Even though he and Helen were closeted away in her office, Lloyd could tell the team outside had half an eye on proceedings and he wanted to be away from their curiosity and censure.
‘I would like to know why, Lloyd,’ Helen replied slowly. ‘Because I think you’re a good copper and basically a decent guy, so I would like to know why.’
Lloyd hung his head – he had been afraid she might take this line.
‘But we don’t have time for that now. I’ve had officers resign on me before because of personal indiscretions, officers who I miss now, so I’m going to ask you not to write that letter.’
Lloyd looked up at her, suddenly wrong-footed.
‘We have a major investigation going on which you should be helping me lead. But your focus has been elsewhere – that is what is truly unforgivable.’
Lloyd took the hit – he knew it was justified.
‘However, we need every available officer on this now. And I believe in second chances. So first we find Ruby. Then we deal with you. Ok?’
‘Keys. Let’s focus on the keys.’
The entire team had been called to the incident room. Helen, flanked by Lloyd Fortune and DC Sanderson, led the discussion.
‘We think this is how he gains access, so we need to check out every key-cutter in Southampton. It’s a big job but we don’t have any other choice. We’ll start centrally and work out. To narrow the search a little, let’s start with shops that Isobel Lansley passed on her route to and from university. McAndrew?’
‘So this is a full breakdown of her route,’ the reliable DC responded, handing out stapled A4 sheets to the assembled officers. ‘You’ll find a breakdown of the route by street name, plus a map showing her route in red. She left her flat in Dagnall Street, turning right on to Chesterton Avenue past a small parade of shops. She would then walk to the city centre along Paxton Road, before cutting through the WestQuay and on to Lower Granton Street. From there…’
McAndrew ran through the rest of her route, highlighting possible points of interest. Helen had hauled in a couple of bodies from the data analysis unit and they proved to be a godsend now. They speed-typed, bringing up several possible key-cutting shops en route. Sanderson wrote them up on the board and detailed officers to check them out. Though they were only inching forward, Helen was pleased to see the team finally pulling together. Even Sanderson and Lucas seemed to be getting on.
As the selected officers snatched up their jackets and hurried off, Helen addressed those that remained.
‘The rest of you will focus on the other girls now. We need to find overlaps with Isobel’s route that will narrow the search still further. Pippa might have walked down Chesterton Avenue to get to the city centre and we know she worked in the WestQuay shopping centre, so there’s two possibles for starters. Let’s forensically examine their routines and see what that throws up. Roisin didn’t work and neither did Ruby, so where did they go, what did they do?’
Helen paused a moment before she finished, pleased by the sense of determination that shone from the faces of her team now:
‘Find the link and we find our man.’
123
‘First things first, I don’t want my name anywhere near this. I’ve got enough problems as it is.’
‘Of course. We won’t publish anything you don’t want us to.’
Emilia had told this little white lie many times in her career. Oddly this time she actually meant it – if this lead proved important in cracking the ‘Bodies on the Beach’ case then her source would get the royal treatment. Emilia surveyed the woman opposite her. She guessed she was in her early fifties but she looked older. She had a drinker’s face – bloodshot and jowelly – and the yellow fingers and teeth of a smoker. Her voice was deep and she was slightly overweight, but there was something in the eyes – a low cunning, a spark of wicked humour – that nevertheless drew you in. If she met this woman on the street, she would hold her purse tight and move on quickly, but Emilia had her professional face on today and looked only too pleased to be seated with her in this grim backstreet pub.
‘Another drink, Jane?’
Jane Fraser nodded and soon Emilia was back, clutching a pint of Best and a double Jameson’s. The woman threw the whisky back in one go, then got stuck into the pint.
‘So tell me about the tattoo?’
‘How about a little down-payment first, eh?’ Jane said swiftly.
Emilia had been expecting this and immediately slid a brown envelope across the table.
‘Five hundred pounds. Best I can do for now.’
Jane paused, giving Emilia a filthy look. For a horrible moment, Emilia thought she was going to get up and walk out. But then she picked up the packet and started leafing through the notes and Emilia knew she was fine.
‘The tattoo, Jane.’
Jane pocketed the money, sniffed unpleasantly, then replied:
‘She got it done when she was eleven. She and her brother went to the parlour together – probably half-inched the money from me – and they both got it done. A poxy little bluebird on their shoulders. Just right for those little lovebirds.’
Emilia eyed up the prodigious display of tattoos that covered Jane’s arms and shoulders. They were not cute – they were aggressive and highly sexual in their content.
‘Why a bluebird?’
‘God knows. Never asked. Perhaps they wanted to fly away together?’
She laughed unpleasantly, before the coughing started up again. Once the fit had relented, she lit up. It was banned in here of course, but no one in this hole was going to stop her.
‘What happened to her?’
‘My Summer died, didn’t she. Heroin overdose. Ben went looking for her, when she didn’t come home. Found her in the park. Covered in vomit she was, her eyes clamped shut. Silly sod thought she was asleep. Had to be prised off her by the police in the end – he was convinced she’d wake up and be back to normal any second. Wouldn’t let go of her, they said.’
‘Ben? He’s your son?’
Jane grunted a yes.
‘Was he an addict too?’
‘God, no. Her brother didn’t have the balls for that and he was only small when she died. Twelve or so.’
Emilia scribbled this down and considered her next question.
‘What happened to him?’
‘Stuck around for a bit, but he and I had never got on, so after a few weeks, he took off.’
Emilia had a bad feeling they were winding up to a massive dead end.
‘And you’ve not seen him since?’
‘Didn’t say that, did I? Saw him a few months back – in town, you know.’
‘So where does he live?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on, Jane. You just said -’
‘He wouldn’t tell me. Didn’t want me hanging about, I guess.’
Emilia didn’t push it – she could tell more was coming by the sly look on Jane Fraser’s face. She pulled Emilia in close, so close she could smell the stink of stale tobacco on her breath as she whispered:
‘But I do know where he works.’
124
He lay on the dirty bed, his mind full of strange and exciting thoughts. He had been so blind for so long, trying to see gold in the heart of a worthless slut. Now that he could see again, he couldn’t stop smiling. He felt light as feather. He had stood and watched Summer until she closed the curtains and retreated inside. He had then done a couple of circuits of the street, checking for CCTV, street lighting, as well as the names on the bells at her house. Like all the places round there, it had been divided into numerous flats. He had been pleased to see the names on the top and bottom bells sounded foreign. Far less likely to kick up if they did hear or see anything. But he would make sure they didn’t. He was pretty practised at this now, after all.
As he’d walked home, his head had been full of her. Those bewitching eyes, the tenderness of her touch, her gentle South Coast accent – identical to his of course. He had kissed his fingers and pressed them to his tattoo – then chuckled at the extravagant nature of his tribute. People must think him mad.