by Jay Nadal
“Who is she?” she spat as she lunged towards him, pushing him backwards. “Who?”
He stood there, head bowed, his hands covering his groin in embarrassment.
Minu circled him, and looked him up and down, disgust etched deep in the lines on her face. Fiery anger burnt in her eyes.
Whatever he would say would seem weak. “Minu, it’s not like that. Please you have to understand. I swear I don’t know who these belong to. I found them in the road.” As the words tripped from his tongue, he knew it sounded pathetic, even worse, desperate.
“I want you gone from here,” Minu said as she turned and walked out.
24
Mike tapped away at his keyboard. His face was puffy and red, his eyes just as bad. He’d slept badly after a Friday night of drinking local brews at the Evening Star. He’d succumbed to the Dark Star favourite known as the crème brûlée, often dubbed a dessert in a glass with its vanilla and caramel undertones. Seven pints later, he’d staggered out of the pub and found his way home.
He groaned as Helen walked over to her desk.
“I hoped no one would be in for ages,” he mumbled.
Helen tutted. “How many?” she asked as she threw her jacket over the back of her chair.
“Don’t ask, and I won’t lie.”
Helen laughed as she headed for the coffee maker and returned with a steaming, hot coffee. “Two sugars,” she said with a saucy wink. “And don’t let the Guv see you like that, or he’ll give you a right rollicking.”
Mike mumbled something under his breath before returning to his review of the incident that occurred during the night.
“Anything of interest?” Helen asked as she dropped a green tea bag into her mug of boiling water.
Mike looked up and tipped his head in her direction. “Well, anything is more interesting than watching you make a cup of pond water.”
“It’s healthy. And you and healthy don’t go in the same sentence.” Helen cast him a disparaging look.
“It’s mainly domestics. The usual bunch of fights in town for a Friday night. But we did have one call that uniform are following up on that may be of interest to us. Someone followed a woman down Florence Road. The suspect was behind her for about fifteen minutes and gaining ground. She ran, and he pursued her. She screamed as he caught up with her. That seemed to be enough to scare him and he ran off.”
“And the female?”
“She went to the nearest house and hammered down the door.”
“Description?”
“Not much. Too dark. Assailant was IC1, medium height and build, wearing a black hoodie, and dark jeans.”
Helen rolled her eyes. “That narrows it down.”
“Always. What did you do last night? Anything exciting? Like make nettle soup, or discovered another use for a used green tea bag?”
Helen pulled a mock gasp. “You’re a cheeky shit.” She grabbed a pencil from her desk and threw it at him. “You’re making me out to be a commune loving, hippy chick who lives off the land? Just because I drink herbal teas and like couscous?”
Mike choked on his coffee. “There you go. I rest my case. Couscous! That’s bloody rabbit food. They should ban it on health grounds.”
“Don’t tell me, you think a pie and chips, a Ginsters pasty, a fry-up, or half a gallon of beer are better, healthier options?”
Mike threw his arms in the air. “Nothing wrong with any of that. Good traditional English fayre. Staples for the working man.”
“You really talk shit sometimes, Mike.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“What did you do last night?”
“If you must know, Mike, I went to the theatre in Eastbourne with a friend. We saw La Traviata, one of Verdi’s greatest Operas. It’s a love story shrouded in sacrifice and misunderstanding, set in French society in the eighteen fifties.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Don’t go cultural on me again.” Mike snorted as he got up to refill his coffee.
Helen muttered something under her breath about Mike being un-cultured.
Adam Hobday hadn’t understood the need to be interviewed as part of the investigation. He mentioned that he knew Linda Allen, as did most of the employees at Box K4, but that was as far as it went. He never socialised with her or met her outside the office environment, so was perplexed by the request. Reluctantly, he had agreed to see Scott and Abby at the offices he rented in town.
His objection to seeing the officers had piqued Scott’s interest. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be defensive when asked to be interviewed, as if agreeing would be an admission of guilt.
Hobday rented an office in a Regus building in the centre of town. Scott and Abby found his name on the company list in the unmanned reception and made their way up to the second floor. His office was along a corridor of identical-looking rooms. They all had a brown door, and smoked glassed windows, with a discreet silver door plate announcing the name of each company. There was a mixture of companies that offered anything from accountancy, through to software consultancy, to travel, and business services.
Hobday sat behind a solitary desk to one side of the room. Filing cabinets and a large whiteboard occupied the remaining space, with a few guest chairs across the desk.
He was dressed casually in a pale blue open-neck shirt, and cream chinos, with brown suede loafers. Though casual, he had a sense of affluence about the way he dressed.
“Thank you for taking the time to see us,” Scott offered.
“I didn’t think I had much choice, anyway?” he replied sheepishly, his eyes reluctant to linger on either of the two officers. “I can spare you about thirty minutes, if that’s okay? I have a conference call that I need to prepare for at midday.”
“We won’t take up too much of your time.” Scott sensed a slight edginess in the man yesterday, and it continued today. Despite having the air of confidence, and looking the part, his overall mannerisms were at odds with his persona. There was uncertainty, or perhaps fear in Hobday. A hidden anxiety manifesting itself through the narrowing and shiftiness in his eyes. A general fidgeting that Scott noticed, as he clicked and unclicked his pen rapidly. It was a behaviour that Abby had picked up on, too.
“How can I help?”
“How long have you freelanced for Box K4?”
The directness of Scott’s question appeared to unnerve Hobday, as he licked his lips and averted his gaze out of the window.
He’s buying time.
“I…I can’t be certain without checking my files, but at least the past two years. At first it was the odd project, but more recently, I’ve been working with them every month.”
“And does that involve being at their offices every month?”
“Yes, I would say so. With us being so close, I find it makes the working relationship far more harmonious. In our industry we work remotely, and much can be done virtually. It’s refreshing to not be cooped up in this office.”
“Would you say that you know the staff well?”
Hobday shrugged. “Pretty well. I interface with project managers, solutions architects, technical architects, service delivery managers, software designers, programmers, business analysts, software analysts, technical support, and accounts. I guess you could say that I know them well.” He was doing his hardest to maintain his composure and control the conversation without being intimidated.
“Did you ever meet Linda Allen? She was in technical support.”
He cleared his throat. “The name rings a bell, but they have several people in technical support, so I can’t place a face to the name.”
Abby pulled out a picture of Linda Allen taken from her lounge and presented it to him. It was a picture of her with Shannon to one side whilst she held baby Leo when he was only a few months old.
Hobday maintained eye contact with Abby before lowering his gaze and focusing on the picture. His eyes didn’t blink whilst he took in the image. He offered the slightest of nods.
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“Mr Hobday? Do you recognise her?”
“Yes,” was all he could offer.
“Yes, you recognise her? Yes, you’ve spoken to her? Yes, you’ve seen her?” Abby replied flippantly.
Hobday cleared his throat again. “Yes, I’ve seen her. And I spoke to her in passing. Just to offer a greeting or some nicety as we passed.”
“Where were you last Sunday evening between six p.m. and midnight?”
Hobday shook his head as if trying to shake his brain to recollect his whereabouts on that night. “Off the top of my head, at home with the wife.”
“Did you go out any point, even briefly?”
“What are you implying, Inspector?”
“Nothing. I need you to confirm your movements.” Scott changed tact. “What do you do outside work?”
“I’m sorry? I’m not sure what that has to do with your investigation?”
“Everything,” Scott replied firmly. “Do you have a family?”
Hobday’s eyes narrowed as they bore into Scott. “I’m married, but I don’t have a family. We had a daughter, but she passed away a few days after being born prematurely.” His eyes fell to the desk, lost deep in thought, as his shoulders dropped.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you,” he muttered.
“Linda had two children. They have been taken into care temporarily until suitable next of kin are identified.”
“Suitable, what does that mean?”
“Shannon, her daughter, will probably be cared for by Linda’s mother, because the natural father is not best placed to look after her. And we’re trying to trace Leo’s father. Unfortunately, we have been unable to do that.”
“I…I see. Do you mind me asking how she was murdered?”
“We can’t go into detail, but she was raped, strangled…and suffocated.” Scott studied Hobday’s face for a few moments, and noticed the man’s eyelids twitched, and a distinctive change in his complexion as the colour drained from him.
Scott and Abby stood. “Thank you for your time, Mr Hobday. We won’t keep you any further. As the investigation proceeds, we may need to talk to you again.”
Hobday joined them as he saw them to the door, offering nothing more than a nod of his head.
“What did you make of that?” Abby asked as they unwrapped their lunches in a sandwich bar in town. “He was uncomfortable throughout.”
“He was hiding something, that’s for sure. It was written on his face. He knows more than he’s revealed, and he knows Linda better than he’s letting on. I’m sure of that,” he replied, taking a large chunk out of his tuna, mayo and sweetcorn sandwich. The change in Hobday’s features and his eye movements hid both guilt and sadness. If they were looking for the married man that Linda was involved with, Scott felt they might have just found him. For the moment though, he’d hold that theory and wait to see what else bubbled to the surface.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking about Hobday and Linda?” Abby asked.
“Probably.”
“So, what now?”
Scott wiped his mouth with a napkin. “More digging. We need to know more about Hobday’s movements on that night, even if to do nothing more than eliminate him. Can you get onto that for me?”
Abby nodded as she too tucked into her sandwich.
Scott tapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I still need to check in with David Levy, the councillor. I’ve not had much time to investigate the disappearance of his daughter since we spoke. The last thing I need is Levy running to CC Lennon.”
“Good luck with that. Unless new information surfaces, she will be another statistic, unfortunately. But I guess he doesn’t want to hear that? What parent does?”
Scott’s phone vibrated in his pocket, he answered it to see Mike’s name pop up on the screen. He listened for a few moments, nodding before raising a brow. “Interesting. We’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
Abby pestered Scott as he hung up.
“Mike’s been doing some digging around and come back with some good information. But even better than that, some new evidence has been presented that might be linked to our case.”
“Really? What?” Abby asked following Scott out of the door.
“A black patent, high-heeled, peep-toe shoe.”
25
Scott rushed through the station and made a beeline for his office where Mike stood with arms crossed staring at Scott’s desk.
In two clear evidence bags were a black shoe and red underwear. Scott circled round and sat staring at the objects in silence. The shoe was clean. Light bounced off the black patent material. The other evidence bag had what appeared to be scrunched up red knickers. In contrast to the shoe, they were dirty and marked.
“Linked to Linda?” Abby suggested.
Mike shrugged. “It matches the items that were missing. And the shoebox we recovered from her house has the same picture on it as that shoe.”
“And who brought it in?”
“A gentleman called Anil Shah and his wife, Minu. I suspect Mr Shah came to the station reluctantly judging by his wife’s mood.”
“How did he come by them?” Scott asked as he leant in to take a closer look.
“He’s a keen cyclist. A road cyclist. He is one of those knobs who hold the road and slow down the traffic.” A hint of annoyance flashed in Mike’s tone. “He’s in one of the interview rooms downstairs. I thought you might want a word with him.”
“Get these bags to forensics immediately. Arrange for a buccal swab for our friend Mr Shah, although judging by the state of the knickers, I think we may have his DNA on it…”
Abby pulled a face in disgust. “Men are such perverts,” she fumed, throwing a hand over her mouth and stepping out of the room.
“This case keeps turning up new stuff. I can’t keep up with it.”
Mike nodded in agreement. “I was looking through the case files, and now we have a direct link between ours and the Cardiff case. What happens if there’s more? We could pull a list from the system of more than a hundred women who are missing in the Sussex area, whether by choice or not.” Mike pulled up a chair and dropped his heavy frame into it. “Some skip the country, others disappear between the cracks, and end up at the other end of the country, and don’t want to be found. What happens if our killer has struck before? There could be more bodies out there that we may never discover.”
Scott understood the sentiment. Some do meet an untimely death, and for the sake of their families, he hoped officers were able to locate victims to offer their families closure. But he was in no doubt that many were never found.
Back in Essex, Scott heard many stories of how Epping Forest had been the final resting place for bodies over the last fifty years. The East End underworld was notorious for taking their victims in the dead of night and disposing of their bodies in the depths of the forest. Many were never found; either well buried, or disposed of in such remote locations, it was unlikely that anyone would stumble upon them.
With Brighton being surrounded by the Sussex Downs, it was possible and plausible that it, too, was the final resting place for many.
“It made me think,” Mike continued. “Levy had asked you to look into the disappearance of his daughter, Rebecca. Whilst digging back through her case file, I picked up on the fact that Rebecca and Lexi Freeman were friends. And now Lexi is holed up with Dalca. There might be nothing in it; Brighton is a small enough place to know lots of people.”
Scott sighed and ran his hands down his face and blew out his cheeks. “I’ve got to pay Levy a visit later, anyway. I feel bad I’ve done nothing much to investigate his case. But if we did that for everyone who asked us, there wouldn’t be enough hours in the day. I’ve looked over the case file, and there’s nothing further I would have done at the time if I was SIO.”
Mike and Scott made their way down to the interview room and paused outside to exchange notes. “What have you got so far on Mr Shah?”<
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“Not a lot. I ran his name through the system. He’s clean. To be honest, he looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. His wife was on his shoulder just glaring at the back of his head. I tell you, if looks could kill, he’d be in the mortuary by now. She’s one unhappy bunny. It was an effort controlling her. She was fuming about his porn addiction, fetishes, and the fact he’s played away on at least one occasion.”
“Judge, jury and executioner.”
Mike rolled his eyes in agreement.
“A likely suspect?”
“I’m not sure, Guv. You’ll see when you go in. He’s thin and spindly, around five-foot six. I can’t imagine him strong enough to overpower Linda or Daisy. He may have an alter ego that comes out in certain situations but judging by the way he is around his wife, I think he is a bit of a wimp. Linda wanted to be dominated. I think she would have eaten Shah for breakfast.”
Anil Shah cut a desolate figure as he sat with his arms close to his chest and his hands firmly wrapped in a ball on his lap. He looked like a naughty schoolboy waiting to be chastised by the head teacher.
His wife, Minu, sat to his side, her arms crossed, her lips pursed tight, and a cold, chilly stare that threatened to send an Arctic blast through the room. Despite her acidic appearance, Minu Shah was an attractive Asian female, with pale, blemish-free skin. She had a thin, attractive face, framed by flowing jet-black hair that cascaded over her shoulders.
Scott placed two evidence bags on the table between them and went through the formalities and formal caution for the tape recorder. Shah stared at both nervously, not daring to look towards his wife.
“Mr Shah, I’m Inspector Scott Baker, and I’m the Senior Investigating Officer on a murder investigation surrounding the death of a local woman. We believe these items, may have belonged to the victim. I’d like you to begin by telling me how you came to be in possession of them?”