Keep Her Close

‘It’s bloody freezing in here,’ she said.

‘Boiler’s gone,’ said the clerk. ‘They’re saying it could be a couple of days waiting for parts this time of year.’

They booked Catskill in, then took him through to CID, where the air was just as chilly. A man in overalls stood by the door to the rec room, sipping from Dimitriou’s Spurs mug, and inside another man on a small stepladder had the front off the boiler, and was tinkering with a screwdriver.

Pryce escorted Catskill to an interview room to get an official statement of what he’d told them at the club.

In his office, Stratton was talking animatedly to Detective Inspector Andy Carrick, who caught Jo’s eye and waved. Stratton saw her too, then adjusted the blinds to make the glass partition of his office opaque. Charming. Heidi Tan emerged from the stairs, waddling slowly and holding her back. She was in a maternity top, a sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the cold.

‘Dimitriou called. He’ll be another twenty. Got a puncture on the way in.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Like a whale,’ said Heidi. She eased herself into her desk chair.

‘Only a week to go,’ said Jo. ‘Then you can swim away.’ She sat opposite. ‘We’ll miss you.’

‘Stop it,’ said Heidi. ‘You’ve got the professor now. I know Stratton prefers him.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Jo, though it was quite true. The Chief Inspector had made no secret of his admiration for Jack Pryce when they were looking for maternity cover. His application was apparently ‘exceptional’ and the team ‘should be grateful to have him’. From what Jo had learned later, Stratton had a point. Pryce’s aptitude scores were off the charts, and he had a proven track record in financial crime. Only Dimitriou failed to be impressed, muttering on several occasions variations of the same criticism, ‘but what’s he going to be like on the street?’ The answer so far was, rather good.

‘You don’t have to lie for my benefit,’ said Heidi. ‘Did Stratton ever invite me to play golf?’

Jo laughed. ‘Count your blessings.’

‘Forensics are on their way to Oriel College now by the way. They had to finish up a scene over in Didcot. You got any paperclips?’

Jo fished in her drawer, pushing aside the gallantry medal, and tossed a box over. She sat down at the computer to put together a brief for the crime scene investigators, including prints from the desk, all of the bathroom, blood samples, hair and anything else from the bed. Catskill said they’d met in hotels, so if they found any traces of him in the room, that could be a break. So far though, Jo’s instincts were cold on the director of Calibre Events.

‘Would you mind contacting Belinda Frampton-Keys, the Vice Provost? We could do with a list of anyone who might have had access to the room.’

She heard the door to Stratton’s office open, but kept her focus on the screen. ‘Who’ve you got in the IR?’ he asked.

She was typing her message to forensics as she spoke. ‘It’s the ex-boyfriend,’ she said. ‘Jack’s checking out his story, but first impressions are that he’s clean. The way he tells it, Malin was quite unstable.’

‘Really?’ Stratton sounded incredulous.

‘Vulnerable, anyway. We’ve got her computer, and forensics are going in shortly to scrape up what they can. I think there may have been drugs involved.’

Stratton looked nervous. ‘What sort of drugs?’

‘We found weed, but heroin is my guess too.’ She told him about the foil.

‘Could’ve been to wrap her sandwiches.’

‘I think students make their own sandwiches these days, sir,’ said Heidi, with a barely concealed smile.

Stratton still seemed uncomfortable, scratching his eyebrow. ‘It’s very early still. Let’s keep the drug stuff on the backburner for the moment.’

‘It’s the most obvious line of enquiry,’ said Jo.

Stratton reddened. ‘So, enquire,’ he replied. ‘Just don’t put all our eggs in that basket.’

The phone in his office rang, and he went to get it.

‘What’s he so worried about?’ asked Heidi.

A few moments later, the front desk clerk buzzed a man into the CID room. Stratton trotted forward to greet him.

‘Nick!’ he said. ‘How are you holding up?’

Jo recognised MP Nicholas Cranleigh, but only vaguely – perhaps from pictures in the paper or something on TV. He wore a long black work coat over a suit. He was not quite as she’d envisaged, with his square, pugnacious face and neatly parted grey hair. She’d have guessed he was ex-military, rather than a banker.

‘Not too bad, Phil,’ he replied, his voice soft, almost unctuous. ‘Have we got anything?’

Jo watched the two men shaking hands, gripping each other’s elbows with a mixture of fondness and understanding. Old mates …

‘We’re making progress,’ said Stratton. ‘Forensics are over at the college, we’re putting together a timeline of Malin’s movements, and drawing up a network of associates. It won’t be long. We’ve contacted Malin’s mother.’

Cranleigh grimaced. ‘I suppose that’s sensible.’ He released Stratton’s arm and hand. ‘So do you think she’s all right?’

Stratton looked a little flummoxed, so Jo stepped in.

‘Excuse me, Mr Cranleigh. I’m Detective Masters, and I’m the lead investigator. We hope so, sir. Maybe it’s best to go somewhere private to discuss this?’

Cranleigh’s eyes narrowed in recognition. ‘Jill Masters, isn’t it? From that awful case in the summer.’

‘Jo,’ she corrected him. ‘I assume you’re talking about the Niall McDonagh kidnap. Yes, it was unpleasant, but happily we got a result.’

‘Stunning work by Jo here,’ said Stratton, like a proud father. Even though you didn’t believe me any step of the way …

‘Team effort,’ said Jo, acknowledging with a nod.

‘You don’t think that Malin’s been kidnapped, do you?’ asked Cranleigh.

‘It’s a possibility,’ said Jo. ‘Is there anyone who might hold a grudge against you?’

‘Plenty,’ said Cranleigh, with a wolfish smile. ‘I’m a politician.’ Jo couldn’t believe he was able to joke at such a time, and maintained a serious expression. He caught on, and added, ‘Honestly, no.’

‘You weren’t having Malin watched, then?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘In a private security capacity, I mean.’

Cranleigh shook his head with a bemused grin. ‘Should I have been? I think you overestimate my means.’ He turned to Stratton. ‘Sorry, Phil, what’s your detective getting at?’

‘I’m not sure at all,’ said Stratton, glaring. ‘But we’ve got everyone working flat out.’

As soon as he’d said it, a voice came from the hallway. ‘It is fucking freezing. Put the heating on before my balls vanish completely.’

Stratton stiffened.

DC George Dimitriou came striding into the CID room, legs clad in Lycra, top half in a windbreaker, plus gloves and a buff. He was carrying his cycle helmet in one hand, a small rucksack in the other. His sweaty face was specked with dirt. Everyone was silent, and Jo tried to catch his eye.

‘What’s up?’ he asked. ‘Colder than a morgue in here.’

Stratton grinned, teeth bared. ‘Detective, this is Nicholas Cranleigh. The Right Honourable Nicholas Cranleigh. His daughter is missing.’

Dimitriou placed his helmet carefully on his desk, and wiped a streak of mud from his cheek. Sadly the ground didn’t swallow him up. ‘Ah, right. Nice to meet you, sir.’ Jo almost expected him to bow, but he settled for straightening his shoulders.

Stratton, looking furious still, put a hand on Cranleigh’s shoulder. ‘Would you like to come into my office, Nick?’ he said. ‘Drink?’

‘A coffee would be appreciated, if you’ve nothing stronger?’

Stratton looked from face to face in the CID room. ‘Jo, make Mr Cranleigh a coffee would you?’

So I’m the tea girl now?

‘Two sugars, please,’ said Cranleigh. Jo nodded as the two men went into the office and closed the door.

‘Fuck,’ said Dimitriou under his breath. ‘No one warned me.’

‘I tried,’ said Jo.

‘I hope you weren’t after a hot shower,’ said Heidi. ‘Boiler’s kaput.’

Dimitriou groaned.

Jo fired off her email to forensics, then went to make the coffee. She stopped on the way at the interview room, knocked on the window panel and beckoned to Pryce.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked, as he came to the door.

‘Almost done. Catskill says he’s got email records to show he was logged on in Goring at eleven-fifteen last night, so I can check that easily enough.’

‘There’s still a window,’ said Jo. ‘Think he’ll give us prints and a DNA sample voluntarily?’

‘He’s just very worried we’ll talk to his wife,’ said Pryce. ‘So shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Malin’s father is here,’ said Jo. ‘Probably best they don’t cross paths.’

‘Got it. Any news on forensics?’

‘On their way. I’ll go back to coordinate.’

‘You need help?’

‘I don’t think so. I’ll try and have another chat with the Vice Provost too.’

As he went back inside, Jo saw Ross Catskill sitting upright in the chair. ‘Almost done now,’ she said. ‘You can leave soon.’

He smiled wanly.

Making the drinks, Jo pondered Cranleigh’s reaction. He seemed worried, of course, but almost weary too. They’d have told him about the blood, surely. She tried to put herself in his shoes. If this were her daughter, her step-daughter even …

She placed the cups on the tray. She realised she was thinking like Ben, who always worked on the assumption that everyone was guilty until they could damn well prove themselves innocent to him. There was really no reason to think Cranleigh had anything to do with it, though she made a mental note to check his movements.

As she returned carrying the tray, Carrick was in the office too. She knocked at the door, and entered. She could tell at once that the room was frosty, and it wasn’t just because the radiators weren’t functioning. Carrick looked particularly sheepish, but carried on speaking:

‘Seems she was still using a Swedish-registered phone. It’s probably not going to be a problem, but a warrant takes longer to process.’

‘Bloody EU red tape,’ muttered Cranleigh.

‘Thanks, Jo,’ said Stratton, as she laid down the tray.

‘I’ve been thinking, sir,’ said Jo. ‘Perhaps we should organise an appeal. Press conference. Get Malin’s photo out there. She’s very recognisable.’

‘I’d rather not, actually,’ said Cranleigh.

‘Oh,’ said Jo, placing a cup in front of him.

Cranleigh looked to Stratton. ‘An appeal though – it’s very … public.’

‘That’s rather the point,’ said Jo. ‘You’re aware it’s likely that Malin’s injured? She might need medical attention.’

Cranleigh glanced at her briefly, eyes livid. ‘I’m fully aware,’ he said, ‘that I didn’t ask for your opinion. Whatever trouble my daughter has got herself into, I’d rather not have it splashed across the news. Can’t we handle this discreetly, Phil?’

There it was again – the chumminess. Jo was sorely tempted to mention the drugs, but somehow kept the words in.

Stratton held up his hands to placate the situation. ‘I’m sure we can, yes. Jo, would you excuse us a moment, please?’

She stood her ground, feeling like an idiot waitress. She’d never been great at holding her tongue, so it took an almighty effort of will not to club her boss over the head with the tray. ‘Of course, sir. If you need me, I’ll be back at the college coordinating the forensics team and speaking with the Vice Provost.’

As she turned, Cranleigh coughed.

‘Actually, Detective,’ said Stratton. ‘I’m going to ask Andy Carrick to be the lead on this.’ Jo turned slowly, fingers tight on the tray.

‘May I ask why, sir?’

‘He’s the ranking detective,’ said Stratton. ‘He’ll have Dimitriou as back-up. I hope you understand.’ He stared at her, daring her to challenge his decision. Jo knew where the lines were with Stratton. Cross this one and she’d be in all sorts of trouble.

‘Perfectly, sir,’ she said. So much for a chance to prove herself.

‘Excellent,’ said Stratton, beaming. ‘Besides, your shift’s up. Type up what you’ve got then go home a get some rest. And good work today, Detective.’

With a bob of her head, Jo left his office.

Dimitriou was emerging from downstairs, dressed in work clothes, hair still slightly damp. ‘Well, that was an unpleasant experience,’ he said.

Jo realised he was probably talking about his cold shower.

‘I need to bring you up to speed on this disappearance,’ she said. ‘Stratton wants you and Andy on it.’ She pushed the picture of Malin Sigurdsson across the desk.

‘Wow!’ He glanced towards Stratton’s office, and lowered his voice. ‘She’s a ten, huh?’

Ignoring him, Jo began to type, her fingers stabbing at the keys.

Chapter 5

Jo was thorough, losing herself in the details of the report, and not even looking up as Stratton, Carrick, and Cranleigh emerged from the office and picked up Dimitriou. She knew Carrick would feel terrible, but she was in too much of a foul mood even to give him the chance to show contrition for whipping the case from under her. Afterwards she texted Lucas and told him she’d be over at his place at eight, and could pick up a takeaway if there was anything he fancied. He answered almost immediately that he didn’t mind.

Pryce came through. ‘I’ve told Catskill we don’t need him anymore. I thought you were going back to the college?’ Jo rubbed her cold hands together, and explained she was being sidelined in favour of the boys’ club. ‘It’s just you, Stratton, Carrick and Dimitriou. Think of it like a four-ball.’

Pryce looked bewildered. ‘I don’t think DI Carrick plays golf,’ he replied.

‘It was a joke,’ said Jo. ‘To break the tension and prevent me killing someone.’

She stood up, grabbed her coat, and left. Andy Carrick had texted with a single word, ‘Sorry’, and an unhappy emoticon. She appreciated the gesture and wrote back ‘No hard feelings,’ with a face gritting its teeth in rage. If the last six months had taught her anything, it was that life was too short. She hoped they found Malin quickly, in good health.

Security lights illuminated the car park as she trailed over to her navy Peugeot. It was a dry day, but there was a thin layer of ice on the inside of the windscreen. She got in, started the engine and cranked the heaters. As she grabbed the de-icer, she wondered about getting a new car. Her brother had kindly offered her some money from the sale of the family house, if it ever happened, and her promotion had more than covered the costs of the fertility treatment back in the clinic in Bath. Compared to sixth months ago, in the aftermath of the break-up with Ben, she was comparatively well-off. At the moment, she was still paying for a one-bed flat in Oxford, though spending almost every night at Lucas’s. She’d been meaning to talk with him about it, about moving in properly, but it seemed to be just the opening of a much bigger conversation they needed to have about the future. About family, particularly. When she thought about it, it brought her out in a sweat. Somehow Dr Forster had coaxed it all out of her, like the forensic interviewer she was in just their second session. Lucas was twenty-eight, and there was really no reason at all he should be thinking about kids, but Jo didn’t have that luxury. She’d wasted her best years with Ben, only to be betrayed, and now – just shy of thirty-nine – she felt time slipping between her fingers at accelerated speed. The eggs she’d frozen with the Bright Futures clinic in the autumn would practically keep forever, but she was under no illusions that her chances of being a mother were anything but shrinking. If Lucas wasn’t ‘The One’ – and how she hated that term – then she had to make some difficult decisions soon. Maybe tonight was the night to do it.

She cleared the ice, reversed carefully and drove out onto St Aldates.

There was a Korean place on the route back to Lucas’s flat that they both liked, and she pulled up outside. She ordered a Bulgogi for herself, and veggie Bibimbap for him, and was waiting for the food to come when her phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Detective Masters, it’s Anna Mull, Malin’s friend. Have you found her?’

‘Not yet,’ said Jo. Anna didn’t answer but let out a sigh, so Jo asked, ‘Is there something else you want to tell me?’

‘I don’t know if I should say anything,’ said Anna.

‘Then you probably should,’ said Jo. ‘Even if it doesn’t seem important, it might assist us.’

‘You asked me earlier, about enemies …’ Anna was speaking quietly, and Jo wondered if she was with someone else.

‘And you said not,’ Jo replied.

‘Something happened,’ she said. ‘Last term. I don’t know if it’s important … ’

She’s really nervous.

‘Why don’t you tell me, and we’ll see.’

‘There’s a tutor here – Professor Ronald Myers. Malin made a complaint about him … being inappropriate. Anyway, he’s retired now. I just thought you should know. It’s probably nothing.’

‘You mean sexually inappropriate?’

‘He tried to kiss her,’ said Anna. ‘She told him she wasn’t interested.’

‘And Myers teaches at Oriel?’

‘Not anymore,’ said Anna. ‘He left in the summer.’

‘How old is he?’

‘I don’t know. Sixties, I suppose. I didn’t want to say before – it’s seems quite unlikely …’

Jo’s heart quickened, her chest fluttering. ‘Do you know where we can find Myers now?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t,’ said Anna. ‘Ms Frampton-Keys will be able to tell you. I’d rather you didn’t mention me, though.’

‘No, of course not. Thanks, Anna. Oh, one more thing. We spoke to Ross, and he told us that Malin thought she was being followed recently. Did she ever mention anything like that to you?’

A pause. ‘I’m sorry – I don’t think she did.’

‘It’s something you’d remember, presumably?’

‘Well, yes. I can’t imagine why she’d keep anything like that from me.’

‘Okay – thanks for your time.’

Jo waited by the counter. Maybe she wasn’t being followed at all, and it genuinely was paranoia. It did seem strange that she’d only made the claim to Ross Catskill. Unless he’s lying, to throw us off …

Jo thought about ringing Frampton-Keys for Myers’ address, but thought better of it. She’d shown where her loyalties lay already, and would probably call Professor Myers right after getting off the phone. The college office might help, but the same issue applied. She called Heidi instead, and asked casually for an address check without mentioning the case it related to. In half a minute, she had it.

‘Thanks, Heidi.’

With the Korean food losing heat and filling the car with its scent, Jo turned around and drove to the address in the north east of the city. Her toes still stubbornly refused to warm up. Ronald Myers’ place was a quaint cottage in Marston that opened right onto the narrow pavement. Jo drove past once and, seeing lights on, parked around the corner. She walked between the pools of light from the streetlamps, her breath clouding on the air. She used the heavy brass knocker.

As he opened the door onto a narrow and cosy hallway, Jo’s first impression was that Myers wasn’t all that old. A swarthy black beard covered his lower face; he looked more like a sea captain than a tutor of history. The thick and slightly shapeless jumper he wore only added to that impression, and his broad forearms stuck out through the bottom of the shrunken sleeves. His nails, on his squared fingertips, were thick and yellowing.

Jo introduced herself. ‘We’re investigating the disappearance of a former student of yours – Malin Sigurdsson.’

Myers’ brows contracted around a deep vertical cleft. ‘Has something happened to her?’

‘Maybe I could come in?’ said Jo.

Myers moved aside. ‘Go on through,’ he said.

Jo squeezed past and found herself in a cosy lounge, lined on two sides by floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. A wood-burning stove was blazing and she was too hot at once. On a small table was a set of car keys with a branded Morris Garages keyring.

‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Myers, with his back to her. He crouched, opened the stove and placed on another log.

‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I won’t take up much of your time. When did you last see Malin Sigurdsson?’

Myers straightened, turned to face her and spread his shovel-like hands. Jo wondered how he’d feel about giving fingerprints. ‘I haven’t seen her for weeks,’ he said. ‘Months. Not since I retired. Before the summer break.’

‘So you’ve had no contact since then?’

He sat on a sagging armchair and placed both hands on his knees. ‘Perhaps you could explain what this is about?’

‘Malin’s missing,’ said Jo. ‘We’re following a number of leads to ascertain what might have happened.’

‘I assure you I know nothing of that,’ said Myers.

‘Can you tell me exactly the nature of your relationship with Malin?’

‘I was her tutor.’

‘Until you … retired?’ He nodded. ‘You see, I heard you left under something of a cloud.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Jo. ‘You were attracted to Malin, though?’

‘Is that a crime?’

‘You tried to kiss her and she didn’t like it.’

‘I went through all this with the college,’ he said. ‘I made a mistake, as foolish old men are wont to do.’

‘Sounds like sexual assault to me,’ said Jo.

‘All right – I’d like you to leave,’ said Myers.

‘We haven’t finished talking.’

Myers stood up. ‘Do I need to call your superiors?’ he said. ‘I’m quite aware of my rights.’

Jo stood as well. ‘Don’t worry – we’re on top of things,’ she said. ‘All right if I have a look around?’

She began to walk towards another door. It looked like there was a dining area on the other side, with a set of stairs running right to left. Myers blocked her path.

‘It isn’t,’ he said. ‘This is my home, and I’ve made my wishes clear.’

‘We can come back with a warrant,’ she said.

‘Then do so.’ He gestured towards the door, impatient and resolute. ‘Good evening, detective.’

She showed herself out into the cold street, looking up and down. He was probably watching her from inside. She walked back to her car, drove slowly back past his house, then pulled up in a layby a couple of streets away. The fact he hadn’t consented to a search didn’t mean much, in her experience.

The food would be stone cold. She texted Lucas to let him know she’d been delayed. It wouldn’t be the first time work had got in the way of sustenance.

After five minutes, the headlights of a car emerged from the side street beside Myers’ house. They reflected in her mirrors. Jo pressed herself down in her seat. An MG sports car passed, indicated left and turned out of sight. Jo started her engine and followed.

‘Where are you off to, Ron?’ she muttered.

They hit the A40, joining traffic and heading south. Jo stayed a couple of cars back. After less than a mile, Myers drifted across to the exit for Barton. Jo copied his signals. Her stomach felt light with nerves. He’d looked surprisingly strong for his age. If it came to it, she had a police-issue telescopic baton in the car, and CS gas spray.

He slowed as he drove past a small parade of shops, pulling into the car park. There were a few people around, and he reversed into a space. Jo felt the tension dip as she stopped on the road opposite. Maybe he was just coming out for a pint of milk. Was this the closest shop? When he got out, he was carrying a plastic bag. He walked away from the shop though, down a path between an illuminated launderette and a closed chip shop. Jo tucked the baton into her inner coat pocket, got out and crossed the road in pursuit.

There was a sign saying ‘Recreation ground’ pointing up the alley.

Jo wondered for a moment if she’d lost him when she reached a set of traffic lights at a smaller road. Behind a low fence opposite was a large open space lined with trees. Netting suspended between several trunks told her it was probably a cricket ground in the summer months. She saw a movement further up the pavement, as Myers dipped in through a gate. He was walking more quickly. She went across herself, and vaulted the fence, staying under the trees. She was breathing hard, but it was only nervousness making her heart pump faster. Myers walked towards a bench with a bin beside it. She knew what he was going to do, before he did it. He peered into the bin, then placed the bag inside. Jo smiled grimly, waited for him to leave, then hurried across to the bench herself, taking her pocket-torch from her handbag. The bin was empty but for the bag. She used a tissue between her fingers to fish it out. It wasn’t heavy, but several items jostled inside.