Michael Robotham - Shatter

A week after the sinking, the search for survivors was officially called off and Helen and Chloe were labelled as missing presumed dead. The newspapers took increasingly less interest in the story. The only other reference to mother and daughter concerned a prayer vigil held at a NATO base in Germany where they’d been living. The maritime investigation took evidence from survivors, but the findings could be years away.

My mobile is vibrating silently. No phones are allowed in the library. I step outside the main doors. Press green.

Bruno Kaufman booms in my ear: ‘Listen, old boy, I know you’re happily married and chief cheerleader for the institution but did you really have to tell my ex-wife she should move in with me?’

‘It’s just for a few days, Bruno.’

‘Yes, but it will seem like much longer.’

‘Maureen is lovely. Why did you let her go?’

‘She drove me away. Well, to be more precise she drove at me. I had to jump out of the way. She was behind the wheel of a Range Rover.’

‘Why did she do that?’

‘She caught me with one of my researchers.’

‘A student?’

‘A post grad student,’ he corrects me, as if resenting the suggestion that he would cheat on his wife with anything less.

‘I didn’t know you had a son.’

‘Yes. Jackson. His mother spoils him. I bribe him. We’re your average dysfunctional family. Do you really think Maureen is in danger?’

‘It’s a precaution.’

‘I’ve never seen her this scared.’

‘Look after her.’

‘Don’t worry, old boy. She’ll be safe with me.’

The call ends. The mobile vibrates again. This time it’s Ruiz. He has something he wants to show me. We arrange to meet at the Fox amp; Badger. I’m to buy him lunch because it’s my turn. I don’t know when it became ‘my turn’ but I’m pleased he’s here.

Dropping the car at home, I walk up the hill to the pub. Ruiz has taken a table in the corner, where the ceiling seems to sag. Horse tackle is festooned from the exposed beams.

‘It’s your shout,’ he says, handing me an empty pint glass.

I go to the bar, where half a dozen flushed and lumpy regulars fill the stools, including Nigel the dwarf, whose feet swing back and forth, two feet above the floor.

I nod. They nod back. This passes as a long conversation in this part of Somerset.

Hector the publican pulls a pint of Guinness, letting it rest while he gets me a lemon squash. I set down the fresh pint in front of Ruiz. He watches the bubbles rise, perhaps saying a small prayer to the God of fermentation.

‘Here’s to drinkin’ with bow-legged women.’ He raises his glass and half a pint disappears.

‘You ever considered the possibility that you might be an alcoholic?’

‘Nope. Alcoholics go to meetings,’ he replies. ‘I don’t go to meetings.’ He sets down his glass and looks at my squash. ‘You’re just jealous because you have to drink that lolly water.’

He opens his notebook. It’s the same battered marbled collection of curling pages that he always carries, held together with a rubber band.

‘I decided to do a little research into Bryan Chambers. Mate in the DTI- Department of Trade and Industry- ran his name through the computer. Chambers came up clean: no fines, no lawsuits, no dodgy contracts: the man’s clean…’

He sounds disappointed.

‘So I decided to run his name through the Police National Computer through a friend of a friend…’

‘Who shall remain nameless?’

‘Exactly. He’s called Nameless. Well, Nameless came back to me this morning. Six months ago Chambers took out a protection order against Gideon Tyler.’

‘His son-in-law?’

‘Yep. Tyler isn’t allowed to go within half a mile of the house or Chambers’ office. He can’t phone, email, text or drive past the front gate.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s the next thing.’ He pulls out a fresh page. ‘I ran a check on Gideon Tyler. I mean, we know nothing about this guy except his name- which must have got him kicked from one end of the schoolyard to the other, by the way.’

‘We know he’s military.’

‘Right. So I called the MOD- Ministry of Defence. I talked to the personnel department but as soon as I mentioned Gideon Tyler’s name they clammed up tighter than a virgin on a prison visit.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Either they’re protecting him or embarrassed by him.’

‘Or both.’

Ruiz leans back in his chair and arches his back, stretching his arms behind his head. I can hear his vertebrae separating.

‘Then I had Nameless run a check on Gideon Tyler.’ He has a manila folder on the chair next to him. He opens it and produces several pages. I recognise the top one as a police incident report. It’s dated May 22, 2007. Attached is a summary of facts.

I scan the details. Gideon Tyler was named in a complaint, accused of harassment and of making threatening phone calls to Bryan and Claudia Chambers. Among the list of allegations is a claim that Tyler broke into Stonebridge Manor and searched the house while they slept. He rifled filing cabinets, bureaus and took copies of telephone records, bank statements and emails. It was also alleged that he somehow unlocked a reinforced gun-safe and took a shotgun. Mr and Mrs Chambers woke the next morning and found the loaded weapon lying on the bed between them.

I turn the page, looking for an outcome. There isn’t one.

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Tyler was never charged. Insufficient evidence.’

‘What about fingerprints, fibres, anything?’

‘Nope.’

‘This says he made threatening phone calls.’

‘Untraceable.’

No wonder the Chambers were so paranoid when we visited.

I look at the date of the police report. Helen Tyler and Chloe were still alive when Tyler allegedly harassed her family. He must have been looking for them.

‘What do we know about the separation?’ asks Ruiz.

‘Nothing except for the email that Helen sent to her friends. She must have run away from Tyler… and he wasn’t happy about it.’

‘You think he’s good for this.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Why would he want to kill his wife’s friends?’

‘To punish her.’

‘But she’s dead!’

‘It might not matter. He’s angry. He feels cheated. Helen took away his daughter. She hid from him. Now he wants to lash out and punish anyone close to her.’

I look again at the police report. Detectives interviewed Gideon Tyler. He must have had an alibi. According to Maureen, he was stationed in Germany. When did he come back to Britain?

‘Is there an address for him?’ I ask.

‘I got a last known and the name of his solicitor. You want to pay him a visit?’

I shake my head. ‘The police should handle this one. I’ll talk to Veronica Cray.’

The window has four panes, dividing the bedroom into quarters. She is naked, fresh from the shower, with her hair wrapped in a pink turban and cheeks flushed.

Nice legs, nice tits, nice body- the full package with all the accessories. Man could have a lot of fun playing with a woman like that.

Unwrapping the towel, she bends forward, letting her dark hair drape over her face and her breasts swing. She dries the damp locks and tosses her head back.

Next she raises each foot in turn, drying between her toes. Then comes moisturiser, massaged into her skin, starting at her ankles and moving up. This is better than porn. Come on, baby, a little higher… show me what you got…

Something makes her turn towards the window. Her eyes are staring directly into mine, but she cannot see me. Instead she studies her reflection, turning one way and then the other, running her hands over her stomach, her buttocks and her thighs, looking for stretch marks or signs of age.