by Penny Grubb
When the office fell quiet, he thought at first it was his presence that had done it. All eyes had turned his way. What were they expecting him to do? But he wasn’t the target. They were looking over his shoulder. He spun round.
The desk sergeant stood in the doorway with a woman at his side. A familiar face out of context. Suzie’s partner, Fiona. He’d only ever seen her smiling or glowering. Now she looked scared. Her stare bounced from one to the other of them, homing in on Ahmed who stepped forward. ‘Fiona. What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘I can’t find Suzie,’ she said. ‘She’s not answering her phone.’
Chapter 48
Ahmed stared at Fiona. He hadn’t known her long; wanted to think her outburst meant nothing, the result of some domestic spat. But the spike in tension from everyone around him was unmistakable and these were the people who knew her and Suzie well. Fiona had homed in on him as the one most likely to know something. It was true, he must be the last person here to have been in contact with her. They were all turning to him. He struggled to grab the detail from his head.
‘Two hours ago … two and a half …’ he said. ‘She was on her way to see someone and then she was going home. It was …’ He couldn’t stop a layer of rising panic obscuring the memories that should be crystal clear. He’d forgotten something vital, he knew he had. ‘On her way home … I’m sure she said it was on her way home, wherever she was going. I thought it was Stevenson but …’
He tried to imagine a map of York, but someone was ahead of him and had a road map on the desk. ‘Ayaan!’ Webber snapped. ‘Come on, you’ve been to both. Where’s Drake’s house? Where’s Stevenson’s?’
He leapt across, his stare scanning the grid, homing in. ‘There … Drake … Stevenson …’
Fiona reached forward to put her finger on the street where she and Suzie lived. There was a moment’s silence as they looked at it. It wasn’t a difficult route from Drake’s to Stevenson’s then home, but it hardly merited the comment, ‘it’s on my way’.
Ahmed thought he heard Webber murmur, ‘JB’ and looked up into his face, seeing his expression puzzled, his eyes unfocussed.
Before he could frame a question, Webber had spun round shouting for Davis and made for the window. Ahmed took a few steps in his wake trying to peer out to see what he was looking for. Davis wasn’t in the office, wasn’t in earshot.
‘You! With me.’ Webber’s finger was in his face, the words coming at him like bullets. ‘And you!’ Webber had swung round on someone else. ‘That schoolgirl from Dorset, Tilly Brown. Find out if any of her family moved back up here. Her brother in particular.’ And he was out of the office vanishing down the corridor.
Ahmed stumbled as he leapt to follow, his foot landing painfully on something hard. He kicked it aside aware of it skittering away across the floor. The toddler in Melinda Webber’s arms shouted ‘Digger,’ as its gaze tracked the small object.
He caught up with Webber at the door to the street. The cold air hit him as he stepped through. Webber stared up the road. ‘He’s only just left. I saw him.’
‘Who?’
‘Michael Drake. He was going at a snail’s pace. Can you see him?’
‘There.’ Ahmed pointed to the familiar figure of Drake striding towards the bus stop.
‘Ah, good. I thought we might have missed him.’ Webber relaxed visibly. ‘Come on, I might need you to persuade Mr Drake to answer yet more questions. I thought we were calling him a cab.’
‘What is it that …?’
But Webber had set off after Drake, stopping him with a shout. Ahmed followed. He watched Drake turn as he heard his name, then Drake saw him and his face fell.
‘Mr Ahmed, surely there’s nothing else I can tell you. I’ve spent most of the day talking to Sergeant Harmer and Inspector Davis. I really want to get home.’
‘Hello again, Michael. Um … this is Detective Superintendent Martyn Webber.’
Drake let out a resigned sigh and nodded to Webber.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Drake,’ said Webber. ‘Just one more thing. It’s about the emails that you showed Sergeant Harmer. I understand she told you she was going to go and find one of the people who’d been in touch with your wife.’
Drake opened his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘She didn’t exactly say that, but I think that’s what she meant. I told Inspector Davis. I … look I know she’s worried about Tiff, and I’m grateful for all the trouble you’ve gone to but … really, I think I should be home. What if Tiff comes back and there’s no one there?’
‘There was an email from a J Brown, I understand?’
Drake pulled his coat tight around him. ‘Yes, but I don’t know who it is. It’s one of Tiff’s friends I suppose. I told Inspector Davis, I used to know a John Brown but that was years ago. The family moved away.’
‘But this J Brown was the name that Sergeant Harmer mentioned?’
‘No … no she didn’t. I asked her not to tell me what she’d read. She didn’t say Brown, she said did I know who JB was, but I didn’t.’
‘I understand J Brown came from the email address. How did you get to see that?’
‘She left it behind.’
‘Left what behind?’
‘The email on the printer. She asked me if she could print some of them. Then after she’d gone I found that one in the tray. She’d forgotten to pick it up. I … I shouldn’t have looked at it but it I’d read it before I realised what it was.’
‘You don’t have it with you, I suppose?’
Ahmed saw Drake’s glance shoot up to meet Webber’s; saw a sudden hope spark in his face. ‘If someone drove me back I could get it for you. It’s cold to be trailing back by bus, and I’m not too good on my legs at the moment.’
‘Yes, I noticed you were very bad just outside the station,’ Webber said. ‘But you seem to be OK now.’
Ahmed was slightly shocked at the unsympathetic tone. Michael Drake just looked dejected. ‘It comes and goes,’ he murmured.
‘Didn’t DI Davis call you a cab?’
‘He offered but to be honest I just wanted to get away.’ He gave them a wintry smile. ‘I thought if I hung about waiting, you might come after me with more questions.’
‘OK,’ said Webber. ‘DC Ahmed will take you home and pick up the email.’
Michael Drake shifted his stance so he could prop his stick against the wall as he rubbed at his arms. Ahmed cupped his hands and blew into them to warm them. It was going to be a long shift. Drake picked up his stick again. The three of them turned to walk back towards the station.
‘I think … well I know she printed more than just that one,’ Michael Drake said. ‘She must have missed picking up the one at the bottom of the pile. I’m sorry, just a moment …’ They slowed. Drake paused and leant forward breathing hard.
‘Are you OK?’ from Webber.
‘I’ll just sit on the wall here and wait for you if I may.’
Ahmed saw Webber give Drake a speculative look. ‘Would you let us have a look at your wife’s computer? DC Ahmed here could bring it away with him, that way we can leave you in peace.’
‘Well …’ Drake looked up at them, lines of worry etched on his face. ‘I suppose … do you really think something’s happened to her?’
Ahmed tensed. They both knew that Drake meant Tiffany, not Suzie. ‘We’d like to find her,’ Webber said, ‘to be sure she’s safe.’
‘Well all right then, but we will get everything back, won’t we? Uh …’
‘What is it, Mr Drake?’
‘It’s … it’s Edie. Edie Stevenson. I know something’s happened to her. She’s an old friend. I should at least try to get in touch, find out how she is, only I don’t know where … what with Tiff and everything. I … uh … I was a bit sharp with her last time we spoke. It’s not that I don’t want her to be friends with Tiff, but Tiff’s easily led and with what happened …’
Ahmed felt pleased that Drake had asked the question with Webber on
hand to answer it, saving him the trouble of working out what he could safely say.
‘Miss Stevenson’s in hospital,’ Webber told him. ‘She’s injured her leg, not sure if it’s broken, but don’t worry, she’ll be fine.’
Ahmed saw relief in the way Drake’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’ll try and get in to see her tomorrow … maybe I’ll ring when I get home. I can’t go tonight. I’m all in. She’ll understand.’
‘She’s not in York,’ Webber said, ‘so I’m afraid you won’t be able to see her just yet. Let’s just concentrate on finding your wife.’
Suspicion flared in Drake’s eyes as he stared at Webber. ‘What aren’t you telling me? How bad is she? Please don’t keep things from me, it won’t help.’
Ahmed watched as Webber hesitated a moment before he spoke. ‘She’ll be fine, but the fact is that she’s currently in police custody. Now let’s get you home.’
‘I’ll nip in and get the keys,’ Ahmed said.
Webber walked with him, but glanced over his shoulder as they neared the door. ‘I’m not expecting him to do a runner,’ Webber said, ‘but I’ll keep an eye on him all the same. Don’t tell him anything else about Stevenson.’ He pointed through the glass of the entranceway to where Davis was in conversation at the desk. ‘Grab a quick word, see if there’s anything he wants you to know from his talk with Drake. Did Suzie definitely tell you she was heading for Stevenson’s?’
‘No … no, I don’t think so. I thought that’s where she was going but I can’t remember why I thought that.’ Ahmed gritted his teeth knowing he’d forgotten something obvious. Everything had happened too fast, it had knocked something vital out of his head.
‘You know what, Ayaan,’ said Webber giving a brief glance towards the hunched figure of Michael Drake sitting on the low wall. ‘I can’t imagine Suzie being careless enough to leave a printout. Do you think she left it deliberately as something she thought he should see?’
A minute later as he jogged back up the road, Ahmed saw Drake pull himself to his feet and give him a smile. ‘I’m grateful for the lift, Mr Ahmed. I hadn’t realised how cold it’s become.’
‘No problem. We’re grateful for your cooperation. I’ll pick up the printout and the computer and be out of your way quick as I can. Let’s hope it isn’t long before we find Tiffany safe and well.’
And Suzie.
Chapter 49
It wasn’t without misgivings that Webber watched Melinda and Sam walk towards the cab that had pulled up outside. It would take her to where she’d left her own car so she could pick it up. He’d talked her through a circuitous route home that would bypass each of the three targeted junctions. She’d pursed her lips but had promised to follow it. Webber was thankful enough to think they’d soon be safe at home that he didn’t care he had no more than an outline of what had happened.
The headline was that Edith Stevenson had tried to act out some kind of doomsday scenario in which she disposed of a stack of incriminating evidence and then herself. But Melinda had called on her old press contacts. Working on a hunch from things Joyce had told her, she’d tried to set up some kind of stunt to stop Stevenson in her tracks. Stevenson had summoned Joyce Yeatman to pull her into the plan – maybe Joyce had always been a part of it – but Joyce had been wary, had taken Melinda with her. And once Stevenson had found Mel in the equation she’d taken off. He wasn’t clear why Stevenson had been in Yeatman’s car and Melinda in Stevenson’s; or why Mel couldn’t have rung it all in earlier and saved a lot of angst, but she was safe now, that was the main thing.
He wished he could go with her now, but he had to stay behind because Suzie might be missing.
On the face of it Melinda was understanding, one of their own under attack, all personal agendas squashed. She’d offered to draft out her own preliminary statement while things were fresh in her mind, said she’d come back in a day or two for an official chat. She’d even taken semi-charge of Fiona, organising someone to look after her. He could see everyone applauding her professionalism, they all knew the score. She would hold a team together well once she was back in the job, her promotion secured. He let out a sigh. It was the perfect act to give her the moral high ground but he might yet have to pay for it behind closed doors.
He’d wanted to hear that Joyce Yeatman had shown her the suicide note, but she hadn’t. Melinda now thought Joyce had destroyed it years ago. Joyce had confessed that instead of rushing to her friend’s aid the moment she realised what the note implied, she’d sat and read it through. Her next action had been to remove the final page because of whatever it had said – presumably about Gary, but she was still being cagey about its exact contents. Whatever it had said, it had shocked her into building the story she’d stuck to for years, the story of rushing to find her friend, no thought for the contents of the note.
‘Clears up the mystery of why it was unsigned,’ Melinda had told him as she’d packed up Sam’s toys, ‘but she wouldn’t tell me what that last page said. Anyway you’ve got the gist and Ayaan Ahmed has the detail.’
But he couldn’t get the story from Ahmed yet because Ahmed was with Drake getting the information that would find Suzie.
With Sam and his miniature cars gone, the station was back at work, doing what they had to do. There was nothing left for Webber that wasn’t already being done, nothing he could settle to. He’d wanted to go out and get Mel, not wait here for her to come to him. He felt the same restless urge for Suzie. He wanted to be out there looking for her, not sitting at a desk directing operations. This team barely needed direction. It was nothing to do with it being Suzie. He’d have felt the same whichever of them it had been.
He dipped back into the recordings. At least the headphones were a physical shackle to his desk that stopped him hassling people who didn’t need him at their shoulders.
He listened to Michael Drake tell Davis all about the old school network, noting a marked difference between Drake talking about Pamela Morgan and Tilly Brown. The man clearly idolised Pamela and hated Tilly. Webber knew from the record that both women, girls they’d have been then, were academically so far ahead of Drake as to be out of sight, but Webber’s impression, putting together all the scraps they’d learnt about the quintets, was that Michael and Tilly had always butted heads, and Pamela had always supported him. Jack Meyer, the retired teacher, had commented about them being a more cohesive group once Tilly had gone.
Pamela had shelled out serious money to both Michael Drake and Edith Stevenson. He wondered what Robert Morgan had thought about it. Ahmed had noted bits and pieces about the Drakes; that they were Charlie Sheen fans, that the first Mrs Drake had been older than her husband and the second considerably younger. There was no record of the first Mrs Drake’s feelings towards Pamela Morgan but Tiffany had referred to her as Saint bloody Pamela. It was clear Drake continued to venerate her. What wasn’t clear was how that helped to find out who had killed Robert Morgan or where Suzie had gone. His gut told him that one of them knew something, probably Edith Stevenson, but he couldn’t race across to Hull on the off chance of being allowed to try and wrest the information from her, and he had nothing solid to pass on to a nearer colleague.
The key would be in Tiffany Drake’s emails. He’d listened to everything Drake had had to say to Davis on that score. The recordings sat open on the screen in front of him. The obvious liars were Joyce Yeatman about the note, Brad Tippet about the car and China Kowalski about the rocking horse. He wondered about Kowalski. Could she be tied into Tilly Brown’s disappearance? But it had been talk of the horse that seemed to bug her, not the bits and pieces that had turned up in the grave. His instinct was to dismiss it as some childhood misdemeanour that still played on her conscience. She’d sought out the Tippets and gone to some trouble to talk to John Farrar’s father. On impulse he looked out Tippet’s number and clicked it into the phone.
It was Brad Tippet who answered. Webber recognised the voice. He toyed with asking to speak to Brad’s son, but
decided against it. He’d never met the son, and would rather their first encounter was face to face. Brad was startled to know who was calling then his tone brightened. Clearly he thought Webber had uncovered something to further one of his vendettas. Webber wondered which of them Tippet most wanted to topple, Drake or Farrar.
‘It’s just a bit of a loose end, Mr Tippet. All those years ago when your car was stolen you said you thought it was your brother-in-law.’
An irritable humph. ‘No one ever fully convinced me it wasn’t.’
‘I was just looking back at the record. That car, the Ford Tempo, you bought it some years after your sister died.’
‘I can’t give you dates, Superintendent, not just off the top of my head at this hour on a Friday, you’d have to give me time to look out the documents.’
Webber felt his eyebrows rise a little. It fitted his image of Tippet that the man would hoard paperwork. ‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘It’s that Drake wouldn’t have had keys. After all it was your sister who had keys, and those were for your previous car.’
‘Yes, he had keys.’ A note of triumph. ‘Has he told you differently? He’s lying.’
‘He hasn’t told me anything about it, Mr Tippet. I haven’t asked him. Why did he have keys?’
‘Oh … well … I gave him a set. Now if that’s all …’ Tippet tried to make it a casual throwaway remark, but Webber heard a sudden uncertainty beneath it – had Tippet only just now given this memory proper scrutiny?
‘You gave him a set?’ Webber spoke firmly, ignoring Tippet’s aborted attempt to end the call. ‘Why on earth would you do that? Did you want him driving your car?’
‘No, of course not. It was … it was for Tina. She’d have wanted me to.’
Webber bit back a snort of incredulity. Tina Tippet was eight years dead before her brother changed cars. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said brightly, as though he’d swallowed the lie whole. ‘That explains it.’ The ghost of a sigh signalled Tippet releasing a held breath. This wasn’t one to take any further without Tippet face to face and officially on record. He cast about for a red-herring to toss into the mix. ‘And that insurance policy,’ he said. ‘Why did your sister go with you to the broker rather than going with her husband?’
