After the usual security questions, Aisha was handed her passport and boarding card.
“Enjoy your flight madam.”
“Thank you, I will.”
Next Aisha headed for passport control and security. Alice’s passport was in her suitcase, therefore it would not raise suspicions if security did happen to check her hand baggage. To try and avoid being questioned, she had avoided putting any liquids or any metal objects in her travel bag. There were no coins in her purse either.
Everything went to plan, and after buying a novel at W H Smith’s, she was sitting at the departure gate with fifty-five minutes to spare. The wait seemed long and agonising, but eventually passengers with seats in Zone F were asked to board.
A feeling of controlled euphoria swept through her body as the ground moved away from under the plane. She was on her way to settle an old score, and to begin a new life.
“Hello, can I speak to Joanne Masters please?”
“Speaking.”
“Oh, this is Detective Chief Inspector Collins. I spoke to you in relation to Alice Evans’ death. Do you remember?”
“How could I forget?”
“Well, I would like to talk to you again.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“But I’m at work.”
“I know that, I called you on the work number you gave me.”
“Sorry. It’s just that I can’t really get away at the moment. I have a deadline I am struggling to make anyway.”
“And that would be something more important than a murder investigation would it?”
“No, I guess not. Where do you want to meet?”
“I’m just round the corner. I’ll come to you.”
“No! Don’t do that. I’ll meet you in the small park on Golden Square. Do you know it?”
“I know it.”
“I will be there in less than five minutes.” The phone went dead.
When Joanne Masters walked through the park entrance, Collins was already sitting on a bench. He raised his arm to flag up his presence.
“Hello Mr Collins.”
“Thank you for coming.”
“No problem, I’ll just have to work late.”
“Why didn’t you want me to come to your office?”
“It’s an open plan office. Even if Nigel let us use his office, people would still ask too many questions. I prefer people at work not to know about my other life.”
“But you told me you were a graphic artist, that you designed CD covers. I thought everyone in your line of work was into the bohemian lifestyle.”
“Maybe I didn’t mention it was for religious choir music and the like. Most people in the office spend their Sunday mornings in church.”
“In my experience they are the biggest philanders on the planet.” He smiled and looked her in the eye.
“I don’t think that applies to the lot I work with. None of the guys have ever hit on me, and in general, guys often do. Anyway, why did you want to speak to me again? It was definitely murder, was it?”
“It looks that way. You knew a lot of Alice’s friends. Can I start by asking you about Hasem?”
“Aisha’s friend?”
“That’s right. In your original statement, you never mentioned you had met him before the party where Alice first had sex with him.”
“I told you his name, and you seemed to know who I was talking about.”
“You did make it sound like you hardly knew him.”
“Well, that’s because I don’t.”
“But you had a weekend away with him.”
“Now hold on a minute. If you think I’ve shagged him, you are very much mistaken.”
“Tell me about that weekend.”
“I presume we are talking about Brighton?”
“Why? Were there any other weekends?”
“No. Just Brighton, and I steered well clear of him. And so did Alice at the time.”
“And why was that?”
“He’s a twat. An arrogant bastard. What Aisha sees in him, I will never know.”
“And how did their relationship look from your perspective?”
“Well, they never fucked… Sorry, they never had sex when we were in Brighton. It was strange really, as much as I didn’t like the bloke, I felt quite sorry for him. It must have been hard for a guy to go on a jiggy without getting any.”
“A jiggy?”
“That’s what we call them, jiggies. Sex weekends.”
“But Aisha invited him along, and didn’t have sex with him?”
“No. He was present for some of the foreplay, but always sent to Coventry when the real action started.”
“And there was no other reason you were all in Brighton?”
Joanne smiled. “No. None of us have steady partners, we don’t do steady partners. People like us gravitate together in the same way women with kids gravitate together in the play park, outside the school gates, or at birthday parties for their brats. The only reason we went to Brighton was for a liberated weekend away. Jiggies are fun. It’s what we do.”
“Except for Hasem, that is?” Collins raised his eyebrows.
“Look I don’t know why Aisha invited him along. All I can say is that I sensed he had some hold over her. It was unusual for a bloke to book a single room.”
“Explain.”
“Well, look at it this way. If I invited you on our next jiggy, would you want a single room with a single bed?”
“I think I might politely decline the invite.”
“You would be the first guy to do that if you did.”
“We digress. When I said explain, I meant explain your feeling about Hasem having something over Aisha.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It was just a feeling I got. She always talked to him politely enough, and indulged him during sexual horseplay, but I felt she was faking enjoyment of his company. It was the same at the party.”
“Aisha was at the party? The party you mentioned in your statement?”
“Yes. Our circle of friends is quite tight. Don’t get me wrong, it was just a normal party held by one of Natalie’s friends, but Natalie invited us all along.”
“And was Hasem invited?”
“I guess Aisha invited him. Just like the rest of us, I doubt if he had an invite from the host. Parties are like that aren’t they? It’s not like they have guest lists and bouncers on the door. Not like they do at some of the clubs we go to.”
“Did the two of them ever argue?”
“No. As I say, Aisha was always falsely polite to him.”
“Did Hasem and Alice argue?”
“I told you, they fucked. Sorry, they had sex, they didn’t argue. Except in Spain that is. But I have told you all about that.” Joanne’s face took on a look of exasperation.
“Let’s move onto Aisha. How did you meet Aisha?”
“Alice brought her along to a Friday night session at the Shaftsbury.”
“I take it that’s a pub?”
“Yes. It’s just up in Soho.” Her eyes flicked over his shoulder. “We’ve stopped using it now, but we used to meet up there most Fridays after work.”
“And how did Aisha get on with Alice?”
“Very well. Very well indeed.”
Joanne seemed to be confirming what Jeff Tapper had told him. Collins tried to ask his next question as nonchalantly as possible. “Alice slept with women as well as men then?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t her sister know that?”
“Because they were sisters, not good friends. They never socialised together. Sheila swings both ways but has guilt issues attached to it. Jeff fucks her now and then, but says she often ends up in floods of tears afterwards. That sort of thing doesn’t hang well with us.”
“From what I hear, Alice often had regrets about her sex life.”
“That’s true, but not in the same way. The regrets usually kicked in when she was lonely and succumbed to a frustration fuck.
I’m sorry; I must stop using that word.”
“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“No, but I lead a double life. One day it will spew out of my mouth at work.”
“Try ‘shag’ then, miss. Wean yourself off it that way.”
“‘Shag’ is hardly good for shag talk though is it?” She laughed out loud. “‘Shag me hard’ wouldn’t up the excitement and get the juices flowing in quite the same way, would it?”
“I wouldn’t know about that miss. Do you think Natalie may be able to throw any more light on the relationship between Aisha and Hasem?”
“I doubt it. You could ask though.”
“Do you know her surname?”
“Henderson. Natalie Henderson. You may have met her.”
Collins did not fight back the look of confusion crossing his face.
“She’s a solicitor, often works for the defence team in murder cases and the like. That’s why I thought you might have come across her. Her office is over Greenwich way somewhere.”
“But you don’t know exactly where?”
“I’m afraid not. All I know is that she uses the Blackwall tunnel to get to work and lives off the Mile End Road. I guess you can track her down though.”
“Aye, I should be able to manage that.” Collins took hold of his chin. “The Tappers, Mel and Jeff, they weren’t invited originally, were they?”
“Umm, no. It was Aisha’s jiggy, so she must have invited them. Or maybe got Alice to.”
“Who did they replace?”
“A couple called Craig and Sarah. They are not married, like. Well they are, but not to each other.”
“Do you have surnames for them?”
“No, you would have to ask Ali… Oh shit.”
“Not to worry Miss Masters, it’s a common error. This must be quite stressful for you.”
“It is. I want to help, but it’s not easy.”
“Let’s go back to this Craig and Sarah. Tell me what you know about them.”
“Well, not a lot. I haven’t seen them in months. And they only socialised with us on a couple of Friday nights anyway. All that I can tell you is they are both teachers. They work at the same secondary school in Croydon.”
“Do you know why they didn’t join you in Brighton?”
“Not really. They were a bit reserved anyway. So maybe Sarah got cold feet, or maybe one or the other of them couldn’t get away from their spouse. A lot of people talk the talk, but can’t jig the jig when the time comes.”
Thank you Miss Masters.”
“Does that mean I am free to go?”
“It does.”
Aisha was over an hour into her flight to Abu Dhabi by the time Alfonso knocked on Doyle’s door.
“Come in.” Doyle got up and entered his room from the balcony.
The door opened. “I have photos for you Mr Doyle. I print them from my computer.”
Doyle grabbed the bed cover that was lying on the floor at the bottom of the bed and pulled it up over the crumpled sheet.
“I am sorry. Cleaner go home at midday,” said Alfonso.
“No problem. I should get up earlier, but somehow I get more done at night than I do during the day. Lay them out for me would you.” He patted the bed.
Alfonso laid five sheets of A4 paper on the bed; each had four photographs on it. The four photos of Kamela on the hotel room balcony were a lot clearer than the sixteen of the villa pool.
“Jesus! She sat on the balcony dressed like that?”
“Sí. Foxy lady.”
“Foxy lady indeed.”
The detective in Doyle made him get up and go out onto the balcony carrying the sheet of four photographs with him. He looked up the road as it curved up the hill. There were two possible buildings. The higher floors of both had elevated views down onto the hotel balconies and also unobstructed views down into the valley. Many of the balconies had been boxed in with window frames to make extra living space inside the apartments, but only one had reflective glass fitted. That was where Doyle would put his money if he had to bet on where Señor Parazo lived.
Returning to the room, Doyle started to look at the other photos. All of them were low-resolution, taken with a zoom lens that was struggling to make the distance. They also looked like they had been cropped and then digitally enlarged. Most were of two naked people in or around the pool. Two showed Señora Ortega with her legs wrapped round Douglas Phillips and her elbows taking some of her weight on the edge of the pool. They were not pornographic by any means, but there was no doubt as to what the couple were doing.
“You would have thought a government minister would have more sense,” muttered Doyle. He looked over to Alfonso. “Is this the sort of thing they did a lot?”
“Yes. They liked to play in the sunshine.”
Doyle shook his head. “Any number of people could have photographs of these two, as you say, playing in the sunshine.”
Alfonso lifted his shoulders and nodded.
“Alfonso?”
“Sí.”
“Is there any chance this Kamela woman was having an affair with Douglas Phillips?”
“If they were, it was not here in the village.”
“Okay, I was just thinking aloud really. My next question is can you get me soft copies of these photos?”
“Soft copies?”
“By soft copies, I mean digital versions on a CD ROM or flash drive. I need to email them back to London.”
“I have them on my computer. We can go down and email them.”
“Thank you, that would be good.”
Collins was chairing the meeting to brainstorm what they had when Doyle telephoned to let him know the email was on the way.
“Thanks Stuart, I’ll have a look at them a bit later. Let me pull all the strands together and then I will telephone you later. Bye for now.”
He placed his mobile on the table. “Chas, you seem itching to tell us something. What is it?”
“He hasn’t got a degree.”
“Who hasn’t got a degree?”
“Hasem. Personnel records show that his degree was from Cairo University, but he wasn’t on their graduation list. I had the Egyptian embassy chase it up for me and it transpires he flunked his final exams. He studied in the faculty of economics and political science, passed year one and year two, no problem, but then failed to jump the final hurdle. His MA and PhD are legit, but he wouldn’t have got to do those without a degree.”
“And have you managed to think how that might impact on either of our two murders?”
“Ah. No I haven’t.”
“No problem. Good work Chas.”
“Apart to say it indicates that he cannot be trusted,” added Harrington.
Collins nodded. “True.” He paused a few seconds. When no one else threw anything into the ring, he turned to DC Heather Muirhead. “Anything on Douglas Phillips?”
“Nothing significant. Nothing we don’t know already. Married at nineteen, divorced by the time he was twenty-five. He has a reputation as a man who struggles to keep his penis in his trousers. So, nothing new there. A political reporter I have access to said there were rumours knocking around Westminster about him having an affair with a married researcher. He also employed a girlfriend as his secretary until the standards committee smelt fish and she went back to her hairdressing job. My guy thinks Phillips may have made the cabinet if he had a more secure belt on his trousers.”
“Another snake in the grass by the sounds of it,” said Harrington.
“Two snakes, Hasem and Phillips, but what’s the connection?”
“I looked for a link,” said Muirhead, “but didn’t find one. As far as I could ascertain, discreetly that is, the two never worked together.”
“How about Spain?” asked Broxson.
Muirhead was the one to respond. “Again, just what we already know, Douglas Phillips had bi-monthly meetings in Madrid.”
“And Hasem took his binoculars there,” added
Collins.
Broxson leant forward. “Well, I got something to toss into the melting pot. Aisha Al Nuaimi had to move schools at the age of fifteen, right in the middle of studying for her major examinations. Two exclusions before that. Seems she was a bit of a fiery mama at school. The second school gave her a long reign on account of her coming from a one-parent family. Calmed down a lot by college by all accounts. Distinction in a vocational business studies course. Got into the civil service at the second attempt.”
“No established link with Douglas Phillips though?”
“No.”
“Anything else?” Collins looked at each in turn, only moving on to the next after he received a shake of the head. “Right, you lot wait here while I go and see what Doyley’s got. Mine’s a tea with two sugars.”
His tea was on the table waiting for him when he returned, crunching a biscuit and carrying six sheets of paper. The top sheet was a hard copy of Doyle’s email. The other five sheets were the photos from Spain.
“Things just got very interesting. Any suspicions that we had that Kamela and Aisha were one and the same person have just been confirmed.” He held up the sheet containing the four photographs of Kamela on the hotel room balcony.
“Can I have a closer eyeball of that?” asked Broxson.
“No need. I am telling you, that is Aisha Al Nuami and she was in our pervy little Spanish village in the days leading up to Ortega’s murder. I told Aisha about Spain. I think we can start writing on the board.”
Collins put the photos down on the table, picked up a board marker, and started to create a spider diagram containing Aisha, Hasem, Ortega, Phillips and Alice Evans.
He turned round to face his team. “ We still have a missing link between… Put those back,” he said angrily, as he noticed the photographs being passed round.
Harrington was the only one brave enough to speak. “Sorry guv, but it had to be done.”
Collins smiled. “Aye, I would have done the same, but can I have your attention now?”
The team nodded in unison.
“The missing link is between Phillips and Ortega, and the other three. But if we assume Hasem was looking at Ortega’s villa through his binoculars, then I can do this.” He drew a dashed line from Hasem to Ortega. “Now we have a link between the murder in North London and the murder in Spain.”
The Spanish Hotel Page 19