‘You know what’s interesting?’
She cocked her head to one side and smiled, saying, ‘I am sure you are about to tell me.’
‘The fact that after a murder was committed close to or on the bed, someone had sex in it. Now that’s deviant . . . Look along those lines, Anna, and uppermost try to find out what happened to the body.’
‘I intend to.’
‘Good.’
He stood staring at her for a moment and then went to open the door.
‘Good work.’
‘Thank you.’
He hesitated and turned back.
‘Just one more thing. As we’re on top of this case I’ve been overseeing I was wondering if you’d like Mike Lewis transferred over to your investigation.’
‘No. I want to see how the team I’ve got pans out before bringing in anyone else.’
He gave her a small smile and opened the door.
‘Well, you know where I am.’
Anna was left irritated by his offer. As a DCI she didn’t need another one of her rank looking over her shoulder. Langton was enough.
‘By the way,’ she said, ‘you have what looks like an egg stain on your tie.’
He lifted it up and swore, walking out scratching at the stain.
Her desk phone rang. It was Edward Rawlins returning her call, very concerned about his wife giving another blood sample.
‘She was very distressed about having it done the last time. Is it necessary?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid it is.’
‘But surely you can determine whether or not it is Alan.’
‘Unfortunately the first sample taken from your wife leaked, and the genetic combination of the blood from both parents is required for examination by the scientist.’
‘I see. In that case, I suppose you have to do what you have to do, but I don’t understand why.’ He couldn’t continue. She heard him give a muffled sob.
‘It’s possible, Mr Rawlins, that it might not be your son’s blood,’ Anna said gently.
‘Jesus God, this is all dreadful. I am leaving work at three today so I will be at home for when the doctor comes to take the sample, but as I said, my wife is very distressed. She doesn’t understand what is happening. I told her it was for some new medication to try and calm her.’
‘The police doctor will endeavour to make your wife feel as relaxed as possible,’ Anna assured him.
She then rang Liz Hawley to say the further sample from Mrs Rawlins would be taken late afternoon and she would have it brought up to the lab as soon as possible.
‘The fingerprint team have finally finished,’ Liz told her, ‘so I will be starting on the Luminol testing first thing in the morning.’
‘Did you find anything from Tina Brooks’s car?’
‘That’s not my department, but I’ll check for you.’
‘Thank you.’
Before she hung up, Liz asked if Anna would be bringing in any suspects’ DNA samples for a comparison with the hair and semen.
‘It’s on the cards. I’ll let you know.’
Anna replaced the phone. They would require a mouth swab and hair sample from Michael Phillips. She decided that she would handle that personally as it was imperative they either implicate or eliminate him. However, as they had no evidence against him, he would have to agree to the tests and he’d be entitled to refuse.
Anna sat with Brian Stanley at his desk and explained that he was to make further enquiries at the Body Form gym used by Tina, Alan and Michael Phillips. She was about to walk away when he held up the offending finger.
‘You know, we really need to get that crime-scene blood identified, because if it wasn’t Alan Rawlins it’s gonna shed a whole different light on our enquiry.’
‘I am aware of that and it’s in the mix for today.’
‘Another thing, we need more updated photographs of Alan Rawlins. If it isn’t his blood, then he’s missing. I’ve got onto Mispers about it and they have a couple of shots they are sending over. They were given to them by Tina Brooks, but I wondered if we had his driving licence.’
‘We don’t. We didn’t find one.’
‘Wouldn’t the DVLC hold double photographs nowadays if he had a recent new licence?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Right, I’ll check with them. And what about Tina? We should have a photo of her. It helps when looking over any CCTV we may seize.’
‘I’ll ask her to hand one over.’
‘She’s not staying at the flat until it’s given the all-clear, so do you have a contact address for her?’
‘It’s on the board, Brian.’
‘Right, thanks. Have we sniffed around for any new life-insurance policies, only the one we have been checking out was made a couple of years ago. Maybe there’s a newer one?’
‘Check it out then.’
‘It’s just that I find it odd. I mean, I’m in my forties and I haven’t got one.’
‘Nor have I, but Alan Rawlins appears to have been a particularly cautious man when it comes to money.’
‘Particularly anal if you ask me.’
Anna’s patience with Brian’s offhand derogatory remarks was wearing thin. She raised her voice to show her disapproval of his comments.
‘Just get on with it, Detective Stanley!’
‘Okay, I’ll get started.’
‘Thank you.’
Anna returned to her office. Stanley might be very experienced, but he was starting to get under her skin; however, she had to admit he was working the case. She wondered how Paul and Helen were getting on interviewing the remaining names in Rawlins’s address book. She called Paul’s mobile, but it was turned off so she sent a text message. Once that was done, she left the station to go to talk to Michael Phillips.
Paul and Helen had been criss-crossing London. A number of the names were dead ends as the people had moved or gone abroad. By mid-afternoon they had successfully interviewed six. Four had not seen or spoken to Alan for a long time and could give no indication of what might have occurred. They did all repeat what an exceptionally nice person he was; most had been to school or college with him and none appeared to be very intimate friends, but almost all of them said that after his relationship with Tina had begun they had seen very little of him. None were very enthusiastic about her, but at the same time felt that if she made Alan happy it was none of their business.
The fifth person they interviewed was a librarian called Alison Bisk. She was an attractive blonde, but the type of woman who doesn’t know how to make the best of herself. She was wearing a very plain jumper with a woollen skirt that reached her calves, and comfortable shoes. She was at first startled by their appearance at the library and then shocked when they said they were interviewing everyone who knew Alan, as he was missing.
‘Missing?’
‘Yes, Miss Bisk. If we could go somewhere more private we’d just like to ask you about your friendship with Mr Rawlins.’
They went into a small reading room, where Paul explained that they were looking into his disappearance as it was possible it could be due to foul play.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He has been missing for some considerable time and we have found things inside his flat that give cause for concern.’
‘But I haven’t seen him for maybe six or seven months.’
‘You knew him well?’
She nodded.
‘What can you tell us about him?’
She chewed her lip and then did a small nervous cough. ‘We used to go out together so I did know him very well.’
‘Tell us what you know about him.’
She sighed and then explained that she and Alan had lived together in her flat, and that at one time she had felt that their relationship would eventually lead to marriage.
‘I don’t want to say anything bad about him. You see, we were together for almost three years. He was always a very caring and loving person. He could be a bit obsessive a
bout saving money, but he wanted to buy a place of his own – you know, he didn’t really like living at my flat. He halved the rent with me though, as well as saving for the future. It was a future I believed I would be a part of, but . . .’
She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together and releasing them.
‘He went on a surfing holiday to Cornwall,’ she continued. ‘I couldn’t go because my holiday dates didn’t match his. I knew something was wrong when he phoned me from there.’
‘Wrong? What do you mean?’
‘Well, he sounded different – distant. He said he was having a wonderful time, but he just didn’t sound like the Alan I knew. He phoned me maybe four times, but I could feel he was different. I can’t really explain it, but I sensed it, as I was very much in love with him. Anyway, the Saturday he was due to come home I’d bought a special dinner and even though he didn’t really drink I’d got a bottle of rosé wine.’ Her eyes welled with tears.
‘Go on, Miss Bisk, please. This is very helpful.’ Helen felt for the girl; she was obviously still very hurt.
‘I was in the bath and I had my hair in rollers because I wanted to make myself look good for him when he got back, but he came home earlier than I expected. He was so tanned and his hair was very blonde and he leaned on the bathroom door and . . .’
She searched for a tissue and dabbed her eyes.
‘He was like a stranger. He said that he still loved me, but he was no longer in love with me and would be moving out.’
She began to rip at the tissue.
‘I was in shock. I couldn’t believe that in just two weeks he could have changed so drastically, and then there were these calls from her – she had the cheek to call my flat and ask to speak to him. I knew whoever it was had to be the reason he was leaving, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. It took two weeks for him to clear all his belongings and he left.’
‘When exactly was this?’
‘Four years ago.’
‘But you said you saw him a few months back.’
‘Yes. He would often stop by and see how I was, or a couple of times he came here to see me at work. He never really explained anything to me, but I knew he had moved in with that woman in Hounslow. I never went there and I never called him. It was always him that contacted me, but not for us to get back together – just to see how I was. I think he felt guilty for the way he had treated me.’
‘When you saw him, did he appear to be in good spirits?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, was he depressed or moody, and did he say anything derogatory about his latest girlfriend?’
‘No. I never felt I could broach the subject with him. To be honest, I hoped he would come back, but he never even suggested it. I used to see his parents on the odd occasions at Christmastime. I’d take them a little gift. They were the sweetest people and I think they were upset at the way he had treated me. I don’t think they liked his new girlfriend.’
‘Did he ever seem angry?’
‘Oh no, Alan was such a calm person. He did dress differently, more fashionably, and he seemed more handsome, or maybe that was just me. I missed him so much and like I said, I think he did feel guilty because we had been very serious about each other. In fact, one time he asked if I wanted to start a family and I obviously said that I would, and after he had left I found . . .’
Again she started to weep. Paul and Helen waited.
‘I didn’t drive and he had started to arrange driving lessons for me. I found in a cupboard the L-plates he had bought for me. On one he had written a message about having a baby soon. I never took my test. I still don’t drive – silly, really.’
Paul got into the driving seat and looked at Helen.
‘“Silly, really”. Bloody sad, more like it. She’s a nice-looking girl if she did more for herself.’
Helen shrugged. She had found it rather pitiful that Alison had not got over a relationship that ended years ago.
‘Didn’t get much from her though, did we?’ Paul said.
‘Well, if I remember, in a statement I read, Tina said that Alan used to go surfing a lot, and according to Alison he seemed changed when he returned from one of his holidays there. Maybe we need to look into the surfing friends.’
‘Not got any. We’ve only one more bloke to see and that’s his address book finished.’
‘Maybe the last is the best – or is it the other way round?’
‘I dunno, but we’ve got to go all the way to Kingston. The guy runs a car wash on the A3. His name is Silas Douglas.’
‘A car wash?’
‘Yeah. Not really sounding like the Silver Surfer, is he?’
‘Who?’
‘It’s often the way great-looking guys on surfboards are called. I read it somewhere – you know, all bronzed and blonde-haired.’
‘Oh. I thought it was a sort of Marvel comic character. Maybe this Silas Douglas is one. I can always live in hope!’
Paul laughed.
The car wash turned out to be a small business employing six Polish men. The ramshackle four-car port had hosepipes and buckets and polishers, with a seedy office at the back.
‘Bet you these guys are making illegal benefit claims as well,’ Paul said.
Helen agreed and was astonished that customers were paying up to thirty pounds for a total valet service.
‘All this cash must make a nice income, enough to employ six guys.’
They knocked on the glass door to the office, but were unable to see in as it was covered in posters for firework displays and local events. Then it banged open and they were confronted by a well-built man wearing a baseball cap with a greasy ponytail sticking out the back.
‘Yeah?’
Paul introduced himself and Helen and said they had called earlier. ‘Are you Silas Douglas?’
‘Oh right, right, come in. I’m Sal Douglas and excuse the mess. Shift anything off the seats; it will all end up on the floor anyway.’
He had a very upper-class voice that belied his appearance in baggy torn jeans and a T-shirt. Lined up against one wall were four surfboards, expensive ones, and there was another one lying on a bench with pots of paint.
‘I’m customising that for a client. Wants, believe it or not, Shaun the Sheep. Bloody stupid, but you do what you have to.’
‘Shaun the Sheep?’ Paul asked, shifting a stack of magazines onto the floor.
‘It’s a kid’s cartoon, little runt of the sheep herd that gets up to all crazy things, so I guess he’s now going to be surfing.’ Sal sat behind the muddled heaped desk and grinned. ‘What do you want? It’s not about the bloody neighbours’ complaints, is it? I’ve got a licence to run this place – in fact, I own that block of flats, but they don’t seem to understand, and these used to be the old garages.’
‘We’re here because we know you were friends with Alan Rawlins.’
‘Who?’
‘Alan Rawlins.’
Sal leaned back in his chair, rubbing his head. ‘I know him, do I?’
‘He has your phone number.’
‘Alan Rawlins? Has he bought a board from me?’
‘I don’t know. He did go surfing in Cornwall.’
‘Ah well, maybe I met him there. Come June I pack off to my place near Newquay and don’t come back until the end of summer.’
‘He was a big fair-haired man, about six foot,’ Paul said as he took out the only photo they had of Alan on the surfboard. ‘Aged twenty-six.’
‘Oh Christ yes, I know him. Terrific guy! I taught him. It’s a few summers back, maybe three or four, and he went on to use some of the other bays with the real big waves, fearless. To begin with I thought he was a no-hoper, but . . .’
Sal pulled at his ponytail. ‘I didn’t know he was called Rawlins, but there you go, I meet a shedload of guys every summer.’ He then gestured to a wall calendar. ‘I teach. First I make them use the gym, as you’ve got to have strong leg muscles – lot of squats – but abo
ve all balance. Yeah, I remember him now.’
‘He’s missing.’
‘What?’
‘I said he’s missing’
‘In Cornwall?’
‘No, from his place in London. Do you know where he stayed when he was in Cornwall?’
‘No, there’s loads of hostels, B and Bs and other cheap places.’
‘What can you tell me about him?’
‘Nothing more than I just did.’
Paul looked to Helen and she was making notes. ‘Did he have girlfriends when you met him?’
Sal shrugged his shoulders. ‘I couldn’t tell you. I have my own clan there, but there are lots of bars they all use and if it’s bad weather, which it was this bloody summer – a downpour almost every day – they always hang out at a place called the Smugglers. It’s a beach bar and café.’
‘When was the last time you saw Alan Rawlins?’
The big man gave a wide-armed gesture. ‘Look, I didn’t even remember his name. I don’t think he was around last summer. I can’t honestly recall.’ He held the photograph in his big hands. ‘No, he wasn’t. In fact, it had to have been a while ago, maybe a couple of years, because the board he’s using here was one of mine. It’s an old hire board, used to mark them at the front with a large black S and a number, so I knew who was out on the water with one. You can just about make out S three on this board. The one he’s surfing on is old stock that I sanded down, resprayed and sold on about two years ago. He could have even bought one off me, but I can’t be certain as I’ve sold so many over the years.’
Sal passed the photograph back.
‘When you were teaching him you said he was a nice bloke, so you can recall that much about him. Is there anything else?’
‘Listen, if they pay me they’re good guys. You’d be amazed how many kids bounce cheques, give nicked credit cards, but if I remember correctly, he was sort of straight – know what I mean?’
‘So you wouldn’t know if he mixed with any specific people?’
‘No. Wait a minute, hang on.’
Sal got up and crossed to an old filing cabinet. It was in as much of a mess as his office as he hauled open one drawer after another. He then took out a dog-eared file and sat at his desk, again sweeping papers aside. He opened the file and began sifting through a stack of photographs. Paul and Helen waited patiently as Sal continued taking out a wedge of prints, flicking through them and picking up more.
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