As soon as she got home, Anna called Barolli, who had been to see Fidelis’s boyfriend Barry Moxen, the nurse at Charing Cross Hospital, about the crucifix; she repeated the concerns of Mr and Mrs Flynn.
Barolli said that he had shown Moxen some photographs of the crucifix and although not one hundred per cent certain he ‘thought’ that it did belong to the victim.
‘Thought isn’t good enough, Paul, you have to go back with the actual crucifix itself and get him to look at it, also go to the ex-boyfriend who worked at the garage and her flatmates and see if they recall her wearing it.’
‘Right, will do, have you still got it with you?’
‘Yes, I’ll bring it in first thing in the morning; you do realize the importance of this, don’t you?’
‘Course I do – if she wasn’t wearing it, then it could belong to the killer.’
‘Exactly.’
She replaced the phone, and closed her eyes, sighing. Nothing she knew about Henry Oates led her to believe that he would wear a crucifix, let alone a cheap rolled-gold one. The chain was broken, as if it had been snapped, the tiny links flattened. She knew if it had not been worn by Fidelis, or Oates, then they would have yet another massive round of enquiries to trace its origin, unless they struck lucky and got a hit for Oates with the DNA swabs taken from it. But if the DNA on it was unknown, or absent altogether, Anna knew it would open up the door for Kumar to allege that Oates was not their killer.
Chapter Eleven
It was mid morning and Anna was in the incident room with Mike Lewis, going over the details of her meeting with Mr and Mrs Flynn and the conversation about the crucifix. Paul Barolli entered the room looking annoyed and slammed the crucifix in its plastic evidence bag on Anna’s desk.
‘Bloody Moxen. Now he’s seen the real thing he’s not so certain. I pressed him on it and he came out with a load of crap about another girl he knew who had a similar one that was silver.’
‘Thanks for going back to him,’ Anna said.
‘It doesn’t get any better. While I was out I also visited the other ex-boyfriend who worked in the garage and her former flatmates. Not one of them recognized the crucifix as ever being worn by or belonging to Fidelis.’
‘Well, the plus side is that it’s now more likely that it belonged to Oates himself,’ Anna reminded Paul.
‘Yeah, but the lying bastard is never going to admit that, and there was no DNA on it.’
‘So we keep digging until we find the connection,’ Mike said in an effort to lift Paul’s mood.
Mike asked Joan if she had spoken with the Polish worker Pavel who had supervised Oates at the work site.
‘Yes, guv, and he’s been very helpful and given us a list of contracted and casual labourers who worked on the car park. Barbara and I are trying to track them down.’
‘Good. So we can ask them if they knew Oates and if he ever wore or had a crucifix like the one that was recovered,’ Mike said with enthusiasm before Barbara interjected.
‘Well, tracking them down is not proving as easy as it sounds, bearing in mind they are all now on different jobs, moved house or gone back to God knows where in Eastern Europe!’
‘Keep up the enthusiasm, Barbara,’ Mike said as he walked off towards his office.
Barbara looked at the others, who were now all laughing.
Anna anxiously checked the time, as she knew that Samuels would have received the DVDs and documents Mike had sent to him by now and she was eagerly awaiting his reply.
Barbara handed to Barolli the details to be passed on to the officers checking out the crucifix.
‘It’s unbelievable, they’re all working in different parts of London or have gone home to Poland,’ Barbara went on. ‘Personally I think it’s a waste of time. I mean, it could have been dropped there by anyone.’
‘Not at all,’ Anna snapped. ‘On the contrary, it could prove to be invaluable evidence. In case you are not aware of it, Barbara, the crucifix was found snagged to clothing on the body. So it coincides with her body being carried and dropped into the lift shaft, and the cement being poured on top of her at the same time, all right?’
She got up and put her coat on. Sometimes it really ratted her, not having her own office so she could have time alone.
‘Where you off to?’ Barolli asked.
‘Going over to see how the search is getting along.’
She had a good idea that they’d be talking about her as soon as her back was turned, but the reality was, the Rebekka Jordan case was now very much lagging behind the discovery and identification of Fidelis Julia Flynn. Although she had uncovered new evidence, there was still no tangible proof that Oates had abducted Rebekka. No witnesses. No sign of the Jeep. Even then they had no sighting of him driving it, they could only assume he’d stolen it.
The police vans were lined up outside the house. The team had already started the second search, this time lifting floorboards and taking down false ceilings. A few neighbours stood watching the comings and goings, and two of the officers were standing outside in white suits drinking coffee.
When Anna showed them her ID, one smiled, suggesting she use a face mask as there was a really pungent stink inside, especially in the basement. She hesitated.
‘Pungent?’
He put up his hand, and said it was not the smell of a decaying body, that smell was different. This, he said, was sewage.
Anna carefully stepped inside the hallway; floorboards had been lifted up and stacked, leaving a narrow passage. The search teams were literally ripping the house apart, dismantling all they could find in every room. It was hazardous walking around and Anna knew she should have worn a hard hat, but it was too late now. She turned back to the hallway and then through a narrow door heading down into the basement.
The stench was disgusting – urine and sewage; it was a filthy hovel. As the officers were busy, she tried to not get in their way. The main room where it appeared Oates had slept and lived had already been searched, as the floor-boards lay stacked against one wall by a filthy floral bedhead. The iron bed was turned on its side, the springs showing the rusted frame, since the mattress had been taken to the lab. Cardboard boxes contained broken mugs, teapots, and plates. She could see a dresser with its drawers hanging open, and a broken mirror, which was part of the wardrobe door.
Anna had seen, and smelt, enough, so she spoke with the Crime Scene Manager to make sure the search was done properly this time then left the officers to get on with it. The fresh air outside came as a huge relief. Opposite was a terraced house, the garden of which had been paved over to use as car parking. A Ford Escort was parked on it, and the gates closed. She crossed the street, glanced back towards the derelict house, then looked up to the curtained windows. No other house on the terraced side had gates; this had to be the one with the ‘helpful neighbour’.
Anna unhooked a gate, closed it, and walked up the neat paved drive to the immaculate front steps and dark green front door. She rang the bell, observing a notice for no circulars above the letterbox. Two clean empty milk bottles stood by the thick doormat.
‘Yes?’ The door was opened by a stern grey-haired woman.
‘I’m Detective Anna Travis from the Met; could I have a few words with you?’ She showed her ID.
‘They’re making a mess over there, dust’ll be everywhere, and they’ve been at it since eight this morning.’
‘I’m sorry for any inconvenience.’
‘Is it the developers? They’ve been supposed to do something for ages, that’s three houses left empty for almost six years.’
‘Could I come in? I’m sorry, you are?’
‘Adele Murphy. Wipe your feet.’
Anna did so, and stepped into the hallway. The smell of lavender polish was very strong, combined with some kind of floral air freshener.