“That bad?”
“Let’s just say we won’t be pursuing any lines of inquiry regarding Northmoor House or the disappearance of Caroline Shields.”
He slams his fist into his palm. “Bloody red tape!”
“Holloway is in charge, Matt. We have to respect that.”
He looks repentant of his outburst, embarrassed even. “Of course, Guv.”
She empathises with him and would be swearing about it herself if not for her position. She has to keep morale high, despite everyone’s frustration at the length of time this case has gone on for with no real leads or suspects.
“Instead of commiserating about the stuff we can’t investigate,” she tells Matt, “lets work our arses off on the stuff we can and catch this bastard.”
Matt gives her an enthusiastic nod. “Yes, Guv.”
Dani opens the Amy Donovan file and reads the forensic and post-mortem reports again. As she does so, her attention constantly wanders to the Caroline Shields case file that sits on her desk apart from those of the Snow Killer’s victims. Dani is sure Caroline belongs with Stephanie, Nicola, Angela, and Amy but unless some sort of concrete evidence emerges to prove it, Caroline will remain separate from the other women.
Dani silently vows that if Caroline belongs with these other women, she will bring her into the fold somehow. She won’t let Caroline’s fate remain a mystery simply because Holloway is too afraid of how he’ll be perceived in the press.
She reaches for Caroline’s file and places it beneath the pile of the Snow Killer’s victims.
With Henson’s departure, the department seems to have forgotten Caroline.
Dani won’t.
Chapter 25
The files inside the memory card’s folder are titled with dates and strings of numbers of the type automatically assigned by a computer. I open one that is dated October, two years ago, and a photograph of Caroline Shields appears on the screen. Dressed in a green parka and jeans, she’s walking across the parking area towards the entrance door of Northmoor House with shopping bags in her hands. The picture seems to have been taken from the rear corner of the house. It was certainly taken without Caroline’s knowledge.
I close the file and click on an earlier one dated July 12 of the same year. This one is a video. It shows Caroline leaving her flat—this flat—and walking along the corridor towards the stairs. She’s wearing a sun top and a light floral skirt and she has sunglasses pushed up on top of her hair, which is tied back into a ponytail. The image is black and white and was obviously captured by the security camera near the lift.
After Caroline passes beneath the camera, the file ends, making me think this brief section was edited from a larger video or was recorded live and the recording was stopped when Caroline passed from view.
Scanning through the thumbnails of the other files in the folder, I see that they’re all photos and videos of Caroline going about her life, unaware that she’s being recorded and photographed.
So at the very least, Rob was stalking her. Did that escalate into something more?
Removing the card from the reader and inserting the second card reveals more of the same. Hundreds of photos and videos of Caroline.
But as I scroll through the thumbnails, one of the videos catches my eye. Unlike the others, which are all recorded from the camera at the end of the hallway, this one seems to show Caroline inside the flat.
I click on it and it opens to show Caroline watching telly. It seems to be evening time and she’s wearing a pink dressing gown with white hearts on it. Her hair looks wet, as if she’s been in the shower. The view is from outside the living room window and the video runs for ten minutes before ending.
I swivel in my chair to face the window. I checked for cameras before because I didn’t understand how Rob seemed to know Greg was going into the attic before we even left the flat. But I didn’t think to check outside the window.
Crossing the living room, I keep my eyes trained on the black plastic flower box out there, searching for a lens. I can’t see anything. When I reach the sash window, I slide it open, letting the freezing wind and snow into the flat.
Crouching closer to the window box, I see a tiny camera pointing into the flat. It’s no bigger than a button and there’s no way I’d see it if I wasn’t looking for it.
But it’s seen me. And it saw Caroline in the months before she went missing. Rob was down there in the basement flat watching and recording. Has he recorded me as well? Are there photos of me on a memory card in that nylon pouch in his desk?
Taking the camera between my thumb and forefinger, I try to pull it away from the flower box but it seems to be glued to the plastic so I go into the kitchen and get a knife. Sliding the knife between the flower box and the camera, I manage to pry it loose.
Then I take it between my fingers again and pull. It rips away from the plastic and I inspect it. There are no wires. It probably works on Wi-Fi and is filming me even now.
Disgusted at the thought, I drop it beneath my foot and stamp on it with my heel. It cracks but I don’t know if it’s still working or not so I stamp on it again. And again. Until it’s nothing more than a broken disc of plastic and glass on the floor.
I want to go downstairs, hammer on Rob’s door and confront him. I want to throw the broken camera in his face and follow that up with a tirade of abuse and maybe a couple of punches.
But I know I can’t do that.
I have to go to the police, show them the camera and the images of Caroline on the memory cards. If nothing else, at least he’ll be arrested on a stalking charge.
And I’ll be arrested for burglary. The police will want to know how I got my hands on the images and videos of Caroline. Rob could press charges.
I could be facing prison time.
I close the window, shutting out the wind and the snow, and pace the flat, the broken camera in my hand. I need to draw the attention of the police onto Rob but somehow keep from mentioning the images of Caroline on the memory cards I stole.
While I’m thinking, I hear a car door slam in the parking area and hear Rob’s Land Rover start up. He’s going out again. This is my chance to return the cards.
Peering out of the window, I watch him pull out of his parking space and drive away. There’s no time to waste. Before I return the cards, I save the folders from both of them onto my hard drive. Just in case. Then I go downstairs.
My heart sinks when I get to the ground floor and see that Ivy’s door is open and Winston is wandering around in the hallway. During my descent of the stairs, I’ve formulated a plan that is sure to bring the police here with a search warrant. I can’t have Ivy telling them that she saw the nice lady from the top floor going into Rob’s flat while he was out.
I wonder if I can slip in through Rob’s door unseen but as I’m wondering that, Ivy appears in the hallway. “Oh, hello, dear. Would you like a cuppa?”
“I would, thank you,” I say, fixing a smile onto my face. “I need to go out to my car first, though, so maybe you should take Winston into your flat and close the door. We wouldn’t want him going out on a day like today, would we?”
“He won’t follow you out if you close the door behind you, dear. Rob left a minute ago and Winston didn’t follow him outside. Good job, too; that waste of space would probably lob another snowball at him.” She turns and goes back into her flat. “Now I’ll get the kettle on so don’t be too long.”
I watch her shuffle into her kitchen and wonder how quickly I can get to Rob’s desk drawer and back out again. Ivy tends to stand at the kitchen counter with her back to the door while she waits for the kettle to boil so maybe I can get in and out without her knowing what I’m up to.
Telling myself not to overthink it and just do it, I go to Rob’s door and start inserting keys into the lock, looking for the right one. Winston winds around my legs, purring. I have to make sure the cat doesn’t go through the door with me.
When the lock finally clicks ope
n, I reach down and pick Winston up, gently tossing him away from the door before opening it and slipping inside. This time, I keep the correct key pressed between my thumb and forefinger so I can lock the door quickly when I leave. I won’t make that mistake again.
I stride into the bedroom and open the bottom drawer. The pouch seems to be exactly how I left it so Rob probably doesn’t even know two of the cards were missing. I replace them and zip the pouch up before striding back across the room, up the steps, and out into the hallway. Winston is waiting for me and trots over to me with his tail aloft.
Ivy is pouring water from the kettle into the teapot. Remembering her super-hearing, I realise she’ll know if I haven’t actually been outside so I go out the door and wander over to my car. There’s something I need to do before I have tea with Ivy anyway.
I open my car and slide into the driver’s seat, taking my phone out of my pocket as I do so.
The plan I formulated on the stairs goes into action as I dial Jillian Street’s number. She doesn’t answer but I get her voicemail.
I wait for the beep and then say, “Jillian, it’s Kate Lumley. Call me back when you get this. I’ve got a story for you.”
Chapter 26
The bar of the Marine Hotel is tidy and pleasant, with a dozen or so patrons eating seafood and chatting. The mouth-watering smell of kippers, smoked haddock, and lobsters in garlic is making my stomach rumble but I’m too nervous to eat. On the table in front of me is a glass of white wine to calm my nerves.
Jillian called me back ten minutes after I left the message on her voicemail and suggested we meet here. After a hurried cup of tea with Ivy, I donned my winter gear and drove to town, parking by the railway station in my usual spot.
My jacket, hat, and gloves are on the seat next to me. It’s warm in here and the atmosphere is soporific. If this were any other day, I’d probably sink a little deeper into the seat and enjoy my wine while watching the world go by outside the window.
But not today. Today, my mind is whirling, wondering if my plan will work. I’ve recited the exact words I’m going to say to Jillian over and over in my head. There must be no room for error. She can’t misinterpret anything I say. The story must be printed exactly as I tell it.
Knowing Jillian, she’ll try to put a spin on my words, make the story more sensational. I can’t open up any areas of conversation where she might mine a nugget she can use for her own ends. I have to be careful because she’ll probably know I’m not telling her everything and she’ll try to dig deeper to find what I’m hiding.
I see her through the window, walking by the railing that skirts the harbour, wearing a long coat and boots. She seems oblivious to the cold, facing the wind with no hat or gloves. Her long blonde hair blows across her face and she absently brushes it away from her eyes before kicking snow off her boots and entering the bar.
She sees me straight away and waves, going over to the bar and making a drinking motion at me with raised, questioning eyebrows. I lift my wine glass to show her it’s still half full and she gives me a thumbs up before ordering her own drink.
When she comes over to the table, she’s holding a glass of red. She sets it down on the table in front of her and takes a seat opposite me. “Nice to see you again, Kate. You said you had a story for me?” Taking her phone out of her handbag, she places it next to her wineglass. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
I shake my head. “No, that’s fine.”
She finds the voice recorder on her phone and presses the record button before placing the phone between us on the table. Then she takes a sip of wine and nods appreciatively before putting the glass back down. “So, what have you got for me?”
“Have you ever heard the name Caroline Shields?”
“Caroline Shields. Isn’t she the girl that went missing a couple of years ago?”
I nod. “That’s right. No one knows what happened to her.”
“Okay,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me more.”
I reach into the pocket of my jacket and take out the crushed camera. I show it to Jillian and put it down next to her phone. “That’s a spy camera. The landlord at the flats where I live has been spying on me.”
She frowns. “You’ve gone off on a bit of a tangent there, Kate. How does this relate to Caroline Shields?”
“I’m getting to that. The landlord’s name is Robert North. I assume that before I moved into the flat, he spied on the previous tenant as well. Probably recorded her day to day activities.”
Jillian nods slowly, obviously not seeing where this is leading but biding her time like a spider patiently waiting for an unwary insect to fly into its web.
“The previous tenant was Caroline Shields,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. “So this guy, this Robert North, was watching the missing girl before she went missing. Do you think he—”
“No,” I lie, unwilling to go down that route. “I just think he might have evidence, maybe even something he doesn’t know he has. If he recorded Caroline on the day she disappeared, there might be something on the recording that the police could use to find out what happened to her.”
She sits back in her seat, thinking quietly for a moment before saying, “Why are you giving this to me? It has all the elements of a front page story. A missing girl being secretly filmed by a pervert. That’s the kind of thing the public loves.”
“I don’t have any contacts in the industry anymore.” This is true but it isn’t the reason I want Jillian to have the story. The fact is, I don’t want anything to do with the world I used to inhabit, the world that chewed me up and spat me out. I never want to be a butterfly on that wheel again.
After taking another sip of wine, Jillian studies me closely. The easy air of camaraderie with which she greeted me outside the antiques shop the other day is gone. In its place grows a seed of suspicion. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” she concludes.
There’s plenty I’m not telling her: the fact that I suspect Rob has something to do with Caroline’s disappearance; my logical reasoning that, by extension, he could also be the Red Ribbon Killer; and my certainty that the police have made an error in not questioning him two years ago.
I can’t tell Jillian any of those things. She has to think that this is simply about Caroline and a possible recording the police don’t know about. If she gets even an inkling that this story may be connected to the Red Ribbon Killer, she’ll go diving into that angle and probably investigate it for months before she’s ready to sell a story to the highest bidder.
She has to think this is nothing more than the story of a pervy stalker who may have caught more on his spy camera than he realises. That way, she’ll sell the story fairly soon. Once it appears in the papers, the police will have to act.
DI Summers has obviously ignored what I told her at the Captain’s Table, or doesn’t think it warrants further investigation so I’m going to force her hand. She won’t be able to ignore a media outcry. She’ll have to take Rob in for questioning and search his flat.
And then she’ll find the images on the memory cards in his desk and whatever else might be on his computer.
“There’s nothing else,” I tell Jillian, putting on my best poker face. “Except that I want my name kept out of it.”
She scrutinises me for a moment and then sighs resignedly. “Okay, what’s the address of these flats?”
“Northmoor House.”
“I’ll need to take this,” she says, reaching for the broken spy camera.
“No.” I grab her hand. “You can take a photo of it but I’m hanging on to it.”
She sighs again, as if I’m being unreasonable. “Fine, I’ll take some pics of it.” She uses her phone to photograph it on the table and I put the camera back into my jacket pocket.
Jillian downs her wine and gets up from the table. “I’ll have to send my photographer around to the flats to see if he can get a shot of this Robert North fellow looki
ng furtive. What does he look like?”
“He’s a big guy with a scar on his head. He usually wears a baseball cap.”
“Scar huh? How’d he get that”
“A car accident when he was younger, I think.”
“Right, I’ll look into that as well. Thanks for this, Kate. It isn’t much of a story on the face of it but if it turns out that he has a video that helps in the case of Caroline Shields’ disappearance, some good will be done by publishing it.”
I give her a brief smile. Her motivation is nowhere as altruistic as she’s trying to make it sound and we both know it. What she really wants is to be known as the crime reporter who found evidence the police were unaware of. If that evidence solves the case, then all the better. Not for Caroline’s family but for her. She’s probably already mentally planning a book and talk show tour.
If that means she’s going to push to get the story published as soon as possible, all the better. It might even save a life. If Rob is the Red Ribbon Killer, he isn’t going to be able to murder another woman while the attention of the media and the police is trained on him.
Jillian leaves the bar walks back the way she came, along the harbour. Certain that I’ve done the right thing by giving her the story, I finish my wine put my jacket and hat on before going out onto the street and ambling back to my car.
The snow has finally stopped falling and although there’s a thick covering of it everywhere, the sun has begun to peek out from behind the clouds.
When I get into the Mini, I sit behind the wheel for a moment, feeling a surge of emotions welling up inside me. Once the story is published, Greg and I are going to have to move again. I can’t accuse the landlord of being a peeping tom and expect to remain in the flat. I haven’t even mentioned any of this to Greg. And now I’ve made an irrevocable decision regarding our future.
I had no choice. I did it for Caroline, to make sure her case is looked at properly by the police. If that means sacrificing our tenancy at the flat, then so be it. We can always move somewhere else but Caroline will only have one chance for justice.
The Red Ribbon Girls Page 15
