Blood Line

Chapter Six

Faced with the evidence from the Forensic Department, Anna and Paul needed to work out their next moves. Now that the case had opened up, Anna felt it was time to put together a full murder team, so she spent the rest of the morning finding a couple more detectives, along with some clerical staff to begin coordinating all the interviews she wanted to take place.

Liz Hawley had left a message that she would not be doing the Luminol test until the following morning, as the fingerprint team had not quite completed their examination. She also reminded them that she needed the further blood sample from Mrs Rawlins.

After a quick lunch, Anna gave a briefing to the new detectives, DC Brian Stanley and DC Helen Bridges. They listened attentively as she explained the investigation to date. Finishing on Liz Hawley’s developments she opened the briefing for any questions. Brian Stanley, a thick-set dark-haired officer with unfortunate eyebrows that met together in the centre of his forehead, was an old-timer and had sat with his legs spread wide, resting his elbows on the front of the hard-backed chair he had turned around.

‘You get any feedback that the victim could be homosexual?’ he asked.

Anna said that she had at one time contemplated the possibility, but had no evidence that he was.

‘If you take out money being the motive then it’s got to be some kind of passionate incentive to kill,’ Stanley persevered.

Paul was bristling due to the man’s tone, but said nothing.

‘Yes, we have also discussed the motive situation. There’s not a lot of money, but murders have been committed for less,’ Anna pointed out.

‘But if we do get the information from Forensics that a body was severed in the flat, that doesn’t have the feel of a monetary gain. To dispose of a body it takes planning as well as cleaning up afterwards.’

‘Well, we do have to wait to get that verified from Liz Hawley as she will be testing tomorrow morning,’ Anna informed him.

‘If this murder was not one of passion but for money, then could it be premeditated? Guy gets off work early and makes sure his girlfriend leaves the flat. Have you come up with any kind of trouble in Alan Rawlins’s background?’ Brian asked.

‘No – to the contrary,’ Anna told him. ‘From the people we have interviewed he appears to have been a very decent, hardworking, studious man. He was kind and thoughtful, but shy – someone who kept himself to himself, who didn’t drink or use drugs.’

‘Sounds too good to be true,’ Brian smiled.

‘Yes. We have also been informed that he was a man who hated confrontations,’ Paul said, becoming more irritated with Brian Stanley who now hitched up his trousers.

‘That wouldn’t match with the Jewish couple. Didn’t the old boy say he saw him kicking the hell out of a wall?’

‘Correct. So maybe Alan Rawlins had more to him than we’ve been able to uncover,’ Anna replied to diffuse the tension between Paul and Brian.

Brian Stanley had a habit of lifting his forefinger into the air to attract attention.

‘These body-builders at the gym he frequented . . . were they gay?’

‘Didn’t seem so to me, far from it,’ Anna replied, glancing at Paul.

‘What about this guy who lives in flat one – did he come over as a shirt-lifter?’

Anna gave Brian a disapproving glare. Paul was tight-lipped with anger, but still he remained silent.

‘No, he did not. You can see from our investigation that he’s had quite a chequered career. Lost his life savings in that Icelandic bank crash and now works for the company listed. Apparently his sister is married to one of the chief executives so she might have had a hand in giving him work. He’s a very good-looking young man, by the way.’

‘At no time has anyone from the block of flats seen these two together – Tina Brooks and Mr Handsome?’ Stanley asked.

‘No, they have not.’

‘We get anything from the phones? Have they been calling each other?’

‘No. We’ve checked out both landlines, although Phillips hardly uses his. Tina’s mobile has been checked but we are still waiting on Mr Phillips’s, so we don’t yet know if he contacted her – maybe at the salon’s a possibility, but it will take a long time to scroll through the hundreds of calls there.’

‘You got Alan Rawlins’s mobile from the glove compartment in his Merc at the garage, correct?’

‘Yes, it’s on the board,’ Paul said briskly.

‘Just wondering why it’s taken so long to check out his calls.’

‘I have checked them and there was nothing untoward.’ Paul looked over to Anna and again she interjected.

‘We have only just found out we have a possible murder case. Now unless there is anything else, Brian, we need to move on.’

Brian took out a black-covered notebook and muttered that he would get onto the mobile companies ASAP. It was now the turn of DC Helen Bridges. In her mid-thirties, she was a quiet woman with a pleasant manner, wearing glasses.

‘Was Tina Brooks ever unhelpful?’ she wanted to know.

‘No, but she was always very edgy, especially when we went to the salon,’ Anna told her.

Brian Stanley put up his index finger again.

‘Have we obtained any CCTV from Asda or verified that the bleach she bought was on special offer? And did she also buy the salon bleach from a different company?’

‘She admitted to buying it as she said they use it to wash the floors in the hair salon.’

‘But there was a semi-full one in the flat when you did the search?’ Helen said, reading up the case-file notes.

‘Yes.’

‘That means if she bought four large containers, three and a half have been used up?’

‘Correct, Helen.’

Brian now did his finger in the air again.

‘That has to mean she was involved in the cleaning up of the bloodstains. If she wasn’t, surely she would have noticed that there was a lot of the bleach missing, and said something about it?’

‘Yes, that is correct,’ Anna said, watching Brian make a laborious note in his book, again muttering that he would check that out and contact Asda. Helen half-rose from her chair then sat back down again.

‘Do we have any photographs of Tina Brooks?’ she asked, flicking through the file. Anna sighed.

‘No, we don’t, but we have that surfing picture of Alan Rawlins.’

There was a guffaw from Brian Stanley and he suggested that they get a decent head shot of him ASAP.

Anna brought the session to a close by outlining what the team would be working on the following morning. She suggested that the new detectives continue to familiarise themselves with the case-file to date before leaving for the night.

She had just returned to her office when Paul knocked and walked in.

‘That bastard with the eyebrows gets on my nerves. At least he should have them plucked.’

‘Just let them settle in before you allow him to get under your skin.’

‘He’s already under it, the homophobic prick.’

‘Paul, that’s enough. It’s been a long day and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get home and recharge my batteries.’

‘Yeah, okay. What about the interview with Rawlins’s parents? You said you wanted to talk with the mother.’

‘We wait for the second blood-test results.’

‘Fine. See you tomorrow then.’

‘Goodnight, Paul.’

Anna waited until he had gone before she sat back in her chair. From her desk she could look into the incident room via the semi-closed blinds on her window. Helen and Brian were standing by the incident-room board, conferring. Mr ‘Eyebrows’ might be a pain in the butt, but he was very experienced, and from the way the case was opening up she knew she would need all the help she could get.

The next morning, Anna learned that there was a further delay in using the Luminol. The forensic team were waiting until the extensive search of the flat was finished, to avoid damaging anything the fingerprint team might still uncover. Liz Hawley had also contacted Anna to say that she was still doing more work on Mr Rawlins’s blood, and asked if a further sample had been taken from Mrs Rawlins. Anna rang the Rawlinses’ home, but the carer answered to say that Mr Rawlins was at work. Anna tried the courts where Edward Rawlins worked as an usher, but had to leave a message as his mobile was turned off.

Impatient to get on with the day, she had another delay when Langton came into the station. She could see him conferring with Brian Stanley and waited for him to come into her office.

When he eventually left Stanley and walked over to her office, he cocked his head to one side.

‘Well, well. This is getting more interesting, isn’t it?’ he said.

She nodded.

‘You know until you get that blood matched with Alan Rawlins’s, there’s not a lot you can do.’

‘I am aware of that, but do you know the problem?’

‘Yes,’ Langton said. ‘I’ve looked over the board.’

Langton was wearing a very smart suit and his usual pristine shirt, but she noticed a stain on his blue tie. It amused her, because he was very obviously unaware of it. She knew how much he prided himself on always being well turned out. He sat down opposite her, popping some nicotine gum in his mouth.

‘If you prove it is Alan Rawlins and get further proof that his body could have been dismembered, it’s putting a heavy slant on the investigation. Alternatively, if it is not his then it’s a further complication – like who the hell is it?’

‘Going with the scenario that it’s not Alan’s blood, it would make sense why he did a disappearing act,’ Anna said.

‘Ditto if it was him cut up, but to date there has been no discovery of weapons. I think you should go ahead with the Luminol test as soon as possible, because if it is proven that there was a bloodbath in that bathroom, it really ups the ante on your enquiry.’

‘You are not telling me anything I don’t know.’

‘Suspects? You still have Tina Brooks in the frame?’ he enquired.

‘Yes, but with reservations. It’s possible that after she left Alan at home and went to work, someone else came to their flat and either killed Alan or some other person, and had the evidence cleared up by the time she returned from work.’

Langton chewed hard on his gum.

‘I don’t buy that,’ he said. ‘There’s no sign of forced entry. Then there’s the bleach, the new order of carpet and the squares cut out of the old. I think she is involved.’

‘We have no proof that she was,’ Anna said quietly.

‘I know that.’

‘I also think I jumped the gun by bringing her in for questioning, as we didn’t really gain anything from the interview bar the fact she denied any involvement.’

‘She also had Jonathan Hyde representing her – a good operator. Did she bring him on board herself?’ Langton asked.

‘No. She lucked in as he was the duty solicitor.’

‘Motive? What are your thoughts on that?’

‘Well, we have discussed the joint bank account and the life-insurance policy; added together it’s quite a substantial sum, around a hundred and twenty thousand, and although her business is doing well now, she’s admitted to being up to the limit on her overdraft. Somehow I don’t buy money as the motive.’

‘You checked it out? If she’s in debt, she might be getting in deeper.’

‘No, but I have been there and it looks like she’s got a good turnover and employs quite a lot of staff.’

‘Check it out.’

‘Will do. The other motive that I’ve been toying with is that perhaps Tina was having an affair with someone, and whoever that was could be implicated. But to date we’ve not found any evidence that she was seeing anyone else. We know she had quite a reputation at the local gym, but we’ve checked with all the instructors.’

‘There was a semen stain found in the master bed – right? Tina said, didn’t she, that Alan was possibly seeing someone else? So it could be his?’

‘Yes. But we also know it doesn’t match the DNA from the blood pooling. So the victim might not be Alan Rawlins. I am checking out if the semen could belong to the neighbour, Michael Phillips, who is single and very handsome.’

She hesitated because the single hair also discovered in the bed was not the right colour match for the dark, glossy-haired Phillips. She scrawled a note to remind herself to get a hair sample for DNA from Tina, plus recent photographs.

‘Any witness that saw them together?’

Anna looked up and Langton repeated the question.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘But there’s one odd thing that sort of takes away from Alan being the submissive non-confrontational type. A neighbour saw him kicking out at the wall close to their flat and punching it. This was a few days before he went missing.’

‘Or was cut up.’

‘Right.’

Langton stood up, taking out the chewed gum and dropping it into her waste-basket.

‘You know, we have a result over in Highgate – brought charges last night. Bastard’s a real psychopath, but whether or not he’ll be fit to stand trial is another matter.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you. I think what you need to do is obviously get the ID of the victim ASAP and dig around into any sexual deviancy. Old Brian reckons Mr Rawlins was homosexual. One of his close friends you interviewed was gay, right?’

‘Yes, but I disagree. I don’t think Alan was gay.’

‘Well, you never know, and if he was, he maybe didn’t want it known. Anything come from Forensics from Tina Brooks’s car?’

‘No. We’re waiting on Liz to get back to us.’

‘You know what’s interesting?’

She cocked her head to one side and smiled, saying, ‘I am sure you are about to tell me.’

‘The fact that after a murder was committed close to or on the bed, someone had sex in it. Now that’s deviant . . . Look along those lines, Anna, and uppermost try to find out what happened to the body.’

‘I intend to.’

‘Good.’

He stood staring at her for a moment and then went to open the door.

‘Good work.’

‘Thank you.’

He hesitated and turned back.

‘Just one more thing. As we’re on top of this case I’ve been overseeing I was wondering if you’d like Mike Lewis transferred over to your investigation.’

‘No. I want to see how the team I’ve got pans out before bringing in anyone else.’

He gave her a small smile and opened the door.

‘Well, you know where I am.’

Anna was left irritated by his offer. As a DCI she didn’t need another one of her rank looking over her shoulder. Langton was enough.

‘By the way,’ she said, ‘you have what looks like an egg stain on your tie.’

He lifted it up and swore, walking out scratching at the stain.

Her desk phone rang. It was Edward Rawlins returning her call, very concerned about his wife giving another blood sample.

‘She was very distressed about having it done the last time. Is it necessary?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid it is.’

‘But surely you can determine whether or not it is Alan.’

‘Unfortunately the first sample taken from your wife leaked, and the genetic combination of the blood from both parents is required for examination by the scientist.’

‘I see. In that case, I suppose you have to do what you have to do, but I don’t understand why.’ He couldn’t continue. She heard him give a muffled sob.

‘It’s possible, Mr Rawlins, that it might not be your son’s blood,’ Anna said gently.

‘Jesus God, this is all dreadful. I am leaving work at three today so I will be at home for when the doctor comes to take the sample, but as I said, my wife is very distressed. She doesn’t understand what is happening. I told her it was for some new medication to try and calm her.’

‘The police doctor will endeavour to make your wife feel as relaxed as possible,’ Anna assured him.

She then rang Liz Hawley to say the further sample from Mrs Rawlins would be taken late afternoon and she would have it brought up to the lab as soon as possible.

‘The fingerprint team have finally finished,’ Liz told her, ‘so I will be starting on the Luminol testing first thing in the morning.’

‘Did you find anything from Tina Brooks’s car?’

‘That’s not my department, but I’ll check for you.’

‘Thank you.’

Before she hung up, Liz asked if Anna would be bringing in any suspects’ DNA samples for a comparison with the hair and semen.

‘It’s on the cards. I’ll let you know.’

Anna replaced the phone. They would require a mouth swab and hair sample from Michael Phillips. She decided that she would handle that personally as it was imperative they either implicate or eliminate him. However, as they had no evidence against him, he would have to agree to the tests and he’d be entitled to refuse.

Anna sat with Brian Stanley at his desk and explained that he was to make further enquiries at the Body Form gym used by Tina, Alan and Michael Phillips. She was about to walk away when he held up the offending finger.

‘You know, we really need to get that crime-scene blood identified, because if it wasn’t Alan Rawlins it’s gonna shed a whole different light on our enquiry.’

‘I am aware of that and it’s in the mix for today.’

‘Another thing, we need more updated photographs of Alan Rawlins. If it isn’t his blood, then he’s missing. I’ve got onto Mispers about it and they have a couple of shots they are sending over. They were given to them by Tina Brooks, but I wondered if we had his driving licence.’

‘We don’t. We didn’t find one.’

‘Wouldn’t the DVLC hold double photographs nowadays if he had a recent new licence?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Right, I’ll check with them. And what about Tina? We should have a photo of her. It helps when looking over any CCTV we may seize.’

‘I’ll ask her to hand one over.’

‘She’s not staying at the flat until it’s given the all-clear, so do you have a contact address for her?’

‘It’s on the board, Brian.’

‘Right, thanks. Have we sniffed around for any new life-insurance policies, only the one we have been checking out was made a couple of years ago. Maybe there’s a newer one?’

‘Check it out then.’

‘It’s just that I find it odd. I mean, I’m in my forties and I haven’t got one.’

‘Nor have I, but Alan Rawlins appears to have been a particularly cautious man when it comes to money.’

‘Particularly anal if you ask me.’

Anna’s patience with Brian’s offhand derogatory remarks was wearing thin. She raised her voice to show her disapproval of his comments.

‘Just get on with it, Detective Stanley!’

‘Okay, I’ll get started.’

‘Thank you.’

Anna returned to her office. Stanley might be very experienced, but he was starting to get under her skin; however, she had to admit he was working the case. She wondered how Paul and Helen were getting on interviewing the remaining names in Rawlins’s address book. She called Paul’s mobile, but it was turned off so she sent a text message. Once that was done, she left the station to go to talk to Michael Phillips.

Paul and Helen had been criss-crossing London. A number of the names were dead ends as the people had moved or gone abroad. By mid-afternoon they had successfully interviewed six. Four had not seen or spoken to Alan for a long time and could give no indication of what might have occurred. They did all repeat what an exceptionally nice person he was; most had been to school or college with him and none appeared to be very intimate friends, but almost all of them said that after his relationship with Tina had begun they had seen very little of him. None were very enthusiastic about her, but at the same time felt that if she made Alan happy it was none of their business.

The fifth person they interviewed was a librarian called Alison Bisk. She was an attractive blonde, but the type of woman who doesn’t know how to make the best of herself. She was wearing a very plain jumper with a woollen skirt that reached her calves, and comfortable shoes. She was at first startled by their appearance at the library and then shocked when they said they were interviewing everyone who knew Alan, as he was missing.

‘Missing?’

‘Yes, Miss Bisk. If we could go somewhere more private we’d just like to ask you about your friendship with Mr Rawlins.’

They went into a small reading room, where Paul explained that they were looking into his disappearance as it was possible it could be due to foul play.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He has been missing for some considerable time and we have found things inside his flat that give cause for concern.’

‘But I haven’t seen him for maybe six or seven months.’

‘You knew him well?’

She nodded.

‘What can you tell us about him?’

She chewed her lip and then did a small nervous cough. ‘We used to go out together so I did know him very well.’

‘Tell us what you know about him.’

She sighed and then explained that she and Alan had lived together in her flat, and that at one time she had felt that their relationship would eventually lead to marriage.

‘I don’t want to say anything bad about him. You see, we were together for almost three years. He was always a very caring and loving person. He could be a bit obsessive about saving money, but he wanted to buy a place of his own – you know, he didn’t really like living at my flat. He halved the rent with me though, as well as saving for the future. It was a future I believed I would be a part of, but . . .’

She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together and releasing them.

‘He went on a surfing holiday to Cornwall,’ she continued. ‘I couldn’t go because my holiday dates didn’t match his. I knew something was wrong when he phoned me from there.’

‘Wrong? What do you mean?’

‘Well, he sounded different – distant. He said he was having a wonderful time, but he just didn’t sound like the Alan I knew. He phoned me maybe four times, but I could feel he was different. I can’t really explain it, but I sensed it, as I was very much in love with him. Anyway, the Saturday he was due to come home I’d bought a special dinner and even though he didn’t really drink I’d got a bottle of rosé wine.’ Her eyes welled with tears.

‘Go on, Miss Bisk, please. This is very helpful.’ Helen felt for the girl; she was obviously still very hurt.

‘I was in the bath and I had my hair in rollers because I wanted to make myself look good for him when he got back, but he came home earlier than I expected. He was so tanned and his hair was very blonde and he leaned on the bathroom door and . . .’

She searched for a tissue and dabbed her eyes.

‘He was like a stranger. He said that he still loved me, but he was no longer in love with me and would be moving out.’

She began to rip at the tissue.

‘I was in shock. I couldn’t believe that in just two weeks he could have changed so drastically, and then there were these calls from her – she had the cheek to call my flat and ask to speak to him. I knew whoever it was had to be the reason he was leaving, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. It took two weeks for him to clear all his belongings and he left.’

‘When exactly was this?’

‘Four years ago.’

‘But you said you saw him a few months back.’

‘Yes. He would often stop by and see how I was, or a couple of times he came here to see me at work. He never really explained anything to me, but I knew he had moved in with that woman in Hounslow. I never went there and I never called him. It was always him that contacted me, but not for us to get back together – just to see how I was. I think he felt guilty for the way he had treated me.’

‘When you saw him, did he appear to be in good spirits?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, was he depressed or moody, and did he say anything derogatory about his latest girlfriend?’

‘No. I never felt I could broach the subject with him. To be honest, I hoped he would come back, but he never even suggested it. I used to see his parents on the odd occasions at Christmastime. I’d take them a little gift. They were the sweetest people and I think they were upset at the way he had treated me. I don’t think they liked his new girlfriend.’

‘Did he ever seem angry?’

‘Oh no, Alan was such a calm person. He did dress differently, more fashionably, and he seemed more handsome, or maybe that was just me. I missed him so much and like I said, I think he did feel guilty because we had been very serious about each other. In fact, one time he asked if I wanted to start a family and I obviously said that I would, and after he had left I found . . .’

Again she started to weep. Paul and Helen waited.

‘I didn’t drive and he had started to arrange driving lessons for me. I found in a cupboard the L-plates he had bought for me. On one he had written a message about having a baby soon. I never took my test. I still don’t drive – silly, really.’

Paul got into the driving seat and looked at Helen.

‘“Silly, really”. Bloody sad, more like it. She’s a nice-looking girl if she did more for herself.’

Helen shrugged. She had found it rather pitiful that Alison had not got over a relationship that ended years ago.

‘Didn’t get much from her though, did we?’ Paul said.

‘Well, if I remember, in a statement I read, Tina said that Alan used to go surfing a lot, and according to Alison he seemed changed when he returned from one of his holidays there. Maybe we need to look into the surfing friends.’

‘Not got any. We’ve only one more bloke to see and that’s his address book finished.’

‘Maybe the last is the best – or is it the other way round?’

‘I dunno, but we’ve got to go all the way to Kingston. The guy runs a car wash on the A3. His name is Silas Douglas.’

‘A car wash?’

‘Yeah. Not really sounding like the Silver Surfer, is he?’

‘Who?’

‘It’s often the way great-looking guys on surfboards are called. I read it somewhere – you know, all bronzed and blonde-haired.’

‘Oh. I thought it was a sort of Marvel comic character. Maybe this Silas Douglas is one. I can always live in hope!’

Paul laughed.

The car wash turned out to be a small business employing six Polish men. The ramshackle four-car port had hosepipes and buckets and polishers, with a seedy office at the back.

‘Bet you these guys are making illegal benefit claims as well,’ Paul said.

Helen agreed and was astonished that customers were paying up to thirty pounds for a total valet service.

‘All this cash must make a nice income, enough to employ six guys.’

They knocked on the glass door to the office, but were unable to see in as it was covered in posters for firework displays and local events. Then it banged open and they were confronted by a well-built man wearing a baseball cap with a greasy ponytail sticking out the back.

‘Yeah?’

Paul introduced himself and Helen and said they had called earlier. ‘Are you Silas Douglas?’

‘Oh right, right, come in. I’m Sal Douglas and excuse the mess. Shift anything off the seats; it will all end up on the floor anyway.’

He had a very upper-class voice that belied his appearance in baggy torn jeans and a T-shirt. Lined up against one wall were four surfboards, expensive ones, and there was another one lying on a bench with pots of paint.

‘I’m customising that for a client. Wants, believe it or not, Shaun the Sheep. Bloody stupid, but you do what you have to.’

‘Shaun the Sheep?’ Paul asked, shifting a stack of magazines onto the floor.

‘It’s a kid’s cartoon, little runt of the sheep herd that gets up to all crazy things, so I guess he’s now going to be surfing.’ Sal sat behind the muddled heaped desk and grinned. ‘What do you want? It’s not about the bloody neighbours’ complaints, is it? I’ve got a licence to run this place – in fact, I own that block of flats, but they don’t seem to understand, and these used to be the old garages.’

‘We’re here because we know you were friends with Alan Rawlins.’

‘Who?’

‘Alan Rawlins.’

Sal leaned back in his chair, rubbing his head. ‘I know him, do I?’

‘He has your phone number.’

‘Alan Rawlins? Has he bought a board from me?’

‘I don’t know. He did go surfing in Cornwall.’

‘Ah well, maybe I met him there. Come June I pack off to my place near Newquay and don’t come back until the end of summer.’

‘He was a big fair-haired man, about six foot,’ Paul said as he took out the only photo they had of Alan on the surfboard. ‘Aged twenty-six.’

‘Oh Christ yes, I know him. Terrific guy! I taught him. It’s a few summers back, maybe three or four, and he went on to use some of the other bays with the real big waves, fearless. To begin with I thought he was a no-hoper, but . . .’

Sal pulled at his ponytail. ‘I didn’t know he was called Rawlins, but there you go, I meet a shedload of guys every summer.’ He then gestured to a wall calendar. ‘I teach. First I make them use the gym, as you’ve got to have strong leg muscles – lot of squats – but above all balance. Yeah, I remember him now.’

‘He’s missing.’

‘What?’

‘I said he’s missing’

‘In Cornwall?’

‘No, from his place in London. Do you know where he stayed when he was in Cornwall?’

‘No, there’s loads of hostels, B and Bs and other cheap places.’

‘What can you tell me about him?’

‘Nothing more than I just did.’

Paul looked to Helen and she was making notes. ‘Did he have girlfriends when you met him?’

Sal shrugged his shoulders. ‘I couldn’t tell you. I have my own clan there, but there are lots of bars they all use and if it’s bad weather, which it was this bloody summer – a downpour almost every day – they always hang out at a place called the Smugglers. It’s a beach bar and café.’

‘When was the last time you saw Alan Rawlins?’

The big man gave a wide-armed gesture. ‘Look, I didn’t even remember his name. I don’t think he was around last summer. I can’t honestly recall.’ He held the photograph in his big hands. ‘No, he wasn’t. In fact, it had to have been a while ago, maybe a couple of years, because the board he’s using here was one of mine. It’s an old hire board, used to mark them at the front with a large black S and a number, so I knew who was out on the water with one. You can just about make out S three on this board. The one he’s surfing on is old stock that I sanded down, resprayed and sold on about two years ago. He could have even bought one off me, but I can’t be certain as I’ve sold so many over the years.’

Sal passed the photograph back.

‘When you were teaching him you said he was a nice bloke, so you can recall that much about him. Is there anything else?’

‘Listen, if they pay me they’re good guys. You’d be amazed how many kids bounce cheques, give nicked credit cards, but if I remember correctly, he was sort of straight – know what I mean?’

‘So you wouldn’t know if he mixed with any specific people?’

‘No. Wait a minute, hang on.’

Sal got up and crossed to an old filing cabinet. It was in as much of a mess as his office as he hauled open one drawer after another. He then took out a dog-eared file and sat at his desk, again sweeping papers aside. He opened the file and began sifting through a stack of photographs. Paul and Helen waited patiently as Sal continued taking out a wedge of prints, flicking through them and picking up more.

‘I tell you what I’m looking for. Often at the end of a season or the end of a group teaching course, ’cos they pay for ten or twenty lessons at a time, I get a class photo and sell them copies. I would say that the photo you’ve got of him was taken by a bloke I’ve met. He ear ns a buck or two . . .’

‘What’s his name?’ Helen asked.

‘It was Sammy – yeah, Sammy Marsh. I say was ’cos he did a moonlight last year owing rent and Christ knows what else. I think he disappeared to Florida, but he’s not been seen since.’

He produced a slightly creased photograph and scrutinised it.

‘Yep, I’m right – at least, I think I am. Isn’t that the same bloke in the middle?’

Sal passed the photograph over. There were four men, all suntanned and athletic-looking, wearing wetsuits. The two at the end of the line held up surfboards with S One and S Eight written on them. They all had their arms around each other’s shoulders, smiling to the camera.

Paul and Helen glanced at the photograph. Turning it over they saw it had a faded stamp, Sammy Marsh, with his phone number.

‘Do you recall the names of the other surfers with Alan?’ Paul asked.

‘You must be joking! That was taken years ago, and like I said, the guys come and go every summer.’

‘Do you mind if we keep this?’

‘Not at all. It’s no use to me.’

Paul stood up to shake Sal’s hand. The latter’s grip was so strong it made him wince.

‘Thanks for your help.’

Driving back to the station, Helen jotted in her notebook.

‘You know something strange?’ Paul said thoughtfully. ‘It was obvious that Alan liked surfing, but we’ve not found any wetsuits, flippers or whatever they use, and no surfboard at his flat.’

‘Well, Sal said he hired one of his,’ Helen noted.

‘That was a few years ago, right – and he also said that Alan went off to take in other bays. He had to have become very proficient so he could have bought his own board.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘The other thing: we should look into any information we can find about where he stayed in Cornwall. There’s nothing in his address book, is there, but if he went there regularly, wouldn’t you think he’d have contacts? I have when I go to Wales. I rent a cottage and I’ve got loads of addresses and phone numbers.’

‘Yeah, we can have a nose around. Also, from what Alison said, you know how careful he was about money, saving to buy a property – same scenario with Tina Brooks, saving to buy a flat of their own. So we have this careful guy saving his pennies for what seems like years before he lived with Tina.’

‘Yeah? So what. I’ve been saving all my adult life and I’ve not got a pot to piss in,’ Paul said.

‘He earns good money as a mechanic, fixes up vintage cars and sells them. The Merc is one, right?’ Helen asked.

‘True. Apparently he made a big profit when he sold the cars. Cash in hand as well.’

‘I doubt Tina puts every client through the salon books, so with his money from doing up the cars . . . I guess saving the seventy thousand between them wouldn’t have taken long.’

‘Yeah, maybe not.’

‘In fact there could be more somewhere if it’s cash. How much rent did he pay?’

‘I dunno.’

Helen closed her notebook and stared at the back of the photograph.

‘Maybe we should run a check on this Sammy Marsh.’ She turned it back to look at the four surfers. ‘Handsome-looking guys. I might think about a holiday in Cornwall.’

Paul laughed. ‘You’re not the only one. I was thinking of doing that myself.’

‘Do you surf?’

‘No. I’m not that interested in the surfing.’

‘Honestly,’ she giggled, punching his arm.

Anna had been waiting in reception at Michael Phillips’s company, Aston & Clark, for fifteen minutes. The receptionist eventually said that he could see her. She passed Anna the security badge and repeated that she should go to the fourth floor.

‘Yes, thank you, I remember,’ Anna said curtly.

The same secretary was waiting as the lift opened and she led Anna down the corridor, this time to a different room, but with an identical table and the same offer of coffee and tea placed on a sideboard with two flasks of hot water.

‘Please help yourself. Mr Phillips shouldn’t be a moment.’

‘I hope not.’ Anna sat down, not bothering with refreshments.

It was another fifteen minutes before Michael Phillips finally swept into the room full of apologies. He was wearing the same suit as before, but with a pink shirt with a white collar and cuffs, and a blue silk tie.

‘I am so very sorry, but I had an important meeting and I couldn’t leave. You should really have made an appointment as I have meetings almost back to back today. I’m afraid I will have to make this short.’

‘Really?’ Anna was fuming. ‘Well, Mr Phillips, that can easily be done. I am simply here to ask if you would be willing to give us a DNA sample.’

‘What?’

‘You can come to the police station at a time convenient to you, but the sooner the better as it is very important.’

‘What do you want it for?’

‘I am investigating a murder, sir, and I need to eliminate you from my enquiry.’

‘Hang on, hang on – murder? I don’t understand.’

‘We now believe that Mr Alan Rawlins . . .’

‘But I thought he was missing – right?’

‘Yes, but we have found evidence that leads us to believe he may have been murdered.’

‘But I don’t even know him!’

‘Nevertheless, Mr Phillips, as you are a very close neighbour we require your DNA to eliminate you from my enquiry.’

‘That’s all I bloody am, for Christ’s sake – a neighbour. I didn’t know him and I find this all very intrusive, never mind inconvenient.’

‘I would be most grateful if you would agree.’ Anna was trying to keep calm.

‘But I don’t have to?’

‘No. That is your prerogative, but as I said it would assist my enquiry if you would agree.’

‘I don’t. If you want anything from me, you get it via my lawyer because I find this outrageous. I did not know Alan Rawlins.’

‘What about Tina Brooks?’

‘No. I have already told you. Of course I do know of her – it’s obvious as we are neighbours – but that is as far as my relationship with either of them goes.’

‘So you are refusing?’

‘Yes.’

Anna pursed her lips, trying to be controlled. ‘You must be aware that by refusing to assist my investigation it appears to be very suspicious.’

‘It can appear, but I am still refusing.’

Anna picked up her briefcase. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Phillips.’

She walked out, leaving him sitting in the centre of the board room, where he remained for some time before returning to his office.

Anna was still seething by the time she returned to her office. She knew that without any implicating evidence against him, Phillips could legally refuse to give a DNA sample.

By now, Paul and Helen had returned from their interviews and were marking up the incident board with their details. They pinned up the photograph of the group of surfers. Brian Stanley came back and he too wrote up a report. He tapped the photograph.

‘I still say Alan Rawlins was a shirt-lifter. Very friendly with each other, aren’t they?’

Paul bit his tongue, refusing to rise to the bait. Stanley continued, ‘I’ve been at that pansy gym – load of wankers there. First they wouldn’t even let me look in Rawlins’s fucking locker.’

‘We’d already checked it,’ Paul said stiffly.

Stanley turned on him and produced a bag with the bottle of aspirin.

‘I took this. I want Forensic to check out if they really are aspirin. I think the guy might be on steroids.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Paul demanded.

‘Because the muscle rippers there are using – I’d put money on it. One of them is a weight-lifting idiot that got right up my nose.’

‘He could see you as competition, could he?’ Paul said sarcastically, looking pointedly at Stanley’s beer gut.

At this moment Helen signalled to Paul. She had run a check on Sammy Marsh and it proved to be interesting. He had previous convictions for possession with intent to supply and supplying cannabis, for which he spent a short spell in jail. He was also currently wanted by the Devon and Cornwall Drug Squad for importing and supplying cocaine.

‘He did a runner just before he was about to be arrested. They found a substantial amount of ecstasy tablets and skunk cannabis plants, and two guys already under arrest implicated him in a six-kilo cocaine deal. Street value, quarter of a million.’

Paul looked over the printed sheets. ‘They got any idea where he ran to?’

‘Nope. Possibly Florida, just as Sal told us, but that was last summer and there’s been no sighting of him since then.’

Stanley did his irritating raised finger gesture.

‘Here comes the boss.’

Anna perched on a desk listening to Paul and Helen’s accounts of their afternoon and then to Brian Stanley’s. When they had finished, she asked what they felt was a positive outcome. She looked to Paul first.

‘Well, I don’t know about outcome, but what we discussed between us was the possibility that Alan had more money saved somewhere, even though we’ve found no evidence of this at his flat. We also have found no surfing equipment, wetsuit or board, which if he was a keen surfer he should possibly have. The other thing is that we might try to trace these other guys in the photograph and also check out possible places where Alan might have stayed when he was in Cornwall. Again, from his address book we have no contact numbers for there. We now know that the man who took the photograph, a Sammy Marsh, is a convicted drug dealer who’s on the run from the local police.’

Anna took a deep breath. All the new information could give them a clue to where Alan Rawlins could be, if he was alive. She picked up on the detail that his ex-girlfriend, Alison Bisk, had noticed a remarkable change in Alan on his return from his surfing holiday.

‘It could be that the very clean-living Alan Rawlins had an introduction to drugs there, but we have no evidence of that.’

Stanley did his usual finger.

‘He might have come out of the closet there as well – good reason to leave his girlfriend.’

‘I don’t really buy that. He went to live with the very strident Tina, so whether or not you think he might be a latent homosexual, and—’

Stanley pointed to the surfers’ photo. ‘All very cheesy-looking blokes,’ he said.

Paul was about to explode, but Anna nipped it in the bud.

‘No evidence that they were, as you say, “cheesy” guys. They all look very heterosexual to me, but let’s see if we can track them down. That will mean going to Cornwall, but it would be easier if we had some evidence that Alan did have a usual place he stayed at. So . . .’ She sighed. ‘We found no indication of anything connected to Cornwall at his flat, but I think we might have to check with his parents. He was a regular visitor, so maybe he kept details there. That needs to be sorted.’

‘What about Michael Phillips?’ Stanley asked.

‘He has refused to give us a DNA sample. However, if we find any evidence that shows he is lying to us then we can arrest him and if necessary take his DNA by force. Have we any news, Brian, on the mobile phones? Any calls back and forth to Tina Brooks?’

‘Nope, but I’ve not got all the billing details yet.’

‘Make it a priority, please. What about the Asda CCTV?’

‘I’m waiting for the manager to get back to me.’

‘Well, chase it up. Tomorrow we should get Liz Hawley using the Luminol test at the flat and we are waiting on the new sample from Alan’s mother to hopefully identify the blood from the flat as his.’

Anna called it quits for the day and returned to her office as her desk phone rang. It was Liz Hawley and it wasn’t good news.

‘I’m sorry to tell you this, but we are unable to give you a positive result. Mr and Mrs Rawlins are not the biological parents of the person whose blood was found at their son’s flat.’

‘Shit,’ Anna muttered.

‘Sorry.’

Anna replaced the phone. This was not good news. They still had not confirmed the victim’s identity from the blood. She couldn’t believe it. If their son was adopted, why didn’t they say so? It didn’t make any sense. But if it wasn’t Alan Rawlins’s blood, then whose was it? She was just about to leave the office when her phone rang again. This time it was Mr Rawlins asking if she now had proof that their son had been murdered. Anna chose her words very carefully, saying that there was a delay, but she would like to talk to him. He told her that he was not working the following morning and he could see her at his home.

‘How is your wife?’ she asked.

‘She’s calm now, but she got into a dreadful state. She doesn’t understand, you see. In fact, it’s very difficult. She told me that Alan had been to see her. She doesn’t remember that she hasn’t seen him for nearly two months now.’

‘I am so sorry, but I also wanted to ask you, did Alan keep any papers or belongings at your house?’

‘Yes, in his bedroom. I told the officers who took the original missing persons report about his room. They had a quick look in it before they left.’

‘Sorry, they seem to have left that out of their report. Would I be able to take a look?’

‘Yes, of course. He used it sometimes when he stayed over. It’s always been his room.’

‘Thank you very much, Mr Rawlins. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She dropped the receiver back, leaving her hand resting on it. Looking through the blinds she could see the remainder of the team packing up for the evening. In prime position was the photograph of Alan Rawlins with the surfers. Handsome, smiling, tanned and fit, he also looked relaxed and happy. Was it his blood? Did the gentle and calm Alan Rawlins really have another side to him, perhaps another life that had resulted in murder?

Anna shut off her office light and made her way out to the car park to head home. Preoccupied and troubled, she went over in her mind all the new information. Although she was unaware of it, this was the first time she wasn’t thinking about her own situation, about Ken. Her commitment to work was slowly eroding the pain. She also felt hungry for the first time in quite a while and decided to stop off and buy a hamburger and chips.

With her takeaway still in the carton, Anna poured herself a glass of wine. When she shook up the tomato ketchup and squirted it over the French fries, it didn’t make her think of whose blood oozed into the carpet. That came later as she tried to sleep. She had no body. She had a murder and no identification of the victim. Her original suspect, Tina Brooks, was no longer top of the list, but was now on the back-bur ner, along with Michael Phillips . . .

It was the first night she did not use sleeping tablets, just a couple of glasses of wine. She wanted her brain to work as it used to, on a sort of automatic pilot knitting the evidence together to produce an insight into the case. Drifting into her subconscious was a photograph she had seen in the Rawlinses’ lounge. It was of Alan’s mother standing in a garden, shading her eyes as she smiled to camera. She was obviously pregnant. Anna couldn’t understand why the tests seemed to indicate otherwise, but she would find out – and it was not a meeting she was looking forward to.