‘I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about it. It could have been, I suppose, but business trips didn’t usually excite him. He hated flying. An occupational hazard, he called it.’
‘Did you notice any other signs of disturbance when you got here?’
Adele paused. ‘Only... well, this. Poppy, you know.’ She gestured to the room. ‘She’s not exactly the tidiest of house guests, if you see what I mean. And as for her own room... well...’
‘Right.’ Annie followed her gaze. There were a few empty glasses on the table with bright-red lipstick marks on the rim, one empty bottle of cognac on its side on the carpet, and an ashtray full of cigarette ends, also smeared with lipstick. An expensive suitcase sat on the floor by the bottom of the staircase, contents strewn on the carpet — a suede jacket, jeans, silky underwear, a spilled packet of tampons. ‘So you found it just like this?’
‘Yes. I haven’t had chance to clear up anything yet.’
‘What made you think something was wrong? You said Mr Hadfield goes away a lot. Might he not simply have gone off somewhere without telling you?’
‘It was the phone. And the wallet.’
‘What wallet?’
‘Mr Laurence’s wallet. On that table over there.’ Adele pointed.
Gerry walked over to the table, picked up the wallet and handed it over to Annie. It was a bulging leather wallet stuffed with ten- and twenty-pound notes, along with several debit, credit and loyalty cards in the name of Laurence Edward Hadfield. The credit cards were almost all platinum, she noticed.
‘Mr Laurence would never go anywhere without his mobile and his wallet,’ Adele Balter said. ‘I mean, they’ve got everything in them, don’t they? Money, contacts, everything. And where could he go? His car’s still here.’
Annie remembered the house keys that were all she had found in the deceased’s suit pockets. She took the key ring from its bag in her briefcase. ‘Do you recognise this, Adele?’
‘Yes. They’re Mr Laurence’s house keys.’
‘So one of these keys should fit the front door, right?’
‘Yes.’ Adele pointed. ‘That one.’
‘Come with me, please.’
The three of them walked over to the front door and Annie tried the key. It fitted. They walked back to the living room. It was beginning to seem more and more likely that Hadfield was their man, unless his keys had found their way into someone else’s pocket.
‘Is he likely to have gone for a walk or something?’
‘Mr Laurence isn’t much of a one for exercise. Besides, he wouldn’t have been out walking all night, would he, and certainly not in the sort of weather we’ve been having lately?’
Annie supposed not. Unless he’d fallen in the reservoir and drowned or something and wasn’t lying in Eastvale General Infirmary’s mortuary. But that was highly unlikely. It was becoming more evident to Annie that Laurence Edward Hadfield was the body on the moors.
‘What kind of car does Mr Hadfield drive?’ she asked.
‘He has an “S” series Mercedes,’ she said proudly, as if it were hers. ‘A silver one. He’s given me a lift in it once or twice when my car was in the garage. It’s a lovely motor. Hardly feel you’re on wheels.’
‘Where is it?’
‘It’s in the garage. And the car keys and the automatic door opener are on that little table by the door, where he always keeps them. Do you see what I mean? Why would he go out without his wallet or his car? Where would he go?’
‘I’ll go and check it out,’ said Gerry, picking up the car keys and the garage opener from the table.
Annie nodded. Adele Balter was right, she thought. The house was in a very remote spot, and you couldn’t really get anywhere without a car. Hadfield certainly couldn’t have walked to Tetchley Moor from where he lived; it was over ten miles. Unless someone had dropped by to pick him up. She heard the distant sound of a garage door opening. ‘And all this had you worried enough to call us?’
‘I saw the picture on TV last night, the one you showed me and Poppy earlier. Only for a second, fleeting, like, and I thought it looked a bit like Mr Laurence, only the nose and mouth were wrong. I suppose when I got here today and saw... well, that he wasn’t anywhere to be found, and Miss Poppy in a such state, like, then I thought back on it, and I realised it could be him. That’s when I got worried enough to call you. The nose and mouth are wrong, but everything else is right. I can understand if someone had described him to an artist, like, they could have got that wrong easily enough. It’s all a bit of a puzzle. I just thought you people would be best to sort something like this out.’
‘We’re glad you did, Mrs Balter,’ said Annie. ‘We’re going to have to talk to Poppy at more length at some point soon, but in the meantime, we’d like to phone Ronald. Do you have the number?’
‘It’ll be in Mr Hadfield’s contacts book, on the study desk.’
The door opened and Gerry came back in. She glanced at Annie and shook her head. ‘Nothing interesting,’ she said. ‘But the car’s there all right. The engine’s cold.’
‘OK. We’ll need to have a look around in Mr Hadfield’s study, too,’ she said to Adele. ‘And we’ll see if we can get a couple of constables to have a walk around the reservoir, just in case. We’ll get you over to the infirmary. I have to tell you, it’s not a pretty sight. There’s been some animal activity.’
‘I used to be a nurse,’ said Adele. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not squeamish or I wouldn’t be offering.’
Banks rang the doorbell and heard it ring faintly inside the house. At first nothing happened, then a small, sad voice came over the intercom. ‘I don’t really want to talk to anybody now. Please go away.’
Banks glanced at Winsome before leaning forward. ‘Neela? Neela Mitchell? It’s the police. We’d really like to talk to you about Adrienne. We won’t take up much of your time.’
There was another silence, then a buzz and a click. Banks turned the doorknob and the front door opened into a hallway that seemed to be filled with bicycles. They made their way through without injury and climbed the stairs to the second floor, by which time Banks was feeling a bit short of breath. He could feel his heart beating fast and realised he was terribly out of shape. He would have to do something about it. Soon.
When they arrived at the flat, Neela Mitchell was standing in the open doorway clutching a handkerchief. That she had been crying was obvious enough, even before she sniffled and led them inside the bedsit. Hers was about the same size as Adrienne’s two streets away, but the house was slightly more rundown, and it didn’t seem as if there was an en-suite bathroom.
Neela was a small, large-breasted girl, which made her seem slightly top-heavy, and she was wearing a baggy sweater and black tracksuit bottoms with a white stripe down the sides. She had wavy hennaed hair, a round face with light brown skin, and she wore wire-framed glasses. From her name and features, Banks guessed that her mother was Indian or Pakistani and her father British. Behind the lenses, her reddened eyes appeared slightly enlarged. She seemed so young and vulnerable that Banks felt his heart go out to her. She had just lost her best friend. But he had to be objective; it wouldn’t do to take anything or anyone at face value. The room smelled fresh, as if Neela had just given it a shot of lemon air freshener. Banks noticed a crushed cigarette butt in an ashtray on the windowsill and realised she probably had. Smokers were feeling guiltier and guiltier these days.
The bedsit felt crowded with three of them in it. There was a sink and hot plate in a little alcove, and Neela offered to make tea, but they declined.