Blood Line

Chapter Fourteen

‘I thought they’d have a restaurant,’ paul complained, as he had not had time for lunch. He and Anna were on the two o’clock train at Paddington, bound for Cornwall.

‘I thought so too, but apparently they have a buffet cart they wheel through the compartments.’

The train had few passengers and they were virtually alone in their carriage.

‘You know this stops off at a shedload of stations?’ he whinged.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s going to take about five hours.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Didn’t the budget run to a plane – only that would have taken a fraction of the time?’

‘I know that, Paul, but by the time we got to Gatwick airport and allowed two hours before the flight took off it’d still be around the same time.’

He was about to argue but thought better of it, knowing it had to be down to the budget.

Anna opened The Times and suggested they not discuss the case until later.

‘Sure, why not. We’ve got five whole hours.’ He sat back in his very comfortable seat and closed his eyes. Anna read the paper, noticing as she turned a page that Paul was fast asleep. She put it aside and stared from the window. They had two days with a stopover in the B&B. She opened her briefcase and took out her notebook, intending to underline what she felt was a priority. But the rhythm of the train made her sleepy and she eventually dozed, resting her head on her arms on the table.

Back at the station, Langton was carefully going over everything on the incident board.

‘This caretaker stroke janitor at Tina Brooks’s block of flats – we have a contact number for him?’ he asked Brian.

Brian nodded.

‘I want to talk to him, today,’ Langton went on. ‘See if he’s available. I also want access to Miss Brooks’s flat, so arrange that at the same time. Unless, I suppose, he might have a master key. Check if he has.’

As Brian drove Langton to Newton Court, Langton grilled him about the breakin at Metcalf Auto garage.

‘The guy who runs it mentioned that he had taken delivery of a soft top for the Merc. Do you know if DCI Travis had it taken in or checked out?’

‘Not sure, Gov. I left her there so she might have looked at it.’

‘We go there next, and I want a visit to the salon.’

‘Right you are.’ Brian drove them into the horseshoe drive of Newton Court. Standing at the front doors was Jonas Jones. He watched them park up and then went inside.

‘Does he have a record?’ Langton asked as they headed towards the reception.

‘Petty theft, couple of prison terms, but nothing for ten years.’

Langton pushed open the doors and headed towards Jonas, who was using a duster-covered broom to sweep around the small entrance area.

‘Good morning, Jonas, I am Detective Chief Superintendent Langton. You got a place we can have a little chat?’

‘No. I only got a broom closet in the hall which is where I keep all the cleaning stuff. I just check the reception area and stairs.’

Langton nodded. ‘You keep it nice and clean.’

‘Thank you. That’s what I’m paid for. When I run out of stuff I phone the landlord and he replaces the Brasso and floor polish. I used to have an electric floor-polisher, but that broke recently and so I do it by hand now.’

‘You know Miss Tina Brooks?’

‘Yes, sir. Well, not know her – just to say good morning to.’

‘What about the other occupants?’

‘It’s about the same apart from Miss Jewell. She often makes me a cup of coffee so I’ve been inside her flat a few times.’

‘Must have had a good chat about the missing bloke, Alan Rawlins?’

‘Yeah, but like me she didn’t know him and she’s up on the top floor.’

Jonas sucked in his breath; he was minus a number of front teeth. He had iron-grey tight curls and his cheeks were sunken. His scrawny body looked as worn as his overalls.

‘What was the gossip?’ Langton asked, offering a cigarette.

‘What?’

‘What did you talk about?’ Langton lit the cigarette for Jonas and himself.

‘Oh, I see. Well, she was interviewed – like me, like all of us – and we talked about that and how we never knew the missing bloke. Just goes to show really, doesn’t it? Living on top of each other like that and never talking.’

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘Not much.’

‘What else do you do round here?’

‘I also sweep up around the garages. I keep all the grounds tidy, cut the bit of grass. We got an empty garage ’cos Miss Jewell doesn’t drive so that’s where I keep the lawnmower and hedge-cutters.’

‘What about the garbage, the bins?’

‘Well, they put their rubbish in them during the week and on a Monday I wheel them out to the front for the binmen. They used to collect twice a week, but now it’s just the once. After they’ve been emptied I put them round the back again. We’ve not got rubbish chutes or anything like that. The tenants take down their own rubbish and they’ve each got an allocated wheelie bin.’

‘Take me round there, would you please, Jonas?’ Langton asked.

Brian was fascinated, listening to Langton’s easy banter with the caretaker, realising he had got a lot more out of him than Travis when she had interviewed him. The pair of them puffing on their cigarettes.

The neat row of big green wheelie bins each had a number on them. Langton tapped the one marked for flat number two.

‘This is Tina Brooks’s, right?’ He lifted the lid and looked inside. There was one black bin liner in there. ‘You ever get any foul smells from one of the bins?’

‘Not really. I mean, I don’t look inside. They always have a bit of a stink as it’s only collected . . .’

‘Once a week – yes, you said.’ Langton closed the lid. ‘You ever feel one or other to be very heavy? Unusually so?’

‘No.’

‘You ever find anything useful to take home with you?’

‘No.’

They headed back to the reception. Langton tossed his cigarette butt aside. Jonas was smoking his down to the cork tip.

‘You took an order of new carpet for Miss Brooks, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, sir, about a week ago. She was leaving one morning and she asked me to sign for it and take it in as she knew it was being delivered, but wasn’t sure what time.’

‘She give a tip for doing that?’

‘Yes, sir, a tenner because I’d finished up my work and had to hang around waiting for the van, but it arrived at about ten so I didn’t have to wait long.’ Jonas flicked the last remains of the tobacco from the cork and pocketed it.

‘You have keys to the flats?’

‘Yes, sir. I have to have them for emergencies. We had a bath overflow one time a few years back and I had to open up and sort it out. They’d left a tap running – Mr and Mrs Maisell.’

‘But you didn’t deliver the carpet into Miss Brooks’s flat when it arrived; it was left out here in reception, wasn’t it?’

‘That is correct, sir. Reason is I’ve got a bad back and I wasn’t gonna make it worse. It was just here in the reception for when she got home.’

‘So how did she move it?’

‘I don’t know. When I came to work again it had gone. I only work two mornings a week here.’

‘I see. When you were cleaning around the garages, did you meet up with Alan Rawlins at all?’

‘Er, yeah, I did a few times. He was either driving in or out. She kept her car in there, a VW, but sometimes he had one so he would park it directly outside her garage doors or he’d put his car in and hers would be left outside.’

‘How did he seem to you?’

‘He was polite, give me a good tip at Christmas, but I wouldn’t say I ever had a whole conversation with him.’

‘You ever see him with anyone else apart from Miss Brooks?’

‘No.’

‘How about the bloke from flat one, Mr Phillips?’

Jonas shrugged.

‘Don’t like him?’ Langton asked.

‘Well, he’s got a very nice car, a Lotus, and a couple of times he asked me to give it a clean. I don’t have a hose over that way so I’d give it a polish and I got a small battery hoover so I did the inside for him. He only gave me a fiver and he’s not been here as long as the other tenants so I’ve never really had much to do with him. But like I said, I only did the car a couple of times.’

‘Why don’t you like him?’

‘He’d have to pay more in a car wash, and when I done it the second time I said to him that it would cost him a tenner and he was just edgy with me, said he only had a fiver on him and he’d give me the rest when he next saw me. He never did.’

‘Did Mr Phillips seem friendly with Miss Brooks?’

‘I dunno. They leave for work when I’m here or they’ve already left and I don’t do weekends. Then I’m gone by the time they come home. I know he drinks a bit – lot of empty bottles of wine and vodka in his bin.’

‘Ah, so you do open them and check them out?’

‘No, they were left in a carrier bag beside his bin. We’ve got recycling containers that they’re supposed to put glass bottles and plastic into, but they can’t always be bothered.’

‘Single guy, was his bin full then?’

Jonas shrugged and said he couldn’t remember.

Brian shifted his weight, becoming impatient. So far Jonas hadn’t given them anything new and he wondered why Langton was spending so much time questioning him.

‘Come on, Jonas, give it up. You pick through those wheelie bins, don’t you, see if there’s anything worth taking?’

‘Sometimes, yeah – all right, I do. No harm in it ’cos they’re for the rubbish tips and occasionally there’s been something worth taking home.’

‘Carpet? Did you find any sections of carpet in Miss Brooks’s bin?’

‘Yeah, but not worth taking as the piece was so small. I reckon when she lays the new one she’ll give me the old one.’

‘Anything else?’

‘From hers?’

‘Yes, from Miss Brooks’s bin.’

‘There was some clothes once, but I think they was old ’cos they was in a bin bag.’

Langton looked around casually as if the conversation was finished but then he turned back to Jonas.

‘Men’s or women’s clothes?’

‘Don’t know. I didn’t look real close but I know she has a lot of thick sort of bandages she tosses out.’

‘Bandages? How do you mean?’

‘Like wide elastic ones, but they’re covered in gunge and not worth taking.’

‘Gunge? Like blood?’

‘No, green stuff. It smells a bit rancid, but like I said not worth taking.’

‘The time you found the carpet, Jonas, what else was in the bin?’

‘Bleach cartons – empty. The tenants never toss anything worth my while.’

Langton patted him on the shoulder, thanking him. He then asked to be let into Miss Brooks’s flat. Jonas didn’t hesitate but led them straight to the door and unlocked it. Only then did he ask if this was all right and if Miss Brooks had given her permission. Langton said he didn’t need it as they had a search warrant. Jonas asked if he wanted him to stay as he had another block of flats he was due to clean.

‘You go ahead, I’ll lock up after we leave. And Jonas, thank you for your time. I really appreciate it.’

Jonas hurried back to his broom closet and stuffed his brush and dusters inside. He then got into his beaten-up old van and opened the glove compartment. Tucked inside was the touch-screen mobile phone he had found under the piece of carpet in Tina Brooks’s bin. The battery was dead and he had planned to go to the market near him in Portobello Road to get a new SIM card. Now he thought he would just toss it. He reckoned it had been thrown out by mistake but he wasn’t going to admit he’d got it in case he could be accused of stealing. He had no idea that it was actually Alan Rawlins’s additional mobile used for his gay and business contacts.

Langton didn’t say a word as he examined Tina’s lounge. He moved the sofa aside and inspected the patch cut out from the carpet. He eased the sofa back into position and walked into the hallway, pushing open the bathroom door. Although there had been extensive cleaning after the forensic team had left, there was still a residue of their powders.

He glanced at Brian, muttering, ‘Lazy sods not done a good clean-up, have they?’

He opened the bathroom cabinet that contained rows of hair solutions, hair-dye and shampoos. Moisturisers and face creams were lined up alongside soaps and bath oils. There was also a large can of mechanic’s special soap, the only item obviously connected to Alan Rawlins. In the small drawer under the cabinet were bottles of nail varnish, a manicure set and bottles of vitamins and paracetamol tablets. There was only one battery-powered toothbrush and toothpaste, and in a jar were an array of very clean hairbrushes and combs. He knew they had not found any hairbrush or comb belonging to Alan Rawlins.

Brian stood watching as Langton walked back into the hall and checked the measurement scale markers left on the wall by the forensic team.

‘She’s moved back in, right? So she’s not cleaned up either.’

Next he paused in the doorway of the bedroom and then crossed to kneel beside the bed. He had to push it with his shoulder to move it to show the second section of cut carpet. The bed was bare, with just the base remaining, no mattress or pillows. He lay down on it and had to lean quite far over to see the bloodstained area. He reckoned whoever was killed had to have had his head, neck and the top part of his shoulders over the side of the bed. Could whoever it was have been held down by someone maybe kneeling on his back?

Getting off the bed, Langton opened the wardrobe: there were a lot of dresses and evening clothes, shoes in their boxes, and on a shelf above, some flowery hats.

‘Where is she sleeping?’ Langton asked.

‘There’s a box room next door.’

Langton followed Brian. The small box room had a single bed, which was made up and a duvet cover thrown to one side. There was also the roll of new carpet. Langton lifted it a fraction and found it was, as Jonas had said, heavy. The roll was probably intended to re-carpet the lounge. A fitted wardrobe contained a few clothes, but most of the space was taken up by a box of thick bandages in rolls, each roll fastened with a safety pin. Next to this was another box with containers of seaweed solution in large green cans. He took one out and read the label before replacing it.

‘So she’s sleeping in here.’

‘Don’t blame her,’ grunted Brian, waiting in the doorway as the room was so small. He watched Langton lift the bedcovers to look beneath them and then as he checked through the drawers of a dresser.

‘Nice underwear,’ he murmured, sniffing a lace bra. ‘Shalimar perfume, isn’t it?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’ Brian glanced at his watch.

‘You in a hurry to go somewhere?’

‘No, Gov, just wondered what time it was.’

Langton looked at the top of the dresser, which was filled with make-up and bottles of perfume. He opened one then replaced the top.

‘Shalimar. I was right. Very distinctive smell, sort of old-fashioned, but very pungent.’

‘If you say so. I’ve got a terrible sense of smell.’

‘Right – let’s see the kitchen.’

Brian had to stand and watch as Langton went through every drawer and cupboard, checking all the cans of food.

‘I wouldn’t say she was a good cook.’ He was going through the freezer now. ‘All frozen diet dinners. He was a fitness freak, wasn’t he, Alan Rawlins? This doesn’t look like the kind of stuff he would want to eat: lean cuisine, low-carb spaghetti and meatballs?’

‘I expect she just cooks for herself now.’

‘Yeah maybe.’ He shut the freezer door and then looked into the fridge which contained yoghurts and fruit juices and half a tomato.

‘Any carving knives missing?’ he asked.

‘Nope. There’s a block on the side there, and all the knives are in their slots.’

‘What about tools – any tools in the flat?’

‘Didn’t find any.’

Langton opened a closet that contained bleach and cleaning fluids. He dragged out a cardboard box of screws, nails, light bulbs and screwdrivers.

‘Odd? No hammer.’

‘Forensics took it but didn’t find anything on it.’

‘Shame.’ Langton replaced the box and went to close the door, but swung it open again as he noticed an apron and a plastic overall with Tina’s Salon printed on them. The apron looked as if it had never been used, but the overall was stained and smelled of bleach.

‘One more look into the lounge, then that’s it.’

Brian nodded, following behind. Langton squatted down in front of a small bookcase. He carefully checked one title after another. On the top row were mostly chick-lit novels, Martina Cole paperbacks and eight Danielle Steel novels. There were a few books on racing cars, vintage cars and motor-racing manuals. There were also numerous true crime books and one about the latest developments in forensic science. He thumbed through every page of this one. The book did not appear to have been well-read; no corners were turned down, nothing was underlined, and the chapters detailing DNA evidence appeared to be unmarked.

Langton replaced it.

‘Hard to get my head around the fact that Alan Rawlins even lived here. We got his clothes, right – but no shoes. No shaving equipment, no toothbrush, and they found no brush or comb used by him.’

‘That is correct.’

‘You get anything from his work locker?’

‘Nope.’

‘Anything from the garage out back?’

‘Nope. Are you thinking he packed up some of his clothes and stuff and pissed off?’

Langton sighed, shaking his head.

‘Or somebody else packed it for him to look like he pissed off,’ he said grimly, crossing to the small side table close to the large flatscreen TV.

Brian rolled his eyes. He knew the SOCO and lab teams had gone over the flat in detail and he felt this was all a waste of time.

‘Maybe whoever killed him had time to give his possessions a good clear-out,’ he suggested. ‘If Alan was murdered shortly after Tina says she left for work, the killer or killers would have had five or six hours to clean up.’

‘Thank you for that insight, Brian. You have any idea how long it would take to carve up a body, wipe the place down, make up the bed again?’

‘And maybe have sex as well?’

‘Yeah – and remove anything that would give us a DNA link to Alan Rawlins.’

Langton began reading all the letters and bank statements in the side table drawer.

‘She’s very neat and methodical. The tax is up to date, VAT is up to date, but there’s nothing of his in here. His address book was taken in, wasn’t it? But there’s nothing relating to him in the diary, just her appointments and gym sessions listed. Often she’s not filled in days; sometimes we’ve got a whole week with nothing written. There’s car licence and insurance, house insurance . . .’

Brian stifled a yawn. ‘His life was insured for fifty grand and we’ve not found any evidence that this was upped or changed by Tina,’ he said, but Langton paid him no attention.

‘She’s the main beneficiary,’ Brian went on. ‘They had a joint bank account, which his wages and hers went straight into, and it looks like she then withdrew cash for them both. They’ve got just over seventy thousand saved.’

Langton nodded, replacing papers as he sifted through the drawers. He took in the room: the awful bland pictures on the walls, the beige on beige furniture. It was boring and featureless – yet two young people lived in the flat. Even though it was a rented one, it nevertheless had little of the personality of either Alan or Tina.

‘They were planning on getting married. She told Travis that he had suggested she look for a wedding dress,’ Brian remarked.

‘What?’

Brian repeated his comment, adding sarcastically that Tina maintained she was unaware of her boyfriend’s sexual activities elsewhere. Langton remembered when he had been with Anna, holding her in his arms as he told her about the death of her fiancé. The bridal magazines, the way she had cut out pictures of the wedding dress she was contemplating wearing. There was nothing similar inside this flat to indicate that Tina was thinking of getting married, and nothing connected to surfing or Alan’s so-called other life. Could he have been that secretive?

‘Photographs?’ he said to himself. ‘Where are they?’ He gave a wide open-handed gesture.

Brian shrugged. ‘I think they did take in some kind of an album, but that was why we had a problem with Alan. To get him ID’d we’ve been using a surfing photo DCI Travis took from his parents’ home.’

Langton stood up, looking around the room.

‘Doesn’t make bloody sense. I mean, we can tell she lives here because of her make-up and hair shampoos, but what about him?’

‘DCI Travis reckons his life will be in Cornwall. They’ll be looking at the property there. Added to that he used his bedroom at his parents’ home.’

‘I know that,’ Langton snapped, walking out. ‘I’m through here, but I have got to talk to Tina.’ As Brian hurried to catch up with him, Langton added grimly, ‘You know why? Because this place doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Well, if they were planning on moving out to buy their own property, why bother doing anything with a rented flat?’

Langton paused on his way towards the patrol car, and turned back, saying, ‘I want to see the garage she uses.’

‘We don’t have a key,’ Brian said, exasperated. But it turned out that they didn’t need one as the garage was unlocked.

‘They took her car in, didn’t they?’

‘Yes. It was released back to Miss Brooks a few days ago.’

Langton looked around the empty garage. Like the flat, it was devoid of anything personal; there were just some car-cleaning products left in a cardboard box and a small cabinet at the back of the garage that had been checked out.

Langton looked over the odd tools. Again, these were in a neatly arranged order on a small bench. There was a tyre-pressure pump, petrol can, cans of oil and two small paint cans for white and cream bodywork. He sighed, beginning to understand more and more why Anna had broadened her investigation.

Anna woke with a start as Paul tapped her arm, to find that the trolley with food and drink was rattling towards them. They chose coffee and sandwiches and some fresh fruit.

‘I was fast asleep,’ Anna admitted, opening the wrapping.

‘Me too. At least these are fresh.’ He took a mouthful of his sandwich.

‘How much longer?’ Anna asked, biting into her ham and salad sandwich.

‘Another three hours,’ Paul said without looking at his watch.

‘Three hours . . .’ She sighed.

‘Did we ever check if Alan Rawlins went by plane? They’d have a record of it at the airport if he did. He had to be a bloody frequent flyer because I’m sure he wouldn’t be schlepping back and forth so often by train.’

‘Unless he drove himself,’ she said, chewing.

Paul took out his mobile and called into the incident room to speak to Brian Stanley, but was told he was out with Langton. Helen gave him the latest updates; they had found no vehicle licence or insurance on any other vehicle apart from Tina’s VW. Paul asked them to run a check with DVLA on anything with Alan Rawlins’s name and then to try the other names they knew he used. Anna looked over as Paul ended the call.

‘Brian’s out with Langton,’ he told her.

‘What?’

‘That’s all that Helen knew. They’ve been gone all morning.’

‘Call him.’

‘Langton?’

‘No, Brian Stanley. Find out what they’re doing, or more to the point, what Langton is nosing around for.’

When Brian saw that it was Paul who was ringing his mobile he didn’t pick up, as he and Langton had just arrived at Tina’s salon.

Langton breezed inside, where Felicity, on the desk as usual, said that Tina was not available as she was giving a treatment. Langton smiled and introduced himself, saying that he was not a client and he could wait until it was convenient for Tina to talk to him.

‘Is there a place we can sit,’ he read the name on her salon gown, ‘Felicity? And perhaps you could inform Miss Brooks I am here, and I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.’

‘Oh, I suppose you can sit in the staff section. There’s a coffee percolator in there. Hang on.’ She turned from her desk and called out for Donna, who was cutting a client’s hair. She yelled back that she was busy.

‘Just direct me – no need to get anyone,’ Langton said pleasantly.

Donna came up to the reception desk with the scissors in her hand, saying, ‘What is it?’

Langton looked at Donna’s name on her gown.

‘Good Afternoon, Donna. I am Detective Chief Superintendant Langton and this is Detective—’

Donna interrupted him. ‘Tina’s with a client.’

‘We know that, Donna, and Felicity here suggested we wait in the staff section.’

‘Is Tina expecting you?’

‘I don’t believe she is, but we can wait.’

Donna looked pensive and then shrugged. ‘Come on through then.’

Kiara was working at a small table with a client having nail extensions. She glanced up as they passed her. The small sectioned-off area used for the staff was an untidy mess of hairdressing magazines and a mound of wet towels. A junior was in there eating a bun but Donna told her to get back into the salon.

‘I’m supposed to be washing the towels,’ the girl said, stuffing the last of the bun into her mouth.

‘You’re also supposed to be sweeping up the hair. I’ll take these through to the washing machines.’ Donna gathered up the towels and tried to clear a space for Langton and Brian to sit, muttering, ‘Sorry about the mess in here. We’ve been very busy today.’

Langton stepped aside to allow her to pass by.

‘The washers and dryers are out in the back. Help yourself to coffee.’

‘I will, thank you.’

Langton noticed an array of used mugs and rinsed one out in the sink before he poured himself a cup of rather stewed black coffee.

‘You want one?’ he asked Brian.

‘No, thanks. The nail stuff they use here stinks and makes me feel sick.’

Langton picked out a biscuit from an open tin and then cleared a stack of magazines before he sat down.

‘Business looks thriving,’ he remarked.

‘Yeah, its running costs are high though. We had all her accounts checked out. She doesn’t own the premises, but rents them so she has to have a good turnover to make ends meet.’

Langton seemed totally relaxed now, flicking through one of the magazines. After a moment he tossed it aside and picked up a laminated salon price-list left on a chair.

‘Thinking of having a trim?’ Brian joked.

‘Hair extensions, nail extensions, colouring and perms, cuts and blowdries, beauty treatments, pedicures, manicures, massage, laser hair removal, seaweed wraps . . .’

He looked up at Brian. ‘What’s a seaweed wrap?’

‘No idea. Doesn’t this smell get to you? Reminds me of when I was a kid. My mother took me with her when she had her hair permed. She used to have these funny little rollers all over her head – it took ages and they slapped on this stuff that smelled of paint stripper, and after hours of sitting in this small cubicle she’d come out with tight curls all over her head.’

‘How fascinating,’ Langton said sarcastically.

Donna returned. ‘A client wants a coffee – is it still hot?’

‘Warmish,’ he said, watching as she rinsed out a mug and poured the remainder of the coffee into it.

‘I’ll come back and make a fresh pot.’

Langton nodded. Brian now sat down and started to read a magazine. They both turned as Kiara, the girl doing the nail extensions, walked in.

‘Have you found him?’ she asked.

‘No. How well did you know Alan Rawlins?’

‘I didn’t. None of us really had anything to do with him. He’d just come and sometimes collect Tina and wait for her in the car park. I told that to the lady who was asking questions before.’

‘So you did.’

Kiara got some fresh coffee, lifted the percolator lid and poured in the water. She sighed with irritation when she saw all the used mugs.

‘I dunno, the bloody juniors are supposed to keep this place tidy but they’re always brain dead. We had to let one go last week ’cos she was nicking stuff.’

‘How do you get on with Tina?’

Kiara washed the mugs and began to dry them on a dirty tea towel.

‘She’s my boss – I have to get on with her.’

Brian tapped Langton’s elbow. ‘You mind if I go out and get some fresh air? I’m feeling ill.’

Langton nodded and then smiled at Kiara, explaining, ‘It’s the stuff you use on the nail extensions.’

‘Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel as high as a kite and it takes so long, especially if you’ve got a client who wants the old ones removed. Mind you, if you think nail extensions take time, try hair extensions – up to four hours a session.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. You got to glue the hair onto the client’s bit by bit, then do the braiding. You want a fresh cup of coffee?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ He passed his mug to her. ‘How long have you worked for Tina?’

‘Two years, but I really want to work in a West End salon. This is in the sticks and we get so many pensioners on our cheap days. Not that I have anything against them, but that’s why we keep some of those old dryers; we roller the old ladies up and stick them under.’

Kiara passed Langton a cup of coffee and then sat opposite him. She had the longest, shapeliest legs he’d seen in a long time, revealed by her wearing a tight mini-skirt and the salon robe which just covered her thighs. She was also wearing very long ginger hair extensions with small beads at the end.

‘I like your hair.’

‘Thanks. I do it myself.’ She tossed her head, making the beads clink against each other. Then: ‘Odd thing, isn’t it?’

‘I’m sorry?’ He waited for her to explain.

‘Well, this Alan business. We all have a natter about it. She was upset when it started – you know, when he first disappeared.’

‘I suppose she would be, as they were going to get married.’

Kiara raised her eyes to the ceiling.

‘Well, let’s say she hoped. I don’t mean she was desperate, but she’d been dumped a couple of times before, or that’s what I was told. She kept him very much under wraps, worried in case he might fancy one of us.’

She giggled and then leaned towards him confidingly. ‘She’s older than she lets on – she’s always having Botox. I dunno if she keeps on doing it. There’s a bloke what comes in who’s one of her clients so she gets it on the cheap.’

‘What is a seaweed wrap, by the way?’

‘Oh, that’s one of her treatments. None of us girls are qualified beauticians. She always does all the treatments herself and has a regular stream of clients.’

‘What is it, though? I mean, would she do it in her own flat?’

‘Oh no, it’s ever so messy. They’ve got to strip off, then she smothers their body in the stuff; it smells like seaweed washed up on a beach, it’s horrible, and then I think it’s mixed with some kind of mud. Anyway, she has to lather it all over their body and then she wraps these bandages around them – quite tightly, I think – and then they sleep with a cooling mask on. When it dries it draws out the excess fluid and they can lose a few pounds off their entire body weight, especially the thighs. Then she unpeels the bandages, they shower and finally they get a body massage. That all costs about fifty quid.’

‘You think she gives herself a wrap ever?’

‘I dunno. She’s got a great figure, I’ll give her that – works out a lot so she don’t look her age, and you’ve got to be strong ’cos most of the clients who want it are overweight. One woman is at least seventeen stone and Tina’s gotta lift them up and turn them over. I think it’d be difficult to do it on yourself.’

‘Maybe she gave Alan one?’

Kiara shrugged. ‘He was good-looking. I think she gave him a few hair streaks ’cos he was ever so blonde. I know he used to use the sunbed at night. She does too, or she did, but with all the bad publicity about tanning beds we don’t really use the one we’ve got any more.’ She tossed her head again and laughed. ‘I don’t need one though.’ She rubbed her brown-skinned arm.

Langton smiled. She was flirting with him.

‘So he maybe came into the salon when you had all left?’

‘I presume so. I never saw him in here and we’re out like rats off a ship come six o’clock. She’d have us staying late and without extra pay, and did you get told about how she was always dipping into the juniors’ tip box?’

‘No, I didn’t know.’

‘Yeah. She’s always moaning about having no change and taking a few pound coins. None of us like it. I mean, they get paid a pittance anyway.’

‘She uses the coins for phone calls?’

‘Yeah. Why she needs to be nippin’ out when we got a phone here and she’s got a mobile beats me, but then I suppose it’s hard to have a private conversation at that pint-size desk of Felicity’s, and she’s always all ears.’

‘Who do you think she was calling?’

‘No idea. Alan maybe, but she’d not tell any of us. Very much above us all, she thinks she is. That’s why some of us reckon he never disappeared.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘We think he just did a runner to get away from her. I know I would. She’s got a terrible temper and—’

Donna appeared. ‘Kiara, you’ve got a client waiting.’

Paul and Anna were going through lists of the best way to start their enquiries in Cornwall when his mobile rang. It was Brian. Anna, only able to hear one side of the conversation, was impatient to know what was going on.

‘They’re at Tina’s salon. He’s had to walk outside as the—’

‘Give me the phone.’ She held out her hand. ‘Brian, what exactly are you doing?’ She listened and her face tightened with anger. ‘He’s in the salon? Is he talking to Tina?’

Brian told her about the visit to Tina’s flat. Furious, she gave him instructions to call back as soon as Langton had left the salon.

She passed the phone back to Paul, saying, ‘I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing. Apparently he’s been at the salon for over half an hour.’

‘Maybe he’s having a haircut.’

‘Very funny. I don’t like this nosing around – it makes me nervous.’

Paul’s phone rang again. This time it was Helen saying they had no records of any other vehicles registered to Alan Rawlins or to any of his friends apart from the vehicles they personally owned. Helen had also been checking with flights from Gatwick and Stansted to Newquay and again had no result. He repeated all of this to Anna.

She folded her newspaper. The train journey felt like it was taking forever.

‘It’ll be almost dark when we get there,’ she grumbled.

‘Not long to go, couple more hours. You want me to see if the trolley is anywhere near our carriage?’

‘Yes. I’ll have another coffee.’

She stared out of the window, seething with anger. It felt as if Langton was checking her out. As she closed her eyes, she hoped there was nothing she had missed that he would uncover. It was as if he was sitting on her shoulder. Paranoia set in. Had Langton agreed to let her travel because it freed him up to oversee her investigation? She took out her mobile, deciding that she would call him herself, but then stopped. Instead, she rang Helen in the incident room and asked her to make sure that anything that came in from Langton went directly to her.

Helen agreed, and added that he had asked them to get the soft top ordered by Alan Rawlins brought into the station.

‘Have you got it?’ Anna knew she should also have checked it herself.

‘Yes, it arrived ten minutes ago and it is exactly as described – a new soft top for a Mercedes 280SL.’

‘Thanks, Helen.’ She cut off the call. At least that was a dead lead, thank goodness.

Paul returned to his seat with the news that the trolley would be passing in a few minutes. The train would then be making a lot of stops as they got closer to Newquay.

‘All the little out-of-the-way stations, but they said it’d only be another hour and a half.’

Anna closed her eyes. They would get the plane back, budget or not.

Donna was now sitting where Kiara had been. She’d helped herself to a coffee and was munching on biscuits. Langton had refused another cup and was now becoming a little impatient.

‘What’s she been telling you?’ Donna eventually asked.

‘Just describing how she does nail extensions.’

‘I bet. She’s a gossip, that one, and she and Tina have never got along, but to find someone who can do nails and hair extensions isn’t easy round here. We’ve got a lot of black customers so that’s why Tina keeps her on.’

‘You just do haircuts, do you?’

‘No, I do manicures and pedicures as well. Salon this size you gotta be jack-of-all-trades.’

‘But you don’t do the massage and beauty treatments?’

‘No, that’s Tina’s department. She can do hair, and she’s good, but she gets impatient with the client if they don’t want what she wants. I’ve seen them go out crying ’cos she lopped off more than they wanted. She’s also a good colourist, very professional. She was trained by L’Oréal and she still does competitions. We work them between us. I told that lady about how many we done, I sent in the dates – well, the ones I could remember. She wanted to know how long Tina and me are out from the salon.’

‘This would be DCI Travis, yes?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. I’d love to have a go at her hair, give her a real sharp cut. It’s a lovely colour, that red. Is it natural?’

‘I believe so. Do you get on well with Tina?’

‘Yes, I’ve worked for her for years. When I say we get along, it’s my job and she’s okay just so long as you don’t get on the wrong side of her. She can fly off the handle.’

‘Did you know Alan, her fiancé?’

‘Only to say hello, never had much of a conversation with him. I think she used to get browned off with him going away all the time, but she always said she didn’t go with him because she couldn’t swim. We all reckoned it was because he didn’t want her there.’

‘They were engaged to be married?’

‘Yes, so she said, but I dunno when they planned it. A few of us thought he might be getting cold feet.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, they were having a big row out in the car park one night and the next day she was like a bear with a sore behind having a go at every one of us. These past few days she’s been making secret phone calls, hurrying out of the salon.’

‘Taking the juniors’ tips?’

‘Yeah, that’s right – who told you that?’

‘I think someone mentioned it to DCI Travis.’

The girl put her hand over her mouth and grinned. ‘Could have been me. I don’t want to sling the dirt. Don’t get me wrong, but he looked younger than her and she changed the colour of her hair, was always on a diet, working out, trying to look younger than she is.’

‘Botox?’

Donna giggled again. ‘Yeah. Once it must have hit a nerve by her eye ’cos it twitched for days.’

Donna almost fell off her chair as Tina stepped round the screen.

‘Can you work with the junior, please, Donna. You are supposed to be training her, not sitting in here gossiping. Off you go!’

Donna scuttled out fast. Tina glared at Langton as he stood up to introduce himself.

‘Don’t bother – Felicity’s told me who you are. Where’s the other bloke?’

‘He’s outside, felt a bit sick with the smell of the—’

Tina brushed past him and picked up Donna and Kiara’s dirty coffee mugs.

‘Bloody girls can’t wash up after themselves.’ She dumped them into the sink, turning to rest against it. ‘What do you want? This is now bordering on harassment.’

‘Just to talk to you, Tina.’

‘I’m all talked out with the police. I have no intentions of saying anything unless my lawyer is present.’

‘That’s a pity, Tina. I just wanted to iron a few things out. I’m overseeing the enquiry.’

‘Really? Well, somebody should be.’

Langton sat back down. He was surprised at just how attractive she was, and taller than he’d expected. Her glossy reddish-brown hair fell to just below her shoulders, and her make-up was flawless.

‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you are a very good advert for your salon.’

‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere.’ She poured what remained of the coffee and leaned back holding the cup between her hands – revealing long perfect fingernails with white tips.

‘What’s happened to that woman Travis?’ she asked rudely.

‘She’s on her way to Cornwall to make enquiries.’

‘I’d like to make some myself. I’ve never had much luck with men, but with Alan I really thought it was special, different. Just goes to show, doesn’t it?’

‘What does?’

‘That he was a liar like the others. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson. The guy before Alan left owing me ten thousand quid. He was a carpenter and said he needed it to buy some equipment for a big job, and like an idiot I gave him a cheque. That was the last I saw of him.’

‘Sounds like a habit.’

‘What?’

‘Men disappearing on you.’

‘I know where he is – with his wife. He lied about that too.’

‘I’m sorry, and amazed that anyone would leave someone as attractive as you.’

She rolled her eyes and then laughed. She had a deep sexy voice and her laugh was infectious.

‘Looks aren’t everything, although Alan certainly had them.’ She sipped her coffee and pulled a face. ‘It’s cold.’ She turned and tossed the coffee down the sink then stood with her back to Langton, her hands resting on the edge of the sink.

‘It just doesn’t seem real,’ she said bleakly. ‘First he’s missing, then I’m accused of killing him, then I’m told he was homosexual and also stashing money away. What kind of fucking idiot am I?’

Langton got to his feet as Tina tossed her head back and ran her fingers through her curls.

‘I’ve got to go back to work,’ she mumbled.

‘This must be very hard for you to deal with.’ Langton moved closer.

‘You can say that again, but you know I’ve been hurt a few times and I’m getting used to picking myself up and getting on with my life.’

Unexpectedly she started to cry, wafting her hands as if annoyed at herself. She plucked a tissue from a box beside the sink.

‘Going to ruin my eye make-up,’ she laughed shakily.

‘I understand. I’ve been told you were planning on getting married.’

She sniffed as her eyes welled with tears again. She grabbed another tissue from the box.

‘Yes. I even thought that maybe he’d got cold feet because I kept pushing for him to set the date. I was going to arrange it all. I’ve no parents so it was all going to be down to me.’

‘You mind me asking you a personal question?’

She sniffed. ‘Like what?’

‘How old are you?’

She looked taken aback and then started to cry again. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I can always check.’

‘I’m forty-two – all right!’

Whether it was admitting to her real age or not, more tears came down and she pressed her hand to her mouth.

‘You don’t look it,’ Langton said gently.

‘Yes, well, it takes a lot of work. I don’t know what those gossiping little bitches have told you, but they don’t know my age.’

‘So Alan was a lot younger.’

‘Yes . . . Shit, all I need now is for one of them to walk in and see me like this.’ She sniffed and then pulled at her eyelashes which were coming away in a section. ‘I use single lashes and they’re all coming unstuck. I have to go upstairs.’

‘I’d like to see where you do your treatments.’

Tina hesitated and then walked back round the screen. As she hadn’t refused him, he followed her.

There was a narrow staircase at the rear of the salon by the back door and the washing machines. As Langton moved up the steps behind her he could see how shapely her legs were, with good muscle tone and tanned a golden brown.

‘You’ve got a nice colour on your legs,’ he observed as she moved aside a plastic strip curtain.

‘Fake tan, I spray it on.’

He was surprised at the size of the room, as it was as big as most of the salon below. The ceiling was slanted and there were two massage tables and a covered self-tanning cubicle. A shower room was built into one side, with a toilet and washbasin. The floor was of stripped-pine boards. A row of lockers were lined up against the far wall. There was an exercise bike and an odd contraption in cream leather, which had a folding back and two long sections for legs.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s for fatties who don’t want to exercise. You sit back and the bit with your legs moves up and down and tightens the stomach muscles.’

Tina went into the bathroom, leaving the cubicle door open. Langton watched as she looked at herself in the mirror and began to reapply her make-up. Lined up on two shelves were a vast number of massage oils and big tins of the seaweed emulsion. Neatly placed beside them were stacks of rolled elastic bandages and spatulas in a jar.

Langton took in the content of the shelves.

‘So this is what a wrap treatment is all about, is it?’

Tina leaned out. ‘Yes. The stuff is mixed with water and I apply it over the body. The far table is the one I use as it creates a hell of a mess.’

‘I noticed you had some in your flat.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you give yourself treatments?’

‘Christ, no. Alan used to use it sometimes on his thighs. He was very vain and he knew how to mix it and wrap the bandages around. Got to be careful they’re not too tight.’

Tina walked out, brushing her hair as Langton turned, smiling.

‘You’ve got a big space up here as well as the salon below,’ he remarked.

‘Yeah. This just used to be a loft and I did the conversion. Now the bastard landlord ups the rent, but I need the space for my treatments. I do all the massages up here and the leg waxing and bikini waxing.’ Tina sighed. ‘You know, I’ve worked hard all my life. Nobody ever gave me anything. My parents died when I was just a teenager so I’ve been on my own, so to speak.’

‘Never married?’

She shrugged. ‘Long time ago. It lasted a year and then he took off with my best friend, leaving me with debts up to my eyeballs. Bloody men!’

Langton glanced at his watch. ‘You’ve been really nice, and thank you for giving me your time.’

‘You want a massage?’

He laughed, shaking his head.

‘I was joking,’ Tina grinned. ‘Can you see yourself out?’

‘Yes, thanks a lot.’

‘That’s it, is it? You said you had a few things you wanted to iron out.’

‘Not necessary now. I just wanted to meet you.’

‘Now you have, what do you think? You’re a hell of a lot nicer to talk to than that woman, but you know women have always had it in for me – jealous bitches, most of them. I have to put up with a lot of crap from the girls I employ. I used to have blokes, but they’re even bitchier, little queens. And now? Christ, I was bloody living with one and I didn’t even know!’

She watched him leave, moving the slatted curtain aside. Then she turned back to fix her hair. Staring at her reflection in the small cubicle mirror she felt like smashing the brush against it, cracking it, shattering it, but her sense of self-control got the better of her and she picked up her lip gloss to outline her lips, mouthing, ‘Sons of bitches. Bastards.’

Brian was fast asleep in the patrol car, his mouth open. He jolted awake when Langton opened the passenger door.

‘You all done?’

Langton slammed the door shut. ‘Yeah, all done. Can you take me back to Scotland Yard?’

Brian put the car in gear and drove out of the car park.

‘She’s a piece of work,’ Langton said quietly.

‘You think she’s been telling the truth?’

Langton stared out through the window. ‘Hard to tell. I wouldn’t like to tangle with her. How old do you think she is?’

‘I dunno, I’m not good at guessing women’s ages, but maybe thirty?’

‘Forty-two. I think having to tell me her age made her more tearful than discussing Alan Rawlins’s disappearance.’

‘Bloody hell, she doesn’t look it.’

‘No, she doesn’t, and she didn’t like admitting it, but that doesn’t make her guilty of beating her boyfriend to death.’

‘I know DCI Travis has changed her opinion but do you think Rawlins is still alive?’

Langton sighed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Either way, we are going to have to come up with something. A fucking body would be a start.’