DARK CRIMES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense (19 page)

They went through to a small room that had been darkened for the video search. A frame was frozen on screen. It showed a grubby Ford Fiesta disembarking from the Sandbanks ferry. The frame was timed at twelve thirty on the previous Friday. The driver looked like their suspect, his face almost identical to the photofit image. The car registration plate was obscured by mud.

‘Jimmy, see what you can do about getting that number plate identified. Can we clean up the image somehow?’

Marsh said, ‘Ma’am, there’s someone at county forensics who’s an expert at this kind of thing. I’ll phone through, get their email address and give it to Jimmy. He can do a screen grab and email it across. It’ll be a lot quicker than wasting time on it ourselves.’

‘Good idea, Barry. Now where does this get us?’

‘He left here and went east. That means he probably lives in east Poole, Bournemouth or somewhere further along the coast. And because of Debbie Martinez, we have to go as far as Southampton. In fact, I’d suggest Southampton as a strong possibility. Gwen Davies always assumed he was local. As far as we know, Debbie was the first person to report him.’

‘Where’s Lydia, by the way?’

‘She got Donna’s student address. She’s across in Bournemouth trying the neighbours. Kevin McGreedie has arranged for some uniformed bods to help her. She’s also using his influence to get Sasha Purfleet moved to somewhere safe.’

‘That’s not going to be easy if she’s an addict. She’s not going to manage a fix if she’s in a safe house, is she?’

Marsh shrugged. ‘What else can we do?’

‘Nothing, of course. By the way, did anything come from the photos from the university?’

‘I’ve got a couple of the local guys checking them in the back room downstairs. Maybe we should go and check.’

Several of the photos taken by students showed their elusive quarry by himself early in the evening. He was beside Donna only in the photos from mid-evening onwards.

‘So it looks like he met her at that Christmas ball. He came by himself, met Donna and stayed with her. They started a relationship and things were fine for a few months. But then the violence started. It’s so similar to the story that Tracy Beck told us. I think we have a pretty clear idea of how he works. We’ll get Lydia back in once she’s made the arrangements for Sasha Purfleet. I need her in Poole, looking after Tracy. That’s now one of the main priorities.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Barry, can you get onto Bob Thompson? I want to know if he’s found any evidence that confirms it was Susie Pater who went to Corfu with Donna. Ask him to find out if Susie’s friend Bernice knows.’

She left to make the phone calls from the main incident room. Marsh followed her.

‘He’s only just out of reach now, Barry. We’re getting close.’

‘I wish I could share your optimism, ma’am.’

‘I want to know more about Donna’s grandmother. Can you organise some visits to all of the neighbours in Gilbert Road? Find out about her. How long she’d had the flat, whether she lived locally before then, whether people remember her. The usual stuff. There’s something here that doesn’t sit easy in my mind.’

Melsom waved from his desk. ‘I’ve traced Warrander, ma’am. He’s with one of the big finance companies in Bournemouth.’

‘Get onto them, Jimmy. Confirm it, then we’ll go across and see him right now before he finishes work. And well done.’

* * *

George Warrander still sported the spiky hairstyle from the student photos, although his eyes were serious. His voice was surprisingly deep. He was waiting for them in the lobby of the building. He stood up as they entered, walking forward in order to shake their hands, Sophie first. He was wearing a deep blue suit, a red tie and smartly polished black shoes. The only similarities to the university photographs were his hairstyle and his fresh complexion.

He ushered them across to a collection of seats set out around a small, low table with publicity brochures spread across the surface.

‘Have you worked here long, Mr Warrander?’ Sophie asked.

He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Just over a year,’ he replied. ‘I started the autumn after I graduated. I landed a summer job here while I was still a student and worked most holidays after that when they needed extra staff. I even did a few weekends. I got on well with everyone, so they offered me a permanent job once I finished my degree. I was really lucky.’

He seemed an open and amiable young man and Sophie guessed that it wasn’t mere luck that had secured him the job. ‘What do you do exactly?’

‘I’m a trainee business manager specialising in links with France. I kept up a French language option while I was a student, and it’s paid off well. I don’t think I’d have landed the job without it.’

‘Why didn’t you contact us when you saw the press reports about Donna’s murder?’ Sophie asked. ‘The story’s been in the press for over a week now, with her name very prominent. Surely you must have known it was her? Goodenough isn’t a very common name.’

‘I’ve been on holiday,’ he replied. ‘I only got back two days ago, so I’ve been out of the loop. When you contacted me it came as a real shock, I can tell you. I’ve read every paper I’ve been able to lay my hands on since then. I can’t believe it. I still feel sick when I think about it. She was such a lovely person.’

Sophie glanced across at Melsom and nodded slightly. He walked across to the reception desk, then moved towards the lift.

‘Confirming that I was away?’ Warrander asked.

Sophie nodded. ‘In a case like this we double-check everything. I’d like you to take me back to when you first met Donna. Tell me everything you remember about her. We’re still trying to build up a picture of her life here, why she left and what happened to her subsequently.’

‘I met her at freshers’ week, the September she started. I was on the student committee for the business course. I was just about to start my final year, so I was a couple of years ahead of her. She visited my stall and we got chatting. She was very easy to talk to, and we got on really well. She was very mature for her age. I thought at first that she was maybe an older student, but she was just eighteen. We hit it off right away. I think she wanted more but I was on the rebound from a relationship that had gone disastrously wrong and wasn’t ready to get too involved. Anyway, that came out a bit later. I went to the freshers’ ball with her and to several other functions during her first term, and we’d meet up for chats.’ He paused. ‘I really missed her, you know, when we stopped meeting up. Some months afterwards, when she was seeing someone else, I began to think that I’d totally messed up in not taking it further. We got on so well. In some ways better than any other girl I’ve known. It’s just that I wasn’t ready for any serious entanglement at the time.’

‘So you saw her fairly regularly during that first term, but then it stopped? Is that right? What was the reason?’

‘I suppose she got fed up with me dithering about. She started seeing someone else and I’d lost my chance. I regretted it within a few months and missed seeing her for our chats over coffee or in the bar.’

‘When did she meet her next boyfriend?’

He thought for a few moments before replying. ‘I think it was at the Christmas ball. I took her along, then we separated as usual. I think she got off with someone midway through the evening.’

‘Did you meet again very much after that?’

‘No. The Christmas break came within a few days, and we both went home for that. When we returned she was clearly involved with someone, and I didn’t want to spoil things for her so I kept my distance. I began to realise what a mistake I’d made. But it was my last year and my finals were looming. I really had to get my head down and get stuck into the work. And once the exams were out of the way, that was it. I wasn’t on the campus any more, other than when I graduated.’

‘I want you to take me back to that ball. Did you know the man she met there?’

‘No. I didn’t recognise him at all. But then there’s a huge student population on the campus. We only ever know a small proportion of the students, mainly just those doing the same subject.’

‘Can you remember much about him? What he looked like? Did you talk to him at all?’

‘He was tall and quite heavily built. Kind of athletic looking. But I don’t remember much else, except that he didn’t seem to smile much. I did speak to them very briefly, just to ask Donna if she needed me to see her home. But she said that she was okay. There was something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on. The way he looked at me. It was kind of distant and watchful. But maybe I was imagining it. As I turned away I heard her say to him that I was a bit like a brother to her. Then it hit home that maybe I’d misjudged things with her. But it was too late.’

‘Did Donna use his name at all?’

‘I think she called him Andy, but I can’t be sure.’

‘One other question, Mr Warrander. Did Donna ever talk about her family background?’

‘Once or twice. Sometimes she’d seem a bit quiet and withdrawn. Not quite depressed, but getting there. I used to ask her if she wanted to talk about what was bothering her, but she’d usually shake her head. She did tell me once that family life back home was a bit fraught and she was worried about her dad. The only other time she told me anything, it really threw me. She’d been adopted as a baby.’

Sophie sat silently for a few moments.

‘Did she ever mention this again?’

‘No, never. It was only the once.’

Melsom returned and nodded to Sophie as he sat down.

‘Is it true how she died?’ Warrander asked. ‘Was she stabbed?’

‘Yes. Late at night just after she finished work. She was on her way home.’

‘I haven’t been able to sleep since I found out. It makes me feel so sick. I mean physically nauseous. She was a really nice person and it all makes me realise how much I miss her. It’s just unbelievable.’

‘Do you have a girlfriend now, Mr Warrander?’

‘Yes. That’s who I was on holiday with. But I still keep feeling that I let Donna down somehow. It plays over and over in my mind.’

‘None of it is your fault, trust me. All any of us can do is to make the best judgements we can in whatever circumstances we find ourselves in. And from what you’ve said, I think that you were absolutely right at the time to wait and not rush into a relationship with her. It’s pretty clear to us that she came from a broken family background, so she needed a friend as she started something new like university. And you were that friend. There’s no need for you to feel any guilt. Not that my words will give you much comfort in the short term, I know.’

‘Did you see her?’ he asked.

Sophie nodded. ‘Yes. I saw her within an hour of her body being found, and several times later. I saw how beautiful she was.’

Warrander looked at her. ‘It must be terrible for you. How do you cope?’

‘Because it’s my job to cope. It’s my job to find out who did it and bring them to justice. And I will, Mr Warrander, I will do that.’

‘I’d like to be at her funeral.’

‘We’ll let you know the details when we know ourselves.’

She stood up and shook his hand again before they turned towards the door.

‘If I wanted to join the police, it wouldn’t be too late for me, would it?’

She passed him her card. ‘No, it wouldn’t be too late. Contact me, if you decide you’re interested.’

CHAPTER 18: A Soured Romance

Tuesday Evening

‘Do you like curry?’ Lauren pushed her empty plate away, and settled back into her chair with a groan. ‘I think I’m going to burst. And you haven’t answered. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’

‘It’s okay. There are just too many of them over here.’

‘Too many what?’

‘Indians. Pakis. Immigrants of all types. Bleeding us dry.’

Lauren looked horrified. ‘Did you know that in the First World War India lost seventy-five thousand dead in France fighting for Britain? And the same number wounded? And in World War Two they had about the same number of soldiers killed, but also lost about two million civilians?’

‘So?’

‘I always quote those figures when people make a racist comment about them. They fought and died for us, particularly in the first war. The least we can do is to show them some respect, surely?’

‘Are you saying I’m a racist?’

‘No, I didn’t say that. I said it was a racist comment.’

‘Same thing, isn’t it?’

‘Not necessarily. A person can be a racist, but not make any comments about it, so no one would know. Or someone needn’t be a racist, but could make racist comments without meaning it just by choosing the wrong words, particularly if they’ve had a few drinks. Like you’ve had.’

‘So you’re giving me the benefit of the doubt?’

‘This time.’

‘Are you patronising me?’

‘No, I’m telling you what my dad would say. He was born in India. My grandmother was Indian although my grandfather was a Yorkshireman. He was in the army.’

‘But you’re blonde and have blue eyes.’

‘My brother’s eyes are darker. But you still wouldn’t know by looking at them. But you’d find out pretty quick if you made that kind of comment in their presence. They wouldn’t react calmly like me. They’d have just gone for you.’

‘I can look after myself.’

Lauren laughed. ‘One is in the local sea-rowing club and is a lifeboat volunteer. The other is an amateur middleweight boxing champion for the region. You wouldn’t stand a chance. Don’t kid yourself.’

If anything, the comments made him even surlier than he’d been previously. He remained silent.

Lauren frowned and bit her lip before continuing. ‘If what you said is really what you think, then there’s no future for us. I’ll make that clear now. I have Indian relatives, and I love them. I’ve visited India, and I think it’s fantastic. I won’t put up with racism. I’m going to leave my share of the bill and go. Think it over, and phone me if you want to continue seeing me. I’d like you to, but I won’t compromise on what I know is right.’

She put some money on the table and left.

She cried as she walked away from the Indian restaurant. He had seemed so nice over the weekend. So perfect. Too good to be true — that’s what her dad would say. She’d picked up on his new mood immediately. He was withdrawn and irritable. Even his hello kiss seemed half-hearted. What had happened? She was mystified, but just because he was in some kind of a strop didn’t mean that she had to tolerate the nasty comments he’d just made. She hadn’t done anything to cause his bad mood and he’d refused to say what was wrong.

She stopped to hunt for a tissue in her bag, and loudly blew her nose. She heard footsteps behind her. He was there, reaching out for her elbow. She pulled back, away from his outstretched arm.

‘Lauren, I’m sorry. I’ve upset you, I know, and it’s not your fault. I’ve had a bad day, and I just feel really tense. I don’t know what made me say those things. Forgive me?’

He tried again to hold her arm, but she shrugged off his hand.

‘I’ll forgive you when I know that your apology is genuine. Let’s have another couple of evenings out later in the week and see how things go. I’m not saying no, but I’m not saying yes either.’

‘Can I at least walk you home? I don’t like you being out alone this late at night. I’ll be worried about you.’

‘Okay, but promise you won’t try and come in with me. You leave me at the front door, and just say goodbye. I don’t even want a kiss from you until I’ve thought this through and decided what I want. And I’m only saying yes because I promised my dad I wouldn’t be out late on my own.’

As they walked along the quiet pavement together, Lauren was surprised at how much his mood seemed to have changed again. He was almost back to his relaxed and cheerful self. How could his temper have changed so rapidly? And who was he, really? The man who was such good company over the weekend, or the moody one of this evening? She hadn’t heard his question.

‘What was that?’ she said.

‘I asked why your father is worried. Why today? Has something happened?’

‘Apparently the police are dropping charges against that Latvian guy for the murders over in Swanage. It was in the evening paper. They’re looking for someone else now. I told Dad that Southampton’s far enough away. But he worries about me.’

‘Stupid morons. Releasing him like that,’ he muttered. ‘Look, let’s get a move on. I’ve got things to do.’

* * *

Shaz was late coming home. She was also unsteady on her feet, having knocked back several glasses of wine too many after finishing her shift at the café. It had been just what she’d needed, bumping into one of her closest friends on her way out of the door. And she was on the late shift again the next day, so why not relax and enjoy herself? Tuesday evenings were always quiet at the nearby wine bar, so they’d settled in for a real gossip-session, running down anyone they could think of, and howling with laughter. Therapeutic, that was the word for it.

She put the key unsteadily in the outer door and turned it, almost falling over as it swung open under her weight. She staggered in, hiccupping, and started to giggle.

‘Shushh,’ she said to herself. ‘Fucking keep quiet, you drunk cow.’

That caused her to giggle some more as she staggered down the hallway to her own door. The landlord still hadn’t changed the locks. Was it worth hassling him anymore? That Andy wanker-bastard had vanished completely. He wasn’t going to appear now. She leaned against the door breathing heavily, trying to line up the key in her hand with the lock in front of her. Fuck. Why wouldn’t it stay still? Finally the key slid in.

‘Reminds me of sex,’ she slurred to the empty hallway. ‘Everything reminds me of sex. Want some.’

The door opened and she stepped forward into the void.

* * *

‘Good evening, sir. Sorry to delay you, but this shouldn’t take long.’

It was three in the morning and the A31 — the dual carriageway stretching east-west between the Bournemouth conurbation and the end of the motorway network at Southampton — was almost deserted. An occasional car, van or lorry passed. Most of them were waved into the long lay-by by the police traffic team, eerily visible in their luminous yellow jackets. PC Kenny Morton disliked the overnight shift, particularly on chilly, damp, misty nights in the middle of winter. He sniffed again. Must be coming down with the winter cold that so many of his colleagues were suffering from. He walked towards the white van that he’d just called into the lay-by and asked the driver to switch off his engine.

‘I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?’

‘Not that I’m aware of, sir. This is the first night of our anti drink-driving campaign. It’ll go on until the New Year. Were you aware of the campaign from our adverts?’

‘No.’

Did the driver’s voice sound a little strained? It was maybe worth prolonging the conversation and taking a sniff of his breath.

‘Do you live in Dorset, sir?’

‘No. Southampton.’

‘Is the van yours?’

The driver nodded.

‘And your name, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?’

Again Morton noticed the slight pause before the man replied.

‘Why are you out so late at night, sir? I’m just curious. It isn’t the most pleasant of times.’

‘I’ve been delivering some emergency engineering parts to a client in Poole. They’re needed tomorrow.’

There it was again, a hint of tension in the voice.

‘Can you open the rear doors, sir, please?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, is that really necessary?’

Morton looked at the driver coolly and nodded without speaking. The driver got out, walked round to the back of the van and unlocked the rear doors. The policeman shone his torch into the interior.

‘Seems fine, sir. What are in those boxes?’

‘Refurbished heat exchangers for a refrigeration unit. They’ve just been serviced.’

‘Open them, please. I just need to do a quick check.’

The two boxes that lay along one side of the van’s interior contained exactly what the driver had described.

‘So why are you really stopping people?’

‘Illicit booze and fags. We think there’s a consignment coming in tonight at Poole, and being driven along to London. Nothing yet.’

‘Can I go now?’

Morton nodded, running the beam from his torch over the mud-spattered wheels and sills. He’d already noticed the mud on the driver’s boots and trousers. ‘Drive safely. The road’s a bit slippery with the rain, and you were speeding a little as you approached us.’

‘Sure.’

The driver locked the van and returned to his seat. He started the engine and drove back onto the main carriageway heading east, passing the police team who waved him on.

‘Fucking wanker,’ he mouthed through his smile as he waved back in return. He obviously wasn’t aware that a high proportion of the Dorset Force were trained to lip-read. It had formed part of their inclusivity workshop, designed to help them understand the problems faced by deaf people. Morton watched the van disappear out of sight. I’ll have you one day, he thought.