Never Forget (26 page)

‘There are several calls, but the time of the last one from Spencer to Amanda was 10.12 am on the 16th.’ Matt glanced down at his notes and added, ‘That was four days before her body was found. Spencer’s number had also called her two days before that, an hour before she went to the travel agents with an unknown male. There are no outgoing calls after 10.12 hours on the 16th and the only calls coming in were either of a very short duration or went to voicemail.’

Nottingham pointed at Matt from across the table. ‘It looks as though she didn’t make or receive any further calls after Spencer’s one.’ He looked across to Danny. ‘Any luck
enhancing the stills from the town centre CCTV of Amanda and the unidentified male?’

Danny came straight back with his answer. ‘No. They’re no clearer even with a lot of help from our technical support. Even if we think it’s Adam Spencer, we can’t do facial recognition because there’s no good shot of his face. It’s just the back of his head.’

‘OK,’ said Nottingham. ‘Before we move on to the telephone work for Jason Holland and Daphne Headingly, how are we evidencing that the phone number we’re saying is Adam Spencer’s is actually Spencer’s?’

‘Myself and Ray dealt with Alf Spencer,’ said Kim Cotton. Lucky old Alf, I thought to myself. If it’s not bad enough that everyone thinks his son is a serial killer and a lunatic, then the county’s most miserable bitch turns up on his doorstep. Talk about kicking a man when he was down.

‘After a great deal of decision-making and policy file entries by yourself, sir – ’ she directed a smarmy smile and flutter of her eyelashes at the DCI ‘ – we went to Alf’s home address. He gave us a lengthy statement and spoke openly about his son Adam, detailing his time in a children’s home in Birmingham.’ Her unflattering smile didn’t extend to me as she sought me out around the table. If I’d been in possession of a mirror, I would have held it up to avoid looking directly at her. ‘Adam had made no mention to Alf about the child dying at the home, and soon afterwards he went back to live with his mother. Alf can confirm, though, that the number he has for his son is the same as the number Matt’s referring to. It’s the number ending 837. Adam also gave the same number to Mrs Makepeace in Birmingham, which Nina and Laura have.

‘Alf has frequently called his son or Adam has called him from this number. It was registered in Spain in 2005. Now we have the number, Matt’s doing some more work around it.

‘The last time Alf said he saw Adam was about three months ago, when he was home in England for about three days. He hasn’t seen him since, or spoken to him for about
two weeks. That’s not unusual, and he doesn’t think that he has any plans to come back to the UK, as Alf is planning on staying in Spain with his son for the winter.’

Kim continued to talk about how Alf had been affected and how he couldn’t believe that his son could possibly have murdered three people. My head was beginning to hurt, largely because I was tired. I put my pen down and rubbed my temples. It didn’t seem to help in the slightest.

I felt a kick under the table. I sought out the source of my sore shin. Pierre was pitching across the table towards me. I saw him mouth, ‘You OK?’

I nodded, tapped the side of my head and mouthed back, ‘Headache.’ Kim was still droning on so I tried to block out her voice while maintaining a façade of interest. I’d already decided that after the briefing I would locate Alf’s statement and read it for myself. Her voice was beginning to sound like someone was rubbing a kitten up and down pebble-dashing.

Before I knew it, we were back with Matt. There had been no update regarding Holland. His phone had already been looked at as part of the Missing Person enquiry, so, other than cross-referencing phone numbers to make sure none had been missed, there was nothing further regarding him. Daphne Headingly didn’t have a mobile, so Matt had little more to add other than landline calls, which took us no further. There had also been nothing interesting or significant in relation to Benjamin Makepeace’s newly recovered phone, which was a bit of a disappointment.

Then it was Mark and Pierre’s turn. I concentrated again. It was nothing personal. So I told myself.

‘We went to see Carol McNamara first,’ said Mark. ‘Nice woman, lives in Surrey now with her husband, a doctor and their two children. She told us what she could remember about her kidnapping. Even though she was only five at the time, she remembered a lot of detail.’ Mark pulled at the side of his shirt collar. He ran his tongue across his top lip. Perhaps I should have stayed away. He was more
pent-up
than I was. At least I was hiding my discomfort. He continued, ‘Carol had read about the murders in the paper and, when she saw the name Headingly, she thought it would only be a matter of time before we approached her. In terms of Scott Headingly, she described him as…’ he glanced down at some photocopied notes, parts highlighted and quoted ‘…“a sick, twisted, depraved bastard”. Carol has not been contacted by anyone out of the ordinary, definitely not the Headingly family, has no ties with Birmingham or children’s homes and was sorry not to be of more help.’

Pierre then took over. ‘We next went to see Jillian Spora. Quite a different story there. She took some finding. We tracked her to a hostel in Hackney. She’s a drug addict, had her two children taken away from her, series of violent relationships. She lives a pitiful life and didn’t want to talk about what happened to her and Carol. She said no one had dropped in on her lately from her past or unexpectedly. Wanted to put the whole thing behind her, hadn’t heard about the murders, didn’t know where Carol lived and had made no effort to contact her. Being so messed up by heroin, she didn’t have much of a clue what was going on. Her being kidnapped as a child may have had an effect on her turning out the way she did, but Carol is doing well for herself, and so is Nina.’ Pierre turned his head in my direction as he said his last words. I had been looking at him anyway but the mention of my name brought me to full alert. ‘You’re alright, Nina.’

My headache seemed to be lifting and I was back to paying full attention. I was aware that most people in the room were looking at me, although one or two stared down at the table.

‘That brings us nicely back to Nina,’ said Catherine. ‘The telephone number of unknown Charlie that you gave to Mr Nottingham before you went to Birmingham – we’ve found out where that phone was registered to.’

It took me a couple of seconds for the penny to drop. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d handed the DCI the
number from the slip of paper Annie’s son had passed me from the pocket of his joggers.

Catherine added, ‘Get the details from Matt, and then you and Pierre go see the subscriber this morning. Pierre’s got something more pressing that needs to be done first, but it shouldn’t take you all day. I’ll give you the relevant action for the enquiry before you go.’

It suddenly dawned on me that Laura was not in the briefing. I searched the faces around the room but couldn’t see her. I thought it was strange. She hadn’t told me that she wouldn’t be able to make it.

H
alf an hour later, we piled out of the conference room, spilling in the usual directions of the loos, kitchen and quiet corners to return phone calls.

Laura was coming out of the toilet as I went in. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘You OK? Missed you in there.’ I thumbed in the direction of the conference room.

‘Yeah, had a couple of calls and stuff to make. Did I miss much?’ she asked, pausing with her hand on the door.

‘A couple of things. I’ll let you know in a minute. Got some stuff to catch up on myself,’ I said before heading into the ladies’.

I thought Laura’s behaviour was odd. She’d seemed to enjoy being on the team, being a part of the murder investigation, so I couldn’t fathom out why she’d missed the briefing. I wasn’t at all concerned from a work perspective that she wasn’t present – I’d covered our updates – but she should have been there for her own sake rather than mine.

When I went into the Incident Room a short while later, she was not in there. I headed for Ray and Catherine’s office to get the report from the forensic scientist.

Catherine was already on her way to me. We spoke in the corridor, and she handed me the forensic report as well as the ‘Charlie’ telephone enquiry.

‘Thanks, Catherine,’ I said. ‘Is it OK if I call Freya Forbes from your office? It’ll be quieter.’

‘Absobloodylutely,’ she purred. ‘Though I doubt it’ll be quieter with Ray in there. I’m off to get some breakfast.
I’m bloody starving.’ She wiggled away, all high heels and curves.

As I turned the corner to the section of the corridor where the DSs’ office was, the door opened and Laura catapulted out. We almost collided.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘Didn’t see you.’

‘You sure you’re OK?’ I asked.

Her face released the tension it had been carrying before she said, ‘I’m fine, just didn’t sleep all that well.’

‘You and me both,’ I said as I headed for Ray’s office.

‘Nina,’ she called after me. I turned. I thought she looked pale. ‘Meant to say to you that West Mids got back. Mrs Makepeace hasn’t yet been asked about Benjamin’s father. Robin Cox thought the answer was in the paperwork somewhere. I’m going to look for it.’

I gave her a cheesy thumbs-up and turned back towards the DSs’ office. I stood in the doorway watching Ray try to open the window at the rear of the room. He had his back to me.

‘Can I ask a favour? I said. He looked round. ‘Could I use your office for a couple of minutes to call the scientist? I won’t be long.’

‘Course you can. I was going to get something to eat anyway.’ He walked out, closing the door behind him.

I took a deep breath and called the number at the top of the report. A female answered with a light, almost breathy, ‘Hello, Freya Forbes.’

‘Hello, Freya,’ I began. ‘My name’s Nina Foster. I’m a detective working on – ’

‘Oh, Nina, I know who you are. We can talk on the phone, but I’m at Riverstone Crown Court today if you want to meet up?’

‘That would be great, if you have the time. Does 3.30pm sound OK?’

‘It does. I’m in Court Seven. I’ll see you outside the court then.’

We ended the call and I went off to find Pierre. He was already armed with all the information we needed to speak to Charlie, as well as directions for finding his house.

P
ierre and I set off a few minutes later, in a worn-out Citroën begged from another department.

‘This car’s a tip,’ I said, glancing down at the empty crisp wrapper, apple core, crumpled tissues and other debris in the passenger seat footwell. ‘I dread to think what’s in the glovebox.’ Curiosity got the better of me. ‘Oh, a box of tampons. Result.’

Pierre laughed and said, ‘Shall we agree that under no circumstances do we open the boot.’

‘Agreed,’ I said.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Right, then, before we go and see Charles Bruce, the subscriber for your telephony action, I have an enquiry that’s closer to the nick and more urgent. It’s a result of something that came out of Birdsall’s interview that needs checking. We’ll see how we get on for time.’

‘Sounds reasonable to me,’ I said. ‘What you got?’

‘He changed his alibi late last night and claimed that, on the morning Daphne Headingly was murdered, he was with a woman called Sophie Alexander. Her address is on that printed sheet on top of my file on the back seat.’

I stretched over to pick the paperwork up. ‘Bit worried about what might be back here,’ I said. ‘Anyone missing a cat?’

‘Birdsall claims he stayed at Sophie Alexander’s overnight, leaving about 11am on the 23rd, which is after Daphne was killed. I went to see her last night to verify it but she wasn’t in.’

‘Right, so, if she verifies this, that alibis him out for number three, plus number one, as Amanda was killed while Birdsall was abroad, but not for victim number two, Jason Holland.’

‘True but he didn’t know Holland as far as we know, unless the Malaga connection means anything, so at the moment we have no motive or anything linking him to his death.’ As he spoke, he turned to look at me as we waited for the gate at the nick’s yard to open before returning his concentration to his driving. ‘Let’s go and see what Sophie has to say to us.’

‘Much else come out of the interviews yesterday?’ I asked Pierre when the car was clear of the nick and traffic.

‘Not really. Everything he said about being out of the country between when Amanda was last seen and her body turning up has been verified. He didn’t have much to say about Holland ’cos he was in England at some point when he was missing but that’s very vague. Right at the moment, he’s not looking like the guilty party here.’

‘You got a theory or favourite out of the three of them, Pierre?’ I asked.

‘No. No, but I wonder if we’ve been looking in the wrong place all this time?’

‘Where do you think we should be concentrating, then?’

‘The Headingly family. Everything always points back to them. They’re such a strange bunch. I saw you made it into the newspaper. That must have been unwelcome attention. Want to talk about Jake Lloyd?’

‘I don’t know what to say about him, really. To be truthful with you, I’ve tried not to think too much about it, but…’ I was conscious of Pierre pulling the car over into a car park marked private next to a small block of flats, set back from the town’s ring road. ‘We here?’ I asked him. ‘We could have walked this distance.’

‘No, I’ve stopped because I thought you might wanna talk for a minute.’

Initial feelings of invaded privacy gave way to a rush of relief at being able to talk about Jake Lloyd. It wasn’t that I didn’t have anyone to turn to, but there was no one I wanted to burden. Talking it through with Pierre felt different; I hardly knew the bloke for a start and that helped, but also I knew that, being a police officer, he’d follow what I was about to say with his capacity to understand as an investigator, remain impartial, and pack no punches in telling me how it really was.

I took a deep breath.

‘Why did Lloyd leave it so long before sending me the photos he’d been taking for years? Why after all this time? And why be stupid enough to leave his fingerprints all over them?’

Pierre used his fingers to count the points off as he made them. ‘First and second, the important fact isn’t that it was years but that the timing of sending them to you was right in the middle of a murder investigation involving his aunt. Thirdly, his fingerprints weren’t all over them but were on the envelope, inside and out. And what happens then? Police arrest him, search his house, find the stuff in the cellar, he’s banged up and out of the way.’

‘Hold on, Pierre, go back a bit.’ I rubbed my eyes as I spoke. ‘If someone else sent those photos to me using an envelope Lloyd had already handled, that means that whoever sent them knew Lloyd was following me, got him to put his fingerprints all over the envelope and then did a good job of stitching him up.’

‘Precisely,’ said Pierre. ‘Though there are a couple of issues with all of that.’

‘Yeah, I know – such as who would want him out of the way and why?’

‘And why, after all this time, would he confess to the murder of his cousin?’

I was aware how many unanswered questions I had surrounding Jake Lloyd and his stash of disturbing snapshots
of my life, but this was getting in the way of my part in the investigation. I was grateful for the chance of talking it over with Pierre but figured we’d spent enough time picking apart my problems. Last thing I wanted was for him to return to the office and say I got in the way of a fast-track enquiry chewing over my own issues. Even if he didn’t put it quite so blatantly as that, it could get misconstrued.

‘Let’s get on our way to see Sophie before she goes out for the day,’ I suggested. ‘We can talk on the way.’

Another thing had just crossed my mind too. If someone had wanted Jake Lloyd out of the picture, there had to be a reason. Lloyd had been watching me – or watching out for me, as he put it. He was no longer keeping an eye on me, but someone else was. They’d been in my house. They’d turned on my television.