He looked serious again for a moment. ‘We have to remember to tread carefully. We’re only here at the invitation of Majorca’s Director General of Police and he’s made it crystal clear that the local coppers in Saros aren’t happy about it. That, coupled with the fact Brexit has made us pariahs in Europe, means one toe out of line and we’re on the next flight home. So don’t forget that when you’re dealing with these people. We’ve got to play nice.’
‘That’s going to be tough with the next one on your list, boss,’ said Shah, looking troubled.
‘Who is it?’ asked Maggie.
‘A taxi driver whose brother happened to be Saros’s Chief of Police.’
16
An hour later Maggie found herself walking back along the seafront towards Orquídea, her pace far brisker than it had been before breakfast. She was on her way to speak to a witness called Annika Lindstrøm, who had lived in Saros for two decades and now owned a restaurant that was part of the Orquídea complex. The reason Walker was keen for them to revisit the woman’s statement was that she claimed to have seen Katy crying on the seafront the day before she went missing. The girl had been so distressed that Annika was compelled to go over and check that she was okay and Katy apparently told her she’d had a row with her mother about her relationship with Declan – something Patricia vehemently denied when questioned.
As she hurried to her destination, Maggie reflected on how many people Walker wanted them to re-interview in the few days they were in Saros. As well as Evans, Ruiz, the taxi driver – who had a previous conviction for spiking the drink of a girl similar in age to Katy so he could assault her in his cab – the two other known sex offenders and Annika, there were six other locals on his list. The statements of those six had been less helpful to the inquiry – one was from a woman who worked in a swimwear shop near the marina who thought she saw Katy leave the beach the day she went missing, but was only eighty per cent sure – but Walker wanted them checked again. He wanted to light a fire under Saros during the anniversary to flush out the killer if, as he’d threatened in his emails, he did return.
With so much to accomplish, Maggie had to hope she could still be the FLO the Popes needed her to be. Patricia had summoned her to her own briefing at eleven – she didn’t quite label their meeting like that, but it was obvious that’s what she meant when she said she had an itinerary of tasks she wanted to discuss. It was nine thirty now, so Maggie should have enough time to talk to Annika, provided she was free, and get to the Popes’ apartment in time for eleven. Maggie hated to think what Patricia’s reaction would be if she didn’t.
Fortunately for her, Annika was available to chat when she arrived at the restaurant, which was barnacled to the side of Orquídea but separated from the inner sanctum of the complex by a security gate. In the five minutes Maggie sat waiting for Annika to join her she watched four guests struggle to remember the code to pass through it. One waited until someone walked out in the opposite direction so they could hold the gate open, and the other three waited until a person who did know the code let them in after them. As security gates went, it wasn’t the most secure.
Eventually she saw Annika approaching, carrying two tall glasses filled with water and ice.
‘I thought you might want this,’ she said, handing Maggie the glass.
She was a striking-looking woman, with silver-grey hair that trailed down to her waist and green, cat-like eyes framed by dark, thick brows. Despite the grey hair, she was only in her early forties, maybe younger, and she had the kind of slim, firm body that suggested a devotion to yoga or Pilates.
‘Your hair colour is amazing,’ Maggie blurted out. ‘Is it dyed?’
Annika laughed. ‘No, it’s all mine. I started going grey at fifteen. By twenty-two I decided there was no point fighting what you cannot help. So I stopped dyeing it.’ She wound a thick strand round her finger and examined it. ‘I’m lucky it went silver and not witchy-white.’
Twenty years of living on Majorca had done nothing to eradicate Annika’s Swedish accent.
‘So, how can I help you, officer?’
‘Myself and three colleagues are in Saros for the tenth anniversary of Katy—’
Annika cut her off with a smile.
‘The entire town knows you’re here. It’s all anyone’s been talking about for days. It’s caused quite the stir.’
‘I take it not in a good way?’
‘You guess correctly. People are frightened by the presence of the British police. It has taken Saros a long time to recover from what happened,’ she said solemnly. ‘The murder of a tourist was very, very bad for business. The summer afterwards, bookings were down by two-thirds and not just amongst the British. The Germans, French and Dutch stopped coming too. Bars and restaurants that had been in families for generations closed down and people were forced to move to other towns for work.’
‘We don’t mean to upset anyone by being here,’ said Maggie. ‘But the killer is still out there and he needs to be caught.’
Annika nodded. ‘The people of Saros would like nothing more. We see the Popes here every year and our hearts break for them. But don’t expect people to welcome you and your colleagues with open arms is all I’m saying.’
‘Well, I’m pleased you’re a friendly face at least,’ said Maggie. She pulled some stapled-together pages from her bag. ‘I have your statement here from ten years ago. Can I ask you some questions about it?’
‘Of course.’
Back at the hotel, Maggie had highlighted some sections.
‘Had you come across Katy before you saw her crying on the seafront the day before she went missing?’
Annika’s eyes narrowed.
‘Did I know her already? No.’
‘So you went over purely because she was crying?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Actually, your statement implies you recognized her.’
‘What?’
Maggie read from the paper: ‘I could see she was crying, so I went over and said, “Katy, what’s wrong?”’
Annika shook her head.
‘I didn’t know her name when I went over. They’ve got that wrong.’
‘It’s my understanding that your original statement was recorded in Spanish and translated into Swedish so you could sign it,’ said Maggie, remembering what Shah had told her. Paulson hadn’t been joking when he said Shah really did know everything about the investigation. ‘This is a copy of the one you signed and this here,’ she held up three more sheets, ‘is the same statement translated into English.’
‘I think I would’ve noticed an error like that. Can I see it?’
Maggie handed her the Swedish version. Annika lifted the first two sheets to check the third.
‘That’s not my signature.’
Now it was Maggie’s turn to exclaim. ‘What?’
‘It’s not even close to what mine looks like.’ Annika took the pen tucked in the waistband of her denim cut-offs and signed her name in the notebook she used for taking orders. She held both notebook and statement up to Maggie: she was right, the signatures didn’t match by any stretch. Then she laid the notebook on the table and turned back to the first page of the statement. ‘I think I should read the rest,’ she said.
‘Please do.’
Three times Annika muttered ‘I didn’t say that’ under her breath as she read. When she reached the end and looked up, her green eyes flashed with anger. ‘It’s not an entire work of fiction, but details have been added that I most definitely did not say.’ She turned to page two and stabbed a paragraph with her finger. ‘Here, when I talk about Katy telling me she’d argued with her parents, I never said it was about her boyfriend, Declan. She never mentioned Declan’s name. I didn’t know what it was until I read it in the paper.’
‘But she did say there had been a row?’
‘Yes, about a boy her parents didn’t want her hanging around with. But she never said the words boyfriend or Declan.’
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‘So it could’ve been anyone?’
‘Yes. Please, tell me, how is it possible the police I spoke to got this wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Maggie, careful not to make any comments or judgements about the local police’s handling of the investigation that might end up being gossiped around town. ‘Were you given a copy of your statement to sign and read?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t this one.’
It was a sobering accusation and one Maggie couldn’t wait to feed back to Walker. If the version of Annika’s statement that had been passed to Operation Pivot by the Spanish police was at best incorrect and at worst had been doctored, it might not be the only one.
‘What else is wrong with it?’ she asked.
‘It’s missing what Katy told me about her mother: she was frightened of her. Katy said she had a secret that if her mother found out she would be very angry, but she didn’t say what it was and I certainly didn’t push it. But she was very upset. It took me ages to get the poor girl to stop crying.’
Maggie suspected the secret might’ve been the termination they now knew Katy had undergone four months before her death. Declan had confirmed it to them in a conversation he’d had with Walker after forwarding the DCI the email from [email protected].
‘Katy’s mum denied any row took place the day before she went missing.’
‘I had a mother who was also a narcissist and that’s what she would do – deny, deny, deny. Nothing was ever her fault.’ Annika suddenly appeared downcast. ‘I told Katy she needed to learn to stand up to her mother, because she was nearly an adult and would soon be free to make her own choices, so she should get used to saying no to her. As I say, my mother was the same, so I recognized how Katy was feeling. That’s why I ended up here, thousands of miles away from my homeland.’
She picked at the edge of the table. ‘I thought I was helping the girl’s self-esteem, but then I heard it was because they’d had another row that Katy had stormed off the beach the day she went missing. If I hadn’t told her to stand up for herself, she might not have left and then she’d have been safe.’
‘You can’t torture yourself wondering. Katy could easily have found another reason to leave the beach. She might—’ Maggie stopped as an idea exploded in her mind. ‘The boy she rowed with her mum about: did she say anything else about him to you?’
Annika thought for a moment. ‘Nothing specific. I only recall her saying her mum thought he looked like trouble.’
‘Did it sound like he was someone Katy already knew, back home in England?’
Annika’s features shifted, a spark of realization lifting them. ‘You know what, no, it didn’t. The way Katy spoke it sounded like someone she’d met in Saros.’
Maggie fought to hide her elation. This could be significant: Katy had met someone on the holiday her mother disapproved of who wasn’t Declan – what if that boy, whoever he was, was the person who killed her?
But the question that really needed answering was why Patricia had never once mentioned him.
17
Maggie made it to the Popes’ apartment with only a minute to spare, so there wasn’t time to call Walker and brief him on her conversation with Annika. Patricia needed to be tackled again on that row in the light of Annika claiming it was about an unknown male and not Declan, but because she had already denied it ever happening Maggie wasn’t sure she should be the one to broach it. As she pressed the buzzer outside the apartment door, she decided she would hold off raising it until she’d spoken to Walker first. Being FLO to the Popes was, she was coming to realize, unlike any other case she’d worked as family liaison: dealing with a highly experienced ex-senior officer was a minefield.
Patricia opened the door with more enthusiasm than she had the first day they’d met in Crystal Palace.
‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘That would be great, thank you.’
This was promising: Patricia appeared to be in a good mood.
Maggie followed her into a long room that housed both the lounge and the dining area. The first thing she noticed was that the air con was on an arctic setting and the second was the presence of George Pope. He was on the sofa in shorts and a T-shirt and, as Patricia ushered her closer, Maggie could see that the thick golden hairs on his legs were standing to attention from the chill.
‘Nice to see you again, Maggie,’ he said, smiling widely.
‘You too,’ she said awkwardly.
They hadn’t spoken since Gatwick, although she had seen him since arriving in Saros. She’d sidestepped getting into a conversation with him, feeling unsettled in his company and not wanting to think about why.
‘How’s your hotel?’ he asked.
The unobjectionable question relaxed her a little.
‘It’s fine, actually. How’s everything here?’ She glanced across to the door that led to the kitchen, where Patricia was now preparing a fresh pot of coffee. ‘How are your parents coping?’
‘Mum like the Trojan she always is. As you can see, she’s been busy.’ George nodded at the coffee table in front of him. It was covered in flyers with his sister’s face on them; some of the wording was Spanish, the rest English.
‘I can help her put those up,’ said Maggie.
‘She’d appreciate that. We want to cover as much ground as possible.’ He moved a pile of flyers off the seat next to him. ‘Here, sit down.’
Maggie lowered herself onto the sofa but stayed perched on the edge.
‘I don’t bite,’ he grinned. ‘Well, only at a full moon and on Bank Holidays.’
Maggie ignored the comment. ‘How’s your dad?’
‘Wishing he was anywhere but here, but he’s being stoic about it for Mum’s sake.’
‘What about you? Do you find it as hard coming back?’
His face fell.
‘Fuck, yes. I hate it as much as Dad does. Being here makes me absolutely loathe summer and Katy wouldn’t have wanted that. It was our favourite time of year as kids. Do you have any siblings?’
‘Yes, a sister.’
‘Make the most of having her,’ he said softly. ‘I took mine for granted like all siblings do; now I’d give anything for just five minutes again with her.’
He turned his head away swiftly to hide his tears. ‘Sorry,’ he said, wiping them away with the backs of his hands. ‘Normally I’m fine talking about her, but everything is amplified being here.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Maggie. ‘It’s a tough week for you.’
George reached across and squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you.’
Blushing scarlet, Maggie pulled away as Patricia came in with a tray of cups and a full coffee pot. She sprang to her feet. ‘Here, let me take that.’
‘I’ll just clear these away and you can set it down on the table,’ Patricia said.
As his mum gathered up the flyers, Maggie could sense George was staring at her. She glanced over at him and he smiled. Two of the cups clacked together as the tray wobbled in her grasp.
A few minutes later the three of them were sat discussing the memorial service as they sipped their coffee. When Maggie enquired after Philip, Patricia told her he’d gone for a walk. It struck Maggie that he appeared to have little say in what went on in his daughter’s name – or perhaps he preferred it that way.
‘So, how are matters progressing your end?’ asked Patricia, once they’d covered the topic of who locally had been invited. The British Consul in Palma had confirmed a representative would be present but it sounded as though Patricia was pinning her hopes on the mayor of Saros being there.
‘We’ve been busy,’ said Maggie, fearing it was a trick question and whatever she said would be the wrong answer.
‘Doing what?’
‘DCI Walker has drawn up a list of witnesses from ten years ago he wants us to re-interview. People who still live in the area.’
Patricia looked pleased. ‘Good. Who is on the list?’
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br /> ‘It’s probably best if DCI Walker briefs you,’ said Maggie politely. ‘You may have questions for him that I’m unable to answer right now.’
Patricia steadied her gaze.
‘A FLO is meant to be the conduit between the Senior Investigating Officer and the family of the deceased. It is the job of the FLO to make sure information sought by the relatives is addressed quickly and answered to their satisfaction,’ she said in a slow, measured tone.
Maggie couldn’t believe it. The woman was actually quoting from the Met’s family liaison guidelines. She decided to fight fire with fire; she might not remember the section verbatim, but she remembered enough to make it sound as convincing.
‘There may be times when a FLO is unable to share information with the family because it may jeopardize future criminal proceedings, but they should always make it clear when that is the case,’ she replied evenly.
Unless she was mistaken, Patricia’s mouth almost twitched into a smile. George, on the other hand, showed no such restraint.
‘Touché,’ he laughed. ‘So, does that mean there might be something, but you can’t tell us yet?’
As openings went, it was a good one: George had given Maggie the opportunity to jump straight in and tell them what Annika had said. But she held back, knowing Walker should be briefed first. There was a reason that nowhere in the case file did it mention that Patricia and Katy had rowed about another boy and not Declan Morris the day before her disappearance. Patricia would’ve known that was a crucial fact, so if she was withholding on them that needed looking into as much as the row itself. Maggie also wondered what Philip Pope might have to say about it now.
‘It means we’ve only just started re-interviewing, but we will share the information we gather when we can. The point I was trying to make is that if you,’ she addressed this directly to Patricia, ‘want to know who is on the list, it really should come directly from DCI Walker.’
Dead Guilty Page 7
