An Early Grave
Page 15
‘Most interesting thing is where all of it was filmed.’
‘I didn’t recognise anything of the house in Treadwater.’
Murray shook his head and smiled.
‘That staircase is in the house where those girls live. In Stanley Road. I recognised it straightaway.’
‘Find out who owns the house.’
CHAPTER 22
She couldn’t help feeling impressed by his efforts. For the first time she actually stood in open space in his living room; most of the papers and many of the box-files were gone. There was a place to sit on the tattered sofa, and the bizarre armchair of newspapers and magazines had been dismantled.
‘What did you do with all the paper?’
‘Out the back for now. I’m hoping it doesn’t rain before the council come to take it away.’ There was a positive lift in his mood, the kind that comes with achievement. He couldn’t help looking pleased with himself, and Tara was happy to give praise where it was due. ‘Come and see the kitchen.’ He led her through the dim hall into a tidy space, where she could now identify a cooker, a fridge and worktops free of clutter.
‘Wow, you’ve got rid of all those foil trays, and you’ve washed up.’
‘You haven’t mentioned my hair.’ He stood before her like a wife itching for praise from her husband. His hair did look better. Clean and trimmed, although it still reached his shoulders.
‘You look great,’ she said, then realised she sounded rather personal. ‘Did you buy some clothes?’
‘A couple of shirts and a pair of Chinos, like you said.’
‘Very good.’
‘And shoes.’
She smiled at his boyish responses.
‘Most importantly, did you have any luck making those appointments?’
‘Some of them. We’re seeing Charlotte on Sunday. Ollie couldn’t give me a definite yes, but told me to call him when we get to London. Anthony Egerton-Hyde, no chance.’
‘Thought as much. He is a government minister, I suppose. What about Georgina Maitland?’
‘Didn’t get to speak with her either, but I spoke to her PA. She took a note of my name and promised to pass it on to Georgina. She’ll be in her office on Friday, so I think we can turn up and assume that she’ll see us.’
‘Are you hopeful?’
‘I think Georgina, if she knows I’m sitting in her reception, will invite us in.’
‘And Justin Kingsley’s parents?’
‘Found Sir Edward’s address in chambers, but I think our visit to him should be a surprise. I don’t think he’ll be too happy meeting the likes of me.’
Delighted with his work, she felt for the first time that a degree of trust had been manufactured between them. If he didn’t trust her advice, he wouldn’t have carried out her list of instructions. Similarly, if she hadn’t begun to trust him she wouldn’t be travelling alone with him to London.
‘Right, I will leave you in peace to enjoy your new house. I’ll pick you up on Friday morning about seven.’
He nodded as a doubtful expression crept over his face.
‘It’s the only way, Callum, if you want justice for Tilly.’
‘You believe my story then?’ She replied with a nod of her own, despite the enormous doubts gnawing at her brain, knowing that when she returned to Liverpool she might not have a job and, if she was entirely wrong about Callum Armour, losing her job might well be the least of her worries.
Before leaving, she remembered one question she had been meaning to ask him.
‘Do you happen to know who owns the house where Audra was found?’
He shook his head.
‘No idea, why?’
‘You have a name written on a receipt from ASDA, Teodor Sokolowski. I found it in your box-file.’
‘Is he the owner?’
‘He is, but would you mind telling me why you have a note of his name?’
He responded with a barely perceptible shrug. In an instant that inkling of trust between them vanished.
‘Before we leave for London Callum, you have a serious think about things. I want to help you, I really do, but I know you’re playing a game with me. I don’t think you’re playing fair.’ She left him on the doorstep, marched to her car and roared off, the noise from the engine a signal to him that Tara was less than pleased.
*
His hopes for dry weather were dashed an hour after DI Grogan left him. A newspaper forecast described it as summer showers, but it was rain like any other rain. Right now it was turning his bundles of paper to a sodden mess. All he had done was to shift his squalor a few yards out of doors, but still it belonged to him. Still his mess. Of course, he didn’t dump all of it. No way. Letters from Tilly, cards from Charlotte, Jian, Ollie, Tilly’s parents and Georgina, he couldn’t bear to throw them out. They were his only link to the past, to the time when he had Tilly and Emily. Sipping hot tea from a chipped mug, he stood amongst it all smothering his bed and littering the floor. Tara would never know he’d kept most of it. Not her business anyway. He remained at his bedroom window as dusk quickly slipped to night, watching the figure out the back, standing in the downpour, a hooded anorak his only protection. Callum wondered what business he had to be standing there, lingering by the alley between two houses. Was he waiting for the pregnant girl, Debbie, or for someone at number six, where Audra had died? Periodically, the stranger lifted his head and seemed to look towards him, but Callum knew there was no chance of his being seen, not in the darkness of his room and the metal screen on the window.
By the time he’d finished his tea, he realised that filling his bedroom with more paper left him without a bed. From now on he would kip on the sofa. Probably safer downstairs, anyway. Before settling down for the night he checked once more on the figure out the back, by peering through the kitchen window. The rain hadn’t ceased, and the stranger was still there.
CHAPTER 23
Around the corner from Callum Armour’s house Tara pulled over, took her mobile from her bag, and sent a text to Kate, asking if she could call on her way home. Kate replied immediately with an invite to supper. Tara was eager to speak with her rather than Aisling, because she knew that Aisling would not take well what she had to say. Kate was more level-headed, less likely to flap under stress.
She shared a flat with Adam, a doctor currently assigned to A & E at the Royal. She was the only one of the three girls who had anything resembling a stable relationship. Aisling was unashamedly watching and waiting for Mr Handsome and drop-dead rich, test-driving a few prospects, while Tara hadn’t managed more than a handful of dates since leaving Oxford. The one relationship she’d had at university had put romantic notions out of her head for life. So said Aisling.
She turned her car into Canning Street in the south of the city and found a parking space thirty yards down from the cream-painted Georgian house, imaginatively transformed into four apartments. Canning Street was a pleasant area, popular with professional couples. Kate and Adam lived on the ground floor on the right hand side of the building. As Tara climbed the front steps she spied Kate looking out from the lounge window. The front door was open before Tara reached it.
‘I pulled some lasagne from the freezer; garlic bread’s in the oven. Do you want a drink?’
‘Water or juice is fine. I still have to drive home.’
‘So what’s all the biz, saying you needed to speak to me and without Aisling?’
The pair of them sat on stools either side of a breakfast bar, the entire lounge and kitchen of open-plan design, with bedrooms and bathroom down a narrow hall to the rear. The entire room echoed from wooden flooring and high ceilings, there being little fabric to absorb the noise. Certainly not the type of place to raise kids. An ultra-modern kitchen, and yet the room retained some original features such as the fireplace, the ceiling rose and sash windows.
Tara told Kate of her plans for the coming weekend. In doing so she had to fill her in with quite a few details of both cases: Callu
m’s search for the killer of his wife and daughter, and her own, professional objective to find the killer of Audra Bagdonas. Unlike Aisling, who would have interrupted Tara at each and every sentence, Kate listened and allowed her to finish the story.
‘I needed to tell someone, Kate. I can’t discuss it at work. I could be kicked off the force for doing this.’ Neither of them had so far eaten a bite of food.
‘Oh, Tara, why do you always get yourself so emotionally involved in these things?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Yes you do. Same thing happened last year on that suicide case you talked about.’
‘Callum needs my help and, besides, he knows more about the murder of Audra than he’s told me so far. I’m determined to get the truth out of him.’
‘Seems to me that you can’t trust him, and now you’re running off to London together.’
‘I know. I’m ninety-nine per cent sure he’s an honest man, but I’m telling you just in case.’
‘Just in case what?’
‘In case you don’t hear from me. I’ll leave you the details of where I’m going and who I’m going to meet. I’ll text you twice a day. If anything happens, and you don’t hear from me, you pass the information to my Superintendent.’
Kate, just off her shift at the hospital and with no plans for going out, wearing no makeup, the orange in her hair fading, paled at what Tara had to say.
‘We have to tell Aisling; she’ll go ballistic if she finds out where you’ve gone and we haven’t told her.’
‘No, Kate. She’ll insist on going with me.’
‘Not such a bad idea. Maybe I should come too?’
Tara laughed nervously, for a second unsure whether her friend was serious.
‘Please, Kate. I’ll be fine. Telling you about it is only an insurance policy. Nothing bad is going to happen.’
‘We still have to tell Aisling. We were supposed to go out on Saturday, remember?’
Tara’s face was blank.
‘Shopping? Aisling was going to kit you out in labels.’
‘There you are. I’m already gaining from going away.’
CHAPTER 24
He looked a man transformed as he strode down the path to her car. He was wearing a light blue shirt, navy Chinos and brown casual shoes; he walked upright, shoulders looking broader, his dark clean hair flapping in the wind. No doubt that he was a very handsome guy. Smiling, but nervous with it, he placed a rather battered holdall in the boot then got into the front seat. She also felt a little nervy, like two people on their first real date, following the preliminary meeting, already aware of some of the things they liked and some of the things they found uncomfortable about their new friend. Tara was first to break an awkward silence as she drove out of the estate heading for the motorway.
‘If you haven’t eaten already we can have breakfast on the way.’
He seemed receptive to the idea but replied merely with a slight nod. She tried again.
‘I brought your files with me. There are some things I want to discuss on the journey.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Well, for starters, the questions you’re going to ask the people we’re meeting.’
‘Some of these people were my friends once. I know what to say.’
‘It’s not a social visit, Callum. Someone among them may know the whereabouts of Justin Kingsley, or at least they may be able to explain why he disappeared. Your theory that Justin is a murderer is still only a theory. One of your friends may hold the answer whether or not they are actually aware of it. We have to ask the right questions. I’m the police officer, but remember, on this trip, I am merely a friend. You have to do most of the talking.’
She allowed him to ponder her instructions as she made it through the melee of rush hour traffic to the M62. Even at this point she still harboured grave doubts about this man, and she blamed that entirely on him. He was holding a lot back, and not only regarding the killing of Audra Bagdonas. She had long realised that he considered Audra’s murder to be his bargaining chip. But there was a lot he hadn’t told her about the deaths of his wife and friends. There had to be. He pointed a finger continually at Justin Kingsley, but she couldn’t yet accept that he was responsible simply because he had disappeared years before. Callum blamed a man who was not in a position to defend himself.
They ate breakfast at Knutsford service area on the M6; the conversation a little stinted which meant they ate quickly. Tara decided not to push her plans with Callum on this early part of the day. A blazing row would only see them turning round at the next junction. She thought it best to give him some space for a while, difficult enough when they had to sit next to each other in the car. Soon though, she would start handing out the orders.
She treated him to coffee and muffins when they reached services on the M1. When they returned to her car it seem as though a switch had flicked on in her head. Tara had prepared well for this investigation, and she was damn sure that Callum would not shirk his side of the deal. She worked him hard all the way, going over questions for him to ask the people on her list, and playing out scenarios for when things got awkward. She insisted that he use her mobile to finalise appointments and to use the internet to check addresses and get directions. He protested at first, but at each of his protestations she had only to remind him why he was doing it in the first place. The number one objective from their quest, she told him, was to get justice for Tilly and Emily. So far she had not resorted to threats of returning home before they’d even started. By the time they reached the M25 Callum had fallen into line, recognising that she was the boss, and that he had a long way to go before she would consider him a worthy assistant.
By one-thirty, having parked at Heathrow and taken the tube, they reached Chancery Lane, where they entered a plane grey-stone building, the chambers of Emmett and Company. Callum explained to the receptionist that they wished to speak with Sir Edward Kingsley QC.
‘I’m afraid that is quite impossible without an appointment,’ said a pleasantly attractive woman in her forties.
‘This is a personal matter regarding Sir Edward’s son,’ said Callum. The ash-blonde paused briefly, took a note of their names, asked Callum to wait then made a call.
Five minutes later, Daniel Jacobsen, a middle-aged man in a dark suit, white shirt and bold striped tie, emerged from a door behind the reception desk to greet them. Stocky rather than tall he had a thick neck, shaved head and prominent nose. He told them in a polite but quite stern manner that a meeting with Sir Edward Kingsley was out of the question. Looking them up and down, he didn’t seem impressed. Callum, despite his new clothing and clean face still looked washed out, while Tara wore a slim fitting dress in navy with a cream bodice, a navy jacket, navy tights and three-inch heels. She’d brushed her hair with a centre parting, but still barely looked beyond the age of consent never mind whatever age one might consider a female detective inspector to be. Jacobsen seemed surprised, shocked even, when Tara addressed him.
‘Mr Jacobsen we have travelled quite some distance to speak with Sir Edward regarding the disappearance of his son Justin.’
‘Miss Grogan you have both told me your names, but that is all I know about you. Sir Edward is due in court this afternoon. At present he is extremely busy, and I will not disturb him without good reason.’
‘I’m a friend of his son Justin. I need to speak with Mr Kingsley.’
The eyebrow of the clerk was definitely elevated by Callum referring to his boss as Mr Kingsley. Tara admired Callum for at least trying, but they were getting nowhere with Jacobsen. So much for keeping her professional role out of things.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Tara Grogan, Merseyside Police.’ She offered Jacobsen her warrant card. Taking it from her, he examined it closely, and a weak smile broke on his lips. Tara continued. ‘We need to speak with Sir Edward in relation to his son’s disappearance.’
‘You’re a long way from Liverpool, Inspector.’
He seemed bemused by Tara’s persistence, entertained perhaps by this slight, pretty girl, with an authoritative manner.
‘Very well. I’ll see what I can do. Please take a seat.’
They waited another five minutes until a young female clerk, long fair hair, dark-framed glasses and clicking heels escorted them to the first floor of the chambers. The narrow hallways were congested in places with clerks and barristers coming and going, many headed to afternoon sessions at court. Tara and Callum didn’t make it as far as any office that might have belonged to Sir Edward Kingsley. Instead, the tall silver-haired QC stood in a cluttered outer office with Daniel Jacobsen at his side. Kingsley had a long wrinkled face, looked around sixty-five although his true age was only fifty-eight. His eyes were a weak shade of blue, but they glared at the two people standing before him.
‘What is this about?’ He asked without pleasantness, dispensing with introductions and handshakes. Having revealed her identity as a police officer, Tara now took the lead.
‘This is Callum Armour, Sir Edward. He was a friend of your son Justin when they were at Oxford.’ Kingsley remained impassive. ‘We were wondering if you have seen your son recently or perhaps know of his whereabouts?’
He glared at the senior clerk, Jacobsen.
‘No. I have not. And I am wondering, Inspector, what relevance that has for the Merseyside Police?’
Tara could see the end of her career screaming down from above. Totally naïve to have thought this would be easy. Then Callum jumped in.
‘My wife and daughter were killed three years ago, Mr Kingsley. Two friends from Oxford have been murdered recently. All of them were friends of Justin.’
‘And?’
Tara took over, knowing already they would get nothing from this man.
‘We believe these deaths may be connected with your son’s disappearance.’
Kingsley cut her off.
‘Are you suggesting that my son is responsible for these deaths?’ Tara let that one hang for a moment.