*
A twenty-minute walk from the city centre, Mountbatten House bordered Southampton Common. Built in the early twentieth century and with gardens to the front and rear of the property, it could house up to twenty individuals and was open to anyone who had fallen on hard times, but was primarily used by former offenders and those trying to kick addiction. A charitable organisation, all residents were required to pay a minimum weekly rent to cover the cost of utilities.
Kate and Quinlan showed their identification to the woman manning the front office, and asked to be taken to Nowakowski’s room.
The woman gave them a sceptical look. ‘We had to give Petr’s room to someone else after he didn’t return a fortnight ago.’
‘What about his possessions? Did he leave anything behind?’
The woman nodded, leading them to a locked door beneath the large staircase. ‘All unclaimed property is locked away in here, and if the individual doesn’t return for it within six months, we reserve the right to reuse or sell what is left.’ Unlocking the door, she held it open for them. ‘That large box is what we collected up, and that large suitcase was also in his room.’
Quinlan leaned in and pulled out the cardboard box, passing it to Kate before drawing out the suitcase.
‘And there’s nothing else?’ Kate asked.
The woman shook her head. ‘The people that stay with us don’t tend to keep a lot of possessions.’
‘Is there somewhere we can look through all this stuff?’
The woman looked at her watch. ‘I’m due on a break. You can use my office for now.’
‘You search the case and I’ll do the box,’ Kate told Quinlan when they were alone.
Reaching in to the box, Kate first pulled out a framed picture of Ana Nowakowski, captured mid-laugh, looking far removed from the distraught woman they’d spoken to at the supermarket on Monday. Beneath that was an antique-looking cigar box, the corners mottled and the label fading. Opening the lid, several loose photos fell to the desk. Kate scooped up and returned them to the cigar box, resting it on the desk. The remaining items in the box included a brown-stained mug, a toothbrush, toothpaste and a dog-eared copy of a spy novel. Kate held the book aloft, looking for any hidden notes between the pages, but nothing fell out.
‘Library book,’ she commented, noticing a stamp inside the cover. ‘What you got?’
Quinlan lifted a pair of underpants from the case with the end of a biro. ‘Underwear, T-shirts and work shirts; none of which smell clean.’
‘No phone, tablet or laptop?’
He shook his head, closing the lid of the case. ‘Maybe SSD can find fibres on some of his clothes. What have you got?’
Kate passed him the cigar box of photos and moved across to the noticeboard hanging from the wall, advertising various support groups for addiction, anxiety and depression. Kate snapped a photograph of each showing dates and times. Both Maria and Petr were trying to improve their lives; was it possible Jackson had met them in such a support group?
‘Ma’am?’ Quinlan suddenly called out. ‘You’d better look at this.’
Kate turned and saw him holding a pile of photographs in one hand, but just one aloft in his other hand. Stepping across, Kate gulped as she stared closer at two of the men in the group shot. ‘Nowakowski knew Liam Phillips?’
Phillips’ cocksure grin stared back at her, an arm draped around Nowakowski’s shoulders, both dressed in shirts and ties, while five other similarly dressed men looked on.
‘Does it say when it was taken?’
Quinlan shook his head. ‘No date or time. Small world, huh?’
She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Getting smaller by the day. Come on, let’s go and ask Liam how he knew our victim.’
50
Kate didn’t wait for Phillips to come to them in the waiting area of the offices of TUTD Surveyors, marching straight to his private office and knocking on the door. She heard voices from inside, and as Phillips opened the door, she saw his cheeks flush as he quickly apologised to the Asian man seated at the desk.
Phillips didn’t even acknowledge Kate, as he turned back to his prospective client. ‘Apologies, Mr Yamamoto. Could I ask you to step outside for just a moment? If you head down to the waiting area, my secretary will fix you a fresh cup of tea.’
The client bowed his head as he passed through the door, and made his way towards the waiting area, tightly gripping his briefcase.
Phillips ran a hand through his hair as he closed the door. ‘Don’t you people ever make appointments?’ he said testily, as he retook his seat.
‘Not when I’m investigating a double murder and the disappearance of a vulnerable child,’ Kate fired back, remaining on her feet.
Phillips switched off his monitor, resting his hands flat on the desk, and forcing a thin smile. ‘What is it I can do for you this time?’
Kate raised the photograph they’d retrieved from the cigar box. ‘How did you know Petr Nowakowski?’
‘Petr? We used to play football together. Why?’
‘Used to?’
‘Yeah, he stopped playing three or four years ago I think. He got pinched for armed robbery, as I recall. Never saw him much after that.’
‘Have you seen him recently?’
Phillips frowned. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘Have you seen him recently?’ Kate repeated.
The frown deepened. ‘About a month ago, I guess. He asked me for a job.’
‘And?’
‘And I told him I wasn’t hiring at the moment.’
‘Where did the two of you meet?’
‘I told you: playing football. A couple of friends and I signed up to play in a five-a-side league, and I met him there.’
‘You were on the same team?’
‘No. I was on a team with friends from university, and he played for one of the others.’
‘You seem very friendly in this photograph. Where was it taken?’
He studied the image for a moment, before staring straight at Kate. ‘As far as I remember, it was at an awards ceremony organised by the league sponsors. Our team had won the league and Petr’s were runners-up. There was a big party, loads of booze, and we were presented with our trophy.’
‘Did you ever see him socially outside of football?’
‘No. But I’d see him every couple of weeks when we’d have matches at the same time.’
‘Where did you play?’
‘The five-a-side place along the Millbrook Road.’
Kate knew the place. ‘When did you stop playing?’
‘I busted my knee a year ago, and the doctors warned me not to risk playing again. I now work off my stresses at the gym instead.’
‘Why did Nowakowski ask you for a job if you hadn’t seen him in so long?’
‘I don’t know. He showed up here out of the blue and asked. I wasn’t sure that he’d be able to do anything to help us, and told him we weren’t hiring.’
‘How did he seem when you spoke?’
‘Listen, are you going to tell me what this is all about? Why the interest in Petr?’
Kate kept her lips tight.
‘He seemed all right, I suppose. Looked like he’d put on a few pounds since I’d last seen him.’
‘Did he seem desperate for money?’
A flicker in Phillips’ eyes.
‘What is it?’ Kate pressed.
Phillips shrugged. ‘He asked whether he could borrow some money. Said he’d fallen on hard times and would do anything, but I said things were tough for all of us, and I couldn’t help.’
‘And afterwards, did you see him again?’
‘No. Seriously, what is all this? Why all the questions about Petr? Is this something to do with that girl’s foot you found at the school?’ A pause. ‘Oh God, do you think he was responsible?’
Kate watched Phillips closely. ‘We’re asking all males with access to the sports hall at St Bartholomew’s to provide a DNA sample for comparison. Wo
uld you be willing to come down to the station and provide a voluntary sample?’
Phillips looked from Kate to Quinlan and then back again. ‘Unless you want to arrest me, I think I’ll decline your offer. Certainly until I’ve spoken to my lawyer.’
Kate nodded at Quinlan. It was time to go.
*
Holding the phone to her ear, Kate tapped her fingers against the desk as she waited for Humberidge to answer.
‘Ma’am?’ he finally said as it connected.
‘Anything to link Jackson to Nowakowski or Maria?’
‘One of the technicians is going through his computer now, but it’s taking time.’
‘What about the disturbed earth in the garden?’
‘For a minute I thought we were on to something when I heard someone shout that they’d found bones—’
‘Bones?’ Kate interrupted, suddenly sitting up.
‘Turned out to be a decomposing cat, ma’am. It wasn’t buried too deep. Probably been in the ground a few months.’
‘Any other signs that he may have buried or cremated Nowakowski or Maria there?’
‘Nothing, ma’am. I’m sorry. We have found pornographic material in one of the upstairs rooms: magazines, a couple of DVDs, and a sports bag with bondage gear shoved in a wardrobe. It’s all being sent back for analysis.’
‘Ties in with what Imelda Watkins told me.’ Kate thanked him for the update, adding, ‘Let me know if you find anything on his computer.’
Kate dropped the phone into its cradle as she struggled to contain her frustration. Six hours had passed since they’d brought Jackson in for questioning, and they were no closer to evidentially tying him to the crime.
51
Retaking her seat in the viewing suite, Kate watched as Jackson was escorted in, head bent low, and shoulders sagging. He certainly didn’t resemble a confident, cold-blooded killer, but then that could all just be part of his carefully crafted act.
Kate had called in every favour she could to ensure SSD prioritised processing the tools from the back of Jackson’s van and any new evidence being brought in from the unfolding scene at his house. But with two bloody crime scenes still being analysed, she knew the technicians in SSD were already spread thin.
Nothing persuaded a jury as successfully as clinical evidence, but a confession made during a police interview could be just as persuasive, even if it was later retracted in an open court.
‘How much should we disclose to the solicitor?’ Patel had asked after Kate had directed them to re-interview Jackson.
Sharing all the evidence or suppositions too early, and the suspect would be given time to formulate his excuses. But holding too much back could mean the suspect not feeling worried enough to tell them what they needed to know. Kate had told him to tread carefully.
Patel cleared his throat as Laura reintroduced those present and restarted the recording. ‘Given the information we’ve disclosed to your solicitor, is there anything you wish to say before we begin our questions, Mr Jackson?’
Jackson eyed the solicitor, who produced a handwritten piece of paper. ‘My client wishes to read a statement in response to the allegations made against him this morning.’
Kate saw Patel and Laura exchange glances, and knew what they were thinking: was he was about to confess?
The solicitor slid half-rimmed reading glasses over his ears. ‘I will read Mr Jackson’s words as he has written them, and you will be allowed to take a copy when it is finished.’ He paused, before beginning to read. ‘“I, Christopher Thomas Jackson, make this statement of my own free will. I understand that I do not have to say anything but that it may harm my defence if I do not mention when questioned something which I later rely on in court. This statement may be given in evidence. I wish to put on record that I do not know, have never met and did not kill Petr Nowakowski and Maria Alexandrou. I am making this statement against my solicitor’s guidance, but wish to set the record straight.
‘“I understand,”’ the solicitor continued reading, ‘“that my presence at St Bartholomew’s school last Friday is one of the reasons for my arrest today. Whilst I was not formally called to visit the school for business purposes, I was in fact there for personal reasons. If you contact Miss Sally Chalmers who teaches at St Bartholomew’s, she will confirm that I was at the school to collect her. I was with her from the moment I arrived until the time I left. Sally and I then spent the weekend together at her parents’ home in Poole, before we returned early this morning.”’
Kate jotted the name down to pass to the team to check against the list of teachers Mrs Kilpatrick had sent over. It didn’t surprise her that Jackson had instantly provided an alibi of his actions leading up to the discovery of the foot. But they would need to follow up with this Sally Chalmers to see if she could verify his statement.
‘“I also understand that at present you are searching both my home and business van for evidence to link me to these absurd allegations,’” the solicitor read. ‘“I am certain you will find no such evidence. I am happy for you to ask me any further questions about my recent activities, but I reserve the right to answer ‘no comment’ if I believe you are trying to misinterpret my answers.’” The solicitor folded the piece of paper and handed it to Patel, a self-satisfied smile spreading across his face.
‘Where’s your phone, Mr Jackson?’ Patel asked.
‘I switched it off on Friday as I didn’t want our weekend away to be disturbed. I thought it was in my bag until we got back today, and realised I must have left it at Sally’s parents’ house.’
‘And, of course, you won’t mind us contacting them to verify that the phone is there?’
Jackson no longer looked the broken man who’d first walked into the interview room. ‘I’ll give you the address and you can bloody go and collect it yourself!’
Kate knew he was right to be so confident. Unless Humberidge and SSD came through with something soon, he was going to walk, and with him would go their chance of finding Daisy alive.
*
Kate rapped on the interview-room door and Patel pulled it open, stepping out when he saw it was Kate and closing the door behind him. ‘Ma’am?’
‘Ask him about Daisy.’
‘We were going to get to that, but there isn’t anything to—’
‘Just ask him. Find out what he was doing in Portswood on the night she disappeared; ask him when he was last at number forty-eight. I want to see his reaction when he realises we’ve rumbled him. Don’t tell him anything has been discovered to connect him to her disappearance but intimate that we have something. See if he bites.’
‘Is there anything?’
‘No, but I know he’s holding back. He’s far too confident in there. We need to knock him off his stride.’
‘Ma’am, we can’t mislead him.’
‘It isn’t misleading. You’re not saying we’ve found anything, but just hinting that we expect to. Give me five minutes to get back upstairs and then go in. He’ll wonder what’s taken you so long out here. Every minute you’re out here, is another minute for him to squirm.’
‘What about the teacher he reckons he was with?’
‘Quinlan is verifying that, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the reason he was away with her was to establish an alibi.’
‘Ma’am, you’re not making any sense.’
Kate fixed him with a stare. ‘I think he has an accomplice.’
‘Who?’
‘That’s what we need to find out. The figure that Daisy stopped and spoke to outside the house; what if he and Jackson are up to something together?’
Patel offered her a sympathetic look. ‘Ma’am, I know you’re desperate to find Daisy, but you’re making huge leaps here.’
‘Just ask him. SSD will find the link soon enough.’
*
Patel re-entered the room on the screen and took his seat. Kate smiled as he whispered something unintelligible to Laura, who nodded. It didn’t matter what he’d
said, it was enough to unnerve Jackson.
Laura restarted the recording, and sat forward; Patel must have instructed her to take the lead. ‘Where’s Daisy, Mr Jackson?’
A look of confusion gripped him. ‘Daisy who?’
‘Oh, don’t try that with me,’ Laura continued, opting for bluntness over gentle probing. ‘We know you were in Portswood the night she went missing. What did you do with her?’
Jackson was looking at his solicitor who in turn looked bewildered. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘Daisy Emerson. You remember? The fifteen-year-old that you and your pal snatched nearly two weeks ago. We have a witness who saw your mate speaking to her outside number forty-eight Abbotts Way. You know that address don’t you, Mr Jackson?’
‘What? No—’
‘Oh, so you’ve never lived at forty-eight Abbotts Way? You were listed as the registered tenant according to council tax records.’
‘What? Well, yes, I… I did live there once, but—’
‘When were you last at that residence, Mr Jackson?’
‘I-I-I don’t know.’
‘In the last month?’
‘What? No.’
‘Really, why were you in Portswood on the second of February, then?’
‘February second? I-I-I can’t remember where I was on that day.’
‘Your van was clocked on a traffic camera heading towards Portswood at nine p.m. on February second, why were you there?’
Jackson looked away, his eyes darting as he tried to access his long-term memory. ‘Um, I don’t know… I can’t remember.’
‘Where’s Daisy now, Mr Jackson?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know who you’re talking about.’
‘Like you don’t know Petr Nowakowski and Maria Alexandrou? What did you do with their bodies, Mr Jackson?’
Jackson nodded at his solicitor to interrupt.
The solicitor removed and folded his glasses. ‘Detective, I don’t know where this new line of questioning has stemmed from, but unless you care to disclose your evidence, I will be instructing my client not to respond to any of these wild accusations.’
Cold Heart: Absolutely gripping serial-killer fiction Page 25