The Woman in the Peacock Patterned Coat

by Jennifer Jones

  Nevertheless he had been questioned extensively about his relationship with Katie Campbell.

  They had met at a concert, gone out a few times, then after a couple of months she had moved in with him. They had lived together for almost a year and a half. At the start things had been exciting, intense, they had had a lot of fun together. But in the last few months she had started becoming moody, picking arguments with him, finding fault. Then she had discovered she was pregnant.

  It was a shock to them both. While they were still coming to grips with the idea, she miscarried. The change in her was immediate, Gordon Renfrew said. “It’s a sign,” she had told him. “A sign that we’re not meant to be together any more.” Two days later she moved out. He found out from a work colleague of hers that she had gone to London, but he hadn’t heard from her since that day. He had sent a few emails but received no reply. He’d tried her mobile but it was disconnected. All he had wanted was to know that she was OK. Now they were questioning him about her disappearance – at this point in the interview he had become quite emotional – things may have ended badly between them, he said, but he could never have wished her any harm.

  How did he feel about the pregnancy? It was unplanned, he said, but he was ready to take responsibility, to start a family with her. OK, things had become a little strained but he had felt the baby would make them closer again, settle her down. They had discussed a termination, of course they had, but neither of them had felt comfortable about that. He really felt the pregnancy would turn things around, bring her back to him.

  So what had been his feelings when she left? Had it made him angry? Had he tried to track her down? He’d been sad, confused, trying to cope with the fact that things had ended so suddenly. But when she didn’t reply to his emails, changed her phone number – he could take a hint. He had some pride – he wasn’t going to try and find her, beg her to come back, risk a second humiliation. With the support of a close friend of his, he had come to see that while he had loved Katie, she hadn’t properly loved him, that at twenty-three she was still a little immature, not ready for a long-term relationship. Either she’ll come back to you in a few months, his friend had said, saying she was sorry, after the miscarriage her emotions were all over the place, or else she won’t, and you’ll have to accept that, and move on. And that’s what had happened – he had moved on. He had met someone else about three months ago, and it was she who had suggested the sailing trip to him.

  How had he reacted when Katie lost her job? It was unfair dismissal, he said heatedly. Of course she never stole anything. But she couldn’t prove it and that was that. She had been quite upset, naturally, at the loss of income as much as the accusation, but he hadn’t been too fussed about that. He had a good job with a music production company, he would have been well able to support her until she found something else. It certainly hadn’t caused any extra friction between them.

  When he was asked about the missing books and document wallet he said he’d moved house a few months before – in with this close friend of his and her wife. There’d been nothing of Katie’s left behind except for a few clothes, which he’d thrown out. He didn’t even remember there being any children’s books. She’d been renting a place with two other women before moving in with him, and had brought very little with her. She wasn’t really the type to hold on to childhood mementos, he said, she was one for living in the moment.

  Could he give them the details of any friends of hers in Glasgow? Not really, he said. He knew she occasionally met some female friends for lunch, but none had ever come to the flat. He couldn’t think of any of their names. He knew she had kept in touch with her sister in Australia, and in June the previous year, had lit a candle in memory of her parents, then chatted with her sister on the computer for over an hour.

  Neil turned his attention to the photographs that had been sent. Gordon Renfrew was tall, thin, with short, light brown hair and a goatee. He wore glasses, and his hairline was receding a little. He had a pleasant smile and friendly, hazel brown eyes. The overall impression of the Glasgow police was of a down-to-earth, easy-going man who had had genuine feelings for Katie Campbell but had accepted their separation with equanimity.

  For good measure they had included the photos of his friend Catriona Henderson and her wife, who he was now living with temporarily.

  Catriona Henderson was a strikingly attractive woman with vivid auburn hair and light green eyes who faced the camera with a supremely confident air. “I live my life on my own terms,” her look said, “and by my own rules.” Her wife, on the other hand, Shona Ferris, looked less sure of herself, and Neil found himself briefly pondering the dynamics of their relationship. With a sigh he set the file aside.

  Could they be absolutely certain that Katie’s disappearance dated from that weekend? The state of her flat seemed to indicate she had never returned there. The last withdrawal from her account had been on May thirteenth, but she had only withdrawn money every few weeks as it was. He had imagined that Gordon Renfrew had either intercepted her on her way to meet this man Shaun, or had been waiting for her when she returned. It was obvious now that the first could not have happened, what about the second? Did Gordon pass through London on his way back from the Mediterranean? If Katie’s trip had been extended and she had returned the following weekend, and he was waiting for her … it seemed an unlikely coincidence. It had always been unlikely. Because if Shaun was innocent, had begun a relationship with her, and then she had suddenly disappeared – wouldn’t he have reported her missing? No – he had to let go of this idea of Gordon Renfrew’s involvement …

  Their check on Katie’s email account had drawn a blank. They hadn’t looked at content, just what was sent and received. There were the three from Gordon that he had mentioned, and just as he had said, she had not replied. There were regular emails to and from her sister. And there was one to Kirsty Douglas, dated the first of January, with two replies that had gone unanswered. And that was all, except for various mailing lists she was on – women’s clothing stores, restaurant chains, and the like.

  There was a knock on the door and Steve Kendall came in.

  ‘Give me some good news, Steve.’

  A broad grin broke across the young man’s face. ‘Andrew Bryson’s prints have been found on the front door of Katie Campbell’s flat, and on the door frame inside, as well.’

  Neil leaned forward. ‘Have they now? And why do we know they’re Andrew Bryson’s prints?’

  ‘Well, just a spot of petty burglary twenty years ago, but the point is, he’s lied to us, Sir.’

  ‘He certainly has. Get him in.’

  Neil and Steve sat opposite Andrew Bryson in one of the interview rooms. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, an insolent look on his face.

  ‘Well, Mr Bryson,’ Neil said, ‘I’ll get straight to the point. You lied to us. You said you’d had nothing to do with Katie Campbell, you’d barely said two words to her, but …’

  ‘And I haven’t! Don’t think you’re …’

  ‘So how come your fingerprints have been found on her front door?’

  Andrew gaped at him. ‘What? How do you know they’re …? Shit!’

  Neil nodded. ‘Mmm hmm.’

  ‘Oh I see. So just because I nicked someone’s telly twenty years ago – someone who owed me a lot of money might I add – now means I’m to blame for a young woman’s disappearance?’

  ‘Well – you tell us.’

  ‘Look! I …’

  ‘I must warn you that your prints have been found on the door frame inside the flat as well.’

  ‘All right! Look, I … I saw her move in. She didn’t have much, just a couple of suitcases. She was wearing that amazing coat. So that evening I went across to introduce myself …’

  ‘Keeping yourself to yourself, just the way you like it?’

  ‘Well … you know …’

  ‘Yes I do know. She was young, and attractive, so you thought y
ou’d make an exception.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that! I just wanted to be neighbourly, friendly … so I knocked on the door, and she opened it … she opened it, then leaned slightly against it, smiling at me, very encouragingly, so I …’

  ‘Moved in closer, resting your hand around the door frame?’

  ‘Y-yes, I suppose, well, yes, I must have done …’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I just introduced myself, said if she ever needed anything, a tap fixed, something like that, or even just felt like a chat over a cup of tea, well, just to knock on my door.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘She straightened up, still smiling, said “I don’t think so”, and shut the door in my face. I only just got my hand out of the way.’

  ‘Not very neighbourly and friendly of her, was it?’

  A flash of anger passed across Andrew’s face. ‘No, it wasn’t.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘Describe your other encounters with her. The truth this time.’

  ‘I only saw her a few times after that. She’d come out of her flat just as I was going into mine. She would give a sort of smirk and say, ‘Hi, Andrew,’ I would nod at her, and that would be that.’

  ‘So in six months you only saw her a few times?’

  ‘Yes. Always in the early evening. I spend a lot of the day out of the flat. I go for long walks or – well, there are several interests I pursue. I eat out because I can’t be bothered cooking for one. Sometimes I don’t get back until quite late. I see the people above me just as infrequently.’

  ‘All right. Tell us about that last conversation with her.’

  ‘It was at five o’clock on Friday the thirteenth of May. Just as I was going into my flat she came out of hers carrying a suitcase. As soon as she saw me she said, “Hello, Andrew. I’m going away for a few days so can you keep an eye on the place for me?” I just looked at her, but she kept on, saying, “I’m going away with a young man I met, a very attractive young man …” She said this slowly, emphasising every word, watching me for my reaction … God! It made me so angry! I wanted to … I wanted …’

  ‘What did you want to do, Mr Bryson?’

  He paled slightly. ‘I wanted to slap that smile off her face! Stop her sneering at me! God, you can’t think I … you can’t think I did anything to her! I didn’t! I went into my flat and slammed the door, and that’s the last I ever saw of her!’

  ‘Mr Bryson, we have a warrant to search your flat …’

  Now he went deathly white. ‘No! That’s not necessary! I swear to you … I didn’t touch her! If something’s happened to her it wasn’t me!’

  Neil sat back in his chair. ‘What are we going to find in your flat, Mr Bryson?’

  ‘Nothing! Personal stuff … private stuff …’ He made a visible effort to pull himself together. ‘You won’t find anything to connect me to Katie Campbell because I haven’t touched her!’

  Neil suddenly felt he knew what Andrew Bryson didn’t want them to find. He suppressed a grimace of distaste.

  ‘Do you own a car, Mr Bryson?’

  ‘No, I don’t. So how am I supposed to have disposed of the body, hmm?’

  Neil ignored this. ‘Did you “keep an eye on the place”, like you were asked?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Katie’s flat. Did you keep an eye on it, like she asked?’

  ‘Well, I … I …’

  ‘You did, didn’t you? You watched for her return day after day. Day after day you saw her curtains left open, no lights on in the evenings, and you did nothing about it …’

  ‘So? Is that a crime? She’s a young, healthy woman, not some frail old lady … if I thought anything of it, I thought the few days away had become a few weeks, that’s all.’

  ‘What was the name of the hotel where she was going?’

  Andrew’s shoulders slumped. ‘The “Seaview Hotel” in Brighton.’

  ‘And the suitcase she had with her. What did that look like?’

  ‘It was tartan. Blue, green and black – the Campbell tartan, actually.’

  ‘Thank you. Anything else you’d like to tell us?’

  The two men’s eyes met. All Andrew Bryson’s bluster had gone, and in his face there showed only fear, and defeat.

  ‘The man’s name. It was Taverner – Shaun Taverner.’

  Neil stared at him. Slowly he leant forward. ‘I could do you for obstructing the police,’ he hissed. ‘I still might.’ He stood up. ‘Steve, take him away for a DNA swab. Then hold him here until the search is complete.’

  ‘You can’t do that! I’m entitled to …’ but Neil had already left the room.

  Neil tasked Soumela with contacting the Seaview Hotel, and tracing Shaun Taverner – Taviner – whatever spelling variant she could think of, then went around to Andrew Bryson’s flat. It was as he suspected.

  ‘There’s cupboards full of porn, Sir,’ said Tony Pavel. ‘DVDs, magazines … some of it quite hardcore, but none of it illegal. There’s gay … straight … lesbian … you name it. A man of diverse tastes.’

  ‘Mmm hmm. Anything else?’

  ‘Diaries. Going back years. Everything he does, every day. When he’s not going to strip shows, or lap dancing clubs, he’s off to places like Greenwich, Richmond Park, watching birds – the feathered variety. Takes all sorts, doesn’t it, Sir? The dirty old man.’

  ‘How about – a lonely, socially awkward old man who, unable to form a normal relationship, seeks to satisfy his natural urges through other, so far as we know, perfectly legitimate means?’ Still, he wasn’t happy with the idea of Sheila Campbell moving in opposite.

  ‘My version’s easier on the tongue, Sir.’ Tony grinned.

  ‘Well, however we describe him, he’s probably rueing the day he let his libido get the better of him and knocked on Katie Campbell’s door. Bag up the diaries that detail the past six months and bring them back to the station. They’ll be my bedtime reading.’

  ***

  Before he went home he stopped by the Strathmore Hotel. The reception clerk glanced up as he walked in, then did a double take.

  ‘I know you, don’t I?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, you do. Can you please see …’

  ‘You were here that night …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Neil heavily. ‘Is Sheila Campbell in, please? Tell her DCI Hammond is here to see her and I’ll meet her in the lounge on the first floor.’

  He stood by the window gazing out into the street, the bumper to bumper traffic, three double decker buses in a row, all showing the same destination. A taxi pulled quickly into a vacant parking spot, almost hitting a cyclist, and he winced. Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned as Sheila came into the room.

  ‘Hello,’ she smiled.

  ‘Hello. I hope you don’t mind us talking in here but I know these hotel rooms, there’s never anywhere to sit.’

  ‘That’s fine. But it’s a lovely day, why don’t we go out to the courtyard, instead?’

  After a few seconds he noticed her puzzled look and realised he was taking too long to answer. ‘Sure,’ he said in a tight voice. ‘Why not?’

  He bought her a glass of wine and himself a sparkling mineral water and they sat at a wooden table shaded by a large umbrella.

  Sheila sipped at her drink. ‘I like sitting out here of an evening. It feels so secluded, away from the dust and grime of the street.’

  He looked around – the screen of tall pine trees softening the harshness of the buildings behind, the high fence at the rear, no hotel windows at this level. ‘Yes. It’s very pleasant.’ Now, on a warm summer’s evening, with the scent of the flowers which filled the brightly painted tubs spaced here and there between the tables, the buzz of happy, relaxed conversation, the unobtrusive background music.

  Sheila leaned forward, said in a low voice, ‘The reception clerk told me someone was raped here back in winter …’

  ‘And that’s a selling point?!�
�� Neil said furiously. ‘A young woman’s pain and terror?’

  That puzzled look again. ‘No – of course it’s not. He struck me as rather ghoulish, to tell you the truth. But you can’t stop people talking about things like that – a bit of drama in their lives. It’s human nature.’

  A “bit of drama”. Neil swallowed, a bitter taste in his mouth. ‘It was very insensitive of him, given your situation.’

  ‘He doesn’t know my situation. I … I only mentioned it to you, because …’

  Finally Neil understood. ‘I’m sorry … you thought it might be connected. No. The man who committed that crime was caught a week later and is now in jail, having eventually seen the sense in pleading guilty.’

  ‘Oh. All the same – the man who took Katie … he might have done that to her … he might be keeping her somewhere, hurting her over and over … oh, it’s driving me mad, I can’t stand it!’

  He placed his hand over hers. ‘Sheila, it’s useless for me to say you have to stop thinking like this, but these imaginings can do you no good.’

  ‘But that’s what I’m doing! Just imagining … what might have happened, all the different ways … If this was a crime of passion, maybe I could understand … but it seems – premeditated, evil … oh, Inspector Hammond, I know I keep saying this, but I just can’t live the rest of my life not knowing what’s happened!’

  ‘Neil. Call me Neil.’ He gave her hand a brief squeeze, then let go.

  ‘Neil.’ She grabbed at a serviette, dabbed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

  ‘Sheila, I’ve read the interview with Gordon Renfrew and he says, Katie fell pregnant, but had a miscarriage, and it was the miscarriage which made her decide to leave.’

  Sheila was looking stunned. ‘I can’t take this in … first you tell me she was sacked from her job for stealing, now that she had a miscarriage … she’s never mentioned a word of it … I thought we were close, I thought she’d confide in me …’