Dark Truths

by A. J. Cross

  ‘Yes,’ said Arnold. ‘In an utter monstrosity of a house he built himself. That caused some fur to fly, I can tell you.’

  Watts now had the measure of Arnold. Well-informed local gossip. Potentially useful. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, the owners of the houses either side of Broughton’s, plus the one at the back of it, were livid when they saw his house plans. They argued that what he was proposing was ugly and tasteless and that some of its windows on the planned third floor would overlook their properties. It didn’t bother me. I can’t see it from my house. Their objections failed. This is going back fifteen years or more.’

  ‘Broughton wasn’t married?’

  Arnold’s mouth tightened. ‘No, but from what I heard, he didn’t lack female companionship.’

  ‘Give me the names of these neighbours who objected to his plans.’

  Arnold stared at him. ‘Detective Inspector, we’re talking well over a decade ago and all three were a good age then. Two have since died. The other one moved to a care home, but don’t ask me where.’

  ‘Did Broughton do any of his gentrification work in this area?’

  ‘Not as far as I’m aware. I heard that most of his work was in the south of the city.’

  ‘What about this rebuilding of barns? Did he do much of that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. They would be in areas well away from the city, wouldn’t they?’

  Watts was now overheated, ready to call it a day. Arnold was either unaware of Zoe Roberts’ murder or he knew nothing about the area where it occurred. Or both. ‘So, you had no dealings with Broughton beyond his being a customer?’

  Arnold’s mouth turned downwards. ‘I don’t think his one visit that day merits “customer”. He didn’t buy anything. The only other contact I had with him was through our local Neighbourhood Watch.’

  ‘He joined, did he?’

  Arnold looked scornful. ‘Not him. We had friction with him.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  Arnold gave a series of quick nods. ‘Our committee decided that false activations of burglar alarms should incur an agreed fine.’

  ‘There always seems to be one going off where I live. Very annoying. Particularly when it’s late.’

  ‘Exactly. This is going back some years. Another resident named Mountjoy and I were the Neighbourhood Watch organizers back then. We hand-delivered a questionnaire which got an overwhelmingly positive response against false alarms following which we devised a residents’ agreement that it shouldn’t happen and that a system of very modest fines would be imposed if it did, the money to be donated to charity.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable. How did that go down with Broughton?’

  ‘It didn’t. I was at a book fair in London, so Mountjoy delivered the agreements. Guess what Broughton did with his.’

  ‘Tell me, it’s quicker.’

  ‘He came after poor old Mountjoy, tore the agreement into small pieces and stuffed them into the breast pocket of his blazer. I said that that constituted assault.’

  Watts turned a page in his notebook. ‘Give me this Mountjoy’s address.’

  ‘Somewhere in Poole is all I know. If he’s still alive. Which I doubt. I really need to get back to the shop.’

  Watts followed him. ‘Have you heard about the murder of a young woman runner to the south of the city?’

  ‘I heard something about it on the local news. Shocking.’

  ‘Do you know that area at all?’

  ‘I have no connection with it, so no.’

  Watts quit writing, flipped his notebook closed. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Arnold. If you think of anything which might relate to Daniel Broughton’s disappearance, give us a bell at police headquarters.’ He searched his pockets, drew out a card, handed it to him.

  Arnold looked at it. ‘If I do, I’ll certainly let you know, Detective Inspector.’

  Leaving the bookshop, Watts walked to his vehicle, aware of a slight sense of dissatisfaction, hitting on a likely reason: he hadn’t eaten since five thirty that morning.

  FOURTEEN

  Friday 19 August. Two p.m.

  The atmosphere inside the small room was leaden. Traynor looked across to PC Sharma. She shook her head. He had arrived over fifteen minutes ago, yet beyond a cursory nod when Sharma introduced them, the man slumped on the sofa hadn’t responded to Traynor’s words of sympathy on behalf of the force. Pete Barlow looked clammy, unwell. His hand shook as he lifted his cigarette. Traynor gave the room a quick glance, not finding what he was expecting to see. He stood. ‘Mr Barlow, we understand that this is a very difficult time for you so I’ll keep what I need to ask you for another day.’

  Barlow looked up, making eye contact for the first time. ‘I want to tell you about my daughter, Annette.’

  Traynor sat, waited for Barlow to speak.

  ‘She had everything going for her when she was young, you know.’ His face darkened. ‘Not like her two brothers. Never any damn good, either of them. Drinking, pinching cars, driving like maniacs, police chasing ’em all over.’ He looked at Traynor. ‘I haven’t seen either of them in years. They could be dead for all I know. Or care. Annette was too good for the likes of them. Trouble is, she was loyal. She told me that one time she was in a car with them and they had an accident. What does Annette do? She says she was the driver, because Dale, the one that was driving, was already banned. I went barmy at her. Told her to keep away from both of ’em.’ He shook his head. ‘Annette was a good kid. Good at her school books. She used to help me on the stall.’ He squinted up at Traynor, his eyes wavering. ‘I had my own business. In the Bull Ring. Fancy goods. You should have heard her drum up the punters, even though she was only a kid. She took no messing. “C’mon, you lot. Get your money out!”’ Traynor waited out another lengthy silence. ‘Then, she turned fifteen, sixteen and she changed. Got secretive, wanting to do what she wanted to do, messing with lads who were a waste of time, getting into trouble. I couldn’t control her. The wife had died by then and I … lost my business.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s it.’

  Traynor recognized the lack of chronology in what Barlow had said so far but he wanted more. ‘Mr Barlow, are you able to tell me about Annette’s adult years, her employment, her friends, the relationships she had? That’s the kind of information which could help our investigation into her disappearance and what subsequently happened to her.’

  Barlow looked away. ‘Looks obvious to me. Some mad bastard who’s into rough sex.’

  Traynor glanced at Sharma, then back. ‘Why would you think that, Mr Barlow?’

  ‘… Dunno. Just an idea.’ It was evident to Traynor that the man slouched opposite him was struggling with daily life in addition to the news about his daughter, but he couldn’t leave it there.

  ‘Did Annette ever complain to you about having problems with men?’

  Barlow avoided his gaze. ‘She never was one to tell me much of what she was up to and I never asked. She seemed to settle down once she hit twenty, started doing shop work, clothes and that. She got a job managing a posh wine place in town. She moved out of here, got herself a bedsit.’

  Traynor had seen reports of police visits to the small bedsit where Annette Barlow had been living at the time she disappeared. They had come away with little which told them about her life.

  Barlow was talking, a trace of pride in his voice. ‘Annette could put herself over well. Dress the part. Put on the right voice. She never said so, but I think she liked that job at the wine shop. From how she was as a youngster, I was pleased that she’d managed to sort herself out. She’d give me a few quid occasionally.’

  ‘It sounds like Annette turned her life around.’ Barlow looked up at him then away. Traynor studied him. ‘Mr Barlow, if you have any information about Annette which you didn’t give to the original investigation, maybe because it was difficult for you to do that, you need to tell us.’

  Barlow gave him an up-down look. ‘What does somebody like you know about “difficult”? Life�
��s easy for people like you. I dare say you don’t have trouble with your kids, if you’ve got any.’

  Traynor didn’t respond.

  ‘All right. You asked. Around the time I’m talking about, I found out what she was really up to from somebody who knew me from the market. “Hey, Barlow”, he says, “did you know that girl of yours is working in ‘customer services’?” He didn’t have to spell it out. He said he had a mate who was into that kind of thing and recognized Annette, my daughter. A bloody slapper!’

  ‘It must have been a shock to hear that.’

  ‘“Shock” don’t cover it.’ Barlow looked up at him. ‘Have you got any kids?’

  Traynor gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘Then you’ll know how it felt.’

  Traynor studied him. He still looked unwell, his face putty-coloured, slick with sweat. ‘If you have any other information about Annette’s life, we need it, Mr Barlow.’

  Traynor watched him reach for a cigarette. ‘There isn’t anything else.’

  ‘Did Annette ever mention a boyfriend?’

  Barlow’s face reddened. ‘You mean apart from the Tom, Dick or Harrys who were paying her?’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t remember. Fact is, I never asked. I didn’t want to hear about what she was up to on that side.’ Hands shaking, he managed to light the cigarette. ‘One time she came here, she mentioned somebody who had offered her a better-paid job.’

  Traynor waited. ‘When was this?’

  Barlow shrugged. ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘What did she say about that?’

  Barlow looked at him, his eyes vague.

  Traynor sat forward. ‘Mr Barlow, what did Annette tell you about this person who offered her this better-paid job?’

  ‘All she said was that he had people working for him and that he could find a big-paying job for her.’ He stubbed out the cigarette. ‘I thought, Yeah, right, I bet you can.’

  ‘You can’t recall when Annette told you that?’

  Anger flashed in Barlow’s eyes. ‘I’ve told you, no. He was just some bloke, out for what he could get. I didn’t want to hear that kind of stuff from my own daughter!’ His tone turned maudlin. His eyes swam. ‘A great kid, she was, but after her mother died …’ His head dropped back. His eyes closed.

  Sharma stood, walked quietly across the room, pointing in the direction of the hall. Traynor followed. ‘This is my second day here,’ she whispered. ‘No prizes for guessing he’s alcohol-dependent.’

  ‘I looked for it but didn’t see any.’

  She peered through the narrow gap in the door to the sitting room. ‘He’s careful to keep it where it’s not visible, yet easily available. If nobody can see it, it’s not a problem, right? I checked against his name before I left headquarters. It’s a grim read. A long history of domestics between him and his wife. She died of liver failure. The two sons are known for twocking and driving offences, plus other types of theft. I doubt he’s seen them in years and hasn’t got a clue where they are.’

  Traynor turned to the front door.

  She followed him out. ‘We don’t get many happy families, do we, Dr Traynor?’

  He headed to his car. ‘Whoever takes over from you, please ask them to let me know when he’s more focused.’

  ‘I will. It might be a long wait.’

  FIFTEEN

  Saturday 20 August. Eight forty-five a.m.

  Watts stared at Judd. ‘What the bloody hell did you think you were doing at that law firm yesterday?’

  She held his gaze. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean! I had Damian Blunt on the phone at half-eight, accusing you of obtaining information by deception!’

  ‘He would, the supercilious b—. While I was talking to Fiona Webb, I just knew that something had to have gone on between her and Christian Roberts before Zoe Roberts started working there. I was right. I tracked down the hotel they both stayed at in Scotland.’

  ‘So, what!’ He got up, paced, hands in his pockets. ‘You would have been warned during your training about the kind of thing you’ve just done.’

  She was on her feet. ‘Webb wasn’t going to admit it. It was the only way! Now we know what they were up to. Are up to. It puts Christian Roberts smack in the frame for—’

  ‘Again, so what?’ He glared at her. ‘You can’t just ignore the rules because you’re chasing a lead, even if you’re right!’ He turned away from her, then back. ‘I’ll tell you what I know, shall I? If we ever present this case for court, including that information, the CPS won’t touch it with a long stick because you decided to ignore rules of evidence at a firm full of bloody lawyers!’ He ran his hands over his hair, rubbed his face, let them drop. ‘Don’t you get it? Because of the way you got that information the whole case would be tainted. Dead in the water.’

  Face flushed, she glared back at him. ‘You would have suspected the same if—’

  ‘That’s not the point! Jesus H … You don’t listen, do you? I can imagine what Brophy will say about this.’

  She looked aghast. ‘You’re going to tell him?’

  He watched every vestige of colour leave her face. ‘I don’t see I’ve got much choice.’

  She turned away from him, went and sat, stared down at the table. ‘OK. It was wrong.’

  Watts sighed, shook his head. ‘Go home.’

  She looked up at him, her eyes huge. ‘No …’

  ‘Go on. It’s the weekend. Spend the rest of the day writing up that visit you made to the wine shop, plus this bloody mess at the law practice.’ He watched her stand, walk out of the room then turned away. Hearing the door open again, he looked up. It was Traynor. ‘Anything useful from Barlow’s father?’

  Traynor nodded. ‘According to him, Annette Barlow was involved in prostitution at the time she managed the wine shop, plus there was an unidentified male hanging around, offering her a well-paid job.’

  ‘Did the father give any details?’

  ‘I doubt he ever knew any.’

  Watts added the information to the Smartboard. ‘This side-line she had never cropped up during the investigation into her disappearance.’

  Traynor came to it, his eyes moving over the words Watts had written. ‘Getting a coherent account of family life from Barlow wasn’t easy, but then his children weren’t easy either.’ He told Watts what Barlow had said about one of them driving whilst banned.

  Watts added it to the Smartboard. ‘Toe rags.’

  ‘Did PC Judd’s talk with the manager of the wine shop establish that Annette’s life had another side to it?’

  Watts rolled his eyes. ‘You might well ask. Right now, you know as much about that as I do.’ He paced, thinking about what they knew of Annette Barlow. ‘If it was a client who killed her there’s zero chance of us tracking him down now.’ He looked at Traynor. ‘Did her father specifically confirm she was into prostitution at the time she disappeared?’

  ‘Mr Barlow isn’t too good on sequences of past events, but my impression is she was.’

  ‘A pimp might have killed her, of course, if she had one, but there’s no chance of establishing that after ten years.’ He leant against the wall, head down. ‘So, why was her skull buried alongside Broughton’s? Was he connected at all to her lifestyle? In which case, what connects him and Barlow who’ve both been dead for years to Zoe Roberts?’ He looked up. ‘I’ll level with you, Traynor. I don’t have a clue where this case is going.’

  ‘Nor have I. What I do know thus far is that we need to maintain the focus on all three victims. There has to be a connection. We have to find it.’ He glanced at Watts. ‘Knowing that Annette Barlow was following a high-risk lifestyle is information the original investigation didn’t have. That says progress to me.’

  ‘I appreciate your optimism.’ They looked up as Judd came into the room, fetched her bag, turned and went out. Watts eyed the closing door. ‘Judd’s been to Zoe Roberts’ place of work. She’s found out that Christian Roberts is in a relationship with
a female colleague. Which gives him a possible motive for his wife’s murder. It could be why he’s avoiding us and her family.’

  ‘Any proof of that relationship?’

  ‘Oh yes. Judd spoke to a female colleague of Roberts’ who confirmed that he’s been on leave in Scotland recently. Then she got confirmation that that colleague also spent some days’ leave in Edinburgh during that same time frame.’

  ‘She did well to get that.’

  ‘Think again. Judd’s take on the job is that ends justify means. She got hold of the information by conning some receptionist. And this at an office full of bloody lawyers.’ He breathed, pointed at the desk phone. ‘Every time that rings, I thinking it’s Blunt, the main partner, wanting to have another go about it.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘As you say, Traynor. I suppose we’ve all pulled stunts when we were as green as she is, but I’ve had to give her a warning.’

  ‘What do you think about the information itself?’

  Watts flipped open his notebook. ‘I emailed the Edinburgh police to check Roberts’ whereabouts. I’m still waiting on it.’ He flicked pages. ‘I’ve talked to Edward Arnold, the owner of the bookshop which as far as we know is the last place Broughton was seen. He supplied some background on Broughton, who was into property development. According to Arnold, it was Broughton’s only visit to his shop and it looks like he might have left by a back way. He couldn’t come up with a reason why Broughton would do that. I’ll get him to do a list of all the people who were in his shop that day around the time Broughton was there, which the original investigation never thought to ask for.’ He shook his head. ‘Arnold seems to have a good memory, but after ten years it’s a long shot.’ He dropped on to a chair, frowning up at the board. ‘I don’t know about you, but each time I talk to somebody about this case, get details about one of the victims, it’s as though I’m dragged further away from all three being linked.’

  ‘Details are what we need at this early stage. Details provide links, build a picture which could tell us why all three died.’