by Nick Louth
‘Certainly.’
‘He won’t be happy about it, but at least it eliminates the possibility that a clever and greedy young solicitor may have bumped his parents off.’
* * *
There was one important family interview remaining. News of her mother’s disappearance had brought a distraught Chloe Knight back from Cambridge University just a few weeks after starting her first term. With the family home in Chaldon Rise taped off for crime scene investigation, she was staying three doors down at number ten with the family of a friend. Family liaison officer Gabby Underwood was already there, preparing the ground for a formal statement.
It was just after six when DCI Gillard and DS Mulholland arrived. Gillard had his own reasons for wanting a reliable number two for this interview. Chloe Knight was 18 years old, exactly the same age Liz had been when he dated her all those years ago. He had expected some unsettling resemblances, but was relieved when he saw the girl. She was dressed in ripped jeans and sweatshirt, sitting cross-legged on a settee, surrounded by half-eaten biscuits, cups of coffee and evidence of a chaotic arrival. She was blonde, unlike her mother, and when she stood up to greet them it was clear she was around six inches taller than Liz’s petite five three. Her complexion was ashen. But some of the other family features were there: high cheekbones, a strong jaw and those soft brown eyes he remembered so well.
Gillard began by thanking her for making herself available so quickly, and stressed that despite the large police presence and formality, everyone was of course still hoping for good news.
‘Yeah, but where is my dad?’ Chloe asked.
‘We’re hoping he will call in today sometime. He spoke to us 24 hours ago from your family place in Dungeness,’ he said. ‘He said that is where your mother would go if she was upset about something.’
‘She goes there to paint, so that makes sense. But if she isn’t there why doesn’t he call?’
‘We can’t answer that. We don’t know where he is. We already have your father’s mobile phone details, so we’re going to be able to find him pretty quickly.’
‘So what can I do?’ she said, chewing a nail on a long delicate finger.
‘Well, we just need to get some idea of how things were between them at home,’ Gillard said. ‘If they had arguments, that kind of thing.’
Chloe blew a long sigh. ‘They coexisted well, but didn’t spend a whole lot of time actually together by choice. Dad travels a lot, to conferences, up in London, all that stuff. Mum, well,’ she sighed again. ‘There’s school, of course, WI on Tuesday, coffee mornings at the weekend and charity work for refugees on Wednesday evenings, and so on.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘To be honest I lost track of it years ago. Oh, there was the am-dram group as well, two rehearsals a week.’
‘We know your mother had a history of depression, and she had health problems recently. She would have had every excuse for feeling a bit down. Had she complained of being depressed in recent weeks?’ asked Claire.
‘No, quite the reverse,’ Chloe said. ‘She seemed to be going through a good patch. It was her birthday in August, and even though the drugs she was on made her swell up—’
‘Which drugs?’
‘I don’t know the names, but they’re for the arthritis in her leg after the accident. They made her face puffy.’
‘That was after the RTA in 2007?’ asked Gillard, looking down at his notes.
‘What’s an RTA?’
‘Sorry, car crash. Road traffic accident,’ Gillard added.
‘Yeah. She drove into a skip coming back from a dinner party in Guildford.’
‘Have you ever heard your mother threaten suicide?’ Claire asked.
‘Only jokingly. It was along the lines of: “If my leg and teeth get any worse I think you’re going to have to take me to the vet and get me put down.”’
‘Teeth problems too?’
Chloe nodded. ‘From the accident. She needed some dental work done after she banged her head in the crash. I tried not to hear about the details, it’s a bit gross.’
‘Can we talk about your father now?’ Gillard asked. ‘Were you close to him?’
‘I’m closer to Mum. Dad is a bit distant. He’s got so important now, he spends half the time away, and when he’s here he’s always in his office. That pretty much suits the rest of us, because he isn’t always walking around the house like a bear with sore balls,’ she giggled. ‘I remember when he had his office in the house we always had to tiptoe everywhere because he was working. He’d, like, shout at me and Oliver.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I thought it was pretty ironic, frankly, when I read my dad’s report on youth justice, which was basically, some hippy-shit “deal with it in the community, not prison” idea because he’s way more strict at home than any of my friends’ dads. When I was ten he made me stay in my room for two whole days without any toys or music, just books.’
‘Did he ever punish you, physically?’ Claire said gently.
‘No. And he never touched me up, either, in case you’re wondering.’ Her face challenged them to disbelieve her. Not close to her father, but fiercely loyal. It was a trait that Gillard approved of, perhaps one she had inherited from her mother.
‘Sometimes we do have to ask distressing questions,’ Gillard said softly.
Underwood and Mulholland exchanged a glance. ‘Now Chloe,’ Claire said slowly. ‘Do you think your father could have harmed your mother?’
She shook her head. ‘No way.’
‘Did you ever witness violent rows?’ Gabby Underwood added.
‘Yeah, I mean, I remember the rows, especially during her dark days. Dad didn’t get it. Tried to shake her out of the depression, maybe literally on a couple of occasions.’
‘Did he ever strike her?’ Claire asked.
‘No way, absolutely no way.’ Chloe shook her head. ‘Dad wouldn’t harm a fly. He’s an ivory tower guy. He has a loud voice and a commanding presence, so when he shouts, that is scary enough, but I don’t think he’d know what to do with his fists beyond banging them on a table.’
‘You’re quite sure?’ Gillard asked.
‘Yes. If you ask Oliver, you’ll get the same answer.’
‘We did,’ Gillard said. ‘I understand your parents came into a lot of money recently. Did they ever argue about that?’
‘Not really. I’d have preferred if we’d given more of it to the refugee charities Mum worked with than spending it on property abroad, but it’s really Dad’s, so he limited that.’
‘What kind of charity work is your mum involved with?’ Claire asked.
‘She got really involved over the Syrian refugee crisis. She didn’t just give money. She and Helen Jennings got some sponsorship from the local church, and in March went down through Macedonia and Greece in a big lorry loaded with supplies, and then to some island where the refugees were coming in by boat.’
‘How long was she gone for?’ Claire asked.
‘Six weeks or so, I think,’ Chloe said, perking up. ‘Mum got special leave from the school, and when she came back she was all fired up about it. It was great, actually. She’d got the Women’s Institute to raise money for them too. They bought 100 tents and 500 blankets. I’m sure they saved lots of lives. She’s got some amazing pictures on her computer, which I’m sure she’ll happily show you when she…’
No one said anything for a minute, and Chloe’s head sagged. ‘It’s my birthday next week,’ she said, her voice thick and choked. ‘I just know you’re going to tell me that my Dad killed my Mum and then ran away somewhere. But I can’t believe it. It’s impossible. He’s a gruff old bear, but he loves her, I know that he loves her.’ She lifted her head, and tears were already tracking down her sweet, youthful face.
‘We’re still hoping for good news, Chloe,’ said Claire. ‘The fact that your mum had endured some depression makes it a bit more likely that she’s just run off somewhere for a while to be on her own.’
Or committed suicide, Gillard th
ought.
‘All right, Chloe,’ Claire said brightly. ‘We’re nearly done for today. I just need to take a cheek swab so we can eliminate your DNA when we test the house.’
‘What are you doing in the house?’ Chloe looked alarmed.
‘It’s just a precaution – we need to know if anyone beyond family has been there.’
‘Okay.’ Chloe sagged visibly, and started to chew her nails again.
‘Gabby will stay with you for another hour or so, and will be available on the end of a phone for as long as you need her. If you remember anything call her first, or even if you are just a bit worried and want a chat. We understand it’s a very trying time. Try to get some rest. We’ll let you know the latest as soon as we can.’
She reached out and held Chloe’s hand. ‘Fingers crossed, eh?’
Chloe nodded mutely, her beautiful eyes brimming. As Gillard walked out with Claire, he realized just how good at this she was.
* * *
It was nearly seven when Craig dropped Claire off at Caterham Police Station. She was buzzing with energy over the Knight case, and was going to look more closely into Oliver Knight. Craig, by contrast, was exhausted. Broken sleep last night, a tough day today, and now he needed to be in good form for a date with Sam in less than two hours at a bistro in West Croydon. She had rung him earlier to thank him for the flowers he had sent her, and offered to take him out to dinner. Part of him would have preferred to crawl into bed and sleep, but he didn’t want to defer because with the way the Knight case was going he’d be working every hour for weeks. So he said yes. He had no idea whether he’d have time to get home and change first. Probably not. He had always kept an unopened new white M&S shirt in his desk, but that was back at Mount Browne, two hours away through rush hour traffic.
Before that he had a job to do. Craig got out of the car and opened the boot. In it was the ACESO kiosk, a briefcase-sized computer designed specifically to grab all the data from a mobile phone without having to send it away to a lab. He’d signed out one of the precious machines earlier, saying he wanted to teach himself how to use it. Actually, it was useless for the Knight case because they didn’t possess the phones, but one phone he did have was Gary Harrison’s, Sam’s troublesome ex. Craig drove into the secure car park, put the device on his lap and followed the instructions. Five minutes later the information that tumbled out about Gary Harrison lowered him even further in Craig’s estimation.
* * *
Craig was only ten minutes late, and had called ahead to let Sam know. She was already sitting there, at a candlelit table, in a stunning lacy black blouse and with her hair up in some kind of sophisticated arrangement that reminded him of the girl in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. By contrast he was wearing an M&S polyester suit and a tie that had been strangling him all day.
‘Sam, you look beautiful.’ Her dark eyes looked huge in the candlelight, and there was barely a trace of the bruise.
‘Well, you’ve only seen me as a mountain scarecrow, a hobby bobby in that ridiculous uniform, or as a stalker’s punchbag. I thought it was time you saw the other me.’
‘Tell me about this other me.’
Over the next few minutes Sam disclosed some of the highlights of her life that she’d been too embarrassed to boast about when he was carrying her out of the mountains. The fact she had been a catalogue model in her late teens, was a fully qualified windsurfing instructor and had run a couple of marathons for charity, the second time dressed as a rabbit. ‘Don’t ask,’ she said. ‘I fainted from the heat at 17 miles.’
When there was a pause in the conversation, Craig asked: ‘How did you meet Gary Harrison?’
She groaned, and twisted her wine glass in her fingers. ‘Through a dating website. He was absolutely charming at first. He told me about the life of a top chef in a restaurant on Park Lane. Working with Gordon Ramsay, meeting celebrities. So I was swept off my feet at first. But then he started getting possessive. Didn’t like me seeing my female friends, let alone my male ones. He used to edit the contacts on my phone. It was more than two years ago when I dumped him, and I’d already lost a few friends. But it was only then it started to get really scary.’
Craig sighed. ‘I’ve been looking into our Mr Harrison. He’s told you some massive porky pies. First off, he’s a catering manager at some college in Bromley. I can find no evidence he ever worked in a big West End restaurant. He was never in the Parachute Regiment either. He was in the catering part of the Royal Logistics Corp but I couldn’t find any trace of him serving overseas. Biggest lie of all: he probably told you he was divorced, but he’s not. He’s married with two kids, but they’re not at the address he gave you.’
Sam Phillips shook her head slowly. ‘I feel sorry for her, whoever she is.’
‘So do I. But I sincerely hope none of this is going to be your problem any more.’
Sam leaned across the table and kissed him, slowly and with feeling. ‘Thank you, Craig.’
* * *
While Craig was sipping wine in the bistro, DC Claire Mulholland was tangling with an officious young solicitor.
‘You are making me feel like a criminal,’ said Oliver Knight, standing impotently at his front door just after nine in the evening as two burly detectives carried out large clear plastic bags containing computers, laptops and mobile phones to a police Transit van. ‘And that’s completely unnecessary. I have cooperated completely, and now I have to watch you ransack my home,’ he said, staring at the house opposite where two elderly people were staring at him from the window. In the quiet suburb of Whyteleafe this was clearly a rare and exciting event.
‘This is only a precaution at this stage,’ Claire said, putting the warrant back in its envelope. ‘The next stage might make you feel even more uncomfortable. Officers are currently with a keyholder at the offices of Barker Caynes Tipping and will be taking your computer there. We also need to take a DNA swab to eliminate you from any markers we find in your parents’ house,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could lead me to the kitchen and we can do it there.’
Oliver sat down at the kitchen table as requested, while his girlfriend Sophie watched from the doorway. Mulholland donned a pair of blue latex evidence gloves and took out a cotton bud. She held his chin and asked him to open wide, while she stroked the inside of his cheek with the swab. Oliver had closed his eyes, and she tried hard to suppress a snigger as she thought how like a fat schoolboy he looked, awaiting a sweet. She inserted the cotton bud into the plastic tube, sealed the lid and slid it into a pre-labelled evidence bag. She also reminded herself to check that the medical and dental records for the Knights had arrived.
Preparations for news of a death. She hoped they would not be needed, but something told her otherwise.
* * *
It was half past eleven when they left the bistro. The meal had gone well, and Craig had offered to drive Sam home. He was halfway there when she murmured to him: ‘I’ve got a spare toothbrush if you’d like to stay.’
It was times like this when Craig hated his job. He had a very early start tomorrow, to drive to Dungeness and look over the Knights’ holiday home, something that couldn’t be deferred. He tried to explain: Tired. No more spare clothing. She looked offended at this litany of trivia, until he blurted out: ‘But you could come and stay with me, if you don’t mind letting yourself out in the morning.’
They stopped and kissed for a few minutes, then he turned the car round, and cut back through Purley’s sweeping tree-lined suburbs to get back on the road to Banstead. Adele’s ‘Rolling in the Deep’ was on the radio, and Sam was lightly resting her hand on his thigh when Craig suddenly gasped and braked hard in the middle of the road. He jumped out of the car, door open, leaving her wondering if he had just hit a cat. He was looking at a parked car, a Nissan Qashqai, and crouched to take a picture of its number plate with his phone. When he got back in he was smiling.
‘What on earth was that about?’ she asked.
‘By sheer luc
k we’ve just found Liz Knight’s car.’ He looked along the avenue, topped with substantial semi-detached homes and extensive gardens turned over to lawn and shrubs.
‘Does that mean I’ve got to go home now?’ she asked. He watched a pout form.
‘No, Sam, I’m all yours.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll phone it in for some poor uniformed bugger to check up on.’
‘Do you think she’s staying in one of these houses?’
Craig sighed. ‘I hope so, Sam. But somehow I doubt it. I think it was dumped here in the hope that it wouldn’t be discovered for a while.’
After he’d made the call, Craig drove off. Could Liz Knight be in one of those big posh houses? Not willingly, surely. Not when she’s failed to ring even her closest friends, or attend her play rehearsal, or gone to work.
Chapter Seven
I feel an aching void at the centre of myself where love used to be. He used to look at me with hunger, now his eyes roll over me with less interest than for a pizza delivery flyer. But then pizza has the upper hand. Freshly baked, delivered to your door, always a new topping to try.
Liz’s diary, April 2009
Thursday, 20 October
PCSO Sam Phillips awoke in a strange bed, with the caress of a stranger’s hand on her face, a stranger’s whisper in her ear. ‘I’ve got to get up now, Sam,’ Craig said.
She groaned and stretched. ‘What time is it?’ Her body ached pleasantly, tingling in hidden places. The bed was warm with the musk of a man.
