‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling sweetly as she sat down.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Mark Morrison. Again, thank you for coming in.’
‘I didn’t have much option when they came to my flat. Very nice officers though. Now I need to get something sorted. I watch a lot of real-life crime shows, and I know they always refuse to say anything unless they get legal representation.’
‘Miss Curtis, at present this is an informal interview. You can leave any time you want and speak with a solicitor at any time...’
‘So, I’m not under arrest?’
‘At present no, but if we discover you have lied to us you may well be arrested.’
She pursed her lips, opening her handbag to take out a tissue. ‘Is he going to witness everything?’ She pointed at Collingwood.
‘Yes, Miss Curtis, Detective Inspector Collingwood will remain in the room. Now, you have stated that Norman O’Reilly was with you in Southampton on two specific nights and that he remained with you throughout Friday 14th and Saturday 15th of March. We are now aware that Mr O’Reilly is prone to violence... perhaps you were coerced into making this statement, fearing physical repercussions if you did not?’
‘Oh, I was coerced all right. He threatened to beat me up and he terrified me, but I was stupid, you know, getting myself into that situation. I’d only met him a few weeks ago. I work in the market on Saturdays, and he was always very friendly We struck up a friendship.’
‘So, you’d only known Mr O’Reilly for a short time.’
‘I just said so. We had a couple of dates, which I never told Dad about ’cause he definitely wouldn’t have approved. Then, on Thursday, he came into the cafe and said he was going to do some business in Southampton at the weekend and stay in a nice hotel, and did I want to come. I had to tell my friend in the market I’d not be working, but it was my weekend off from the cafe anyway, so I thought why not.’
‘Tell me about the Friday when you travelled to Southampton.’ Morrison tried hard not to let his impatience show.
‘He was late picking me up and left me standing around until just before lunchtime. He had a white rental van and was very het up because he had to make this delivery at the docks; some crates he had in the back of the van, and he was worried he was gonna miss the pick-up. We got there, and it wasn’t a posh hotel or anything, just a cheap B&B. We’d only just arrived when he got a call on his mobile. He said he had to deliver the crates and for me to order in a takeaway.’
‘So, he left you at the hotel. What time did he return?’
‘Well, I was dead angry because he never got back until about midnight. I’d had the takeaway and I was going to go home, but he bought a bottle of gin. He calmed me down and said he was sorry, but he had to do a big job which was going to make him a lot of money.’
‘So, you were with Mr O’Reilly for that Friday night or what was left of it, and throughout Saturday.’
‘Yes, we eventually went back to London late Saturday, after he’d unloaded the crates. He made me promise to say about him being with me all weekend and that I would get five hundred quid.’
‘When you left, was it in the white van again?’
‘Yes, and when I went to put my case in the back, I had the door open and he snatched it from me. The van didn’t have the crates in no more, but it smelt of bleach, and there was something in a plastic bag.’
‘Can you describe it?’
‘No, not really. It was about this big.’ She indicated with her hands. ‘There’s something else. When he got back to the B&B, he smelt of bleach, and he had to take a shower and change his clothes.’
‘Did you get paid the five hundred?’
‘Well, not straightaway. It was a few days later, and there was this murder in Portobello Road and everyone was talking about it. That’s when he came into the cafe and said if anyone asked me about the weekend, I had to promise that I was with him, and I would get another two hundred. He threatened that if I didn’t, I’d be very sorry, you know, like you said, coercion. If my dad found out, all hell would break loose.’
‘Did you ever meet Kurt Neilson?’
‘No, I never met anyone when I was with Norman. I never went into that shop either, full of old junk.’
‘Have you any idea where he might be?’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, Miss Curtis, we are trying to track him down.’
‘I don’t know, like I said; I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t know him that well. He was lousy in bed, too, so I was never going to have another date with him.’
‘Have you seen him recently?’
‘Why would I? There were police all around his shop, and I was told something terrible had happened in there. I think he’s got a brother in Cork, and the bloke who rented the white van was a friend. He said he got a cheap rate.’
‘Can you recall anything about the van that would help us trace it?’
‘Not really. It was a white rental van with an address and contact numbers on the side, but I can’t remember what they were. He said he used them a lot for driving these crates to Southampton.’
Morrison stood up as Collingwood went to help Miss Curtis down from her chair, although he wasn’t sure how. He offered her his hand, which she took, allowing her to slide gently to the floor with a giggle. He walked her to the door and then accompanied her out into the corridor, closing the door after them.
Morrison got onto the team to trace the rental van, then flipped open Rhonda Curtis’s file. ‘She might look like a little girl, but bloody hell...’ he muttered, noting that she was thirty-five years old and had a previous conviction for sex work.
As Collingwood was heading back to Morrison’s office, Ralph Jordan came running down the stairs from the office being used to check the CCTV and mobile footage. He seemed very agitated.
‘Mike, you’d better come up and have a look at what we’ve got. I don’t know what the hell to do about it.’
Collingwood was about to follow him, when Morrison appeared and said they’d had a hit with the van. ‘It’s registered to a company in White City run by a Frank Jones. A patrol car’s waiting for you. I’ll organise a forensic team to be on standby.’
The van rental company was located in a run-down yard with a cheap corrugated lean-to. The yard was attached to residential property and used the front room as their office. Collingwood’s patrol car drove in through the old wooden double gates to see two young kids using a hose-pipe to wash down one of three vans. Collingwood stepped out, a uniformed officer alongside him. The third officer started looking closely at the vans.
‘Frank Jones, need a word,’ Collingwood said to one of the boys. The boy turned with the hose full on and nearly soaked him.
‘He was taking his kid to school, but he might be back in the office.’ He jerked a thumb.
Collingwood, accompanied by the officer, were walking towards the indicated door when there was a shout from the yard behind them.
The officer was struggling to hold onto a screaming Norman O’Reilly. The two boys were not giving any assistance but staring wide-eyed as Collingwood and the other officer piled in to drag O’Reilly face down and put the handcuffs on him. By the time they had dragged him onto his feet and got him into the patrol car, Frank Jones, driving an old jeep, drove into the yard.
Collingwood sent the patrol car with Norman O’Reilly back to the station and led a worried-looking Jones into his office.
‘I had no idea he was hiding in one of my vans. I just got the boys to start hosing them down this morning.’
Collingwood called for backup, and when they arrived, they found a sleeping bag and food cartons left in the back of the van Norman had just been dragged from, along with some clothes and a mobile phone. A further search revealed his passport and tickets for the ferry over to Ireland. Jones identified the van O’Reilly had used on the trip to Southampton, which still had a strong smell of bleach. Collingwood called for a flatbed truck to take it to the forensic lab to be examined.