Blood Line

Chapter Eight

Errol Dante was enormous, at least six foot four, with dreadlocks down to his waist. He also had the most pungent body odour that permeated the prison’s small interview room. Errol had three gold teeth, and a gap between two of them that made him have a lisp. With his strong Jamaican accent it was very difficult to understand what he was saying.

Although it was not easy, Paul and Helen had established that he had lived in Cornwall for a period. He first denied ever being there or knowing Sammy Marsh, but when told that they knew he had shared a flat with Marsh, he did a swinging head move.

‘Oh yeah, fink it was ’im dat I know. I rented a caravan from ’im.’

‘Did you also know Alan Rawlins?’

‘No man, dunno ’im. I gotta work in da kitchen. I don’t need dis hassle. I’m helpin’ cook de grub here.’

The thought of this man cooking in the kitchen with the heat and his body odour was sickening to even contemplate.

Paul first showed him the photograph of Alan Rawlins. Errol kissed his teeth. ‘Na, I dunno him.’

They next showed him the photograph of the surfers, which led to a long ramble about when he worked at the Hotel Jolly in Antigua and he ran the water-skiing on the beach.

‘This was taken in Cornwall, Mr Dante.’

‘Look a lickle like Antigua to me, man.’

‘So are you saying you never met any of these men?’

‘I dunno. If dey was in Antigua maybe. I meet a lotta guys from da Carlisle Hotel; dey don’t have water-skiing or ski-boats der.’

‘You admit that you knew Sammy Marsh.’

‘I dunno ’im, man.’

‘You lived in his flat. We know you shared his flat in Cornwall – he was a photographer.’

‘Ohhh I dunno. I crash out maybe on his floor. He’s not a good guy, lemme tell you he’s not a good guy. I rented this shithole of a caravan.’

‘Why?’

‘ ’Cos I’m just tellin’ how it is. Stitch you up, man – know what I mean?’

‘We know he dealt drugs.’

Errol swung his dreadlocks again and shrugged his shoulders.

‘We know you were arrested on a drug-related incident, Mr Dante.’

He blew out his cheeks. ‘He informer, man. I was just smalltime, bit of hash here, lickle weed der. Him disrespeck me, man. Fockitup. Me no know ’im, right?’

Paul was immensely frustrated. He slapped the table with the flat of his hand. Then leaning forward, he shook his finger.

‘We know that you do know him – and let me tell you, Errol, we’re not here for a drug-related incident. We are here because we are investigating a murder.’

‘If he dead, man, I wanna shake de killer’s hand.’

‘It’s not Sammy Marsh who is the victim – it’s someone else.’

‘Me no know. Lot of people want dat man out of der hair. He was an informer, you hear me? I get picked up and I done nuthin. Fuckin’ stitched me up, man.’

Helen tapped Paul’s knee beneath the table. He was becoming so agitated and she wanted to have a try.

‘Errol, we are here asking for your help. We are not connected to any Drug Squad. We are just trying to trace this man.’ She pushed Alan’s photograph forward again. ‘We believe that he is a murder victim and we are simply asking if you knew him.’

She then moved the group shot of the surfers across the table. ‘We also need to identify these men with our victim. We know that Sammy took this photograph because his studio stamp is on the back of it.’

Errol kissed his gold-capped teeth again.

‘Him long gone, lady.’

‘Yes, we know that, but could you give us any other contact from Cornwall who might know who these people are?’

‘He was a piece of shit. He hadda finger me. They come to my woman’s place in Brixton. Cornwall is a shit-’ole, stinking rain every day.’

‘Well, maybe you should try and help us get Sammy back – pay day, and if you help us we can talk to the Governor here . . .’

‘I dunno where he is, lady.’

‘But you know people in Cornwall that knew him – right?’

He nodded and sucked his teeth again.

‘Me no inform on ’im, even though ’im a pussy-’ole.’

Paul gave an exasperated sigh. He was so tense he wanted to reach across the table and punch Errol. Helen gave him a look, warning him to stay calm, but he took no notice.

‘If you say he tipped off the cops about you, what’s it to you?’ he snapped.

‘A lot, brother, a fuckin’ lot. That’s all I’m sayin’. He’s a batty man like a mean prancin’ lickle shite.’

‘He’s a what?’ Helen asked, incredulous.

‘Let’s just say he’d not screw you, woman.’

‘So you are not going to help us even though we’re saying that if you do we can help you?’ Helen battled on.

‘G’way! Yuh no pull ma strings.’

Tight-lipped, Paul picked up the photographs. ‘Well, then we’ll just encourage the powers-that-be to send you back to Kingston, Errol. It’s on the cards – you know that. You’ve got no right to even be in this country.’

‘I’m gettin’ married so you can’t diss me, brother.’

‘Who to – the mother of your fifteen kids?’

Errol gave a wide grin and laughed. ‘Na, but she ain’t no juvie either. I’m gonna have a legit reason to be in this country so I am not helpin’ nobody to come out and slit me throat.’ He jabbed the air with a thick filthy finger. ‘You git outta ma face. I not talkin’ no more.’

That was it. Paul stood up and replaced the photographs in the file. He looked to Helen and then crossed to knock on the interview door for the guard to open it. Errol turned and grinned.

Helen hurried to join Paul. The interview was over, but they still had to speak to the Governor, who informed them that Errol had requested permission to marry whilst he served his sentence, as his girlfriend was pregnant. The Governor at first refused to give any details, claiming it was against regulations, but he brought out Errol’s prison files, then left the office, giving the excuse that he needed a moment to speak to someone. Paul grabbed the opportunity to have a look at the request for a marriage licence. Helen was stunned to see him act very fast, jotting down the name and address of Errol’s intended. He was back in his seat by the time the Governor returned.

‘Everything all right, Detective Simms?’

‘Yes. Thank you for your time and for arranging our interview with Mr Dante.’ They shook hands.

As they drove out of the prison gates Paul started to relax.

‘Her name is Sandra-Dee Fallow; address in Brixton.’

‘That was a bit naughty,’ Helen observed.

‘Yeah well, that bastard wouldn’t give it up. The Governor, thank God, was more cooperative. Let’s go and see her now.’

Anna waited as Brian Stanley removed the computer from the Rawlinses’ house along with the magazines. Rose had glanced over the list of items Anna had written down for her to sign and show Mr Rawlins on his return home. Anna also asked if she knew if anyone had taken anything from Alan’s bedroom and office, but the carer said that she had never even been up the stairs.

‘Has something bad happened?’

Anna watched her sign the release form.

‘Their son is still missing.’

‘I know that, but I mean since?’

Anna looked surprised. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s not my business, but Mr Rawlins has asked me to talk to the social services to find a home for Kathleen. He wants her to go in as soon as possible. It’ll affect her badly. At least here she sort of knows where she is, and to change her environment will make her very distressed.’

‘I didn’t know. It will obviously be a very private matter between them.’

‘Yes, of course. It’s sad though, isn’t it? Yesterday she was certain that Alan had come home.’

‘Why?’

‘She could hear him, she said, moving across the ceiling. He used to stay in the rooms above hers. She said he was back home.’

‘Did Mr Rawlins go up there?’

‘I don’t know. He was at home so maybe he did. I didn’t hear anything, though.’

Anna was about to walk out when she paused. ‘Have the rubbish bins been collected at all?’

‘I don’t know when the binmen come.’

‘Are the bins out by the kitchen?’

‘Yes, just beside the back door. There’s three wheelies, but we really only ever use one.’

‘Thank you.’

Anna hurried into the kitchen, opening the back door to find that the bins were lined up as Rose had said. She opened one, which smelled of urine and stale food. She shut the lid and tried the second. She looked inside to see a black bin liner tied very tightly. There was no rotting food stench so she lifted the bag out. Untying the knot she looked inside and saw it was filled with magazines and more DVDs similar to the ones found in Alan’s room. She retied the knot and carried it back into the house.

‘We’re taking this as well, Brian. Are we all set to leave?’

‘Yep. I’ll get the computer over to Tech Support and see what they get from it. What’s in the bag?’

‘You’ll enjoy sifting through it all back at the station.’

‘What is it?’

‘Wait and see.’

Heading towards her car, Anna was unsure how she felt about the nursing home for Kathleen and the fact that Mr Rawlins must have opened up the drawer to remove the pornographic magazines and DVDs. He obviously was unable to get access to the drawer that had taken her so much time to open. She sighed. Poor man. His beloved son goes missing, then he finds out he wasn’t his biological child, and then he uncovers further details about his blue-eyed boy that he probably would have preferred not to have known. But did he also remove evidence? She knew she would have to question him again, but the next time she wouldn’t be quite so accommodating.

Paul and Helen were at a highrise council estate in Brixton where flat number thirty-four looked in disrepair. The side window by the front door was boarded up, the letter box had a plank of wood nailed across it and the door itself looked as if it had been kicked in numerous times. They rang the bell, but it didn’t work, and then Paul hammered with his fist. Eventually the door was inched open with the chain still attached. A bleached-blonde woman peered out asking what they wanted. Paul showed his ID and asked if he could talk to Sandra-Dee Fallow.

‘Whatcha want to see her for?’

‘Are you Sandra-Dee Fallow? We’ve been to see Errol and he gave us your address.’

The safety chain was removed and the door opened wider.

‘First off, it’s just Sandra, so lay off the Dee bit, I fucking hate it! Mother gave me the name after that stupid song in the film Grease . . . “Look at me, I’m Sandra bloody Dee”, she said in a mocking childlike voice.

‘We need to talk to you, Sandra, it won’t take long,’ Helen said, smiling.

Sandra opened the door further and glared at them. ‘What you want to talk to me about?’

‘Could we please come in, Sandra?’ Helen said pleasantly.

The woman stepped back, allowing them to walk in. Helen went in first with Paul following.

‘I was lying down. I’ve been ever so sick.’

Sandra was also very pregnant. She was wearing a short nightdress with a sweater pulled over it, and her belly stuck out.

‘I think it was some curry I had last night – got terrible heartburn.’

She led them along a filthy hallway to an equally dirty room with no carpet and broken furniture. There were also a number of toys and a pushchair.

‘You have children?’ Helen asked.

‘Yeah.’Cos I was so sick they’re wiv me neighbour. She’s ever so good.’ She had an inch of dark growth in her bleached hair and was around thirty, but she was still a very pretty woman with a round face and full lips. Her eyes were dark with thick lashes that looked as if she just continued to apply black mascara on a daily basis without ever removing any, making it seem as if she had panda eyes.

‘How many children do you have?’ Helen continued.

‘Two, boy and a girl. If it wasn’t for the social services helping me out they’d be in foster homes. Their dad’s not around. Dunno where he is and I hope he rots in hell.’

‘So you’re married?’ Paul asked.

‘Nah. You want to sit down?’

They sat on a bow-legged sofa amongst Barbie dolls and tractors, and Sandra sat in a sagging armchair.

‘You are engaged to marry Errol Dante, aren’t you?’ Paul took a plastic truck out of his back.

‘Yeah. This one is his.’ She rubbed her stomach.

‘How long have you known him?’

‘About a year or so. What’s this about?’

‘We are investigating a missing person and we have some photographs we wanted to show you from when Errol was in Cornwall.’ Helen kept her voice very quiet and relaxed.

‘Yeah, that’s where I met him. I used to work as a waitress. In fact, I wish I’d never left to end up in this dump. I had a nice rented caravan there.’

‘So when Errol left Cornwall you came with him?’

‘Well, not exactly. He came to London before me and then I packed up everythin’ to be with him.’

‘How many months gone are you?’ Helen asked.

‘Seven. Feels like a year, I’m tellin’ you. I wasn’t like this with me others.’ She puffed out her cheeks.

‘Would you mind looking at some photographs to see if you recognise anyone on them?’ Paul opened his briefcase.

‘Yeah. Is this to do with that little bastard Sammy Marsh?’

Paul glanced at Helen.

‘It is actually, because we know he took the photograph . . . this one.’ Paul passed over the photograph with the surfers.

Sandra peered at it and then pulled a face. ‘Nah, dunno them.’ She turned it over in her hand to look at the studio watermark print.

‘We reckon that Sammy tipped off the cops about Errol and that’s why they picked him up.’

‘But Sammy has disappeared, hasn’t he?’

‘We believe so,’ Helen said, passing the photograph back to Paul.

‘Is it him what’s missing? ’Cos I know a lotta people would like to strangle him. He was a really nasty little sod.’

‘Errol shared a flat with him, didn’t he?’

‘I wouldn’t call it sharin’. He dossed down on his floor then we met and he moved in wiv me and the kids.’

‘Can you look at this photograph?’

Paul now passed her the single shot of Alan with his surfboard. Again Sandra gave it a good look-over, but shook her head.

‘I didn’t really mix wiv them.’

‘There’s a café called the Smugglers . . .’

She leaned forward. ‘Which one? There’s quite a few called the same name. The one in Newquay is very nice, and then some are a bit cheap, know what I mean – summer openers. They close ’em down for winter.’ She jabbed her finger at the photograph. ‘Yeah, that’s where I worked.’

‘Did a lot of the surfers use it?’

‘Yeah. It’s right on the beach and open all hours.’

‘Do they do drugs there?’

‘They do everythin’ – it’s a bit of a rough place. Sammy used to be kingpin. He could get you anythin’ you wanted.’

‘And you never saw any one of these guys in the café?’

The young woman shifted uncomfortably. ‘Me back is killin’ me,’ she said. ‘I think if you don’t mind you should leave.’

‘Just take another look, love. We really appreciate this,’ Helen said encouragingly.

Sandra suddenly became cagey, shaking her head. ‘I’m not getting into anything, not in the state I’m in. I’ve said enough. I don’t want no trouble.’

‘Do you think you would get into trouble?’ Paul said.

‘I could, and I’m not wanting to start yakking on about any connections to Sammy. He’s someone you don’t mess with and I got to look out for Errol and the kids.’

‘Is he looking out for you?’

‘Yes, he fuckin’ is. At least he’s gonna marry me, said he’s gonna take good care of me when he gets out.’

‘I hope he keeps his word. He has fifteen other children, did you know that?’ Paul replaced the photograph into his briefcase.

‘You are fucking joking, ain’t ya!’ she gasped. ‘He’s got no others.’

‘You sure he’s not just using you to be able to try and stay in the country?’ Helen wished Paul hadn’t been so abrasive.

Sandra heaved herself upright. ‘I want you to go. Go on, both of you!’

‘He’s an illegal immigrant, love. The judge recommended him for deportation.’

The girl pursed her lips and then flopped back down again. Paul was unsure how to proceed, but Helen moved to stand by Sandra.

‘Can I get you a glass of water, love?’

‘Yeah. In the kitchen there’s some bottles in the fridge. Thanks.’

She closed her eyes. ‘To be honest, you know what? I don’t care any more. If what you say is true, where does that leave me?’

Helen returned with an open bottle of water and handed it to Sandra, who sipped and then burped loudly.

‘There’s no way I should’ve had that curry,’ she hiccuped.

Helen stood by her and patted her shoulder.

‘Could you just have another look at the photographs, love? The person missing is this blonde guy, the one in the middle. It’s nothing to do with Sammy Marsh, we’re not interested in him.’

Sandra held out her hand for the photograph again.

‘I dunno, Sammy is such a bastard,’ she mumbled.

‘How well did you know him?’

‘I didn’t. I kept well out of his way, but like I said, he was a sort of kingpin with these surfer guys. They like to get stoned or coked up.’

She looked at the photograph again.

‘Yeah.’ Then she passed it back up to Helen and took a drink from the bottle of water.

‘What do you mean, yeah?’ Helen asked.

‘I seen him. Don’t know him, but he used to be in the Smugglers. Got a real fancy car. Sammy was often with him. You know he’s a poof, don’t ya?’

‘Sammy?’

‘Yeah. These guys are all muscle and suntanned. They were sort of a clique, if you know what I mean. Acted like they was above everyone else and . . .’ She sighed. ‘Sammy used Errol ’cos of his size, like a henchman so nobody messed with him. That’s all I know. It’s the God’s truth.’

Paul took the photograph from Helen.

‘Do you know if this man, the blonde guy in the middle, was also a homosexual?’

Sandra shrugged and took a gulp of water. ‘He was very friendly with Sammy so he could be one of ’em.’

‘Did you ever see him use drugs?’

‘Nah, I told you. I didn’t get into any of that.’

‘But Errol was involved—’ Paul began, but he was interrupted.

‘He’s no fuckin’ poof, he got me up the spout. I’m gettin’ tired of all this. I’m gonna go and lie down.’ Sandra hoisted herself out of the chair and gestured for them to get out. As they went into the hall she asked rather plaintively if it was true.

‘What’s true, Sandra?’

‘That Errol’s got fifteen other kids?’

‘You should ask him. That’s what we were told, but let him tell you himself.’

Sandra opened the front door.

‘I’m sick of it all,’ she said tiredly. ‘Sick to death of people lying to me. You’d think by now I’d be old enough to know better.’

Paul walked out ahead of Helen, who remained a moment with Sandra.

‘We really appreciate you taking the time to talk to us.’

‘That’s okay.’

‘It looks as if you’ve had a few unpleasant callers . . . your door has been kicked in.’

‘Yeah. When they come for Errol they almost kicked it right off its hinges. I stuck that board over my letterbox to stop getting the fucking junk mail.’

‘Thank you again, love. I hope it all goes well with the birth. Just one more thing . . . you described a flashy car driven by the man in the photograph. Can you think what colour it was, soft top or hard top, modern or . . .’

‘I dunno. It was low down with the roof off. Dunno what make it was, but it was silver-ish.’

As Helen left, Sandra hooked the safety chain across the door.

Paul was very quiet as they drove back to the station. Helen had suggested they stop off and get a bite to eat, but he had refused, saying they should get the new information back to the incident room.

‘Okay by me,’ Helen agreed. ‘Do you think Sandra was straight with us?’

‘You want my honest opinion?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I think that woman would lie her way out of anything. She’s a slag and with two kids already, now about to have a third and all on the social services, living in that hovel of a flat.’

‘Well, taking all that into consideration,’ Helen smiled patiently, ‘did you think she had more to tell us?’

‘I dunno, but what we do know is that Mr Clean and everybody’s best friend, Alan Rawlins, had another side to him.’

‘A gay one.’

‘For chrissakes, just because that slag says he knew Sammy Marsh doesn’t mean that he was also sexually involved with him.’

‘Maybe not, but it does give us an insight into the fact that he may have been using drugs with Marsh. It’s just showing a different side to Alan, and one I think we’re going to have to dig into.’

Anna sat in her office sifting through Alan’s magazines and checking out the personal ads. A number had red rings around them as if they were of interest. They were mostly gay men seeking partners and a few were of a more explicit nature, but none of the bondage adverts were ringed. It meant they would now have to get in touch with all the advertisers who were possibly contacted by Alan Rawlins.

Brian Stanley was also going through the magazines and making similar notes. The pornographic DVDs were stacked to be checked out, and the homophobic or obscene remarks flying around the incident room as Brian constantly read out various sections were becoming tedious.

By the time Helen and Paul had caught up with the new developments and were able to add theirs, it was obvious that Alan Rawlins led a double life. Top priority was the need to trace Sammy Marsh, for which they would need the assistance of the Devon and Cornwall Drug Squad. Meanwhile, the computer taken from Alan’s room was still being assessed by the Tech Support team. They had reported back that many files had recently been deleted, not that it mattered as they would still be able to gain access and reproduce whatever material was on them as they had the hard drive.

Anna called for a briefing update towards the end of the afternoon. Although they now had a lot of new material, plus the contacts to be sifted through, they were still no closer to identifying the victim. But they now knew that Alan Rawlins’s double life was centred on his time in Cornwall. Anna realised they would have to go there, to search Sammy Marsh’s flat, and his studio, and to start questioning everyone who might have known Alan Rawlins.

‘First thing tomorrow we start the round of calls connected to the gay magazines’ adverts. Also, I am certain that Alan had money stashed somewhere and it could be a considerable amount. We have the sales and receipts from his vehicle business and we can assume he rented a place in Cornwall so we need to check that out.’

Stanley did his finger gesture.

‘You think that maybe he was in league with Sammy Marsh? From what we’ve gathered, Marsh was a drug dealer; what if Alan was also involved? We know that Marsh was a nasty piece of work; according to the Cornwall Drug Squad he’s done a runner somewhere. As we still don’t have the blood identified as Alan’s in his flat, it could be someone else’s – maybe even Marsh’s.’

‘He’s got a criminal record so his DNA should be on the national database. Get Liz Hawley to check it out.’

Anna had even considered this herself, but they had been so snowed under with all the new developments, it had slipped her mind.

Helen asked if Anna believed Tina Brooks was aware of the double life Alan was leading.

‘To be honest, I don’t. That is not to say we shouldn’t talk to her about it. So we line that up for tomorrow, and do a buccal swab for DNA. I also want to talk to Mr Rawlins again, just in case he removed other material from his son’s room.’

Stanley had his finger in the air once more.

‘Cash . . . Do you know if Rawlins was making cash deals with his sale of cars? That would be a nice way to offload it, paying cash for drugs. I don’t mean for his own use, but what if he went into business with Sammy Marsh?’

‘It’s possible, but we have not as yet uncovered this cash. We have no other bank account details or bank statements except for the ones we removed from his flat. From his receipts he had listed at least four hundred thousand over a period of five years, plus . . . Paul, didn’t the woman Sandra Fallow say he also drove a flash car in Cornwall?’

‘Yeah. She was also very certain he had a relationship with Marsh; saw them together at the Smugglers café.’

Anna asked if the Tech Support had come through with anything, but was told they were still working.

‘We might get lucky with the files and documents on his computer,’ she said.

Stanley swung back in his desk chair.

‘Yeah, probably more sicko gay stuff like his disgusting DVDs. I’m not gonna watch them – they turn my stomach. Paul, you might like to take a bunch home.’

Before Paul could rise to the bait Anna turned on Stanley.

‘That’s enough from you, but we do need to check these DVDs out.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Helen said.

‘No, we can all spend time on them, so split them up between you all – and that includes you, Brian, all right?’

There was a moan around the incident room.

‘Listen up, everyone,’ Anna snapped. ‘A body was cut up in Tina Brooks’s flat. Right now we have found no murder weapon and, in case you are unaware of it, no body. It has to have been dumped somewhere and this has to also be a priority.’

‘We got a negative result from Forensics on her car. She was asking to get it back or said could she charge us for a rental,’ Helen reported.

Stanley gave a wide-armed gesture.

‘She’s a cheeky cow, but do we release her car back to her or not?’

‘Yes, as long as Forensics have finished with it.’

Anna checked her watch and then turned to look at the incident board. It was a display of names and contacts, arrows linking one person to another with Cornwall underlined.

‘Tomorrow I’ll arrange for a trip to Cornwall, but in the meantime we’ll see what the Newquay police can give us to trace where Alan Rawlins lived whilst he was there. As yet we have no address.’ She scanned the board again. ‘How could he hide his double life and give no addresses of rented flats or hotels, even?’

‘We’ve underestimated him,’ Paul said quietly.

‘You can say that again.’

Paul stared at the board. ‘Maybe he used another name when he was there?’

‘Maybe he did, but we don’t even have details of how often he went there. Was it once, twice or three times a year – or just a couple of weeks in the summer?’

‘I’ll check with the garage he worked in and see what holidays he took, going back a few years.’

‘Good, yes – do that, Paul.’

‘What about Tina? She must have been aware of how often he went so I’ll also check with her.’

‘No, I’ll do that first thing tomorrow, and I’ll also call in on Mr Rawlins. I’ll check with him about Alan’s holidays, hotels, guest houses et cetera.’

Anna instructed the team to break for the evening. She made a point of picking up three porno DVDs for herself to peruse and then she asked Brian to come into her office.

He already had his overcoat on when he came to see her. He held up three DVDs.

‘The wife’s gonna be worried about me watching these.’

‘For goodness sake, Brian, grow up and stop giving the snide sexual remarks to Paul. It’s not funny and quite clearly upsets him. You cut it out. I won’t have it, understand me?’

‘I didn’t know he was a shirt-lifter.’

‘For chrissakes, it’s childish homophobic remarks like that which—’

‘It’s the truth. I didn’t know he was homosexual and if he can’t take a joke about it . . .’

‘It’s nothing to joke about. It’s his private life, so consider this an official warning, and from now on just watch what you say.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘I mean it, Brian.’

‘I will curb my tongue. And besides, with the way this case is going I think he’s going to be an asset.’

He gave a straight-faced small nod and she waved her hand for him to get out. He held up the porno DVDs.

‘I can’t wait to get home.’ He turned to leave the room.

‘One other thing, Brian. Any luck with the CCTV from Asda?’

‘The manager phoned and said he thinks the system was down the day we’re interested in, so . . .’

‘Less talk more action, Brian. Go and see him personally and check it for yourself.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

After he had left she leaned her head in her hands, resting her elbows on the desk, before eventually sitting back and picking up the phone to talk to Langton. She gave him a brief rundown of all the new information and said they would open the budget because she felt they would need a trip to Cornwall and doubted that it could be accomplished in just one day.

‘Well, let me think about it. That poofter kept it well under wraps, didn’t he?’

She couldn’t believe it. He was almost as homophobic as Brian Stanley.

‘Yes, he kept this other life very secret.’

‘You think that it was maybe some kind of queer-bashing scenario that went on in his flat?’

‘I think it was something a lot more subversive than just—’

Langton interrupted her. ‘They do get nasty, you know – handbags at dawn and all that.’

‘For God’s sake, I have had enough snide crude remarks from Brian Stanley without you joining in! If you must know, we are now looking into the possibility of a drug connection.’

‘Ah well, watch you don’t step on too many toes. If it’s drug-related, bring in the Drug Units. Keep them abreast of your investigation and don’t forget to take your bucket and spade.’

‘You are very witty this evening.’

‘Am I?’

‘Do I get that you are okaying the trip to Cornwall?’

‘Mulling it over. You need to get to grips with tracing the dismembered body. Someone had to cut it up and remove it, and whoever that someone was had to know what they were doing. They had to have gone to that flat well-prepared. There was no sign of a breakin, right?’

‘Correct.’

‘Right now you have no sign of a suspect – is that also correct?’

‘Not exactly. I am still keeping Tina Brooks in the frame. It was a bloodbath in that flat of hers, but I am just not certain of the timeframe. She didn’t admit that Alan was missing for two weeks, and even then nobody got onto it at once, so it’s possible if she was involved she had a lot of time to clean up. Without a body we don’t have a time of death.’

‘Can’t they give you one from the congealed blood?’

‘No. It’s a central-heated flat. The blood could have been there for a week or a month. All we have is the date of the last sighting of Alan Rawlins in London; we don’t know if that was the last time he was alive. As we now have him leading a double life, he could have gone anywhere.’

‘Jigsaw, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but I am getting the pieces. It’s always more difficult finding the ones in the middle, don’t you think?’

‘No. Personally, when I last did a jigsaw – when I was around ten – I enjoyed getting the frame like blue sky and the corners sorted, but then I would get impatient. In fact, my mother once caught me using scissors to make a piece fit.’

‘Well, I can’t cut any on this. It’s painstaking, but we are moving.’

She found it strange that she was having this bantering conversation with him. In fact, he seemed loath to get off the phone.

‘We should have dinner one night,’ he said.

She shook her head. Here it was again, the proposed dinner.

‘Yes, we should. Maybe when I get back from Cornwall. Hopefully we’ll have more pieces by then.’

‘Okay. Keep me updated.’

He hung up. She looked at the receiver in her hand and then dropped it back into place before gathering her things and turning off the office lights. On the way home in her Mini, she couldn’t stop yawning. Rather than watch the DVDs or skim through them, she decided to go straight to bed. She set her alarm for 5 a.m. and after a shower she got under the duvet and drew it up to her chin. Then the unexpected happened. She wasn’t even thinking about Ken or his death when a black cloud engulfed her. She sobbed, not really understanding where the darkness had come from, and cried his name over and over again.

‘Grief has ways of creeping up on you when you least expect it,’ Langton had told her. She remembered him saying it – she couldn’t recall when, but it meant that he had felt the same way. Anna had been so preoccupied recently with her case that she hardly gave a thought to what she had been through – the murder of her beloved Ken. It was as if he was demanding that she didn’t forget, and had reached out and touched a spring that opened her emotions and let them run out of control. She cried herself to sleep.