle.’
‘I know you will. This could all be a huge shock to them.’
‘I’ve not got hold of Roger Jenkinson yet.’
<
br /> ‘You stick with Tessa’s parents first. And when you get hold of him, see if you can get a surname on the other man on the quiz team – Anthony.’
She glanced at the mess in the far end of her office. Another week of Shearer was almost impossible to bear. This latest development was a huge surprise and she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Certainly they still needed to talk to Roger Jenkinson but first they really needed to find out who was Tessa’s boyfriend. And as for Henry Gregson, she’d hit the buffers yet again. With Tarik, and probably Libby, out of the frame, she was only left with Lauren and the mysterious jogger to consider. She picked up a pencil and chewed at its end while she wondered what to do next.
Twenty-Nine
THEN
* * *
Clark is scary. Not scary like a huge monster but in a way that can’t be described. Clark has become part of the family and the boy doesn’t like it one bit.
He is excessively polite, helps wash up the dishes and compliments his mother on her excellent cooking. He brings home sweets for him and his sister, whispering it’s best not to tell their mother – after all, sweets aren’t good for their teeth.
The boy can’t put his finger on what frightens him about Clark. The man is creepy. He watches them through those hooded lids and smiles at them far too often, like he wants to be their friend. Only the day before, the boy had been peeing in the bathroom, and when he turned around he found Clark in the doorway watching him.
‘I didn’t know you were in here,’ said Clark, but he continued to stare, and as the boy tried to ease past him, Clark dropped his hand to the boy’s cheek and caressed it with his soft palm. ‘Sorry,’ he said quietly.
The boy told his mother but she scoffed at him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s very nice. You’re just jealous because he’s got your bedroom. Of course there’s nothing scary about him. He’s a lonely man who’s new to the area. You should try to be nicer to him.’
The boy can’t make her see what is under her nose. She doesn’t see the way Clark studies them, him and his sister. Clark’s often at home. He spends most of his free time wandering the streets with his camera, shooting pictures of local life and the area, or watching television in his bedroom.
It comes to him in a flash. That’s what the boy doesn’t like. It’s the way the man moves about the house without being heard and appears out of nowhere. And when he’s alone in a room with Clark, he knows Clark is looking at him.
The noises disturb the boy’s thoughts. He goes upstairs and opens his sister’s bedroom door to ask her what she thinks Clark is doing, but she’s not there. He was sure she’d gone upstairs after their mum went out, an hour ago. Mum’s got a cleaning job a few streets away. The boy checks the bathroom but his sister isn’t there either. He tries their mum’s room but it’s empty too. A prickling starts in his scalp and he puts his ear to Clark’s bedroom door. He can’t hear much. The noises have stopped. Then he hears Clark speaking so softly he can barely make out the words.
‘Good girl. Don’t move or you know what will happen. Now stay like that.’
The boy presses down on the handle to his old bedroom, inching it lower little by little as quietly as he can. Through the crack the scene unfolds. He can’t comprehend what is happening. Clark is bent down on one knee and looking through his camera lens. His breathing is heavy as if he’s been running. The camera lens is trained on the little girl in front of him, who is holding a bowl of sweets. She’s completely naked. The boy is so surprised he gasps, and Clark turns around. A smile creeps over his face. He lowers his camera.
‘Well, hello. Come in. Come and join your sister. We’re going to have such fun, aren’t we?’
Thirty
DAY FIVE – SATURDAY, 18 FEBRUARY, AFTERNOON
* * *
Robyn used going to the café down the road to buy a sandwich as an excuse to ring Ross. He picked up immediately.
‘I need to share something with you. I really wanted to speak to you face-to-face about it.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Outside the station. About to go to the café.’
‘The one that sells the best homemade chocolate cake in Stafford?’ he asked.
‘That’s the one. Want me to place an order for you?’
‘I really shouldn’t. Jeanette will go bonkers if she finds out I’ve been scoffing slices of cake. You know how paranoid she is about me having another heart attack.’ He paused. Robyn could hear the smile in his voice. ‘I’m at the office so I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
The phone went dead. The offices of R&J Associates were at the other end of Stafford. It wouldn’t take him long to reach her but she’d have time to order cake and coffee for him.
Robyn had placed the tray on the table only seconds before Ross pulled into the space directly in front of the large café window. She was pleased to see the familiar craggy face, unkempt hair and shaggy eyebrows. He was reliable Ross, the ex-policeman with a heart of gold. They ought to bottle his goodness and sell it. There weren’t many like him.
Ross waved at her and pointed to the car. Inside, Duke was standing on the passenger seat, staring out at the café with a quizzical look on his face. Ross rolled down the window slightly for the dog, locked the car door and entered the café. Robyn stood to hug him.
He dropped onto the leatherette chair and rubbed his hands together. ‘I was going to ring you later,’ he said, eyeballing the cake and simultaneously shoving a forkful of it into his mouth. He rolled his eyes and made murmuring noises. ‘That is wicked.’
‘Amélie stayed over last night. She told me something strange. She thinks she saw Davies. She was at a bowling party in Uttoxeter when she noticed a man who looked like Davies, watching her. He disappeared shortly after they’d made eye contact.’
Ross chewed thoughtfully then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and picked up his mug of coffee. He peered at it. ‘Black?’
‘I thought you weren’t allowed milk.’
He guffawed. ‘You know I’m not allowed milk, or cake. How come you got me cake but no milk in my coffee?’
‘I thought black coffee would offset the cake,’ she replied, her face deadpan. ‘And I scraped some of the cream out of the cake before you got here so you didn’t eat so many calories.’
His shoulders rose and fell. ‘Sure you did. Okay, let me ask you something. Did Amélie voluntarily give you that information or did you interrogate her?’ His mouth lifted at the corners.
‘This is serious stuff, Ross. Of course I didn’t interrogate her.’
Ross clicked his tongue. ‘Robyn, you forget I know exactly how you operate. You’ve worked with me as both a police officer and as a private investigator. You have a knack for wheedling information out of people. Maybe you wanted to hear that Amélie thought she’d seen Davies and dropped subliminal messages or words into the conversation. Surely, she didn’t just blurt out this nugget of information. And if she had been convinced it was Davies, she’d have spoken to Brigitte, wouldn’t she?’
Robyn’s chin jutted forwards. ‘No. She said she doesn’t like talking to Brigitte about Davies. She doesn’t want to come across as resenting Richard. I honestly didn’t employ any techniques, Ross. Even I couldn’t guess she was going to suddenly claim to have started seeing men who looked like him in crowds, or at bowling alleys. It’s too great a coincidence. I get a photograph that suggests he’s alive and around the same time, Amélie thinks she’s seen him. Ross, help me. I’m not making this stuff up.’
He squeezed his hands between his thighs and nodded gravely. ‘Okay, let me think how best to handle this. I don’t want to question her again because it’ll spook her. Tell me exactly what she said and I’ll investigate it. I’ll go to the bowling alley with his photograph and see if I can find a staff member who might recognise him.’
‘I wrote down all the details last night when I couldn’t sleep. I thought you might ask me for them.’ She rummaged in her bag and extracted a sheet of A
4.
‘I should have known you’d be one step ahead.’
‘So, have you found out anything?’ Robyn’s face was an emotionless mask even though her stomach had been somersaulting ever since he agreed to see her.
‘I followed up on the photograph immediately and sent it to a couple of airport security guys I’ve worked with in the past. One of them suggested it looked suspiciously like Birmingham Airport where he works. If it is the same store, and there’s no guarantee it is, we might be able to work out where the individual who took the photograph of Davies was standing.’
Robyn cupped her own mug to prevent her hands from shaking as she asked the next question. ‘Is there any chance we could get CCTV footage of that area, for that date?’
Ross prodded his cake with his fork. ‘If a crime had been committed, we might have been in a position to gain access to footage. I can’t see how it would be possible without a request from a higher authority. I’m not leaping up and down at this discovery because, for all we know, all other airport WHSmith stores could look identical. I’ve got an idea of how to find out more, and I’ll have to see what comes up. I’ve also put out feelers about Peter Cross.’
Robyn sighed. ‘I fear we’ll draw a blank there, and he’s probably the only person who knows exactly what happened that day.’
‘Ah, you have no faith in your amazingly clever cousin.’
He broke off a piece of cake and popped it into his mouth. Robyn, sipping her coffee, waited for him to speak again. She was mindful she needed to return to the office. As much as she needed to uncover the truth about Davies, she had duties to perform and killers to track.
‘I’ve not been on this a full day yet, Robyn. Sometimes these things take months.’
Robyn sat back and breathed out. She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath. She was satisfied that Ross was in charge of the search, and also looking after her well-being.
