Backlash

Chapter Seven

Langton’s kitchen looked as if an earthquake had hit it. There was broken crockery, dirty dishes stacked in the sink and on the draining board. The fridge door had been left open and now wouldn’t close thanks to the ice blocking the door latch. Dirty pots and pans littered the floor and a garbage bag was spewing out its contents.

‘My God, your kitchen is disgusting,’ Anna said, from the doorway of his bedroom.

‘I fell over in there yesterday. Just leave it all, the girl that cleans the flat upstairs is dropping by this afternoon to do the place over.’

That was easy enough to say, she thought as she walked back into the kitchen. She’d have to wash up some of the plates left in the sink, and there was no way she could prepare their breakfast until she had wiped down the surfaces and done a partial clean-up.

Carrying in the tray of the menu he’d requested, smoked salmon and bagels with fresh black coffee, she asked if he could at least clear a space on the bed for her to rest the tray. He did so by shoving all the newspapers and files onto the floor with one sweep of his arm.

‘There you go!’

He was obviously hungry, as he devoured his bagel and smoked salmon so quickly he made himself burp.

‘Excuse me. Delicious, just what I fancied.’

She nibbled hers as he drank his coffee, leaning back against the pillows.

‘Okay, give me the lowdown.’

She told him about the garden design centre and that she still wanted to talk to Andrew Markham as there was a possibility Henry Oates could have worked for him, and that she would investigate the two boxers who’d been friends of Oates.

‘I wouldn’t bother with Markham, I interviewed him.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. He used pals that worked at Kew Gardens to help with the work on the excavation.’

‘Terrific. You know his name doesn’t even feature in your files!’

He frowned and said that it must be some oversight because he had talked to him personally. He then changed the subject and asked about Oates. Anna told him that he was still in the prison hospital after the assault and as yet Kumar had not asked for a psychiatric assessment.

‘Is he still acting up? Oates, not that prick Kumar.’

‘He stopped eating for a while, said he was feeling very depressed, so to be on the safe side they put him on suicide watch.’

‘He’s pissing them about so he can stay in the hospital wing and have an easy time.’

‘Gives us more time to find the evidence.’

‘You’ve not done too well so far. Listen, if you or Mike don’t find anything against Oates for the Flynn or Jordan girls you will still have to interview. If he killed them then a full confession to everything that happened is the only way forward, so I want you to talk to Mike. If I’m right, Oates is the kind of bastard that likes to gloat. Now he said…’

Langton leaned over the bed and rooted around before he retrieved the copies of the original interviews with Oates from when he was first arrested.

‘He said he remembered Rebekka because of all the press statements about her being missing, right? You with me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell Mike to draw him out, test his memory, say he just needs to see how he could recall her name and the date she disappeared so clearly. Pictures of her posted up everywhere, right? Ask him if he can – because of the media attention – remember what she was wearing. I told you the one thing we held back.’

‘The hair band?’

‘Correct. See if Mike can tease out what Oates can remember – you know, make sure that he was being honest when he said the reason he remembered Rebekka was because of the television reconstruction.’

‘Okay, I’ll make a note of it to tell Mike.’

‘If Oates describes the pink hair band, you know he came into contact with her the day she disappeared.’

‘But he could have seen her wearing it any time before she went missing?’

‘No he couldn’t. Emily Jordan had only bought it the previous day and Rebekka had never had, or worn, a pink Alice band before.’

‘Sorry but I wasn’t aware of that.’

‘Well it’s in the case file.’

‘Right. Anything else?’

‘If you’re not going to finish your bagel I’ll have it.’

Anna passed him her plate and took the tray back to the kitchen. She wanted to leave, so didn’t bother washing up, just hovered in the doorway of his bedroom.

‘I’m off now as I really want to get on with checking out those two boxers, all right? You’ve fresh coffee in the percolator and…’

She hesitated. He lay back and closed his eyes.

‘Do you mind if I take that doll’s house into the station?’

He opened his eyes. ‘Why?’

‘It gives a clear indication of how the house and garden looked before the extension.’

He sighed and said she could take it and not to bother bringing it back. Kitty didn’t want it and he hated looking at it.

‘Well you know where I am,’ she said as she walked out.

‘You know where I am!’ he yelled back.

She went into the kitchen and dug in a cupboard for a large carrier bag. There were so many plastic bags tossed inside, the cupboard door wouldn’t close. She returned to his bedroom.

‘This cleaner… when she gets here tell her to clear out the kitchen cupboards. I’m taking a big John Lewis carrier bag, okay?’

He held out his hand and grinned. ‘Come here, you.’

She moved closer and he leaned forwards to catch her hand.

‘Thank you. And will you call me if you get anything from these two boxers?’

‘Of course.’

‘Leave your mobile on?’

‘Yes I will.’

‘Okay. You go off then and see you later maybe.’

She hesitated, turning back to look at him. She wanted to say to him that she wouldn’t be seeing him later, that she wasn’t prepared to be at his beck and call to pick up groceries, cook for him and feed him, but he looked so vulnerable, so untidy and in need of a shave and a bath that she thought better of it.

‘Hope you feel better soon. Bye.’

The doll’s house wouldn’t quite go in the bag, but in the end she managed to cover the roof and first floor. She had to rest it on the bonnet of her Mini as she unlocked it, as it was very heavy, and she couldn’t get it into the passenger or back seats as it was too wide. In the end she folded the rear seats flat to make the boot bigger and managed to fit it in the car. She slotted the little bags of tiny furniture and figures in beside it.

Joan and Barbara had to hold open the incident room double doors for Anna to carry in the doll’s house. She placed it on an empty desk and both of the older women stood around to admire it. Joan was especially taken with it.

‘I used to have one, though not as well built as this. It’s lovely and with a spot of paint it’ll look even better. Is it home-made?’

‘Yes.’ Anna removed her coat and then had to go back to her car for her briefcase as she’d been unable to carry it before. When she returned the two women were still opening and closing the doors of the house, and Joan was inspecting the little bags of furniture.

‘If it’s not a rude question, why is it here?’ Barbara asked, heading back to her desk.

‘Could be used as evidence, but I’m not sure about it. Maybe get it down to the property lockup later.’

‘Do you know something?’ Joan began. ‘I was telling Barbara the other day about some episodes of CSI, that TV series from America. They had this killer and he sent in small doll’s-house-size rooms showing how he killed his victims.’

‘Really?’ Anna sat at her desk.

‘My mother never misses it. They showed teeny little knives in one doll, one was shot and another poisoned, all hand-made by the murderer.’

Barbara rolled her eyes as Joan was still bent over the doll’s house.

‘You know the windows open and shut.’

‘It’s actually about the garden. Rebekka Jordan’s parents had a big extension built, but as you can see there isn’t one here.’

‘It’s been damaged.’ Joan was now checking out the back garden area and squatting down on her heels.

‘It must have taken someone hours and hours to make this.’

‘Was it Rebekka’s?’ Barbara asked.

‘Yes.’ Anna said, eager to get on with her work. She didn’t mention that she had brought it in from Langton’s. Now she turned to the big bag of posters and programmes from York Hall. The musty smell made her sneeze as she spread them over her desk. None of the posters featured Henry Oates’s name, so she put them aside and began to sift through the programmes. She found one with the name of Timmy Bradford from about fifteen years ago, but still had no joy with Henry Oates. There were numerous programmes mentioning Ira Zacks, both as a semi-pro fighter and an amateur. He appeared to go from middle- to heavyweight. The last programme she checked out had Henry Oates down as a light middleweight amateur boxer and his opponent was Timmy Bradford, also an amateur.

Anna added the information to the incident room board. She put in a call to Timmy Bradford but there was no answer, so she next rang Ira Zacks and hung on waiting for an answer for almost four minutes. Eventually a deep guttural voice growled, ‘Yes?’

Anna explained who she was and that if it was convenient she would like to speak to him regarding his friendship with Henry Oates.

‘Who?’

He sounded half asleep and she constantly had to repeat herself before he finally admitted that he used to know Oates, but hadn’t seen him for years. She asked if he knew Timmy Bradford and he said that he did, but again had not been in contact with him for years.

It took a while before Ira agreed to see Anna. He said he’d had some business at a nightclub and hadn’t got home until the early hours, so it would be best if she came that afternoon. He gave her an address in Hammersmith. She asked if Timmy Bradford still lived at the address in Bromley she had and he said he couldn’t tell her. All he did remember about him was that he worked for a security firm.

Anna tried the phone number for Timmy Bradford again and this time it was answered by a woman who said she’d never heard of him and she’d lived at the flat for the last four years.

Joan was given the job of calling York Hall to see if they had a date of birth for Timmy Bradford so she could try and locate him through the benefits office at the Department for Work and Pensions or other agencies.

‘You know we got a bit of a break with Fidelis Flynn?’ Barbara said to Anna. ‘Barolli and Joan spent hours going through adverts for flat shares from the Evening Standard and Time Out, around the time Fidelis disappeared. They checked through hundreds.’

‘And?’

‘Came in late last night. Barolli got a hit. It was a bedsit in a converted Victorian house in Shepherd’s Bush.’

‘What? You are kidding me?’

Joan looked across at them. ‘Girl fitting Fidelis’s description went to see the flat, said she would think about it and call that evening. Never rang back.’

Joan got up to point out the exact location on the blown-up map now on the incident board.

‘It’s not far from the stables,’ Joan said.

Anna was buzzing.

‘She turned up at four-fifteen,’ Barbara went on. ‘The woman who owned the premises said four women had applied to see the room and they viewed it on the same day. She recalled Fidelis as being Irish, that she carried a small rucksack and said that if she took the room she would want to move in straight away.’

‘Never called back?’

‘Right. So we now have a sort of description of what she was wearing – we didn’t have anything to go on before: blue anorak, jeans, dark-coloured jumper and knee-high boots.’

‘Hmmm… this girl who owns the lease has a very good memory. I mean, it was eighteen months ago.’

‘She said she pays particular attention to anyone coming in to see the room as they would obviously be sharing the kitchen and bathroom.’

‘She recognized her straight away,’ said a new voice.

Anna turned as Barolli walked in.

‘This is good work, Paul.’

‘Thank you. I needed to get my mind off sneezing from the bloody hay at the stables. As you can see, the Shepherd’s Bush flat is not far from Ladbroke Grove and within walking distance of the Tube station and the stables.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ Joan said mournfully. ‘I’ve been on the phone for so long my ear lobes are ringing.’

‘Great work, all of you. Congratulations,’ said Anna, with feeling.

Anna went in to see Mike and filled him in on that morning’s conversation with Langton. She also suggested they send some flowers to Pete Jenkins’ home address for his wife and new baby.

‘Anything more from Kumar?’ she asked.

‘Nope. He went over the disclosure stuff and left without saying a word. I spoke to the prison for an update on Oates. The governor says he’s stopped playing up and should be moved to solitary in the next couple of days for his own protection and be closely monitored.’

‘Be good if we could crack either Fidelis’s or Rebekka’s disappearance. I’m not having much luck so far, nothing new, but it’s a big development on the Fidelis Flynn case. I’m trying to contact two boxers that knew Oates way back, see if I can get more on his background. One of them lives in Hammersmith close to the Jordans’ place.’

Mike nodded and then opened out a large map, covering his desk. They had investigated building sites across West London, on the possibility that Oates had worked in the Shepherd’s Bush area. They were now sifting through any likely building sites and companies that might have hired unskilled or cheap labour over the last six years. Parts of the map were circled with a highlighter pen.

‘It’s not unusual to use Eastern European guys paid on a daily rate for less money than a skilled labourer. Day’s rate for a builder, carpenter, anyone with training, is around a hundred and ninety quid, but these casual workers will accept a hundred.’

‘Cash?’

‘Yeah. The obvious site is the Westfield Shopping Centre, which was started in 2003 and took five years to complete, so it fits the time span for Rebekka, but not for Fidelis.’

‘The security on Westfield must have been massive?’

‘It was, so it doesn’t look likely he could have put Rebekka’s body there. Barolli’s spoken to the contractors to see if Oates ever worked on site but they’re being very cagey. But here’s one Paul reckons we should look into.’

Mike pointed to a red-circled area just off Shepherd’s Bush Green.

‘What is it?’

‘Multi-storey car park built as an overflow for Westfield and the timing is right for Fidelis’s disappearance. Two years ago they had a big rebuild and put in footings and supporting pillars going down twenty feet. They built lifts, used tons of concrete and heavy mixers, but they didn’t really need guys with qualifications.’

‘What was the security like?’

‘One night guard in a Portakabin.’

‘Terrific. Good luck.’

‘Thanks.’ Mike smiled and cocked his head to one side. ‘So how is he?’

‘Langton?’

Mike nodded.

‘Pain in the butt. He keeps on calling me to get in groceries for him, his place is a pigsty, and he looks worn-out, but he told me he’s getting a cleaner in today.’

‘Where’s his wife and kids?’

‘Apparently at his place in the country. You know how he keeps his private life close to his chest, so I have no idea where it is.’

‘I’ll call him and give an update about the Flynn girl.’

‘Don’t mention I said anything, will you?’

‘As if I would. I might even drop in to see him. I owe him a visit.’

Anna walked to the door and then grinned. ‘He likes his vodka!’

‘Listen, if it’ll keep him out of my hair I’ll get him a crate!’

By the time Anna was back at her desk, Joan had succeeded in tracking down Timmy Bradford. He had changed address, having been made redundant six months ago. Unemployed, he was now living back with his mother on a council estate in Kingston.

‘Terrific. Thank you, Joan.’

‘My pleasure.’

The Kingsnympton estate was huge, with a warren of lanes, but very well maintained and it was apparent that a number of the flats were privately owned. Anna parked and walked to the block where Mrs Bradford lived. It was unlike many of the council estates she had been to previously. This block was clean and the stairs were freshly painted; all the front doors looked as if they had just been painted too.

The bell had a jingle like a nursery rhyme and the bright blue door was opened by a pleasant white-haired woman wearing a tracksuit and fluffy slippers.

‘Mrs Bradford?’

‘I was, dear. I remarried. I’m Mrs Douglas now and you are the detective lady, right?’

Anna showed her ID and introduced herself as Mrs Douglas led her across a floral-carpeted narrow hallway through frosted glass doors and into a sitting room. There was more floral carpet and a velvet suite with a large foot-stool and in the corner of the room was a huge plasma TV. Glass-fronted cabinets were filled with china and ornaments, and there was an electric coal-effect fire glowing against one wall.

‘Do sit down. Timmy’s just popped out for some fresh milk. I used to get it delivered, but bottles would go missing. Kids, you know…’

Anna almost disappeared into the deep cushions of the velvet chair. Mrs Douglas came closer to her, evidently anxious.

‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?’

‘I am just here to ask for his help in an enquiry. He knew the person we are investigating and nothing more.’

‘That’s a relief. Poor boy needs a job, but it’s been years on and off. Every time he stays with me he says it’s just for a few weeks, but this time it’s been over six months. He lost his savings, you know, with that bank that closed down. He lost every penny he earned and he’d been saving to buy one of the flats here; there’s a lot coming up for sale. It would mean we’re not on top of each other – not that I mind, he’s a good boy.’

‘Is your husband at home?’

‘Oh no, dear. He passed on two years ago. And that was another thing – they never got on. He called him a bit of a freeloader and maybe he was right, but he’s my only son. I suppose I should be glad of the company, but to be honest, he’s very untidy and I like things to be just so. He says I’m obsessive, but I’m the sort that’s up and ready by seven, always do the crossword in the paper, and nothing gets me more irritated than the newspaper all split up before I’ve even read it.’

She hardly drew breath, but thankfully Anna heard the front door opening and Mrs Douglas hurried out.

‘She’s in here, dear. Did you get the biscuits too?’

‘Yeah.’

Anna could see them through the frosted glass doors and waited. Eventually Timmy Bradford walked in. He was also wearing a tracksuit, with a black T-shirt and trainers, and he was obviously very fit. He was blond, his hair cut in the odd new fashion, cropped and razored at the sides and floppy on top. He had a gold earring and a thick gold necklace. Similar in looks to his mother, he had a very chiselled face and had at one time broken his nose. It was now crooked, which gave him an added toughness, even more so as he had a front tooth missing.

He moved over to Anna and shook her hand, asking if she would like a cup of tea.

‘Had me nipping out to get biscuits. I don’t eat them, but she insisted. She’ll be in in a minute with a tray and lace cloth.’

He grinned and sat opposite Anna on the edge of the other big velvet chair.‘She’s eighty-two, in her forties when she had me.’

‘Good heavens. She doesn’t look it.’

‘She’s busy doing nothing, but she’s on a diet, lost over a stone since I’ve been here. She’s a devil for sweet stuff, though – chocolate orange biscuits, she can eat a whole pack of them.’

He smiled and then gave a sigh. ‘I dunno… grown man my age having to live off her pension. It’s driving me nuts. I keep active, down the gym every day working out, and if I’m not there, I’m at the job centre. I hate being on the dole.’

Anna nodded then opened her briefcase and took out Henry Oates’s picture.

‘I need to talk to you about this man. Do you know him?’

Timmy jumped to his feet as his mother called to him from the doorway. He swung open the door and took the tray from her.

‘Thank you, Ma. Now just leave us for a minute, will you?’

He fussed around with the tray, which did have a lace-`edged cloth, with a silver teapot and matching milk jug, and a plate of plain biscuits. The cups and saucers matched and were covered in roses.

He poured a cup for Anna and passed it to her and then offered the biscuits. He didn’t pour a cup for himself or take a biscuit, but reached over for the picture of Henry Oates.

‘Henry, yeah I know him, or I used to know him well. Long time ago now when I was boxing at the club in Bethnal Green. I’ve got a deviated septum, used to bleed like a stuck pig at the smallest tap. Gave it up, had to, but I used to train and spar with him, even fought him in the London Boys Club Championships. He was a tough little bastard – excuse me – but Henry was a good athlete, had a lot of potential.’

He handed the photographs back to Anna. ‘When did you last see him?’

Timmy shook his head and then leaned back.

‘Maybe seven years ago, bumped into him at York Hall watching the ABA championships. He still looked fuckedup – excuse me, sorry. I knew his last ever fight had been a real hard one, but he was the type that wouldn’t go down. Even his corner man wanted to throw the towel in, but he boxed on, got smashed up badly.’

‘Was he still boxing when you last saw him?’

‘No, he’d given it up a good few years before, looked like he’d hit the bottom, drunk out of his skull. I was never close to him. To be honest I didn’t think anyone was really. He’d got a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder. Mind you, rumour had it that he’d got involved with a wrong ’un.’

‘Who do you mean?’

‘His wife.’

‘Eileen?’

‘I didn’t know her name, and this is all what was repeated to me. He married her because she said she was pregnant – you know, he done the decent thing.’

‘He was very abusive towards her, wasn’t he?’

‘I wouldn’t know, but what I was told was that he thought the kid wasn’t his. Had the look of a darkie.’

‘So you didn’t know that as a fact?’

‘She put it about a bit for cash, you know, on the game, they said, and again I’m only repeating what I heard, but apparently he only found out about her other job after he’d married her. She denied it, said he was definitely the father, but he was never sure. I mean, it could have been anyone’s.’

‘Did he find out? Do a DNA test, anything like that?’

Timmy shrugged. He remembered that Henry had gone to Liverpool to find his mother so he could get a passport, but he had never caught up with the rest of the story.

‘Do you recall the man who trained Henry, perhaps an ex-boxer?’

‘Oh I know who you mean, old Mr Radcliff, yeah, yeah, he was a great character. He took Henry in to live with him. He’d been one of the best all-rounders forty years before, but got busted for doing illegal fights.’

‘He died while the club was on tour?’

‘Florida, yeah, I was there, big heart attack ringside. The rest of the tour went ahead though, in his memory, like, and they shipped him back with us. I remember the funeral, big turnout, Henry was there. I think it hit him very hard, especially not being with him when it happened. Radcliff was sort of like a surrogate dad to him, to all the kids, but after he was gone it meant Henry had no place to live and he’d doss down anywhere he could. To be honest…’

Timmy frowned and then cracked his knuckles.

‘Remember that fight I told you about, when he took a lot of punishment? It was after, I think, after old Mr Radcliff had died. When I say he wouldn’t go down I mean it. Talk about a “Raging Bull” episode. He was totally outclassed and was walking into the punches, leaning on the ropes and then holding on as the punches hammered into him; then he dropped his fists and bam! Hard right and he was down and out for the count.’

‘Go on.’

Timmy made a broad gesture, and said that it had to have been a while after that he was told Henry had given up, but that more than that the boxing had done his head in by the time he was in his late twenties.

‘Punch-drunk, they said, not that I believe in all that stuff. He was always a bit of a nutter. There was a fighter called Ira, heavyweight, lot of people in the business reckoned he’d go all the way.’

‘Ira Zacks?’

‘Yeah, that’s right, Ira Zacks. We was all at the same club together in the East End. It was him that told me, said he’d seen Henry wandering around like a dosser.’

‘So Ira Zacks knew Henry Oates well?’

‘I dunno about that. I’m just telling you what he told me.’

Anna put her cup and saucer back onto the tray.

‘Would you like a refill?’

‘No, thank you, you have been really helpful.’

Anna stood up as Timmy jumped to his feet.

‘You mind me asking, what’s he done? Something bad?’

‘Yes, he’s been charged with murder.’

‘His wife?’

‘No, not his wife. Thank you very much for your time, Timmy.’

‘No problem. I’ve got a lot of that right now, time.’ Anna headed towards the door, Timmy moving quickly to open it.

‘Have you ever married?’ she asked him.

‘Once. Didn’t work out so not tried it again.’

He opened the door as his mother appeared. ‘Are you going?’

‘Yes. Thank you for the tea and biscuits, Mrs Douglas.’

‘My pleasure.’

The old lady went to collect the tea tray as Timmy opened the front door. Anna noticed she had changed into a smart dress with a pearl necklace and earrings.

Timmy jerked his head towards his mother.

‘She’s gone and got all dressed up for you. God forbid she’d go out at all, got me running errands all day for her. Anyways, you know where I am if you need me again.’

‘Yes I do. I hope things work out for you, Timmy.’

‘So do I. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you are a very pretty woman.’

‘Thank you.’

Anna returned to her car and sat for a while. Starting up the engine, she wondered just how much of a liar Eileen had been. Timmy’s version of her life with Oates was very different from the one she had described. The composite picture of Henry Oates’s background could almost make someone feel sorry for him. However, the brutal murder of Justine Marks left little room for compassion. But she still had no new evidence that implicated him in the disappearance of Rebekka Jordan. The team was moving ahead with the Fidelis Julia Flynn case, whilst she languished behind. She knew if she didn’t come up with something soon to connect Oates to Rebekka’s abduction and murder, the investigation would return to the cold case files.

Anna headed from Kingston towards Lambeth and the forensic lab, keeping to the south side of the river, and arrived just before twelve. As she headed down the corridor towards Pete Jenkins’ office she couldn’t fail to notice a big display of pink balloons floating up to the ceiling, with messages of congratulations attached by pink ribbons. It made her wish she’d stopped off and bought something for his baby, even though Mike had promised to organize flowers from them all.

Pete was surrounded by his team. They had a bottle of champagne open and there were even more balloons. He was still wearing his overcoat so Anna presumed he had arrived just ahead of her.

‘Anna!’ he called out, opening his arms and giving her a bear hug.

‘How’s Matilda?’

‘Brilliant. She’s gorgeous. Let me show you.’

Pete went over to a computer that already featured a picture of his baby. She had a shock of thick black curls, but was so tiny and with so many tubes attached it was hard to really see her little red face and her eyes were closed.

‘Good heavens, she is so small.’

‘This big.’ Pete gestured with his hand, cupping his palm.

‘And she’s all right?’

‘Yes. We had a scare last night when the alarms rang out, she’s got a bit of a cold and they breathe through their noses when they are this young, don’t know to open their mouths. It’s hard when she coughs as it sets off the alarms because they are so sensitive. Anyway, she’s rallied round and you see her fists, she’s boxing smart already.’

Pete actually looked worn-out and as he shrugged out of his coat he admitted he’d not slept for three nights; he would be back at the maternity hospital to sit with Matilda again later.

‘I just have to be there watching her. In fact I can’t take my eyes off her, it’s the most amazing feeling. I keep on saying to myself, she’s my daughter, I’ve got a little girl. Christ, if anything went wrong now I don’t know what I’d do. She’s already got such a strong personality.’

Anna managed to keep smiling but Pete carried on gushing, at one point growing so tearful that he had to wipe his eyes.

‘Listen, Pete, I don’t mean to interrupt the celebrations, but I’ve got an interview at four.’

‘Right, let’s crack on.’

They put on lab coats and latex gloves then went into a large ante-room where four rows of white laminated trestle tables were lined up covered in sterile brown paper. Each table bore different items brought from Henry Oates’s basement flat. On one were the female garments: knickers, brassieres, slips, tights, a pair of boots and two filthy torn dresses.

‘Okay, we have done a wearer DNA test to compare with your victim Justine Marks; no match on any of these items. There’s no blood-staining, but there is semen and, on a couple, vomit, again no match found to your victim. The semen has tested as a match to Henry Oates though. We’ve been sent a description of the clothes possibly worn by Fidelis Julia Flynn and Rebekka Jordan and we have no match.’

‘I guess you will need DNA samples from the Jordan and Flynn families for comparison?’

‘Just the Flynns’, thanks. We already have the Jordans’ on file from the original enquiry.’

They moved on to a table littered with men’s worn clothes: sweaters, trousers and coats. The smell from the garments was hideous, a mixture of beer, body odour and mothballs.

‘I think these are your suspect’s. We’ve found no bloodstains on anything. Part of the stench is urine, looks like he pissed in his pants.’

On another table were the knives, hammers and screwdrivers – all the tools taken from Oates’s flat. Everything was tagged. Pete picked up a brutal-looking knife with a roped handle and a very sharpened blade about ten inches long.

‘Unpleasant. No bloodstains. Further along we have the large pump spanner found in the back of the van Oates was driving. You probably already know from DCI Lewis that we found Justine’s hair and blood on it along with a palm print matching Oates. There was also vaginal discharge, suggesting he used it-’

‘It’s okay, Mike told me,’ Anna said, deliberately interrupting Pete.

She quickly moved on to the fourth table. This was filled with an array of children’s clothes and shoes, all of them well worn and stained. There were a number of broken plastic toys that were grouped together with a moth-eaten teddy bear and a broken china doll’s face.

‘A lot of children’s stuff here,’ Pete observed.

‘He has two girls so a lot of it may be theirs, or – and I dread to think it other victims’.’

‘Well there’s no blood or semen stains on anything you see here. I can test it for wearer DNA but it will take time, and they are so soiled it may not be possible to get a profile due to degradation. You may want to check your budget as to do all this stuff is going to cost big-time.’

‘Hold off until I speak with Mike Lewis then.’

‘Fine. Anyway, back to this lot. I don’t think there is a toy intact and they were all thrown together in a cupboard along with broken cutlery and old saucepans and frying pans with no handles. We also have a couple of old-fashioned leather boxing gloves and a more modern right-hand glove, no left hand. There’s also some boxing boots.’

Pete had moved to the next section of the table but Anna leaned forwards.

‘Wait, just wait one second.’

Amongst the broken toys was a small wooden head, no bigger than a small marble.

‘What’s that?’

Pete looked and picked up the list of items on the table.

‘Listed as miniature doll’s head, hand-painted, and I think we had a leg… hang on a moment…’

Pete swiftly searched around in the group of children’s toys.

‘Yes, here it is, not sure if it belonged to the head, but it’s painted. Let me see if it’s a match.’

He carefully picked up the doll’s head and then held the leg beside it.

‘Yeah, I’d say it might have been part of the same doll. It’s very small, whole thing must have been only two to three inches, if that.’

Anna could feel her body shaking. Was it possible that these two items came originally from Rebekka Jordan’s doll’s house?

‘I need to take these two things with me, Pete.’

‘Sure, but I need to swab them for DNA and take some paint scrapings first.’

He looked at her and then rested his hand on her shoulder.

‘What is it?’

‘I can’t be certain, but I think Stephen Jordan may have carved the doll for Rebekka. If so, then it will be the first direct evidence that connects Henry Oates to her disappearance.’

Anna had to sit down. She was so wound up her heart was racing. She explained to Pete about the doll’s house and how she had brought it in to the incident room that morning.

‘Well you know what they say about coincidences.’

‘That there aren’t any, just evidence,’ she said quietly.