Out of Sight

by Paul Gitsham

  ‘Any suggestion what that dirty laundry might be?’ asked Sutton, although they could all guess.

  ‘That Anish was probably gay, and that his father was not supportive.’

  ‘If the home life was so bad, why did they stay with him?’ asked Ruskin.

  ‘Well, she says that Suniti probably held the family together. Gotam adored his wife – that was obvious to anyone who saw them together. But the two older sons did leave, as soon as they got married. Only Reva and Anish were left. Apparently they pumped significant amounts of money into converting the barn into a house, which Reva moved into as soon as she got married. She had a look around when it was completed and said it is absolutely stunning.’

  ‘I’d be interested to know if Reva and her husband are living there rent-free,’ interjected Pymm. ‘That might explain why she stays – how else could she afford somewhere that nice, in that area?’

  ‘We know her mum was still alive when she got married,’ said Sutton. ‘Things might not have been so bad when she moved into the barn.’

  ‘The neighbour did say that Reva was very close to her mother, as was Anish.’

  ‘Which explains why Reva stayed, but what about Anish?’ said Ruskin. ‘He lived in the house with his father for months after his mum died.’

  ‘We know Anish was a spendthrift; it may have taken him that long to raise money for a deposit on his own place,’ said Hutchinson.

  ‘All of which would have given his father ample motive to kill him back when they lived together,’ said Warren. ‘But he moved out over a year ago; that’s a long time to hold a grudge. If Reva Vasava is right, and her father was responsible for his death, then whatever precipitated that event must have been more recent.’

  ‘His engagement,’ said Sutton.

  Chapter 12

  It was late evening when Warren’s office phone rang; it was Sutton, calling on his mobile. ‘They’re just finishing up the forensics at Anish Patel’s flat. Andy Harrison is here with me.’

  Warren motioned for the rest of the team to join him in the briefing room, where he initiated a conference call with the crime scene manager and Sutton.

  ‘First off, there are some unknown partial fingerprints on the handles to the front door and the bedroom,’ said Harrison.

  ‘Separate from Anish’s?’ asked Warren.

  ‘We think so; I reckon we have examples of all ten of his prints. His bathroom only had a single electric toothbrush, so we lifted fingerprints from that on the assumption that they are his. Those match fingerprints on the TV remote control, his tablet and some of the clean crockery in the kitchen cupboard.’

  ‘The neighbour down the hall doesn’t recall him ever getting visitors,’ interjected Sutton. ‘At least nobody at the weekends or the evenings. There could have been people during the day when he was at work, but he’s pretty confident that he didn’t have a boyfriend or girlfriend staying regularly.’

  ‘I could accept the postman or a delivery driver, or even somebody taking a meter reading, touching the front door,’ continued Harrison. ‘But why would they touch the bedroom door handle? Unfortunately, they are too smudged to run them through the system as a blind hit. It’ll throw up hundreds of potential matches.’

  ‘What if we had a suspect to compare against?’ asked Warren.

  He could hear Harrison sucking his teeth on the end of the line. ‘I doubt it would stand up in court, but we might be able to eyeball a partial match for exclusionary purposes.’

  ‘What about this woman that he was supposed to have met online?’ said Ruskin. ‘Maybe she came by, or maybe his sister helped him move in?’

  ‘Or the killer could have been there to remove any evidence,’ said Sutton. ‘We still haven’t found his keys, wallet or phone yet.’

  ‘We’ll run them against any suspects that we find, and his family and friends if they’ll let us print them,’ decided Warren. ‘What else have you found?’

  ‘His sister says that he was ill over the weekend,’ said Sutton.

  ‘Yes, the flu. He also texted work on the Friday and again on the Saturday to say he wouldn’t be in,’ recalled Warren.

  ‘Well it doesn’t look as though he went out Friday night,’ said Sutton. ‘There was an unused ticket pinned to his notice board for a James Bond-themed evening at the community cinema. Thirty-five quid for two classic Bond movies, with a cocktail bar and canapés, and special guests. He has a black tuxedo with a bow-tie hanging on the back of the bedroom door. He even had a plastic gun.’

  ‘I saw that on his Facebook feed,’ said Ruskin. ‘He was really excited about it. He must have been properly ill not to have gone.’

  ‘And he’ll have been gutted to miss it,’ said Pymm. ‘I read about it in the Reporter. The mystery guests included two former Bond girls, who signed memorabilia and mingled with the guests afterwards.’

  Warren looked at his team. ‘Are you all thinking what I’m thinking?’ he asked.

  ‘We know he went to work Thursday,’ said Sutton.

  ‘Nobody actually spoke to him when he texted work to say he was ill Friday,’ continued Pymm, ‘and he didn’t answer when his sister called. And now we know he missed an evening out that he’d been looking forward to for weeks.’

  ‘So he could have been killed Thursday evening or Friday,’ concluded Warren. ‘Which would mean the texts sent from his phone on the Saturday were sent by his killer.’

  Friday 2nd December

  Chapter 13

  Friday morning started off bitterly cold, and Warren had taken extra care driving into work. He’d arrived well before dawn, pulling into the car park at the same time as Moray Ruskin who, as usual, hadn’t let a little bit of ice get in the way of his triathlon training. The steam was rising off his colleague as he locked his bicycle up. Warren felt cold just looking at him.

  David Hutchinson opened the briefing. ‘We’ve traced the hotel. Cambridgeshire Commercial Laundry Services have identified the tag on the bed sheet as coming from the Easy Break Hotel out on the A506.’

  Warren knew the establishment. Situated roughly halfway between Middlesbury and Cambridge, it was a small, independent hotel with conference facilities and cheap rooms for travellers on a low budget.

  ‘Are we confident that the sheet came from the hotel, not the laundry firm?’ asked Sutton.

  ‘I asked them to check their inventory logs and they claim that they count each item in and out. No discrepancies.’

  ‘Is that location consistent with the data from his phone?’ asked Warren.

  ‘No,’ said, Pymm. ‘The handset was turned off Thursday evening, so we don’t have anything from then. The next time it was turned on was briefly Friday morning near his flat, when he texted work.’

  ‘Karen, go to the hotel and show staff a copy of the photograph the Patels gave us,’ instructed Warren. ‘If he did stay there, seal the room he stayed in and secure any CCTV footage. Let’s try and work out when he was there and if he was with anyone. It can’t be a coincidence that his body was wrapped in a sheet from the hotel. Either he was killed there or his killer has a link to the hotel.

  ‘We also need to try and pin down a timeline for when he was last physically seen, text messages aren’t good enough. Also see if his car is there, we still haven’t tracked that down. Anything else from the location data, Rachel?’

  ‘Still analysing in detail, but so far, the brothers’ movements match what they told us,’ she replied, ‘as do their dad and sister’s. Working during the week and home in the evening. Reva and her father popped out on the Thursday and Friday respectively to the supermarket.’

  Warren considered what she’d told him. As an alibi, mobile phone movements were hardly watertight, but at least they hadn’t caught any of them out in an obvious lie.

  ‘I’ve also been doing some more digging into Gotam Patel’s finances,’ said Pymm. ‘First of all, the family businesses have a very impressive turnover.’

  Warren looked at the spreads
heet displayed on the main screen.

  He let out a low whistle. ‘You’re not kidding – it’s like he’s printing money. And presumably, his kids stand to inherit the lot when he dies?’

  ‘Yes, and that’s just his liquid assets. Almost all of these businesses are turning a significant profit. I’m no expert, but if the kids don’t fancy continuing his empire after he passes, they could sell them as going concerns for a very tidy sum. He really knows how to make money: launderettes in areas where the residents are unlikely to own a washing machine, the only newsagent-cum-grocery store in a neighbourhood, dry cleaning firms close to train and bus stations to capture business commuters. He has a real eye for choosing the most attractive locations. They also make Indian snacks that they sell through their shops and other local businesses; samosas, bhajis, pakoras, that sort of thing, under the brand name “Suniti’s Sundries”. It looks as though Reva worked with her mum and then continued after she died.’

  ‘Well, that certainly makes his inheritance worth fighting for,’ said Sutton. ‘I’ve seen people killed for far less than that.’

  ‘There’s more,’ said Pymm. ‘We know that he pumped some serious money into that barn he converted for Reva to live in with her husband, including a professional kitchen. It turns out he also pays the mortgage on both his son’s houses. And the lease on all three kids’ cars.’

  ‘Sounds like daddy loves his children very much,’ said Sutton, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘Who cares if he’s a nasty piece of work if he’s throwing money at you?’

  ‘What about Anish?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Nothing that I can find,’ said Pymm.

  ‘Well, you’d think that they’d be a bit more generous about sharing their inheritance,’ said Hutchinson. ‘But then I suppose greed is like that.’

  ‘His brothers and sister may well figure that given how hard they’ve worked to help build the family business, Anish doesn’t deserve any part of it,’ Warren said. ‘Which to my mind gives them all a pretty strong motive for not wanting him to get married and have kids.’

  Warren headed back to his office and dialled an extension at Welwyn from memory.

  ‘How are you doing with Anish Patel’s tablet, Pete?’

  Warren didn’t like badgering his colleagues in the forensic IT department, but he knew from experience that the explosion of digital evidence in recent years meant that even priority cases like murder investigations could find themselves sliding down the job list.

  He could hear Robertson sigh at the end of the phone.

  ‘We’re on it. We’ve managed to bypass the lock code, and we’re making a copy of its storage as we speak. I’ll get it to you later today.’

  That was quicker than Warren had hoped for, and he thanked Robertson.

  ‘Are you able to access his email and app usage?’

  ‘Yes, he uses push notifications, so there’s no need to enter his passwords again.’

  ‘Has he installed any extra apps?’

  ‘How did I know you were going to ask that?’ said Robertson. ‘Hang on, let me have a look.’

  There was the sound of plastic on wood as Robertson placed the handset down on his table, followed by the sound of rustling. Warren could picture Robertson moving around his tiny office. It never ceased to amaze him how someone so tall and ungainly could work in such cramped conditions.

  ‘OK, let’s see what we have here,’ said Robertson, his voice suddenly very loud. Warren could hear his breathing down the line, as he balanced the handset between his ear and his shoulder.

  ‘It’s a Samsung tablet; most of the apps are the pre-installed ones. Let’s see what he’s added. Hmm, Netflix, Amazon and BBC iPlayer,’ Robertson made a humming noise. ‘This sounds interesting. Rainbow Hookups – that’s a new one on me; looks like some sort of dating app for the LGBTQ community. And another one, this one’s called Bespoke Pairings. According to the description, it’s some sort of matching service for people looking for non-romantic, long-term partners.’

  In the background, Warren could hear the rapid clicking of computer keys.

  ‘Well I never, you learn a new thing every day,’ said Robertson.

  ‘Go on,’ said Warren, trying not to sound impatient.

  ‘According to the site, it specialises in setting up couples who need a partner for appearance’s sake. There are a number of options on the search page, such as heterosexual or same-sex partners. You can even specify if you are looking for marriage, open relationships or companionship, with a tick box for whether you wish to enter a sexual relationship. Looking at the app on his tablet, he’s a subscriber to the Pro edition, which allows users to get matches and make contact.’

  ‘Bingo,’ said Warren. It looked as though they had found a way of identifying Anish’s lady friend.

  Chapter 14

  Bella, the receptionist at the Easy Break Hotel, squinted at the photograph of Anish Patel for several seconds, before nodding her confirmation.

  ‘I didn’t recognise him at first,’ she said. ‘He usually has his hood up.’

  ‘Usually? Is he a regular?’ asked Hardwick.

  ‘Yeah, he stays about once a month.’ She frowned for a second. ‘He checks in under the name of Mr Smith.’

  ‘Mr Smith?’ Anish was of Indian heritage, ‘Smith’ seemed an unlikely alias.

  ‘Yes. He just turns up and pays cash.’ She lowered her voice slightly. ‘He’s a bit of an oddball, to be honest. Pleasant enough, but he doesn’t stick around for the free breakfast or come down to the bar. He just takes his keycard and goes straight to his room.’

  ‘Would you be able to confirm when he last stayed here?’

  ‘Of course.’ She turned to her computer. ‘I’m sure I saw him recently.’

  She tapped away for a few seconds. ‘Yeah, we’ve had two bookings under Smith this month, but one was a couple who pre-booked through Expedia. The other one paid cash on Thursday the 24th of November. That’s your man, I reckon.’

  ‘Was he alone?’ asked Hardwick.

  ‘That’s what he said. We offer free breakfast for all guests, so we ask how many occupants are in each room,’ she paused. ‘And for fire safety of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Hardwick. ‘But he didn’t have breakfast?’

  ‘No, so he could have had a whole circus troop in there and we’d never have known,’ she laughed for a few seconds, before falling silent.

  ‘How long did he stay?’

  ‘Just the one night.’ She moved the mouse. ‘No bar tab or room service because he didn’t use a credit card.’

  ‘Isn’t that unusual, not insisting on a credit card?’

  The receptionist paused and glanced over her shoulder. ‘To be honest, we can’t afford to turn customers away. We took a bit of a kicking on TripAdvisor after a food hygiene incident last year; we’re still struggling to recover. Bloody online review sites. The owners completely gutted the kitchen afterwards, but mud sticks.’

  Hardwick said nothing. She remembered reading about the ‘incident’ in the local paper. Two dozen extremely sick wedding guests – three requiring hospital treatment – after a badly prepared buffet. An inspection had revealed a raft of failings and poor practice in the kitchen and it had very nearly been shut down. Perhaps that was why Anish decided to forgo the complimentary breakfast.

  ‘Do you remember seeing him when he checked out?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t have been on shift then.’ She pointed to a letter box on a table opposite the desk, a brightly coloured poster next to it exhorting guests to follow the hotel on Facebook and leave a comment on TripAdvisor. ‘Besides, he won’t have had any outstanding payments, so he could just drop the card in there and leave.’

  ‘Do you have a record of the room he stayed in?’

  ‘Yes, 201.’ She looked at her computer. ‘That’s another weird thing about him. He always insists on staying in the same room.’

  ‘Any reason why?’

  ‘Not a bloody clue.
We only have two types of room, family and twin slash double, and they’re all the same. I’m sure I remember Juanita, the other receptionist, saying that he was quite agitated a few months ago when 201 was already booked out. He ended up staying in 202 across the corridor. Like I said, he was a weird one. Donnie, the manager, reckons he’s a spy; always pays cash, insists on the same room, never comes out. I reckon he’s just a nutter.’

  A search of Anish’s flat had revealed it to be full of spy memorabilia, and his sister had mentioned that he was a keen James Bond fan. Hardwick thought it more likely that Anish had enjoyed a bit of harmless role-playing.

  ‘Has the room been let out since?’ Hardwick held her breath; it had been eight days since Anish had checked in.

  She manipulated the mouse again.

  ‘Yes, sorry. There was a booking the night after he stayed, and there’s an American couple in there now. They’ve been booked in for three nights, with one more left. I think they’re visiting Cambridge.’

  Hardwick sighed. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask that they are moved out, and the room sealed until my colleagues arrive.’

  ‘You are joking?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Shit, Donnie is going to do his nut. The last thing we need is more crappy reviews on TripAdvisor.’

  Hardwick gave an apologetic shrug. ‘And I’m going to have to ask for any CCTV footage that you have from his stay.’

  ‘It just gets better,’ she muttered as she went off to find her manager.

  ‘I’ve sealed the hotel room that Anish Patel stayed in, and I’m having a quick look at the CCTV before it’s taken away for Mags’ team in Welwyn to look at properly,’ said Hardwick. Her eyes felt gritty from another sleepless night with Ollie and the grainy footage had hardly helped matters. She stifled a yawn. The office behind the reception desk was over-heated and cramped; she was glad that Moray Ruskin hadn’t come with her – he’d probably have had to wait outside.