by Marion Todd
‘He could have been held somewhere before being killed,’ Chris suggested.
‘Good point, Chris.’ Clare glanced at her watch. ‘I’m seeing the flatmates at nine this morning so they should be able to tell me when they last saw him alive and well. Once I have that we’ll narrow down when he died. But in the meantime, go back to Monday last week and see if anything comes up.’
Chris caught her eye. ‘The money, boss…’
‘Yeah, thanks, Chris.’ She moved along and indicated a second photo. ‘Marek Schmidt. Some of you may have seen Marek last Friday. He called into the station to report Johannes missing. But he left before Jim had all the details.’
‘Why?’ someone asked.
Clare shot a glance at Jim. She hoped going back over Marek’s sudden exit from the station wouldn’t cause Jim to doubt himself again. She watched him carefully as he got to his feet.
‘The lad seemed shifty,’ he began. ‘Worried-like. Kept glancing over his shoulder. I got as far as name and address for himself and Johannes, then he asked to use the toilet and that was the last I saw of him.’
‘Jim, can you recall the last question you asked before he went to the gents?’ Clare said.
Jim considered this. ‘I think I asked him when he last saw Johannes.’
‘So,’ Clare said, looking round the room. ‘Why would he leave? Was it cold feet or was there something in that last question that spooked him?’
‘Guilty conscience?’ suggested Gary, a PC in his mid-twenties. ‘He might know something about his friend’s death. Maybe an accident. Maybe he was involved in some way and he came in to report it to divert suspicion away from himself. Cover his own tracks.’
‘And then he lost his nerve,’ Sara added.
‘Exactly,’ Robbie said. ‘He’s tried to act natural by reporting Johannes missing but he couldn’t carry it off.’
Clare stood by the board, considering this. ‘What do you think, Jim? You were the one who spoke to him.’
Jim considered this, then said, ‘I just don’t know, Clare. He was certainly shifty, that’s for sure. Right from the first minute I spoke to him. But, as to why, well, it could have been anything really. Something to do with drugs – or they might just have had an argument and he was feeling guilty about that. Or maybe it was genuine concern.’
‘Not unexpected, if he was worried about his friend,’ Clare said.
‘Aye, but he was jumpy with it. And more than you might expect from a young lad reporting his pal missing.’
‘Okay,’ Clare said. ‘Let’s delve into the background. How did they know each other? Had they always been friends? Had they fallen out recently – that sort of thing? I’m going to release Marek’s photo to the press so that may throw something up.’
‘Is he a suspect, boss?’ Robbie asked.
‘Not at this stage. Let’s call him a person of interest and one we need to speak to sooner rather than later.’ Clare scanned the room again. ‘Jim, could you chase up bank and credit card statements for both lads please? It’s a murder enquiry now and we’ve a missing person. Any problems with the bank, refer them to me.’
Jim nodded and Clare looked round the room again. ‘Chris, I want you with me this morning. First port of call is Johannes’s flatmates. The rest of you, house-to-house, within three streets of Johannes’s flat. Then we need university staff spoken to: tutors, any other staff he might have had contact with – classmates too. The university should have his mobile number. Get on to the phone company and go through the contacts. I want them all checked out. Anyone local – interview them. Then I want his calls, texts, social media – anything within the last two weeks. Again, if the phone company is sticky, I’ll speak to them. Okay – that’s it. Any questions?’
* * *
Clare had just finished telephoning the press office when Gayle put her head round the door.
‘Goodness, Clare. It’s a hive of activity this morning. Has something happened?’
Clare took in Gayle’s appearance. She was wearing a soft grey sleeveless dress with a white cropped cardigan round her shoulders. How did she manage to look so effortlessly glamorous? Money, presumably. She smiled. ‘It’s that murder from yesterday. We had a young lad in the station last week to report the victim missing and now he’s missing too.’
Gayle’s smile disappeared. ‘Oh, how awful. Then you’ll not need me keeping you from your investigations. I was going to suggest lunch but…’
Clare searched Gayle’s expression for any sign of an ulterior motive but she could detect none. Was Gayle simply trying to be friendly? She had to admit it would be lovely to step back from hunting Johannes Muller’s killer for a couple of hours; but would a lunch with Gayle Crichton be the relaxing break she craved? She caught sight of Chris, hovering just outside her office door, and felt something approaching relief.
Gayle too saw him and she smiled again. ‘Another time, perhaps.’
Clare suddenly felt guilty. Perhaps Gayle really was trying to make a connection. Perhaps she felt isolated, working alone in that small room during the day then back to her hotel at night. ‘Let me see how I’m fixed later on,’ she said. ‘Maybe a quick run round the table, as my mum would say.’
‘A what?’
‘Sorry – family saying. It just means a very quick meal.’
‘Ah I see.’ She laughed. ‘Let’s try and fit in a quick run round the table then, as you say, Clare. We all need to stop now and again.’
As Gayle moved to the door Chris stood back to let her pass, earning himself a smile in return. He stood at the door, watching her for a few seconds.
‘Oy, Romeo…’
Chris came in, closing Clare’s office door behind him. ‘She certainly brightens the place up,’ he said.
‘Don’t you let Sara hear you saying that.’
‘Course not! How’s she getting on anyway – the news comms system, or whatever it is?’
‘Not a clue,’ Clare said lightly. ‘It’s all techno-babble to me.’
Chris rolled his eyes. ‘I forget how old you are.’
Clare was so relieved that he hadn’t questioned her further about Gayle’s work that she ignored the barb. She rose from her chair. ‘Ready to see these students?’
‘Whatever you say, Detective Inspector.’
Chapter 16
Johannes Muller had lived with two other lads in a former council house just off Langlands Road, about half a mile from the station. They passed a small football ground on their way.
‘Ever been in there?’ Clare asked, seeing Chris looking across at it.
‘Couple of times. The team’s pretty good, for such a small town. Semi-pro,’ he added.
Clare slowed now as she checked house numbers. ‘Here it is,’ she said, jerking on the handbrake.
The house was a two-storey block, divided down the middle with an entrance at either end. The outer walls had been pebble dashed at some point but clearly the damp had penetrated beneath the outer coating and it was easing away, here and there. The front garden was laid out in grass which had not been cut for several weeks, making Clare feel quite virtuous about her own garden. They mounted a few steps and followed a path round the left-hand side of the building. As they approached the door they could hear the strains of music and Clare felt sympathy for their adjoining neighbours. She rang the bell but there was no response. She rang again, this time keeping her finger on the button. A muffled cry came from within and the door was finally opened by a young lad dressed only in pyjama bottoms. He ran a hand through his hair and peered at them through sleepy eyes.
‘Yeah?’
Clare marvelled that anyone could sleep through the drum beat of the music. She held out her ID badge. ‘Detective Inspector Clare Mackay and Detective Sergeant Chris West.’
‘Shit,’ the lad muttered. ‘Forgot. Er – come in. I’ll just get Lloyd.’ He pushed open a door to the sitting room. ‘Just take a seat. Back in a minute.’
The lad disappeared a
nd they heard another door open.
Clare put a hand to her head and massaged her temples.
‘Stormzy,’ Chris said.
She looked at him. ‘How do you know this?’
He shrugged. ‘I dunno. I keep up.’
The music stopped and they heard a low murmur of conversation. There was no sign of the lads appearing so she wandered round the room, taking it in. The sitting area was at one end with a dining table in the middle and a door leading to the kitchen at the other end. She poked her head round the kitchen door and saw the sink was full of dishes and the cooker in need of a good clean. The sitting room was little better, a messy mix of coffee mugs, computer games, half-dried laundry and take-away containers. There was the unmistakable odour of last night’s curry.
‘Christ almighty,’ Chris said. ‘And I thought Marek’s flat was bad. Can none of them wash a dish?’
‘Yeah, you’re so tidy,’ Clare said. ‘I’ve seen your place.’
‘Well it’s a damn sight tidier than this.’
‘Wouldn’t be hard. Oh – I hear the patter of sleepy footsteps.’
The sitting room door opened and the pyjamas lad reappeared with another in tow. Both were now dressed in jeans and crumpled T-shirts. The first lad indicated the other. ‘This is Lloyd.’
Lloyd came further into the room and perched on the arm of an easy chair. ‘Lloyd McAinsh,’ he said.
Chris noted this down then turned to the first lad. ‘So you must be Tim – that right?’
The lad sat down on a wooden dining chair. ‘Yeah, Tim Cole.’
Clare smiled. ‘Sorry to drag you out of bed so early. I’m guessing you don’t have morning lectures.’
They made no reply to this so Clare pressed on. ‘You’ll have heard about Johannes.’
The lads glanced at each other, then nodded.
Tim said, ‘Yeah. Can’t take it in. Suppose it’s true? He’s really dead?’
Clare said, ‘I’m afraid so. And we’re treating his death as murder so there are some questions we need to ask. And then,’ she hesitated, ‘we’ll need to look round.’
There was no mistaking the look of panic that crossed the lads’ faces. Lloyd flicked a glance at Tim but he was staring straight ahead.
‘Look, lads,’ Chris said, ‘we’re not interested in whether you’ve a stash of wacky baccy tucked away. Or anything else for that matter. I’m quite sure you know what’s legal and what’s not but that’s not our concern today. We’re here to find out about Johannes. That’s all.’
The relief was evident. Lloyd tried a smile. ‘Sure. What do you want to know?’
Clare began going through the usual questions. Did Johannes seem happy lately? Had anything changed? Was he doing okay at university? Any girlfriend or boyfriend? Anyone suspicious hanging around? For the most part the lads were clueless. Johannes was hard-working, studying physics, passing exams and generally seemed to be enjoying life. Yes, they had met Marek a few times and he was pretty sound too, but no, they didn’t think he was Johannes’s boyfriend. It was only when Clare raised the question of money that they hesitated.
Tim shot a glance at Lloyd. Then he said, ‘He did always seem to have money, you know. Not running short like the rest of us.’
Lloyd nodded in agreement.
‘Did he have a job?’ Clare asked.
‘No. I think maybe his parents were rich. He always had the latest phone, wore nice stuff and that. Talking about getting a car, wasn’t he, Lloyd?’
Lloyd nodded again. ‘Yeah. I guess his folks have money.’
After a quarter of an hour of questions, Clare felt they had learned all they could from the two lads and she rose from the sofa. ‘We’ll just go and look at his room now, then we’ll be out of your way.’
Tim showed Clare and Chris to Johannes’s bedroom door. ‘Your other guys brought in a joiner. New lock,’ he said, indicating the door.
‘It’s okay,’ Clare said. ‘We have the key.’ She waited for him to leave and, after a few awkward seconds, he backed away down the hall, saying to shout if they needed anything.
Johannes’s bedroom, by contrast with the rest of the house, was a model of tidiness. A single bed stood along one wall, the plump duvet neatly spread. The walls held a variety of posters, some obscure artwork Clare did not recognise and others of buildings she did: the bulbous, banded front of the Guggenheim Museum in Manhattan and the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. Looking at these posters, she wondered what Johannes Muller had found in common with the two sleepyheads they had just met.
Beneath the window was a bookcase holding a variety of paperbacks. Chris picked up one or two and flicked through them.
‘He liked to travel,’ he said, replacing a Lonely Planet guide to Vietnam next to one for China. He bent to look at the next shelf, mainly crime thrillers.
‘Check them all,’ Clare said. ‘See if he’s hidden any money.’
‘I know! You don’t have to tell me.’
Clare ignored this and surveyed Johannes’s desk. A slim MacBook sat to the front and she bent under the desk to remove the plug then slipped it carefully into a large evidence bag. To the back of the desk there was a small pile of physics textbooks and a notepad with three sharp pencils beside it. There was a coaster to the side of the MacBook, a Mondrian design with the distinctive thick black lines delineating rectangles in red, white and yellow. She thought suddenly of Geoffrey, with his background in sculpture and his knowledge of buildings. He would understand this room. This haven of order and design. Suddenly she felt an ache in her stomach and she longed to see him. Could she hop on a plane to Boston? Tie this case up quickly and take some leave? But, if she did, how would it be? Would she find him unchanged? The same easy manner she had known? Or would his experiences, his swordfish-eating friends, would it all have changed him? And what would they think of her, Clare Mackay? The Glasgow girl now living in a small Scottish town, spending her days rooting through students’ bedrooms. It wasn’t exactly the glamorous life Geoffrey seemed to be leading. Chris was speaking now but she hadn’t been listening.
‘Sorry?’
‘What is it? You found something?’
‘No, nothing like that. Just thinking for a minute.’ She turned to face him. ‘What were you saying?’
‘Nothing in the bookcase. And, before you ask, I’ve done the bed.’
‘Okay. Just the wardrobe then,’ Clare said. ‘No money?’
‘Nah. A few tenners but nothing like we found at Marek’s flat.’
‘Okay.’ Having dealt with the desk, Clare moved to the wardrobe and began going through Johannes’s clothes. They worked on, checking pockets and down sleeves. Clare picked up a pair of jeans from the floor of the wardrobe and held them out. ‘See these?’
‘Yeah, jeans. So what?’
‘Bit tatty, wouldn’t you say?’
‘That’s how they like them, these days.’
‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean they’re well-worn. Look at the labels – faded so you can hardly read them.’
‘So? He likes them. Maybe they’re his favourites.’
‘Yes, okay. But they’re from River Island.’
‘Clare – what’s your point?’
Clare reached back into the wardrobe again and picked out another pair of jeans, the price label still attached. She waved the first pair in Chris’s face. ‘My point is he’s been wearing these River Island jeans until they’re almost falling apart and then there’s these,’ and she held up the other pair. ‘These, Detective Sergeant, are Alexander McQueen. Now, I’m not an expert on men’s clothing but there’s a world of difference between High Street stores and designer gear. These haven’t even been worn and take a look at the price.’
Chris peered at the tag then whistled. ‘Two hundred quid. Jesus!’
‘So, I reckon,’ Clare went on, ‘he’s bought these recently. And, looking at some of the other clothes in here – Next, Primark, even – I’d say he’s not always had money. It’s like
two different lives. The clothes he came with and the clothes he’s been buying recently.’
She went out into the hallway, calling to the two lads. They appeared from the kitchen, coffee mugs in hand.
‘Want one?’ Tim asked, indicating his mug.
‘No thanks. Just one more question. You said Johannes seemed to have money.’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘Did he always? I mean you must have lived with him at least since last September, if not longer. Has he always had cash to splash about?’
Tim shrugged but Lloyd weighed the question. Then he said, ‘Actually, now you come to mention it, I’m not sure. It’s maybe just in the last few months.’
‘You reckon?’ Tim said.
‘Yeah. Think about Christmas. He was shopping around for the cheapest flight home. But when Easter came he flew to Cancun. And he didn’t seem bothered about the price.’ Lloyd nodded. ‘And he bought that MacBook. Yeah,’ he said again. ‘I think it is a more recent thing. Why?’
Clare ignored this. ‘Have either of you any idea where he might have been getting the money?’
The lads exchanged glances then Tim said, ‘No, sorry.’
‘Lloyd?’
Lloyd shook his head.
‘Look,’ Clare said, ‘I’m up against it here, lads. Now, if Johannes was selling drugs, I need to know about it. And I will find out. You can bet on that. But if you can tell me anything that will save my officers days of searching, that would be a great help. And I certainly won’t be coming after you two for using. That’s a promise.’
Lloyd looked away for a minute, then said, ‘Look, Inspector, everyone does a bit of cannabis. Es sometimes as well. They’re everywhere. Not saying we do, mind you. But it’s dead common.’ He broke off.
Clare waited.
‘But Johannes, well, I saw him take a puff of a joint once and he nearly puked. And, as far as I know, he wasn’t pushing.’
Tim nodded. ‘I agree. Johannes wasn’t the type.’
Clare looked at them for a minute, then she said, ‘Okay, thanks lads.’
Back in the bedroom, with the door closed behind her, she said, ‘They reckon he’s only had money to splash around in the last few months. Apparently he was shopping round for cheap flights at Christmas but didn’t seem bothered about the cost at Easter.’