The Finisher

14

“Would you believe it?”

“What’s that?” Sergeant Ingeborg Smith asked. She’d come into Diamond’s office late in the afternoon and found him staring fixedly at his computer screen, a rare occurrence.

“A waste of space I put away years ago.”

“In the headlines again?”

“Let’s hope not. I was sure I spotted him running in the Other Half on Sunday. Paul Gilbert and I waited ages at the finish just to be certain, but we missed him.”

“Perhaps he dropped out.”

“No. I’ve just downloaded the complete results and he finished after we gave up and left — in four thousand six hundred and twenty-seventh place. It’s here in front of me: Tony Pinto. He must have walked in, or crawled. Time four hours, twenty-three minutes, twenty-six seconds. So I wasn’t wrong.”

“Not much of an effort for a half marathon,” Ingeborg said. “I’d have given up well before then. Do you think he walked literally? It’s average walking pace, about three miles an hour.”

“He ran at least some of the way. He was going at a fair lick when he passed us.”

“I expect he broke down at some point and needed to recover.”

“Or was otherwise occupied. When we saw him he was chatting up a blonde in a red T-shirt.”

“What are you suggesting, guv?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“They took time out for sex? Why not say it, then?”

“Because I’m an officer and a gentleman.”

“Ho ho ho.”

“Pinto was always a randy sonofabitch. The course is out in the country, over footpaths and through tunnels for much of the way. It wouldn’t be hard to find a secluded spot.”

“As long as it was consensual, I don’t see a problem with that.”

“When I saw them, it didn’t look consensual. She wasn’t enjoying his company. Hard to be certain when two people run past you, but he was doing all the talking and she was unimpressed.”

“I still don’t see the problem.”

“He has a record of violence.”

“What sort of violence?”

He explained about the knifing of Bryony Lancaster.

Ingeborg heard him in silence apart from several sharp, horrified breaths. Their conversation had got serious.

“I’m not assuming it happened a second time,” Diamond went on. “He had no grudge against this woman as far as I know, and runners don’t normally carry knives, but for my peace of mind I’d like to know if she finished the race.”

“So would I,” she said, fully alert to the danger. “You’ve got the results in front of you.”

“I don’t know her name. I was so shocked to see Pinto at liberty that I didn’t even make a note of her number.”

“But you remember what she looked like?”

“Blonde, thirtyish, with a good figure.”

“That’s all?” Ingeborg’s eyes rolled upwards, leaving no doubt what she thought about male perceptions of women. As it happened, she, too, was blonde, thirtyish and with a good figure.

“She was wearing a cap with a ponytail poking out of the back of it. That’s how I knew she was blonde.”

“T-shirt?”

“Red, with the heartbeat logo so many of them were wearing.”

“The British Heart Foundation. We’re getting somewhere.”

“It’s a long way short of identifying her.”

“You carry a phone. You should have taken a picture of them.”

“To me, Inge, a phone is a phone.”

She let it pass. “We need CCTV footage. Then we can get the number she was wearing.”

“I thought of that, but we’re talking about five thousand runners. I don’t know if I’d recognise her.”

“You’d recognise Pinto and she was with him. Where were you when you saw them?”

“In Sydney Gardens, soon after the start. No cameras there.”

Ingeborg was already committed to the cause. “May I see what you’ve got on your screen?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She was round his side of the desk and leaning over his shoulder. “I thought so. They give a split time for each runner at ten K. They’re able to do that electronically as they pass over the mat. His time is fifty-eight twenty. That’s reasonable going. He was definitely running at that stage. We have two ways to go here. Either we ask if they had CCTV at the ten-K point, which is quite possible, or we see if we can get the names of everyone who passed there within a few seconds either side of Pinto’s time. Let’s do both. I can get in touch with the organisers.”

He was swept along by her positivity. “Okay, but don’t be too obvious about it or I could be accused of running a witch hunt.”

After she’d returned to her desk, he had a twinge of unease. This had started as a personal quest, a visceral reaction to what he’d seen, but already he’d shared his misgivings with others — Paul Gilbert, Paloma, Deirdre and now Ingeborg — and everything up to now was supposition. Keeping a lid on it would be difficult.

Images of the race were already posted on the website, so he studied them keenly. Finding one of Pinto and his companion was a long shot that had to be tried. Most could be eliminated at a glance. The first batch were the elite runners, wearing three-digit numbers. Pinto’s number had been 2714. Actually there weren’t many shots from the middle section of the race and none that were helpful. The picture-takers had chosen instead to feature the fancy-dress people, among them, the ostrich with lumpy legs.

One batch of photos featured the railway tunnels, back views of runners entering and sinister-looking silhouetted figures chasing their shadows towards the next dim light. Pity any woman who found herself in there with Tony Pinto for company. Combe Down tunnel was a mile long.

Ingeborg returned, eager to report.

“I’ll give you the bad news first. No video camera at the ten-K mark. Plenty of people were there taking pictures of their own and there may be something helpful, but we can’t build up our hopes.”

“The good news?”

She put a sheet in front of him. “Never knock computers again. A click of the sort function and we get a list of everyone’s time in sequence as they crossed the ten-K line. Pinto’s was fifty-eight twenty, so I homed in on that and got the runners just before and after.”

He glanced at the names:

“Top of the class, Inge. You seem to have found her. Pinto in close attendance.”

“They crossed almost together.”

“I can understand the names of the charities and I can believe Pinto wasn’t sponsored. What does the SM stand for if it isn’t sex mad?”

“Senior male, between twenty and forty.”

“Which is untrue. He lied about his age. He wouldn’t want to be known as a veteran. So we have a name for the blonde: Belinda Pye.”

“And we can’t rule out Susie Bingham,” Ingeborg said. “Even forty-three seconds behind, in a BHF shirt, she could still be your woman.”

“Let’s concentrate on Belinda first. Put my mind at rest and tell me she finished the race.”

“I haven’t checked yet.”

“Do it, then. I’m still on the website.”

She took the mouse. “It should be simple. We can sort by name. Oh, Jesus.”

The data on the screen was clear.

“Is DNF what I think it means?” Diamond said.

“I’m afraid so.”

His skin prickled all over. “Get onto the organisers. They must have a contact number for her.”

Ingeborg snatched up his phone and got through to the Other Half office. Diamond switched to speakerphone.

No messing. Ingeborg said straight away that she was from the police, enquiring about a runner giving cause for concern. She insisted on knowing the name of the man she’d reached — always a wise move. Apart from assisting communications, it didn’t allow them to retreat behind their organisation.

Brian Johns was as helpful as he could be, allowing that Belinda Pye was only a name to him, too. He confirmed from the records that she was a non-finisher. There had been no reports that she was an emergency for any reason. More than a hundred had failed to finish. It was a demanding course and some entrants weren’t well prepared. Most who dropped out made their own way back to the start with the help of friends or volunteers, collected their bags from the baggage tent in the runners’ village behind the Sports Centre, and left.

“So you’d know if Belinda didn’t collect her bag?”

“There are always some bags people don’t bother to collect after the race for a variety of reasons.”

“Obviously you know who they belong to.”

“They’re all marked with the race numbers.”

“Can you check whether Belinda’s was collected?”

“If it wasn’t, it will be stored by now. The tent is taken down overnight.”

“It’s important, Brian,” Ingeborg stressed. “We need to know urgently.”

“I’ll get someone onto it and call you back.”

“Hold on. We also need all the information you have on her: full name, contact numbers, address. What else do you ask for?”

“They’re required to supply an emergency contact name and phone number.”

“Good. That, too. Bring everything up on your system and forward it to us now, please.”

Brian Johns hesitated. “These details are given to us in confidence. She isn’t under investigation, is she?”

“If she were, we’d need them anyway. As it happens, we’re concerned for her well-being.”

“She isn’t in hospital?”

“Not that we’ve heard. Would you do this directly, please? I’m Detective Sergeant Ingeborg Smith.” She told him her email address and direct line.

“With any luck,” she told Diamond when she’d ended the call, “we’ll be able to phone her shortly and make sure she got home safely.”

“I’m trying to get Pinto’s address as well.” He hadn’t heard anything yet from Paul Gilbert, but he had to admit to himself that the priority now was Belinda, as Ingeborg’s next statement made clear.

“Not if she’s okay, guv. He’ll be in the clear.”

“There’s that other woman in the BHF shirt,” he reminded her. “Susie Bingham. We haven’t checked whether she finished the race.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

They returned to the results. Susie Bingham had recorded a time of just under three hours for the full distance.

“So Susie is okay. We can eliminate her,” Ingeborg said.

“Not yet. We may need to interview most of these runners, particularly those coming behind. If Belinda retired from the race, they may have seen the incident.”

She nodded. The boss was covering every angle, as he should. She checked her phone for messages. Nothing yet from Brian Johns. “Anything else we should be doing?”

“See if she’s on Facebook or Twitter or any of those.”

“That will be easier when we know where she lives.”

“Bath, I’m assuming.”

“It’s not so simple. People travel quite long distances to join in races like this one. Here we go — a message from Brian.”

The email undermined Ingeborg’s last remark. Belinda Pye had an address in Spring Gardens Road, Bath.

“You know where that is?” Diamond said, but not in a told-you-so way. “Right on the riverbank, on the other side from where the nick was. If I remember right, it’s nineteen-sixties terraced housing. Try her mobile first.”

She touched in the numbers. “I’m getting unavailable.”

“Is there a second number, a landline?”

“No.”

“So what’s this other number?”

“That’s the friend she had to nominate in case of emergencies.”

“This is an emergency.”

“Okay.” Ingeborg dialled it up and listened. “Busy.”

“Ask for ringback. What’s the friend’s address? Is that in Bath as well?”

“St. Michaels Road, Twerton. Bella Kilbury.”

“Still busy?”

“Hang on, it’s dialling.” She nodded to him as she started the call. “Ms. Bella Kilbury? This is Bath Police, Sergeant Ingeborg Smith, with an enquiry about Belinda Pye, who I believe is known to you. She nominated you as the go-to person when she entered for a half marathon here in Bath. Does that make sense?” She gave the thumbs-up to Diamond. “Have you spoken to her since the race?... I see... We’d like to know a little more about her. She lives in Spring Gardens Road, I believe.”

From the lengthy gap in the conversation, Bella Kilbury was talking freely about her friend. Ingeborg didn’t need to prompt her much.

“No, it’s a routine enquiry, but we may need to get back to you... Can you give me Belinda’s email address?... Thanks. You’ve been helpful.” She ended the call and turned to Diamond. “They went through university together. Belinda is thirty-two, works in IT, mostly from home, which is a rented bedsit in a private house in Spring Gardens Road. She took up running about a year ago because she felt she spent too much time in front of the computer. She decided to enter the Bath Half to give her an extra incentive, but applied too late, so signed up for the Other Half. Managed to get in as a BHF runner and raised most of the sponsorship money over the internet. She’s quite shy and confessed to Bella that she didn’t want to ask people face to face. No current boyfriend. Extremely conscientious. An introvert, according to Bella, but a lovely character when you get to know her. She asked Bella’s permission to name her as the person to reach in an emergency, but said she didn’t want Bella to turn up to cheer her on. That’s a measure of how shy she is.”

“I’m getting the picture. Did you ask about her hair?”

“The blonde ponytail?” Ingeborg said. “Stupid. I should have done.”

“I don’t like this,” he said. “The nervous woman under pressure from a predator like Pinto. She’d find it difficult to shake him off.”

“Any woman would, from what you’ve told me.”

“Yes, but some might enjoy the attention.”

“Not many, from a skunk like him.”

“Don’t be so sure. He had a technique that worked.”

“Once.”

“Once was all he needed.”

He needed to visit Spring Gardens Road, leaving Ingeborg to deal with any more information coming in from Brian, the Other Half man. There was still a chance Belinda might be back in her bedsit and getting over the bad experience of the day before. He had to keep reminding himself that his worst fears about her fate were speculation. He was always warning the team about making unsafe assumptions.

The drive down Pulteney Road, with the Sports Centre to his right, made him aware how close Spring Gardens Road was to the open area that became the runners’ village on the day of the half marathon. Belinda wouldn’t have needed to store her bag in the tent provided. She could go straight from home to the start. If she chose to wear an extra layer she could do what many others did and use an old, unwanted sweater that one of the charities would gratefully collect and recycle.

The street was right beside the Avon, facing the post office sorting office. The houses were terraced and built in the same unattractive yellow stone used for his old workplace in Manvers Street.

He noticed the twitch of a curtain at a downstairs window before he rang the bell. The occupant wasn’t quick in coming to the door and when she answered it was from behind a safety chain.

“I don’t buy anything at the door.” The voice was thin and elderly and came from halfway down the narrow space. She must have been under five feet tall.

“Madam,” he said. “I’m not a salesman. I’m from the police.”

If these were meant as reassuring words, they had the opposite effect. She slammed the door hard and he heard a bolt being forced home.

He stooped to raise the flap on the letterbox. “You’re not in trouble. I’m here about Belinda, your lodger.”

No response, so he tried again.

“I don’t want to force the door.”

After more seconds passed, he heard the bolt withdrawn and the latch turned. The slit between door and frame reappeared, but she left the safety chain on.

“I need your help. Is Belinda in there with you?”

“No.”

“Was she here last night?”

“No.”

“I need to know she’s safe.”

“Go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get what I came for. I’ve reason to be worried about her. Here’s my ID. Can you see?” He held it at what he thought was her level. “Superintendent Peter Diamond. What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Mrs. Hector.”

“Let’s do this in a civilised way, Mrs. Hector. I can call for assistance, but you don’t want a police car outside and you don’t want your door knocked down with a battering ram.”

She closed the door again, but this time to free the safety chain. Revealed, she stood defiantly in the doorway with arms folded, a wisp of a woman in apron and slippers, short as a broom handle and not much broader. “This is not a council house,” she said. “It’s privately owned by Mr. Patel. I’m allowed to have a lodger.”

“I believe you, Mrs. Hector,” he said, understanding her behaviour better. There was an issue over subletting that he didn’t want to go into. “My only concern is Belinda and what happened on Sunday. Did you know she was in the half marathon?”

“Of course I did. I went to watch her. They came down Pulteney Road.”

“You saw her run past?”

“I clapped and gave her a cheer when she came by. I don’t know if she heard me. Someone was talking to her.”

“A man? Blue headband, yellow shirt and blue shorts?”

“That was him.”

“And did you notice whether she was talking back to him?”

“Belinda?” Mrs. Hector said with disbelief. “She’s shyer than a limpet. She wouldn’t talk to a strange man if her life depended on it.”

“I’m glad to hear it. This man isn’t nice.”

“He looked all right to me. A bit of a lad, is he?”

“He’s more than that. And did you see the finish as well?”

“No. I went shopping. It was going to be a long race. She could have been hours. I’m not all that interested in sport.”

“Did she come back here after it was over?”

“I’ve no idea. She can come and go. She has her own keys.”

“Did she sleep here last night? Surely you’d know?”

“I don’t spy on my tenants.”

“Do you have more than one, then?” Maybe that was what was making her so jumpy. He couldn’t believe this small house had more than two bedrooms.

“Of course not. I was speaking generally.”

“She’s the sole occupier of the room?”

“Didn’t I just say?”

“Have you seen her at all since the race?”

“No. Why are you asking me these questions?”

“I told you. The man she was with is known to us. We’re concerned about Belinda’s safety. It’s important to know whether she came back here. Is it possible she returned and got changed and went out again?”

“She could have. I wasn’t here all afternoon.”

“Would she tell you if she was going to be out all night?”

“I expect so. I don’t think it’s ever happened.”

“May I see inside her room?”

“Certainly not.”

Faced with a denial like that, Diamond needed a Plan B. “I don’t want to alarm you, Mrs. Hector, but it’s not impossible that what’s behind that door is a situation you might find distressing. Wouldn’t you rather I took a look inside than you?”

She turned ashen. “What are you saying? Is she dead?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. I honestly don’t know, but it’s my job to find out.”

“You’ve frightened me now.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he lied.

“I won’t want to be alone with a dead body in my own house.”

“Which is why I must go up and check.”

“You’d better.” She stepped back and made way, adding, “You can see for yourself, only one lodger lives here.”

Mrs. Hector handed Diamond a key and remained in the hallway with the hem of her apron tugged up and gripped between her teeth.

Belinda’s was the first door at the top of the stairs. He unlocked it and let the door swing open. In truth, he wasn’t expecting to find a corpse. If Belinda was dead, she was likely to be miles away, lying unseen in scrubland along the Other Half course.

What he found was a neat, uncluttered bedsitting room that looked as if it hadn’t been used for days. Quilt four-square on the bed. Pillow plumped. Desktop empty except for a small row of books and a closed laptop. TV, armchair and upright chair. Small fridge and microwave with a few food items on the top. He opened the fitted wardrobe and found a line of clothes on hangers and some pairs of boots, shoes and trainers.

So tidy it was soulless.

The lack of any personal touches was more sinister than if the place had been strewn with signs of habitation. Belinda Pye wasn’t here. She hadn’t been here for some time. Whether she would ever come back was an open question.

“Is she in there?” Mrs. Hector’s anxious voice from downstairs.

“No, ma’am, I’m happy to tell you she isn’t.”

Happy? How can I be happy? he thought. Belinda was last seen running with Pinto beside her. She’d failed to finish the race and she hadn’t come home.

Normally when searching, he would have opened drawers and examined the laptop for clues about the young woman’s lifestyle and contacts, but in this case it would be an invasion of privacy that wasn’t justified or necessary. The situation was clear. If she was anything, she was a victim, almost a random victim. Pinto was the aggressor.

He closed the door and returned downstairs.

“Is she going to be all right, then?” Mrs. Hector asked.

“I can’t say until we find her. She may be okay, but we don’t know why no one has seen her. Did she have any callers, friends or family?”

Mrs. Hector shook her head. “She liked to be independent.”

“If she comes back—” he started to say.

“I hope not,” she cut him short. “I’ll have a heart attack.”

“Don’t be like that. Let’s be positive. When she appears, ask her to call Bath Police right away. She had to give the race organisers the name of someone to contact in an emergency and she named a friend called Bella Kilbury, who lives in Twerton. Ring any bells?”

“Means nothing to me. What shall I do about the room?”

“Do nothing until you hear from us.”

He left that house more uneasy than when he’d arrived.