An articulated lorry was pulling out of its bay. Robin stopped on the verge to let it pass and checked her phone: nearly one o’clock. And still nothing from Lennie, which was odd. Even when she did sleep in at weekends, it was rarely later than ten, and she always texted. She thumbed in another message – All okay? On way back. Dropping in at station v briefly then home, probably four-ish. Pizza Express tonight? She hit send then remembered she’d told Kev she’d do something with him this weekend, too. She’d text him in a bit, she decided, putting the phone back in her pocket.
After three loops of the car park, she went inside to the food court to buy a sandwich. She sat at a table to eat it, her eyes going to her phone every few seconds, looking for a text from Lennie. When she’d finished and none was forthcoming, she rang her. After last year, her tolerance for suspense where Len was concerned was close to zero.
It rang five times then six and Robin, alarm mounting, was preparing to leave a message when she picked up.
‘Mum.’ An accurate translation of word plus tone amounted to ‘What?’
‘Hello,’ she said, a little taken aback. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Why?’
Robin heard movement at the other end and TV in the background – or were those voices? ‘I hadn’t heard from you,’ she said. ‘You didn’t reply to my message this morning.’
‘What was there to say?’
The sound of a door closing – yes, she was moving to another room. Robin frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you’d gone off and I woke up in the house on my own again and you were obviously busy so what was the point in texting you? How did I know you’d have time to read a text from me? Or even look at it?’
Robin closed her eyes.
‘It’s Saturday, Mum, and I’ve barely seen you since last Saturday. Gran’s in hospital, you’re all over the Net, there’s a murderer out there and …’ She exhaled sharply. ‘I suppose I hoped you’d have five minutes this morning for me.’
The guilt was instant. ‘Len, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I know there’s a lot going on, especially with Gran being poorly.’ In the usual pattern of their spats, Lennie would now throw a second punch and then, if Robin was conciliatory, she’d start to calm down. This time she said nothing and without her usual cue, Robin flailed. ‘Did you get my text?’ she asked. ‘About Pizza Express?’
‘Yeah. It took me by surprise, to be honest. I thought you’d be off with Kev now that that’s public knowledge.’
Now Robin felt aggrieved. ‘No. I wanted to spend time with you.’
‘Well, I can’t, sorry. I’m busy.’
‘Are you?’
She sounded more surprised than she’d intended and Lennie took immediate umbrage. ‘Yes, I am. Why? Aren’t other people allowed to be busy?’
‘All I meant was, I didn’t know.’ Had she forgotten something, she wanted to ask, but if it was important, that’d be another black mark.
‘You knew I was coming over to Asha’s this afternoon.’
‘Right, yes.’ Did she?
‘The whole of the politics club is here? To make signs for the Brexit protest? It’s on the kitchen calendar, Mum, and I was talking about it last night at the hospital.’
‘Yes, of course. Of course I knew about that.’ It rang a quiet bell. A quiet bell in a large vacuum.
‘For God’s sake.’
‘Len, please, I’ve got a lot going on at the moment and—’
‘You’ve always got a lot going on.’
‘Well, this is extreme. We’ve had four murders in less than a week and I’m SIO on two of them. And one of the others was killed because I arrested him—’
‘I’m not talking about that,’ she cried. ‘I get that it’s important, you’re important, I’m not an idiot.’
‘Lennie, I’m not saying I’m import—’
‘And I even get that you had to go to Durham. My point is, did you really need to go at four in the morning? Sneak out under the cover of darkness like you were avoiding me?’
Robin started to answer then stopped: did she?
‘You couldn’t have waited till six and woken me up? I could have come with you – not for the work bit but for the ride. To spend some time together – road trip? Maybe I would have liked to see what Durham looks like. But even if I didn’t, I’d like to have been asked. To feel like I’m in some way relevant to your life rather than just waking up in an empty house. Again. I saw the time on that text – I was on my own for hours, Mum, and I was asleep, I had no idea what was going on. Anything could have happened.’
Robin kept her eyes trained on the tabletop as if Lennie were sitting opposite, burning holes in her. It was true, she could have waited a couple of hours, Len could have come with her if she’d wanted to. She could have done some shopping while she’d been to see Jude; they could have had lunch together. She felt a sharp pang of regret for the day that hadn’t been, the wasted opportunity. To feel like I’m in some way relevant – God, how could she begin to explain how relevant she was?
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘You’re right. It’s been a nightmare week but that’s not an excuse. Let’s do something fun this evening – shall we have our pizza early then go to the cinema?’
‘I can’t,’ Lennie said shortly. ‘I’m going to stay at Asha’s tonight, she’s already invited me. I’ll see you tomorrow. If you’re available.’ She hung up.
Her first impulse had been to phone Lennie back immediately and tell her that she would not be spending the night at the Appiahs’, regardless of what she’d told Asha: she was fifteen years old, for God’s sake, and she, Robin, her mother, called the shots until further notice. And how dare she hang up on her?
There was also the question of Austin now. The Appiahs seemed to run a tight ship over there from what she’d heard and also seen for herself, but did they know Lennie and Austin liked each other? Would they know to keep an eye on them, listen out for sneaking along the landing in the night? Maybe she should phone them.
No. She was stopped by the memory of Lennie bouncing on her bed after Austin had gone home the other day. Not her question about when she’d become so embarrassing – though that was a consideration as well – but Lennie’s excitement. It was completely innocent, nothing had happened between them yet, and even if it did – when it did – she recognized as she began to calm down, Len was sensible, she wasn’t going to go wild and start having unprotected sex. They were smart, switched-on young people, both of them, socially aware in a way she’d never been then, and with the age difference, they’d both know how much trouble Austin could get into if anything happened before December, when Lennie turned sixteen.
And – unilateral decision to stay over aside – Lennie was right. Busy as she’d been, she should have been more aware of how Len, with her recent history, would be affected by what was going on. Instead, she’d got so wrapped up in it all, she’d forgotten that her daughter needed her, too.
Why did relationships have to be so bloody hard, she thought, as the North began to fade in her rear-view mirror. Why was it such a struggle to keep things running smoothly even with the people you loved most? Or maybe it wasn’t – maybe other people didn’t find it hard. Even Luke had managed to be happy with Natalie for twenty years. She, on the other hand, was the human hand-grenade, a crap mother and a disappointment of a daughter not just to her mother (that was a given) but apparently to her dad as well, the person in her family to whom she’d always felt closest. You think he likes it when someone puts his son down all the time? She shut off that line of thought quick-sharp: not today.
Anyway, looking on the bright side, at least she didn’t have to feel guilty about going to the station this afternoon now. Lennie had turned down her company for the rest of the day so working was the best thing she could do. The sooner she got a resolution on these cases, the sooner normal life could resume.
Yeah, said Len’s voice in her head, dry as dust. For the
three days until it happens again.
Chapter Thirty-one
Robin stopped, her hand on the incident-room door. Through the glass panel she could see not only Tarka, who’d said he’d come in, but Malia and Varan, too, the three of them huddled round his screen. Robin felt a swell of pride and gratitude: it was Saturday afternoon after a week of fourteen-hour days and they must have thought she wasn’t working but here they were. Her team. Her people.
The moment she pushed the door open, they all turned round, the same light in their eyes she’d seen in her own when she’d got back to the car in Durham. ‘We were about to call you,’ Malia said, ‘but Varan looked out the window and saw your car. It was like we’d summoned you.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Think we’ve got him, guv,’ Tark grinned, tipping his head at the monitor. ‘Finally.’
On the next desk was a tray of coffees, four mugs. ‘I didn’t know if you’d want one but I made it just in case,’ Varan said.
‘I definitely do. Thanks.’ She put her bag down and joined them at the computer. ‘Okay, CCTV maestro, hit me.’
She’d expected one of the streets around Lara’s scene but they were looking at Warwick Street. ‘Not outside Gisborne’s, though,’ she said. ‘Further along, near the corner with Clyde Street.’
‘Exactly. Four lots down, the party-rental people.’
The anticipation was palpable, as if they were waiting for her to open a birthday present. She glanced up and caught Varan watching her face.
Onscreen, it was daylight. The timestamp at the bottom left read 09.06.2019, 15.23. Sunday afternoon? The view was a gated off-street parking area, and Sunday or not, the party-rental people were working: the gates were open and so was the warehouse door, a van parked outside.
‘They did a silver wedding anniversary on the Saturday and the clients wanted everything gone the next day, before the marquee damaged the lawn,’ Malia said. ‘We were there talking to them about an hour and a half after this.’
As they watched, a pair of twenty-something men in jeans and T-shirts emerged from between the van’s open back doors with short stacks of dining chairs. They carried them inside the dark mouth of the warehouse.
‘And any second now …’ said Tark.
All of a sudden, a dark shape appeared at the very top right-hand corner of the screen, where the wall of the neighbouring single-storey workshop met the lowest point of its gabled roof. The shape became boots, then legs in black trousers. After a second or two, the legs turned so the toes of the boots were braced against the wall, and the rest of a man’s body was lowered into the frame: jeans, a black jacket – lightweight, like an anorak – partially covered by a dark backpack. His baseball cap was pulled right down, hiding his eyes but showing enough of his cheek and neck for them to see that he was white, brown-haired. His feet inched backwards down the wall and his body straightened – he was holding on to something just out of view, the guttering, perhaps, or the edge of the roof.
‘Impressive upper-body strength if you ask me,’ said Tark, ‘cold-blooded killer or not. Another quick look at the warehouse door, make sure the guys aren’t coming back, and … go.’
The man dropped to the tarmac, paused in a crouch for a split second while the impact reverberated through his knees, then stood and slipped silently – at least on tape – around the front of the van and out of view.
All eyes went to Robin who was quiet for a moment, processing. ‘The party-hire place was outside the outer cordon, wasn’t it? It was right there, just out of shot. Literally five or six feet away.’
‘Yes,’ Malia said. ‘They did it at the corner so Clyde Street could stay open.’
‘The van hides him from view long enough that he’d look as if he’d come round the corner. But it doesn’t matter either way – even if they’d seen him straight off, coming out of the little yard here, why would they have suspected? The block had already been secured and searched.’
‘This is nearly half past three, guv.’ Varan pointed at the timestamp. ‘So if it is him, he’d been up there for seven and a half hours after it was secured.’
‘Time of death’s between one and four,’ said Malia. ‘So again, if it is him, he hid more or less in place for twelve hours. At least.’
‘Clever – very. And self-controlled. He knew it was too risky to leave before the police arrived because we’d be poring over the CCTV, as we have done. He was counting on us not looking at any after we had the area secured, and he’d planned to stay hidden until then.’
‘Also how to get down without drawing attention. Meticulous planning – more meticulous planning,’ said Malia. ‘If Ladbrokes were taking bets, I’d put money on that backpack containing full PPE.’
‘Meticulous planning on his part and oversight on ours,’ said Robin. ‘Why didn’t Rafferty and his crew check the roof?’ And why hadn’t she checked they had?
‘We were talking about that,’ Malia said. ‘Probably, we reckon, because most of the Gisborne place itself doesn’t actually have a roof.’
Robin almost laughed – almost. For the love of God.
‘And where it does, it’s glass. Plus, we were all thinking about the underground level,’ said Varan.
‘Which this guy – if it’s him,’ Robin said, ‘could have used to get next door to Gupta’s place and then up to the roof from there.’ She clapped Tarka on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Tark, that’s brilliant work. What made you look this late in the afternoon?’
‘Well, that’s the not-so-good news, at least so far,’ he said. ‘Last night you said to start at six the previous evening, go to midday? I did that and nada, either end.’
Oh. ‘So still no sign of either of them going in?’
He shook his head. ‘I did the evening bit first – nothing. And then, when midday didn’t get me anywhere either, I skimmed this next bit just in case. By this point, nearly half past three in the afternoon, I was beginning to think you must have been right about underground access beyond Gisborne’s.’ He blinked as if his eyeballs were scratchy.
‘I’ve got some drops in my desk,’ Robin said.
‘Thanks. Left mine at home.’
‘On the question of underground access, I had an email from Rafferty an hour ago. He and one of his guys went down there again this morning, and Gupta’s is definitely the only way in from outside the factory itself.’
‘So either this guy and the Gisborne Girl came in over the roofs during the time frame you’ve already looked at, Tark,’ Malia said, ‘or they were already in there by six p.m. on Saturday evening.’
‘Right,’ Robin nodded. ‘So which is it? And if they were in there before six p.m. and she wasn’t killed until the early morning, what were they doing in the hours in between?’ She thought. ‘We haven’t had the labs back yet, have we, her bloodwork? Varan, could you call and ask when we’ll get them? Tomorrow’s the week-mark, so they should be imminent. There was no evidence she’d been restrained so was she there willingly or did he drug her?’
‘The other million-dollar question,’ Malia said, ‘is, who is he?’ She nodded at the computer. ‘Tark.’
He started the film again then pulled himself along the desk to the next monitor. The screen woke up on a freeze-frame of the tape of Lara and her attacker.
They watched the films together, side by side. There was no doubt about it: the man striding towards the terrified Lara Meikle was visibly taller than the one lowering himself off the roof, and a good stone or two lighter. Where his gait was loose and loping, this new man’s every movement was compactly muscular and – that word again – controlled.
Two completely different physical types. Two different people.
‘One thing’s bothering me,’ Malia said. ‘How did he know her body would be found?’ The four of them were sitting now, perched on the desks. ‘I mean, if he killed her then went off to hide until after the police were called, how did he know he wasn’t going to be up there for a month? Or
indefinitely?’
It was true; one of her first thoughts at the scene, Robin remembered, had been that, unless someone had chanced through, the body could have lain undiscovered amongst the junk for weeks on end. ‘He must have known someone was going to come,’ she said. ‘He must have known she’d be found that day.’
‘But how would he?’
‘Well, we know he knows the building, or he’d studied it – that’s clear from how he managed the CCTV. And given this,’ she pointed at Tark’s computer, ‘he must have known he could get through to the place next door.’
‘So he’s either been there before or had instructions from someone else.’
‘Martin and Stewpot knew about the way through,’ said Varan, who was scribbling notes as fast as he could. ‘And what about Quinton, the urban explorer?’
‘But he was here at three twenty-three on Sunday afternoon,’ said Malia. ‘Downstairs, he was here until after five in the end, so it can’t have been him.’
Robin looked at her. ‘Wasn’t he going with someone else, though, originally? His mate – was he a doctor?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Malia frowned. ‘They were supposed to be going to West Bromwich, he said, but the doctor had to bail at the last minute, for work.’
‘Or so he claimed. He’s an urban explorer, too, so he could have “done” Gisborne’s before, independently.’
‘And he could have known Quinton was going there so he’d be on hand to find the body, and set up this … structure to leave him in the clear, done and dusted,’ said Varan.
‘Right. Let’s get on that ASAP, number one priority. We’ll also need to speak to Martin and Stewpot again.’ The coffee was tepid now but she took a swig anyway. In the seconds after she swallowed, she heard the rapid movement of Varan’s hand across the page. ‘You know,’ she said, feeling oddly nervous, ‘maybe there was another reason he wanted her found.’
At her tone Varan stopped writing and looked up.
‘I wasn’t here this morning,’ she said, all their eyes on her again, ‘because I went to Durham. I drove up there first thing, I’ve just got back.’
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