Jack took a deep breath as Glenda instructed him to join the odorous officer beside her. He sat watching footage of the charity bin. Amanda was seen with the pillowcase, taking out clothes and shoes and pushing them into the open lid of the big container. The officer had so far been able to show three different trips over a period of many months, and on each occasion, Amanda carried a full pillowcase and emptied the contents into the container. She looked very unwell, with lank hair, and was always wearing the same old coat.
Glenda leaned on the back of the officer’s chair. ‘As this footage was some time ago, it’s highly unlikely we’ll be able to track any of the items she’s getting rid of. But you can probably cross-reference the dates of the missing girls with the clothes drop-offs, as they could belong to the victims.’
The other officer had been focused on bin collections, dates and times, and reported that there were three different collections. The green bin was for glass and plastic, the blue for cardboard and paper, and the black bin was for general non-recyclable waste and food. There was also a brown bin for garden waste, but that was only collected once a month. Each bin had to be positioned on the pavement on the appropriate collection day.
Glenda said that it appeared that the black bin was always the heaviest, and therefore the most likely to be used for dismembered body parts. They watched Mr Delaney assisting Rodney, heaving the bin up the basement steps. There was also footage of the other tenants heading down to the basement with their respective kitchen bin liners or black dustbin bags. They never stayed any length of time in the basement courtyard.
Glenda said that it was a very long shot, but they could begin searching the local landfill sites for any human remains.
Jack remained with the CCTV investigators for another hour, and by the time he returned to the incident room he was feeling nauseous. This was partly caused by the intoxicating BO, but also from viewing the footage for over three hours.
Some of the night duty officers had already left and Laura was just gathering her things together as it was almost 6 a.m. The thought of now having to go and meet Ridley made Jack’s head throb, but he hung back to mark up his findings on the board.
‘Bit over-eager, aren’t we?’ Laura said, putting on her Michelin Man coat.
‘Just finishing up a few things,’ Jack said, checking his watch. He was about to call home to talk to Maggie, but then Anik arrived, annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
‘Morning all. How did it go last night?’ he asked breezily.
Jack smiled wanly and suggested that he take a look at the CCTV footage upstairs, then went over to knock on the DCI’s office. He waited, then eased the door open. DCI Clarke was lying on the floor next to his desk, using his overcoat as a pillow, with his mouth wide open. Jack quietly closed the door and packed up his briefcase.
A very bouncy Sara suddenly launched herself through the door.
‘Morning, everyone. Can I get a round of coffee or tea?’
There were a few orders shouted out, and requests for bacon butties. Jack was ready to leave when she stopped to ask if he wanted anything. He shook his head.
‘Just my bed. It’s been a very long night.’
‘I’ve got some good news from mispers about two of the girls,’ Sara said, looking at a report on her desk.
Jack waited.
‘They’ve been traced.’
‘Good, that’s really good...’ he said quietly.
Chapter Twenty
Ridley looked in even worse shape than the last time they had met. Jack handed him a coffee and sipped at his own double macchiato in the hope that it would give him some energy. They sat on their usual bench, and it was soon clear that depression was weighing heavily on Ridley.
‘It’s over, Jack; we have nothing. Apart from it appearing that someone was attempting to trace Sandra. Of course, they ran it by me, but they’d got nowhere so they weren’t really concerned.’
‘Maybe we should sit in my car so that I can tell you what I’ve discovered, and you can tell me what a fucking genius I am. I think I may have discovered Sandra’s identity, but I need you to look at everything I’ve got. I didn’t park too far away, so come on.’
Ridley actually smiled as they approached the pea-green Nissan Micra, asking Jack if he had ever considered driving something a little less obvious. He climbed into the passenger seat while Jack sat in the driving seat beside him. Jack reached over to the back seat for his briefcase.
‘Did you know a woman called Lorna Elliot?’
Ridley frowned and shook his head. Jack took out the newspaper photograph and showed it to him. He stared at the cutting and simply shook his head again.
‘OK, what about someone called Anton Lord?’
Jack was taken aback at Ridley’s lack of response. He had been so certain that he had made a breakthrough. He told Ridley about the gravestones for the Raynor family, that their dead child had been called Sandra, and that the mother’s maiden name had been Norma Elliot.
Ridley continued to stare at the photograph. Frustrated, Jack told him to think back twenty years, to any case involved with accountancy, perhaps a big fraud.
‘She is the right age, sir. She looks like a dog’s dinner in these photos, but if she had a lot of work on her face... she’s the same height and build. And this Anton Lord may have been a bad sort as well; take a look at his photo and see if it jogs your memory.’
Ridley closed his eyes and Jack felt his frustration mounting.
‘Russia, they could have been working on something in Russia. Have they tested your car for any of that fucking Russian poison? Are there any results back from your blood and urine tests?’
‘Wait a minute,’ Ridley spoke quietly. ‘Is there something about a farmhouse?’
Jack found the notes he had made from the newspaper cuttings. He passed them to Ridley. It was only a moment or two, but it felt like an age before Ridley’s head snapped up and he looked at Jack.
‘I don’t believe this. It’s got to be more than twenty years ago. I can’t remember her, but something is starting to click. Jesus Christ, it was so long ago that I think I was still in uniform for fuck’s sake. But how does it connect to the present day? I just don’t understand?’
‘What do you remember?’
Ridley took a deep breath.
‘There was an investigation into the disappearance of a young guy, a banker or something like that. He disappeared from his country farmhouse, maybe in Essex, just disappeared off the face of the earth. I wasn’t on the case originally but was brought in years later as there had been a development in tracing a suspect.’
‘Go on...’
‘Well, like I said, I was just part of a team, but the suspect involved in this bloke’s abduction and possible murder had been traced to Moscow. It dragged on for eighteen months or so, while they were trying to bring him back to the UK to stand trial, but there’s no extradition treaty; they were going to be sending someone over to confront him. But before they could question him, he committed suicide. As far as I can remember there was a lot of money involved, all connected to illegal currency dealing. The poor bastard that disappeared was apparently very skilled at hiding money in complicated business webs and offshore trusts.’
‘This was Anton Lord?’
‘I honestly can’t recall, but the name rings a bell. I never met him, or his partner.’
‘That would be Lorna Elliot?’
‘I don’t know... but I can get the team working on it. They can start to dig up everything there is on the case. Right now, they’re still attempting to find all the CCTV footage where my car might have been driven. It’s still with forensics officers; they’re even testing soil particles from the tyres in an attempt to match a location. They’ve interviewed everyone in the bar the night it happened. But there’s no one suspicious... It’s a nightmare.’