‘No,’ said Graeme. ‘Well – it was always a bit far-fetched. So what now?’
‘Somebody out there knows something, they just don’t know that they know it. Can we stretch to one further media appeal, Sir? And speak again to everyone at the Ellesmere Road flats?’
Graeme looked dubious. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
***
The weeks passed. Sheila Campbell got in touch with the front desk to say her leave had been extended to the end of September at the very latest. Her company was sending her work she could do on her computer, without the need for face to face contact. To Neil it was a deadline – he felt if they didn’t have an answer for her by then, then they would never have one.
Meanwhile, he fretted about Janey. She had stopped seeing Zara Williams, saying she knew what she had to do, it was up to her now. Except that he saw no evidence of her ever going outside. Day after day he would get home to find her wearing her short dresses, or in her painting clothes. She was churning out paintings like there was no tomorrow, from the photographs he had taken, or variations of Ruth Harrison’s rose garden. She had fulfilled Ruth’s request for a traditional painting, refusing to accept any payment for it, and Neil had taken it round one night, enjoying a few more hours of the old woman’s company. He had found himself confiding in her, and Ruth had recommended him being open, and upfront. But he, who had questioned thousands of people in the course of his work, adopting a different approach according to each circumstance, now found himself tongue-tied when it came to asking that one simple thing – have you been out today? He felt it would sound like he was checking up on her, putting pressure on. She seemed so over-emotional at times as it was, bursting into tears for no apparent reason, or because a painting was going badly, that he hesitated to add to her stress, to appear critical. He found the whole situation deeply frustrating. And while the flat was for him a haven, a place of peace and solace after a hard day’s work, he worried that for her it was becoming a prison.
Chapter 15
‘PC Havers.’
‘DI Stamford.’
Garry held the door for Angela as she left Neil’s office, then closed it behind her. ‘What did she want?’
‘She had some idea to do with the rosters. I told her it was nothing to do with me, she should take it to Tom.’
‘She’s in here rather a lot, isn’t she?’
‘Is she? I think she’s keen to get into CID, but I’m in two minds about that. Sometimes she seems really sharp, but others she’s completely off the mark. Still, you’re right, I don’t know why she can’t take these ideas of hers to you.’
Because I’m not the one she wants to get off with, thought Garry, and wondered how Neil could be so blind.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘two things. First, I’ve got tickets to a production of Macbeth my cousin Davida is starring in, for Saturday week, and I wondered if you and Janey would like to come along?’
‘Of course. And the second?’
Garry’s eyes sparkled. ‘There’s a gentleman down in reception whose story you need to hear.’
‘Well, Mr Stevenson, how can I help you?’
‘It’s Rupert. And it’s more a case of how I can help you. I hope so, anyway. It’s about that suitcase – belonging to the missing woman. I saw it.’
‘When did you see it? We put out that appeal weeks ago.’
‘Yes, and I’m sorry. It was back in May sometime – a Saturday. But I couldn’t think where I’d seen it, so there was no point in me coming in. But this morning, I was back in the same place, and I remembered – I came straight here.’
‘Can you show me?’
Rupert directed him to a narrow lane about ten minutes’ walk from Katie Campbell’s flat, a cut through to Wandsworth Common.
‘Two kids – boys – had it open on the pavement here. They were going through it, there were clothes scattered everywhere. I wondered if they’d stolen it and was about to say something when a window opened in that block of flats there and a woman called them inside. They piled everything back into the case and ran off with it. But it was definitely tartan. Do you think it’s the one?’
‘I think there’s a strong possibility, yes.’ Neil looked up at the ten storey building in front of him. ‘I don’t suppose you remember which window it was?’
‘Somewhere in the middle I think.’
‘All right.’ Neil walked further along the lane. To his left there was an even narrower alleyway. He turned into it and there, standing against a brick wall, were two large council rubbish skips. His stomach turned over. If that was where the boys had found the case …
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s go back to the station and get as good a description as you can give of these two boys. We’ll find them.’
The following morning he was called to the soft interview room where Soumela was sitting with two young boys and their mother, a large, blonde-haired woman in her late twenties.
‘Hello,’ he said, ‘what are your names?’
‘I’m Darren,’ said the older of the boys, who looked about ten.
‘And I’m Gavin.’
‘Well, Darren and Gavin, I’m Neil. I’d like to ask you some questions about a suitcase you were seen playing with a few months ago. Can you remember that?’
‘Course. We found it in one of those rubbish bins, didn’t we, Darren?’
‘Yeah.’ The boy darted a glance at his mother. ‘Mum says we’re not to go messing about in them but the lid of one wasn’t shut properly and when we looked there was this suitcase sticking up. I mean … it’s not stealing, is it, to take something somebody else has thrown away?’
‘No, it’s not. Can you tell me what was in the suitcase?’
‘Clothes. Dresses and stuff.’
‘Just clothes? There wasn’t a pink leather case containing papers, like a passport …?’
‘If there’d been anything like that,’ the mother interrupted, ‘we’d have brought it straight to you lot. Of course we would. If they say there was only clothes then that’s how it was. My boys aren’t liars. What’s so important about this case, anyway?’
Neil turned to her. ‘Do you still have the case?’
‘No. One of the wheels was broken so it went back in the skip.’
‘And the clothes?’
‘They were in good nick so I took them to Oxfam.’
‘You didn’t keep any?’
She gave him a sarcastic look. ‘They didn’t fit.’
‘OK. Can you describe any of them to me?’
She shrugged. ‘A few T-shirts, some lacy underwear, a red silk blouse. Oh, there was this nice looking dress, black, some sort of stretchy material … I can’t remember what else.’
Josh Martin had seen Katie in a tight-fitting black dress, which hadn’t been in the wardrobe, and Sheila had mentioned a red silk blouse …
‘All right. Now, Darren, Gavin, this is really important. Did you see anything else in the skip, something that maybe you didn’t want to tell anyone else about, in case you got into trouble?’
The boys looked puzzled. ‘No.’
‘What about a coat? A blue coat with a pattern of peacock feathers on it.’ He took out Katie’s photo. ‘This coat.’
They looked at the photo, then at each other. Then Darren said, ‘There might have been something blue, pushed down a bit. I wasn’t really looking. We were just interested in the suitcase. Honest, Neil.’
Something blue, pushed down a bit … Neil swallowed hard. ‘OK. Thank you boys. I’m sure you’re eager to get off to school. Soumela will show you out.’
It was a sombre meeting in the Superintendent’s office that afternoon.
‘This looks grim, doesn’t it?’ Graeme said.
‘If Katie Campbell went into that skip she’ll have been incinerated by now.’
‘Yes, and that would have been the case even before her sister reported her as missing.’
‘Sheila … I’ll have to tell Sheila … But what I don’
t get is – she was going away for the weekend – why weren’t there any toiletries in that case – shampoo, toothbrush and what not? And what’s happened to the document wallet?’
‘It could be that the murderer removed anything by the way of identification. And this is a murder enquiry now. Let’s pass it on to Homicide, let them answer those questions.’
‘Let me have a crack at Bryson first, Sir, before we hand it on.’
‘It’s more likely to have been Taverner, surely, under cover of darkness?’ Graeme hesitated for a moment. ‘All right, but that’s the end of it. You’ve worked hard on this, Neil, you’ve got it to this point, but now it’s time to let it go.’
Chapter 16
The moment Neil walked into the interview room, Andrew Bryson leapt out of his chair.
‘This is nothing short of harassment!’ he shouted. ‘Arresting me on suspicion of murder! You’re mad! I’ll sue you for this!’
‘Sit down, Bryson. And shut up.’ Neil took his seat, started the recording. ‘Interview commencing at four forty-five p.m. Present are DCI Neil Hammond, DC Soumela Georgiou, Mr Andrew Bryson, and Mr Clive Strickland, the duty solicitor. Right, Mr Bryson. Katie Campbell was a very attractive young woman and, to use a colloquial term, you had the hots for her. But she rejected your friendly advances the night she moved in, she continued to be rude to you every time you met …’
‘If I murdered everybody who was rude to me the streets would be littered with bodies.’
‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me. I mean, that you rub so many people up the wrong way. Why is that, Mr Bryson? What is it about you that people just don’t like?’
Andrew glared at him. ‘You’re insufferable. Sitting there thinking …’
‘But on that last afternoon, May the thirteenth, she wasn’t just rude, was she? She taunted you. Taunted you with the fact that she was going to Brighton for the weekend with a young man. Why do people usually go to Brighton for the weekend, Mr Bryson? To have sex. Sex – which you were never going to have with her, except in your head. It was too much for you, wasn’t it, Mr Bryson? It sent you over the edge. You followed her …’
‘No …’
‘You followed her, along Ellesmere Road, into Peddlers’ Lane. And there you dragged her into an alleyway, and in a fit of rage, you attacked and killed her …’
‘No!’
‘How did you do it? Did you strangle her? Slam her head against the brick wall? Break her neck? However you did it, you killed her, then bundled her body into the skip like so much rubbish. You pushed her down in order to conceal her, and then you threw the suitcase in after her. That’s what happened, isn’t it, Mr Bryson?’
Andrew looked faint. ‘No … this is a fit-up … I didn’t … I told you – she walked off and I went into my flat and that was all. I swear …’
‘For the benefit of the tape, I’m showing Mr Bryson a copy from his diary …’
‘You copied it? You can’t do that …’
‘Actually, I can. Let me read a couple of extracts. Saturday May fourteenth, “Felt unwell. Didn’t go out. Re-read some of my diaries, looking for happier memories.” Sunday May fifteenth, the same. That’s a bit of an over-reaction, wouldn’t you say, to a bit of insolence? But to the act of murder, with all the extremes of emotion that would entail …’
‘No … it had nothing to do with her! Nothing! And you know that! You know why I was upset!’
A sudden gleam came into Neil’s eyes. ‘Perhaps you’d like to enlighten my colleague about that?’
There was a moment of quiet. Neil could see Andrew weighing things up – admit to the assault on Josh Martin, and get a murder charge off his back …
Finally, Andrew spoke. ‘When I got home on that Friday night, the tenant in flat twelve followed shortly after. He was obviously very drunk – he was sick, and he passed out in the foyer. I couldn’t just leave him there. I dragged him into my kitchen and put a pillow under his head, to make him comfortable. I turned him on his side, in case he threw up again. But I couldn’t sleep, knowing he was there. What if he woke up during the night and started going through my things, maybe even stealing something? So I went out to the kitchen to try and wake him. He was on his back, with his shirt stretched tight across his chest, and he looked … he looked … lovely. I’d had a very frustrating evening, and the sight of this beautiful man, lying on my floor, was just … it was just too much. I … I became highly aroused. I knelt down and unbuttoned his shirt, caressed his chest. I touched him, through his trousers, but this almost woke him so I sat on a chair and watched him. I-I-I was touching myself, but just as I … just as I … finished, he woke up and saw me. He pushed me off the chair and I fell and cut my head. I could hear him breaking things in my living-room, precious ornaments. He broke a vase that had been in my family for years, a wedding present to my grandmother. The whole thing was extremely upsetting. I hadn’t been hurting him, if he hadn’t woken up …’
‘Mr Bryson, you have just admitted to sexually assaulting your neighbour on the night of May thirteen this year.’
‘Yes.’
‘You will be charged with this, and combined with the other charges you are already facing, you will serve a term in prison.’
‘Yes. But I didn’t murder Katie Campbell. I’ve explained what those diary entries meant, surely now you can see I’m innocent?’
Neil smiled. ‘But even before this episode with your neighbour, you were agitated, you were acting out of character. The manager at the restaurant “La luce della luna” said so, your own diary entry about your night at the Birds of Paradise Club says so. Shall I read that entry for you, to refresh your memory?’
Andrew gaped at him. ‘But I just … I thought that … I just … you fucking bastard! I’ll get you for this!’
‘And now you’re threatening a police officer, on tape. You really should be more careful about what you say, Mr Bryson.’
‘Right! Then I’m not going to say another thing! Ask me what you like, you’ll get no more answers from me.’
‘That’s fine. Interview terminated at five-o-five p.m. Mr Strickland, could you please explain to Mr Bryson the implications of a no comment interview should this matter come to court. Soumela, come with me.’
He went next door, where Graeme had been watching the interview through a two-way mirror.
‘Happy?’ Graeme asked.
‘Very.’
Soumela looked from one to the other. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Bryson committed that assault on his neighbour, Josh Martin, but Mr Martin didn’t want to take it to court. Now he doesn’t have to. I’d say that’s a win for everyone. Except Bryson, of course.’
‘Bryson thinks you tricked him, Sir.’
‘Do you think I tricked him, Soumela?’
She pondered for a moment. ‘He was flustered, maybe not able to think straight … I mean, he didn’t need to admit to everything, did he? In fact, you know, I think he quite enjoyed telling that story, re-living it …’ She made a disgusted face. ‘So no – I don’t think it was a trick, Sir.’
Neil smiled. ‘Thank you, Soumela.’
‘Are you going to continue questioning him?’ Graeme asked.
‘Before I answer that, would you mind coming back to my office with me? I want to show you something about his diary. You come too, Soumela.’
Neil explained what was on his mind. ‘In the diary, the incident with Josh Martin ends with Bryson leaving him on the kitchen floor. There’s no mention at all of what happened after, not even an abridged version with no criminal element to it. Why? Now, when he writes about his activities in the woods, he makes oblique references to what he was actually up to – if you weren’t reading closely between the lines, like I was, you’d miss it, it all comes across as perfectly innocent. I think these references were a sort of code – triggers – so that when he re-read the entries he could re-visit what he had done, experience the thrill all over again. But when it comes to
Katie Campbell, all the entries after the thirteenth are perfectly straightforward – “Saw that the curtains at number eight were open. Is she back?”, other references to the fact that there are no lights on, “Have come to the conclusion that the woman in flat eight is not coming back … Well, good riddance to her.” What do you make of all that?’
‘It was a pretence,’ said Graeme. ‘It was all faked, to look like he’d had nothing to do with her disappearance, in case we suspected him and read the diary.’
‘Or,’ said Soumela, ‘he was in denial. The fact that he’d committed a murder – it was too huge, he was trying to blank it out.’
‘He did that with Josh Martin – blanked it out. He didn’t pretend, for instance, that the two of them had a cosy, companionable breakfast together the following day.’
‘But murder – that’s so much bigger, isn’t it? His mind would be in turmoil … so writing about Katie as if she was still alive, maybe that was his way of coming to terms with it …’
‘Or how about, he actually is innocent, and these are all completely innocent observations? That his agitation on the Friday night was due to the fact that he is a highly-strung individual, and Katie had really shaken his self-image? Do you see? Three people, three different interpretations. What’s the psychology here? And how many hours would it take to get him to breaking point, get a confession out of him? Because that’s what we need. I think you’re right, Sir. I think it is time to hand this on to Homicide.’
Graeme grinned. ‘It’s not like you to shirk a challenge, Neil.’
‘No. But I also think there’s too much antagonism between me and Bryson now. It needs someone fresh to give it a go.’
Chapter 17
That evening Neil went round to Sheila Campbell’s bedsit, to inform her of the developments, but she wasn’t in.
Josh Martin was, though. He answered the door dressed in tight-fitting black denim jeans, and a red open-necked shirt.
The Woman in the Peacock Patterned Coat Page 17