by Lisa Stone
‘Payment for Mrs Weaver’s care?’ Beth asked.
‘Yes, part of the cost of Mrs Weaver’s care was being met by her son. The payments were taken by Direct Debit from his bank each month, but the last one was refused – the reason given was insufficient funds.’
‘I see,’ Beth said. ‘Did Mr Weaver visit his mother often?’
‘About every four weeks, usually on a Sunday.’
‘How would you describe him? Did he talk to you or the other staff?’
‘No, he hardly said a word to any of us. He sat with his mother for an hour and then left.’
‘So did you feel his visits were more out of a sense of duty than a close bond?’ Beth asked. It wasn’t really pertinent to the inquiry, but Beth was trying to build a clearer picture of Colin Weaver.
‘I would say so. I don’t think he and his mother were very close.’
‘Did Mrs Weaver recognize her son?’
‘Difficult to say, but I doubt it. Certainly not in the last year. Like many here, she’s lost the power of speech and is very confused. But she enjoyed the chocolates he brought her.’
‘So she’s unlikely to know where Mr Weaver might be?’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t be of any help at all.’
‘Does anyone else visit her?’
‘No. As far as I’m aware there are no other living relatives.’ Which was the conclusion Beth had drawn from her own research. ‘A friend of Mrs Weaver used to visit occasionally, but she died earlier this year.’
‘How long has Mrs Weaver been a patient with you?’ Beth asked.
‘Just over five years.’
‘Will she understand her son is missing?’
‘Doubtful. But I’ll tell her.’
‘Thank you. I’ll let you know when we have any more news.’
‘That would be helpful. If Mr Weaver is dead, we’ll need to amend our records accordingly.’
‘What will happen now the care-home fees aren’t being paid in full?’ Beth asked, concerned.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Weaver won’t be thrown out on the streets. When there’s a change in circumstance we can apply for additional state funding.’
‘Good. Thank you for your time.’
‘You’re welcome. I’ll go and see Mrs Weaver now.’
Beth replaced the handset and opened the ring-bound folder containing Colin Weaver’s bank statements that she’d taken from his flat. It wasn’t a surprise that the payment for Mrs Weaver’s care hadn’t been met. According to her son’s last bank statement, his current account was down to £2.48. Beth had had an initial look through the statements when she’d first found them, but now she was going through in more depth. They went back seven years. Colin had a current account with a high-street bank and a savings account running alongside it. Each month his modest salary was paid into his current account and the day after he transferred £500 online into his savings account. He’d been doing this for six years and his savings had grown to £38,942 with interest. Beth saw the monthly Direct Debit that went out to Belsize Nursing Home, and standing orders for utilities, insurance and a mobile phone contract. She’d asked forensics for his call data and, if possible, the time and location his phone was last used, but she was still waiting to hear from them.
Beth noted the small sums of cash – £50, £75, £30 – that had regularly left his current account, presumably for day-to-day living expenses. He appeared to live quite frugally – no sign of expensive holidays or flash cars. But then abruptly in April this year he’d begun withdrawing large sums in cash from his savings account: £5,000, £3,000, £7,000, £2,600. These amounts weren’t large enough to raise the bank’s suspicions about money laundering, but clearly they were far more than his meagre lifestyle seemed to merit. Over the previous six months he’d drained his savings account to zero – the last withdrawal of £560 had been made three weeks ago.
Beth stared at the page, trying to work out what it meant. Where had all that money gone? There was no evidence of any other savings accounts among his paperwork. Was he a gambler who’d lost the lot? It was possible. Gambling addiction was becoming a real social problem. Or was it possible Colin Weaver was being blackmailed? An outwardly respectable guy, perhaps he had something sordid in his past that the police weren’t aware of but someone else was? Yet how could this be linked to the disappearance of Leila Smith? If indeed there was a link. The money had been taken out long before she’d gone missing.
Beth’s desk phone rang. She picked it up and listened for some minutes to what John Herald from forensics was telling her, her expression growing increasingly incredulous.
‘Thank you very much indeed,’ she said as the call ended.
Matt was looking at her expectantly.
‘That was John in forensics,’ she said, slipping on her jacket as she stood. ‘Colin Weaver’s phone has been traced to a rural location a hundred miles from here, about fifteen miles south-west of Marsborough. It was active yesterday evening.’
‘So he hasn’t committed suicide!’ Matt said. ‘Unless someone else is using his phone.’
‘Exactly. There’s more. Leila’s DNA has been found all over Weaver’s flat – which would be expected if she went there to shelter from the rain as has been claimed. However, there was a particularly high concentration in the second bedroom, especially on the bed, despite the room being thoroughly cleaned and the bed stripped. They also found traces of Leila’s urine on the bedroom floor and there were signs that a bolt had recently been fitted to the outside of the second bedroom door and then removed. Someone, presumably Weaver, had tried to fill in the screw holes, though not very successfully.’
Matt gave a low whistle. ‘So Weaver did take Leila and kept her locked in that bedroom?’
‘It would seem so. I’ll update the DCI and hopefully Weaver is still where he was when he made that call.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
Colin sat on the sofa in the damp, cold cottage, the bag of money held firmly on his lap. He was seething with anger. The little cow had taken nearly two thousand pounds of his life’s savings before she’d run off. He supposed he should be grateful she hadn’t taken the lot! He wouldn’t be letting the bag out of his sight again, for sure.
He’d discovered the money was missing when he’d returned from looking for Leila the night before. He’d walked all the way into the village in the freezing fog but had stopped short of asking the woman who owned the store if she’d seen a child, as Doris had suggested. She was about to lock up and he couldn’t think what to say that wouldn’t sound suspicious. And if he was honest, he’d reached the point where he didn’t really want the kid back anyway. She was more trouble than she was worth, and he’d convinced himself that their plan would work just as well without her, if not better.
Even so, he had a nagging feeling Leila might return to the cottage of her own accord, because where else could she go? She had his money, yes, but a kid her age could hardly book into a hotel or buy a train, bus or plane ticket. As Doris had said, she didn’t know anyone in the area. This was the one place she knew. The chances were she was already on her way back, and he really didn’t need that. She was a thief, a liar and a pain in the arse, just like her mother. Without her, life would become much simpler and he would be free to start his new life straight away, rather than having to wait.
With renewed optimism and confidence, Colin picked up his phone to make the call he wasn’t supposed to make for another two weeks – to say he was on his way to the airport. Then he remembered there wasn’t a signal in the cottage. No worries. The fog had lifted so he’d drive up the lane, make the call, return, pack his things and leave. If Leila came back in the interim, he’d deal with her. If she returned later, she’d find him gone. If she had turned right instead of left when she’d left the cottage in the fog she had probably stumbled into one of the bogs and would never be seen again, which also suited him fine.
Slipping on his coat, Colin tucked the carrier bag of money under hi
s arm and stepped outside. At midday the wintry sun was trying to make an appearance, although precious little of it filtered in through the small, low windows in the cottage. However, all that gloom and doom would soon be a thing of the past, he told himself. Free of Leila and with his plans in place, his life was about to get a whole lot better.
Colin walked around the back of his car and was about to open the driver’s door when he heard a noise. Before he had time to turn to see what it was, strong hands grabbed him from behind and forced him face down onto the bonnet of his car.
‘Police! Stay where you are.’
‘What the—!’ he cried, his bag of money falling to the ground.
‘Colin Weaver?’
‘Yes, but I haven’t done anything wrong.’
He was spread-eagled against the car, one police officer holding him in place as another began to search him, patting him down. The officer removed his phone and wallet.
Head sideways on the cold, hard metal, Colin could see another officer pick up his carrier bag and look inside. ‘That’s a lot of money,’ he said.
‘It’s mine.’
He heard another officer inside the cottage, calling out, ‘Leila! Leila Smith, are you here?’
‘She’s not,’ Colin said.
‘Where is she?’ the officer to his right asked.
‘I don’t know. Really, I don’t.’
He was suddenly straightened, pulled upright, with an officer either side gripping his arms. A female officer appeared in the doorway of the cottage. ‘She’s not in here, but a child has definitely been living here.’
‘Where is she?’ the officer on his right asked again, gripping his arm painfully tight.
‘I don’t know! She’s run away. You’re hurting my arm.’
In an instant, his hands were in front of him and cuffs were being snapped around his wrists. Then he was read his rights. ‘You are under arrest on suspicion of the abduction of Leila Smith. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence …’
‘You don’t understand,’ he cried. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. Where are you taking me?’
‘To Coleshaw Police Station to be questioned about the abduction of Leila Smith.’
‘But I didn’t do it. Honestly.’
‘So who was the child in the cottage?’ an officer asked.
‘Leila,’ he admitted quietly. ‘But it isn’t what you think.’
A hundred miles away at Coleshaw Police Station, a small cry of relief went up as DS Bert Scrivener announced to Beth, Matt and the rest of the team that Colin Weaver had been arrested and was now on his way back to the station. The bad news, he added, was that although Weaver had admitted Leila had been in the cottage, he wasn’t saying where she was now. Worse, what looked like human hair – thought to be Leila’s – had been found in a bin in the cottage.
‘Forensics will be at Heath Cottage shortly,’ DS Scrivener finished. ‘Now back to work, please. We need to find Leila Smith. And can someone find out who owns Heath Cottage?’
‘Already working on it, sir,’ Beth replied.
The open-plan office fell silent as everyone returned to their screens. Beth was searching the Land Registry for the owner of Heath Cottage, Fern Lane, with a Marsborough postcode. She tapped her keyboard, scrolled through the pages and then stopped and stared in disbelief.
‘Sir,’ she called to the DS. ‘Heath Cottage is owned by Mrs Doris Goodman. She’s an elderly widow who lives on the Hawthorn Estate, not far from Colin Weaver.’
‘Yes, I know who Mrs Goodman is,’ DS Scrivener said impatiently, coming over and looking at Beth’s screen. ‘This can’t be a coincidence, can it?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Beth said. ‘Matt and I have spoken to Mrs Goodman twice since Leila went missing. She told us – as she told Kelsey Smith – that she’d seen Leila go off with a man, but she couldn’t give a description of him. Later she admitted she hadn’t actually seen Leila go with him, she just assumed that was the case. She hasn’t been able to tell us any more.’
‘According to the Land Registry records,’ DS Scrivener said, pointing to Beth’s computer screen, ‘Mrs Goodman has owned the property for over twenty years. I want you and Matt to go to see her now. Find out all she knows about Weaver and why he might be in her cottage. Bring her in for questioning if necessary, but go easy; she’s been useful to us in the past. There could be a completely rational explanation for this – although I can’t for the life of me think of one right now.’
‘God, I hope we didn’t miss something obvious when we interviewed Mrs Goodman,’ Matt said as he and Beth got into the car.
‘I was thinking the same thing,’ Beth said, worried. ‘But what?’ She started the car and pulled away.
Matt shook his head. ‘No idea. But I remember saying to you at the time I thought Doris Goodman could be losing her touch. She was able to see the emblem on Leila’s school bag and that she was smiling at the guy she was talking to, but she couldn’t give a description of him beyond average height and build.’
‘But what motive could she possibly have for covering up for Colin Weaver?’ Beth asked.
‘I can’t imagine. It doesn’t make any sense!’
Ten minutes later, Beth parked the car outside Mrs Goodman’s home. They were half expecting her to appear at her door as she often did, but apparently she hadn’t seen them arrive. Matt pressed the doorbell once, twice, three times, before she appeared. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, seemingly surprised.
‘Can we come in?’ Beth asked formally. ‘We need to talk to you.’
‘I’m afraid I was about to go out.’
‘It’s important,’ Matt said. ‘Urgent, in fact.’
Mrs Goodman looked from one to the other, then said, ‘All right, you’d better come in.’ She stood aside to let them pass, closed the front door, and followed them into her living room. Matt sat in the chair by the window and Beth took the armchair at a right angle to Mrs Goodman. Go easy, the DS had said, but they needed to get to the truth.
‘Mrs Goodman, how well do you know Colin Weaver?’ Beth asked.
‘A little. He lives in one of those flats opposite.’ She nodded towards the window.
‘So you would recognize him if you saw him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you see him the night Leila Smith went missing?’
She paused to think. ‘Not as far as I can remember.’
‘You told Kelsey Smith and us that you saw Leila talking to a man in the play area the night she disappeared. You described him as average height and build. Could it have been Colin Weaver?’
She paused again and looked thoughtful. ‘It’s possible, I suppose, but I couldn’t be sure. It was very dark and I was looking from my window. I didn’t go outside.’
Beth held her gaze as Matt began taking notes. ‘Have you seen Mr Weaver since that night?’ Beth asked.
‘No. Why?’
Beth ignored the question and continued. ‘Mrs Goodman, do you own another property apart from this one?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do. A very old, dilapidated cottage on the moors near Marsborough. It’s been in my family for generations and I haven’t the heart to sell it.’
‘Do you stay there?’
‘Very occasionally in summer.’
‘When was the last time you used it?’
She thought for a moment. ‘June, last year, I believe, but I couldn’t be sure. Why? Is it important?’
Again, Beth ignored the question. ‘Mrs Goodman, do you let other people stay in your cottage?’
‘Sometimes, yes.’
‘Have you ever let Colin Weaver stay there?’
Another pause. ‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Recently. He’s probably still there now if he’s not in his flat.’
Beth threw Matt a glance. ‘So you’re aware he’s been staying there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he have a key?’
‘No, I t
old him where to find it. I leave the key under some stones at the front of the cottage. You don’t get the crime there you do here. And there’s nothing of value in the cottage to steal.’ She gave a small resigned smile.
‘Was this Mr Weaver’s first visit to the cottage?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long has he been there?’
‘A couple of weeks, I think. Maybe a bit longer. He wanted to get away, use it as a retreat, what with his mother being ill.’
‘Have you been to see him while he’s been there?’
‘Goodness me, no. The place is freezing in winter and he wanted to be alone. Why would I go?’
‘Was anyone else staying with Mr Weaver at the cottage?’ Beth asked.
‘I don’t think so. If they were, I didn’t know about it.’
‘How long did he intend to stay at the cottage?’ Beth continued.
‘I’ve no idea. That was up to him.’
‘Has he contacted you while he’s been there?’
‘Yes, once. He phoned to complain about the cottage being cold, but I’d warned him what it would be like before he went.’
‘When did he phone you?’ Beth asked.
‘Yesterday evening.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’ Beth asked.
Doris nodded.
Matt looked at her carefully. ‘It took Mr Weaver rather a long time to realize the cottage was cold when he’d been living there for two weeks,’ he said. ‘It’s a wonder he hadn’t contacted you before if there was a problem.’
‘Not really,’ Doris replied. ‘There’s no mobile signal or Wi-Fi in the cottage. You have to walk over a mile down the lane to get a signal. And from what he said his car has been playing up and the weather was bad.’
‘What else did he say?’ Beth asked as Matt wrote.
‘Nothing, really. It was just a short call. I mean, if he didn’t like the cottage, he could always go home.’
‘How did Colin Weaver know you owned the cottage?’ Beth asked.
‘It’s general knowledge around here. Others have stayed there, but in summer. Why? Am I in trouble? I don’t charge for the cottage, so I don’t have to declare it on my income tax, do I?’