‘Thanks, Lloyd. It’s good to know I got something right.’
‘You seem a bit down... something up?’
‘Stanley’s pissed off with me.’
‘What have you done now?’ Lloyd asked.
Jane sighed. ‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.’
Jane knocked on Stanley’s door and went in.
‘Any sightings of Becky?’ she asked apprehensively and showed him the search warrant.
Stanley nodded. ‘It looks like she went to the convent on Tuesday afternoon. An elderly couple who live in one of the flats phoned in. They were on their way out at a quarter past two when they saw a young woman getting out of a red Citroën 2CV near the main entrance. The description matches Becky and the clothing fits with what her colleagues say she wore to work on Tuesday.’
‘Did they see her again?’
‘No, but her car was still there when they returned home at six o’clock. They said it wasn’t there the following morning. This is not looking good. I’ve called in the Special Patrol Group and dog section to help with the search. I’m going to speak with PC Rogers, let him know what’s happening. I understand that you’re in an awkward position. If you don’t want to be part of the search and arrest team then—’
‘No, I want to do it,’ she said firmly. ‘You were right. I should have interviewed Thomas Durham as soon as I suspected he was lying. If I had, then maybe right now Becky Rogers would be sitting in the comfort of her home writing her investigative journal.’
‘You can’t change what’s happened, Jane, but you can make a difference to how it ends.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Jane said.
‘We’ve all made mistakes on this investigation,’ Stanley said, ‘me and Tony Barnes included. The reality is, it’s you and Boon who have uncovered the vital evidence. You should both be proud of that.’
‘Is Boon coming on the search?’
Stanley nodded. ‘I spoke with him while you were out. I told him we think Becky went to Thomas Durham’s house and you were getting a search warrant. He was pretty cut up, but he’s still hoping we might find her alive and being held against her will.’
‘If we find her body there it might be too much for him,’ Jane said.
‘If Boony wants to go I’m not going to stand in his way. Finding out what’s happened to Becky might even be cathartic for him.’
Stanley opened his briefcase and took out a clear plastic property bag. He removed a rag doll and handed it to Jane. The doll had button eyes, smiling red felt lips and yellow yarn hair. It was dressed in a pink floral dress, red apron and red shoes.
‘This was on Becky’s bed. Her flatmate said her mother made it for her fifth birthday. I took it in case we needed a scent for the police dogs during a search,’ he said with a grim look.
Jane recalled the rag doll her parents had bought her when she was a toddler. She felt close to tears thinking of Becky hugging the doll and talking to it when she felt downhearted. Jane held the doll close to her chest and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Becky.’
By seven there were thirty uniformed officers, two dog handlers, twelve detectives and a van full of search equipment on their way to the old convent in a convoy of vehicles, with Jane and Boon in the lead. Prior to leaving the station, Stanley and Jane briefed everyone regarding the exterior search parameters and inquiries to be made with all the residents. Stanley decided that if Becky’s body was discovered in the old chapel, the search of the woods, land and lake could stop, and be continued in daylight if necessary.
Arriving at the convent, Jane was relieved that neither of Nick’s cars was there. She sent two officers round to the rear of the chapel, even though she doubted Thomas Durham would try and escape out of the back. Boon pressed the intercom for Flat 10, the residence of the couple who had seen the red Citroën 2CV and a young woman matching Becky’s description.
The woman pressed the door release to let them in. Jane, Boon, Stanley, two detectives and a dog handler went into the chapel. Jane knocked on Thomas Durham’s door while the others stood to the side.
‘Hello, Jane. Come in. Is Nick with you?’ Durham asked when he saw her.
‘This is not a social visit, Mr Durham,’ Jane said.
He noticed the other officers. ‘I can see that. What on earth is going on?’
‘We are investigating the disappearance of Becky Rogers,’ she said.
‘Who is Becky Rogers?’ Durham asked.
‘If you’d like to let us in, I’ll explain further,’ Jane said.
Durham frowned. ‘No. You can speak on my doorstep.’
‘I have a warrant to search your property. If needs be, I can force entry,’ Jane said firmly.
He opened the door, and they all went through to the living room. Boon switched the TV off and Durham picked up a cup of coffee from the table.
‘So, what’s this all about?’ he asked, taking a sip.
Jane handed Durham a copy of the warrant. ‘Becky Rogers is a reporter for the Bromley News Shopper. She wrote the article about the discovery of the coffin and the murdered nun—’
He interrupted gruffly. ‘I read the article, but I never looked at who wrote it.’
‘We have reason to believe Becky came here to interview you yesterday,’ Jane continued.
‘Your information is wrong,’ Durham said huffily. ‘I have never met or spoken to the woman... nor would I ever want to.’
His dismissive manner was getting to Boon. ‘A woman matching her description and driving the same make and colour of car was seen outside these premises...’ he began.
‘Then she must have come here to interview someone else!’ Durham interrupted. ‘This is bloody ridiculous. I’m phoning my solicitor.’
‘I can’t allow you to make any calls until we have finished our search,’ Jane told him.
Durham gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Then bloody well get on with it!’
Jane asked Boon and the two detectives to search the upstairs bedrooms, while she, Lloyd and the dog handler dealt with the downstairs and crypt.
‘Where’s Bella?’ Jane asked.
‘In her bed in the kitchen. The door is closed, so you don’t need to worry about her disturbing you,’ Durham replied indignantly.
The dog handler opened the bag containing Becky’s rag doll, removed it, and let his German Shepherd have a good sniff.
‘Track, Rumpole, track,’ the handler said, letting the dog off the lead.
‘Rumpole?’ Lloyd remarked.
‘You know, Rumpole of the Bailey,’ the handler said.
Durham snorted. ‘You’re wasting your time and mine.’
Rumpole scurried round the living room sniffing around the furniture with his tail wagging. He suddenly stopped and sniffed in one area, then with his head down and nose to the ground walked towards the entrance door.
‘He’s on to something. Good boy, Rumpole, good boy,’ the handler said.
Rumpole sniffed by the door, spun around, and moved his head from side to side as he padded towards the stairwell to the crypt.
The handler looked pleased. ‘He’s picked up her scent.’
‘How can you tell?’ Lloyd asked.
‘By the way he moves and keeps his nose to the ground.’
Rumpole stopped at the top of the stairwell, took a few sniffs, and started going down the stairs, sniffing each one as he went.
‘Be careful on your way down, the stonework is slippery,’ Jane told the dog handler. She turned to Lloyd. ‘Can you stay with Mr Durham, please?’
‘Don’t worry yourself, I assure you I won’t try and escape,’ Thomas said scornfully.
At the bottom of the stairs Rumpole stopped, had another good sniff, then started to sneeze and whine.
The handler pulled Rumpole away. ‘That’s how he reacts to cleaning agents like bleach.’