Кара Хантер - In the Dark

Pippa Walker goes to the door of the study and stands there a moment, watching. It’s the third time she’s done it in the last hour. Rob Gardiner is at the desk, staring at a laptop. The floor is covered with old notebooks, Post-its, piles of paper. He looks up at the girl, irritated.

‘Haven’t you got something to do? Play with Toby or something?’

‘He’s asleep. You’ve been in here hours. Surely you must have been through all that stuff before.’

‘Well, I’m going through it again. OK? ’

She shifts her position slightly. ‘I thought you were working today.’

‘I was. I changed my mind. Not that it’s any business of yours.’

‘I’m just worried about you, Rob. It’s not a good idea – digging all this up again –’

She bites her lip, but it’s too late.

He looks at her heavily. ‘My wife was missing for two years. Her body has just been found in the most bloody awful circumstances, and the police have asked me to look through her notes again, in case there’s anything in them that might help convict the bastard who did it. So I’m very sorry if digging all this up again doesn’t meet with your approval, but I for one want to see that shit rot in jail. And if you don’t like it, then go and do something else. Read a bloody book for a change.’

Her face is scarlet. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – you know I didn’t –’

‘Frankly, I don’t give a toss what you meant. Just leave me alone.’

And he gets up and slams the door.

***

The team meeting is at 5.00 p.m. It doesn’t take long. To sum up:

The student Harper had an affair with ended up as his second wife. And yes, he was married at the time, but all that makes him is an adulterous shit, not a psychopath.

The fingerprints in the cellar could suggest the involvement of another as yet unknown perpetrator. Absolutely sod all leads on who that might be.

No forensic evidence at the house allowing us to identify a murder scene, so there’s still a possibility she was killed somewhere else, and by someone else.

DNA results: still waiting. To quote Challow, ‘I’m not a bloody miracle worker.’

The girl: still sedated and/or not talking. The boy: ditto.

Press conference: put off till tomorrow because I haven’t got a bloody clue what to tell them.

If I sound pissed off, that’s because I am. Keep calm and carry on. Yeah, right.

***

Elspeth Gibson drinks a lot of tea. Erica Somer has already had two cups and they’re no way near done yet. She’s already spotted the forensic artist checking his watch. The cat is sitting on the arm of the chair staring at them, its paws folded like a fishwife. It’s clearly severely miffed at this outrageous usurpation of its usual seating arrangements.

‘So you think the man you saw talking to Dr Harper was definitely in his fifties?’

‘Oh yes, dear. The way he dressed, for one thing. No one wears clothes like that any more.’

‘Like what, exactly?’

‘Oh, you know. Neckties. Tweed jackets. Young people wouldn’t be seen dead in that sort of thing, would they? It’s all T-shirts and those jeans with the crotch around their knees. And tattoos.’ She shudders and reaches for the teapot again.

The forensic artist quickly covers his cup. ‘No more for me, thanks.’

Somer leans over and looks at the e-fit on the tablet. The clothes may be their best bet, in the end, because otherwise this could be a picture of just about any late-middle-aged man in Oxford. Tallish, greyish hair, heavyish build. More ‘ish’ than anything else, in fact.

‘Was there something that stood out about him? No scars or anything like that? Perhaps the way he walked?’

Mrs Gibson considers. ‘No,’ she says eventually. ‘Can’t say that there was.’

‘And his voice – anything different about that?’

‘Well, I only spoke to him once or twice and it was some time ago, but he definitely sounded educated, if you know what I mean. Certainly not common.’

‘No accent at all?’

‘Now you come to mention it there may have been a bit of a Brummie twang. Though my guess is he’d tried to get rid of it. But when people are angry something like that often slips out –’

‘Angry? I’m sorry, Mrs Gibson, I don’t follow.’

‘Didn’t I tell you? It was that time I heard them arguing. He was obviously very upset.’

‘You heard them arguing? You never mentioned that before – when was this?’

Mrs Gibson stops, pot in hand. ‘Lord, it must have been at least three years ago. Perhaps more. Time gets so treacherous when you get to my age – things you think were a few months ago turn out to be years –’

Somer sits forward a little. ‘What exactly were they arguing about? Do you remember?’

Mrs Gibson looks perplexed. ‘I’m not sure I can tell you. I only heard them because I happened to be walking past at the time and they were on the doorstep. I remember this man John saying something about the old man’s will. That’s why I thought he was his son. But it was then I heard the twang. It was only one or two words, but I suppose I was a bit more attuned to it than most, with my husband coming from there. Funny – I never thought about that before.’

‘And you definitely think his name was John?’

‘Oh yes, dear. No doubt about that. Now, more tea?’

***

Even though I said I’d pick Alex up she still looks surprised to actually see me. She works in that building you can see from the ring road. The one with the spiky thing on the roof. One of the wags in the station calls it Minas Morgul. Leering down the Botley Road in mockery of the spires. It has a great view, though. And an extensive car park. Which is where I’m sat, watching the door.

She comes out with two other people I don’t recognize. A woman in her thirties in a green suit, and a man, closer to Alex’s age. Tall. Dark. Not unlike me. The woman in green talks to them a moment then heads off to her car. Alex and the man linger. It’s not chit-chat, I can tell that. Her face is earnest, his thoughtful. Their heads are a tiny bit closer together than they need to be. He gestures with his hands a lot. He’s establishing himself – his status, his expertise. In this job, you get good at body language. At assessing people with the sound on mute.

I watch as they part. He doesn’t touch her. But, then again, she knows I’m watching. Perhaps he does too.

‘Who was that?’ I say as she opens the car door and gets in.

She glances across at me, then turns to find her seat belt. ‘David Jenkins. He’s in the Family team.’

‘It looked pretty intense, whatever it was.’

She gives me that ‘don’t tell me you’re jealous’ look. ‘I was just asking his advice, that’s all.’

I’m not sure that’s any better. But like Gis, I know when to stop digging.

We pull out into the traffic and I head for the ring road.

‘Do you mind if we stop off at the John Rad? I want to look in on the girl.’

‘OK, no problem. I didn’t think you’d be here this early anyway.’

‘I wouldn’t be, if we’d made any progress. If there was something useful I could be doing instead.’

She looks across, then away again at the fields.

‘Sorry. That didn’t come out the way I meant.’

She waves her hand in dismissal, but she doesn’t turn her head. She knows when to drop it, too.

*

When we get to the hospital, she surprises me by deciding to come in.

‘Are you sure? I know how much you hate hospitals.’

‘It’s still better than twiddling my thumbs out here.’

On the third floor, I’m met by Everett and a doctor who looks like he’s straight out of Casualty . Or whatever they call that thing these days.