Scarlett giggled, pushing her helmet into his arms. ‘And that’s as close as you’re getting Alex King. All I want is a glass of wine.’
‘Don’t I even get a little kiss?’
She shook her head disapprovingly, then leant in and kissed his lips. She felt his mouth open slightly, hinting at a longer kiss but she pulled back and smiled, pushing past him. ‘That’s it lover boy. Now where’s my drink?’
Alex let out a laugh as he closed the door, then headed across the lounge to the kitchen.
The room was open plan, the décor in keeping with the 30s building – furnishings of dark leather, chrome and Perspex were art deco style, and on the walls were prints of 1930s movie posters together with memorabilia and photos from Alex’s army days. Scarlett was always in awe when she visited his place because the furnishings in her home had belonged to her Aunt Hanna and were showing signs of wear. Even the décor, magnolia walls and white doors, was her aunt’s taste. Except for a three-seater sofa, a double bed and a smart TV, she hadn’t replaced anything. Taking in the surroundings while pulling off her boots, she decided she needed to make some changes this year. Placing her boots against the skirting she shrugged off her biking suit and dropped it beside them.
Alex had taken a bottle of white wine from the fridge. At the kitchen island he uncorked it, poured two glasses and then passed her a glass, chinking it and saying, ‘cheers.’
Scarlett took a generous swallow. The chill instantly refreshed her mouth and the after-notes of pear and lemon were a delight to her taste buds. This was a good wine. ‘That really has hit the spot,’ she said. ‘You know how to treat a girl.’
‘Only the best for the best.’
She felt herself blush, which surprised her, and Alex gave a wicked smile.
‘It’s a long time since I’ve made anyone blush. I must be getting smoother in my old age.’
Scarlett blushed even deeper and punched his arm. ‘Stop it now Alex.’
He laughed and moved back into the kitchen space. ‘I’ve put some chicken, with goat's cheese, wrapped in parma ham in the oven, and I’m just about to boil some new potatoes and put some veg on. Do you want to grab a shower and then we’ll eat?’
‘I’d love to take a shower, if you don’t mind, but you’ll have to put up with me back in my work clothes.’
‘Why don’t you borrow a pair of my joggers and a T shirt?’
She looked at him.
‘Straight up. You’ll be far more comfortable and it’s not as though you haven’t done it before. You know where everything is.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. Make yourself at home.’
Scarlett used the shower in Alex’s en-suite and picked out a white T-shirt and a pair of grey jogging bottoms from his wardrobe. She had to tie the waistband as tight as she could, letting them rest on her hips, to stop them falling down. Then, scrunching her hair in a towel she stepped back into the lounge.
Alex was at the island dishing up their meal. The wine glasses had been replenished and he’d put on some music. She recognised Hello, the opening track from Adele’s 25 album. Scarlett finished off mopping most of the wet from her hair and set the towel down on the worktop. She picked up one of the glasses. ‘This is really good of you Alex,’ she said and took a drink.
‘Like I said earlier, never say I don’t know how to treat a girl.’ Picking up the steaming plates and nodding towards his laid-out table he added, ‘Come on let’s not let this go cold. The remainder of the bottle is in the fridge if you want to get it.’
Forty-six
Scarlett loaded Alex’s dishwasher with the empty plates while he opened another bottle of wine. They had spent their meal talking about Trish’s murder. She’d mentioned her clandestine meeting with Tarn and he’d offered her words of support, ‘I think I’d have done the same if it was my partner.’ It made her feel better. And she’d told him about Adam Witton, knowing he would keep what she’d disclosed to himself. As always she’d asked him what he’d been up to, and as usual he hadn’t given anything away, merely told he’d been doing this and that – nothing of interest. The look he’d given her told Scarlett he was toying with her again, and she’d threatened that one day she was going to find out what he did for a living – even if she had to torture him. He’d laughed, telling her, he might enjoy it. It had been like old times.
Pushing in the stacked shelves and closing the dishwasher door she turned to see Alex holding out a full glass for her. He was flashing that trademark smile of his and his sparkling blue eyes were locked on. Suddenly, what felt like an electric current, tingled through her – she hadn’t felt like this for a long while. She took the glass, but instead of taking a drink, set it down on the island and leaned in for a kiss. Pressing her mouth to his, she gently bit his bottom lip and probed with her tongue. He pulled her to him, sliding his hands beneath the T- shirt she was wearing, running them up her back and along her ribs. She stiffened, her body tingling, and she hungrily kissed him deeper, clawing her fingers through his dark hair. She felt his hardness pushing against her and gasped. Pulling back her head, but still holding him in a clinch, she met his eyes. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he, but they didn’t need to: They were both burning with desire for one another. Alex grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the bedroom.
***
In the darkness of Alex’s flat, wearing only his T-shirt, Scarlett stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window and stared down at the street below. It was almost midnight but still a steady flow of traffic trundled along the road. It had rained while they were in bed and car headlights blazed their reflections back off the damp surface, obscuring the edges, giving the illusion that one vehicle melded into the next, forming an endless red and white moving light-stream. Her thoughts drifted back to the last hour. The sex had been great, as if they had never been apart. And it had reminded her of how things had been between them – before she had decided to end it. Why?
Padded footfalls behind her grabbed her attention back to the present and she glanced over her shoulder, catching Alex creeping towards her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, settling his chin into the nape of her neck, then he gently kissed her and she felt herself melt. ‘That’s nice,’ she muttered.
‘I wondered where you’d gone.’
‘Just chilling. Watching the traffic.’
‘Was I that boring?’
She gave him a half-laugh. ‘You were good. Amazing.’
‘So were you.’ He kissed her neck again and gave her a squeeze. ‘Do you want to give it another go between us?’
Forty-seven
In his flat James Green sat in semi darkness, his eyes reflecting the light from his laptop screen. He was viewing the video he'd downloaded that morning. He froze the image at the moment where Detective Macey had clocked him, though he could see by the look on her face she hadn’t recognised him. Inwardly he smiled, but then panic overcame him. She had almost caught him – if it hadn’t been for the nearby houses and gardens! He hadn’t realised just how quick she was – he had only seen her jogging before today. He’d have to be more careful in future.
Breathing deeply to steady his racing heart, he clicked on the right mouse button, selected ‘print’ from the drop-down menu and waited for it to come out of the printer. Picking out the A4 image, he gave it another look, and then stood and went over to the wall to add it to the gallery. Choosing the spot carefully, he taped it up, and took a step back, studying his collection of photographs like an art connoisseur. He had quite a nice portfolio of his targets. Soon, he told himself, it will be your turn. But not just yet!
Forty-eight
Scarlett was awake long before the alarm went off on her phone. For the past ten minutes she had lain there, listening to Alex’s steady breathing, a smile on her face that an atom bomb wouldn’t remove. When her alarm did go off it made her jump.
Alex stirred.
‘It’s for me. W
ork,’ she said gently, casting aside her half of the duvet and picking up her mobile, deactivating the trilling sound.
She showered and changed back into the clothes she'd worn the previous day. They were creased, but only slightly, and, thankfully, the smell they carried was nothing more than a hint of her delicate Elie Saab perfume, for which she was grateful. It meant she could go onto work from here without the need for a detour home to change into something fresh. It also meant she had time for coffee and toast.
She made herself a hot drink and a round of toast and devoured both standing in front of the huge windows. Twickenham had woken up – the traffic was already building, heading into the city and it wasn’t even 7 a.m. Another half an hour and it would be snarled. That was why she was so glad she had the bike for her commute – in the main it allowed her freer passage through the constant jams. She finished her breakfast, put her mug into Alex’s dishwasher, brewed him a coffee and returned to the bedroom. He was awake. She set down the steaming coffee on his bedside table and leaned over to kiss him. He took her by surprise, grabbing hold of her, dragging her down onto the bed, smothering her with an open-mouth kiss. She playfully fought herself free. ‘Some of us have to go to work.’
He let out a short laugh. ‘See you tonight?’ He asked.
‘No work today?’
‘I’ve got a meeting at eleven, and lunch with a couple of colleagues and that’s my day.’
‘All right for some.’ She replied, pushing herself up. ‘I’ll ring you as soon I know what’s happening. If we get Adam Witton it could be a long one.’
‘Okay no probs.’
Flashing him a wide happy smile, she blew a kiss, said ‘Thanks for last night,’ and after one last, lingering look she left the bedroom.
***
Scarlett parked Bonnie in the rear yard, ran up the station’s back stairs, and headed to the ladies to take off her motorcycle gear and make herself presentable. She was just refreshing her eye make-up when her personal mobile rang. Laying aside her eye liner she took the phone out of her bag and viewed the screen. It was the number Tarn had rung her from yesterday. She sighed and turned her attention to the three toilet cubicles. All of them were open. She answered in a quiet voice, ‘You shouldn’t be ringing me.’
‘I know but I got a call from Sara yesterday. She told me you’d been to see her. Have you got him?’
‘Tarn, this is unfair.’
‘I promise I won’t ring you any more. Just tell me if you’ve got him?’
‘Not yet. Look, all I can tell you is that we have circulated him. We have no idea where he is but we’re pulling out all the stops to find him. I’m just going into briefing so I’ll get an update. The moment I get anything I can tell you, I promise I’ll ring you.’
‘Please Scarlett, this is killing me.’
‘I promise Tarn, I will.’
She ended the call and stared at her phone. It was hard to imagine what her partner was going through – his wife dead, unable to see his two kids, though until they got Adam Witton, he was still a suspect and she had to be careful what she said. Sometimes this job was so unfair.
Forty-nine
Mug of freshly made coffee in hand, Scarlett studied the incident board. There had been a couple of additions overnight – a short asterisk note to trace Helen Davis – the teacher Adam Witton had an affair with at his last school: this morning, Scarlett was hoping to learn where she lived or worked, so they could pay her a visit. There was also the CSI evidential photograph of Alice Witton, taking during her examination by The Force Medical Examiner, with a list of her injuries penned down the side. Adam’s status had gone from ‘suspect’ to ‘wanted.’
The sudden, noisy, opening of the squad room door made her look around. Diane Harris and Hayden Taylor-Butler strode in, heading for the incident board to start briefing. Stepping aside, Scarlett gave them a quick smile and returned to her desk. Around the room, members of the team looked up from what they were doing and fell silent.
The DCI dimmed the lights and activated the large video screen next to the board. An aerial view of a built-up area with a winding river jumped into focus. With a pen beam she threw a red dot on a building close to the edge of the waterway, in the shadow of a bridge carrying a main road. ‘This, guys, is The Dissenters’ Chapel at Kensal Green All Souls Cemetery, close to the Grand Union Canal. An hour ago Adam Witton’s BMW was found abandoned here. The back seats were heavily bloodstained.’ The team stirred. ‘Adam Witton was not with his vehicle and there’s no sign of him. Officers are down there now securing the area and I’ve got a team of forensics attending as we speak. I’m diverting Task Force to the scene to begin a search of the area.’ She nodded to Scarlett, ‘I want you to go there straight after briefing and oversee the search of the location and the recovery of Adam’s vehicle.’
‘Yes boss,’ said Scarlett.
‘This is what we’ve been waiting for. I’ve arranged for footage to be viewed from cameras all along the route, to and from the cemetery. We don’t know if he has another vehicle or not – according to his wife he hasn’t, so he most probably will have left here on foot. The towpath beside the canal goes all the way through to Paddington, so I’m arranging for checks to be made from everywhere it comes out onto the main road, right to the station, just in case he’s boarded a train. I’ve put an alert on his debit and credit cards and we’re monitoring his phone.’ The DCI started listing actions pertinent to the discovery and began allocating them to the team. Scarlett’s new partner, Lucy Summers, was given the job of baby-sitting Alice Witton, to check if she could give other information as to Adam’s possible whereabouts and to report back immediately if he made contact: they were not expecting him to return home anytime soon but he just might make a telephone call. She ended the briefing by stating any DNA results from Trish and Tarn’s home were going to be at least another 24 hours; the labs had prioritised them, but they were still in a queue. Then turning off the screen she checked if anyone had any questions, wished everyone good hunting and left with the DI.
Scarlett slurped the remains of her coffee down in a gulp and scribbled down the telephone number of Adam’s previous school, so she could speak to the new head, Mrs McDonald, about Helen Davis. She stuffed her notebook into her bag, picked up a set of keys for one of the pool cars and breezed out of the office.
Fifty
Wearing a forensic onesie, Scarlett stayed the sterile side of the blue and white tape, watching three CSI officers going about their work around Adam Witton’s red BMW. It lay abandoned thirty yards away down a gentle slope, close to the old Dissenters’ Chapel – a Gothic style building, refurbished into a tea room for visitors to the well-known cemetery. It was Scarlett’s first visit to the place and the beautiful surroundings captivated her. Entering the magnificent gates to gain access, she was surprised she had never noticed the place before, despite having driven past it many times. The cemetery was closed to visitors today. The entrance had been sealed off and the only people around the place were police officers.
All four doors and the boot to Adam’s car were open. One of the CSI team was taking photographs of its interior. Task Force had also arrived and they were currently being briefed on the towpath prior to the start of their search. Scarlett would catch up with the supervisors of both teams as soon as they made themselves available. She took out her BlackBerry and dialled the number for Adam’s previous school. In less than a minute she was speaking with Mrs McDonald, who informed her that she had already left her a message on her phone at work. Scarlett thanked her, told her she was out of the office, and wouldn’t be back until a lot later in the day and asked if she would mind repeating the message. The head had tracked down Helen Davis to Wessex Gardens Primary School in Golders Green and had already spoken with her, told her what it was about and had to expect a call from Scarlett. Helen was more than happy to discuss Adam Witton. Scarlett thanked Mrs McDonald, took down the number of Wessex Gardens Primary and ended the call.
Then, she rang the school. The girl on reception told her Helen was presently teaching her class but she would ask Helen to ring at morning break, in five minutes.
Not long, thought Scarlett, ending the call and she returned her attention to the scene. The three CSI team members were huddled around something a few yards away from Adam’s BMW. She couldn’t see what it was, but they had set a yellow numbered pyramid marker next to it. Curiosity piqued, she drew up her hood and face-mask, ducked underneath the crime-scene tape and set off down the track to join them.
Halfway down the slope her BlackBerry rang. Stopping, she pulled it out of her pocket and answered.
It was a nervous sounding Helen Davis asking if that was DS Macey? ‘I’ve been told you want to talk to me about Adam Witton?’ she said.
Scarlett took a deep breath. This had caught her on the hop. ‘Oh hi Helen, yes you’re right. Have you been told what it’s about?’
‘Mrs McDonald rang me this morning, but I’ve also spoken with Sara Bailey, who I know you’ve interviewed and she’s given me some more details. She said you think he might have killed a teacher at her school?’
For a few seconds Scarlett didn’t respond. Choosing her words carefully she answered, ‘That might not be the case Helen. We certainly want to talk to Adam in relation to the death of a teacher he worked with and at the moment we’re trying to trace him.’ After pausing a second, she added, ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where he is or where he might go by any chance, would you?’
‘No idea.’
‘Can I ask when you last saw him, or were in contact with him?’
There was a moment’s silence before she responded, ‘It would be about six months ago now. You’re probably aware I went off sick for a while after what happened between Adam and me, and then Adam got the head’s job at the school where Sara Bailey works. I haven’t seen him since he left.’
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