by Jane Isaac
But Jackman knew the score here. If something was missed later on, something that they needed, that the evidence relied upon for a conviction, Reilly would be able to say Jackman didn’t notice it. Some people would go to any amount of trouble to shirk responsibility.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Davies’ face appeared. “Sir, I think you need to come and take a look at this.”
He followed her into the incident room. Several officers were crowded around Keane’s computer in the corner. They parted to let Jackman through.
Keane turned to face him. “This is the camera footage from the Old Thatch Tavern last night.” He whisked back to his computer screen and clicked the mouse. There was only one exit/entrance door to the pub for customers and it was in full view. For a couple of seconds, nothing happened. Then a grainy image entered the screen. The figure was tall, wearing a navy shirt and jeans. Suddenly the figure turned back for a split second before exiting the pub. Tom. Jackman checked the time in the corner of the screen. It was 10.45pm. Tom must have popped outside to check if Min was still there.
Jackman raised his head, perplexed, and shot Davies a glance.
She lifted a flat hand, said nothing.
Keane clicked fast forward to 10.46pm. Tom re-entered the pub.
Jackman shifted position. “What are we meant to be looking at?”
“Wait,” Keane said. His tongue was visible, pushed against his top lip as he moved the footage on further, stopping at 11.05pm. For a moment all was quiet. Then the same figure approached the door and exited the pub. The door swung shut behind him.
Keane swivelled his chair to face them. “We catch him returning later at exactly 11.33pm. He was gone for almost half an hour.”
“What was our devoted boyfriend doing leaving the pub again?” Jackman said.
Davies raised a brow. “That’s the question.”
Jackman rested his elbow on the armrest and balanced his chin on his thumb. His forefinger lingered along the line of his lip for several moments as he surveyed Tom Steele.
Tom had been brought back to the police station on the pretence of further assistance. Russell said he’d come along amiably, not an etching of surprise on his handsome face. As he was guided into the same room it seemed any earlier nerves or awkwardness had drained away.
They’d spent the last fifteen minutes going over Tom’s movements from the previous night from when he arrived at the pub, to the argument and Min leaving, him wandering out to look for her, then leaving himself with his mates just after 11.45pm. He delivered the story with surprising aplomb, as if he’d rehearsed the details several times in his mind over the past twelve hours.
Jackman lifted his forefinger just enough to let himself speak, “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’d like to add?”
Tom’s shrug was barely perceptible. He shook his head.
“Only according to our records you were the last person to see Min alive. And that was at 10.35pm when she left the pub?”
Tom nodded.
“And you haven’t seen or heard from her since?”
“No, I told you… ”
“Think.” Jackman paused slightly. “Think hard. What you tell us now could be very important to Min’s welfare. You’ve had almost twenty-two hours to mull it over. Are you sure there’s nowhere else she’d go?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You see I’m having a problem believing you.”
Alarm fluttered across Tom’s face. He made to speak, widened his eyes, but Jackman cut in first. “Tom Steele, would you like to tell me where you went when you left the Old Thatch Tavern at,” he consulted his notes, “11.05pm?”
Tom’s face instantly froze.
Jackman threw him a hard stare. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want to help us.”
A muscle flexed in Tom’s jawline. He cast a cursory glance at the camera in the corner, then looked down, his eyes darting about from side to side.
Jackman watched him shift inch by inch in his seat so that his feet were pointing towards the door, a movement that made his body appear to be twisted at an angle. This should have been a turning point in the interview, the moment when a dark secret was uncovered. But the creases of sheer desperation in Tom’s face gave Jackman the distinct impression that whatever was said next would not be the breakthrough he’d hoped for.
Jackman inhaled deeply. “Instead of considering your options, why not be honest? We can deal with the consequences afterwards.”
Tom gaped back at him. “It’s complicated.”
Back in his office, Jackman swivelled his chair to look out of the window. Dusk was just starting to fall over the car park below, the sky in the distance a mass of yellow, orange and red swirls.
A tap at the door made him spin to face it. Davies cocked her head to one side, “Thought I might find you here.”
Jackman glanced up at the clock. It was 8.35pm. “Don’t you have a baby to go to?”
She plonked herself down on the chair opposite him. “Already been. He’s tucked up in bed fast asleep.”
“Well, I’m sorry to inform you that it’s an offence to leave a minor alone,” Jackman said with a slight smile.
Davies’ dimple dug into her left cheek. “Oh, come on, I’m not letting you have all the fun. Anyhow, John’s off, delayed his two weeks paternity leave until I returned to work. He can cope.” She leant forward and poked the brown envelope from Reilly. “What’s this?”
Jackman’s eyes rested on the package. His anger had refused to allow him to look through it. “Just some crap from Operation Sky.” He looked up at Davies, “Anything from the appeals?”
Davies looked back out into the incident room where an array of officers had phones glued to their ears. “Nothing concrete. The usual cranks and a few possible leads to pursue. Nothing on the white van or the BMW, or any other vehicles that passed through between 10.30pm and 12.30pm. So, what are we going to do about Tom’s guilty secret? Do you want her brought here?”
Jackman considered his options. The only benefit to bringing her in here was to interview her formally, scare her. Although she wasn’t officially a suspect. This was a missing person case. They didn’t even have a crime, so she couldn’t be a suspect. Damn protocol.
He looked up and met her gaze. “Fancy a trip out?”
Chapter Ten
Rushbrook Road led into Trinity Mead, a nearly new estate with a variety of different sizes and styles of affordable modern homes. He passed the older, established houses and pulled in halfway down at one of the detached brick-built new homes. As they walked down the short pathway to the entrance he could see the silhouette of a woman, sat in the single armchair beside the window. Just as they reached the door she hauled herself up.
The clunk of a bolt and rattle of a chain reminded Jackman that darkness was closing in. The door eventually opened to reveal a woman with an oval, made-up face and smooth, cropped dark hair in black trousers and a cream silky top. Her feet were clad with gold sandals.
“Jenny Walters?” Davies held up her badge. “I’m DS Davies and this is DI Jackman.”
“Who is it, honey?” The gravelly voice came from above. Jenny cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Nothing. Go back to sleep. I’ll be up in a bit.”
She turned back to Jackman, “You’d better come in.”
They wandered a few steps down a dimly-lit hallway and entered the front room. Jenny followed them through and switched on the light.
The sudden illumination revealed a neat room painted pale green and filled with a cream sofa against one wall, a matching single armchair beneath the window and an oak dresser littered with silver framed photos on the far wall. Jenny gesticulated for them to sit and crossed to the single armchair. The fact that they weren’t offered refreshments wasn’t lost on Jackman.
“Mrs Walters, can you tell me where you were last night?” he asked.
She took a deep breath. In the soft hallway lighting she could have been mis
taken for a woman in her thirties, but under the glaring spotlights the laughter lines around her eyes and deep grooves that edged her cheeks added another ten years at least. “Here for most of the evening. Had to pop out for a bit, but I think you already know that.”
“Why was that?”
She closed her eyes momentarily before she met his gaze. “Look I know what this is about,” she said. “Tom phoned me.”
Back at the station, Keane had married up the grainy CCTV footage of Tom leaving the pub with the private camera footage from Grove House car park on Greenhill Street which showed Tom arrive there a couple of minutes later. Tom had loitered for a bit by the entrance until a green Volvo had pulled in, that they later traced to Jenny Walters. They watched him climb into the car. A few minutes later he emerged with some paperwork which he’d folded and tucked into his pocket before heading back to the pub.
“Why don’t you talk us through it?” he asked.
Jenny sighed. “It’s awkward.”
“I know,” Jackman said, “Tom’s already spoken to us.”
“Then you’ll know what it’s about. I don’t want to get involved.”
Jackman pushed his lips together. He really couldn’t deal with dramatics at this time of night. “We are investigating the case of a missing woman. You were spotted in the vicinity where she was last seen. Why did you drive out to Stratford centre to meet Tom last night?”
A short silence followed. Just as Jackman was going to suggest they continue the conversation at the station, Jenny spoke up. “I’m an agent for a private abortion clinic. Tom contacted me a couple of weeks ago.”
“How did he find out about you?”
She lifted a manicured nail and scratched the side of her neck. “He found us on the internet. We’re based on the edge of Warwickshire and offer a discreet, confidential service. I deal with all potential new clients. We’ve chatted a few times over the past two weeks, discussed his options.”
“And why did he contact you?”
“His girlfriend is almost two months pregnant.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
She shook her head.
“Is it normal for you to deal with partners?”
Jenny hesitated for a split second. “We deal with people in very difficult circumstances. Either partner may make the initial contact. Our success is measured by our commitment to confidentiality. Our clients could be in relationships, married, in executive jobs where they don’t wish to be judged.”
“Or international students,” Davies offered.
Jenny gave Davies a dismissive glance. “This is not folding tables and dirty knives, Sergeant. Nothing that I do or represent is illegal or sordid in any way.”
“What did you talk about with Tom?” Jackman asked.
She switched back to face him. “The usual. I have all the details in my diary if you need them. I keep a note of every call and every meeting.”
“That would be helpful.”
Jackman caught the faint waft of her perfume as she passed him and disappeared from the room for the shortest of moments, returning with a black leather briefcase. They watched as she foraged through and retrieved a navy A5 diary.
She opened the book and flipped through the pages until she found what she wanted. “His initial contact was Monday the 28th of April. He wanted to know how it all worked, costs involved, that sort of thing. It was just an expression of interest. I only took his name and telephone number. Then he phoned again last week on Wednesday to ask about availability. I said we could fit them in within a few days, but we had to meet and examine his girlfriend first.”
“How much does it cost for a confidential abortion?” Jackman asked.
“That depends on the duration of the pregnancy and the health of the woman. There are lots of factors to consider, but our prices start from £500 inclusive of consultation.”
Davies raised her brows. “Steep price for confidentiality.”
Jenny ignored her, looked back at her diary and flicked forward a few pages. “Then I received another call from him last night. He wanted some more information, a brochure. He said it was urgent.”
Jackman leant back, “Does your job often take you out to meet clients in car parks late at night?”
“As I said, we deal with people in very difficult circumstances. We offer a complete package of assistance and advice before, and counselling and support after, the procedure. My job is the initial contact.”
“A sales person?”
She cleared her throat. “I like to think I’m more than that. I make myself available to assist with any questions and provide information to enable clients to make an informed decision. Tom sounded upset, so I drove in and gave him some literature. He said he was going to talk to his girlfriend and come back to me in the next couple of days.”
“And that is all?”
She nodded. “I drove straight home. I was barely gone for half an hour.”
Jackman glanced at the ceiling. “What does your husband think of you popping out last thing at night to see a client?”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Partner,” she corrected. “He’s used to it. All part of the job.”
“Did you see Min, or talk about her last night?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. In fact very few words were exchanged between Tom and I.” She met his gaze and held it a second. “This won’t become public knowledge will it? I don’t want the clinic compromised.”
Jackman stared back at her. “This is a missing person investigation. I’m not in a position to give any guarantees.”
Jackman closed the interview and wandered over to take a closer look at the photos on the dresser while Jenny gave her contact details to Davies. His eyes brushed several featuring two boys taken at various ages and rested on a row at the bottom in leather frames. These were recent photos taken of Jenny, dressed up for a night out. He picked up the one on the end. The frame was scuffed, as if it had been knocked. Jenny was at the front of a small group of women, her arm hooked around another woman’s shoulder, her free hand raising a glass to the camera.
Davies snapped her notebook shut, stood and handed over her card.
The door shook as it shut behind them. Jackman immediately heard the sound of locks being reapplied.
As they climbed into the car and battled with seatbelts, Davies shot Jackman a sideways glance. “What do you think?”
He wound down his window. The air was cool and fresh, a welcome respite after the stickiness of the day. “That Min has a major problem which gives her every reason to go off somewhere and mull it over.”
“So we’re wasting our time?”
“I’m not sure. What do you make of Jenny Walters?”
Davies was silent for a moment. “Bit overdressed and made up for her age. Could be her work face.” Her words trailed off.
Jackman ran his tongue across the back of his teeth in thought, said nothing.
“Maybe there was more to it?” Davies continued. “I imagine Tom’s handsome boy band look might catch her eye.”
Jackman thought back to the photos on the dresser. Jenny Walters certainly enjoyed a night out with the girls. And there wasn’t a photograph of her with her partner. He considered the CCTV footage from the evening before – their clandestine meeting. They didn’t know they were being watched yet there was no intimacy in their body language, no hint of familiarity between them. He paused to massage the pads of his hands into his weary eyes, before he spoke, “Tom was the last person to see her alive, right?”
“So far.”
“The fact that he was pressing for a private abortion could give him a motive. Where would he get that kind of cash?”
“Background checks showed his dad’s a doctor, mother a secondary school teacher. They live in Loxley Road, in one of the big detached houses at the far end. Can’t be short of a bob or two.”
“What if they refused to help? Or maybe he couldn’t tell them? I imagine they’d be ver
y disappointed at their only son’s career ambitions being dashed at this stage in his studies.”
“Maybe she wanted to keep the baby and it became a problem?”
“In any event he chose to keep it from us. Why?” Jackman said. “I think we should keep a close eye on him. If he’s involved he might lead us to her.”
Jackman stared out into the night and percolated his thoughts. Arranging surveillance required authorisation from the assistant chief constable, organising a team of officers, a briefing. This wasn’t something they could set up instantly. And he needed something, right now.
“Tom Steele’s been dropped back home, right?”
Davies checked her watch. “Yes. I got uniform to give him a lift. He should have landed about the time we arrived here.”
“Right. Think we’ll get a couple of detectives to hang around and watch his house tonight. By the morning we should be able to get a surveillance team in place.”
Davies sat quietly, texting on her phone beside him, whilst Jackman made a few calls. When he finished, she pocketed her phone and inserted the key into the ignition. “Where to now?”
He narrowed his eyes, “I’m thinking the pub?”
“Wonderful idea!”
He turned his head to face her. “You don’t change.”
Davies smiled. “Oh, come on,” she cried, “give a girl a break. I don’t get out much these days.”
He gave a short laugh. “Okay, only if you promise to behave. We just need to make a quick detour first.”
He stared at the computer screen, his fingers navigating the keys like water rippling across the stones of a shallow stream. He moved quickly, typing each word like it was his last, although he knew he had all the time in the world. He was calling the shots now. He was making the decisions.
A last read through. A ragged breath, drawn tightly, sent a rush of adrenalin fizzing through his veins. He pressed the save button. The final piece of his plan was in place. Now it was time to execute it.
Chapter Eleven
Jackman could hear Erik’s tail thumping as he pushed open his front door. He followed the sound to the living room.