Backlash (26 page)

Banks tapped a few keys and scrolled through the past and present membership lists.

‘Nothing on here for Fidelis Flynn, but yes, there you go, details of his joining date, membership number and photograph.’

He printed out the information and passed it to Anna. At the top of the page was a star and the words
NOT APPROVED FOR FURTHER MEMBERSHIP
. Banks next went to a filing cabinet and withdrew
a folder.

‘I keep a file on people who we have complaints about or who’ve been barred for one reason or another. The girls at the desk also have a copy because of the photograph.’

Anna was hardly able to contain herself as she asked why Mr Oates was no longer approved for membership.

‘We have a policy: anyone using the swimming pool has to go through the shower and foot bath before entering the water, it’s all about health and safety.’

She waited.

‘Mr Oates was to say the least rather unkempt, and I recall him very well because when I worked the pool area he had obviously not showered. I think he was working on a building site and I
caught him coming into the swimming pool area from a staff door. He had not used the shower and so I sort of earmarked him as someone to watch. I did on a couple of other occasions turn him back to
go through the disinfectant foot bath; his feet were filthy. We also had a couple of complaints from other swimmers and he was warned that if he didn’t shower he would not be allowed to use
the pool.’

Banks went on to say that Oates was a very strong swimmer, and would do up to a hundred lengths every time he used the pool. He also used the gym, where again complaints had been made about his
appearance. In fact, the list of complaints also included using someone’s shampoo and sitting around too long in the café.

‘He was warned a couple of times that he would not be allowed to use the centre and his membership would be revoked. There was some altercation on a running machine once. He was quite
athletic and would be on the treadmill for hours.’

‘Did you ever see him approaching young girls?’

‘I think a swimming instructor did give a memo about him taking too much interest in a group of schoolgirls.’

Anna remarked to Banks that the list of complaints against Oates was extensive, yet he had still been allowed to use the premises.

‘We are a council-run club, not private, and we have a three-warnings rule, but in actual fact we didn’t ask him to leave due to his hygiene or behaviour – we had a spate of
thefts. Tracksuits and shoes went missing, and we did a Miss Marple, cross-checking the members that were signed in when the thefts occurred. Overall, Oates was top of the list.’

‘Did it get reported to the police?’

‘No. It was nothing of value really and often the stolen item wasn’t missed immediately. We did install some interior CCTV cameras and, if my memory is correct, it was just before we
had them installed that Mr Oates was asked to leave. We always had them in the car park, but not inside the club.’

‘So he was never caught on camera stealing?’

‘No. One of our instructors was in the gym for a one-to-one workout with a member, said she had taken her crucifix off and put it on the windowsill. When her class was finished . .
.’ He paused and shook his head.

‘No, sorry, it was the young lady’s, she had taken it off because it got in the way when she was doing press-ups and Judy the instructor filled out the lost property report for her.
Again it was not of great value, more sentimental value really.’

He frowned and stood up.

‘Just in case I get the facts wrong she still works here if you would like to talk to her.’

‘Thank you, I would, and I need to take the file you kept on Oates.’

Anna was so excited she burst into the incident room. Barolli physically jumped, as he was closest to the door.

‘I got a result, one you won’t believe.’

Anna dumped her briefcase down as people around paid attention.

‘Henry Oates was confronted by a fitness trainer at the sports centre where he went swimming but he also worked out in the gym there. They’d had a spate of thefts – running
shoes, tracksuits – and one of the members left her gold crucifix on a window ledge. Oates was running on a treadmill; he was the only other person in the gymnasium.’

Anna had taken off her coat and was opening her briefcase.

‘When Oates was confronted and accused of taking it, he became very abusive and threatening. The manager was called and said Oates refused to allow them to search his bag – in fact
swung it at him and ran out. He was subsequently barred from the centre.’

Anna crossed to the incident board and picked up a marker pen.

‘The lady who owned the crucifix is a Sabrina Holt and I went to see her on my way back here. It was stolen eighteen months ago. Sabrina said it was rolled gold, not real gold, and that it
had a chip mark at the bottom of it.’

Anna pointed to the picture of the crucifix on the board and circled a small chip mark, which was in the same place described by Sabrina Holt.

‘She said it could not have been taken by anyone else as Oates was working out when she started her class and left before it had finished and no one else entered the gym.’

‘Did she report it to the police?’ Barbara asked.

‘No, she said it was not that valuable.’

‘Nobody actually saw him with it though, did they?’ Barolli said.

Anna snapped that the necklace was stolen two days before Fidelis went missing and had now been recovered snagged to her clothing. It was obvious Oates had taken it.

Joan had been on the phone during all of this, but now called out: ‘I got a hit!’

Anna turned towards her.

‘I did as you asked about the chalk and building sites. Basically raw chalk itself isn’t really used on site but it is used to make cement, lime, mortar and so on. Oates told his
neighbour it was chalk dust on him so as a bit of initiative on my part I started ringing round working chalk pits near London. Been onto a chalk quarry near Marlow – that’s sort of
past Heathrow Airport, M40-M4 – it’s only semi-running at the moment, but the manager was really helpful. Worked there for over twenty years.’

Anna was so impatient she wanted to shake Joan.

‘Did Henry Oates work there?’

‘No, but I also ran by the manager, amongst other names, Timmy Bradford – remember him, ex-boxer associate of Oates?’

‘Yes, and?’

‘In 2006 Bradford worked there briefly as a driver, and he brought a friend along who was looking for a similar position, but the friend was unable to provide a driving licence.’

‘This guy has a bloody good memory,’ Barolli said.

‘I thought that, but he recalls “the friend”, who matches Oates’s description, as being trouble. When he was refused a job he became belligerent, screaming and shouting
about wasting his time and the next minute the two of them were fighting.’

‘Which two, the manager and Oates?’

‘No, Timmy Bradford and Oates. They had to be separated, which is why he remembers the incident. Oates cleared off and Bradford only lasted a few more weeks before he left.’

Anna still had the marker pen in her hand.

‘Joan, hit me with the dates this happened.’

‘Well, the manager thinks it was late June, early July 2006.’

Anna tapped her teeth with the pen. The date didn’t match when Mrs Murphy had seen Oates covered in chalk dust but was around the time he worked at the Jordans. She hesitated before
writing down the information.

‘What’s this place like, Joan?’

‘I don’t know, it’s called Taplow Quarry. I’ll get some pictures of it up on the web. Some parts of it are disused, or so the manager said.’

Anna leaned on the back of Joan’s chair as she brought up the pictures on the website. It was like an alien world – colossal, with towering white cliffs of chalk and a quarry
hundreds of feet in depth and width. The dumper trucks looked like small toys in comparison. They could see huge open-sided barns with loading bays and conveyer belts, which Joan said were to move
the blasted chalk into a crusher before it went on to the cement and lime factories. The disused area was also massive, with a large pond, trees, bushes and abundant moss.

Anna went back to her desk but couldn’t concentrate. The quarry had given her an eerie feeling – the hairs on her arms were raised. She doodled on her notepad. Why had Henry Oates
been seen covered in chalk dust nearly nine months after he had applied for work there?

‘Paul, will you do me a favour?’

Barolli looked over.

‘I’d like you to bring in Timmy Bradford for further questioning.’

‘Sure, and good work on tracking the crucifix down. Do I have a reason for wheeling Bradford in?’

‘Yeah, he lied.’

Timmy Bradford sat nervously in front of Anna, who had Barolli beside her. This time he was outside the comfort zone of his mother’s flat, and there was no tea and
biscuits on offer.

‘You fed me a load of lies, Timmy, didn’t you?’ Anna began, in no mood to mess about.

‘No.’

‘Listen, Timmy, I’ve looked at your record. You’re not sitting here because of another petty juvenile crime. You’re very close to being arrested on suspicion of murder,
so you need to start telling me the truth.’

‘I ain’t done nothing.’

Anna opened her notebook and began to flick through the pages.

‘You said you last saw Henry Oates seven years ago at York Hall.’

Bradford leaned forwards.

‘I was telling you the truth. I ain’t seen him for years, that’s God’s truth.’

‘What about the time you took him to Taplow Quarry?’

‘What?’

‘You were working there.’

Bradford leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

‘Are you shaking your head because you didn’t work there?’

‘No, it was bloody years ago, and I only lasted a few months cos the work was shit, and the money was no good. You got covered in the crap, in your hair, up your nose . . .’

‘Tell me about the time you took Henry Oates there.’

Bradford sighed, looking down at the table top, unable to meet Anna’s eyes.

‘He was looking for a job. I met him at a boxing match. I told him I was working there and he asked if I could take him with me.’

Bradford’s gaze wandered around the small room.

‘Like I said, it was years ago the last time I saw him and I just forgot he went with me to Taplow.’

‘You had a fight with him, didn’t you?’

Bradford shrugged.

‘Yeah, we had a punch-up. They wouldn’t let him drive one of the trucks like I was doing cos he had no driving licence. Like I said, I had a job and he wasn’t gonna get one. He
was all uptight, blamed me for wasting his time; he told me I had to take him back to London, but I told him to fuck off or wait for me to finish workin’.’

‘Don’t swear, Mr Bradford,’ Anna said firmly.

‘Sorry, but you know you got me hauled in here, my mum’s frantic, she won’t believe it was for nothin’.’

Anna glanced at Barolli and closed her notebook. Bradford had confirmed what they had been told by the chalk pit manager.

‘I dunno how he got back to London, maybe thumbed a ride, but that was the last time I saw him.’

‘But how do you think he got back to London?’

‘I dunno. I swear before God I never saw him again. He bloody swung a punch at me and hit me in the face. Knowing him, he could have even walked back. As it turned out, I left the job a
few weeks later like I told you, but I never wanted to see him again. He’s got this temper and he could just let fly. I mean, I could hold me own with him, but he caught me off
guard.’

‘Are there any other contacts with Henry Oates that you may have “forgotten” about?’

Bradford hesitated and then gave a slow nod of his head.

‘Yeah, forgot this an’ all, sorry, but it was before the fight at the quarry. I’d had this run of bad luck. I’d been saving up and looking for a place to live, but I was
stupid. I took a punt on a dog, got told it was a certainty, lost five hundred quid.’

‘What about the savings your mother mentioned, that you’d lost the money you’d saved for a flat?’

He pulled a clownish face.

‘Yeah well, that was a bit of a lie, she’d have never let me stay with her if she’d known I’d blown what I’d got on a fucking dog. Excuse me, sorry, she’s
very careful with her savings. I know she’s got quite a packet from her last husband, and . . . I completely forgot this. I’ve had to move in with her off and on for years, it’s
the gambling doing me in always, and then when I get a bit of dough I move out. Me and her husband didn’t get along either, but since he passed on I’ve been staying with her more and
more.’

Anna waited patiently.

‘Go back to the time you say something had slipped your mind.’

‘Right, yeah. It was when I was taking him to the quarry, he came to Mum’s flat for me to drive him there. I don’t even have the car any more, had to sell it.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, he was early so I let him in and told him to wait in the hall. Of course Mum was hovering around, it was only six-ish but she’s always up with the birds.’

‘Did she meet him?’

‘Christ no, he was stinking out the hallway and she’d have gone apeshit about me being with his type. I just grabbed my overcoat and we left. I was tellin’ you the truth, cos I
honest to God haven’t seen him since that time at the quarry.’

‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Bradford.’

He had the audacity to smile. ‘Had an option, did I?’

‘What’s so important about this chalk pit?’ Barolli asked after Bradford had been allowed to go.

Anna explained that Oates couldn’t have been working at the chalk pit when Mrs Murphy said she saw him covered in dust. She thought it unlikely that the elderly couple would be nine months
out, particularly as Mrs Murphy recalled the exact date the gates arrived.

‘It’s the chalk pit, something about that place. But if they are right about the dates Oates helped them put their gates up, it was March 2007 that Oates explained to Mr Murphy about
the chalk dust. Mrs Murphy did say her husband’s memory was not so good. Maybe he did get the timing wrong.’