M.J. Ford - Keep Her Close

Myers pouted, as if he expected a trick. ‘She was gifted,’ he said. ‘Our tutorials were stimulating.’

‘I bet,’ said Jo. ‘And the one where you tried to stick your tongue down her throat. Did she find that stimulating?’

‘I said before – it was a misunderstanding.’

‘And dealt with internally at the college,’ said Allgreave.

‘Swept under the carpet, more like,’ said Jo. Carrick was sitting back and listening carefully, letting her take the lead. She wondered in the back of her mind how Stratton, watching from the AV suite, would take the line of questioning. Not that she cared. She’d always scored highly in interrogation test scenarios.

‘It was the friend who sent you on this wild goose chase, wasn’t it?’ said Myers.

Jo folded her arms. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied.

‘You know why the complaint was dropped, don’t you?’ said Myers. ‘Because she never wanted to make it in the first place. It was that little minx Anna Mull who put her up to it. She’s hated me ever since I told her to buck up her game.’

Jo didn’t let her face betray her surprise. It might not even be true, but now wasn’t the time to start digging. Carrick’s phone, on the table in front of them, beeped. He turned it over and looked at the message, before showing it to Jo. It was from Dimitriou. ‘Neighbours opposite report seeing blonde girl arriving with Myers three days ago by car. Leaving next morning.’

What the hell did that mean?

‘Time to be open with us, Ron,’ said Jo. ‘Because we’re this close to turning your house upside down. When did you last see Malin Sigurdsson?’

Myers’ lips were sealed.

‘Come on, Mr Myers,’ said Carrick. ‘If you didn’t take her, that means someone else did. The quickest way to eliminate yourself from our enquiries is to tell the truth. We can still charge you with obstruction of justice for the unauthorised disposal of her possessions.’

Allgreave put a hand on Myers’ arm. ‘I’m sure my client will do his best to help you. He’s an innocent man.’

Myers nodded gratefully. ‘I saw her on Monday,’ he said.

Three days ago …

‘For what?’ said Carrick.

Myers folded his arms. ‘What do you think?’ he said.

‘Extra tutoring?’ said Carrick.

‘We enjoyed each other’s company,’ said Myers.

‘You had sexual intercourse?’ said Jo.

‘And it was entirely our private right to do so,’ said the professor.

‘ You and Malin Sigurdsson?’ said Jo.

Myers looked at her with utter disdain.

‘So you say you haven’t seen her since Monday,’ asked Carrick. ‘Any contact at all? An argument, perhaps?’

‘No,’ said Myers. ‘We parted … amicably.’

‘And you didn’t visit her in college?’

‘I think I’ve answered that.’

‘Answer again.’

‘No, I didn’t visit her in college. I don’t even have a security pass anymore, and you can check with the porter’s lodge to see if I signed in.’

‘We’ll need to take your fingerprints.’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘No.’

Jo suspended the interview, and was glad to be out of the room with Carrick.

‘Are you buying it, guv?’

Stratton joined them.

‘We’ll need to confirm the visitor was her,’ said Carrick, ‘but the days matched. Maybe Anna Mull can clarify. Sounds like she wasn’t particularly fond of Myers.’

‘I hope I’m not being shallow,’ said Jo, ‘but can you really see Malin Sigurdsson going for a bloke like that?’

Stratton cut in. ‘If there’s one thing this job has taught me, it’s not to make assumptions about women.’

Jo guessed from his smile that it was supposed to be a joke. ‘She accused him of sexual harassment. He lost his job. In my experience, women don’t run to shag their sex pests.’

‘He said the complaint was dropped,’ said Stratton.

‘We’ll check with Frampton-Keys,’ said Carrick. ‘I’m with Jo on this, sir. Even if she dropped the accusation, I’m not sure how it squares with voluntarily spending the night at his house.’

Maybe , thought Jo, we’re not looking at a square .

* * *

They took the prints, and Heidi gave the files a cursory scan before sending them to the lab for a confirmation.

‘I’m ninety-nine per cent sure they’re not a match for Malin’s room,’ she said.

Stratton looked aggrieved. ‘I’m not sure we can hold him.’

‘Agreed,’ said Carrick, though Jo saw it pained him to admit it. ‘We checked the evidence manifest from Malin’s room, and it included a toothbrush. Which makes it more likely that the one at Myers’ house was indeed a spare, taken there voluntarily.’

‘We’ve got him on obstruction, though.’

‘Pretty sure his lawyer could argue that was simply panic,’ said Carrick, ‘and he’s not an ongoing material threat.’

‘Are we finished at his house?’ asked the DCI.

‘Almost,’ said Carrick. ‘There’s nothing obvious yet. Certainly no blood.’

‘If he killed her at the college, there wouldn’t be,’ said Jo. ‘He looks strong enough to carry her.’ She knew that didn’t answer the access problem, though.

‘Okay, I want every nook and cranny looked into,’ said Stratton. ‘Find Myers a hotel. Get him what he needs from his house. And advise he doesn’t go on any sudden holidays.’

Carrick did as asked, signing Myers’ belongings back to him. On seeing Myers’ unbelievably smug face as he pocketed his things, Jo couldn’t help herself.

‘Not sure how Mr Cranleigh is going to react when he hears about you and his daughter.’

Myers coloured. ‘I don’t know what you’ve got against me, Detective. Did you fail your Oxford entrance exam?’

‘I never fancied the place,’ said Jo. ‘Something about all those one-on-one tutorials made me feel uneasy. Maybe my gut instinct was right.’

She left him in reception.

Back in the CID room, Heidi had shouldered her bag, and switched off her computer. ‘That’s me done.’

‘You should go home too, Jo,’ said Carrick. ‘Jack’s finishing up at the college.’

‘Anything new?’

He shook his head. ‘Oh, apparently Hana Sigurdsson is landing in the morning.’

‘You want me here to liaise?’

Carrick shot a glance towards Stratton’s closed door. ‘Better not, for now,’ he said, and Jo got it. There were times to push the DCI, and times to give. This was the latter.

* * *

Her car stank of the Korean food, which would have cooled to the point of inedibility. She opened the window, despite the cold outside, and let the wintry wind blast the smell away.

Lucas’s flat was in the Northcote area of Abingdon, a quarter-hour from the station. It wasn’t much – a two-bed on the upper floor of a small nineties block – but it was well kept, with Lucas himself taking care of the communal gardens on behalf of the residents. Jo parked up beside his beat-up Land Rover. It was the only car not covered in a fine sheen of frost, and touching the bonnet there was still a hint of warmth. He must have nipped out. She dropped the takeaway into the outdoor bin, and as she approached the front door, the security light blinked on.

She took the stairs, and let herself into the dark apartment. Turning on the light, she saw his work boots by the door and his coat hanging on the peg. Jo made her way through to the open-plan kitchen-lounge. The bedroom door was closed. She opened the fridge, but it was scarce pickings. A pineapple, several condiments, some milk and cheese. Half a bottle of Picpoul de Pinet. So she settled for an impromptu midnight feast of pineapple chunks and a glass of cold wine while sitting at the small dining table. When she’d first learned Lucas didn’t indulge in alcohol, she’d been reticent to drink at his flat, but he’d insisted it was okay. She knew already she’d have trouble sleeping without it tonight. There was a torn brown envelope on the floor by the table leg. HMRC. Probably another tax return reminder. Though he worked for the college, he was a freelance contractor.