“The travel instructions he gave Patsy are weird,” she said, reading through the statement. “Why send her to the other side of the Pennines? Why not just get off the train in Leesdon?”
“He didn’t want to be seen. There are cameras at Leesdon Station and all down the High Street. He’s clever. He studied his route, so I doubt we’ll get anything, but we’ll go take a look anyway.”
“It takes about forty-five minutes from Manchester Victoria. I wonder if she spoke to anyone? We could ask—include it in the press briefing; ask for anyone to come forward who might have seen her, or struck up a conversation.”
Ruth’s idea wasn’t bad. Calladine left the incident room and went to find DCI Jones. He should tell him how things were progressing, and what he intended to do. Calladine also needed to know what Jones had decided about the phone calls to the States.
“Frankly it’s not on, Tom. Can’t allow them all I’m afraid. Far too costly.”
“That’s stupid, sir. We know there are others, and we could do with knowing which of those young women are safe at home and which aren’t.”
“Not our problem. Try going through the embassy—they can do the work. Then if the authorities in the States ask, we’ll give them what we know—that’s all I can do.”
The man was a first-class fool. Going through the American embassy would take ages. One way or another, Calladine decided he’d get the information he wanted.
“The press briefing’s arranged for tomorrow morning, sir. And Alice Bolshaw’s been on the phone. She wants to know if you’ve made a decision yet.”
Joyce’s head came up from amidst her paperwork. “That the young woman Ruth said was looking for work experience?”
Calladine nodded. “But, given she was Madison Benneti’s friend, I’m not keen. Can you imagine what her reaction will be when she sees that?” He nodded at the board, which was now covered in grisly pictures of the two bodies. “No, I don’t think so. Not while this case is ongoing.”
“Well if you change your mind, sir, I’ll take her. I’ve a pile of simple routine stuff I can give her to do.”
He’d think about it, but even working with Joyce, there was no avoiding the hideous photos on that damn board.
“When do you want to go look at the railway station, sir? It’s getting late, so do you want to leave it until tomorrow?”
“Might be better to weigh things up in daylight, and the press release will have gone out by lunchtime tomorrow. If it brings anyone in who saw her get off the train, then we can meet them there—get the full picture.”
“Rocco has gone to get the CCTV footage from the pub, and ask a few questions. We’ll give it to Julian and see what he comes up with. Imogen—would you make sure Julian knows what Patsy Lumis looks like, so that he can log anyone she spoke to?”
* * *
Ruth was pleased to put the drive to Slaithwaite off until the next day. She had one or two bits and pieces to see to, and then she’d be off home. Jake was coming round and they needed to talk.
It was make or break time for their relationship.
“I think I’ll call it a day. See you all in the morning!” Calladine reached for his coat.
“With any luck you’ll get that ‘downtime’ that’s proving so elusive, sir. A bite to eat, a warm fire and a drop of good scotch—the perfect evening,” Ruth smiled.
If only her evening could be so enjoyable. She sighed. Was it all worth it? Could she survive without the job if she had to choose between it and Jake? Financially, she could; Ruth was not a spender
—she saved, and had done since she’d been a child. She’d inherited money when her parents had died. No, it wasn’t the money she needed—it was the job itself. She loved it.
Jake didn’t understand. He couldn’t get his head round how she could be so into chasing lunatics and apprehending killers. Mind you he didn’t understand her hobby either. According to him it took her away far too often. She had been planning a trip to the Isle of Lewis in the Hebrides, birdwatching, well raptor watching really, but he wasn’t keen. If she wanted time away he’d prefer to go somewhere warm—together.
* * *
Zoe was at home with Jo. Not that Calladine minded—not really. But it meant that the downtime would have to wait a while.
They had music playing—alien noises filled his sitting room, and Jo was singing at the top of her voice. Both girls looked at each other and laughed as he appeared in the doorway.
“Oops—thought you’d be late.” Zoe turned the volume down.
“Hope you don’t mind, but we thought we’d eat here for change—spend some time with you.” His daughter smiled.
Did that smack of wanting something? News to reveal that he might not like? Calladine didn’t have much experience of fatherhood, but he was a fast learner.
“I’ve cooked,” she announced. “Well—Jo has, and it’s one of her specialities—spaghetti bolognaise.”
“Made the way my granny used to make it. She was half Italian and practically brought me up.”
There was an appetising smell coming from his kitchen. She was telling the truth then. The log burner had been stoked up, making the small cottage warm and cosy. This was a much better homecoming than the empty house he was used to.
“You look fed up, Mr Calladine.” Jo gave him a sympathetic smile. “Is something bothering you? I hope it’s not us being here.”
“No—definitely not you. But something’s usually bothering me;
work mostly—and please, call me Tom. ‘Mr Calladine’ just doesn’t sit right.”
“Work?”
“That and my DCI—penny-pinching sod that he is. I need to make some phone calls to the States—to check on the whereabouts of a number of young women, but he won’t allow it because of the cost. How in this world he expects us to get the job done—well…it beggars belief. Then, of course, there’s my murdering rogue of a cousin.”
“Perhaps I could help—well not with the cousin thing. I don’t do families. But I do come from the States, and I have a friend—a policeman who works for the NYPD. I’m sure if I asked him he’d make the enquiries for you.”
“Won’t he be too busy? They must have quite a workload in New York.”
“You’re not wrong! He’s based in Queens—a borough of New York—and there’s never a dull moment. But he won’t mind, Devon’s one of the good guys.”
“Devon? Is that his surname?”
“No. His name is Devon DeAngelo. Devon’s his first name.”
“Isn’t the name a little flamboyant for a detective?”
“Not where I come from.” She laughed. “You’d like him, he’s a cool guy.”
“Serena Hall—one of the girls—came from Queens.”
“Then Devon has a vested interest; so much the better. I’ll ring him and set up a meeting. Once that’s done you can speak to him on Skype.”
That wasn’t a bad idea at all. They could use Skype at work too.
That’d cut out the costs completely, and they’d finally be entering the twenty-first century!
Jo checked her watch. “Just after six here, so it’ll be about twelve noon in the US. I’ll ring him later. He’ll be working now.”
She was turning out to be okay. She had contacts—ones he could use. And judging from the smell coming from the kitchen, she could cook too.
“That’s very good of you, Jo. I appreciate the help.”
“Wait and see what Devon comes up with first. He’s okay; he’ll do what he can. Here’s his email.” She scribbled it on a card. “Do you guys want to eat now?”
* * *
She could see lights twinkling in the darkness. Patsy Lumis squinted slightly, trying to make out what they were; candles, she thought. There were dozens of them all around the room and they gave off a sweet aroma—roses. She tried to raise herself up off whatever she was lying on. It wasn’t easy. Her head hurt, and every muscle in her body demanded rest. She was lying on an old, lumpy mattress on the floor. Why was that? At the very least she expected to wake up in Jack’s bed. Why had he left her here like this?