Кара Хантер - In the Dark

She stares at me a moment. Her cheeks are becoming flushed again. And then she nods.

I get out my phone, find the image and show it to her.

‘Was it this man?’

She looks at me, then at the picture, then shakes her head.

I change the image.

‘This one?’

She gasps a little, and puts her hand to her mouth. The tears come.

‘Yes,’ she whispers, her voice hoarse with long silence. ‘Yes.’

***

Quinn – found that CCTV from the bus-stop. Pippa was on the #5 towards Blackbird Leys. I’ve got the reg number so you shd be able to track down the driver. He’d prob remember her

Cheers Gis. Like I said I owe you one

It occurred to me – the #5 goes via the business park – cd she have been going to see Gardiner?

Def worth asking him. Cheers mate

***

‘So where are we now, Adam?’

Superintendent Harrison’s office. Saturday morning. There are few good reasons to find yourself in here at the weekend, but on a scale of one to ten on the discomfiture scale this is probably only about five. And to be fair, he does need to know.

‘Vicky identified Harper as her abductor, sir. And the forensic results back that up.’

‘What about Walsh’s DNA on the girl’s bedding?’

‘He did tell us he’d stayed over once or twice, and Challow says saliva could have got on the bedding if that had been on the bed he used. It’s not impossible.’

‘So the abduction was Harper acting alone. No collusion from Walsh at all.’

‘It’s looking like it. Vicky didn’t recognize him.’

‘All the same, this is a man who’s never been violent before. Do you still think Harper’s dementia was a factor – somehow triggered by her unfortunate resemblance to his wife?’

I take a deep breath. I’d been so sure it was Harper, but then the journal convinced me otherwise, and ever since then I’ve been thinking of Harper as a sad old man exploited by Donald Walsh for his own twisted ends. But he’s not. He can’t be.

‘Actually, sir, I think it’s a lot more complex than that. Harper may be showing signs of dementia now, but three years ago, it would have been a very different story. Look at Vicky’s journal – there’s no suggestion there that the man who imprisoned her was in a vulnerable mental state. I think he knew exactly what he was doing. And yes, Vicky’s resemblance to Priscilla could have been a factor, but not out of confusion. Out of vindictiveness. Out of some perverted idea of revenge.’

‘But didn’t he say he was frightened of the cellar – that he could hear noises down there?’

‘I suspect that’s because the dementia is getting worse. He may even have forgotten the girl was there. That would also explain why the food and water were running out.’

Harrison sits back in his chair. ‘I’m still struggling to get my head round this. On the face of it, Walsh seemed a lot more likely.’

‘I know, sir. I thought so too.’

‘But DNA doesn’t lie. The boy is Harper’s son.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Speaking of DNA, where are you with Gardiner?’

‘We’ve questioned him again. We have the partial fingerprint on the tape and some traces of his DNA on the blanket the body was wrapped in, but it’s all just circumstantial – none of it would stand up in court. Though it appears he may have been violent to the childminder. We’re trying to find out if it’s part of a pattern.’

‘ May have been? Haven’t you spoken to her about it?’

‘Not yet, sir. She’s proving hard to track down.’

I see him frown and I curse Quinn.

‘But you’re not ruling Harper out – it’s still possible he committed both crimes – the girl in the cellar and Hannah Gardiner?’

‘Yes, sir. That’s still possible.’

‘And would the CPS pursue a case against him, given his medical condition?’

‘I don’t know – we haven’t got to that stage yet.’

‘But he’s in suitable accommodation, in the meantime?’

I nod. ‘A secure dementia unit near Banbury. Whatever happens, he won’t be going back to Frampton Road. The house will probably end up being sold.’

‘Well, at least the Thames Valley Police will have one satisfied customer.’

‘Sir?’

‘That tosser who bought the pile next door.’

*

I’m starting to get the distinct impression that Quinn is avoiding me, and when I find him sitting in his Audi in the car park, eating a sandwich, I know I’m right.

I tap on the window. ‘Quinn?’

He winds it down, hurrying to finish his mouthful. ‘Yup. What is it, boss?’

‘What are you doing out here?’

‘You know. Lunch.’

I give him a ‘yeah, right’ look, and he does at least have the decency to look sheepish.

‘Have you brought Pippa Walker in yet?’

‘Ah, bit of a problem there, boss.’

So that’s it.

‘What sort of problem?’

‘We can’t track her down.’

I stare at him until he stops chewing and stuffs the sandwich back in its bag.

‘I hear there are these things called mobile phones –’

He colours. ‘I know – but we don’t have the number. The one she gave me is unobtainable. Sorry. Sir.’

I don’t usually get a ‘sir’ from Quinn unless he knows he’s fucked up, so he appears to have decided to take his medicine on the chin. Mixed metaphor, but you get my drift.

‘We took a statement from her in 2015 – there’d be an address on that.’

He nods. ‘Arundel Street.’

‘Well, start round there. It’d make sense she’d go back to somewhere she knew.’

‘Right,’ says Quinn, and starts his engine. ‘Don’t worry. It’s my cock-up. I’ll sort it.’

***

‘PC Somer? This is Dorothy Simmons, from Holman Insurance. We spoke before, about Dr Harper’s collection?’

‘Ah, yes, thank you for getting back to me, especially at the weekend.’

‘I’ve had a look at the photos you sent, and compared them to what we have on file for Dr Harper. And you’re right – they’re definitely some of the same items.’

‘And are they valuable?’

‘Oh yes. When Dr Harper had the collection assessed in 2008 it was worth somewhere in the region of £65,000. In fact, I’ve been trying to get him to have the valuation updated – I was worried he was underinsured. But he never seems to answer his correspondence.’

‘That’s really helpful, Miss Simmons. Thank you.’

‘There was one more thing. I don’t know how significant it is, but Mr Walsh only has some of the netsuke. Some appear to be missing.’

‘Are they particularly expensive ones?’

‘One is. But the rest are probably the least valuable of the lot. I don’t know if that’s significant.’

Quite possibly, thinks Somer. If Quinn’s right and Walsh was only interested in filching the pricey ones. So much for ‘sentimental value’ and ‘family legacy’. But all the same, it does raise one interesting question.

Where are the rest?

***

After a wild goose chase in Arundel Street Quinn’s day is showing no sign of improving any time soon. When he gets back to the station at just gone three, the first person he sees in the corridor is Gislingham.

‘Have you found that bus driver yet?’

Gislingham looks at him. It’s your mess, he thinks, you bloody fix it. ‘No,’ he says out loud. ‘I’ve got stuff to do. My own stuff.’

Quinn runs a hand through his hair. He’s proud of his hair and spends a lot on it. Which pisses Gislingham off even though he knows it shouldn’t. Though the bald patch he’s just started to notice in the bathroom mirror probably has something to do with that.