Keep Her Close
‘Good.’
Jo looked around the room again, trying to make sense of the contradictions. The Oxford beauty, the weed, the blood, the musical talent. The sooner they really got to know Malin Sigurdsson, the sooner the circumstances of her disappearance would become clearer.
‘Let’s go and speak with the friend,’ she said. On the way out of the room, she told Pinker to keep everything clean until forensics arrived. She walked to the end of the corridor, to the fire door. Pushing the bar at the ends only, so as not to smudge possible prints, she opened it onto a narrow street. On the far side was the tall wall of another college. Not overlooked. She retreated inside and the door closed on its sprung hinges. ‘Maybe get this door processed for prints too. If she was carried out, this seems the obvious route.’
‘But he didn’t come in that way,’ said Pryce. ‘No handle on the street side.’
Well spotted, again. Frampton-Keys was on her phone a few metres from where they’d left her, saying, ‘Don’t worry, Nick. I’m sure the police will do their best … No, of course not. Of course.’ She saw Jo approaching. ‘I’ve got to go.’
She put the phone away. ‘Mr Cranleigh’s very worried,’ she said.
Bel and Nick. Very cosy.
‘He’s a politician, I heard,’ said Jo. ‘Why was he calling you?’
‘We’re good friends,’ said the Vice Provost. ‘Nicholas was an alumnus of this very college.’
‘Is that why Malin is a student here?’ asked Pryce.
Frampton-Keys flinched. ‘She’s here on her own merit.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t suggesting nepotism,’ said Pryce. ‘I was just wondering if it was a family tradition of some sort.’
The Vice Provost pursed her lips, obviously still offended by the unintended slight. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘Any idea why she doesn’t use his surname?’
‘Oh, Malin isn’t Mr Cranleigh’s biological daughter,’ said Frampton-Keys.
‘So who’s her real father?’ asked Jo. She foresaw a headache already. They really shouldn’t have been involving anyone but close family about the disappearance.
Frampton-Keys looked bemused. ‘I’m sorry – I don’t feel it’s my place to talk about other people’s private affairs. Her mother lives in Sweden, I believe.’
‘Can we follow up on that, Jack?’ Jo said. She faced the Vice Provost again.
‘We’d like to talk with the friend who came to see her, if that’s all right?’
‘Anna Mull?’ said Frampton-Keys. ‘She’s in the buttery.’
‘Which is what? And where?’ asked Jo. She was trying her best not to dislike the Vice Provost, but every sentence the senior academic uttered seemed designed to confound her and present the clear subtext: This is not your place.
‘This way,’ said Frampton-Keys.
They walked back towards the main quad. As they did, Jo asked, ‘Apart from the fire exit in the corridor, what are the other ways out of the college?’
‘There’s a door out onto Oriel Street,’ said Frampton-Keys. ‘You need a security card to access it – all the students at the college have one.’
‘And staff?’
The Vice Provost nodded. ‘Yes, but I’m not sure what you’re getting at.’
‘Not getting at anything,’ said Jo. ‘But if someone took Malin from her room, they had to get into the college and out again. Are there cameras on the security door?’
‘I’m afraid not. We have a surveillance system at the front of the college, covering the porters’ lodge, but that’s it. Sorry, you think she’s been kidnapped?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
They took a passage past an open door leading into kitchens. A young man wearing whites, with heavily tattooed forearms was unloading pallets of bread and nodded a greeting as they passed, and there were catering staff at work inside.
‘I thought the students had gone home,’ said Pryce.
‘We’ve got a three-day conference coming in later,’ said Frampton-Keys. ‘Ornithologists. We can’t afford to let the college go empty out of term.’
She turned a sharp right angle, then pushed open a heavy, metal-studded door into a cosy wooden-clad room of benches and tables, with a small hatch counter. A young woman with a short, dark pixie-cut and delicate features to match was sitting next to an empty mug and several screwed-up tissues, hands toying with her phone. She stood up sharply. She was wearing jeans, a thick sweater, and what looked like trail shoes. Sensible, in the current weather.
‘Have you found her?’ she asked meekly.
‘Not yet,’ said the Vice Provost. ‘Anna, these visitors are police officers. They need to talk to you.’
Anna looked scared. Her already large, almond-shaped eyes opened wider, and she gave a single nod.
Jo introduced herself and Pryce, then sat down opposite the student. Frampton-Keys was still standing off to one side.
‘Perhaps we could have some privacy?’ asked Jo.
The Vice Provost frowned. ‘I really should be here,’ she said. ‘It’s a student welfare issue.’
Jo smiled tightly. ‘It’s an active police investigation. Anna’s an adult, and we’re only asking a few questions.’
Frampton-Keys’ mouth twitched. ‘Very well. Is that all right with you, Anna? You don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to.’
Jo was close to losing her temper, but Anna said, ‘Yes,’ quietly, and the Vice Provost turned on her heels and left.
‘Thanks for your time, Anna,’ she said. ‘How long have you known Malin?’
Anna looked up. ‘Over three years. We matriculated together, chose to do our MPhil’s here too. We’re the only two doing a History Master’s at Oriel.’
Jo’s ears pricked up. She studied History as an undergrad at Sussex, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
‘So you’re close?’ asked Pryce.
‘I’m probably her best friend,’ said Anna. She didn’t elaborate, so Jo decided to get straight to the point.
‘It looks like she might have had a fight with someone in her room. Have you any idea who that might be?’
Anna didn’t answer straight away. ‘No.’
‘No enemies?’
Anna smiled. ‘Everyone loved Malin.’
‘What about a boyfriend?’
‘Nothing serious.’
‘But she had relationships?’
‘Yes.’
‘And recently?’
Anna shot a look towards the door, as if she thought someone was on the other side. ‘Ross,’ she said. ‘Ross Catskill.’
‘Is he a student at the college?’
Anna laughed, a low chuckle. ‘I doubt Ross even has any GCSEs. Sorry, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? He runs an events company in Oxford – Calibre.’
‘So Malin was seeing Catskill,’ said Pryce. ‘What was the relationship like?’
‘Just an on-off thing,’ said Anna. ‘I don’t know what she saw in him. I mean, I guess he’s sort of good-looking, but that’s about it.’
‘You don’t like him much, then?’ said Pryce. ‘Do you think he might have hurt Malin?’ Anna stared down at her hands, and a few seconds of silence followed.
‘Anna?’ said Pryce. ‘Did you hear the question?’
Anna looked up, at him, directly. ‘You know when you just get a bad feeling about someone?’
Pryce nodded. ‘All the time.’ He turned to Jo. ‘Sounds like we should pay Mr Catskill a visit. Anna, when did you last have contact with Malin?’
‘Last night,’ said Anna. ‘We went for a drink. I left her about 9.50 pm.’
‘That’s very accurate,’ said Pryce.
‘I wanted to watch the ten o’clock news back in my room,’ said Anna.
‘Just the two of you met up?’ asked Jo.
Anna nodded. ‘The King’s Arms. We’d been in the Bodleian Library all day working. We had a meal at the pub too.’
‘Can you remember the top story on the news?’ asked Jo’s colleague.
He asked it in an innocent enough tone, but Anna clearly caught the shift of emphasis in the conversation, and Jo saw something flintier in her gaze as she addressed Pryce.
‘The thing with the royal press secretary leak,’ she said. ‘Then interest rates. I’m afraid I can’t remember much else. I was tired.’
‘And nothing from Malin after 9.50?’ said Jo.
‘No. I went to sleep.’
‘And where’s your room?’
‘I live out now. Shared house on Longwall Street.’
‘But not with your best friend?’ asked Pryce.
Anna blushed. ‘Her mum wanted her in the college, actually. Funnily enough, she thought it was safer.’
Jo felt sorry for the girl. She seemed completely out of her depth. But there was still a difficult subject to broach. ‘Anna, do you know if Malin had a drug problem?’
Anna looked down at her hands. ‘I never saw her take anything.’
‘But you know she did, right? It’s okay. You’re not in trouble.’
‘I know she used to. She went to hospital once, in our second year.’
‘Something she took?’
‘I think so.’
‘And what did the college do about it?’
Anna actually smiled. ‘Nothing. I think Malin’s step-dad might have handled it.’
Maybe I dismissed the nepotism a bit too quickly.
Jo relaxed in her chair, then fished out her card and slid it across the table. ‘My number’s on there if you think of anything else. Are you staying around in Oxford?’
‘For another day,’ said Anna. ‘Then I’m going home for Christmas to my family.’ She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. ‘What do you think happened to her?’
‘Too early to say,’ said Jo, standing up. Pryce did the same. ‘But we’ll get working on it. You’ve been very helpful, Anna.’
Malin’s friend remained seated. ‘She’s a good person, you know.’
Jo wondered what that was supposed to mean.
‘We have no doubt about it,’ said Pryce. ‘And we’ll find her. I promise.’
Jo wished he hadn’t said it. Though he hadn’t specified ‘dead’ or ‘alive’, Jo was pretty sure Anna’s take-away would be the latter. Maybe Pryce was regretting going a bit hard on her. Most missing person cases did get solved, because most of the time the missing didn’t want to stay that way. But this already felt a little different. The bloody handprint in the almost empty college. The almost archetypical angelic face concealing what was looking like a complicated life beneath. They likely would find Malin Sigurdsson, but Jo already had a creeping feeling this wouldn’t be a happy ending.
Chapter 4
They decided to pay Ross Catskill a surprise visit. Calibre Events was over in the new Castle Street development, just across the city centre.
Jo called Carrick on the way. He didn’t answer, so she left a message telling him where they were going. As she was doing so, Pryce’s phone rang, and from what she could gather it was Stratton on the other end. She waited until he came off.
‘Cranleigh’s been onto the gaffer already,’ said Pryce. ‘Wanted an update.’
‘I only spoke to him an hour ago, and he was too busy to have a conversation.’ Even without meeting the MP for Witney, Jo was already forming a positive dislike for the man.
A young woman in business attire walked past and smiled warmly at Pryce.
‘Friend of yours?’ asked Jo after a few seconds.
‘Who?’ he said.
Jo nodded at the woman, who was walking away.
‘I don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘Why?’
Jo grinned. For someone who specialised in digital forensics, going over evidence with a fine-tooth comb, Jo had noticed he often missed some of the more basic social cues. She wondered if he was somewhere on the spectrum. His desk at work was scrupulously neat and spotlessly clean, unlike her own, which was strewn with mugs and Post-it notes. Heidi called him ‘the professor’.
‘So what are your first impressions of Anna?’ Jo asked him. ‘She telling the truth?’
Pryce shrugged. ‘Not all of it,’ he said. ‘She seemed nervous, but that’s only natural. Plus, her friend’s missing.’
‘You think they’re as close as she says? Hardly known each other long.’
Pryce shrugged. ‘Three years? In a college like this, it’s a long time I think.’
The Castle Street Hub, as it was called, was just a collection of the standard chain restaurants around a courtyard, with some business premises above, approached by metal steps. Calibre Events had a glass door and intercom to reception.
‘Calibre Events. How can I help you?’ said a female voice.
‘We’re looking for Ross Catskill,’ said Jo. ‘It’s the police.’
‘Mr Catskill is away on a premises visit at the moment,’ came the reply.
‘Whereabouts?’ asked Jo.
‘I’m afraid I can’t give out that information.’
‘What’s your name please?’ asked Jo.
‘Selina,’ said the receptionist.
Jo took out her warrant card, and held it to the camera. ‘We’re investigating a possible crime, Selina,’ she said. ‘Maybe you could let us in.’
A couple of seconds passed, then the buzzer went and Jo opened the door. They went up a set of backless stairs and into a small atrium where the receptionist sat behind a desk. Jo saw a small boardroom and another door with a WC sign, but that was it. The receptionist smiled, tapping at her keyboard. ‘Mr Catskill will be busy until six-thirty,’ she said. ‘You could wait if you like. He might not come back at all though.’
Jo checked her watch. An hour.
‘Is that his diary on screen?’ asked Jo, leaning over the desk. ‘You could help us actually. Where was Mr Catskill over the last, say, twenty-four hours?’
Selina shifted the monitor’s angle. ‘Is he in trouble?’
Jo wondered about her next move. Really, Selina was under no obligation to share anything.
‘Quite possibly,’ she said. ‘More so if he doesn’t help us in a timely manner.’
‘Okay.’ said the receptionist. ‘Let me call Ross.’
She reached for the phone, but Jo leant across and got there first. ‘Just tell us where he is,’ she said. ‘Pretty please.’
* * *
Jukebox was a nightclub above a supermarket on the edge of the shopping centre. Most people knew it by its nickname, Dirtbox, and Jo remembered it from her own time growing up. Sticky, worn carpets, plastic cups, themed nights that ranged from the cheesiest seventies pop to drum and bass. The sort of place that was dead at ten pm, by midnight was a meat-market of desperate youngsters, and by two boasted toilets like a warzone, awash with various forms of effluence. Though it ran student nights during term, it was more of a ‘town’ than ‘gown’ place – and provided a reliable stream of weekend calls to the emergency services related to post kicking-out time drunken altercations.
At six pm on a Wednesday, the scuffed double security door was closed. There was a letterbox, no signage, and no doorbell or other means of communication, so Jo closed her fist and pounded three times. A couple of shoppers heading back to their cars with full trolleys looked over curiously.
They’d told Selina not to call Catskill, but Jo hardly expected her to listen. If he’d gone already just to avoid them, that might make everything look a little clearer. Jo lifted her hand to bang again, when she heard footsteps from the other side of the door, then a bar mechanism being drawn.
It opened to reveal a man in a pale grey suit, and open-necked white shirt, brogues on his feet. His hair was moulded into tight waves that came just to his collar, and his skin carried the bronze tones of a natural tan. He was clean-shaven and his startling blue eyes latched onto Jo’s.
‘You must be Detectives Masters and Pryce,’ he said. ‘I was in a meeting, but my secretary told me to expect you. Want to come up?’
‘Thank you,’ said Jo. First impressions were that he was cool, affable, and confident. Too suave, maybe? He wore a lightly spiced scent that shouted quality. Jo and Pryce followed him up the stairs and into the empty nightclub. It had undergone some major changes since Jo’s day, which was hardly surprising, and the layout was completely different to how she remembered. There were two bars and banquette seating. The dance floor remained in the same location, but looked less sticky. Maybe it was because it was illuminated by bright lights – it seemed a lot classier than she’d expected. There was another man behind the bar, holding an iPad and drinking a can of energy drink.
‘Can I get you something?’ asked Catskill. ‘Tea? Coffee?’ He waved at the optics. ‘Something stronger?’
Jo shook her head. ‘We need to talk to you about Malin Sigurdsson.’
He looked nonplussed. ‘Mally? Sure. She’s okay, right?’
‘Probably not,’ said Jo. She watched his face for any signs of guilt.
Catskill looked at the other man. ‘Jav, we’re pretty much done. I’ll lock up if you want to go. Just forward the stocklist to my office.’
The man nodded, closed the case of the tablet, and left.
‘This place yours, is it?’ asked Pryce.
Ross sat down opposite them. ‘I have a stake,’ he said. ‘Been supplying it for a few years, and the chance came up to buy out one of the previous owners. It’s a bit of a dump, but it’s kind of a cultural icon in Oxford. Has something happened to Malin?’
‘We’re not sure,’ said Jo. ‘When did you last see her?’
Catskill ran a hand through his locks. ‘Wait, do I need a lawyer?’ He was grinning as he said it.
‘I don’t know,’ said Jo. ‘Do you?’
Catskill steepled his hands, elbows on knees, all seriousness. ‘I haven’t seen her for at least a week.’
‘Can you be more exact?’ said Pryce, making notes in his copybook.
‘Let me think.’ Catskill lifted his hands, fingertips on forehead almost like he was praying. ‘It would have been a couple of Fridays back. She came along to the opening night of a new cocktail place near the station. It’s called Quench.’
‘Anything since then?’ said Jo. ‘What about phone calls? Texts?’
Catskill shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘But you’re her boyfriend?’ asked Pryce.
Catskill smiled, a little coyly. ‘I wouldn’t say that. Malin’s a sweet girl, but we’re not that close.’
‘Your relationship is sexual, though?’ said Jo.
Catskill nodded. ‘Er … it has been.’
‘How old are you?’ asked Jo.
Catskill crossed his legs and leant back. ‘Is that relevant?’
Jo didn’t reply. Let him sweat.
‘I’m forty-two,’ he said at last. ‘How old are you, Detective?’
Jo would have guessed mid-thirties. ‘Quite an age-gap. Must’ve been gratifying to have a young woman like Malin on your arm.’
Catskill looked unimpressed. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s happened?’
‘Soon,’ said Jo. ‘Can you remember where you were last night, between say, ten pm and this morning?’
‘I was in the office until about ten-thirty last night, then I drove home.’
‘Which is where?’ asked Pryce.
‘Goring,’ said Catskill.
Jo was familiar with it. A small village by the Thames, and a good forty minutes away. Stockbroker country. Well-to-do families.
‘Strange place for a bachelor to live,’ said Jo.
Catskill’s right hand moved towards his left, as if fiddling with an imaginary ring. The top of his chest, in the V of his open shirt, flushed.
‘You’re not a bachelor?’ said Jo.
‘Sorry,’ said Catskill. ‘I think I’ve told you everything I can.’
He stood, but Jo remained seated. She was quite enjoying watching him squirm. ‘So is there anyone who can confirm what time you got home last night?’
‘My wife,’ said Catskill quietly. ‘No, wait – she was asleep. Maybe one of the neighbours would have seen me pull in?’ He looked faintly desperate. ‘Really, I don’t want her to be involved in all this. She’ll only worry. And the kids …’
‘I think you need to be straight with us,’ said Jo. ‘Let’s start with when you first met Malin …’
* * *
It had been two years ago, or thereabouts. Malin was looking for a job, which he’d found odd because he could tell from her clothing that she was well-off. He’d hooked her up working as a waitress at one of the college balls that year. Reports came back that she was a good worker, and soon she was a regular at more select bashes. She had a natural grace that let her fit into any sort of social milieu. When he found out later who her parents were, that made sense; step-dad a privately-educated English financier-then-MP, mum a Swedish socialite. She was beautiful, incredibly so, and he never thought she’d be interested in someone like him when she could have had any man she wanted. They first chatted properly after a party at Blenheim Palace. Some sheikh’s kid or other had hired out the grounds, so Catskill was there to ensure things went off without a hitch. Everyone was stressed, so they’d had a drink afterwards to celebrate and one thing led to another. He assumed she’d see it as a mistake, but in the coming weeks they’d met several times. Always in hotels outside the city centre, occasionally at premises he knew would be empty and where they could get together under the pretext of work. He didn’t tell her about his wife, because he assumed it would just fizzle out. But she was paranoid too, about her step-dad, mainly.
‘Why was that?’ asked Jo.
‘His line of work. He was happy not to be involved in her life much, as long as there was no scandal. She used to think he was spying on her.’
Jo recalled Cranleigh’s anxiety about the press. ‘Do you think he was?’
‘I never saw anyone, but like I said, we didn’t see that much of each other.’
Catskill was flattered, he told them. Malin was a student at the university with her whole life ahead of her. A girl who could have done pretty much anything she put her mind to. But eventually, he was the one who had called it off, about a month ago – he felt she was getting too attached.
‘How did she take that?’ Jo asked.
‘Not great,’ Catskill admitted. ‘She said it didn’t have to be serious. But I could see it was. She said she … she threatened to hurt herself.’
Jo thought about the blood in the room. Self-harm? Anna hadn’t mentioned anything like that, but perhaps she had wanted to protect her friend’s privacy.
‘But you haven’t had contact for twelve days?’ asked Pryce.
Catskill shook his head. ‘She’d been calling me at all hours,’ he said. ‘Begging to meet. You can check my phone records if you want. I told her to stay away. To be honest, I was scared she’d get to Emily – that’s my wife. She could be determined, could Mally. Stubborn. She showed up at Quench and made a bit of a scene. I had to throw her out.’
‘Sounds like you used her,’ said Jo. ‘She was a vulnerable girl half your age.’
Catskill looked angry, but it passed quickly. ‘It might look like that, but it really wasn’t. Malin’s a clever girl. She looks like butter wouldn’t melt, but that’s part of her power.’
‘She’s missing,’ said Jo. ‘We think someone might have taken her against her will. Did she have any enemies that you know of?’
‘When you’re that beautiful, I think most women hate you, deep down,’ said Catskill. ‘But maybe she’s just run away? She wasn’t really very happy, I don’t think.’
Jo thought of the pills she herself had stopped taking. Lots of people weren’t happy.
‘I’d like you to come to the station,’ she said.
For the first time, Catskill looked alarmed. ‘Am I under arrest?’
‘No,’ said Jo. ‘But we’ll need an official statement, and it would be helpful if we could confirm your alibi and cross-reference those phone records you mentioned.’
‘I’m very busy,’ he said. ‘How long will all this take?’
Jo sensed they had him on the back foot already. Just a little push needed. ‘Not long. If you’re honest with us. We might not even have to involve your wife.’
Catskill seemed to realise he was hardly in a position to negotiate. ‘Let me get my coat.’
* * *
The temperature in town seemed to have dropped another degree as they arrived back at the station. A biting wind whipped up St Aldates and everyone passing by had their heads down, extremities covered. Jo, chin tucked into her thick scarf, just wanted to get inside.
As they entered through the main doors, she could still see her breath. The front desk clerk was wearing gloves and a hat.