There wasn’t much more to see. The space was tidy, but Brook put that down to the absence of furniture rather than a woman’s hand. Only the mess on the floor suggested a hasty departure – underwear, a sock, a cutlery drawer pulled out.
‘They packed,’ said Brook. ‘Which means they had a plan.’
‘Sorry?’ enquired a SOCO.
Brook shook his head.
‘Imagine living in a dump like this,’ said Noble, returning from the only bedroom.
Brook fancied he saw the sliver of a smile on Noble’s lips but didn’t react. It had been several years since Brook had lived in a similar hovel, immediately after his move up from London, and Noble occasionally made oblique reference to it.
Having taken the first accommodation offered, Brook didn’t care if it was comfortable or stylish, only that it had walls behind which he could retreat after his shift had ended. Walls that he’d stare at blankly as the demands of his new life in a strange city – post-breakdown – made themselves apparent. It had taken him three years to snap his addiction to the solitude offered by such lodgings; Noble’s appalled reaction on his first, and only, visit had been the chief catalyst.
‘Imagine,’ retorted Brook drily.
Noble’s smile found its fuel. He gestured to the source of daylight behind him. ‘Stunning view, though.’
‘Anything in the bedroom?’
‘Not even curtains. Two single mattresses. A chair.’
Brook nodded. ‘It’s easy to forget what life on the margins is like. What background do we have?’
‘There’s a gas bill in the name of Jake Tanner,’ said Noble.
‘Tanner?’ exclaimed Brook.
‘Lives here with his younger brother, Nick. The descriptions match our composites. And his prints are a match to the lighter.’
‘How do we know them?’
‘Jake’s got form, though he’s strictly Cat D. Or was until today. Cautions for theft and shoplifting. A couple of years ago he managed to get himself a short stay in Sudbury for an assault, but he’s no Moriarty.’
‘Open prison to abduction and murder suggests ambition at least,’ said Brook. ‘That should have shown up before now.’
‘You sound like you know him.’
‘Not as well as you, John. You met him.’
‘I met him?’ Noble’s eyes closed briefly before enlightenment arrived. ‘Jake Tanner was the barman at the Flowerpot the night Caitlin disappeared.’
‘He was. Maybe still is.’
‘No,’ said Noble. ‘He was a casual for a day or two, does temp work all over town apparently.’
‘So maybe he also did a few shifts at the Smithfield.’
Noble smiled. ‘And then he’d know the dump site. I’ll get Cooper to check.’ He hesitated, feeling a need to explain. ‘I didn’t dig any deeper on Tanner because he was in the clear on Caitlin. He didn’t leave the bar until lights out.’
‘Since we’re looking for two assailants, he wouldn’t have had to.’
‘Of course,’ nodded Noble. ‘He could just have tipped off his partner when Caitlin left – his brother, presumably.’
Morton marched in. ‘Neighbours say they saw them both yesterday. No hints about when they scarpered.’
‘As soon as they got back from torching the van, I’d say,’ said Noble. ‘When Jake realised he’d dropped the lighter, he must have known they’d have to run for it.’
‘Descriptions fit with our film and the security guard,’ said Morton. ‘It’s them.’
‘Neighbours share any insights?’ asked Noble.
‘No one has a clue about their personals or where they might have gone.’
‘Women? Visitors?’
‘They were inseparable according to everyone I spoke to,’ replied Morton. ‘And no one saw them with any guests or girlfriends. Jake was very protective of his brother. He’s got special needs.’
‘On the eleventh floor, I assume they’re educational and not physical,’ said Brook.
‘Right,’ said Morton. ‘Next door said the kid’s none too bright though nice enough with it.’
‘Any grumbles?’
‘I couldn’t find anyone with a grievance. Everyone says they were quiet, polite and helpful, kept to themselves. I’m not getting any vibe that they might have been killers.’ As Brook made to speak, Morton qualified his observation. ‘Which people always say about murderers who lived next door, I know.’
‘Vehicle?’ asked Brook.
‘Cooper says Jake passed his driving test five years ago but he’s never owned a vehicle,’ said Noble.
‘Doesn’t mean he didn’t keep an uninsured banger downstairs, although neighbours weren’t aware of one,’ said Morton.
‘Can Nick drive?’ asked Brook.
Noble shook his head. ‘Not qualified, at least.’
‘Check the car park. And better get on to local taxi firms,’ said Brook. ‘They left in a hurry, probably with baggage, so they couldn’t have got far on foot.’
‘Maybe they nicked another resident’s car,’ suggested Noble.
‘Easy enough to ask,’ agreed Brook, lifting an eyebrow to Morton. ‘Put uniform on it and circulate our suspects’ names. There are no photographs here, so make that a priority in Nick’s case. Check if he has form as well, then get his likeness released with his brother’s. Failing that, find next-of-kin and ask for a picture. John, tell Cooper I want chapter and verse on the pair of them.’
‘Already on it,’ said Noble. ‘We’ll know what they had for breakfast in two hours.’
‘I doubt they had time,’ said Brook, looking at his watch. The light was beginning to go. ‘Chief Super?’
‘I’ve made him aware,’ said Noble.
‘He’s going to want to brief local media,’ said Brook. ‘Better get Cooper to liaise with Corporate and put a statement together. We don’t have time.’
‘Charlton’s not going to like you ducking out of media briefings,’ teased Noble.
‘I know what Charlton doesn’t like, John.’
‘We’re clear in here if you want a closer look, Inspector,’ said a SOCO through a face mask.
Brook and Noble moved quickly around the small room, opening drawers and kitchen cupboards, examining artefacts in gloved hands before putting them back. Brook’s eye lingered on the old newspaper lining one cupboard’s shelves. It was marked by circles made by cans of food stored on top. He picked up a nearby waste bin, emptying the contents into the sink. With a pencil he moved bits of detritus around for a proper inspection – several empty cans of economy baked beans, a discarded wrapper for sausages, toast crusts. He examined a stained receipt before returning the empty bin to the floor and opened more drawers, poking keenly through the cutlery.
He called out to one of the SOCOs. ‘Can we have a look in the bathroom … er …’
‘Ben Shaw,’ said the officer, holding out his ID lanyard. Brook’s reputation for forgetting people’s names didn’t go down well with the rank and file.
‘Course.’ Brook smiled sheepishly. ‘Sorry. Early start.’
‘You and me both,’ he retorted. ‘Inspector Brook.’
Brook caught Noble’s amused eye. ‘I asked about the bathroom.’
‘There’s nothing in there,’ said Shaw.
‘Nothing at all?’
‘Just a bath, a bar of soap and a towel.’
‘No other toiletries?’ prompted Brook, unable to trust evidence unseen. ‘Things a woman might use,’ he continued, trying to recall the glut of products his daughter left behind after a visit to Hartington. ‘Tampons, shampoo, cotton buds, gels, hand creams …’
‘Hand cream?’ exclaimed Shaw, excitedly raising a finger.
‘Yes?’ said Brook.
‘No,’ continued Shaw, deadpan. ‘There’s a bath, a bar of soap and a towel,’ he repeated, speaking as though to an idiot. ‘Now can I get on with it?’
Brook nodded, glancing at the smiling Noble. ‘I didn’t get much sleep, John.�
�
‘You couldn’t delegate if you slept like a baby,’ observed Noble with a grin. Brook didn’t contest. ‘But there’s definitely nothing to suggest a woman was here for a month. No clothing, toiletries …’
‘Eleven flights of stairs and the lift out of order,’ said Brook, nodding. ‘They kept her somewhere else.’
‘I’d go further,’ said Noble. ‘Sounds patronising, but looking at this place doesn’t suggest they’re capable or organised enough to pluck a healthy young woman off the face of the earth and keep her hidden for four weeks.’
‘Agreed,’ conceded Brook. ‘And trusting a kid brother with special needs to abduct a teenager while you serve drinks …’ He left the rest unsaid. ‘But two things are certain, John. Somebody killed the girl, and the Tanners torched the van we found her in, so we shelve our reservations because they’re all we’ve got.’
‘Maybe Cooper can connect them to a lock-up or a garage,’ suggested Noble. ‘Somewhere private where they could take their time with her. And that’s where they are now.’
‘It would have to be close. They’re on foot and they packed – after a fashion. Some clothes, I think, and supplies for a longer stay.’
‘Supplies?’
‘The larder’s empty,’ said Brook, showing him the cupboard. ‘They cleared out all the canned food. Tin opener too.’
‘Maybe they didn’t have any cans to start with.’
‘They’d just stocked up,’ said Brook, showing him the receipt itemising food items bought the previous evening.
‘So maybe they’re lying low instead of running,’ said Noble, yawning as he spoke.
‘Maybe,’ said Brook on his way to the door. ‘Come on. We need tea.’
‘You buying?’ said Noble, following into the corridor and ducking under the police tape. Brook gave him the arched eyebrow. Don’t I always?
They trotted down eleven flights of crumbling concrete stairs, breathing shallow to defeat the omnipresent stench of urine. It was nearly dark when they emerged from the block, and a light drizzle insinuated itself on to their faces.
‘Jake Tanner,’ purred Chief Superintendent Mark Charlton, as though he’d cracked the case himself. Noble and Brook exchanged a lazy glance. Charlton stroked his chin, swivelling his executive chair as he contemplated the documents in hand. ‘How old is this picture of Nick Tanner?’
‘Fifteen when it was taken,’ replied Brook.
‘A school photo? How old is he now?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘A murder suspect and this is the best we can do?’
‘Working on it, sir,’ said Noble. ‘He may be an adult, but he’s pretty much a dependent, from what we can gather.’
‘No form? No DVLA photo? No passport?’ Brook smiled with his lips to confirm. Charlton brandished Nick’s picture. ‘You’ll never catch him with this.’
‘We’re checking social media for something more recent,’ said Brook, looking at the clock behind Charlton’s head. ‘But as John said, he’s dependent. They don’t appear to own a computer, which means no email, no Facebook …’
‘And neither of them has a mobile phone on a contract,’ added Noble.
‘So we find Nick when we find his brother,’ concluded Brook. ‘They’re a pair.’
‘And not the sharpest knives in the box,’ said Charlton. ‘We’ll have them inside twelve hours.’
Another glance from Brook to his DS. A quick result was always we, but if things turned sour, collective responsibility quickly mutated to you.
Charlton stood and took his own glance at the clock, the media briefing fifteen minutes away. ‘Is this everything?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘No ID on the body yet?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It may come down to dental,’ added Noble.
‘But prime candidate is this Caitlin Kinnear.’
‘She’s missing and the right age,’ allowed Brook.
‘And she encountered Jake Tanner on the night of her disappearance, sir,’ said Noble.
‘Anything at the Tanners’ last-known?’
‘Cleared out, sir,’ said Brook wearily. ‘SOCO are on it, but no sign the girl was ever there.’
‘And she wasn’t killed at the scene?’
‘No, sir,’ answered Noble. ‘Post-mortem results tomorrow.’
Charlton nodded and checked his appearance in the full-length mirror in his office. He pulled down his tunic, half turning left and right to assure sartorial precision. He identified a stray piece of lint on his thigh and brushed it away. ‘Better remind me about Caitlin Kinnear in case I’m asked.’
Ostrowsky sat on a stool in the darkened bar, illuminated only by the lights behind the optics, a fresh bottle of vodka and a full shot glass beside him. He lit a cigarette and contemplated his brother. Tymon loomed behind Max, a giant in the shadows.
‘Look at yourself,’ said Ostrowsky in Polish, running his gaze up and down his dishevelled brother in disgust.
‘I need a drink,’ said Max, eyeing the bottle.
‘You need a shower, little brother.’
‘I’ve been working,’ protested Max.
‘You’ve been whoring,’ shouted Ostrowsky, standing off the stool. He glanced briefly at Tymon’s impassive features for a contradiction. It didn’t arrive. He slipped off his jacket, draped it over the bar stool, loosened his silk tie and moved to stand face to face with his brother. Max looked away, so Ostrowsky leaned in close to ensure his undivided attention. ‘And while you’ve been throwing your money away on whores, I’ve had the police here.’
‘Here?’
‘A detective inspector, no less …’
‘Is that my fault?’ sneered Max, his face distorting with sudden petulance.
Ostrowsky glanced at Tymon, who gripped Max by the shoulders to position him for the blow, which the businessman landed just above the midriff. Max doubled up in pain, and sank towards the floor to avoid further blows, but Tymon pulled him upright in case additional sanctions were required.
‘Your stupidity pains me, little brother,’ said Ostrowsky softly, examining then massaging his left hand. One of the knuckles was skinned. ‘Now look what you made me do.’ From his trouser pocket he drew out a knuckleduster and slid it carefully over his fingers.
‘No more, Grzegorz,’ pleaded Max. ‘I’m your brother.’
‘I sometimes wonder.’
‘It’s not my fault the van was stolen.’
‘But it’s your fault it was reported,’ spat Ostrowsky. ‘It’s your fault the police have my name.’
‘They would have found out, wouldn’t they?’ pleaded Max. ‘What choice did I have?’
Ostrowsky was incredulous. ‘What choice? Have you seen the news? Someone used my van to dump a body. My van. And what do you do? Come to me so I can fix the problem, or speak to strangers?’
‘Would I have reported it missing if I’d known there was a body inside?’ retorted Max sourly.
‘Perhaps you did it to distance yourself. To point to the thief as the killer.’
‘No, brother …’
‘Perhaps the problems you had with women in Warsaw are coming back?’
‘No. That is past.’
‘Are you sure, braciszek?’
‘I wouldn’t lie.’
‘Yet still you seek out whores.’ Max lowered his head in shame. Ostrowsky considered him with an implacable expression before softening. He gestured to the giant and Tymon let him go. The shabbily dressed workman sank to one knee, rubbing his stomach and emitting short moans of pain.
‘But you’re right,’ said Ostrowsky. ‘I must take the blame. I have been indulgent. Left you to fend for yourself knowing you would not manage. All this freedom and money in a new country. I should have seen.’
He returned to the bar, took another draught of vodka. ‘I hope you understand that I am strict with you now because I love you, Max. You’re the only family I have. I should have paid more attention. But now, beca
use of you, I’ve told a lie to the British police about your whereabouts. And they knew I was lying, I think. But this policeman, this Inspector Brook, said nothing. He kept his ammunition in the chamber, not sure if my lie was relevant, while I …’ he took an exasperated breath, ‘while I exposed myself in that lie. And I do not want to be exposed to the police in a foreign country.’
‘I need a drink,’ whined Max.
‘A drink?’ said Ostrowsky. ‘Did you not hear me? The police found a dead body in my van.’ Max stared at his feet again. ‘Who was it?’ Max shook his head, unwilling to look his elder brother in the eye. ‘You don’t know?’
‘Why would I, brother?’
Ostrowsky snorted in disgust. ‘Because it’s your van!’
‘Don’t the police know who it was?’
‘If they do, they’re not saying,’ said Ostrowsky. ‘This Inspector Brook was on the news. He must have known this morning that my van contained a body. But he said nothing. He observed me to see if I gave myself away. He’s clever, this one. He watched and waited for me to show guilt. Lucky for me I am ignorant, because my brother prefers speaking to strangers ahead of his own blood. And lucky for me this policeman could see that when he watched, I think. And he has other suspects so he didn’t challenge my lie.’ He drained his glass and refilled it. ‘But he will.’
‘That’s good then, isn’t it?’ said Max. ‘These bastards who stole the van … they must’ve killed the girl.’
‘Girl?’ snapped Ostrowsky. ‘I didn’t mention it was a girl, did I?’
‘No, I …’ blustered Max.
‘Tymon?’ The big man shook his head.
‘I saw it on the news, brother,’ nodded Max. ‘Like you. They think it was some Irish girl.’
‘Yet you feign ignorance when I ask about a body.’
‘No, Grzegorz,’ said Max hastily. ‘I don’t understand everything on the news. My English … But they showed a picture of a missing girl. Some student.’
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