Tracers

THIRTY-EIGHT

The air in Joanne Archer’s Battersea flat was filled with the tang of cleaning fluid. Trapped in the stillness of the hallway, it hung in the atmosphere like a thick veil. It was enough to tell Rik he was too late; the cleansing had already taken place.

He ran his hand down the doorjamb. A new latch had been fitted, with a fillet of wood inserted and planed smooth to replace the damaged section. It hadn’t yet been painted, and whoever had been the last out must have forgotten to click the door behind them. He pushed it shut and slipped the button to lock it.

First he checked the bathroom. It was empty, scoured clean; no coiled tights, no razor, no traces of soap or powder. The kitchen was pristine, as were the other rooms, stripped of all trace of the previous occupants. No bags, no empty wine bottles, no takeaway food containers, not even a layer of dust.

And no body.

There was a patch of bedroom carpet where the dead woman had been lying. Looking at the way the edges were curled up against the wall, Rik guessed the floor underneath had also been scrubbed. Not exactly a thorough job — replacing the carpet would have been more professional — but enough to cover up what had happened to the untrained eye.

He rang Harry. ‘Battersea’s cleaner than a vicar’s conscience,’ he told him.

‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ said Harry. ‘Best get out of there.’

‘Will do.’ Rik was already moving towards the door. ‘Any joy your end?’

‘We got a lead from Humphries’ sister, but it could be a waste of time. We’ll meet at your place.’

‘You betcha.’ Rik switched off his mobile. Heard the clatter of footsteps on the metal stairway.

Too late.

He stepped up to the door and peered out through the side window. Two men were climbing the stairs. They were both heavyset and purposeful, dressed in casual clothes.

One he recognized as the passenger in the Volvo.

He stepped back, wishing he’d got a weapon. But that was as pointless as hoping to meet Jennifer Lopez on a beach at sunset. Anyway, against two he’d be at a disadvantage. And these men looked like they meant business.

He retraced his steps to the living room and looked out of the front window overlooking the shops. Immediately below was an overhang, a section of flat roof covered with heavy felt and a scattering of gravel. It was roughly four feet wide, easy enough to walk on. The question was, would it be strong enough to support his weight?

There was only one way to find out.

The window was single-glazed and opened outwards to the side. He flipped it open and clambered out. It was a bit public, but a much better option than going down the other way and trying to get past the two men. Dropping to the flat roof, he ignored a few surprised looks from pedestrians on the opposite pavement and walked along the roof to the end of the row of shops, careful not to tread too heavily. When he reached the end, he found a convenient rubbish skip placed within easy reach, and swung down to the ground and walked away without looking back.

His car was parked on the main road, but he ignored it. Instead, he turned and walked along the access road behind the block. Each shop had its own rear door, with a stairway to the flats above every thirty yards. In between lay a clutter of vehicles, skips, pallets and other rubbish, and he used this cover to approach Joanne Archer’s stairway.

He found a couple of large wheeled bins at the rear of a takeaway, and stopped, nose twitching at the sickly sweet smell of spicy food and grease.

A door slammed overhead and footsteps pounded down the stairs, causing the structure to vibrate. The two men appeared, looking grim, and Rik smiled at their discomfort. It was tinged, though, by an awareness that they had clearly worked out what he was doing and were close behind him.

Too close. Next time he might not be so lucky.

The men walked across the road and disappeared round the corner. Moments later, a familiar blue Volvo appeared and edged out on to the main road, then surged away with a brief squeak of tyres, heading north towards the city.

Harry hit the wheel with his hand and skidded into a lay-by, a cloud of dust drifting past as they came to a stop. They were only a few miles away from Green’s Morton after leaving a tearful Sheila Humphries, and Harry had just ended the call with Rik about Joanne’s flat.

‘Damn — how stupid am I?’

‘What’s up?’ Joanne reached instinctively for her gun, twisting in her seat to glance through the rear window.

‘No, not that.’ Harry climbed out and walked around the car, deep in thought. When he leaned against the front wing, Joanne got out and joined him. ‘What Sheila said about them being good at concealing things. It set me thinking: concealing is the same as covering up.’

‘I know.’

‘Rik was right,’ he explained, frowning in concentration. ‘Your friend’s murder was a mistake.’

‘They thought she was me. Don’t remind me.’

‘What if Param’s killing was a mistake by assumption? The killer didn’t get identities confused, he made a definite, planned move based on what he assumed we were doing.’

Joanne shrugged. ‘You’ve lost me.’

‘When we went to see Jennings after Matuq’s death,’ he explained, ‘he handed us another job — to look for Silverman. . Rafa’i as we now know him. He said it was urgent. We started on it right away, then had to wait for information about who had picked him up at the airport. While we were doing that we picked up with the Param job. We’d got a strong lead, so we used it to fill the time. We traced him to his girlfriend’s place in Harrow. But when we confirmed he was there, we didn’t ring in immediately.’

‘You said he wanted to write to his parents.’

‘Sure. It seemed reasonable, so being suckers for a sob story, we agreed. By the time we went back, he was dead. A local said it was an attempted mugging, but there’s been no mention of his name in the news since. Not a word.’

‘You think it’s been suppressed?’

‘Leaned on at the very least. And now the evidence of Matuq’s death has gone as well.’

‘Couldn’t this man Jennings have got it cleared away?’

‘He could — but I didn’t tell him where I’d located Matuq. . just that I’d got him and was waiting for instructions. There’s only one way he could have known he was in Blakeney.’

‘He had you followed.’

‘Yes. But in London, the tail couldn’t have known we were chasing down Param, because we hadn’t told Jennings we’d switched assignments. He would have assumed we were closing in on Rafa’i, and as soon as we were out of the way, he went in for the kill.’

Joanne frowned. ‘Did they look alike?’

‘Only the colouring. To western eyes, both men looked Asian or middle-eastern. In the dark, the killer wouldn’t have noticed the difference. He was too intent on completing the job. But he was careless.’

‘There’s only one flaw in your argument,’ Joanne said after a moment’s thought. ‘If the killer was the same man all along, and he thought it was Rafa’i he’d killed in north London, even if he realized his mistake and followed you out to the farm, why take Rafa’i? Why didn’t he slot him there and then?’

‘He couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Rafa’i wasn’t there.’ Harry spoke with absolute conviction. It was the only explanation, and had been staring him in the face all along. Only he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. There hadn’t been time for the killer to go upstairs, find Rafa’i and force him back down and into the car. It would have taken too long. If Rafa’i was the important figure they now knew him to be, with his background of conflict, he would have put up a struggle. . and the killer would have cut his losses and finished him off there and then. ‘Rafa’i probably heard the killer approaching the farm and dropped out the back window. There were outbuildings and trees to duck into, and it was getting dark. The killer realized he was stuffed, so he left, using the Suzuki because one of the guards had disabled his bike.’

As they climbed back in the car, Joanne’s phone rang, muffled inside her rucksack. She dug it out and peered at the caller display. It was an unlisted number. She looked at Harry in confusion. ‘I have no idea who this is. I only switched it on a short while ago.’

‘Answer it,’ Harry suggested. If it wasn’t a telesales call or a wrong number, he had a good idea who the caller might be.

She asked who was speaking and her face went pale. ‘It’s Rafa’i,’ she mouthed, then replied in a brief rattle of Arabic. Moments later, she began again, then stopped. The call had been cut short. ‘I think he was scared we might be monitored. I asked him where he was, but he wouldn’t say. He wants to meet me.’

‘Where and when?’

‘He told me some time ago that there was one particular place he wanted to visit if he came to London. He’d seen it on television and liked the open space. Without naming it just now, he said we should meet there tomorrow morning at ten.’

Harry made a guess at the biggest open space he could think of. ‘Hyde Park?’

‘No. St James’s Park and Horse Guards Parade. Near the lake.’

Harry considered it. Was it genuine or was it an elaborate set-up to draw Joanne into a trap? The area was open, from what he recalled, and dotted with trees. It was also well publicized on tourist sites worldwide. If Rafa’i was as well read as Joanne had implied, he’d be aware of it. He might even have watched the Trooping of the Colour on television. There were several approaches to the area and it was easily overlooked, which could be both a benefit and a danger, depending on whose side you were on. ‘You’re sure it was him?’

‘Yes. I recognized his voice.’

‘How did he sound?’

‘Stressed.’

‘I’m not surprised. If it was me, I’d be going mental.’

‘What do we do?’

Harry started the car. ‘You want to help him, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’