18
The press release had generated a higher number of responses than Becky had been expecting, but most of them were a waste of time with lots of people phoning to say that a woman with three children had turned up in their street or town. Of course, when questioned in any detail, the children were the wrong ages or ethnicity but it was going to be pretty difficult for this particular family grouping to go unnoticed for long, and it might still prove to be a valuable line of enquiry. Eventually.
If only somebody had a photograph of these children. They hadn’t had much luck tracking down pictures from children’s parties, and until school was back on Monday it was proving to be a bit of a thankless task. The best they had at the moment was Billy doing a handstand against a wall and pulling a silly face.
In spite of all the problems, Becky was delighted to be running this investigation. It felt like a great opportunity for her to win the respect of the team, and she was determined not to fail. Telling Tom about Peter had been difficult, but the right thing to do. She wanted him to hear it from her perspective, and not pick up gossip from any of her ex-colleagues and senior officers at some national meeting or other. The pain of it all was starting to fade, and she was beginning to replace the feeling of desolation and self-loathing with one of relief.
Their affair had felt so wonderful at the time, but when Tom had mentioned the fact that she might have ended up with Peter for life, she had actually felt rather queasy at the thought. He would inevitably have fallen off his pedestal, and then what would she really have thought about him? When he ceased to be the powerful, sexy figure that prowled the corridors of the Met and became the person who left his underpants on the bathroom floor and fell asleep every night watching the news with his mouth open, was there enough in their relationship for it to last?
Glad to have something better to think about, she dragged her mind back to the here and now. The case was her focus.
She heard a subtle cough and looked up to see one of the young PCs standing by her desk. She had no idea how long he’d been there.
‘Sorry, Nic. I was miles away. Trying to get inside Olivia Brookes’ head. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s about the passports, ma’am. Mr Brookes said they – that’s his wife and children – don’t have any, but we decided to check anyway. He was lying. Both Mrs Brookes and Jasmine have passports, both acquired in the last eighteen months. There’s nothing for the younger children, though. I thought you’d like to know.’
Becky frowned. Was Robert lying, or did he know nothing about these passports? And if Olivia had gone abroad, what about the other two children? She bit her bottom lip in concentration.
Noticing that Nic was still standing in front of her, she looked up.
‘Something else?’
Nic nodded, an enthusiastic smile on his young face. She was beginning to wonder if she had finally reached the age when policemen look as if they should still be in short trousers. This one definitely did.
‘We’ve had some feedback from the house-to-house. Mostly dull and uninteresting, but the lady who lives opposite had plenty to say on the subject. There are two items that might be relevant. First of all, she swears Robert Brookes came home in the early hours of Thursday morning. She says it was at about two o’clock. According to her, something must have knocked the Brookes’ security lights askew, because in the last couple of weeks she’s been woken a few times by the full beam shining into her bedroom instead of on to their garden. The first time it happened, it was a fox. But on Wednesday night – or rather Thursday morning – it was definitely Robert Brookes’ car. The car’s fairly distinctive, and she says he left it on the drive and went into the house. She was just going to sleep when the light came on again, but she ignored it that time. When it went off for a third time, though, she got up again to see what on earth was going on – just in time to see Mr Brookes driving his car into the garage. It happened again last night when he went on his little jaunt to Anglesey, but we know about that.’
Becky made a note on her pad. This was very odd. Robert had been adamant that he hadn’t left the hotel in Newcastle. Originally they had been interested in his movements during the first week – the week that it was claimed he had visited his wife in Anglesey. But now it was the second week that Nic was talking about, and this put a new spin on things. They would have to look again. It would be better to check if his car left the car park on Wednesday night before accusing him of anything, though. That CCTV footage had to be a priority.
‘Go on, Nic. What else was there?’
‘It appears Mrs Preston is a nosey old soul. The week before, when Mrs Brookes was in Anglesey, Mrs Preston had gone round the side of the Brookes’ garage. There’s a narrow path there that she pointed out to us. She said she was putting the Brookes’ dustbin back. It had been by the gate since Friday night; presumably Mrs Brookes had put it there for collection while she was away, and Mrs Preston said it was making the road look shabby. Anyway, there’s a small window in the side of the garage, and she looked in. The car – the little Beetle Mrs Brookes has – was there. Mrs Preston had seen no signs of life in the house for the previous few days, so she knocked on the door and nobody answered. She said she checked the garage every day after that, and the car never moved. When she looked on Thursday morning, she expected to see Robert Brookes’ car there too – but it had gone.’
Becky steepled her fingers and rested her chin. ‘Do you know if the bin was left out for collection this week?’
‘No. Mrs Preston says she didn’t see it, but it doesn’t mean much because she was out all Tuesday morning, so Mrs Brookes could have wheeled it out and back herself.’
‘Okay, that’s good work. Tell me what you make of it, Nic?’ Becky had her own ideas, but she was from the Tom Douglas school of thought: no such thing as a bad idea.
‘Well, ma’am, if Mrs Brookes was in Anglesey for the first week, how did she get there without her car?’
19
The annoying sound of his phone vibrating on the desk jolted Tom out of his meandering thoughts. He was struggling to find any direction to follow in this case. But his irritation evaporated when he saw who was calling.
Leo.
‘Hi Leo. Did you see I phoned you earlier?’
‘I did, but that’s not why I’m calling,’ she replied, her quiet voice and matter-of-fact tone making it clear this was not the call of a woman to her lover. ‘At least, it’s not the only reason.’
Of course not. That would make her appear too available. Tom smiled and waited for her to speak.
‘I’ve got some bad news for you, I’m afraid.’ Tom leaned forwards and rested his elbows on the desk. If Leo said it was bad news, then it wouldn’t be anything trivial.
‘It seems somebody broke into your cottage last night,’ she continued, her tone softening. ‘I’m sorry, Tom. I’m sure you need this like a hole in the head. Anyway, according to Ellie and Max, the alarm didn’t go off. They would have heard it for sure, because they always sleep with the windows open. They were going out somewhere about half an hour ago, and as they drove past your place they noticed one of your windows seemed to be open, and there were bits of paper and other debris flying around. So they went to take a look.’
Ellie was Leo’s sister and she lived next door to Tom’s weekend cottage in Cheshire. She and her husband Max kindly kept an eye on the place while Tom was in Manchester – which seemed to be most of the time these days.
Leo hadn’t finished.
‘They’ve called the local police, and your old mate Steve has just arrived. He probably decided to make it his business when he heard whose house it was. Ellie and Max are still there, but they weren’t sure if it was okay to call about a personal matter while you’re working, so thought they should ask me first. I offered to pass on the news.’
Leo was right. This was all Tom needed. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly valuable in the house. There were a couple of paintings
that his brother had bought as investments, but as far as he was aware nobody knew he had them and he was sure most people wouldn’t know by looking at them that they were worth anything.
‘What did they take, Leo. Has Max had a chance to have a look?’
‘Well, that’s the thing really. He said nothing seems to be missing – at least, from a cursory glance around the place. He would have expected them to take some of the more portable stuff, like your fancy iPod player, or some of your more techie bits and pieces from the study. But although it’s clear that they were in there – there are papers strewn everywhere – they’ve ignored all the obvious things.’
‘And the alarm didn’t go off?’
‘So Ellie and Max said. And they would definitely have heard it. I know you set it when you left, because I was with you. Max told me he hasn’t been in since then. He’s just done what he calls his external patrol to check there’s no sign of any problems.’
‘I can’t believe the alarm is faulty – it’s brand new. And I didn’t choose a cowboy firm to fit it, either.’
‘Max wondered if you took files about some of your cases home, and perhaps that was what they were after as it seems they were only interested in your papers.’
That didn’t make sense to Tom.
‘On the odd occasion that I take files home, I always bring them back the next day. I sometimes make my own notes, but nothing that would be any use to anybody else.’ He paused to consider what to do. ‘Listen, Leo – it’s a bit manic here today. Could you do me a favour and phone Max back and just ask if he wouldn’t mind securing the house? I’ll have a word with Steve about the alarm to see if his guys know why it didn’t go off, but I’m not going to be able to get down there until this case is a bit clearer.’
‘No problem. Consider it done. Bye for now,’ Leo responded.
‘Wait a minute, Leo.’ Tom could have kicked himself. Why did he always make all the running? ‘I called earlier to say it was likely to be a late one tonight, but if you don’t mind shopping for some ingredients, I’ll happily come round and cook us both a late supper. What do you think?’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Leo said in exactly the same tone of voice as she had used to discuss the break-in. Tom would have loved to hear a note of pleasure, but at least she hadn’t sounded bored by the idea. ‘Send me a list and I’ll see you when I see you.’
‘Okay, I’ll text it to you when I’ve got a minute. See you later.’
Tom hung up, his mind doing somersaults as it switched between Olivia Brookes, the break-in at his cottage and Leonora Harris.
*
Although he had more important things to worry about, Tom knew he wouldn’t be able to focus until he had spoken to his friend Steve Corby, an inspector in the Cheshire police, to get his take on what had happened at the cottage. They had a brief conversation after he ended the call to Leo, and it seemed the intruders knew what they were doing. They got in by removing a pane of glass from the study window so it didn’t trigger the contacts, and they had managed to disable the alarm once they were inside. The only reason papers had been strewn everywhere was because they didn’t replace the glass and it had been blowing a bit of a gale in Cheshire the night before.
Thankfully, Max had taken on the task of getting the place secured, and Tom would have to try to get down there as soon as he got a day off. Perhaps he could persuade Leo to go with him. It would at least give her an opportunity to see her sister.
He had no idea what burglars could be looking for in his house. Perversely, he felt more unsettled by that than he would have been if anything of value had been taken. But there was nothing else he could do for the moment, and he was relieved to switch his mind back to somebody else’s problems.
He pushed open the door to the incident room and cast his eyes around. Everybody seemed to be occupied, and Becky was busy chatting to one of the young PCs. She was looking serious, so perhaps they had caught a break.
‘What’s up, Becky? Have we got something?’
She frowned and gave a slight nod, walking towards her desk. Tom kept pace.
‘It’s probably nothing, but Mrs Evans just called from Anglesey and left a message. The local guys gave her my number. She’d like to speak to somebody in charge, preferably a lady policeperson – her words, apparently.’
‘Maybe she’s just remembered something. Why the worried look?’ Tom asked.
‘Nic took the call and he said she sounded as if she was crying. She was really distressed. I’m not worried. I’m just wondering what on earth would make her cry. I guess I’d better find out.’
Becky sat down at her desk and consulted the message that Nic had given her. She picked up her phone and dialled. Tom took the seat opposite and listened to what Becky was saying, but it wasn’t very enlightening.
‘There’s no need to get upset, Mrs Evans. I’m sure you haven’t done anything wrong at all. No, really – it’s fine. Just tell me what happened and what was said.’
Becky’s side of the conversation was peppered with long pauses, but after a couple of minutes she looked up at Tom with wide open eyes.
‘You’ve done really well, Mrs Evans. Thank you for telling us, and don’t worry about a thing. Do you have a copy of the photograph?’
Photograph? Could they finally be in luck and have a picture of these children?
‘Can you let me have the name of the person who sent it to you, then – and contact details if possible. That would be a huge help. Yes, I’ve got a pen. And something to write on.’ Becky looked at Tom and shook her head with a small smile. ‘Yes, I’ve got that, Mrs Evans. Don’t worry. No, you don’t need to repeat it. And if I’ve got any questions, I’ll call you back. Thank you, and please don’t upset yourself any more. You’ve done the right thing.’
Becky hung up, and Tom looked at her expectantly.
‘Just give me two minutes to brief somebody, and I’ll be with you,’ Becky said, pushing her seat back. ‘I need to pay Mr Brookes another visit. If you’re coming, I’ll tell you on the way.’ Becky walked quickly over to Ryan, who appeared to be the only person not on the phone, passed him the note and gave him some rapid instructions that Tom couldn’t hear.
‘Ready?’ she asked, picking up her bag and keys. Her movements were brisk and purposeful, and there was a determination about her that hadn’t been there before.
‘Ready,’ replied Tom. Whatever Mrs Evans had told Becky, her eyes were glinting with anger.
20
Becky had clearly decided she was driving, and marched towards her car without giving Tom a chance to express an opinion. He couldn’t avoid getting in her car forever though, and at least the roads were marginally less chaotic than the London streets in which he had first experienced her rather manic style of driving. As she drove, Becky repeated everything Mrs Evans had told her, punctuating each indignant comment by swerving round another car or slamming her foot hard on the brakes as she realised she was about to have a head-on collision with a vehicle coming the opposite way.
‘So, what do you think?’ she asked, when she had completed the story, totally unperturbed by the number of near misses.
Hanging on to the grab handle in an effort to maintain his balance, Tom hoped he had managed to absorb the key points.
‘Apart from the fact that Brookes is a bastard, I think it sounds highly suspicious. How do you want to play this?’
Becky chewed her bottom lip. ‘Well, I’m happy to question him, but actually I think he sees you as more of a threat than me. I’ve seen the way he looks at you – he doesn’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m just a dumb woman, unworthy of his concern. If you’re up for it, I think you should question him. I’ll watch and listen – see if there’s anything I can pick up on.’
Tom had been hoping she would say that, but didn’t want to bamboozle her. There was no time to discuss it further, though, as he realised with some relief that they had arrived at their destination. The car skidded to a standst
ill at the bottom of the Brookes’ drive.
‘I don’t think we should muddy the water with the information about the laptops or the passports just yet,’ Becky said. ‘I want to get a clear reaction from him when we tell him what Mrs Evans said to me.’
Tom nodded his agreement as they walked from the car to the top of the drive. There was a sudden grating sound of metal scraping on something solid.
‘Christ – that noise went right through me. What the hell is it?’ Becky said, screwing up her face.
‘Sounds like the neighbour’s not quite got the measure of that digger he’s driving,’ Tom answered with a smile. No doubt the guy thought he could save money by doing a job himself that would be best left to the experts. A loud expletive came from next door as the sound of machinery came to an abrupt halt. The digger seemed to have cut out.
Robert opened the door within seconds of their knock, as if he’d been watching for somebody to arrive. He looked truly dreadful.
‘Do you have any news?’ he asked. His eyes looked dull and lifeless, and Tom couldn’t read their expression.
‘I’m not sure, sir. We haven’t found your wife and children, I’m afraid. But there have been some developments.’
Robert opened the door fully, and indicated that they should come in. His face had returned to what Tom now recognised as a fairly habitual scowl with his chin lowered towards his chest. When looking at Tom, he just raised his eyes, and there was something slightly eerie about the expression.
Robert stood in the centre of the hallway, not suggesting that they come in or sit down, only closing the door fully when the digger started up again.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘Earlier this morning, you went to see Mrs Evans at the guest house in Anglesey,’ Tom stated.
Robert pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and leaned casually against the wall. ‘You already knew that. We’ve spoken since then.’
Tom Douglas Box Set Page 90