Chapter Twenty-One
‘Who on earth is “S”?’
Love got up and walked over to the window, shoved his hands in his pockets, and said, ‘I have no answer to that, mate.’
‘Great!’ Stuart stared at the card in his hand. ‘We now have a tentative connection that ties Monica in with the hospital but it’s taken away because the person, as of yet unknown, didn’t give their bloody name.’ He glanced up at Love. ‘Stacy?’
‘From the office?’
‘Yes.’
‘Doubtful for two reasons,’ Love said. He walked back to his desk, picked up his baseball and rolled it around in both hands. ‘Her handwriting doesn’t match and she shows no physical signs of having had her leg in a cast.’ He replaced the ball on his desk turned slightly in his chair and from his jacket pocket pulled out his mobile. ‘And that reminds me,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘I took a couple of photos in Monica’s office.’
‘Something interesting?’
‘Not sure.’ Love shrugged his shoulders. ‘Someone had crossed something out and I thought perhaps…’
‘The crosses might match?’
Love punched a couple of buttons on his mobile, swore silently, and was about to give up when the picture scrolled into view. He peered at it and shook his head. ‘We’ll load these up on to the computer simply to rule them out but looking closer at them they don’t look much like the ones made by our man.’
‘So we have no leads as of yet.’
‘Yet,’ Love repeated. ‘As for the moment,’ he said, and nodded towards Stuart’s computer. ‘Continue with the security tapes?’
‘These tapes are so corrupt we’re having difficulty distinguishing one person from the next,’ Stuart said. He walked back to his own desk and sat down. He dropped the card, picked up his pen and chucked it across his desk. He sat back in his chair exposing his snugly-fitting Antony Morato shirt. Pale blue. The jacket to his suit placed on the back of the chair. He ran his hand through his silky black hair. A few strands flopped forward over one eye. ‘What are the odds on that?’
Love said nothing. He was back on track. He’d lost that momentary feeling of floundering about. Going back and forth. Chasing after his own tail. Now, he felt he’d got something to bite into again. And he was going with it.
‘Can you make anything out, anything at all?’
Stuart beckoned him over to his desk. ‘Come and see for yourself,’ he said. He leant forward and punched a couple of keys.
Love stood up, ambled over to Stuart’s desk and leant down to peer at the screen.
‘This is the only available footage we have of the entrance. Over there,’ he paused to point to the left-hand side of the screen, ‘is the gift shop. You can just about make it out.’
Love watched as a group of hazy figures walked in and milled about. The tape showed others walking out of the entrance except it looked like they were all battling a ferocious snowstorm. ‘Look,’ Love said. ‘It clears up for a second.’
‘Yeah, it does that now and then,’ Stuart said. His hand poised over his mouse. ‘It doesn’t give us much though just grainy shots of feet mostly.’
Love stood up straight. ‘Perhaps that’s all we need.’
‘Feet?’
‘No,’ Love said. ‘Shoes. Let’s see if we can identify, or at the very least, narrow it down to matching what Monica was wearing on her feet.’
‘But we have no idea what she was wearing or if she was even there!’
‘Trust me,’ Love said. ‘We have an inventory of her shoes and boots.’
Stuart shook his head. ‘Hang on, hang on, let’s think this through.’ He tapped a few keys and an inventory list scrolled up on his screen. ‘This is what the PCs pulled from her house.’ He tapped a few more keys and clicked his mouse once. ‘And this by the side of it here is the list of her clothes she was wearing at the time of her death.’ He looked up at Love. ‘This might work if we concentrate on one thing.’
‘Which is?’
‘Going by the weather, her sense of style, I would narrow it down to her wearing one particular pair of shoes.’
‘And those would be?’
‘These Liberty ankle boots.’
‘The same ones she was wearing at the time of death?’
‘Exactly. They are warm, comfortable, stylish, and I would say it’s a good chance she wore them a lot in and out of office hours. I think it’s a good place to start.’
Love hesitated. Were they chasing their own tail? Love had no idea but his gut told him to stay with it no matter how tenuous the connection.
‘Let’s do it.’
14:07 hours
‘Talk about a needle,’ Stuart said.
He got up from his desk and walked over to the window stretching his arms high in the air. He rested them on the small of his back turned to Love and grinned. ‘What a way to make a living.’
Love hit a button on the video recorder hooked up to his monitor and the tape paused. ‘Comes down to good old-fashioned plodding,’ he said, and grinned in return. ‘It usually does.’
‘You hate technology that much?’
‘Stuart, man, it’s a means to an end but give me older techniques over these fancy pancy M-CADDs, iPads, you pads whatever any day of the week!’
Stuart laughed. ‘You’re only five years older than me yet you’re like fifty.’
‘I know.’ Love was still grinning. ‘Ain’t it great!’
‘What’s great is that it makes us a decent team.’
‘Yep! Just like yin and yang.’
‘Who is who?’
‘I couldn’t say,’ Love said, and laughed loudly.
Despite both he and Stuart going through reels of tape back and forth, again and again, for over two and a half hours until Love thought his head would explode, it was the most relaxed he’d felt in days. He’d managed to get through the rest of the morning and into the afternoon without having a certain doctor intrude into his thoughts.
And for that he was grateful. He didn’t want to go down that road. Belle was a one-time thing only which had turned out to be a colossal mistake.
An aberration on his part.
Sure, Julie Cooper was attractive, he could really fancy her, but she looked like the serious type and he wasn’t going to go there. It wouldn’t be fair to him or her.
‘Got to go out,’ Love said suddenly.
Stuart looked up from filling the kettle at the round glass sink. ‘Need me to come?’
Love pushed his chair out from behind him and stood up. He leant down to grab his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘No, I’ve just got…’ he stopped, peered closer and stared. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Stuart turned off the tap, plugged in the kettle, switched it on and walked over to stand by the side of Love. He looked at him. ‘What is it?’ He looked at the screen. ‘Bloody hell!’
Love grinned and turned to Stuart. ‘There they are.’
‘I want them to be hers, Love.’
‘It’s a good start.’
‘Can’t deny that,’ Stuart said, standing up straight. He continued to stare at the paused shot on Love’s computer. It was a photo of a pair of Liberty ankle boots exactly the same as the ones Monica owned. ‘I want them to be hers and it’s a good chance they are.’
‘They are pretty exclusive, expensive, not the sort of thing everyone would be wearing,’ Love said. ‘Your words, mate.’
‘Okay! Let’s go with it and see where it takes us.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘Where were you going just now?’ Stuart said as he walked back to stand by the sideboard. He watched as a thin trickle of steam rose from the kettle.
‘To check on Julie.’ Love sat down again and reached towards his phone. ‘I’ll give Mrs Burton a call,’ he said, punched in a number and after a few rings spoke to his neighbour.
Mrs Burton assured Love it would be no proble
m taking Julie out. She loved Julie as if she were her own and that she was thinking of going out for a walk herself anyway.
Love replaced the receiver and stared at the grainy shot on his screen. Definitely a pair of Liberty tan Eska suede ankle boots just entering the picture. He played the tape and it went blank. He rewound it and played it again. Still nothing. He performed the same procedure ending in the same result.
He looked up at Stuart who had approached and was standing by the side of Love’s chair holding a mug of tea. He placed it down on the coaster on Love’s desk. Love reached across absent-mindedly and took a sip. ‘Shit!’
Stuart baulked and grinned. ‘I beg your pardon!’
‘Not the tea, mate, thanks by the way, it’s this tape.’
‘Hang on a minute I have an idea.’ Stuart placed his mug down on top of a notepad, leant forward and on Love’s keyboard he tapped a few keys. The tape shuddered. He rotated the mouse and clicked it a couple of times. The tape staggered back and then forward when suddenly it cleared and the pair of shoes came into view.
‘How did you do that?’
Stuart looked at Love. ‘Do you really want to know?’
‘No, but keep doing it.’
The two detectives watched as the pair of feet entered the hospital, paused, before turning left towards the gift shop. Suddenly the tape turned into an instant snowstorm.
‘Did you notice that?’ Love said.
‘You mean the flash of a pair of shoes to the right of her?’
‘Yeah, the toe of a pair of shoes to the right of her which could or could not mean if this is Monica then she had someone with her.’
‘What do you want to do?’
‘Definitely find out who “S” is.’
‘Any ideas?’
Love thought back to the card he’d pulled from Monica’s office. It was stylish. The handwriting was stylish. He pushed back his chair. He walked over and grabbed the card from where it was still lying on Stuart’s desk. He gazed down at it. Definitely stylish, elegant, as was the handwriting. What did it add up to? He walked back to his desk and handed it to Stuart.
‘What do you see?’
Stuart examined the card. ‘I’d say it’s from a woman. She has style, possibly is wealthy or comfortable. Knows quality. Appreciates it. She’s confident. Independent.’
Love reached for the phone. He picked it up and stopped. ‘What’s the number for Taylor and Goodwin, mate?’
Stuart tossed the card down, strode over to his jacket pulled his mobile and relayed a number. Love punched it in. The telephone at the other end was answered almost immediately. Love greeted Stacy then asked to speak to Ben Taylor.
‘Ben, it’s Love,’ he said. ‘You mentioned earlier that both you and your wife will miss Monica. What’s your wife got to do with Monica?’
‘They were friends.’
‘They were friends?’ Love repeated. ‘Good friends?’
‘Well, they didn’t exactly socialise out of hours.’
‘Okay,’ Love said. ‘But good enough say for Monica to visit Sheila in hospital?’
‘How on earth did you know Sheila had been in hospital?’
Love grinned. ‘I didn’t until now.’
‘Yes, I believe she did visit Sheila a couple of times or so.’
‘And which hospital was that, Mr Taylor, Ben?’ he said. ‘Which hospital?’
‘It was the one just down the road from here.’
‘And the name of the hospital, please.’
‘St Katherine’s.’
The two men spoke some more and a moment later Love ended the phone call. He turned to Stuart. ‘Did you get all that?’
14:15 hours
‘How did Chris miss this? She cross-checked the names from Monica’s work and dance class with those at the hospital and came up empty,’ Stuart said to Love as he stepped forward and pressed the button for the lift.
The lift pinged, the doors opened, and the two men stepped in.
A woman was already in the lift along with two men. Love recognised one of the men and greeted him. They spoke together, talked about Love’s Volvo. He asked when Love was going to replace it. Or at least get the heating repaired.
Stuart smiled.
A moment later the lift arrived at their floor. Love and Stuart stepped out into the corridor. They were on their way to Fitch’s laboratory in the basement.
For two reasons.
To view the results of the Nicéphore test and to talk with Chris who happened to be in the lab at this moment. Chris was a fellow Charlie’s Angel. The one whose body looked like Sophia Loren not Ray Winstone. And the same one who was cross-checking names of Monica’s known associates with those at the hospital.
Dedicated to her job, Welsh, attractive. Great singer.
Love waited until they were alone in the corridor and standing outside the lab before he spoke. ‘Have no answer to that,’ Love said. ‘Let’s see what she has to say.’
They knocked, opened the door and went inside. Fitch turned from his bench that ran along the length of one wall. By the side of him sat a computer. His screensaver was up. It gurgled and bubbled. It was the only sound to be heard. Stuart glanced over at the PC. Relaxing. Attractive. Fishes swimming in a turquoise paradise.
‘Hello, it’s the terrible twins,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Good timing I’ve just got back myself. Come here to see the results of the Nicéphore test?’
‘Hi, Fitch,’ Love said. ‘Sure thing but first we’d like a word with Chris.’
Chris looked up from where she was standing with a file in her hands. She was checking the contents against the iPad on the desk next to her.
‘Hello, gentlemen, what’s up?’ She smiled her friendly smile.
Chris had a face that could launch a thousand ships and bring down an assailant without blinking. Cool. Detached. Single. Thirty-seven. Black hair. Short with a heavy fringe framing large green eyes. Currently going out with an accountant.
She and Love had flirted with the idea of flirting with each other when she’d first come to work for the Branch soon after his own arrival. Like two cats weighing each other up before going in for the possible kill. Or passion. Nothing happened. No spark. Nothing there. They became friends. Purely platonic. To Love, Chris Evans was one of the guys. To Chris, Love was one of the girls.
She was good at her job. Her area of expertise lay in finding and locating missing persons. Tying-up ends between individuals no matter how vague. Finding that connection. Chris was the operative who had discovered the existence and location of Ashley.
Which made it all the more bizarre why she hadn’t connected Ben Taylor’s wife with Monica.
‘Hi, Chris,’ Love said. He stepped towards her. He smiled. ‘How’s it going?’
‘If you mean personally then I can’t complain,’ she said. She looked from Love to Stuart. ‘Hello, Stu, all right?’
Stuart nodded. ‘Chris, we need to check something with you.’
‘And if you mean how’s it going on the case,’ she placed the file down on the desk and shrugged. ‘It’s going. Not ideal but I’m spreading the net. Going back further.’
‘It would appear Ben Taylor’s wife was at St Katherine’s.’
Her green eyes narrowed. Like a cat, Love thought. If she had a tail it would be swishing right now. Alert. Ready to pounce. ‘When?’ She practically hissed.
‘Two weeks ago.’
‘She was in hospital for nearly a week,’ Stuart said.
‘Can’t be,’ Chris said. ‘I’d have picked it up.’
‘I got confirmation from her husband, Chris,’ Love said.
‘And when was this again?’
‘Just over two and a half weeks ago,’ Love said.
‘And for how long?’ Chris asked. She was pacing up and down. Small steps. Thinking. Working out what went wrong. ‘How long!’
‘Five days,’ Love said. He shoved both hands in his pockets. ‘How did you miss it
, Chris?’
Chris stopped pacing and glared at Love. ‘I never miss, Love,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry I’ll get to the bottom of it.’
Stuart looked over at Fitch. He was arranging the results of the Nicéphore test on one of the tables. He reached above and turned a spotlight on.
‘Nothing came up on the hospital records under Sheila Taylor,’ Chris said. She’d started pacing again. Thinking.
‘Chris, I got confirmation from Ben Taylor that Monica went to visit Sheila but he doesn’t know how many times or if anyone went with her.’
‘You mean anyone from the office because that would be easy enough to check.’
‘We’re on it,’ Love said. ‘I mean anyone outside the office.’
‘Timmy still doesn’t remember anything,’ Stuart said. ‘His mind’s a blank for the last couple of weeks and he has only intermittent memories prior to that.’
‘He doesn’t remember ever going to St Katherine’s before now,’ Love said. He ran his hand through his hair. He gazed at Chris. She stared back at him. Dark green eyes on blue.
‘Okay, how are you doing on the security tapes?’ she asked Stuart.
Stuart thought of the box-load of security tapes that had been dropped off at his office. The remainder had been given to Chris and another of the CA team.
‘Not good although we might have a lead,’ he paused, thinking of the shot showing the Liberty boots, ‘one of the cameras broke down which leaves us with only partial coverage, I’m still working my way through them.’
‘But this is the first definite tie-in we have of Monica being connected to the hospital,’ Love said.
‘Except you haven’t confirmed it and I haven’t found any evidence that Sheila was there,’ Chris said.
Love walked over to John’s desk. ‘Fitch, can I use your phone?’
‘Of course,’ John said.
‘What is it, Love?’ said Stuart.
‘I have an idea,’ Love said. ‘Damn it what is that number of the lawyers, Stuart?’
‘Hang on.’ Stuart reached into his jacket pocket pulled out his Nokia pressed a button and a moment later relayed a set of numbers. Love dialled for an outside line and punched them in.
A moment later, the telephone at the other end was answered. Love greeted Stacy and asked to speak to Ben Taylor. She put him through.
‘Ben, it’s Love, again,’ he said. ‘Your wife, you said she has a business?’ He paused as Ben spoke. ‘Hang on, Ben, I’m putting this on speakerphone, er… the hands-free option,’ he said. He glanced at the phone and then up at Stuart. ‘Mate?’ Stuart stepped forward pressed a couple of buttons, replaced the receiver. ‘Ben, are you there?’
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘What’s the name of your wife’s business?’
‘Marcus Interior Design.’
‘And that’s because your wife…’
‘Uses her maiden name,’ finished Chris. She snapped her fingers turned to John, and said. ‘Be back ASAP, Fitch, got to follow-up on this.’
Love smiled. ‘Because your wife uses her maiden name.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Ben said. ‘Sorry, I thought you knew.’