‘See what you get from him and ask if he can identify any of the guys in the surfing picture.’
‘Will do. I’ll go with Helen, is that okay?’
‘Yes, and tell Brian to continue trawling for any other contacts in Cornwall. If we have to go there we don’t want a wasted journey.’
‘You tell him. He’s so far up my nose and he won’t like me passing on details.’
‘As the DS you’re his line manager, so deal with it.’
Anna was just about to leave to see Mr Rawlins when Langton phoned in. She spent a considerable amount of time explaining all the new developments and he listened without interruption until she told him they could not make any positive identification.
‘Why not? You’ve got his parents giving blood samples. You can’t waste time – it is imperative you—’ She interrupted him to give the reason why not. He was stunned.
‘Jesus Christ, I didn’t know that. Can you imagine how many people are giving birth with donors? It’s going to create a big mess and we could have God knows how many victims unidentified in years to come.’
‘I am just going to meet with Mr Rawlins. We might get something that’ll help, as apparently Alan still used a bedroom at his parents’ home.’
‘What? Bit late in the day. Why hasn’t that been checked out?’
‘I’ve only recently found out and it wasn’t in the original Misper report.’
‘Let me know if you uncover anything.’
‘Yes, sir!’ she said sarcastically. She knew it was a slip-up, that with luck could be rectified, if she did find anything that could help identify Alan Rawlins as the victim.
Anna drove reluctantly to the Rawlinses’ house as she knew how distressed Edward was, and now having to search the room that his son kept there was not going to help matters.
Mr Rawlins opened the front door before she had time to ring the bell.
‘Come in. Could I have a private word with you?’ he said immediately.
‘Yes, of course.’
He looked very pale and nervous as he ushered Anna into the lounge.
‘I want to ask you if the information regarding my son’s birth could be kept confidential.’
‘Yes, of course I will endeavour to respect your privacy. I am sorry that you had to find out in such circumstances. It must be very upsetting for you.’
‘That is putting it mildly. I found it hard to believe, even harder to realise my wife has kept a secret from me all these years. It never entered my head that Kathleen could have been so devious. I have to come to terms with it – I have no choice – but nevertheless I am hardly able to accept it. Alan is my son; whether or not my biological offspring, I could not have wished for a better . . .’
He hesitated. ‘He had his mother’s eyes – clear blue eyes. I never questioned that he could not be her child, and he was very like me in so many ways. The hardest thing is for me to understand the fact that Kathleen was too afraid to tell me the truth. It wouldn’t have mattered. I loved him, treasured him as she doted on him, and now with this awful situation, not knowing if he is alive or . . .’ He broke down.
Although impatient to see Alan’s bedroom, Anna was aware of the need to be considerate and said that if he found it disturbing to be present during the search then she could do it alone.
‘He used it when he stayed over. In fact, we hardly ever went in there, only to clean or remake his bed. It’s as he left it. During the time he’s been missing I have sat in there praying.’
‘Have you removed anything?’
‘No. It’s his bedroom and it’s private. It’s always been his bedroom. If Rose needs to rest she uses the spare room next to our master bedroom. Sometimes lately I’ve also slept in there because Kathleen is . . .’ He paused. ‘She’s incontinent,’ he said sadly.
Anna stood up saying she didn’t want to take any more of his time. He nodded and led her into the hall. They moved up the stairs.
‘I can do this on my own, Mr Rawlins,’ Anna reiterated. ‘I don’t want to add to your distress.’
‘Yes. I won’t stay with you. I’ll just show you the room. I have the keys.’
‘Is it locked?’
‘No, but his desk drawers are and he has a small safe.’
‘I really appreciate this, Mr Rawlins.’
They passed the master bedroom and Rose turned to smile. She was spoon-feeding porridge to Kathleen, who was sitting up on a chair close to an electric fire.
‘Rose, I am just showing Detective Travis Alan’s room. Is she eating today?’
‘A little. She’s been changed and we had a shower, didn’t we, Kathleen?’
Kathleen had her mouth open for the next spoonful like a fragile bird, her eyes vacant and staring ahead.
Mr Rawlins gestured to a closed door. ‘That’s the spare room. We are going up to the top floor now. It’s two rooms. We always intended knocking them into one to make it a larger bedroom, but just never got around to it.’
He opened a door at the end of the corridor that led to a narrow staircase. Anna followed him up onto a narrow strip of landing with two doors side by side. He opened one, stepping back.
‘This is the bedroom and the room next to it was where he used to do his homework when he came home from school. He turned it into a little office. These are the keys I mentioned you’ll need. Could you leave them on the table in the hall when you leave?’
‘If I need to take anything away, Mr Rawlins, I’ll fill out a property report and ask if Rose could check and sign it. Would that be okay?’
‘Yes, yes. Take whatever you think necessary.’
Anna stepped into the bedroom. It had a musty smell.
‘Let me open a window,’ Mr Rawlins fussed. ‘It smells stuffy in here.’
‘Please don’t bother. Thank you for the keys.’ Anna held out her hand and he passed a key ring with three small keys attached.
‘Although we had these I would never invade his privacy. They were kept for emergencies only. He was very particular about this being his private domain and I respected that.’
‘I am sure you did. Thank you, Mr Rawlins.’
He hovered at the door for a while before turning back and heading downstairs. She crossed to the slanted window and eased it open, and from there she saw Mr Rawlins walking down the path and out onto the road below. She drew a deep breath, relieved, and was now able to take in the room.
The single bed had an orange duvet, matching orange pillowslips and a white bottom sheet. Beside the bed was a small chest of drawers. On top of this were two photographs of his parents, an alarm clock and a small glass dish with some loose change. Hanging from the walls were framed certificates for swimming and gymnastics, and two insipid water-colour paintings depicting an empty beach with sand dunes. They both had a scrawled signature: Alan Rawlins, Holiday, 1995
The wardrobe just fitted beneath the slanted roof. It contained very few items; a tracksuit and a leather jacket, and folded neatly were two pairs of grey slacks and two pairs of black lace-up shoes. In a dressing-table the drawers contained three neatly folded laundered shirts, underwear and socks. Anna carefully removed each item, checking beneath and around them before replacing them. In front of the bed was a rag rug which covered a worn fitted carpet in pale green. She looked beneath the rug and under the bed, but apart from a layer of dust there was nothing else. She stripped the bed back, but the sheet and duvet cover still had creases as if the bed had been freshly made. It was a room devoid of any real personal items bar the paintings and certificates. She sat for a moment on the bed, looking around, trying to get some sense of the boy, the young man who had stayed and used this room from his childhood. It was such an empty room and probably used for exactly what Mr Rawlins had stated: somewhere to sleep when his son came to visit.
Finding nothing of interest – no hairbrush or combs that could give them a possible DNA sample – she walked out, closing the door, to enter the room beside it. She was surprised. It was
very bright with quite a big window newly framed as if it had been made larger to give good light. The walls were painted white and there was the same green fitted carpet and two arc lamps either side of a good-sized desk. The computer, printer and telephone extension were all covered.
Leaning on one wall were two surfboards. They were expensive ones and both covered with a fitted black zip-up bag. Hanging up was a wetsuit, and placed neatly beneath it were goggles, flippers and a snorkel in a plastic square container. Two posters of surfing in Florida were hanging behind the desk. To one side of it was a filing cabinet with three drawers.
‘So this is where you hung out,’ she muttered, but before she opened up the drawers in the desk and the filing cabinet she made a thorough search of every corner of the room.
Her heart jumped when she found a man’s leather vanity bag. Opening it, she was hoping to find a hairbrush, comb or razor, but all it contained was some aftershave lotion, shampoo and conditioner, expensive French moisturiser and hand cream. The containers were all clean with no residue around the caps; another insight into a fastidious man’s personal belongings. There was a small leather case with scissors, a nail file and a bottle of self-tanning lotion inside. In another container she found the round surfboard-wax packets, again neatly wrapped and carefully stored. In a second part of the vanity case were numerous vitamin bottles and a packet of condoms.
Anna replaced everything in the exact position she had found it. Next she opened a cupboard beneath the large window. Inside were weights, a wall bar and a folded bicycle. There was also a Nike bag containing swimming trunks and gym gear.
Whenever she came across any clothing item she did a thorough search for evidence, but the neatness and orderliness of everything proved to be unhelpful. She didn’t find one stray hair.
Sitting on the chair behind the desk, Anna ran her finger along the wood that was covered with a film of dust, which was good because it proved nothing had been touched or removed. The drawers either side of the desk were locked. She selected a key to open them and then tried the other two, but the drawers remained steadfastly locked. None of the keys fitted. Anna got up, took the manicure set and removed the nail file. She worked on the lock of the right-hand drawer for some time before she heard the click and was able to slide it open. It contained a neat stack of bodybuilder’s magazines and surfing magazines. She checked the dates and they were all at least six months to a year old. She flicked through each, but found nothing. Disappointed, she closed the drawer and went to work on the second. Frustratingly, this took considerably longer to open. She refused to give up, even when the nail file became bent. She rattled the brass handle, sat back and slapped the top of the desk with the flat of her hand. She next tried to prise the lock with the small sharp nail scissors and got down on her knees to be on eye-level and only when she was that close did she see the scratches. Had someone else also tried to break into this drawer? She looked at the one already opened and could see the same telltale scratches.
‘Someone else has had a go at this,’ she muttered.
Sitting back on the desk chair again, she selected the nail file and this time rammed it into the lock as far as it would go. She then twisted it sharply – and bingo, it clicked open! She was certain she would find something, but pulling out the drawer, she found it contained only more magazines.
‘Shit.’ Then as she flicked over the first couple, tossing them to one side she saw the erotic pose of a muscular man. The cover was torn off, but she didn’t have to look too far before it became obvious that it was a gay man’s pornographic contact magazine. There were four more magazines of the same type and these she stacked to one side to remove from the room.
Pleased with her findings, she also found three DVDs pushed to the back of the drawer. They had sexual titles: Well Hung, Gorgeous Orgies and so on. She also placed these on top of the magazines to remove.
Anna rubbed her hands together and now turned her attention to the filing cabinet. The small keys fitted each drawer so she opened the bottom one first. There were files attached to a sliding rod and these all listed vintage vehicles, purchases of spare parts, price lists and contact numbers for sales. Each of the cars bought and repaired and customised by Alan were listed in a separate file. Photographs showed the vehicle before and after, and beside them the price it was bought for and the price for which it was sold. She was astonished at the amount of money an AC Cobra had made, and this was matched by the selling price of a Ferrari, a 280SL Mercedes and a Maserati. She worked out that Alan had made about four hundred thousand pounds from the sales. She could see by the dates that these sales covered a period of five years. Listed were the amounts he had paid to his father and the amount he had kept for himself. Considering how much they knew was in the joint bank account with Tina Brooks, it was obvious that Alan either had a separate bank account or a very big cash haul.
Anna removed the files and stacked them for removal along with the magazines and DVDs.
Drawer two was full of receipts that had been pinned together. On each one was a neat Post-it note listing dates. It took a while for her to match some of the receipts to material from the bottom drawer. They were mostly for the purchase of spare parts, from spark plugs to hub-caps and steering wheels. There were also extensive costs from a leather upholstery company for repairs and rebuilding of car seats. This secondary business Alan had run in his spare time was extremely well organised and detailed.
She noticed that some of the writing on the Post-it notes was different, and drumming her fingers on the side of the desk she made a mental note to get a sample of Mr Rawlins’s writing. She was certain that he was the other person. This would mean that he too was making a considerable amount of money on the side. Many of the purchases were cash and no tax or VAT documents surfaced. Had Mr Rawlins been up here in the room, concerned about it getting out just how much money he was being paid by partnering with his son in his little business?
Anna now opened the top drawer. This had more personal items, with piles of surfing locations and holiday brochures for Florida, the Bahamas, the Cayman Islands, Spain and Portugal, plus rentals in Newquay and numerous estate agency listings for properties in Cornwall. A few had red rings around them and all were in the vicinity of three to five hundred thousand pounds. She was unable to find anything that indicated that a purchase had been made. There was nothing that connected Alan to Tina’s flat or any mention of her. There were no bank statements; no cheque books and no credit-card statements, unless they had been removed.
Anna swivelled from side to side in the desk chair. She took off the hood from the computer. She knew it would have to be examined and hoped it would give more insight into Alan Rawlins. So far, all she had basically gained were details of the income from the sale of the cars, the gay pornographic magazines and DVDs. She was certain that their possible victim led a separate life from Tina. Anna had no indication that Tina was aware of it, but neither had she as yet discovered a motive for Alan’s murder, unless his girlfriend had found out that he led a double life. The question was obvious: was that sufficient motive to kill?
Chapter Eight
Errol Dante was enormous, at least six foot four, with dreadlocks down to his waist. He also had the most pungent body odour that permeated the prison’s small interview room. Errol had three gold teeth, and a gap between two of them that made him have a lisp. With his strong Jamaican accent it was very difficult to understand what he was saying.
Although it was not easy, Paul and Helen had established that he had lived in Cornwall for a period. He first denied ever being there or knowing Sammy Marsh, but when told that they knew he had shared a flat with Marsh, he did a swinging head move.
‘Oh yeah, fink it was ’im dat I know. I rented a caravan from ’im.’
‘Did you also know Alan Rawlins?’
‘No man, dunno ’im. I gotta work in da kitchen. I don’t need dis hassle. I’m helpin’ cook de grub here.’
The thought of th
is man cooking in the kitchen with the heat and his body odour was sickening to even contemplate.
Paul first showed him the photograph of Alan Rawlins. Errol kissed his teeth. ‘Na, I dunno him.’
They next showed him the photograph of the surfers, which led to a long ramble about when he worked at the Hotel Jolly in Antigua and he ran the water-skiing on the beach.
‘This was taken in Cornwall, Mr Dante.’
‘Look a lickle like Antigua to me, man.’
‘So are you saying you never met any of these men?’
‘I dunno. If dey was in Antigua maybe. I meet a lotta guys from da Carlisle Hotel; dey don’t have water-skiing or ski-boats der.’
‘You admit that you knew Sammy Marsh.’
‘I dunno ’im, man.’
‘You lived in his flat. We know you shared his flat in Cornwall – he was a photographer.’
‘Ohhh I dunno. I crash out maybe on his floor. He’s not a good guy, lemme tell you he’s not a good guy. I rented this shithole of a caravan.’
‘Why?’
‘ ’Cos I’m just tellin’ how it is. Stitch you up, man – know what I mean?’
‘We know he dealt drugs.’
Errol swung his dreadlocks again and shrugged his shoulders.
‘We know you were arrested on a drug-related incident, Mr Dante.’
He blew out his cheeks. ‘He informer, man. I was just smalltime, bit of hash here, lickle weed der. Him disrespeck me, man. Fockitup. Me no know ’im, right?’
Paul was immensely frustrated. He slapped the table with the flat of his hand. Then leaning forward, he shook his finger.
‘We know that you do know him – and let me tell you, Errol, we’re not here for a drug-related incident. We are here because we are investigating a murder.’
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