Never Look Back (30 page)

‘No worries at all,’ she said, distressed to hear her voice sounding forced, falsely upbeat.

‘If I’m around when you see Jane, I’ll say hi, just depends on what I’m doing,’ he said.

‘If you change your mind you know where to find me. Or . . . I’ve got a bottle of wine with your name on it, so I can always come to you. I’ll bring dinner.’

‘I’ll give you a call later on, OK?’

The dial tone sounded in her ear before she could respond. She stared out of the café windows at Lewisham shoppers, walking in and out of town. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and then opened them again. He was just busy. His case. She knew how important it was. She knew what was at stake. When a bus stopped outside, darkening the windows, she caught sight of herself, disgusted by her own selfishness.

She barely heard the bell as she left the coffee shop. She crossed the road, walking up the street to the police station. It wasn’t until she reached the car park that she realized she had never even touched her coffee. The waitress, the one who fancied Mike, must have overheard their telephone conversation. She hurried towards the station but as she walked past her car she noticed something under the windscreen wiper. She trudged over and yanked the piece of paper towards her, unfolding it at the same time. Her breath caught in her throat. She saw the four, slashed angry lines, scoring the page, underlining the words meant for her.

12 February – Wednesday

Lockyer sat back, not even slightly surprised when the creaks and pops came from his spine rather than the chair. He had been reviewing a week’s worth of CCTV footage taken from Bobby’s home for the past five hours. He blinked his eyes, trying to rehydrate them. Chris and Penny were doing exactly the same thing out at their desks. Every time he looked up he could see that they too were sagging under the strain, but it had to be done.

He was finding it impossible to concentrate and he knew he wouldn’t be able to settle until Malvern Turner was back behind bars. The fact that Turner was so brazen, putting the note on Sarah’s windscreen on police grounds, showed just how unhinged the guy was. Lockyer should have known that the warnings to stay away from Sarah wouldn’t work. She had been calm, considering. He had watched her walking across the office, stealing glances as she talked to Jane. It had been Jane’s face that told him something was wrong. Two squad cars were already out looking for him. Lockyer had arranged for a squad car to make a pass on her street, on the hour, every hour until Turner was brought in.

With a shake of his head he looked out at the open-plan office. It was more like the
Marie Celeste
today, as nearly the entire team were out doing door-to-doors from the list, or Bible, as it was now called. He looked at his watch. It was already gone eight. Megan would be waiting for him at home. He picked up his mobile to call her just as it started to ring. ‘Lockyer,’ he said.

‘Just checking in, sir. All quiet this end.’

It took him a second to recognize the voice. ‘Russ, great . . . I really appreciate you checking in with me, I know it’s not procedure.’

‘No problem at all, I’m just driving round, got nothing better to do,’ Russ laughed.

‘Cheers, mate, I’ll be home in an hour, I hope. I’ll text when I’m en route.’ He thanked Russ again before hanging up, the relief palpable.

On some level he had been worrying about Megan ever since he’d left her in his flat this morning. Even on the drive back from Clara’s he had felt acutely aware of every car, bike or pedestrian in his rear-view mirror. They hadn’t been followed – he would have noticed – but he would still feel a lot better when Megan was home with her mother. Several other officers had also been drafted in to keep an eye on key members and their families after the incident at Bobby’s home, but Lockyer wanted Russ. The guy was way too senior for the job but Lockyer didn’t trust anyone else.

His mind drifted back to Sarah. What would happen when Jane found out? What would Roger do? But it wasn’t really himself he was thinking about. It was Sarah. None of this was fair on her. He could tell by her voice when he said he couldn’t go to hers tonight that she felt abandoned. The sound of her pain was so familiar it made him reach for the place where Clara’s ring had been. He would never be able to really know what he put Clara through; late nights in the office, forgotten anniversaries, weekends when he barely managed an hour at home. He fired off a text saying he hoped she was OK, that there was no news on Turner yet and that he would be heading home to work but would call her. He rubbed his face, trying to push away his tiredness. He turned back to his computer. He felt like his eyes were beginning to twitch in rhythm with the constant jumping of the screen. With a sigh he tipped himself forward, clicked the ‘play’ button and put his elbows on the desk, mainly so he could hold his head up with his hands.

The black-and-white screen sprang to life. It was footage from the camera in the back garden of Bobby’s home. The scope caught everything from the top of the French doors to the end of the garden, the view that Bobby loved so much. He had called Alice to check in on his brother. All was well, as Alice would say. What wasn’t quite so good was Alice’s mysterious boyfriend. Still no contact. Lockyer had made the decision not to tell her why he wanted her to come into the station on her way home from work. He wanted to show her the e-fit.

He stopped the tape, pressed rewind, screwed up his eyes, blinked a few more times until he was sure his vision was working properly and then pressed ‘play’. He watched for a couple of seconds, stopped the tape, rewound it and watched it again. On the sixth playback he realized he wasn’t breathing. He enlarged the image, taking out as much of the background as he could until he was left with the right-hand side of a man’s face. He tipped his head on one side and then the other, leaning into the picture.

He cursed when his phone started to ring again, snatching at it, still staring at the grainy image on the computer screen. ‘Lockyer.’

‘Sir, there’s a call for you . . . a Catherine John,’ the receptionist said.

‘Put her through,’ he said, without thinking. He looked out into the office to see who he could pass the call to but Penny and Chris had vanished and Jane wasn’t at her desk.

Before he could hang up the line crackled and a very quiet voice said, ‘Hello, is that Detective Inspector Michael Lockyer?’

‘It is,’ he said.

‘My name is Catherine John. I work at the LYWC, the Lewisham Young Women’s Centre . . . I don’t know if you’re the right person to speak to, but . . .’ The woman trailed off. He wondered for a second if they had been cut off. That would be a blessing, he thought, still staring at the man’s face. ‘I didn’t know whether I should call . . . my husband said I would only be causing trouble but I couldn’t sleep last night . . . worrying about it, you know. . . so . . . I don’t know if it’ll be important but . . .’ Lockyer was half listening. He was preoccupied with the eye and jawline on the screen in front of him. There was something familiar, he could feel it. He realized the woman was still speaking. ‘. . . I’ve only been back in the office a few days, you see . . . I’ve been signed off for . . . medical reasons,’ she said. Lockyer pinched the bridge of his nose. He would guess she had been under the doctor for her nerves. She sounded about ready to break down. ‘I clean for Mr Walsh, at the clinic and at his house. I heard on the news last night that they released the name of the fourth girl, the girl killed over in Richmond.’

He sat up in his seat, suddenly alert. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘My husband said I shouldn’t bother anyone unless I was one hundred and fifty per cent . . . but I’m as sure as I can be . . .’

‘Please, go on,’ he said, holding his breath.

‘Well . . . a couple of weeks ago, just before I went off sick, I was cleaning at Mr Walsh’s over in Dulwich Village, sorting through the recycling and I noticed . . . I noticed some shredded papers in with the normal rubbish.’ He heard her take a deep breath. ‘They were clinic records, patient records.’ He waited, watching the image flicker on the screen as the woman sniffed on the other end of the line. ‘I knew that’s what they were because they use carbonated paper for those . . . oh dear,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I just thought Mr Walsh had been working from home or something, so I . . . I took them out and put them in with the paper and cardboard for recycling.’

‘Did you see any names on the records?’ he asked, still not taking a breath, leaning forward as if to catch her words better.

‘Well, as I say, they’d been pretty much shredded, Detective but . . . one of the names was H . . . Hayley Sawyer, I’m sure of it . . . I think one of the others was Pearson but I can’t be sure. When I heard the girl’s name on the news last night I almost died.’ He heard her take a ragged breath. ‘My husband says I’m not remembering right, that I’m being dramatic, making it up, but I’m not, I swear to you, I’m not.’

He thought about his next question carefully as he tried to remember the woman’s name. ‘Miss John . . . Catherine . . . have you told anyone other than your husband about this?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘You didn’t tell Mr Walsh?’

‘Goodness, no . . . I haven’t . . . I didn’t know what to do.’

The tingle had spread throughout Lockyer’s body; he was practically humming. ‘Miss John, I’m going to put you on with a colleague of mine to arrange an interview, as we’ll need to formalize this conversation.’ He craned his neck, relieved to see Penny walking back into the office.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’m just so glad I called, I’ve been worried sick.’

‘Good, that’s good. Please bear in mind that this is an active investigation and until we have formalized your statement you shouldn’t talk to anyone about this call. Do you understand?’ he said, standing and signalling to Penny by waving his arm in the air frantically. His expression must have been clear because she was next to him in a second, her hand held out for the phone.

‘Yes, I understand, Inspector. I shan’t tell a soul.’

He thanked her for her time and handed his mobile over to Penny before darting back to his desk.

Lockyer’s mind was running so fast, he felt dizzy. He couldn’t believe it. Walsh had been all but eliminated from the inquiry.

The past hour had been a blur, Jane dashing in and out of his office, the phone ringing constantly. It was crazy. They had both stood in front of his computer staring at the image from the CCTV and comparing it with the e-fit. Was it Walsh? It was impossible to tell from the CCTV footage. There simply wasn’t enough of the man’s face in shot. As for the e-fit, both he and Jane felt a stir of recollection, a sort of déjà vu, but neither of them thought it looked like Walsh. They had both met him, talked to the guy at length. Turner’s recollections and description had been worse than useless, but surely, if it was Walsh something in the e-fit would have jumped out at them?

‘Sir,’ Jane said from his doorway. ‘Alice is here.’

He looked into the office beyond and saw Alice standing by Jane’s desk. She looked so out of place. ‘Send her in, Jane.’ Jane turned and waved Alice over. As he watched the poor girl walking towards them he felt his gut tighten. She might look frightened, but, if he was right, she was going to feel a lot worse.

‘Come in, Alice,’ he said, half rising out of his chair. She didn’t speak. She just sat down in the chair opposite him and stared at her hands. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said.

It was like listening to a different person. ‘I need you to look at something for me, Alice,’ he said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible.

‘I know,’ she said, wiping a tear off her cheek. ‘It’s about him, isn’t it?’

He shouldn’t tell her anything, but after all she had done for Bobby he couldn’t lie to her. ‘Yes, Alice . . . I assume you haven’t heard from your boyfriend?’

‘Don’t call him that,’ she said, shaking her head, more tears running down her face. ‘No, I haven’t. Of course I haven’t. He used me . . . he used me to hurt Bobby, to hurt you . . .’ Her shoulders were hitching as her sobs took over her small frame. He pushed away from his desk, walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

‘We don’t know that, Alice . . .’

‘Show me,’ Alice whispered. Without speaking Lockyer turned his screen to face her and handed her the e-fit off his desk.

‘Just take your time,’ he said, his eyes fixed on Alice’s face.

She didn’t react at first, almost as if she was frozen. He watched her eyes move from the e-fit to the CCTV image and back again. She leaned towards his computer, her nose inches from the screen, her fingers poised over the man’s face. ‘I think it’s him,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘I know it’s him.’

‘I’m sorry, Alice,’ was all he could think to say.

An hour later Lockyer was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He felt crushed. Crushed for Alice. She couldn’t confirm it was Walsh, obviously, and Lockyer didn’t have a picture to show her, but she seemed certain that the face on the screen and the e-fit were the same man, and that he was the man she had dated, however briefly.