Authors: Clare Donoghue
Lockyer held up his hands. ‘Okay, okay. I think Jane should be with us soon anyway, so we may as well wait for her.’
‘Well, thank you. Thank you for your permission and understanding.’
‘What is up with you? You’re not still pissed off about the glasses, are you?’ Lockyer asked. Dave turned his back and resumed his search for the charts. ‘They look fine, mate. Did you think you’d have twenty-twenty vision forever?’
‘Yes, Mike, I did. My father never wore glasses. Neither did my mother. In fact no one in my family has ever worn glasses, that I’m aware of.’
‘Yes, but none of them does the kind of job you do, and I don’t think computer work was around when your father was alive. Modern living messes with your vision. Fact of life. Nothing to be ashamed about.’ Dave had been bitching and moaning about the glasses in the pub last week. Lockyer was surprised that he was still so uptight about it. ‘Is there something else bothering you?’ He surprised himself with the question. Maybe his sessions with the occupational-health woman had helped. Maybe he was becoming more ‘sensitive to other people’s feelings’, as she put it.
Dave turned and walked over to the table where the body lay, covered by a sheet. It couldn’t really be called a body. There were just bones and fragments of clothing. ‘I wore contacts before,’ he said, not looking up.
‘I didn’t know that,’ Lockyer said. ‘And?’
Dave sighed, his shoulders drooping. ‘I’ve got type-two diabetes.’
‘And that’s affecting your eyes?’ Lockyer asked, still wondering what all the fuss was about. Didn’t half the country have diabetes these days?
‘My GP thinks I’ve had it for a while. I only got referred after I went to see the optician.’
‘It’s not that serious, is it?’ he asked. His sympathy had waned a bit, now that he knew what the problem was. Maybe the counselling hadn’t helped after all.
‘It’s affected my vision. I think that’s pretty serious, don’t you?’ Dave said. It was clear he was angry and upset – two emotions that Lockyer found it difficult to deal with.
‘Well, I’m sorry, mate. You should have said. Can they fix it?’
‘I have to take pills, go for regular check-ups, but my vision shouldn’t get any worse. For now anyway,’ Dave said, adjusting the sheet over the remains.
Lockyer dug deep within himself, edged closer to Dave and put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. It wasn’t clear who found the gesture more uncomfortable: him or Dave. ‘Well,’ he said again, searching for just the right thing to say to comfort Dave – and end the discussion, all in one go. ‘Sounds like your doc’s got it well in hand, and you’ll be around long enough to buy me a drink later.’
Dave sighed and puffed out a throaty laugh. ‘I’ve got to watch how much I drink.’
‘No problem,’ Lockyer said, relieved to see the tension leave his friend’s face. ‘I’ll watch it for you. Hey, what are friends for.’ He gave Dave’s shoulder a squeeze, before stepping away and over to the table.
‘Have you told Jane yet?’ Dave asked, pulling back the sheet and looking down at a mess of bones and fabric.
‘No, I thought it might be better coming from you,’ Lockyer said.
‘Great. You’re a real pal. Is she still questioning Lebowski?’
‘She had to release him again. He was only here for about an hour. It’s the ex-wife’s word against his.’
‘Oh dear,’ Dave said.
‘“Oh dear” is right, my friend. She did not look happy, when I saw her earlier.’
‘I’m still not.’
Both men turned as Jane walked into the room. Her face was flushed. When Lockyer had left the office she had been in with Roger. Whatever their SIO had said, it had not improved her mood.
‘So you had to release Lebowski,’ Dave said, walking over and handing her an apron and gloves.
Jane snapped on the gloves and turned as Dave tied her apron for her. ‘“Circumstantial” is the word of the day,’ she said, turning back to face them both. ‘Not that I’m surprised. The ex-wife doesn’t want to press charges on the rape, and she has no proof that Lebowski was seeing Amelia Reynolds. He denied the lot, and so he’s out again.’ She sighed. ‘And if both of them were in the witness stand, his testimony would win over hers any day of the week. He’s the most convincing bastard I’ve ever met. He should be in sales, not teaching: ice to Eskimos springs to mind.’ Jane hung her head. ‘But even so, I had to try. Right?’
‘Of course,’ Lockyer said, hoping he sounded reassuring. He knew all too well how she was feeling. To know everything, but not be able to prove anything – it was a frustrating position to be in.
‘The possibility of an affair has to help, though?’ Dave asked.
‘No,’ Jane said, walking over to the mortuary table. ‘Quite the opposite. As soon as Amelia Reynolds’s name was mentioned, his lawyer was all over me. She let me ask the question, let Lebowski answer, but then that was it. She’s been up to see Roger and threatened to file an official complaint, which – given Lebowski’s history with our department – would not be good.’ She looked at Lockyer. ‘I’ve been told I am not to go anywhere near Lebowski again unless I have irrefutable evidence relating to the Hungerford case, or our Jane Doe here,’ she said, gesturing at the remains. ‘If me or my team continue to investigate the Amelia Reynolds case, I could be suspended.’
Lockyer pursed his lips and whistled. ‘You really are in charge of this investigation. It’s usually me getting into this kind of trouble.’
‘Twice,’ Jane said, twisting her mouth in a grimace. ‘That’s twice now that Roger’s called me in to bollock me. If this is what it’s like at the top, I’m not sure I want to get there.’
Lockyer smiled. He had been there for her first reprimand. She had been nervous, but had handled herself well. He would love to have been a fly on the wall for the second round. ‘What did you say?’
‘I told Roger that, officially speaking, that was fine and any future enquiries would be handled with the utmost care, but that I’m not about to ignore a major piece of evidence, for him or anyone else.’
Lockyer found himself laughing, despite himself. ‘How did Roger handle that?’
Jane smiled. ‘Quite well, I thought. He didn’t fire me, at least.’
‘She’s getting more like you every day,’ Dave said.
‘She wishes,’ Lockyer replied. ‘Now, shall we get on with the business at hand?’ he said, pointing to the shrouded remains. Jane and Dave both nodded, their smiles fading.
‘Yes,’ Jane said. ‘What have you got so far, Dave? Please tell me there’s some physical evidence? Something – anything – that might help me nail Lebowski to the wall.’
Lockyer looked at Dave. The news he was about to deliver was going to put another proverbial spanner in Jane’s investigation.
‘There’s not a lot to go on, I’m afraid,’ Dave said. ‘I’ve sent off samples of the clothing for analysis. You might get lucky with some trace evidence: fibres, blood. But I wouldn’t hold out much hope.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve completed the preliminary examination of the remains, which I’ll talk you through in a moment. I had Jeanie consult me on the timeframes.’ Lockyer listened. Jane took a notepad out of her pocket and uncapped her pen. ‘There are a lot of uncertainties, but I can tell you that the victim was interred between three and five years ago, judging from the decomposition and condition of the bones and remaining tissue. The victim was five foot nine, aged twenty to twenty-five years of age. I’ve emailed the dental records up to your team, to assist with identification.’
‘Can you tell how she died?’ Jane asked.
‘There are no obvious injuries to the skeletal remains, so my guess would be asphyxiation, which would make sense, given where the remains were found. But, Jane, it’s not a she.’
‘What?’
‘The victim was a young African male.’
2nd May – Friday
Jane stared at her laptop. She felt like throwing it across the briefing room. There was a veritable sea of evidence, but Lebowski was swimming through it like an eel: nothing would stick. She had watched him walk out of the custody suite this morning, his fancy lawyer by his side. He looked as if he was leaving a friend’s house after a casual supper. He even had the nerve to turn and wave, his expression contrite. If the custody sergeant hadn’t been there to stop her, she would have tackled Lebowski to the ground then and there. She looked again at the post-mortem report Dave had just emailed her.
A young African male. It made no sense.
Dave had confirmed that the likelihood of finding trace evidence was slim. The body had been in the tomb for three years at least. Any evidence would have rotted away a long time ago. She had been running scenarios in her mind for the past hour. She had even braved Lewisham High Street, pacing back and forth in the sunshine, blending the cacophony of traffic and people into a white noise. It helped her to focus and lay the facts out in her mind. Amelia Reynolds had been murdered six years ago in Deptford. The allotment shed where she was found was seven miles from the burial sites in Elmstead. Maggie Hungerford and the John Doe lying in the mortuary were linked by the manner and location of their deaths, but what about Amelia? She pursed her lips. Rather than tying herself in knots trying to link the three bodies, she should try focusing on what set the three murders apart.
She scrolled through the folders on her computer and opened Maggie’s post-mortem, dragging it alongside the John Doe’s. Maggie had been drugged, knocked unconscious and put in the tomb alive, with an air-hose, a camera and microphone already in place. She looked again at the John Doe’s post-mortem. There was no evidence of physical injury. Given that they were dealing with skeletal remains, that was hard to prove, but Dave had listed asphyxiation as the cause of death. He had sent off samples of bone marrow to support his findings, although he said that was a long shot. But that wasn’t what was quickening Jane’s pulse. There was no camera or air-hose in the second tomb. She closed her eyes and pictured both tombs. John Doe’s was smaller, basic, whereas Maggie’s was more developed: more high-tech. As she rocked her head from side to side she heard Mort’s voice.
‘Fear has an astonishing effect on the brain,’
he had said. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. It had already occurred to her that Mort might have been involved in Maggie’s death, that her murder could have been part of some bizarre experiment. She could see his face, his boyish excitement.
‘This kind of data could be invaluable to my research.’
She had never asked Mort exactly what it was that he was researching for his thesis. She had never asked his teacher, Lebowski, either.
‘Have you got a minute, boss?’
Jane looked up to see Chris standing in the doorway to the briefing room. She had come in for some respite from the noise of the open-plan office. It wasn’t working. Chris was the fifth person to knock on the door since she had got back from her walk. ‘Yes, Chris. What can I do for you?’ He walked into the room and handed her several sheets of A4.
‘I’ve been going over the phone records for Mark and Victor Lebowski, as requested,’ he said, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to her. He pointed to the top sheet, at a batch of highlighted numbers. ‘You asked if Mark and Lebowski had had any contact after the Amelia Reynolds case.’
‘Yes,’ she said, looking down at the numbers.
‘Well, two things came up that I thought you should know about,’ Chris said, lowering his voice. ‘It looks like Mark – I mean, DCI Leech – had trouble letting the case go.’
She looked up at Chris and then at the open door to the briefing room. ‘Hang on.’ She stood up and pushed the glass door closed. ‘Go on.’
‘In the first year after Mark retired he called Lebowski’s home and mobile numbers one hundred and forty-seven times, either from the Leech landline or, more often than not, from his mobile number. We have Mark’s numbers on the system, and Lebowski’s home phone and old mobile number are in the Reynolds file. The calls lasted anything from a couple of seconds to three minutes.’ She could see by Chris’s expression that he was perturbed by the information. ‘Over the next twelve months Mark made a further fifty-eight calls to a different mobile number. I’ve checked the file and it’s Lebowski’s new mobile number, the one he’s using now. Again the calls only lasted for a few seconds – a minute at the most.’
‘So he was calling and hanging up?’ Jane asked, an image of Sue’s tear-streaked face in her mind. How much of this did she know?
‘It looks that way, boss,’ Chris said.
‘When was the last call?’
‘The calls stopped about three years ago. There was a handful of calls to Lebowski’s office, but other than that, nothing,’ Chris said, taking the top sheet out of her hand. ‘The second thing,’ he said, pointing to the next A4 sheet, ‘is this.’ Another batch of highlighted numbers. ‘These are calls to Lebowski’s new mobile in the past twenty-four months. He’s had over eighty-five calls from an unknown mobile number. I spoke to the Communications department, which ran a search on the number.’
‘And?’
‘The mobile number is registered to Gary Reynolds. Amelia Reynolds’s father.’
She looked at Chris and then back at the numbers. ‘Is Lebowski’s mobile available on the Greenwich website?’
‘No,’ Chris said. ‘I checked. He has a work number and a work mobile, but the number called is his personal mobile. I spoke to the university admin department, and they can’t give out personal information about students or teachers.’
‘Mark could have got the number from someone here, no problem,’ she said. ‘He was a DCI. No one would have questioned him.’
‘But Gary Reynolds couldn’t,’ Chris said, his voice low.
‘Which implies that Mark gave Gary Reynolds Lebowski’s number.’
‘Why would he?’ Chris asked. ‘That’s what I don’t get.’
‘Haven’t you read the file?’ she asked. ‘Mark and Gary Reynolds were friends. When I first looked at the case history I was surprised they let Mark run the investigation, given the relationship.’
‘Oh, right, I see,’ Chris said, looking uncomfortable.
Jane sighed. ‘Mark believed Lebowski was involved in Amelia Reynolds’s murder. If Gary was his friend . . .
is
his friend,’ she corrected herself, ‘then it’s feasible he would have told Gary about Lebowski. I don’t know,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Something doesn’t make sense to me, though. If I were Gary Reynolds and someone had raped and murdered my child, and the police had let them go, I think I’d be inclined to do more than just make crank calls.’ She pushed her hair off her face. ‘If Mark believed the guy was guilty, I can kind of understand him making the calls, letting Lebowski know that Amelia wouldn’t be forgotten. But why tell Amelia’s father? Was he trying to get Lebowski killed?’