“Hard to say. But I think it’s worth following up on the journalist angle. I’ll call my agent. He has more journalist contacts than you could shake a stick at, including several in this country. If there’s a hack called Gianpietro Tebaldi, he’ll be able to find him.”
“And if there is, what do we do?”
“Talk to him; find out what he knows and what he’s up to. I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement, as they say.”
“Sounds dodgy to me.”
“Exactly,” said Henry, with a knowing smile.
Chapter Forty-Five
The week following Jennifer’s call to Henry in Tuscany seemed endless. She and the rest of the team had spent hundreds of hours searching traffic camera videos from an area far greater than was initially considered necessary, but the chief constable had ordered that nothing was to be overlooked and if that meant extending the search to an extreme level, so be it.
After a long Sunday in the SCF squad room, Jennifer and Derek once again returned home bleary-eyed and frustrated carrying yet another take-away, the thought of preparing food too much for either of them. Derek grabbed two glasses and poured them both a generous measure of red wine.
“That should help me sleep,” said Jennifer eyeing the volume of wine. “I didn’t know you could get almost an entire bottle into two tulip glasses.”
“Deceptively large,” said Derek. “Anyway, I think we need something to take our minds off traffic videos.”
Jennifer nodded. “Yes, I never want to look at one again; they’re driving me crazy.”
“Me too,” agreed Derek, “but unless they want to extend the search to cover the whole country, at least we’ve finished with all the videos that have been sent in. Maybe tomorrow we can get on with something else, although what exactly, I don’t know.”
“Which is why, with all my accumulated overtime, I plumped for taking tomorrow off,” said Jennifer. “Rather than stare at the big board in frustration, I want to devote some time alone to think everything through, away from the noise and interruptions of the office.”
Derek took a large slurp of wine and looked at her over the top of his glass. “You’re not telling me the whole story, DS Cotton. I know you, something’s on your mind that doesn’t sit happily and you want to tease it to death.”
Jennifer clinked his glass with hers. “I must be more transparent than I thought.”
“Only to me,” said Derek. “Come on, kiddo, spill the beans.”
Jennifer adjusted her position on the kitchen bar stool and stretched.
“It’s nothing new, not really, it’s just that, well, voicing it sounds almost like a betrayal, a suspicion for which there aren’t any grounds, so it’s no more than a hunch, I suppose.”
Derek took her hand in his. “Cut the waffle and get to the point, before the wine fuddles my head.”
Jennifer studied her glass, avoiding his eyes. “It’s Gus Brooke.”
“What about him?”
“He’s the one person who hasn’t been looked at.”
“What’s to look at? Just because he lives near to where Trisha was last seen doesn’t make him a suspect. He’s given a statement to the Met guys; he didn’t go that way home. He saw nothing.”
“But we only have his word for it. There’s nothing to back it up.”
“What are you saying, Jen? Do you think he’s involved?”
“No … I don’t know. Look, let’s play ‘What if?’ Just us, informally, not a conversation we could have in the office.”
“O … kaaay,” said Derek, not sounding convinced.
Jennifer took a deep breath. “I’ve already said I think the traffic cams are a waste of time, that it all happened much closer to home. Henry echoed those thoughts immediately when we discussed the case with him. And I’ve been tossing his doubts over in my head. We’ve interviewed and looked at the background of everyone in and around Rappington. Everyone, that is, apart from Gus. An assumption that he’s telling the truth has been made from the get-go. Because he’s a cop and because his background is known. It’s all there on file.”
“Are you thinking about his Romeo reputation?”
“Yes and no. I mean, it’s a factor, sure. But the important thing is that while everyone else in his neighbourhood has been scrutinised in detail and eliminated from consideration, Gus has simply been taken at face value. He’s a cop. End of story. Well, suppose it’s not like that. Suppose he is involved.”
“It’s a big suppose, Jen.”
“Is it? Why? Why shouldn’t he be considered? Let’s think about it for a moment. Suppose he’s lying about the route he took home and he actually went the way he says he always goes. He said he didn’t go that way because of the weather. But surely that’s rubbish. He’s a good driver, for Christ’s sake. It was stormy, yes, but it wasn’t a hurricane; there weren’t huge chunks of debris flying around. Why would he choose to go a longer way? The trouble is that because it was a filthy night, no one is likely to have seen his car if he drove through Rappington village, so there’s little chance of finding someone to refute his story.”
“And no traffic cams,” said Derek, taking another drink. “Do you want some nibbles, or shall I warm up this take-away?”
“Nibbles, if you must. I want to concentrate. This is what I meant about not wanting to do this in the office.”
“Sorry.”
Jennifer caught his eye and leaned over to kiss him. “No, I’m sorry. I know I get a bit intense.”
“Really? Can’t say I’ve noticed.”
“Prat,” she said, punching him on the arm. “Right. Let’s suppose for a moment it was Gus who stopped to help Trisha. We know the other car was pointing in the right direction, I mean away from Nottingham, and we know it was a dark colour. It must have been nothing special or one of those two witnesses might have noticed. And you can’t get much more forgettable or invisible than Gus’s crappy dark-blue Ford.”
“True,” conceded Derek.
“Right, he stops, maybe witnesses the car dancing in circles on that corner, and he offers to help. Changes her wheel for her. After that, they are both soaked and he suggests going back to his place.”
“Jen. We’ve been through all this the other night. We discussed this.”
“Not with respect to Gus, we didn’t. In fact we assumed it wasn’t him. He wasn’t given any thought.”
“OK, carry on.”
“So they go back to Gus’s cottage. You’ve been there; what’s it like? Could she park in his drive or would she have to park on the road?”
Derek pursed his lips as he thought about it.
“I’ve only been there once and I parked on the road. But, yes, I think there would be room for two cars on his drive.”
“And if she parked right behind him, anyone driving past and concentrating on the road in the storm probably wouldn’t see the car,” said Jennifer.
“Sure. They are hardly likely to be taking note of cars in driveways,” added Derek. “Why should they?”
“Exactly,” agreed Jennifer, nodding. “OK, they go in and … is there more than one bathroom?”
“Yes, several, as I remember. There’s one downstairs and more upstairs. I used the one downstairs. It’s got some daft arrangement with the loo. The floor’s on two levels and it’s on the higher one.”
“How odd. Anyway, she has a shower and … wait a minute. I was going to say changed her clothes. But the bag in her car hadn’t been touched. Everything was neatly folded. If anything had been taken out, it was the wash bag, which was at the top, and that had been put back.”
“What are you saying?”
“They were both wet and probably mucky, Perhaps Gus bunged their clothes in the washing machine while Trish had a shower. Perhaps she dressed in a towel or bathrobe while waiting from them to dry.
“While they are waiting, he pours them both a drink, which Trish would only have accepted if she were staying. She’s totally rigid about
drinking and driving: she won’t do it.”
Derek nodded. “And one drink leads to another. And another, and … OK, so they end up in the sack. That’s a long way from ending up dead or kidnapped.”
“What if something went horribly wrong?” said Jennifer. “Is Gus into kinky stuff? Trisha has never mentioned it, but who knows? Maybe he tried it on, she resisted and they had a fight. Perhaps he strangled her by mistake.”
“Or even deliberately if he lost his rag. He’s a big lad and would have the edge on Trisha even in unarmed combat, especially if she’d had too much to drink.”
“Does he lose his rag?” Jennifer wasn’t convinced.
“Not really, although he can be quite intimidating with suspects at times.”
“Have you noticed any bruising on him?”
Derek shook his head. “No, but I’ve only seen his face and hands.”
Jennifer picked up her wine glass and stared at it for inspiration. “Anyway, whatever happened, if Gus suddenly found himself up shit creek with a dead body on his hands, what would he do?”
She paused and turned to Derek. “What would you do? Your wife’s away and you know if she finds out, she’d throw you out. Would you risk coming clean?”
“Probably not. But disposing of her body and her car? You know, he was totally out of it the following morning. We all thought he was hungover. What if it was more than that? What if he was carrying the guilt of what had happened and what he was planning to do?”
“If he was, it’s amazing he was functioning at all.”
“Do you think they knew who each other was? I mean, she was coming up here to be his boss.”
Jennifer shook her head. “As far as Trish is concerned, I’d say definitely not. She’s done this before; gone on one-nighters with complete strangers, I mean. I’ve told her how risky it could be if they found out she’s a senior police officer, but she’s pretty driven when she’s in the mood. I don’t know about Gus.”
“I doubt he’d announce he’s a cop,” said Derek, “but if he told her his name, wouldn’t she recognise it from the staff list she’d been sent?”
“Only if he told her his full name, which I doubt he would. And Trish certainly wouldn’t give hers. She once told me she has an alter ego called Emma something; maybe Gus does the same if he regularly plays the field.”
Derek frowned as he tried to visualise the sequence of events. “If what you’re suggesting actually happened, they would have lied to each other about their identities, and perhaps in the panic of the moment, Gus didn’t go through her bag.”
“Yes,” agreed Jennifer. “But the first thing he’d need to get rid of would be her car. She might well be dead somewhere in the cottage, but the car’s outside. He can’t risk anyone local seeing it; they might know Mo, and tongues can wag.”
“And,” exclaimed Derek, “he was involved in the stake-outs and surveillance of the factory from when he first came up here; he knew the place was abandoned. Perfect for hiding the car. Perhaps he even had thoughts of putting the body there too, sometime later.”
“But it all went wrong,” said Jennifer. “The car was spotted and the place searched.”
Derek’s eyes opened wide. “Twice, by two separate teams. No stone unturned and all that. And once it was over we released the place. What better place to hide a body than somewhere that’s already been searched and written off?”
“Surely that would be full of problems,” replied Jennifer, “not the least of which is that unlike when the car was dumped, when there was no padlock on the gates, the owners have now put a new lock in place. He’d have to find another way in. And the fence is the one thing about that place that seems to be reasonably strong as well as high.”
Derek shrugged, “He’s a big strong lad; he could carry a body slung over his shoulder some distance, but you’re right, there would have to be another way in.”
“It would have to be done in the dead of night,” continued Jennifer. “I know Rappington’s sleepy now with the by-pass, but it’s not that sleepy. But, you know, you’ve got a point, and now I think about it, it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with Gus.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve just discussed a detailed scenario involving Gus being off the radar as a suspect. Suppose there’s someone else local, someone we’ve interviewed and rejected but who has something in their past we don’t know about. Someone who has a knowledge of the layout and conditions in factory. As you said, what better place to hide a body when the place has already been searched.”
“Can’t see it flying with Crawford,” said Derek, “or with Hawkins, no matter how much he thinks you’re a genius. You know how they are, both old school. And you could never float the idea with Gus being centre stage in your cast of suspects.”
Jennifer took a sip of her wine as she studied a spot on the wall.
“I’m off tomorrow. Suppose I—”
“No, Jen. Absolutely not. You can’t go looking round the factory again. It’s been handed back. We’d need a warrant. And I don’t think Hawkins would take your ifs, buts and maybes as plausible grounds. You mustn’t go in there.”
Jennifer was shaking her head. “I was actually thinking of Gus’s place. What I thought was that I might pop along there while he’s at work. Get a feel for it. You can keep an eye on him and let me know if you think he’s about to go home. And don’t worry, I won’t break in; I just want to snoop a bit. After that, I’ll check the padlock on the gates, which, as a responsible police officer passing by the place and knowing its history, is a reasonable thing to do, and then I might take a wander around the perimeter, have a look at the fence. All perfectly above board, and after all, it was Gus who did that on the day the car was found. Perhaps he conveniently forgot to mention any break he discovered. If I find one, it could be enough to persuade Crawford to search the place again. Showing someone could have had continuous access to the place since our search ought to be good enough grounds for us going in again.”
Derek grunted unhappily. “I don’t like it Jen, and I don’t trust you not to hop over the fence. You mustn’t, not on your own. And I can’t keep tabs on Gus, I’m in court all day, don’t you remember?”
“Bugger, I’d forgotten that. But anyway, if Gus is at work, he’d have no reason to return home. I’ll make it quick, as I will at the factory. As I said, I’m not planning to go in. One step at a time.”
“But suppose your other suggestion is correct.”
“What suggestion?”
“That it’s not Gus but someone else local. He could be loitering about and if he sees you snooping around, things could get nasty.”
“Firstly, I don’t think either of us seriously thinks someone else from the area is involved, and secondly, if on the off chance you’re right, if the whole thing was an accident, then he’s probably not going to be a mean-hearted killer, just some poor sod who got unlucky. So I think I’d be more than a match if it came to fisticuffs. And anyway, I guarantee I can outrun him.”
“Well, just make sure your phone’s fully charged in case you need to summon help.”
Chapter Forty-Six
The following morning, Jennifer attempted to distract herself with a number of household chores, waiting for Derek to call with the information that Gus Brooke was at his desk.
“What’s everyone doing this morning?” she asked.
Derek smiled as he heard the impatience in Jennifer’s voice.
“The guv has put four of the DCs back on other cases that needed some urgent attention and he’s given three of us, our friend included, the job of reviewing everything we’ve got so far, including the results from the forensic lab, although apart from the oil, there were no surprises there. That’s what I’ll be doing as and when I get back from court.”
“I’d forgotten about the oil. That’s something else we overlooked last night. Gus is a keen cyclist with some classy gear, according to him. He’s bound to use a high-tech chai
n lube. I think I might just take a sample if I come across his bike.”
“It wouldn’t be admissible.”
“No, but if it happened to match, it could be formally taken at a later date. Right, I’m off in a mo’. Buzz me if anything changes.”
“Take it easy, kiddo.”
“That’s no way to address your senior officer.”
“What do you suggest? Kidd’am?”
* * *
It was a bright morning and before leaving her flat, Jennifer dressed in lycra leggings and top with a pair of running shoes. She had decided that once she had finished snooping around Gus’s cottage and the factory, she would mix business with pleasure by going for a run along the footpaths and tracks that interlaced the waterways and irrigation channels near Rappington.
As she approached the new dual carriageway leading from Nottingham to junction twenty-four on the M1 motorway, she reset the trip odometer on her car’s dashboard to zero, set her stopwatch and took the road to where the Rappington road rejoined it after Rappington village. She turned right and followed the old road back as far as the Brookes’ cottage. After making a note of the odometer reading and time taken, she reset the odometer and stopwatch and continued along the Rappington road to where it met the dual carriageway at the Nottingham end. Her measurements told her the way to the Brookes’ cottage via the new road was two kilometres farther despite it being a straighter road, and the time taken a minute and a half longer. For someone in Gus Brooke’s position wanting to get home on a stormy night, the old road through the village offered the better option. His story made no sense.
* * *
Jennifer turned her car round at the junction and headed back towards Rappington. As she passed the lane leading to the factory, she glanced along it, but could see no sign of any activity.
After Rappington, she continued on past the Brookes’ cottage where, as expected, there were no cars parked: Gus Brooke’s car was at the SCF car park in Nottingham while his wife’s was presumably at an airport car park awaiting her return. Jennifer decided to look for a spot to leave her car where it wouldn’t be visible near the house. About five hundred metres along was the same track Rosselli had used. She drove a short way down it, locked the car and jogged back to the main road.
The Cambroni Vendetta Page 28