Johnson balled his fists. “I was young and single. I’d had a few drinks before I got on the plane. I’d had a bad break-up back in London. I took that holiday to pull some birds, make me feel better. Autumn Carlisle was nice to me on the plane. I thought it was okay to flirt with her.”
“The other passengers thought you were being a pest.”
“Only later, when the police started asking questions and telling folk I’d been following her in Egypt and tried to attack her.”
“Do you deny following Miss Carlisle to find out where she was staying?”
His mouth hardened in a grim line. “I took the tour bus to the resort at Sharm el Sheikh after the plane landed and stayed there, just like everybody else. I lay by the pool and drank myself stupid. I don’t know who followed and attacked that woman, if anybody did, but it wasn’t me.”
Dani examined his face. Johnson’s whole body was exuding anger and resentment. It was hard to recognise if he was telling the truth.
Elinor Johnson stepped out of the house and stood on the patio. “Is everything alright, Love?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, Elinor. Go back inside.”
Johnson lowered his voice. “Do you have to tell her anything?”
Nate shook his head. “Not if you co-operate. Had you seen Autumn Carlisle since the allegations made against you in 2011?”
He took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. “No, I had not. I never wanted to set eyes on her again.” His face suddenly crumpled with incredulity. “You don’t actually think I might have killed her, do you?”
“You certainly held a grudge against her,” Dani said quietly.
“With good reason,” he added through gritted teeth. “Look, whenever Autumn Carlisle kicked the bucket, I can provide you with chapter and verse on where I was. I usually work out of the office in Woking, but if I’m doing house visits for quotes, I’ve got GPS tracking in the company car. You can have the lot, an open book.”
Nate scribbled the date of Autumn’s death on a business card and handed it over. “These are my details. We’ll be in touch in a few days.”
The man got to his feet, examining the card closely. The detectives left through the side gate. Dani turned back as she climbed into the passenger seat. Johnson was still standing in the garden, glaring at them as they departed.
Nate shut the door and turned on the engine.
“I thought he reminded me of someone when we first arrived. Now I know who it is.”
Nate raised his eyebrows inquisitively.
“John Lomond, Denny’s brother. He watched us leave the house in Henley, much like Johnson is doing now. They’re both dark haired, tall and with a similar build.”
“I can see what you mean, but I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” He reversed the Mercedes onto the empty road. “Now, what do you fancy for dinner?”
Chapter 23
Dermot Muir approached Sharon’s workstation. He pulled up a chair to join her.
“I got a call from DCI Bevan a couple of days ago. She wanted me to run some checks for her, to assist with the case down in London.”
Sharon eyed him carefully through her fringe of corkscrew curls. “How are they progressing down there?”
“A few leads have opened up, but it’s a long slog, according to the DCI. The team need to scour through CCTV from all the cameras at Heathrow Terminal 1. You can imagine how many people appear in those images.”
Sharon whistled. “I don’t envy them that. Mind you, Andy and I had to sift through hours of extreme pornography for a previous case. That was worse, you could almost feel your soul being corrupted the more you watched.”
“It got you a result, though.”
Sharon nodded, impressed that Muir knew the case she was referring to. “Sometimes you just need to put in the hard graft.”
“Speaking of which,” Dermot flashed her a lopsided grin. “I wondered if you could help me out with this background check I’ve been running?”
Sharon leant back and folded her arms over her bosom. “Oh aye, let’s hear the details.”
“The parents of the first murder victim in the London investigation live in Cumbernauld. They are friends of Professor Morgan. Bevan wanted me to find out more about the mother; Betsy Carlisle. I’ve found out plenty about her husband, Mike, but I’m drawing a bit of a blank with her.”
Sharon tapped on her keypad to fire up her screen. “Let’s take a look. I’m assuming she will be an Elizabeth?”
Muir nodded. “That’s what I thought. Her husband was born in ’53. According to Morgan, Betsy is no more than a couple of years younger than him.”
“What about a marriage certificate? That should provide you with a maiden name.”
Dermot opened a file and pulled out the printout on top. “They married at Inverness Town Hall on the 21st August 1987. According to the certificate, Elizabeth Smith was 34 years old and Michael Francis Carlisle was 36.” He shook the sheet in frustration. “I’ve checked the Scotland’s People database for information about an Elizabeth Smith, born around 1955. There were dozens. I need more to go on if I’m going to pin her down properly.”
“It’s a very common surname. What about a birth certificate for the daughter?”
“Autumn was born on the 13th October 1988 at a private hospital, but her birth was also registered in Inverness.”
Sharon drummed the keys of her computer for a couple of minutes. “Well, neither Elizabeth or Michael Carlisle show up on the Holmes database.”
Dermot grimaced. “I didn’t really expect them to. They are a very respectable couple, I don’t imagine they’ve even got so much as a parking ticket between them.”
Sharon twisted round to face her colleague. “You said there was more information available about the husband. What do you know about him?”
Dermot again referred to the documents in the file which was balanced in his lap. “Michael Carlisle was born in Nairn. He has two brothers, one now deceased. His father was a schoolteacher and his mother a housewife. Michael studied modern languages at Aberdeen University. He then took a teaching qualification and was teaching and lecturing up to his retirement in 2012, including a stint in Inverness during the eighties.”
“He must have met Elizabeth when he was working in the Inverness area.” Sharon tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “They were both quite old when they married – by the standards of the time, I mean.”
Dermot nodded. “Which suggests to me that they both had careers before tying the knot.”
Sharon sighed. “The best way for you to find out about Betsy Carlisle’s life is just to ask her, you know.”
Dermot frowned. “Yes, I realise that. But Professor Morgan warned me off approaching her. Apparently, Mike feels his wife is in a very delicate state of mind right now. He doesn’t even want Morgan to talk to her, let alone a detective inspector. Plus, I’ve got no jurisdiction to do so.”
“Then Rhodri is going to have to give you more information to go on. He’s known the family for decades, hasn’t he? That’s got to be your starting point. Unless you really want to track down every ‘Smith’ born in Scotland in the mid-fifties?”
Dermot certainly did not relish the idea of that. “You’re right. I need to get back on to the Professor. Either he can tell me more, or he’ll have to find a way of probing Mr and Mrs Carlisle further.” He stood. “Thanks, Sharon. You’ve been a great help.”
*
Professor Morgan had invited Dermot to his flat in the north of the city. The DI had decided to call round on his way home from work.
Rhodri buzzed the entry door open and was waiting for his guest on the first landing. “DI Muir! Thank you for making the effort to visit my home. I didn’t fancy all the rigmarole of coming to the station again. At least here, we can get a decent cup of coffee.”
Dermot couldn’t disagree with that logic. He followed the older man into a spacious, traditionally furnished flat. Rhodri led them straight to the pleasant lo
unge which boasted a high ceiling adorned with ornate cornices. A tray containing a cafetière of coffee lay on a table between two high-backed chairs.
“Please sit down.” Rhodri took the seat which had a stack of papers balanced on the arm. “As you can see, I’ve been examining Betsy’s medical notes thoroughly.”
Dermot leant forward. “What were your conclusions?”
“Much as we discussed the other day. I would diagnose Betsy as suffering from a nervous disorder which at times can be serious and debilitating. If she were one of my patients; I would prescribe her a medium dose of a mood stabiliser and tell her to avoid highly stressful situations.” Rhodri lifted the cafetière and proceeded to fill two cups. “Of course, the woman’s daughter has just died – either by suicide or murder – so one can hardly make that suggestion in such circumstances.”
Dermot left his coffee black and took a sip. “There were a number of entries which detailed Mrs Carlisle’s dreams over a period of several months. What did you make of that?”
Rhodri furrowed his brow. “One of the practitioners the Carlisles approached to help Betsy was a specialist in ‘the analysis of the subconscious’, or so his website claims. He follows a Jungian practice of focussing on a patient’s dreams. I don’t subscribe to the technique myself, you understand.”
“No, but the results seemed interesting?”
“Yes, particularly in the sense that Mike told Danielle and I that Autumn had been suffering from disturbing dreams in the months leading up to her death.” Rhodri sipped thoughtfully from his cup. “According to those notes, Betsy also went through a phase of having nightmares, although it passed after a week or so.”
“And those nightmares were about a plane crashing,” Dermot went on. “I found the descriptions very vivid and disturbing. Wasn’t her daughter an air-stewardess?”
“Yes, and the psychiatrist interpreted those dreams as a manifestation of Betsy’s worries about the dangers of her daughter’s job. She’d just started working for British Airways at the time. I must say, it’s a convincing hypothesis.”
“So, you don’t think Betsy Carlisle was suffering from some kind of psychosis?”
Rhodri shook his head vigorously. “No, I see patients with her symptoms regularly. They are easy enough to keep under control.”
Dermot drained his cup. “Then that is what I’ll report back to DCI Bevan.”
Rhodri edged forward in his seat. “What did you find out about the Carlisles when you performed the background check?”
Dermot ran a hand through his dark hair, which he would admit needed a trim. “Not a great deal, to be honest. Your friend Mike was a lecturer for his entire career. He came from the Nairn area and met Betsy when he was working in Inverness. Betsy, on the other hand, was harder to trace. She had a common maiden name in Scotland. I assume she was also working in the Inverness area when she met Mike.”
“I suppose she must have been. Since I’ve known the couple, Betsy has always been at home; first with Autumn and then as a housewife to Mike. We’ve never spoken about any qualifications or training she might have had.”
Dermot got to his feet. “Well, I don’t think it’s important now. The DCI was only really interested in Betsy’s state of mental health and what bearing it had on her daughter. If you don’t believe the woman is suffering from anything too serious, we can probably forget about her past, can’t we?”
Rhodri remained seated, his thoughts were far away. “Yes, I expect you’re right. Betsy can’t possibly have anything to do with this unpleasant business.”
Chapter 24
The Hammersmith Criminal Investigation Unit was full of officers squinting intently at computer screens. Dani weaved past the desks with a mug of tea in each hand. When she reached Lawrence’s desk, she placed them down in any space she could find between sheets of paper.
“Cheers,” Nate replied, without shifting his gaze from the digital recording playing out on his laptop.
Dani felt a pang of guilt. It was her suggestion to examine the CCTV for a suspect who might be dressed in a cleaner’s overalls, but it seemed to be getting them nowhere.
Dani was cradling her cup as Trudy made her way towards them, an expectant expression on her face. “Sorry, I didn’t think to make you one.”
Trudy shook her head dismissively. “Not a problem, Ma’am.” She held up her iPad, which was displaying a double-page spread from a newspaper. “I’ve found something interesting.”
Nate finally looked up. “What is it, Trudy?”
The DC couldn’t hide her excitement. “I know I’m supposed to be going through those CCTV tapes you emailed me, but I wanted to make sure I’d got all the information I could about the assault on Autumn in Egypt, so I spent the morning doing some digging.”
Dani placed her tea on the desk, giving the detective her full attention.
“Reading through the police report made here in the UK, I picked up on a reference to the Egyptian investigation into Autumn’s assault. Back when it happened in 2011, she hadn’t reported the incident to the Egyptian police. But the British Authorities have good relations with Egypt, and they shared the information that Autumn gave them. The details were passed on to the police in Hurghada.” Trudy pulled herself up a chair. “Now, my Arabic isn’t up to much, but I called the Egyptian Embassy here in Mayfair. I thought someone might be able to get me a contact number in the Egyptian police force, preferably with an officer who spoke English.”
“Good thinking.” Dani was impressed.
“I spoke with one of the consular officials and he was extremely helpful. British tourism in Sharm el Sheikh is very important to the Egyptian economy. He recalled the case of Autumn Carlisle’s attack very clearly.”
“Did he?” Nate was taken aback. “It was nearly eight years ago!”
Trudy’s tone became animated. “Yes, he remembered it because the case was only solved within the last few months.”
Nate nearly choked on his mouthful of tea.
“The attack on Autumn matched the details of several reported sexual assaults on female tourists that had occurred in resorts along the Red Sea coast since 2008.” Trudy enlarged the screen shot on her iPad and showed it to Nate. “The police had a rough description of the perpetrator – tall, muscular and with thick, dark hair. He was seen following young women before dragging them into undergrowth to assault them.”
“Austin Johnson fits that description,” Dani added.
“Yes, but the consulate official said he was quickly eliminated from their inquiries. Johnson wasn’t in Egypt at the time of the other attacks.”
“So, Johnson was definitely innocent,” Nate commented evenly.
“The consulate emailed me this piece from a British tourist magazine that is published in Cairo. It describes how the police in Hurghada finally tracked down the attacker. They had used DNA which was obtained from one of his rape victims to focus in on the perp. A man named Omar Salib, who worked at a car-hire desk at Sharm el Sheikh International airport was asked to provide a sample, along with his fellow male colleagues. He was a match. The case has been widely reported across the country. Salib stood trial in May and was convicted of multiple assault and rape offences.”
Dani scanned the article. “Autumn can’t have been asked to testify?”
“The consular official told me they used Autumn’s police statement during the trial. She was informed of the man’s arrest by the embassy. Her description of her attacker had been very thorough and provided an important part of the prosecution case. But they had enough evidence from his other victims, plus the DNA match, to convict him without her testimony. The police were overjoyed with this result. Alongside the fears of terrorist attacks, having a rapist on the loose was terrible for the tourist trade.”
Nate pointed to an unfocussed photograph in the centre of the article, showing Salim being escorted into a court building. “He definitely resembles Austin Johnson in height and build.”
Dani sig
hed. “I can see why she imagined it was him who attacked her. It seems Johnson was wrongly accused after all.”
“Which doesn’t mean to say he didn’t still have a reason to hate Autumn,” Nate put in.
“But his alibi for the night of Autumn’s murder is pretty watertight,” Trudy explained. “He was in the office in Woking during the day, but in the evening Johnson and his wife were out celebrating their anniversary. We’ve got witness statements from the restaurant they visited. The wife claims he was with her all night.”
Dani handed the iPad back to Trudy. “I don’t think we ever seriously saw him as a prime suspect in Autumn’s murder, did we?”
Nate shook his head despondently. “No, we didn’t. At least we have closure on the issue. I wouldn’t have wanted to waste any more time on that line of enquiry.”
Dani rested her hand on Trudy’s shoulder. “That was excellent work. You can call Mr Johnson and tell him what you told us. I expect he’ll be pleased that his name has been cleared. He should have been informed months ago, when the first arrest was made. I expect the news never got back to the officers who took Autumn’s statement here in London.”
Trudy smiled, pleased at being handed the responsibility. “I’ll do that right now, Ma’am.”
Chapter 25
Sharon Moffett was working late to complete some paperwork on a spate of gang-related acts of vandalism in Bridgton. She and Andy had been working on it since DCI Bevan’s departure. Sharon had nearly finished when a flash in the corner of the screen indicated an email had landed in her inbox. It was from Stefan Bauer.
The DS immediately called up the message, intrigued by what the Bauers’ older son might have to say. She quickly skimmed through the text.
Dear DS Moffett,
I am writing to thank you for your sensitive handling of my parents’ unexpected deaths over in your city of Glasgow. The fact that they passed away in a foreign country made the whole situation more difficult for myself and my sister, Mila. I apologise if my tone was at times argumentative; this was because of the stress of the situation. Now I am back at home in Germany, I have been able to accept the situation better.
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