Evil in Return (28 page)

‘He says he’s in the middle of a case up in Oxford and he insists he can’t abandon it.’

She sighed. ‘That’s very awkward. It would be easier if he stayed put, but if, as you say, he insists on going, tell him we can work something out. Given what happened to Danny Black, we must bend over backwards to keep him safe.’

‘What about Wade’s family? He has a wife and two children. He said he wanted protection for them as well.’

‘When he’s away, the alarm and the panic button will have to do. As far as I’m aware, they’re not under threat.’

‘He won’t be happy with that. He seems to think the killer may use them to get at him.’

‘I can’t help what he thinks. They’re not at risk as far as I can tell and we—’

‘Haven’t got the resources. I know. I’ll explain it to him. I’m sure he knows how it works. Maybe he can send them away somewhere until this is all over.’

She nodded. ‘What I don’t want him to know is that we’re also putting him under covert surveillance.’

He looked at her surprised. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?’

‘No. We can’t take any chances. It’s possible the killer may be watching him. And if Fleming tries to contact Wade, we need to know about it immediately. I don’t want to have to rely on Mr Wade’s civic-mindedness to turn Fleming in. I also want to know what they talk about amongst themselves. They must have some idea who’s doing this.’

‘You really think so?’ he said, again thinking back to the conversation Fleming and Wade had had the previous afternoon, wishing he knew exactly what had been said. If only they could find Fleming . . . ‘Surely if they did, they’d say something?’ he added. ‘I mean they’re clearly both in danger.’

‘It depends what their role in all this has been. If Fleming did murder that girl, which seems highly likely, we have no way of proving it unless he owns up to it. We need a lever. If we could get him to admit to it on tape, maybe that would be enough.’

‘What about Fleming’s flat?’

‘We’re putting that under surveillance too and we’ll be monitoring his phone, although it appears to be switched off at the moment.’

They started back along the corridor towards the interview room. They were almost at the door when Minderedes stepped out of the lift in front of them.

‘There you are, Sir,’ he said to Tartaglia. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you.’

‘I’ve been in with Tim Wade and my phone’s been off.’

‘There’s a message for you from Graham Roberts, in Bristol. He said they’ve found the girl’s things in the lake. You’re to call him as soon as you can.’

31

Donovan opened her eyes. Daylight filtered in at the edges of the blind but the room was dark and she couldn’t see much. Her mouth felt dry and her head ached. She needed some water and some Hedex, which was in her bag, God knows where. She squinted at the luminous face of her watch. It was just before five in the morning, or six – she couldn’t tell which. She felt a movement in the bed beside her and it all came flooding back. Was she in his room or hers? It took her a moment to work it out as she struggled to run through the sequence of what happened.

After more wine, they had paid the bill and left the restaurant. They had found their way easily to the hotel and checked in. She remembered going up in the lift with Chang and she remembered their going to her room first, where Chang said he wanted to look at the view. She had stood at the window with him in the dark, looking up at the Suspension Bridge, which was illuminated. She remembered that he had kissed her. She had no idea why they had then gone to his room after that, but they had had some more drinks from the mini-bar, put on some music from his iPod on the player, and one thing had inevitably led to another. She had no regrets about any of it, but she now wished she was back in her own room.

She could just make out the dark shape of his head on the pillow. From the quiet, easy breathing, she could tell he was asleep. She slid out of bed and felt around on the floor for her things, finding everything except one of her shoes. She had no idea where it had got to. She quickly put on her trousers and T-shirt and tucked the rest under her arm. She found her key card in one of her trouser pockets and quietly let herself out. Her own room was across the hall. When she opened the door, sunshine streamed in through the window. It was too bright and she drew the curtains. She found her bag and took a couple of Hedex, washed down with a glass of coke from the mini-bar. It was incredibly sweet but maybe the sugar would do her good. She undressed again and climbed into the shower, standing for several minutes under the hot water until her head started to clear. Apart from the hangover, she felt good; better than she had done for a long while. What had happened with Chang hadn’t banished her confusion about Tartaglia but the distraction had made the pain recede a little – at least temporarily.

When she had finished showering, she put on a bathrobe and was about to get into bed when she heard her mobile ringing. She looked at her watch. It was later than she had thought, past seven o’clock. She got out of bed again, rummaged wearily in her bag until she found her phone and saw Tartaglia’s name on the screen.

After a moment’s hesitation, she sat back down on the bed and answered it. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve been trying you all last night. Where’ve you been?’

He sounded tense. She couldn’t tell if it was frustration or worry. She struggled to think of an excuse. ‘My phone was on silent, sorry.’ It sounded pretty lame given that she’d just answered it, but she didn’t care. It was none of his business where she was. Nor did she want him to think he could call her at all hours of the day and night.

‘I just wanted to talk to you. Are you OK?’

‘Of course I’m OK,’ she snapped. ‘I’m in bed.’

‘Shouldn’t you be getting up?’

‘I will in a minute. Is this why you called me?’

‘No. They’ve found the girl’s clothes, or what’s left of them. They’re not going to be much help, although we may get a shoe size, but there was a handbag. Luckily it was made of plastic. Although some water got in and ruined most of the contents, they found a bus pass in a little plastic wallet. It was inside a zipped pocket so it hasn’t disintegrated. There’s a name written on it in biro and it looks like Amber, surname Wiseman, and there’s a Bristol address, which I’ll send you in a minute.’

‘There’s no missing girl called Amber in the files that we pulled.’

‘Maybe you missed the report.’

‘No. We went through everything for those three months really carefully.’

‘Well, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. Anyway, the main thing now is to talk to the family. I’m emailing you some photos that the lab has just sent me of the earrings that were found with the body. Hopefully they’ll help identify her. See if the hotel can print them out.’

‘OK.’

‘If you need any help on the ground, let me know and I’ll speak to Graham Roberts.’

‘Alright.’

‘And Sam?’

‘What is it?’

‘Go carefully. Although I’ve no idea how it all links up, it’s very possible that a member of her family is behind the killings.’

She took clean clothes from her overnight bag and got dressed. She had washed her hair but had forgotten to bring either a comb or a brush. She ran her fingers through it quickly. It would have to do. She packed up her few things and decided to go down to breakfast, hoping that nobody would either notice or care that she was barefoot. Downstairs, feeling suddenly very hungry, she ordered waffles with maple syrup and a pot of tea.

While she was waiting, Donovan helped herself to a slice of toast and marmalade from the buffet and had just sat down with it when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She looked at the screen and saw it was Tartaglia’s email. She flicked through it, then opened the attachments. Even though her phone screen was small, the photographs of the earrings were good, clear images and the first thing that struck her was that the earrings looked expensive and possibly antique. The pale purple stones, which she assumed were amethyst, were faceted and mounted in an old-fashioned gold setting. The hallmark meant nothing to her but they didn’t look like the sort of things a student would be wearing. She was still looking at them when a text came through. It was a message from Chang.

Found shoe. Where is Cinderella?

She smiled and texted him back. A few minutes later, he appeared in the dining room.

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ he asked matter-of-factly, sitting down at the table.

She was pleased to find no awkwardness on his side. ‘I thought you needed your sleep.’

He smiled. ‘What’s the plan for today?’

She told him what Tartaglia had said. ‘We’ll need to get going relatively soon. It’s odd that we never found a file for an Amber Wiseman, but things were pretty haphazard back then.’

‘I spotted this at the front desk.’ He passed her a newspaper. ‘Have you seen it?’

She stared at the headline for a moment. ‘Jesus. Mark’s going to be hopping mad.’

‘Didn’t he say anything about it?’

‘No. But he sounded pretty rushed.’

‘There’s a longer piece inside with a whole lot of stuff about Logan and the others. I’ll give you three guesses who wrote it.’

She flicked through the paper until she came to the article and squinted at the by-line. ‘Isn’t she the one who was interviewing Joe Logan?’

‘Yes. But that’s not what I meant.’

She looked up at him. ‘What are you saying?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘No it’s not.’

They were interrupted as the waitress came over to their table with Donovan’s waffles. ‘That looks good,’ he said. ‘I’ll have the same, please, with a black coffee.’

‘Come on, Justin,’ she said, once the waitress had gone away. ‘What is it? I hate mysteries.’

‘It’s really not important.’

‘Yes it is. Tell me what you were going to say.’

‘OK. If you really want to know . . .’

‘I do.’

‘Well, you know the woman we saw coming out of Mark’s yesterday morning?’

‘Yes.’

‘That was Anna Paget.’

She stared at him. She felt her cheeks burn, sure now that he knew the cause of her confusion. At least he had the tact not to refer to it openly.

‘How do you know what she looks like?’

‘Nick googled her and showed me some photos. He thought she was really hot.’

‘Bloody Nick. That’s all he thinks about.’

‘In a way, it’s a good thing he did. She writes for one of the dailies. Sometimes they use a photograph of her.’

‘Can’t say I’ve noticed her.’

‘That’s because you’re a woman, plus you rarely pick up a newspaper from what I’ve seen.’

‘I’d love to spend all day reading the paper,’ she said irritably, ‘but I don’t get the time.’ Mechanically, she started to eat her waffles. She still found it difficult to believe. Getting involved with anybody who was a potential witness in a case was serious enough, but the fact that she was a journalist made it ten times worse. She was amazed that Tartaglia could be so foolish, but then the sanest of men were sometimes driven to do the stupidest things where sex was involved. Anna Paget also looked like a woman who knew how to handle herself. She wondered if Tartaglia had been indiscreet, as well as stupid. She looked up at Chang. ‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you say something yesterday?’

He shrugged. ‘You told me to shut up, if you remember. Anyway, I thought you probably knew.’

She avoided his eye. It wasn’t the truth. He had tried to spare her feelings, but she decided to let it go.

The address on Amber Wiseman’s bus pass was only a five-minute walk up the hill from the hotel. The house was in the middle of an impressive Georgian terrace, overlooking the Downs. Donovan rang the doorbell and, within a minute, it was answered by a stout, middle-aged woman, with short, fluffy grey hair and glasses.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ Donovan said, showing her ID. ‘We’re with the Met Police. We’re trying to trace a girl called Amber Wiseman. All we know is that she was living here in 1991. She would have been somewhere in her teens.’

‘I’ve never heard of her,’ the woman said, peering over the rim of her spectacles. ‘My name’s Nicola Bradshaw. My husband and I bought the house a couple of years later.’

‘Do you remember who from?’

‘Not really. The woman who owned it was rarely there and the agent showed us around. From what I remember, she was getting divorced. It used to be some sort of a commune, I think. Or at least she had lots of people staying. I remember going to see it one lunchtime and walking in on two people going at it hammer and tongs on one of the sofas. The house was painted all these dreadful dark colours and it was a real throwback to the Seventies.’

‘Do you still have her solicitor’s name?’

‘We must do somewhere. If you come in, I’ll go and have a look. Luckily, I’m very hot on filing. My husband always teases me about it, but it comes in useful.’

She ushered them in and they waited in the wide, high-ceilinged hall while she went upstairs.

‘Nice place,’ Chang said, gazing around.

‘I prefer cosy,’ Donovan replied. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do with myself somewhere this big.’ She caught sight of her reflection in the huge gilt mirror that hung over a marble-topped console table. ‘God, I look a sight,’ she said, running her fingers through her hair, which was standing in thick tufts and rubbing her cheeks hard to generate a bit of colour. There was nothing she could do about the bloodshot eyes.

‘You look fine.’

‘Don’t lie. I look bloody awful.’

‘OK. You look bloody awful.’ He bent forwards and kissed the top of her head.

‘Don’t,’ she said, ducking away.

‘Nobody’s looking.’

‘That’s not the point.’

He held up his hands, smiling. ‘Whatever you say, Sarge.’

Mrs Bradshaw returned a few minutes later with a folded sheet of writing paper. ‘Here you are,’ she said, handing it to Donovan. ‘The woman’s name is Devereux. Her solicitor’s in Queen’s Square, just down the road.’

‘Can we walk or should we drive?’

‘I’d walk. Parking is a nightmare around there. It won’t take you more than ten minutes and it’s downhill most of the way. I’ve written down all the details. Hopefully, they’ll be able to help.’

They thanked her and walked out into the sunshine. As Mrs Bradshaw had said, the walk was easy and it was good to be outside in the fresh air. Queen’s Square was just off the main thoroughfare, close to the University, and the solicitor’s office was in the middle of a terrace of eighteenth century houses, overlooking a small park. Explaining that they were from the police, they asked for Nigel Smith and the receptionist showed them into a small waiting room at the front. Minutes later a tall, youngish-looking man in a suit and a loud red and green spotted tie came in.

‘I’m Simon Grigson,’ he said, holding out his hand to each of them in turn. ‘I understand you’re from the Metropolitan Police and that you were asking for Nigel Smith?’

Donovan showed him her ID. ‘That’s right.’

‘Unfortunately, Nigel retired about a year ago, but maybe I can help.’

‘We’re trying to trace a girl called Amber Wiseman. All we know is that in 1991 she was living in a house on Sion Hill in Clifton that was owned by a client of your firm, a Mrs Devereux. Mr Smith dealt with the sale of the house. The woman who’s living there now gave us your details.’ She showed him the piece of paper. ‘It’s urgent we trace the girl’s next of kin.’

Grigson glanced at the paper, then nodded. ‘Are you saying she’s dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘If we’re right, in 1991. I can’t give you any more details, but we have a body which we need to ID and all we have to go on is the name and that address.’

‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate it’s tricky . . .’

‘It’s really urgent, Mr Grigson. Someone out there’s been missing their daughter all this time. They need to know what happened to her and it’s a murder enquiry. I don’t have to tell you—’

He held up his hand. ‘OK. I understand. Give me a moment and I’ll try and find the file. The originals were all sent to archive ages ago but we hold most of the summary documentation on the system in PDF format.’

‘Thank you.’

A coffee machine sat on a table in one corner with a pot of what looked like fresh coffee. As Grigson left the room, she and Chang helped themselves. As usual, he seemed to be coping well on little sleep, but her head was still hurting and she couldn’t take any more pills for a few hours. She sat down with her cup in a large leather armchair and massaged the bridge of her nose and around her eyes, trying to relieve the pain. Chang took his coffee to the window, where he stood looking out for a moment. Then he turned to her.