Nonetheless, he decided it was cause enough to reinterview George Kristos.
He placed the photograph which had caught his attention on the interview-room table so that it faced George.
‘Could you please tell me who this is?’ Vogel asked.
George looked irritated rather than uneasy.
‘It’s my girlfriend,’ he said.
‘I see, sir. Would you mind telling me her name?’
‘Carla. She’s called Carla. What the heck does she have to do with any of this? She’s never even met any of the Sunday Clubbers.’
‘All the same, I should very much like to talk to her.’ Vogel opened his notepad. ‘I’ll need her full name and address.’
‘Carla Karbusky. I don’t have her address.’
Vogel’s antennae wiggled, instantly on the alert.
‘Are you telling me you don’t have your girlfriend’s address?’
George shifted in his chair. He looked uncomfortable.
‘She’s Polish, she’s not been in the country very long. She stays with friends.’
‘I see. Does she work?’
‘Yes, I think so. I’m not sure. She wants to study over here, as a mature student, only she hasn’t got a college place yet.’
‘You don’t know very much about this girlfriend of yours, Mr Kristos, do you?’ Vogel persisted.
George blushed. ‘I know all I need to know,’ he muttered.
Then he attempted what seemed to be a sort of knowing leer, as if indicating that his comment was a reference to matters sexual. Vogel didn’t think it worked very well.
‘Where did you meet her?’ he persisted.
‘I just bumped into her in the street,’ said George. Then, as if realizing that he sounded wary and defensive, he switched gear and became effusive: ‘Literally. We collided. She dropped her bag. I picked it up and asked her if she’d like to have a cup of coffee. One thing led to another.’
George leered again.
Vogel stared at him.
He reached for the padded envelope on the table in front of him and tipped out George’s phone, still in its polythene evidence bag. Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, Vogel removed the phone and held it out towards George.
‘Presumably you have Carla’s phone number?’ he enquired.
George frowned.
‘Naturally.’
‘And so you have it listed in your phone?’
George hesitated for a split second. Or did he? Vogel wasn’t sure of anything any more. Then George nodded.
Vogel searched for an entry for Carla. There did not appear to be one. He frowned and held out the phone across the table again.
‘Then perhaps you would point her number out to me, Mr Kristos,’ Vogel instructed.
‘Scroll down,’ said George. ‘Go to G.’
Vogel did so. George pointed at an entry. Vogel was puzzled by what he saw.
‘Mr Kristos, this number is not listed under the name of Carla or Karbusky. It is simply listed as GF. Could you explain that to me, please?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ said George chippily. ‘GF for girlfriend.’
‘I see, and is there any particular reason for that manner of listing?’
‘I’d have thought that was obvious too,’ said George. ‘When you get through girlfriends at the rate I do, it’s easier to list ’em that way. I just change the number. Don’t have to bother with a new name or anything like that.’
He looked pleased with himself.
Vogel didn’t know what to make of him. Was the man being serious? And was his behaviour suspicious or was it simply a display of rather unpleasant bravado?
‘So you consider yourself to be something of a ladies’ man, do you, Mr Kristos?’
‘Obvious again,’ said George, this time smiling what he presumably thought was his charming smile.
He might be a good-looking bastard, thought Vogel, but he wondered that any woman would be interested in someone who appeared to be so lacking in charm, manners and any kind of respect for women.
While continuing to stare at George, Vogel dialled the number for GF. The call immediately switched to voicemail. Vogel tried again. Same result.
‘All right, Mr Kristos, you can go back to your cell. But rest assured we will continue to check out your Carla Karbusky.’
George just carried on smiling. It seemed to Vogel the kind of smile that indicated that the bearer reckoned he knew something you didn’t.
He was beginning to wonder about George Kristos. But he reminded himself that just because the man was an arrogant ratbag it didn’t necessarily follow that he was a murderer too.
Vogel was determined to keep the seven for as long as possible. Certainly for the full thirty-six hours allowed without a court appearance. And so they were detained in police cells overnight.
Potential evidence submitted for forensic examination had been fast-tracked, and Clarke had drafted in extra computer forensic officers to fully examine the impounded technical equipment.
Vogel suspected it was rather too much to hope for that his double killer might be not only a sadist but also the kind of sicko who took photographs of his victims or kept an electronic diary of his activities. However, a copper could dream. At the very least they might turn up a fresh lead. Because Vogel was fast running out of leads.
He made his way down to the interview room to start a second day of interviews feeling thoroughly disheartened. He’d hoped by this time to have narrowed down his list of suspects. Instead, he was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t widen the field, work further on the possibility that the killer was not one of the seven friends.
One by one, he reinterviewed the seven suspects. In reality, he was playing for time, keeping the group in custody while the search teams and forensic experts combed through their homes and belongings, desperately trying to find some scrap of useful evidence.
That ploy came to an end with the arrival of Christopher Margolia, now acting on behalf of Billy and Tiny, and May Newman, a headline-grabbing criminal lawyer with a penchant for suing the police for wrongful arrest, who’d been hired, apparently to Ari’s surprise, by his father.
While Mustaf Kabul was more than happy to allow his son to face the music unaided when confronted by drug-related charges, when a murder charge loomed it seemed he was prepared to bring in the best lawyer his money could buy.
Margolia, who’d also agreed to act for the other four detainees, and Newman made a formidable team. Newman cited just about every human rights act since Habeas Corpus, or so it seemed to Vogel, and promised dire consequences if her client was not released forthwith. Margolia followed her lead, as indeed he had in court on numerous occasions.
Vogel ultimately had no choice but to comply. The six men and one woman who had been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Michelle Monahan were released on police bail at 5 p.m. precisely that afternoon.
‘Looks as if we’re going to have to cast the next wider,’ said Clarke. ‘Get the team out interviewing friends, associates, contacts — the works. Tell them I want no stone left unturned.’
Vogel could see she was getting twitchy. He was too. A double murderer remained on the loose, while the best MIT team in London, led by a DCI with an exceptional reputation, appeared to be achieving little beyond running around in circles.
‘Did you get any hits from HOLMES — homicides matching the MO of Marlena’s murder?’
The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System had been set up in the wake of the Yorkshire Ripper investigation to allow rapid and accurate cross-referencing of information between regional police forces. Details of Marlena’s murder had been fed into the system, but the only matches had been the two women murdered in King’s Cross fifteen years earlier.