The Honeytrap: Part 4

by Roberta Kray

  ‘Well, I suspect it would be more useful – and save us all a vast amount of time – if you stuck to the point. My client is a busy man. We’d like to get out of here as soon as possible.’

  Joshua Keynes smirked.

  Valerie let him revel in his self-satisfaction for a moment before bursting his bubble. ‘Any detail can be important when someone goes missing. I’m sure you both appreciate that.’

  Keynes’s face fell and twisted. ‘Missing? No one said anything about someone being missing.’ He turned to look at Matthews. ‘I was told I was going to be interviewed about an incident that took place at Wilder’s.’

  DS Swann inclined his head and stared at the suspect. ‘And that’s exactly what we’re doing, Mr Keynes. We’re investigating an incident that led to the disappearance of Sylvie Durand.’

  Suddenly Keynes didn’t look quite so cocksure. He seemed to deflate a little, a flush of red invading his cheeks. ‘What?’

  Swann lifted his eyebrows. ‘So if there’s anything you’d like to share with us?’

  ‘What do you mean – disappearance?’

  Valerie took over again, her voice brisk and business-like. ‘So getting back to the night in question. What time did you leave the bar?’

  ‘I don’t know. Eight-thirty, a quarter to nine? I’d already decided I wasn’t interested in the film and wasn’t going to invest. There was no point in hanging around.’

  ‘So you left?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Valerie gave him a long hard look. ‘Are you sure about that, Mr Keynes? Maybe you’d like a moment to think about it.’

  Keynes shifted in his seat. He ran his tongue over his drying lips. ‘I’m sure.’

  Valerie flipped open a file, took out a plastic bag containing a mobile and slid it across the table. ‘Have you ever seen this phone before?’

  Keynes gazed down at the basic Nokia and pulled a face. ‘It’s not mine. I’ve got an iPhone.’

  ‘That isn’t what I asked.’

  ‘No, I’ve never seen it before.’

  ‘What car were you driving on Saturday night?’

  ‘My girlfriend’s. I use it sometimes.’

  Valerie consulted her notes again. ‘And that would be a white Toyota Yaris?’ She waited for him to say yes before reeling off the registration number. ‘Is that the car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Valerie left a short silence before dropping the bombshell. ‘Would you mind telling us why Sylvie Durand’s phone was found under the passenger seat?’

  Keynes went white. ‘What?’

  ‘We’re just wondering how it happened to end up there. Your girlfriend claims to know nothing about it.’

  ‘You’ve talked to Sarah?’

  Valerie gave a sigh. ‘Look, Mr Keynes, we know you left Wilder’s with Sylvie. You were seen leaving together.’

  For a second Keynes looked as though he was going to continue to deny it; his gaze flicked towards the phone, made a quick tour of the room and then returned to Valerie. He hunched forward, putting his elbows on the table and rubbing at his face. ‘It’s not like … it wasn’t … God, I was just doing her a favour. I had nothing to do with her disappearance.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Keynes took a deep breath and cleared his throat before continuing. ‘She asked me if I knew where she could pick up a cab. She seemed flustered, worried about something. I asked her what was wrong and she said that her ex-boyfriend had turned up and that he was trouble. She wanted to get away as quickly as she could. I felt sorry for her and so I offered her a lift. It was no big deal – I was going anyway. We agreed to meet by the toilets so he wouldn’t realise she was leaving.’

  Valerie was watching him closely, noting every change in his facial expression, every nuance and tic. ‘So why deny it?’

  ‘Why do you think? I know what you lot are like. You’re looking for someone to pin the blame on. But I didn’t do anything. I swear. I didn’t lay a finger on her.’

  Valerie ignored the outburst. ‘Which way did you leave?’

  ‘Through the fire exit. We went through the back yard.’

  ‘Where was your car parked?’

  ‘Outside a pub. It was just round the corner. I think it was called the Fox.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So you walked round to the Fox. What happened next?’

  Keynes lifted his upper lip in the semblance of a snarl. ‘Nothing happened,’ he snapped. ‘I drove her to Chalk Farm and dropped her off at the Tube station.’

  ‘Why Chalk Farm?’

  ‘She said she had a friend there. She didn’t want to go home because she thought the ex might show up.’

  ‘And this friend – was it a boyfriend, girlfriend?’

  ‘She didn’t specify.’

  ‘And what did you talk about on the journey?’

  Keynes glared at her. ‘I don’t remember – the usual chit-chat, nothing in particular.’

  ‘You didn’t ask if she’d like to go for a drink or something to eat?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure?’

  The solicitor jumped in again. ‘My client said no, Inspector. Is there anything about that answer you don’t understand?’

  ‘I’m just trying to establish the facts, Mr Matthews.’

  ‘Then let’s stick to the facts, shall we?’

  Valerie rolled her eyes – she’d met a thousand smart-ass solicitors before and knew all their ploys and tactics – before addressing Keynes again. ‘Did she make any phone calls while she was in the car?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And after you’d dropped off Ms Durand, did you notice where she went next?’

  ‘Not really. She just started walking down the road, Adelaide Road.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What did you do next? Did you go straight home?’

  That hesitation came again from Keynes, those quick glances around the room as his brain ticked over and he tried to figure out what lies he might be able to get away with. ‘No, I fancied a drive. I just drove around for a while.’

  Valerie knew, from Mac’s statement, that he hadn’t got home until after midnight. Jessica Vaughan had seen him turn up in a cab. ‘A while?’

  ‘An hour or two.’

  ‘Where did you drive to?’

  ‘Just around. Hampstead, Highgate.’ Keynes attempted an ingratiating smile. ‘To be honest, Inspector, my girlfriend wasn’t in the best of moods so I thought it might be wise to stay out of her way for a while.’

  ‘And you didn’t stop off anywhere?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  Keynes gave an involuntary twitch of his mouth. ‘Absolutely.’

  Valerie knew he was lying. Even without Mac’s evidence, she would have been able to tell from the man’s shifty expression and his defensive body language. He was tense and anxious and had started to sweat. A thin film of perspiration shone on his forehead. ‘So you didn’t go to Swiss Cottage, to a block of flats called Queen Elizabeth Court?’

  Keynes briefly closed his eyes. ‘Where?’ he asked weakly.

  ‘It’s time to tell the truth,’ Valerie said. ‘Before my patience runs out.’

  Keynes turned to his solicitor, his face full of panic. ‘I need to talk to you. In private. I need to talk to you now.’

  22

  Jess had been parked outside Queen Elizabeth Court for two hours and there was still no sign of Harry. She must have rung ten times but his phone was turned off and all her calls were being diverted straight to voicemail. ‘For Christ’s sake,’ she muttered, hearing the same message again. She jabbed at the button to disconnect the call and dropped the phone on to her lap. What was going on? What was he playing at? He’d promised to join her here, but hadn’t bothered to show up.

  Jess had tried calling the office but there was no reply and as she didn’t
have the private numbers for Mac or Lorna that wasn’t an option either. She had no idea how it had gone down at the station. Her gaze flicked up towards the windows of the flats again. Twenty minutes ago the lights had gone out in number 3, but they were still on in number 4. She was parked across the road in almost the same spot she’d been in this afternoon and no one had entered or left the block since she arrived.

  With no sign of Harry or the police, Jess was tempted to cross the road and ring the bell. Someone had to do something. God alone knew what was going on inside. The thought of what might be happening to Sylvie made her feel frustrated and helpless. There was no doubt in her mind that the girl had been sending out a plea for help when she’d made that seemingly innocuous call to Lorna.

  Jess sighed, yawned and glanced at her watch again. It was almost half past eleven. At this rate she could be here all night. She tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel, her fingers dancing with impatience. Harry’s absence was more than annoying; it was downright unforgivable. He’d let her down – and Sylvie too. She had a sneaking suspicion that he was off chasing after Ellen Shaw again. When would he ever learn? That woman only ever brought trouble to his doorstep.

  It was another quarter of an hour before a squad car arrived and swept on to the forecourt of the flats. ‘At last!’ Jess said. She was instantly alert, every nerve end tingling with fear and anticipation. She watched as the three uniformed officers got out, went to the front door and rang the bell. Seconds later they were inside and climbing up the stairs. Her heart began to thump in her chest. Was this it? Would they find Sylvie inside and bring her down? ‘Please God,’ she prayed. ‘Let her be okay.’

  Jess got out of the car and crossed the road. She waited by the front door, tense and anxious. She bit down on her lower lip, raked her fingers through her hair and hopped impatiently from one foot to the other. Each minute that passed felt like an eternity. ‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered.

  And then, finally, she got what she wished for. A bright light went on in the stairwell and the officers reappeared, accompanied by a young blonde woman. For a moment Jess thought it was Sylvie. ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed. But her joy was short-lived. As the four of them reached the foyer, she realised she’d been mistaken. The girl was slim and fair-haired but she wasn’t Sylvie Durand.

  Jess stared as the stranger came out of the door, disappointment sweeping over her. She peered around the officers in the vain hope that Sylvie might be following behind but there was no one there. As the girl was led towards the squad car – no handcuffs, she noticed – Jess was unable to contain herself. ‘Where’s Sylvie?’ she demanded loudly. ‘What have you done with her?’

  The blonde turned and stared, her eyes widening with what could have been surprise or alarm. ‘Who?’

  ‘You won’t get away with it. Where is she? Tell me!’

  One of the officers, an older man with a crew cut, stepped directly in front of Jess as if she might be about to launch a physical attack. He raised his hands in a calming kind of gesture. ‘Okay, okay, what’s going on here?’

  Jess tried to rein in her anger. She took a couple of deep breaths before she spoke again.

  ‘Hi, yes, sorry. I’m Jessica Vaughan. I’m working with Mackenzie, Lind. We’ve been searching for Sylvie Durand. We thought … Wasn’t there any sign of her in the flat? There must have been. Did you search it? Did you search it properly?’

  The policeman took her elbow and gently propelled her away from the blonde. ‘Let’s talk over here, shall we?’

  They walked a few yards to the side of the flats where four black wheelie bins were lined up like sentries. ‘I’m sorry,’ Jess said again, deciding that a show of contrition was probably in order if she was going to get any useful information. ‘I didn’t mean to … We’re just really worried. She’s been missing since Saturday and … Well, you already know all this. I was certain she was here.’

  ‘She isn’t,’ he said. ‘I can assure you of that. But we’ll be talking to Ms Riggs down at the station. If she can provide us with any more information, we’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thank you. We’d appreciate that.’ Jess glanced over at the squad car. The blonde was now safely ensconced in the back, chatting away to the two other officers. She didn’t look especially worried, but maybe she was the cool type.

  The cop gave Jess a nod. ‘Probably best to get off home and leave it to us, yeah?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll do that.’

  ‘You lot must have enough on your minds without all this.’

  ‘Us lot?’

  ‘Mackenzie, Lind. I heard about your boss.’

  Jess didn’t correct him as regards her employment status. If she’d been honest about being a journalist, he wouldn’t have told her anything. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Harry Lind.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Don’t you know? He’s down at Cowan Road. He’s been arrested for murder.’

  Jess’s mouth fell open.

  23

  Harry Lind had that déjà vu feeling. It was only six months since he’d last been in the frame for murder and now it was happening again. Of course he’d known, even as the two cops walked towards him, that being caught in possession of a gun wasn’t going to look good. He’d done the best he could, feigning a nonchalance that probably wouldn’t have fooled a five-year-old. He’d even pretended to be pleased to see them.

  ‘Ah, you’ve saved me a journey. I was just on my way to the station. I have something for you.’ And he had smiled, proffering the carrier bag like a birthday gift.

  Needless to say, his explanation had gone down like a lead balloon. Back at Cowan Road, DI Judith Cobb had actually winced as he’d claimed that the revolver had been pushed through the door of Mackenzie, Lind.

  ‘And why would anyone do that?’

  Harry had shrugged. ‘I presume someone wanted to get rid of it.’

  So as not to implicate Mac or Jess, he’d said that the gun must have been posted at some time between them leaving and his own departure at around nine-thirty.

  ‘And you didn’t think to call the police?’

  ‘I couldn’t see the point. I was coming down to Cowan Road anyway. Mac – my business partner – was here. He was filing a report about a missing employee.’

  ‘Sylvie Durand.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Let’s talk some more about Caroline Westwood.’

  ‘I’ve already told you everything.’

  DI Cobb had pursed her lips as if Harry’s connection to these two women and their subsequent fate – one missing, one murdered – had to be more than a coincidence. She had already passed judgement and now she was trying to gather the necessary evidence.

  Harry lay back on the hard bunk and gazed at the ceiling. The cells hadn’t got any more comfortable since his last stay. He thought about the interview that had gone on for hours as DI Cobb probed ever deeper. It had been clear from the questions she was asking that she’d already taken statements from the barman and the receptionist at the Lumière.

  He mulled this over. The barman, Denis, had witnessed his exchange with Caroline – nothing more than flirtatious banter – and the later knockback. Harry had been resigned rather than angry and hadn’t said anything he regretted now. But had Denis seen things in a different light? He’d got the impression from Cobb that this could well be the case. The redhead on the desk might have stuck the knife in too. What was her name? Kim? He remembered her suspicious eyes and the way she’d looked at him. Her verdict on his odd behaviour would probably be damning.

  Harry had been a cop for long enough to know that, whatever had been said, something more solid would be needed if a charge of murder was to be brought. By now the gun would have been sent off to Forensics and the bullets would be compared to the one that had killed Caroline Westwood. The results would come back negative, of that at least he was certain.

  There was no way this could be the same gun. Which wasn’t to sa
y that it hadn’t been used in some other crime, but they wouldn’t be able to pin that on him.

  His thoughts returned, inevitably, to Ellen Shaw. Why was he so determined to protect her, doing his Sir bloody Lancelot impersonation when only hours ago she’d been standing in his flat, pointing that gun straight at his chest? She had a hold over him that he couldn’t explain. Earlier, when the cops turned up on his doorstep, he’d made an immediate and irrevocable decision to keep her out of it. Why was that? It was easier, perhaps, for him to claim he felt sorry for her than to admit the real depth of his feelings.

  There was a dim light on in the cell. He put his hands behind his head and studied the web of cracks that criss-crossed over the plaster ceiling. Some things were beyond reason, beyond logic. Tomorrow, after they had let him go, he would resume his search. She was out there somewhere and he was going to find her.

  24

  As Jess entered the offices of Mackenzie, Lind she could feel the tightness in the air, the fraught, strained atmosphere. Mac had gathered the entire staff, including the part-timers, and they were all on the phone or sifting through paperwork. It was like a full-on military operation. The information about Harry being arrested had come as a shock – she hadn’t known about the Westwood case – but it was nothing compared to the news that he was on the brink of being charged.

  Mac beckoned her into his office and closed the door behind them. ‘It’s the gun,’ he said without any preamble. ‘Turns out it was the one used to kill Caroline Westwood.’

  ‘Yes, Lorna told me.’ However, the phone call had been brief and she was still in the dark about most of the details. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘We need to find out where it came from. Who it came from. Did you see anyone hanging around when you left last night?’

  Jess thought about it for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think so. I was only a couple of minutes behind you. Harry said he had something to do, that he’d catch up with me. What does he say about it?’

  ‘That it was shoved through the door in a carrier bag. That he was on his way to Cowan Road when the boys in blue turned up.’