I’m walking across the car park when I get the call from Challow.
‘My chance to redeem myself in the eyes of CID.’
‘The DNA?’
‘You’ll have it later today.’
‘Thank Christ for that.’
‘I’m sending over those extra fingerprint tests we took from Frampton Road too.’
‘And?’
‘Harper’s are in most of the rooms, no surprise there. Not much at all in the top floor but I guess it’s a while since anyone’s been up there. But we did find Walsh’s on the banisters on the first flight of stairs. Which may or may not be useful. From your point of view, I mean. And that display cupboard – it’s been wiped clean. Not a mark on it. There was one other interesting finding too.’
‘Which was?’
‘The cupboard wasn’t the only thing with no prints. There were none on the porn either. Harper’s prints are on the box, and Derek Ross’s too. But on the porn itself – nothing. And I don’t know about you but that strikes me as odd. Very odd indeed.’
***
When Quinn wakes he’s already late, and there’s a rick in his neck. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and sits up, feeling the heavy ache in the front of his skull. Then he hauls on his dressing gown and goes out into the sitting room. A greasy box of pizza, a half-eaten slab of garlic bread, two empty bottles of wine. He can hear the sound of the shower. He goes up to the bathroom door and knocks. ‘I’ll need to leave in fifteen, but I’ll come back and pick you up later so you can make that statement.’
No reply. He goes over to the kitchen and starts the coffee machine. It looks like the girl has beaten him to it. There’s an empty mug on the counter, and next to it, her phone.
He stares at it for a moment. Then turns it on.
***
Phone interview with Christine Grantham
5 May 2017, 10.32 a.m.
On the call, DC A. Baxter
AB: Mrs Grantham, we’re talking to a number of people who were at Bristol University in the early 2000s. I think you were there then, is that right?
CG: I was, yes.
AB: And I think you were also a friend of Robert Gardiner?
CG: So that’s what this is about. I did wonder.
AB: You were his girlfriend, I think?
CG: For a while, yes.
AB: What was he like?
CG: That’s not the real question, though, is it? You’ve found his wife’s body and suddenly you’re asking me about him. That can’t be a coincidence.
AB: We’re just trying to get a full picture, Mrs Grantham. Fill in the gaps.
CG: Well, ‘gaps’ is the word, really. When it came to Rob. I always got the feeling he was holding something back. He was a very private person – probably still is.
AB: Did he ever do anything that made you feel uneasy?
CG: Are you asking if he hit me? Because if you are, the answer is no. He’s a caring person. And yes, he has strong views and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and that can make him sound a bit abrasive sometimes. But to be honest, I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it a lot of the time.
AB: What did you know about his background?
CG: He comes from somewhere in Norfolk, I think. Not a wealthy family, though. He had to work hard to get where he had. I always thought that explained a lot about him. The intensity, you know.
AB: Did you ever meet Hannah?
CG: No. We didn’t keep in touch.
AB: And why was it that your relationship ended?
CG: [pause]
I’m not sure that’s something I’m happy telling you.
AB: This is a murder inquiry, Mrs Grantham –
CG: [pause]
Look, I wanted a family –
AB: And he didn’t?
CG: No, that wasn’t it. He definitely did want children. He just couldn’t have them himself.
***
‘So you don’t recognize her?’
Everett is in the job centre in the middle of town. Sofas, computer terminals, desks that are trying hard not to look like desks. There are bright hanging panels in yellow and green; shots of smiling models with great teeth and chirpy messages about being ‘Here to help’ and ‘Ready for work’. In rather painful contrast to the people milling listlessly about the place, who don’t look ready for very much at all. The woman sitting in front of Everett looks all but defeated.
She stares again at the picture on Everett’s phone, then passes it back to her, shaking her head. ‘There are so many – and they come and go so much. I probably wouldn’t recognize her if she’d been in here three weeks ago, never mind three years.’
‘What about your records – can you do a search for girls called Vicky or Victoria who were signing on here then? Say, January 2014 onwards?’
‘OK. I can do that.’
She turns to her computer. There’s a tired piece of cardboard stuck to the screen with Blu-Tack. You don’t have to work to be mad here, but it helps. There’s also a plastic troll with beady eyes and bright blue acrylic hair. Everett hasn’t seen one of those since she was at school.
The woman taps the keyboard then sits forward.
‘I have one Vicky and three Victorias on file here in January 2014. The Vicky is still signing on now and the three Victorias have got jobs, one with Nando’s, one at Oxford Brookes and one with a cleaning firm. Though that probably won’t last. Too much like hard work for most of them.’
‘Is there any way our Vicky could have been claiming without being on that database?’
The woman shakes her head. ‘No. She’d be in here somewhere.’
‘Perhaps by another name?’
‘Doubt it. She’d have had to show us two forms of ID. Passport, driving licence – you know the sort of thing.’
Everett sighs. How is it possible, in a digital world, to leave no trace at all?
***
Quinn clatters up the final few stairs to the flat and opens the door.
‘Pippa? Are you there?’
But all he hears is the sound of his own voice. The congealing remains of last night’s dinner are still on the table, but the bags that had been stacked in the corner are gone. The only sign she was ever there is a pair of black lacy knickers, draped over one corner of the widescreen TV.
‘Shit,’ he says out loud. ‘Shit shit shit.’
***
When I look up at Baxter’s face my first thought is that I’ve never seen him look so animated.
‘Sorry to bother you, boss, but I’ve just come off the phone with Christine Grantham. Used to go out with Rob Gardiner when they were at university.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘There’s something he hasn’t been telling us. Something big.’
***
In Banbury, the local forensics team are in Lingfield Road. It takes them over an hour, but eventually they find the missing netsuke rolled up in a towel and hidden under a loose floorboard. The officer bagging them up looks at one more closely as she labels it. An otter, a tiny fish gripped between its teeth. You can almost feel the water on its coat. ‘Are these funny little things really worth all that trouble?’ she asks Somer.
‘Oh yes, I suspect these are worth a good deal. Walsh probably hid them after he saw the news about Harper – he knew it was only a matter of time before we tracked him down.’
The woman raises her eyebrows. ‘Just shows you. Looks like a load of old plastic tat to me. The sort of thing you used to get in cornflakes boxes.’ She grins, sealing the bag. ‘Showing my age. You probably don’t remember that.’
Somer smiles. ‘Actually, I do.’
‘OK, that’s the lot. I’ll get them photographed for you.’