‘Yeah. The obvious site is the Westfield Shopping Centre, which was started in 2003 and took five years to complete, so it fits the time span for Rebekka, but not for Fidelis.’
‘The security on Westfield must have been massive?’
‘It was, so it doesn’t look likely he could have put Rebekka’s body there. Barolli’s spoken to the contractors to see if Oates ever worked on site but they’re being very cagey. But here’s one Paul reckons we should look into.’
Mike pointed to a red-circled area just off Shepherd’s Bush Green.
‘What is it?’
‘Multi-storey car park built as an overflow for Westfield and the timing is right for Fidelis’s disappearance. Two years ago they had a big rebuild and put in footings and supporting pillars going down twenty feet. They built lifts, used tons of concrete and heavy mixers, but they didn’t really need guys with qualifications.’
‘What was the security like?’
‘One night guard in a Portakabin.’
‘Terrific. Good luck.’
‘Thanks.’ Mike smiled and cocked his head to one side. ‘So how is he?’
‘Langton?’
Mike nodded.
‘Pain in the butt. He keeps on calling me to get in groceries for him, his place is a pigsty, and he looks worn-out, but he told me he’s getting a cleaner in today.’
‘Where’s his wife and kids?’
‘Apparently at his place in the country. You know how he keeps his private life close to his chest, so I have no idea where it is.’
‘I’ll call him and give an update about the Flynn girl.’
‘Don’t mention I said anything, will you?’
‘As if I would. I might even drop in to see him. I owe him a visit.’
Anna walked to the door and then grinned. ‘He likes his vodka!’
‘Listen, if it’ll keep him out of my hair I’ll get him a crate!’
By the time Anna was back at her desk, Joan had succeeded in tracking down Timmy Bradford. He had changed address, having been made redundant six months ago. Unemployed, he was now living back with his mother on a council estate in Kingston.
‘Terrific. Thank you, Joan.’
‘My pleasure.’
The Kingsnympton estate was huge, with a warren of lanes, but very well maintained and it was apparent that a number of the flats were privately owned. Anna parked and walked to the block where Mrs Bradford lived. It was unlike many of the council estates she had been to previously. This block was clean and the stairs were freshly painted; all the front doors looked as if they had just been painted too.
The bell had a jingle like a nursery rhyme and the bright blue door was opened by a pleasant white-haired woman wearing a tracksuit and fluffy slippers.
‘Mrs Bradford?’
‘I was, dear. I remarried. I’m Mrs Douglas now and you are the detective lady, right?’
Anna showed her ID and introduced herself as Mrs Douglas led her across a floral-carpeted narrow hallway through frosted glass doors and into a sitting room. There was more floral carpet and a velvet suite with a large footstool and in the corner of the room was a huge plasma TV. Glass-fronted cabinets were filled with china and ornaments, and there was an electric coal-effect fire glowing against one wall.
‘Do sit down. Timmy’s just popped out for some fresh milk. I used to get it delivered, but bottles would go missing. Kids, you know . . .’
Anna almost disappeared into the deep cushions of the velvet chair. Mrs Douglas came closer to her, evidently anxious.
‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?’
‘I am just here to ask for his help in an enquiry. He knew the person we are investigating and nothing more.’
‘That’s a relief. Poor boy needs a job, but it’s been years on and off. Every time he stays with me he says it’s just for a few weeks, but this time it’s been over six months. He lost his savings, you know, with that bank that closed down. He lost every penny he earned and he’d been saving to buy one of the flats here; there’s a lot coming up for sale. It would mean we’re not on top of each other – not that I mind, he’s a good boy.’
‘Is your husband at home?’
‘Oh no, dear. He passed on two years ago. And that was another thing – they never got on. He called him a bit of a freeloader and maybe he was right, but he’s my only son. I suppose I should be glad of the company, but to be honest, he’s very untidy and I like things to be just so. He says I’m obsessive, but I’m the sort that’s up and ready by seven, always do the crossword in the paper, and nothing gets me more irritated than the newspaper all split up before I’ve even read it.’
She hardly drew breath, but thankfully Anna heard the front door opening and Mrs Douglas hurried out.
‘She’s in here, dear. Did you get the biscuits too?’
‘Yeah.’
Anna could see them through the frosted glass doors and waited. Eventually Timmy Bradford walked in. He was also wearing a tracksuit, with a black T-shirt and trainers, and he was obviously very fit. He was blond, his hair cut in the odd new fashion, cropped and razored at the sides and floppy on top. He had a gold earring and a thick gold necklace. Similar in looks to his mother, he had a very chiselled face and had at one time broken his nose. It was now crooked, which gave him an added toughness, even more so as he had a front tooth missing.
He moved over to Anna and shook her hand, asking if she would like a cup of tea.
‘Had me nipping out to get biscuits. I don’t eat them, but she insisted. She’ll be in in a minute with a tray and lace cloth.’
He grinned and sat opposite Anna on the edge of the other big velvet chair.‘She’s eighty-two, in her forties when she had me.’
‘Good heavens. She doesn’t look it.’
‘She’s busy doing nothing, but she’s on a diet, lost over a stone since I’ve been here. She’s a devil for sweet stuff, though – chocolate orange biscuits, she can eat a whole pack of them.’
He smiled and then gave a sigh.
‘I dunno . . . grown man my age having to live off her pension. It’s driving me nuts. I keep active, down the gym every day working out, and if I’m not there, I’m at the job centre. I hate being on the dole.’
Anna nodded then opened her briefcase and took out Henry Oates’s picture.
‘I need to talk to you about this man. Do you know him?’
Timmy jumped to his feet as his mother called to him from the doorway. He swung open the door and took the tray from her.
‘Thank you, Ma. Now just leave us for a minute, will you?’
He fussed around with the tray, which did have a lace-`edged cloth, with a silver teapot and matching milk jug, and a plate of plain biscuits. The cups and saucers matched and were covered in roses.
He poured a cup for Anna and passed it to her and then offered the biscuits. He didn’t pour a cup for himself or take a biscuit, but reached over for the picture of Henry Oates.
‘Henry, yeah I know him, or I used to know him well. Long time ago now when I was boxing at the club in Bethnal Green. I’ve got a deviated septum, used to bleed like a stuck pig at the smallest tap. Gave it up, had to, but I used to train and spar with him, even fought him in the London Boys Club Championships. He was a tough little bastard – excuse me – but Henry was a good athlete, had a lot of potential.’
He handed the photographs back to Anna.
‘When did you last see him?’
Timmy shook his head and then leaned back.
‘Maybe seven years ago, bumped into him at York Hall watching the ABA championships. He still looked fucked-up – excuse me, sorry. I knew his last ever fight had been a real hard one, but he was the type that wouldn’t go down. Even his corner man wanted to throw the towel in, but he boxed on, got smashed up badly.’
‘Was he still boxing when you last saw him?’
‘No, he’d given it up a good few years before, looked like he’d hit the bottom,
drunk out of his skull. I was never close to him. To be honest I didn’t think anyone was really. He’d got a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder. Mind you, rumour had it that he’d got involved with a wrong ’un.’
‘Who do you mean?’
‘His wife.’
‘Eileen?’
‘I didn’t know her name, and this is all what was repeated to me. He married her because she said she was pregnant – you know, he done the decent thing.’
‘He was very abusive towards her, wasn’t he?’
‘I wouldn’t know, but what I was told was that he thought the kid wasn’t his. Had the look of a darkie.’
‘So you didn’t know that as a fact?’
‘She put it about a bit for cash, you know, on the game, they said, and again I’m only repeating what I heard, but apparently he only found out about her other job after he’d married her. She denied it, said he was definitely the father, but he was never sure. I mean, it could have been anyone’s.’
‘Did he find out? Do a DNA test, anything like that?’
Timmy shrugged. He remembered that Henry had gone to Liverpool to find his mother so he could get a passport, but he had never caught up with the rest of the story.
‘Do you recall the man who trained Henry, perhaps an ex-boxer?’
‘Oh I know who you mean, old Mr Radcliff, yeah, yeah, he was a great character. He took Henry in to live with him. He’d been one of the best all-rounders forty years before, but got busted for doing illegal fights.’
‘He died while the club was on tour?’
‘Florida, yeah, I was there, big heart attack ringside. The rest of the tour went ahead though, in his memory, like, and they shipped him back with us. I remember the funeral, big turnout, Henry was there. I think it hit him very hard, especially not being with him when it happened. Radcliff was sort of like a surrogate dad to him, to all the kids, but after he was gone it meant Henry had no place to live and he’d doss down anywhere he could. To be honest . . .’
Timmy frowned and then cracked his knuckles.
‘Remember that fight I told you about, when he took a lot of punishment? It was after, I think, after old Mr Radcliff had died. When I say he wouldn’t go down I mean it. Talk about a “Raging Bull” episode. He was totally outclassed and was walking into the punches, leaning on the ropes and then holding on as the punches hammered into him; then he dropped his fists and bam! Hard right and he was down and out for the count.’
‘Go on.’
Timmy made a broad gesture, and said that it had to have been a while after that he was told Henry had given up, but that more than that the boxing had done his head in by the time he was in his late twenties.
‘Punch-drunk, they said, not that I believe in all that stuff. He was always a bit of a nutter. There was a fighter called Ira, heavyweight, lot of people in the business reckoned he’d go all the way.’
‘Ira Zacks?’
‘Yeah, that’s right, Ira Zacks. We was all at the same club together in the East End. It was him that told me, said he’d seen Henry wandering around like a dosser.’
‘So Ira Zacks knew Henry Oates well?’
‘I dunno about that. I’m just telling you what he told me.’
Anna put her cup and saucer back onto the tray.
‘Would you like a refill?’
‘No, thank you, you have been really helpful.’
Anna stood up as Timmy jumped to his feet.
‘You mind me asking, what’s he done? Something bad?’
‘Yes, he’s been charged with murder.’
‘His wife?’
‘No, not his wife. Thank you very much for your time, Timmy.’
‘No problem. I’ve got a lot of that right now, time.’
Anna headed towards the door, Timmy moving quickly to open it.
‘Have you ever married?’ she asked him.
‘Once. Didn’t work out so not tried it again.’
He opened the door as his mother appeared.
‘Are you going?’
‘Yes. Thank you for the tea and biscuits, Mrs Douglas.’
‘My pleasure.’
The old lady went to collect the tea tray as Timmy opened the front door. Anna noticed she had changed into a smart dress with a pearl necklace and earrings.
Timmy jerked his head towards his mother.
‘She’s gone and got all dressed up for you. God forbid she’d go out at all, got me running errands all day for her. Anyways, you know where I am if you need me again.’
‘Yes I do. I hope things work out for you, Timmy.’
‘So do I. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you are a very pretty woman.’
‘Thank you.’
Anna returned to her car and sat for a while. Starting up the engine, she wondered just how much of a liar Eileen had been. Timmy’s version of her life with Oates was very different from the one she had described. The composite picture of Henry Oates’s background could almost make someone feel sorry for him. However, the brutal murder of Justine Marks left little room for compassion. But she still had no new evidence that implicated him in the disappearance of Rebekka Jordan. The team was moving ahead with the Fidelis Julia Flynn case, whilst she languished behind. She knew if she didn’t come up with something soon to connect Oates to Rebekka’s abduction and murder, the investigation would return to the cold case files.
Anna headed from Kingston towards Lambeth and the forensic lab, keeping to the south side of the river, and arrived just before twelve. As she headed down the corridor towards Pete Jenkins’ office she couldn’t fail to notice a big display of pink balloons floating up to the ceiling, with messages of congratulations attached by pink ribbons. It made her wish she’d stopped off and bought something for his baby, even though Mike had promised to organize flowers from them all.
Pete was surrounded by his team. They had a bottle of champagne open and there were even more balloons. He was still wearing his overcoat so Anna presumed he had arrived just ahead of her.
‘Anna!’ he called out, opening his arms and giving her a bear hug.
‘How’s Matilda?’
‘Brilliant. She’s gorgeous. Let me show you.’
Pete went over to a computer that already featured a picture of his baby. She had a shock of thick black curls, but was so tiny and with so many tubes attached it was hard to really see her little red face and her eyes were closed.
‘Good heavens, she is so small.’
‘This big.’ Pete gestured with his hand, cupping his palm.
‘And she’s all right?’
‘Yes. We had a scare last night when the alarms rang out, she’s got a bit of a cold and they breathe through their noses when they are this young, don’t know to open their mouths. It’s hard when she coughs as it sets off the alarms because they are so sensitive. Anyway, she’s rallied round and you see her fists, she’s boxing smart already.’
Pete actually looked worn-out and as he shrugged out of his coat he admitted he’d not slept for three nights; he would be back at the maternity hospital to sit with Matilda again later.
‘I just have to be there watching her. In fact I can’t take my eyes off her, it’s the most amazing feeling. I keep on saying to myself, she’s my daughter, I’ve got a little girl. Christ, if anything went wrong now I don’t know what I’d do. She’s already got such a strong personality.’
Anna managed to keep smiling but Pete carried on gushing, at one point growing so tearful that he had to wipe his eyes.
‘Listen, Pete, I don’t mean to interrupt the celebrations, but I’ve got an interview at four.’
‘Right, let’s crack on.’
They put on lab coats and latex gloves then went into a large ante-room where four rows of white laminated trestle tables were lined up covered in sterile brown paper. Each table bore different items brought from Henry Oates’s basement flat. On one were the female garments: knickers, brassieres, slips, tights, a pair of boots and two filthy
torn dresses.
‘Okay, we have done a wearer DNA test to compare with your victim Justine Marks; no match on any of these items. There’s no blood-staining, but there is semen and, on a couple, vomit, again no match found to your victim. The semen has tested as a match to Henry Oates though. We’ve been sent a description of the clothes possibly worn by Fidelis Julia Flynn and Rebekka Jordan and we have no match.’
‘I guess you will need DNA samples from the Jordan and Flynn families for comparison?’
‘Just the Flynns’, thanks. We already have the Jordans’ on file from the original enquiry.’
They moved on to a table littered with men’s worn clothes: sweaters, trousers and coats. The smell from the garments was hideous, a mixture of beer, body odour and mothballs.
‘I think these are your suspect’s. We’ve found no bloodstains on anything. Part of the stench is urine, looks like he pissed in his pants.’
On another table were the knives, hammers and screwdrivers – all the tools taken from Oates’s flat. Everything was tagged. Pete picked up a brutal-looking knife with a roped handle and a very sharpened blade about ten inches long.
‘Unpleasant. No bloodstains. Further along we have the large pump spanner found in the back of the van Oates was driving. You probably already know from DCI Lewis that we found Justine’s hair and blood on it along with a palm print matching Oates. There was also vaginal discharge, suggesting he used it—’
‘It’s okay, Mike told me,’ Anna said, deliberately interrupting Pete.
She quickly moved on to the fourth table. This was filled with an array of children’s clothes and shoes, all of them well worn and stained. There were a number of broken plastic toys that were grouped together with a moth-eaten teddy bear and a broken china doll’s face.
‘A lot of children’s stuff here,’ Pete observed.
‘He has two girls so a lot of it may be theirs, or – and I dread to think it other victims’.’
‘Well there’s no blood or semen stains on anything you see here. I can test it for wearer DNA but it will take time, and they are so soiled it may not be possible to get a profile due to degradation. You may want to check your budget as to do all this stuff is going to cost big-time.’
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