by Sally Rigby
‘I don’t know what you mean. We have photographs of all the students on record, so I wouldn’t need to keep any.’
She opened the file in front of her and pulled out the photos of Millie and Olivia. ‘In that case, please can you tell me why we found these on your laptop? For the recording, I’m showing Mr Vaughan photographs of Millie Carter and Olivia Griffin.’ She slid the photos across the table and allowed a tiny smile to escape her lips.
Colour drained from Vaughan’s face. He looked at his solicitor.
‘You don’t have to answer,’ Anders said.
‘You don’t,’ she agreed. ‘But I strongly advise you do. It won’t look good if you don’t.’
‘No comment,’ Vaughan said.
She opened the file again and pulled out photos of women tied up in a variety of positions. ‘Okay. What about these?’ She pushed the photos towards him.
Vaughan stared at the them and then looked up at her. ‘No comment,’ he said weakly.
She let out a long sigh. ‘Kevin. You’re really not helping your case. Let me make it clear, none of these images are illegal. All we want from you is an explanation as to why you have them on your laptop. Do you get off on seeing women tied up?’
‘No comment,’ Vaughan repeated.
‘Does it make you feel manly? Do you like having control over women?’ she persisted, the tone of her voice getting colder with each word she spoke.
‘No comment.’
‘And why the images of Millie and Olivia? Did you fancy them? Did you want to take them out? Maybe tie them up and take photos of them to add to your collection?’
‘No comment. No comment. No comment!’ Vaughan shouted, banging his hand on the table.
Anders rested his hand on Vaughan’s arm. ‘That’s enough, detective,’ the solicitor said.
‘All I want is an answer to my questions,’ she said, her voice steady and calm. ‘Kevin. I’ll ask you again. Why do you have photos of Millie Carter and Olivia Griffin on your laptop?’
‘I just wanted—’
A knock on the door interrupted them, and Frank popped his head around the door.
‘What?’ she snapped.
‘A word, guv.’
She groaned. She had the bastard, and now he’d have time to regroup. Whatever Frank wanted it had better be good or there’d be hell to pay.
‘Interview suspended.’ She got up from her chair and went outside with Frank.
‘What the fuck do you want?’ she blasted. ‘I’d got him on the ropes, and you gave him an out.’
‘Sorry, guv. But I thought you’d want to hear this.’ Frank shifted awkwardly on the spot.
‘Well?’
‘We’ve just found out Kevin Vaughan uses Diamond Escort Agency and has used the services of Olivia Griffin.’
Excitement coursed through her veins. Now let the fucker wriggle out of that. It was the information she needed to nail him. ‘That’s fantastic. Thanks, Frank. Great work.’
She hurried back into the interview room and whispered into Matt’s ear, telling him the news.
‘Interview recommences. Mr Vaughan. It’s come to my attention you use Diamond Escort Agency. Is that correct?’
Vaughan looked at the floor. He remained silent.
‘Mr Vaughan. Is. That. Correct?’ she repeated.
‘Yes,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘And is it also correct one of the escorts you’ve used is Olivia Griffin? Also known as Kirsty?’
Vaughan shrugged and gave a small nod.
‘For the tape, please.’
‘Yes. It’s true,’ he said.
‘Kevin Vaughan. I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Millie Carter, Olivia Griffin, and Poppy Brooks. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’ she stated.
‘Yes.’
‘Right. You will be remanded in custody for further questioning.’ She stood up. ‘DS Price, please take the prisoner down for processing.’
After Vaughan and his solicitor were escorted out, she retrieved the recording and left the interview room. Jamieson was waiting for her.
‘Sir,’ she said.
‘I hear you have some good news for me.’ He smiled, and it actually reached his eyes.
‘Yes, sir. We’ve got our man. It all fits. He has no concrete alibis. He lives alone on the university campus. He’s a perv. His laptop’s full of disgusting images of women. And he’s used Olivia Griffin as an escort. It’s all there. All I need to do is break him and get a confession. At least then we won’t have to go to trial. The evidence is circumstantial, but there’s too much of it for it not to count. I’ve got forensics going through his flat for any trace of the young women being there. He won’t get away with it.’
‘Good work, Walker. Press conference tomorrow morning. The sooner this is put to bed the better.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘Hi, Mum,’ Tiffany called as she walked into the kitchen. She dropped her bag on the floor next to the table and sat down. ‘Mmm. Smells good.’
Whitney looked up from stirring the sauce she was making for dinner. Spaghetti bolognaise and chilli were the most adventurous dishes she ever cooked, as even she couldn’t ruin them. Well, apart from when she forgot she was cooking and got so engrossed in other tasks they burnt. That had happened on more than one occasion. Usually they made do with ready meals or whatever could be zapped in the microwave, like jacket potatoes.
‘I wasn’t sure whether you were in for dinner. We can have this tomorrow if you’re not,’ she said.
‘I just assumed you’d be busy at work, seeing as I’ve been feeding myself for the last few weeks.’
A smidgeon of guilt flashed through her, but she pushed it aside. Years ago, Whitney had worked through the you shouldn’t be working full time with a child to care for attitude prevalent among certain people. Her job gave them the life they had now. It also meant Tiffany was able to fulfil her dreams. And she’d never been short of love and attention, despite what some antiquated people thought would happen.
‘We’ve had a breakthrough in the case,’ she said as she turned and smiled at Tiffany.
‘Have you caught him?’
‘It certainly looks like it.’
She’d spent the last couple hours singing at the top of her voice while doing some much-needed cleaning and generally being happy. She’d be lying if she said it was more than catching the killer. That was important, obviously, but after the balling out she’d received from Jamieson over the fucked-up drug raid, and his warning, she was relieved to no longer be on unofficial probation. She could get back to what she enjoyed doing and what she did well. Catching criminals.
‘Thank goodness. It’s been so bad at uni recently. Everyone looking over their shoulders, second guessing what others were doing, and worrying about going anywhere on their own. Can I tell anyone, or is it secret?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t mention anything until tomorrow, after the press conference. Now what about dinner? Do you want any?’ She gave another stir and her stomach rumbled.
‘Actually, I’ve planned to go out for dinner with my new boyfriend.’
She stopped stirring and turned to face her daughter, who had flushed a delicate shade of pink.
‘New boyfriend. Since when? And how come you didn’t you tell me?’ She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. Why had she kept it from her? Usually she told her everything. They had that kind of relationship.
‘You were so busy, and I’ve hardly seen you. We’ve only just started seeing each other.’
‘Is he on your course?’ she asked, determined to keep her voice light. She didn’t want her to clam up.
‘No. He’s studying to be a vet. You’ve actually met him already.’ She grinned.
‘I have?’
‘Henry Spencer. He’s got a twin si
ster called Harriet.’
‘Isn’t he a little old for you?’ she asked, then immediately regretted it as Tiffany’s expression darkened.
‘No. He’s only four years older than me. He’s twenty-four.’
‘I suppose four years isn’t much. He seems very responsible. In the short time I spoke to him, he impressed me. A bit posh though,’ she said, hoping she’d said enough to defuse the situation.
‘Mum, you’re such a snob.’ Tiffany shook her head.
‘A snob. That’s ridiculous. He’s the one who’s posh. I’m just common old me.’
‘Okay, you’re an inverted snob. Anyway, his family background doesn’t matter to me. It’s him I’m seeing, not his family,’ she said, her tone making Whitney realise these feelings for Henry ran deeper than Tiffany was letting on.
‘How did you meet him?’ she asked, changing the subject before she said anything else to upset her.
‘He had a birthday party a few weeks ago. I went with Chloe. One of her friends invited us.’
‘That party.’ Whitney shook her head. ‘It seems like the whole student population of Lenchester University went.’
‘It was crowded, for sure. Their parties are legendary, so I’ve been told. It was the first one I’d been to. It was fun; we had a great time. And I got to meet Henry and Harriet.’
‘I’m happy for you. Really. But don’t let it affect your work.’
Tiffany rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and laughed. ‘Yes, Mum. Whatever you say, Mum. I am allowed some time off, you know. I’m up to date on all my assignments, and my grades are good. What about you? Haven’t you got choir tonight?’
She checked her watch. Crap. She’d never make the rehearsal now. The investigation had messed so much with her social life she’d got out of the routine. She’d have to leave it until the following week.
‘I’ll go next time. They understand I can’t always make rehearsals.’
‘You don’t mind me going out, do you? Are you okay on your own?’
She went over and gave Tiffany a big hug. ‘Of course I am. I’ll probably go out for a celebratory drink.’ She hadn’t planned on doing so, but now the thought had popped into her head it seemed a good one.
‘Who with?’
‘I’ll find someone. Or go to the pub near the station. There’s bound to be people in there I know.’
‘Okay. I’m going upstairs to get changed. I’ll take the bus into town and walk to Henry’s. I don’t mind going on my own now it’s all safe.’ She left the room and ran up the stairs.
Whitney turned off the sauce, leaving it on the side to cool. She didn’t fancy the local cop pub. It would be rowdy, and she’d end up getting hammered, knowing her. A quiet drink to relax and ruminate over her success was just what she fancied. Except she didn’t know anyone who would be up for that.
Actually, she did. George. It seemed her sort of outing. Except what would George think if she phoned out of the blue and asked her out for a drink? She could use the excuse of wanting to update her on the investigation, as she’d promised.
She reached for her phone and called.
‘Hello,’ George answered after a couple of rings.
‘It’s Whitney. I wanted to let you know we’ve arrested Kevin Vaughan. At his flat we found images of women tied up. There were photos of students, including Millie and Olivia. Also, he’s a client of Diamond Escorts. Certainly enough for an arrest.’
‘Well done. Excellent news. Congratulations.’
Should she ask? The most she could say was no.
‘I wondered if you’d like to go out for a drink to celebrate?’
‘Sorry, I’ve got a lot of work on.’ George didn’t even appear to consider it.
‘That’s okay. I asked on the off chance.’
‘Where are you all going? I might be able to pop out for a short while,’ George said, seeming to have a change of heart.
‘It’s not the others. Just the two of us.’ She felt stupid saying it like that. Did it seem like she was asking her out on a date?
‘Oh. Right. Okay. Yes. I’d love to. Where do you want to go?’
‘Somewhere where there aren’t any raucous police officers,’ she replied, laughing.
‘There’s a pub in Hollowton, a village about five miles out of the city. I’ve been meaning to try it. We could go there. I’ll pick you up, if you like,’ George offered.
‘Sounds great. Pick me up at six-thirty. I’m at sixty-eight Lutterbridge Road. Shall we get something to eat while we’re there?’ she suggested, eating alone suddenly not appealing to her.
‘Great idea. I’ll see you soon.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
George pulled up outside Whitney’s house, a small semi-detached in a quiet cul-de-sac on the west side of the city. The last thing she’d expected was for Whitney to ask her out for a drink. On their own. Not even with the rest of the team. Normally she would have said no, as she steered away from going out socially, especially with people she didn’t know, but Stephen wasn’t there, and for some reason sitting down in front of the TV wasn’t doing it for her.
She was just about to get out of the car when Whitney opened the door, closed it behind her, and walked down the small path leading to the gate. She’d changed out of her usual dark trousers, lace-up shoes, and jacket and instead wore some light-coloured jeans with a maroon knitted poncho over the top.
George’s eyes were drawn to the garden, which was bare and unkempt. The small blocks of lawn needed mowing, and there wasn’t a flower bed or bush in sight. A marked difference to the neighbours either side, whose gardens looked pristine, even though it was winter. She loved gardening when she had the time, and her fingers itched to do something to Whitney’s.
Whitney opened the car door and slid in. ‘Nice car.’ She nodded appreciatively as she stroked the black leather seat. ‘A Land Rover?’
‘Yes. I love it. Especially on the open road.’ She started the engine and headed off in the direction of the pub she’d chosen for them.
‘Thanks for coming. I didn’t fancy being stuck at home all evening. And it will be good to run through the case if you don’t mind.’
‘I’m happy to. Why didn’t you go out with other members of the team?’
‘I’m their boss. It makes socialising a little difficult at times. I’ve got to watch how I behave. Especially at the moment, with Jamieson on my back for what happened before.’
‘I get it. What did happen before? If you don’t mind talking about it.’
‘I fucked up big time. Orchestrated a drug raid on the wrong house. I got duped by an informant.’
It didn’t seem such a big deal to her.
‘But surely they understood it wasn’t your fault? This sort of thing must happen all the time.’
‘True. Except the house we raided wasn’t in a known drugs area. And to top it all, the family who live there are good friends of the Chief Constable.’
‘Ouch. Not good.’
‘You can say that again.’ Whitney gave a hollow laugh.
‘Well, at least now you’ve earned back your credibility.’
‘Exactly. Which is why I wanted to celebrate. And seeing as I was too late for choir, I gave you a call.’
They drove for a few miles, chatting about nothing in particular, before pulling into the car park of the Black Swan. The setting was idyllic, beside a village pond and overlooking fields, not that they could see much, as it was dark, and there was very little street lighting. ‘It looks charming doesn’t it?’ she said.
They got out of the car and walked through the wooden door, so low she had to duck her head. The warmth from the open fire hit them as soon as they entered the small bar. Large wooden beams lined the ceiling, and the furniture was traditional, with dark wood tables and chairs with floral cushions. The floor was flagstones.
‘It’s lovely,’ Whitney said.
‘My treat,’ she said as they stood by the bar. She scanned the bar to look at
all the beers they had on tap. ‘What would you like?’
‘Half a cider, please.’
‘Yes, ladies,’ the barman said as he approached where they were standing.
‘A pint of Bodsworth Mud and half a cider, please.’
‘You drink pints?’ Whitney said, her eyes wide.
‘Only real ale.’
‘I’d never have had you down as a beer drinker. You seem way too … too…’ Whitney paused.
‘Posh?’ George suggested. She’d heard it all before. Girls like her didn’t drink beer. People thought she was a gin and tonic person. She liked that, too. But real ale was her passion.
‘No, not that.’ Whitney paused, before letting out a rueful groan. ‘Actually, yes that is it. Sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m used to all the comments. Let’s sit over there.’ She pointed to an empty table next to the wall leading into the restaurant.
After sitting, there was an awkward silence. She often struggled with starting a conversation. She’d never been good at small talk. Especially when she was with people she didn’t know very well. Then she remembered Whitney had mentioned her choir.
‘What choir do you belong to?’ she asked.
‘The local Rock Choir. We meet weekly, but I can’t always get there.’
‘I can’t hold a note, so you’ll only hear me singing in the shower. Actually, you won’t hear me. I only do it when there’s no one around.’ She laughed. ‘Are you any good?’
‘With a name like Whitney? What do you think?’
‘What do you mean?’ She was totally lost.
‘My mum’s a huge Whitney Houston fan, which is how I got my name. And lucky for me, it turned out I can sing. I love it.’
‘You didn’t think about taking it up professionally?’ she asked.
‘In my dreams. But in reality, there was no way. I had my daughter, Tiffany, to consider. I wouldn’t have been able to go on tour, stay out late. All that stuff.’
She hadn’t realised Whitney had a child. ‘How old is she?’
‘Twenty. She’s studying engineering at university.’
‘Twenty? You must have had her when you were very young. Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.’ Not only was she crap at small talk. She also had the habit of putting her foot in it.
