by Carol Wyer
The first photograph was of a woman planting a kiss on Jackson’s mouth in a bar. The second and third were more explicit. Although Abigail could not make out the face of the man being ridden by the naked woman whose face was screwed up in ecstasy, she spotted the captain’s hat by the bedside. She let out a low moan. These photographs were of Jackson and his lover – a woman she had known for three years. The woman in the photograph was magnificent in her nudity – her breasts firm and round, her midriff a washboard and her strong thighs wrapped around the man. Her hair had fallen forward and concealed some of her face but there was no denying it. The woman with green hair in the photograph was Zoe.
29
The Aviator hotel in Farnborough was created for elite travellers moving between London and the world’s leading destinations. It overlooked the main runway of what many consider to be Europe’s most prestigious executive airport, and boasted unique architecture. Even the lifts followed an aviation theme with aircraft-styled video windows playing back images of the clouds whisking by at thirty-five thousand feet.
Robyn had stayed in many hotels over the years but none as plush as this. Her bedroom interior was contemporary yet rich and comfortable with walnut panelling, leather furniture and a bathroom with black glass walls, granite vanity tops and chrome finishing. Dark wood venetian blinds hung before large windows that looked out onto Farnborough airfield.
The one-time military aerodrome and research station had been transformed into a svelte civil airport. The control tower that vaguely resembled the famous TWA terminal at JFK airport, New York, the deftly engineered and gently undulating aircraft hangar, and the coolly elegant terminal building were stylish and impressive. The three-storey, steel-framed terminal building resembled a giant wing. She had read that TAG Aviation described it as a ‘virtual aircraft without a fuselage. It appeared as though the building itself has just touched down on the runway and taxied into position.’
She watched as a small jet prepared for take-off and headed towards the runway. She remained transfixed while the engines rotated and it moved forward, the noise increasing along with its speed until it suddenly rose from the ground with a resonant roar and a grace that Robyn found familiar and comforting. She had watched one like it take off during her ‘other life’, when a mission had required Davies and two colleagues to be quickly and surreptitiously transported to the south of France, where their fluent knowledge of French and undercover skills had resulted in the capture of a small cell of terrorists.
She dumped her bag in the walk-in wardrobe and grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge before phoning Mitz Patel.
‘Nothing more to report. The local farmer saw Geraldine’s bike parked outside the house when he went to cut the hedge. He thought it unusual because she’s not normally there on a Thursday. When the bike was still there later that day, he knocked on the door. The door was unlocked so he opened it and spotted her body at the bottom of the stairs. Sergeant Austin James was called to the scene but there were no suspicious circumstances. It appears she slipped and fell.’
‘Seems odd that Paul Matthews tripped and fell in the woods and now his housekeeper has done the same in the house.’
‘There was no evidence to suggest otherwise.’
‘I’d like you to take another look.’
‘What about DCI Mulholland?’
‘I’ll square it. I want you to make sure. Check for anything at all that might point at this being more than an accident. And call me as soon as you’ve found something.’
‘What if I don’t?’
‘You will.’
Next, Robyn called Zoe Cooper, identified herself as a police officer and arranged to meet the woman later at the hotel when Zoe returned from work. The rest of the afternoon was slightly more frustrating. She rang DCI Mulholland and explained she wanted PC Patel to check the scene at the Farmhouse. Louisa did not sound best pleased.
‘I don’t want my officers being sent on wild goose chases, Robyn. I thought I made it clear I needed him at the station. We are ridiculously short-handed at the moment.’
‘I appreciate that but I have a hunch that Geraldine Marsh’s death is connected somehow to this case.’
‘Here we go. You’re following your hunches. The report was quite clear. The housekeeper slipped and fell. There was no one else in the house. You are reading too much into it.’
‘So you won’t let PC Patel check the house?’
Mulholland exhaled noisily. ‘He can go. I hope you’re right. I don’t like wasting my valued officer’s time.’
Robyn then had a new problem. She attempted to gain entry to the airfield, but without an actual booking or ID clearance, security was unwilling to let her onto the site. Her warrant card and expert negotiation skills failed her. No one was willing to talk to her or let her have access to the airfield. She phoned BizzyAir and was told that unless she was a passenger on one of their aircraft, she could not be admitted to the terminal regardless of her rank in the police force. It was hopeless. She couldn’t request assistance from Louisa Mulholland. She had already annoyed her superior sufficiently for one day and there wasn’t time to go through all the protocols or evidence she needed to get behind the gates. A thought crossed her mind. What Louisa didn’t know would not hurt. She would try less conventional means to get onto the airfield.
Robyn stepped into one of the lifts, checking herself in the mirrors which reflected several images of an elegant woman with hair expertly styled in a perfect bun, wearing a tailored blue trouser suit and a multicoloured scarf knotted to one side of her neck.
She waited close to the reception desk, hidden from view on one of the many seats hidden in the alcoves. Luck was on her side and she did not have to wait long before a group of businessmen exited the bar area, preparing to take leave of each other. They huddled in a group close to her and she could hear their every word.
‘Well, Mr Carlisle, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. Have a good trip,’ said one, holding out his hand. ‘Wish we were going with you. It sounds like quite an event.’
‘It’s not every day you get to see a power station being blown up.’ Robyn eased forward to catch a glimpse of the men. Mr Carlisle appeared to be in his fifties, over six feet tall, with muddy blond hair reaching his collar, dressed in a white shirt and black trousers with scuffed shoes. He had the confident air of a businessman but clearly did not take pride in his appearance. His companion, several inches shorter, was dressed in a grey suit that did nothing for his florid complexion. He continued speaking, ‘Thank you for lunch. Richard here will be in touch next week. I’m off to Portugal this weekend. Promised “her indoors” a nice holiday. She’s been nagging me all year to take her away. Okay, we’d better get going. The others should be at the airfield by now. Better join them or they’ll take off without us.’
‘I doubt they’d leave without the boss,’ said one of the men with a chuckle.
‘I think they’d relish the opportunity to leave me behind,’ replied Carlisle.
Robyn stole away down the staircase, past the flickering flames of the open fires and velvet sofas and headed outside into the grey day, where she waited by a Valet Parking sign. Timing was now everything. As the men emerged from the hotel, the taxi pulled up on cue. Robyn advanced and grabbed the door handle.
The taxi driver leaned towards the open window and asked, ‘TAG Aviation?’
‘Yes, said Robyn, climbing in and buckling up.
‘Yes, us too,’ replied the short man in the grey suit.
‘I’m supposed to collect a Mr Carlisle?’ said the taxi driver, looking back at Robyn.
‘That’s me,’ said Carlisle.
‘Then I’m for you, not this lady. Sorry, love, you’ll have to get out.’
‘But I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes already for a taxi and I need to get to the airfield. I’ll be late for the flight if I don’t go now,’ she replied politely. She leaned out towards the two men outside. ‘Are you going to the
airfield? Could I share with you? I really am going to be late if I don’t.’
Carlisle looked her up and down, his gaze unwavering before he said, ‘Since we’re all headed for the same destination, why not? No point in hanging around any longer than necessary. We don’t mind if you don’t.’
‘Oh thank you. You are real gentlemen,’ she said with a winning smile. Carlisle climbed in, choosing the seat opposite Robyn. His companion, who seemed less delighted by the prospect, gave a curt nod then ignored Robyn and continued his conversation.
‘So is Rick meeting us up in Glasgow?’
‘Only if he’s got rid of his hangover. He sounded well oiled last night. Still, not every day you win a contract to knock down the biggest power station in Scotland.’
‘He ought to wait until it’s successful. If it all goes wrong, he’ll be right up the creek.’
‘He’s an expert in blowing up buildings. It’ll be fine. No doubt we’ll all be watching and cheering and watching it over and over again on the news later.’
He glanced at Robyn who was looking out of the window and pretending not to understand.
‘We’re going to Glasgow. Going to watch the largest power station in Scotland being blown up.’
‘Do you own the station?’
‘We’re in scrap metal. We get to sort through it once it’s down, so in a way, yes we do,’ he replied proudly. ‘Where are you flying to?’
‘Back to France. To Nice,’ she replied.
‘Business flight?’
‘I’m crew on a privately owned jet. I’m afraid I can’t tell you who it belongs to but he needs to return today which is earlier than we anticipated, so I’ve been called back. No stopover as planned. Thank you for letting me ride with you.’ She smiled apologetically as she pulled out her mobile, pretending it had rung, and launched into a phoney conversation in French, preventing further conversation with the men, who then continued chatting about the power station in lowered voices.
Soon they pulled up at the gates for TAG Aviation Farnborough airport and were met by a man with a clipboard.
‘Tail number please,’ he asked. Richard dragged out a piece of paper from a calf-leather wallet and squinted at it.
‘It’s W. I. G. L,’ he said, reading out the letters. ‘We’re part of a group who might already be here.’
The man checked his clipboard. Robyn kept up her imaginary conversation, smiling only once at the guard who assumed she was with the two men. He waved them through.
The taxi dropped them by the executive lounge. Robyn terminated her call and insisted on paying her share of the taxi fare. As they descended, shouts from a small group of men gathered outside the terminal made her travelling companions look up.
‘Hi, chaps,’ yelled Richard. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t get rid of him,’ he shouted, pointing at Carlisle who grinned good-naturedly. There were choruses of fake booing and then laughter as the men joined the group and all entered reception together. In the muddle of voices and men slapping down various travel documents on the desk, Robyn was able to slip past the receptionist and into the terminal.
She followed the corridor until she reached the pilot and crew lounge. It was as stylish as the hotel she just left. The room had been designed in greys and reds, with stylish striped cushions on large settees, a snooze area and kitchen, and a line of computers at desks. Behind a computer sat a first officer. Robyn identified his position from the three stripes on his blazer sleeve. He was studying weather maps intently and barely gave her a second glance as she strode to a settee, head high, and nodded in his direction before sitting down and drawing out a sheet of paper from her bag. After a while she tutted loudly, causing the man to look up.
‘Sorry, just seen we are collecting a passenger we’ve flown before. He was such a problem last time. Lucas Matthews. Have you ever had the pleasure?’
‘No, can’t say I have. Hope he behaves this time. Who are you with? I haven’t seen you in here before.’
‘A private flight. Whisky India Golf Lima,’ she added, recalling the tail number from the flight Carlisle and his cronies were taking and using the phonetic alphabet that she knew the pilot would expect. ‘Off to Glasgow.’
The pilot nodded. ‘The Lear jet. I saw it land. Nice craft.’ The door opened and a lean man about sixty years old, with steely grey hair and bottle-green eyes entered the room. Hat under his arm, he bore the insignia and bearing of a seasoned captain. ‘Afternoon, Dan. Looks like a good one,’ he said in a clipped voice. ‘You all set to go?’
‘Just checking the weather. Should be good weather conditions en route and they’re expecting twenty-four degrees and a light south-west wind at Schiphol so I don’t envisage any difficulties.’
Dan put on his Ray-Bans and hat, completing the uniform of a well-heeled, private pilot. He nodded again at Robyn and spoke, ‘Hope your passenger behaves.’
‘Who’s that then?’ asked the captain as they made for the door.
‘Lucas Matthews,’ Robyn replied.
‘Lucas?’ said the captain. ‘Name rings a bell. I think he’s the guy that was hounding Jackson. He kept calling and asking for him. Sally on reception was sick of him phoning. She complained about him and his attitude. He got quite nasty with her at one point. Jackson was going to tear him off a strip and call him back. I don’t know if he did or not but it wasn’t mentioned again. He was definitely odd. I didn’t think he would cause any harm though. As I recall he was intense, that’s the word, intense, and a little bit strange. At least he’s not hassling Jackson any more. I’m sure he’ll behave for you though,’ he added and gave Robyn a wink.
They left for their flight. Robyn walked out of the building with confidence, even acknowledging the girl on reception with a goodbye. Sometimes it paid to be obvious rather than skulk in the shadows. You could hide well in plain view. She walked away from the terminal and rang for a taxi to collect her. She now had another name – Jackson. She only needed a surname then she might be able to track him down.
* * *
Zoe was on time. She arrived at the Sky Bar dressed in a cream lace dress and gladiator sandals tied around shapely calves. The combination together with her green hair caused heads to turn. She meandered over to Robyn who was waiting by the bar.
‘Hi. I’m Zoe,’ she announced, sliding onto the stool next to Robyn and catching the waiter’s eye. ‘Hi, Christophe,’ she said to the handsome barman – a striking dark-haired man with sharp cheekbones and sensual lips, who would not have looked out of place on the catwalk.
‘Fancy a drink?’ asked Robyn.
‘Large sparkling water and lime please? I’ve got a raging thirst. I’ve taught four classes this afternoon, back to back, and the train was packed with people. I’m totally dehydrated. I’ll look like a giant dried-up prune if I don’t get some liquid inside me soon.’
‘Make that two.’
The barman poured the drinks and passed them over. Zoe took a long sip and made an appreciative noise.
‘That’s better. Thank you.’ She gave Robyn a perfect white smile. ‘A detective, eh? That’s got to be interesting. I used to love Juliet Bravo on the telly.’
‘It’s not quite like the television but it has its moments.’
Zoe took another slug of her water and sighed. ‘Much better,’ she said. ‘I love police dramas and those programmes about detectives like Endeavour or Sherlock. I’d prefer being a private investigator to being in the police. I’ve always fancied being the bait for one of those “honey trap” jobs.’ She grinned widely, crossed her legs and feigned an appropriate wanton pose.
She waved at the barman. ‘Christophe? Do you think I could get a job as man bait?’
He laughed. ‘I thought you already did that job.’
‘Cheeky,’ she replied. ‘You’re only jealous because I pick up more men than you do.’
‘True. You’re so right. However, I am a changed man now,’ he replied, pointing at the wedding band on his finger.
He laughed again and shook his head at her.
Robyn witnessed the camaraderie between the two. ‘You must come here a lot.’
‘Very good, DI Carter. I drop in now and then but I’ve known Christophe for two years, since he joined one of my Pilates classes. I’ve never had such a popular class. Women from far and wide joined it just to watch handsome Christophe here do impossible moves in his ultra-tight shorts. He broke every one of their hearts when they discovered he was going to marry Declan.’
Christophe gave a bright smile. ‘You have broken your fair share of hearts too, hun,’ he said before moving away to serve another customer. Zoe adopted a serious face.
‘So, you’re looking for someone?’
‘A man named Lucas Matthews. I think he was trying to get in touch with you for some reason. Your name has come up in the investigation.’
‘I’m not a suspect or anything, am I?’
‘No. There’s no crime here. I’m just searching for a missing individual and hoped you had seen him.’
‘The name isn’t at all familiar. Have you got a picture of him?’ She drained her glass.
Robyn slid the photo of Lucas across the bar. Zoe examined it closely and tapped it with a neatly painted nail that matched the colour of her hair. ‘I’ve definitely seen him but I can’t think where.’ She screwed up her eyes, trying to conjure up the place and time but after a moment opened them again. ‘No, can’t think where. I’ve not spoken to him but I’ve seen him somewhere. I shouldn’t be worried, should I?’
‘I don’t believe so. I think he’s trying to contact you and I’m pretty certain he doesn’t intend any harm. But if you see him, please call me immediately.’
Robyn scribbled on one of Ross’s business cards. ‘If you can remember when or where you saw him, give me a call. That’s my personal number.’