Jill was walking through the room and she came over. ‘Anything new?’
‘Not that I know of,’ he replied.
‘You want me, guv?’ Grace asked when she’d finished her call.
‘Just wondered how it was going?’
‘You’d be better not asking,’ she replied easily. ‘That was a waste of time,’ she said, nodding at her phone. ‘I can tell you where Finlay Roberts’s father is, but that’s pretty academic now.’
‘Totally,’ Max agreed.
‘Where is he?’ Jill asked curiously.
‘Blackpool.’
Where did it matter where he was? Max wondered. No way was Finlay Roberts involved in this. They might want him to be guilty, but he wasn’t. He’d been in this very building when Nikki had been murdered.
‘What’s he doing?’ Jill asked.
‘Drinking, probably,’ Grace replied with a grin. ‘He was an alcoholic. Supposedly a reformed character now, though.’
‘It doesn’t matter what he’s doing,’ Max reminded them both. He knew Jill; whatever case they worked on, she had a habit of going off on a tangent. They couldn’t afford to waste time now.
‘Aren’t you curious?’ Jill asked him.
‘Nope. I’m only curious as to who killed Carol and Nikki.’
‘Yes, but –’
‘No, Jill.’
‘Finlay has no real alibi for when Carol was murdered,’ Jill pointed out, ‘and if –’
‘We’re not looking for two men,’ Max and Grace said together.
‘We might be,’ Jill argued, and Max recognized that stubborn set of her chin. ‘Aiden said he could only be ninety-nine per cent certain the murders were committed by the same man. As he said, the same knife was used, but Carol was tall and Nikki was tiny –’
‘OK,’ Max said, rapidly losing patience. ‘Let’s imagine that we have two killers and Finlay Roberts is one of them. Why in hell’s name would we want to talk to the father he hasn’t seen since the year bloody dot?’
‘You won’t know that until you talk to him,’ Jill replied.
‘Crap!’ Max nodded at Grace. ‘Keep me informed.’
‘Will do, guv.’
Max went back to his office but, try as he might, he couldn’t rid his mind of Finlay Roberts. And wasn’t that what had got them into this mess? Fixating on Roberts?
With a sigh, he phoned the Grim Reaper.
‘Aiden,’ he greeted him. ‘Carol Blakely and Nikki Craven. How possible is it that they were killed by two different people?’
‘I’ve told you, Max, I don’t think it is possible. I wouldn’t stake my life on it, or my house for that matter, but I’m as sure as I can be. As I told you, if the victims had been of a more similar height, I wouldn’t have hesitated in saying no. Carol Blakely was – what? it’s in my report – five feet eleven?’
‘Yes. And Nikki was five feet exactly. That’s eleven inches.’
‘Hm.’ Aiden was thoughtful. ‘In my opinion, Max, they were killed by the same man.’ He hesitated. ‘There is a very tiny chance – millions to one – that they weren’t, but that’s all.’
Millions to one.
The photos of the victims were the same. They were laid out in exactly the same position. The weapon used, a five to six inch knife, was the same. The ribbon tied around their waists was cut from the same length. The sheets their bodies had been wrapped in were the same. Everything was the same . . .
Sod it. It was time he finished for the day.
On his way out of the building, he stopped at Jill’s office, but she wasn’t there. He’d been hoping to have a drink with her before going home.
He walked back to Grace’s desk. ‘Do you know if Jill’s left?’
‘She has, guv, yeah.’
‘Oh, right. Well, it wasn’t important.’ He turned to walk away.
‘She said something about wanting some sea air,’ Grace murmured, her attention on the forms in front of her.
‘What? Oh, for God’s sake. I might have bloody known!’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Thanks to her satellite navigation system, Jill found Sean Roberts’s address easily. She’d phoned ahead to ask if he could spare a few minutes and he had insisted on giving her a convoluted set of directions.
‘Turn left by the post office then you’ll see that the road curves to the right.’
‘It’s OK, Mr Roberts, I’ll find it,’ she’d promised.
‘I’m sure you will. Now, when the road curves, you’ll see a small newsagent’s. Indicate left there. The left turn will come on you real fast so watch out for it. Then, go right up to the top of the bank, past the junk shop with lots of clutter on the pavement, and past the off-licence. Right up to the top. Then you’ll see a left turn . . .’
Totally confused, Jill had let him give her directions, thanked him, and found her own way.
His flat was in a pleasant-looking block at the very end of the road. There was no real view, but a stiff breeze was blowing and the air was salty and fresh. She walked up the front path, went into a small hallway, and rang the bell for Mr Roberts’s flat.
‘You’ll be the police then?’ a distorted voice answered.
‘Yes,’ she replied. Technically it was true.
The lock clicked and she pushed open the door. There was a lift – with a large handwritten Out of Order sign stuck on it. Great. She walked up the three flights of stairs and was breathless when she reached his door. Thankfully, he had it open for her.
‘The lift’s still not working then,’ he grumbled.
‘No,’ she said, gasping for breath.
‘So what’s he done now then?’ he asked, having done with social niceties.
There was no resemblance whatsoever between father and son. The man looking at her now was older than Jill had expected. He was a ruddy-faced, portly man with thinning hair. However, just like his son, he chose to dress very casually. His big toe poked through a hole in a grubby brown slipper and the shirt he was wearing didn’t look as if it was familiar with the inside of a washing machine. The other similarity was an expression on his face that said he intended to enjoy every minute of this. Why?
‘We’re not sure he’s done anything,’ Jill said. ‘May I come in?’
‘Aye. Yes, come in.’
Unlike the son who had few possessions, the father’s home was crammed with a lifetime’s collection of knickknacks. In the small sitting room, there were photographs by the dozen, a collection of porcelain springer spaniels, books, several piles of mail, an old radio, an old television that didn’t look as if it had been switched on in a decade . . .
‘When did you last see your son?’ she asked when she was seated opposite him on an old, hard sofa.
‘About a year ago,’ he answered, taking her completely by surprise.
Damn it. She’d believed he hadn’t seen him since Finlay was six. Why the hell hadn’t someone checked that out?
‘Why do you want to know?’ he asked.
‘I’m helping with a murder investigation in Harrington,’ she explained, ‘and your son’s name has cropped up. We’d like to eliminate him from our inquiries.’
‘You reckon he’s killed someone?’ The old man chuckled at that. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Cos he’s half-mad. Takes after his mother.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. She’s mad, too.’
‘You and Finlay weren’t close, were you?’ Jill asked. Or had they got that wrong, too?
‘No. He blamed me for a lot of things. For walking out on him, his mother and his sister, among other things. He knew nothing about the situation, of course. How could he? He was barely out of nappies. But he wasn’t the forgiving type.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s no skin off my nose. As I’ve told him many times, he’s big enough and ugly enough to take care of himself.’
‘Why did you see him a year ago?’
‘Beats me. He was in Lanca
shire, he said, and he decided to call on me. Said it was time we buried the hatchet and all that. I told him, as far as I’m concerned, there was no hatchet needed burying. He wanted to buy me a drink but I was on the wagon. Still am,’ he added with a touch of pride.
‘Before that,’ Jill said, ‘when did you see him?’
‘Oh, years ago. That’s why I was surprised he found me. The last time will have been when all the trouble kicked off.’
‘Trouble?’ Jill asked, frowning.
‘You don’t know about that? You haven’t heard about Lorna?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, now here’s a tale.’ Mr Roberts relaxed back in his chair and lit a cigarette. ‘Let me see, he would have been about sixteen when he met young Lorna. Perhaps even seventeen. Puppy love it was, nothing more and nothing less, but he wouldn’t have it. As far as he was concerned, it was the real thing. Nothing would sway him from that. Talk about love’s young dream.’ He chuckled. ‘She was his soulmate, he reckoned, and he would rather die than be parted from her. Gets all that emotional nonsense from his mother, too. Well, we had to put a stop to it. At least, his mother did. That’s why she got in touch with me. I was summoned to sort it out. Lorna, you see, was my daughter. By my second wife.’
‘He fell in love with his half-sister?’
Jill recalled the framed black and white photograph that had boasted pride of place next to Finlay Roberts’s bed. Could it have shown a young Finlay and Lorna?
‘Love? Pah!’ the old man scoffed. ‘He said it was love, but if she hadn’t been his sister, it would have fizzled out. Young love?’ He laughed at the very notion. ‘It was illicit. Exciting, you know what I mean?’
Jill did.
‘When you saw him last year,’ she asked, ‘did he talk of Lorna?’
‘No. I bet he can’t even remember her name. He’ll have grown out of it, just like I said he would.’
He hadn’t. Jill would bet her life on that.
‘What about Lorna?’ she asked. ‘When did you last see her?’
‘Not since the trouble kicked off,’ he answered. ‘As you can guess, I’m not the world’s best father. Not that it was entirely my fault,’ he added quickly. ‘Her mother was a flighty piece and left me for someone else. She took young Lorna with her and that’s the last I heard of them till I was ordered to split the pair of ’em up.’
‘How did they meet? Finlay and Lorna?’
‘Typical of Karen, it was,’ he explained. ‘Having run off with someone else, she grew bored and tried to find me. Instead, she found my first wife – Finlay’s mum. It must have been a sort of Ex-Wives Club,’ he chuckled, ‘because damn me if they didn’t become friends. Karen stayed with Petra, Finlay’s mum, for nigh on six months.’ He shook his head at the absurdity of life. ‘Young Finlay and Lorna were thrown together, I suppose you’d say. The stupid thing was, neither kid was told they were brother and sister. No one thought twice about them spending so much time together until they were found in bed together. That’s when all hell broke loose.’
He was like his son in that Finlay would have found the situation highly amusing, too. So long as his own emotions hadn’t been involved.
‘And how did you split the pair of them up?’
‘Young Lorna had enough sense to leave Finlay,’ he explained. ‘She just took off and, as far as I know, no one’s heard from her since. She knew it couldn’t be and she accepted it.’
Was that why Finlay moved around the country, Jill wondered? Could it be that he was still looking for her?
‘Do the initials TMD mean anything to you?’ Jill asked him, and he shook his head in bewilderment.
‘Should they?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘So you’ve no idea where Lorna is now?’
‘None at all,’ he said in a couldn’t-care-less way. ‘As I said, after the trouble kicked off, she went away. I’ve no idea if she’s alive or dead.’
‘Where was Finlay’s mother living when he and Lorna met?’
‘Somerset. She took quite a liking to the place.’
‘You say your son was in Lancashire a year ago?’ Jill reminded him. ‘What for, did he say?’
‘He didn’t say. But that’s him all over. Itchy feet. He never has been able to settle in one place.’ He laughed softly. ‘I expect he blames that on me, too.’
He looked at her, and Jill saw the resemblance then. His unwavering stare was the same as Finlay’s.
‘I know you want to, how do you put it, eliminate him from your inquiries, but that usually means he’s suspected of something bad. Do you really reckon he’s killed someone?’
‘Two women have been murdered,’ Jill explained, ‘but, no, he’s not a suspect. As I said, we simply need to eliminate as many people as possible from our inquiries. When he visited you a year ago, how long did he stay in Lancashire?’
‘I’ve no idea. I got the impression he was just passing through, but he didn’t say and I didn’t ask.’
‘Has he been in touch during the last three months?’ Jill asked.
‘No. Why?’
‘I just wondered. As he’s been in Lancashire, I thought he might have.’
‘He’s been in Lancashire again? Well, well, well. He must be getting a liking for the place.’
She asked him a few more questions, but there was nothing more he could tell her.
‘Thank you for your time,’ Jill said as she was leaving. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘Can you eliminate him from your inquiries?’
‘Oh, yes, I think so,’ Jill said, smiling.
Her mind was racing as she got back to her car and drove off.
The traffic was busy for some reason, and it took her an age to get back on to the motorway. Her phone was showing three missed calls from Max, but he hadn’t left a message. There was no need; he’d only be wanting to know why the hell she’d raced off to Blackpool without telling him. He’d want to remind her that Carol and Nikki were killed by the same bloke. He could remind her all he liked but, despite what everyone thought, and despite what the pathologist said, she reckoned they were looking for two men.
Finlay Roberts was still in love with Lorna. That photo by the side of his bed proved that. He was a traveller, and he liked to travel light. He wasn’t a possessions sort of bloke. Yet he must have been carrying that photo all over the country with him for years. Oh yes, he was still in love with her. There was no doubt about that.
Perhaps now she might get Max’s attention . . .
Hands free or not, she didn’t like talking on her car phone. Half the time it was impossible to hear what was being said and concentrate on the road at the same time.
As soon as she got home, however, she fed the cats, made herself a good strong coffee and tried his number.
‘How was the sea air?’ he asked drily, and she smiled.
‘Exhilarating!’
‘And? Out with it then, I can tell you’ve got something interesting to tell me.’
She told him all about her meeting with Mr Roberts senior.
‘So,’ she said, ‘there are two things of interest really. Firstly, Finlay saw his father twelve months ago. He was in Harrington or Kelton – well, Lancashire at any rate – a year ago, Max.’
‘Around the time those videos went missing?’
‘He couldn’t be specific,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s possible.’
‘Mm.’ Max wasn’t convinced, she could tell. ‘What else?’
‘Well, the fact that he’s still in love with Lorna.’
There was a pause.
‘So? What does that have to do with anything?’
‘It means,’ she informed him, ‘that he lied about trying to get Carol into bed. He was chatting her up, we know that because Ruth and Carol were at the florist’s to witness it all, but it wasn’t with the intention of getting her into his bed. He had an ulterior motive.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Max scoffed. ‘I very much doubt he’s lived lik
e a monk since Lorna took off.’
‘I still think he had an ulterior motive.’
‘Like killing her?’ Max asked sarcastically.
‘Maybe.’
‘OK, so what about Nikki? Where the hell does she fit in?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jill admitted.
‘Christ, Jill, you’re dreaming up something from the twilight zone here. So we’ll assume that, a year ago, he came across – stole them, found them, bought them – those videos. He then kills Carol the same way to make us think Eddie is still alive. Then, with that job done, he either sells the videos or throws them away and, lo and behold, someone else finds them or buys them and he too decides to kill someone by the same MO to make us think Eddie is still alive.’
‘Put like that, it’s crap,’ she agreed, growing exasperated. ‘But it won’t have been like that.’
‘How the hell will it have been then?’
The truth was, she had no idea. Finlay Roberts was aloner. He wouldn’t enter into something as serious as murder with someone else. If he wanted a job doing, he would have to do it himself.
‘Max, I’m telling you what I know. As you constantly remind me, I’m not a detective. If you want my opinion, he’s still a suspect for Carol Blakely’s murder.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
The following morning, Max received a phone call from Yvonne Hitchins Vince Blakely’s former employee and current lover. She sounded very nervous.
‘Can you meet me somewhere?’ she asked quickly.
‘Of course. Where?’
‘Somewhere no one will see us.’
It was tempting to suggest the Sea of Tranquillity. Max’s face was on TV every day at the moment so, wherever they went, he would be recognized.
‘Can’t you come here?’ he asked.
‘No. Someone would see me.’
‘OK, then, how about –’
‘There’s a viewing spot on the Burnley to Bacup road,’ she cut him off. ‘A lay-by. It overlooks the wind farm. Meet me there at two o’clock.’
Before Max had a chance to respond, the line went dead.
What on earth did the stunning but dim Yvonne want with him? Presumably, she had something to say about Vince Blakely, but what? And why was she so scared?
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