‘She co-operated,’ Skeeter mumbled out loud as she tapped the file. The killer did nothing to the body once she was killed. ‘Who else were you shagging that week, Carla Sharpe?’
Tony returned and continued in his quest to contact Gaskell. The phone was answered on the second attempt.
‘Mr Gaskell? DC Price, Merseyside Police. One moment please as I transfer you to DS Warlock.’
Skeeter’s phone rang and she saw Tony waving frantically. She raised her hand and then her thumb.
‘Mr Gaskell, I’m investigating Carla Sharpe’s disappearance and we’ve received information that when she and Callum Smith split, she tried to continue her occupancy of the flat. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, I mentioned it to the charming officer with the lovely name. She couldn’t afford to stay and to be honest, at that stage, I really wasn’t prepared to be charitable. An agreement after all is an agreement whether it’s written or verbal.’
‘That’s in her report. However, you failed to mention that you were approached by a Mr Cameron Jennings who offered to stand as guarantor.’
‘Indeed he did, but the request was only for one month and at a reduced rate. If you read your report, you’ll also see I was fortunate enough to have a prospective tenant call at my door not long after they left, who incidentally wanted neither discount nor favours. It wasn’t for long, four months but then beggars can’t be choosers. Strangely, Mr Taylor left early from the contract too but he paid for the term in full. Moved into a beautiful apartment he’d been waiting to become vacant.’
‘Did you meet with Jennings?’
‘I did, yes. I met with Mr Jennings at the Costa coffee house on Lord Street. Seemed like a nice enough chap with good intentions. Were his actions dishonourable? You can never tell what motivates kindness these days.’
‘I believe you work on occasion with Mr Taylor?’
‘It will be in the report that he gave to the police, he mentioned you’d interviewed him. The answers will not change if the truth is being told, that only occurs when statements constitute lies. I bought art work on a few occasions, it’s all on file. The internet is a wonderful tool for business. He sees the space, I assess the art and if they match, we do business. There’s a lot of wealthy clients and they’re not all footballers in this area.’
‘Do you have your diary available, Mr Gaskell?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you find the fifteenth of last month, you’ll see it was a Thursday.’ Skeeter paused giving him a moment to find the date. ‘When you locate it, can you tell me where you were from 6pm onwards?’
‘Thursday, yes. I met a client at five, at a meeting on site, so it went on until about six fifteen or thereabouts. I had a dinner appointment at seven forty-five. I arrived at The Bistro in Formby at about seven thirty. I was back home at about eleven.’
Skeeter felt as though she were drawing teeth. ‘Did you meet someone or did you dine alone?’ She felt sure he would have heard the sigh that followed her enquiry.
‘No.’
She waited for further information but it wasn’t forthcoming. ‘Mr Gaskell, we don’t seem to be communicating too well so what I suggest is that I come to you and we can discuss this face to face. I’ll bring a colleague too just to ensure you understand the seriousness of this enquiry. As your diary is in front of you, I’d like to make an appointment with you tomorrow at ten. Make sure you’re available otherwise you’ll be coming to the station for questioning. You’ll be arrested. Is that clear?’ Skeeter knew that she had over played her hand but it was a risk she was prepared to take.
‘I was with Carla Sharpe. It was she who invited me. You are aware that when she was living in the flat, we grew quite close. Let’s say she had her troubles but you know about those too. We have met on the odd occasion and she’s been to my flat too. DC Warlock, I’ve nothing to hide and I’m happy to talk at the station or at my home. I, like you, want her home safely.’
Skeeter hung up. How could she have got him so wrong?
Chapter 14
Stuart Groves stared at the bronze figure of Red Rum. It had been in the Wayfarer Arcade for as long as he could remember. He had heard of the horse and its amazing success racing in the Grand National at Aintree. To think it was trained and exercised on the beaches close by. He let his eyes drift to take in the large enclosure in which he stood. The arcade was spacious and always beautifully maintained, and to come in on wet or cold days over a lunchtime was always a pleasure. The glass roof always seemed to give it a certain air of Victorian sophistication, that combined with the robust wrought iron balcony railings painted green and gold.
Collecting a coffee, he found a seat close to the statue in the central area and checked his phone. It was a text message from Carla.
Stuart, I’ve a free hour at two if you fancy. No worries if not. Top floor. Tulketh Street Carpark 2pm. You drive.
He consulted his watch. It was ten past twelve. Checking his diary, he realised he had a client at one and another at four. The rest of the day he had set aside for admin. He replied.
Where the hell are you? Are you okay?
The response came quickly.
I’m fine. Can we meet or not?
He returned the text.
I can but I might be five or ten minutes late. X
The frisson of excitement bubbled in his stomach as he pondered the messages. The idea of Carla in the back seat brought a smile. It was then his mood changed, dampened as he wondered where she might have been. Was she still officially missing? He sipped the coffee. Strangely, he occasionally thought about how wonderful it might be to go missing, leave behind the rat race if only for a week or so. You could contact only those you wished to contact, at a time of your choosing; no boss breathing down your neck to achieve performance targets, no, yes sir, no sir. Picking up his phone he dialled his first client.
‘Mr Phelps? Ah, good, it’s Stuart Groves. I was wondering if we might bring the appointment forward a little, say twelve thirty? You can? Marvellous. I’m grateful. Thank you.’
The flutter of excitement returned. He could almost see her, smell her. Finishing his coffee, he left the arcade. Suddenly the day had taken on a whole new meaning.
The offices of KP Financial were situated in a large and impressive Victorian villa. The gardens had been partly converted into a carpark during the refurbishment. Stuart’s office was on the top floor. He had described it as more of a box room to friends and family. Most meetings took place in two ground floor rooms.
Checking his watch, he had five minutes to spare. His palms were sweaty as he pulled out a can of deodorant from his desk drawer, unbuttoned the front of his shirt and liberally sprayed into each armpit. The cold stinging sensation was reassuring. His desk phone rang.
‘Mr Phelps is in reception, Stuart. Shall I show him into the Clarence Suite?’
‘Thanks, Marcia, I’ll be right down.’
April made her way to the Incident Room. It was now the control centre for the enquiry or ‘Gold’ as it had become known. Skeeter and Tony were present and chatting with the man April had come to see. Their conversation stopped as she entered. She smiled and proffering his hand, the technical officer introduced himself.
‘As requested, we’ve pinged both the phones. We have the log from the day before she went missing. There’s the call to a William Rodgers and that checks with the report received from the interview and from his phone log. Secondly, we have identified a call to Cameron Jennings. We have that recorded but we can only assume that it’s her voice. After this call it’s likely the phone was cloned. Carla requested his presence at the location where his car was found. We need to ascertain if she sent it, if it was recorded and whether she was dead at that point.’
Skeeter was ready to interrupt but decided to listen a little longer.
‘It’s clear that Carla Sharpe’s number may well have been cloned recently, possibly the same day she went missing. Our systems allow us to monitor the an
omalies but as we were late in getting the permission, we can’t tell when that occurred. If that’s the case and the phone is cloned, the likelihood is it will be used either to send false information or inaccurate tracking info. This makes its use as evidence totally valueless to us but vital to whoever is holding it. Cloning for the benefit of receiving calls at someone else’s expense has pretty much disappeared as phones have become more sophisticated and equipment to perform the task expensive. If the person, however, has the SIM card then it’s a piece of cake as you can buy a SIM reader off eBay for a few quid.’
‘Spoofing?’ Tony asked knowing what the answer would likely be.
‘Right. As you know that means the number shown on someone’s caller ID is not the actual number that’s placing the call. A person can use their own phone and it mimics that of another person; they see the person’s name or image come on screen and believe it to be a call or message from them when it’s not. Again, it’s simply a case of pulling the identifiers off the hardware. It’s not illegal either in most cases.’
‘So, what you’re saying is that we’ve no way of tracking that phone?’
‘Not accurately, no. What’s important here is in the last hour we’ve managed to track some activity from Carla’s phone. Brief, but it was there. We can’t see what. It may even be from the other phone or the phone that was cloned. It’s one of the two if that makes sense. If there was activity, we at least have a heads-up.’
‘Why not get the provider to just block the number?’
‘Then it would be finished. We’d have nothing. At least this way we have some intelligence. We know someone has the phone or had the phone and we’ll be aware of any activity. The providers are co-operating fully and we know the phone’s not been destroyed.’
‘Thanks, from a technical dunce, that’s really helpful, I think.’ She touched his arm. ‘Anything you get.’ Turning to Skeeter April was about to ask a question but was brought up short.
‘Didn’t want to interrupt. According to the pathology report Carla Sharpe was dead before that message to Jennings was sent. Probably by six to eight hours.’
The room was momentarily silent.
‘Will there be murder number three? Was that flicker of phone activity a signal, another invitation the killer is sending out?’
If Stuart Groves were keeping any sort of log, then that meeting was one of the fastest he had achieved in recent months. He believed he had conducted himself professionally but felt a twinge of guilt that he had not given the client his full attention. In his defence, it had to be said, he had not sold him any services he did not require. A future date for that had been pencilled in the diary. Signing out, he smiled at Marcia. ‘See you in an hour or so. It’s non-stop today!’
Looking at the group’s diary she could see he did not have a further appointment until later. She smiled. ‘You have an appointment at four … Yes? Non-stop, right!’
He interpreted her tone and blushed slightly.
The red Audi A3 estate burbled into life and headed down the short driveway. It would be five minutes before he would arrive at the multistorey carpark on Tulketh Street. It sat at the end of a one-way system. Glancing at the back seat he smiled in anticipation.
As far as carparks went, this was generally spacious, the parking places numerous and generous. It was the upper storey, the one open to the sky he wanted. Driving up the ramp the camera recorded the registration. He would need to find a pay booth later in order to leave without incurring a fine. Midweek, there were few cars up there and those that were would have arrived early and would leave late. At the far corner, behind part of the building that towered above the upper-level brick parapet, was one large parking place. Again, owing to the distance from the exit it was seldom used. Stuart drove across the deserted roof area. The parking space was empty. He reversed in so the car’s rear section was completely out of view. Remaining in the car he would watch for Carla. He was five minutes early. He watched as gulls called and circled before settling momentarily on the tarmac. It never ceased to amaze him how large and aggressive these birds were.
April briefed the impromptu meeting.
‘As you’re all aware, DCI Mason has successfully managed to obtain a forty-eight-hour reporting restriction on Carla Sharpe’s death. Primarily it gives us time to locate her next of kin and secondly, and more importantly, for operational reasons. We now have a list of all the friends linked in the contacts of the following people: Rodgers, Smith, Jennings, Sutch and Sharpe herself. The last two were taken from their computer hardware. I’m going to question Briggs again today. If he were so infatuated with Sharpe, enough to take her name, then he might just know more than he’s letting on.’
Skeeter’s face broke out in a huge smile. She had forgotten about the hunch she had felt when they had spoken with him earlier.
‘Anyone not interviewed from those lists, I want someone round to see them and I want it done sooner rather than later. Tony, you’re coming with me to see Carlos. We’ll not forewarn. Kasum, Lucy and Fred get the list sorted and start the interviews. It seems the murderer will kill either sex so keep an open mind. See if there’s a reason, a link why Jennings and Sharpe were victim one and two. Sharpe was the first according to pathology so start there. Relationships, upset, broken promises …’ April let the sentence hang in the air before Skeeter broke the silence.
‘Have you all seen the report added to HOLMES about the caps found at the scene? The computer had linked the two pieces of evidence but Tony and I spotted it too. Remember I mentioned Nike, the winged Goddess?’ Skeeter boasted.
April turned and focused on her colleague. ‘Yes, speed and victory and the like.’
‘Both victims were, we believe, wearing a cap bearing the same logo, the Nike swoosh or they were both intentionally left at the scene. You may recall that Nike had an advertising campaign with the catch line, “Just do it!” Well Carla’s motto for life was, and we’ve heard it said from her close friends on more than one occasion, Life is for living – just live it! It’s stencilled on her lounge wall.’ Skeeter held up a photograph taken during the forensic investigation of the apartment. ‘For me, that’s too close to be coincidence and besides I don’t believe in them. Whoever killed her knew her and may have been in her apartment.’
‘Have we assessed fully the touch DNA found there? That’s why we have computers. Let’s get onto it.’ April’s frown seemed to weigh heavily as she stared at the image. She stated the obvious. ‘We need to find the killer before we end up with more victims.’
Nic’s Nails and Beauty was busy. April entered first. Music was playing, it seemed a blend of relaxing spiritual instrumental with the occasional high pitched vocal. It was mellow and sonorous. Two beauticians were working on clients’ nails. Both worked under a bright lamp. The woman on the nearer table looked up, a white, protective mask covering her mouth and nose. ‘He’ll be with you in a tick. Please take a seat.’
The word ‘tick’ made April focus on Tony.
‘It’s like when you buy a car, ma’am, you never saw one before you got it and then when you drive it away every other vehicle is like your new one. We’ll see swooshes and ticks everywhere now. We’re just more alert to them. It’s normal psychology.’
The beaded curtain rattled causing them both to look in the direction of the noise. Carlos appeared and paused momentarily as he recognised Tony. He moved to the security of the reception desk. ‘Police?’ His enquiry was quiet as if not to broadcast the fact to the clients. ‘Tell me you’ve found her.’ His look said so much. ‘Have you found her?’
‘Afraid not at this stage, but our enquiries show we’re close.’
‘When my colleague was here previously you were asked about the last time you’d seen Carla. Can you go over that again?’
Carlos looked at Tony and then at his boss who was still busy. ‘Please come this way.’ He moved to a door at the far end of the room through which April could see the treatment table. Carlos
flicked on the light. ‘More private.’ Even with the light on it was dull. ‘Sorry it’s subdued, it’s designed to be moody. We can change the colour to suit.’
‘What was your relationship with Carla, Brian?’
‘She was like a mum to me.’ Tears began to well in his lower lids and he took a tissue from the drawers next to the treatment table. ‘When I started, I was all at sixes and sevens. It was as if I couldn’t do anything right. I confused diary dates, mixed essential oils incorrectly. I was a fucking disaster. Please pardon my French. Carla obviously noticed. She sensed my discomfort and fear and she patiently guided me. She covered up my mistakes on more than one occasion. She, Nicola, was going to sack me a couple of weeks after I started but Carla, bless her, stuck up for me. That’s when they started to call me Carlos. They said I was like her shadow. She taught me so much. And I owe her a lot.’
‘Did you ever see her socially? Meet for a drink or a meal?’
‘Only staff dos. Not … you know. She has boyfriends and I … Anyway, Callum was a lovely, handsome man; goodness me I could fancy him myself!’ He giggled and brought his hand to his mouth.
‘Did you go to her flat at all?’
‘When they were living together in that place on Lord Street, dead posh that was too, I went there to a couple of parties.’
Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2) Page 10