Apart from the maps, the only other item that the police removed from Charmaine’s house was an old cardboard box, found in a far corner of the loft. It looked as though it had been sealed many years before. They opened it only to find childhood mementos, items that might mean something to a teenage girl. At first Rae was tempted to leave it in place. It was hardly likely to contain anything relevant to the current inquiry, surely? The sticky tape sealing the box was aged and brittle, and the dust on the surface indicated that the box had lain undisturbed for many years. A forensic technician gave the box a quick scan and agreed with Rae about its age.
Rae began to relax. Had she been right after all? Her hopes were dashed somewhat by Barry’s comment.
‘If you were on a sailing trip, wouldn’t you take binoculars with you?’
Sophie looked at him and frowned again. ‘If you were up to no good, would you leave a set of keys with a neighbour? And how do we know that set of binoculars is the only pair they have? Rae, you and Tommy go and visit her employers. I think you reported that she claimed to work as a magazine editor. Talk to her boss. Get her history of absences and time off. Barry, you do the same for the husband. And I’ll analyse the pen marks on these coastal maps to see if they correspond to possible landing spots. You can go through the box tomorrow morning, back in the incident room, Rae. If we have made a complete mess of this, we need to get on top of it quickly. I’m still not convinced though. I need to do some thinking. We all do.’
* * *
Dinner was over. It was a strange feeling, just the two of them in the house, night after night. With Jade gone, there was none of the chatter that normally filled the place. It only took a few minutes to clear the table and stack the dishwasher, then they often had the rest of the evening to themselves. Martin always had work from school, but he tried to get it completed before eating. They relaxed on the couch, Sophie leaning on Martin’s shoulder.
‘Nearly forgot,’ she said and jumped to her feet. ‘I’ve got some maps I need your help with. They’re walking maps of the coast path, all the way along to Lyme Regis, and they’ve got pen marks on them in some places. Could you have a look at them and see if you can spot a pattern? You probably know the path as well as anyone.’
Martin looked at each of the four maps carefully. ‘Most of the marks seem to be at small beaches,’ he said. ‘I can’t really see anything else that links them. Seatown, West Bay, Burton, Charmouth. But right along here, Studland is marked with a double line. It’s a much bigger beach, of course.’
‘They could all be places where a boat could land, I suppose,’ Sophie said. ‘That’s the only thought I had.’
‘Well, there is something else, if you want to hear it.’
Sophie sat up, suddenly alert. ‘What?’
‘Umm, they’re all places where you can sunbathe with your kit off, if you’re careful. Except Studland of course, where you’re totally free to take your clothes off without a problem whenever you feel like it.’
He started to slide to one side but was too late to avoid the elbow that jabbed him hard in the ribs.
‘You,’ Sophie hissed. ‘You total pest. Here I am, needing some help with something really serious, and all you can think of is topless sunbathing. And before you ask, the answer’s no.’
‘What, not even at Studland in the official nudist section?’ He looked horrified. ‘We don’t have Jade to contend with anymore. You mean, even if I offered to make the picnic?’
Sophie hesitated. ‘Will you make that really tasty egg and mushroom flan?’
‘Of course, if you so desire.’
‘And the temperature has to be more than twenty-two, and the wind mustn’t be coming off the sea.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Maybe. That’s as far as I’m willing to commit myself.’
‘That’s good enough for me, sweetheart. And I still think I’m right about the maps.’
Chapter 35: Nowhere to Hide
Wednesday morning
Rae hadn’t slept well. She rose early and arrived at the incident room long before anyone else. The box was waiting on her desk. She slipped on a pair of latex gloves, opened it, and started to lift the contents out, listing each item carefully on a sheet of paper. There was a small jewellery box containing an assortment of rings, necklaces, bangles and earrings, most of them badly tarnished. A set of Russian nesting dolls that were scratched and faded. Some cards for a fifteenth birthday, all to Charmaine, and all containing the kind of messages that teenage girls wrote to each other. Three Valentine cards, one of them with a slightly dubious message inside that you wouldn’t want a parent to see. Four unopened miniature bottles of vodka that looked as if they might have been stolen from a hotel room. And finally, down at the bottom, several diaries. Yes. These were what Rae was looking for.
She lifted the diaries out and placed them carefully on the desk. Charmaine had written something every day, often several paragraphs in length. Was there one for the year she was sixteen? It looked as though Rae was in luck. She opened it and started to read. She reached March before there was a mention of something that might prove useful. The name Phil was mentioned, a dishy boy with fair hair and blue eyes. Apparently, despite the fact that he was tall and a bit lanky, the teenage Charmaine had drooled over him, and wondered what it would be like to snog him. She worried about whether her breasts were big enough to attract his attention. The entry went on to wonder if some bra padding might increase her chances.
Several other entries carried on in broadly the same vein, until he asked her out on a date. The writing became wildly romantic for a few days, although the tête-à-tête itself must have seemed a bit of a let-down to the hopeful Charmaine. She commented that the young Phil seemed slightly distant and a little nervous. And then, a few days later, had come the terrifying encounter with the unknown young woman wielding a knife. She’d obviously been waiting outside Charmaine’s school, and had followed her to a quiet spot, under a brick wall. Rae read of Charmaine’s sheer terror at feeling the knife pricking her throat, and cold, calm, calculating eyes boring into her. I’ll use this on you, pretty Charmaine Cookson. I’ll cut your eyes out and slit your throat. The words had their effect. The diary entry went on to say that she’d decided not to see Phil again. She never found out what the girl’s name was. She had fair hair and blue eyes. She was well dressed and had a neat hairstyle. She was evil.
Rae sat back and closed her eyes. It still made sense. She still felt that she’d been right to believe Charmaine, so how had this mess happened? Was the Phil mentioned in the diary entry the same Philip she was now married to? Was that even of any importance?
She looked up to see Barry coming into the office.
‘Morning, boss. I’ve got something interesting here. That box from the loft yesterday. It had some diaries from when Charmaine was a teenager, and there’s an entry for that episode she told me about. Do you want to see?’
Barry looked over her shoulder. ‘How did you get on at her employer’s place?’
‘They all say she’s one of the nicest and most reliable people they know. They’re a publishing stable, producing magazines that cover a range of interests. She’s been there for nearly twelve years, employed on a sailing magazine and working her way up to becoming editor. It’s what I thought originally, boss. She can’t be some kind of deranged killer. It doesn’t add up. What about the husband?’
He shrugged. ‘Same as you. The people there looked at me as if I was mad when I let slip what we were investigating. He’s widely liked and well respected.’ He looked at the clock. ‘It’s only seven thirty. Have you been in long?’
‘About an hour. Too much on my mind. But I feel better now, with what you’ve said and what was in this diary. We still need to find them, though.’
‘Did anyone know where they’re headed on this yachting trip?’ he asked.
Rae shook her head. ‘No. Apparently, they follow the weather. And with it being fine like this, th
ey could be anywhere. Do you want a look at this?’ She pushed the opened journal across so that he could read it properly. ‘I still wonder if there’s a lead in there somewhere.’
‘Well, this other girl must have been local, surely. But it happened, what, twenty or more years ago? We’ve got to be realistic, Rae, and concentrate our efforts on whatever’s likely to give us workable leads. Ameera will be in later. She’s completed the analysis of that tower-dump she talked about, so it’ll be interesting to see if anything’s come of it. And Gwen sent a message for you. She wonders if some of the properties that were being used as safe houses were let to migrants.’
Rae looked up at him, interested. ‘She probably told you we’ve decided to do a bit of checking up on them, but I haven’t had much time yet. We only speculated that they were being used by people the security unit were questioning. You mean someone was making a lot of money out of them?’
He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘That’s what she was thinking. She’s found there are more than you both thought and the one she checked up on in Portsmouth had recently had a large family staying there. If there were enough of these properties, they could be clearing a quarter of a million each year, maybe more. And all in cash.’
Rae thought hard. ‘Do you realise the implications of what you’re saying, boss? It could be a lot more tangled than we thought. And if it’s really that murky, who exactly are the good guys and who’re the bad? Sometimes I’m glad I’m only a DS. We could be treading on some important toes here.’
* * *
Sophie arrived a few minutes later, almost colliding with Ameera, who was carrying a bulky folder.
‘That looks ominous.’
Ameera laughed. ‘It’s amazing how many calls go through each mobile tower on any given day. Imagine if it was the city of London rather than just central Dorchester. That would be really worrying.’
They arrived at Rae’s desk, where she and Barry were still talking.
‘So how many calls are we talking about in total?’ Sophie asked.
‘Tens of thousands. That’s why the folder is so big. It’s not as daunting as it looks, though, I’ve already done some narrowing down. We can ignore all calls to or from a landline. Same for calls going via another mast because we know both numbers were in the hospital area. We can also narrow it down to the hospital’s immediate neighbourhood, because the mast is close by. Signal strength can play a part, you see.’
‘Just give us the lowdown, Ameera. You’re keeping us in suspense. Have you identified the call we’re looking for?’
Ameera grinned, something Sophie hadn’t really seen before. She was usually so intense. Maybe a bit more gentle teasing might be called for. ‘Yes. At nine twenty in the morning. A brief phone exchange between two mobile numbers that looked to be both in the area immediately around or inside the hospital. It only lasted thirty seconds.’
‘And the numbers?’
Ameera shook her head. ‘Not registered to anyone. They were both burner phones.’
‘We can’t listen in to the conversation?’
‘Well, it’s possible that GCHQ in Cheltenham might be able to help. You’d know more about that than me. And would it be worth it? From what you’ve said, it was just a warning from someone outside to someone inside that they ought to get out. Isn’t that right?’
‘Yes. That call might have saved a life, and all thanks to Rose Simons. If she hadn’t been so alert, the inside person, whoever he or she was, might have got to the ward. And God knows what could have happened then,’ Sophie said. ‘It was our woman, we’re sure of it. She turned round when she got that call and hurried out. We got that much from the CCTV images. Thanks, Ameera. This is really useful.’
They waited until Ameera had left before starting the early morning briefing.
Barry told them of the Hampshire team’s suppositions. Sophie was so concerned at the implications that she left them and went to her office to call both Matt Silver at county headquarters and Paul Baker in London. Maybe the most worrying aspect was that it slotted in so well with the way her own thoughts were going. Corinne Lanston clearly had her own secret agenda, quite separate from the one she was officially presenting to her political bosses and to the Met’s investigating team. What exactly was she up to? And were Charmaine Biggs and her husband somehow involved?
‘This all needs more thought,’ Sophie said when she returned. ‘Let’s leave it aside for the moment. We ought to review what we’ve gleaned from interviewing all the people on that boat. Maybe there’s something we missed at the time.’
The statements were spread in small piles across the tabletop, each corresponding to a family group. Added recently was an extra set, statements from several witnesses on the Normandy coast, gathered by the French police.
Some of the statements were rather confused but on the whole, there was a remarkable level of consistency.
* * *
Tommy arrived half an hour later, having spent the early part of the day at the hospital, complete with measuring tape and notebook. He’d planned which measurements he needed to take and had checked them with Rae the previous day. At his desk, he called up some stills taken from the CCTV recording of the dark-haired woman in the hospital corridor and started the, for him, slow job of calculating some details about her. Once he’d finished, Rae came across to take a look at the figures.
‘Five foot six,’ he said.
‘You’ve done a good job there, Tommy. Can you do a bit more? Try for her leg length as well, then her shoulder width. It shouldn’t take long now you’ve got her height.’
‘Okay. But are we certain she’s the person we’re looking for? She’s brunette and all the other images and descriptions talk about someone who’s fair or blonde.’
‘Except for the murder of Louise in Southampton. The killer had dark hair, but we think she was wearing a wig. Ask yourself why.’
‘She might have been recognised?’
‘Or caught on CCTV. And whoever it was would realise there’s CCTV at the hospital and she’d be recorded. There’s some CCTV footage from the hostel in Southampton, so you can do that next. Gwen has sent measurements of the wall height, just like you took, and some initial data has arrived from the French police at Cherbourg.’
When he’d finished, Rae checked the figures, made some comparisons and took their conclusions through to Sophie and Barry.
‘We think it could be the same woman, ma’am,’ Tommy reported. ‘Same height, same hip-to-foot measurement, same shoulder width as far as I can tell. The hair looks similar too.’
‘Every action leaves a trace,’ Sophie said with a gleam in her eye. ‘The phone call warning prevented her from going any further, but we still got useful information from her visit to the hospital. That’s what the thugs don’t realise. Given enough resources and time, we’ll always find them. In the end, there’s nowhere to hide. Leave those calculations, will you?’
She waited until Tommy and Rae had left her office, and then turned to Barry. ‘Okay. Now comes the interesting part. Can you keep your eye on that door and stop anyone coming in? Let’s do a comparison.’ She extracted a sheet of paper from her desk drawer which had a different set of figures. Attached to it was a full-length photograph of Charmaine Biggs, copied from a portrait that had been on display in her lounge.
When they had finished, Sophie asked, ‘When are the Biggs couple due back from their holiday?’
‘According to their workplaces, they’ve taken a week off, but they always wait to see what the weather forecast has in store before heading to any particular destination.’
Sophie looked at her watch. ‘Can you take charge for the rest of the day, Barry? I’m getting the next train to London for a review with the Met people. They’re growing edgy. I wonder if they’ve uncovered something else?’
Chapter 36: Beyond Our Ken
Wednesday midday
An offhand remark that Rae had made as she drove her to the station set S
ophie wondering.
‘I wonder why that woman was visiting the hospital. What did she hope to achieve? Would they really gain that much from following the coach? They could easily find where it was headed by other means. The asylum camps aren’t exactly hidden away, are they? Did they think someone in that group might finger them somehow?’
Now on a fast train to London, Sophie began to wonder if they’d missed something. They had the photos of the Normandy beach scene from Kamal’s camera, though if it came to a court case, few of his shots would provide a clear and positive identification. The beach rendezvous had taken place at dusk, after all. They had several shots from other cameras and phones, but those were of even poorer quality. Of course, the gang members wouldn’t know whether any of the photos were useable or not, which might give them a motive to trace some of the people on the boat, just as a precaution. But Sophie wasn’t convinced that it was a strong enough reason to risk a visit to the hospital at a time when security was bound to be tight. And the man and woman involved were half-expecting problems. The speed with which they’d aborted their plan — whatever that was — showed that. No, they must have been worried about something.
Sophie opened her laptop and once again brought up the photo Kamal had taken of the group in angry discussion on the beach, the man with the sticking plaster on his nose clearly visible among them. This was the only photo in which the woman appeared, at a distance, leaning against a tree, watching. She was right at the edge of the photo and only half of her was visible. Who or what was she watching? It wasn’t the group of men, arguing about money or life vests. Could she be looking directly at the camera, even at that distance? Was it possible that she’d spotted Kamal taking his pictures and had remembered? More importantly, if they got measurements of that tree from the French police, could they calculate the woman’s height?
Ruthless Crimes Page 21
