Frozen (12 page)

However fickle his interest in the children had been in the past, Megan reflected, he certainly seemed to be making up for it now. After all, he could easily have taken her up on her offer to look after Emily, but he had chosen to shoulder the responsibility himself. She glanced at the clock and decided she had better start getting ready.

Rummaging through her make-up bag she picked out an eyeshadow compact she hadn't used for ages. It contained shades of bronze and smoky grey and she spent a couple of minutes longer than usual applying it, adding kohl pencil to the insides of her eyelashes.

There was a solitary bottle of perfume on her dressing table and she picked it up, spraying minute amounts onto her pulse spots. Although it triggered mixed memories, it lifted her spirits. Safari was the only perfume she ever wore. Ceri always bought her some for Christmas and a bottle usually lasted her a whole year because she rarely wore it in the daytime. This year, she noticed with a grim smile, there was still quite a lot left.

Grabbing a long, black skirt from the wardrobe, Megan scanned the hangers for a suitable top. She chose a green chenille sweater, pulling it on before peering in the mirror to change her nose stud. Then she sifted through her jumbled jewellery box for a pair of emerald dropper earrings to match.

*   *   *

Martin Leverton's car was already parked outside Delva's house when Megan arrived. As she walked towards it, he leaned across to open the passenger door.

‘Mmm, you smell nice!' he said as she leaned in. ‘Hop in – there are a couple of things I want to tell you before we go inside.'

Megan climbed into the passenger seat, trying to stop her wrapover skirt from parting over her thigh. There was a flash of black lycra as she tugged the skirt back across her knee and she knew without looking up that Leverton was staring at her legs.

‘I know you've got to rush off afterwards,' he said, looking straight out of the windscreen as she turned her head towards him, ‘so I need to have a quick chat with you before we go into Miss Lobelo's house.'

‘What's happened?'

‘Nothing unexpected, really. It's the DNA result on the semen sample from Tina Jackson: it matches the one taken from Natalie Bailey.'

‘Well – surprise, surprise.'

‘I know. Shame we didn't get the result before the press conference, but there you go.'

‘What else were you going to say?' Megan looked at Leverton, who was still staring straight ahead. ‘You said there were a couple of things you wanted to tell me.'

Leverton jerked his head round suddenly, as if emerging from a daydream. ‘Oh yes, sorry. I was just thinking about that photograph. I think I'll get Vice to take a look at it. Could be a prostitute, couldn't it?'

‘Yes, I suppose there's a good chance.' Megan could see from the look on Leverton's face that he wasn't listening. He was puzzling over something and she wondered what it was.

‘The thing I can't work out is whether or not she's dead.' Leverton turned to look at Megan, as if she might have the answer. ‘If the woman in the photograph is another of the killer's victims, why hasn't anyone reported her missing?'

‘No one reported Donna Fieldhouse or Natalie Bailey missing,' Megan reminded him.

‘I know, but they were kids, runaways. This one looks to be much older. I'd put her in her mid-to-late twenties.'

Megan summoned up the image of the woman with the butterfly tattoo. ‘It's hard to say, really, because part of her face was covered by her hair.'

Leverton nodded. ‘I'll tell you what struck me after you'd gone. She looks very much like Tina Jackson, doesn't she?'

Megan thought for a moment. ‘I suppose she does a bit,' she said slowly. ‘Although the woman in the photo looks to be mixed-race, doesn't she, and Tina was white.'

‘Yes, but Tina was quite dark-skinned – sort of southern European-looking.'

Megan nodded. ‘Which adds even more weight to the theory that the guy who took the photograph is Tina's killer. Have the forensic people had the chance to look at it yet?'

‘Yes. That's the other thing I was going to tell you: the good news is that the stuff you noticed is definitely semen.'

‘And the bad news…?'

‘They're not going to be able to give us a DNA result until after Christmas.'

‘What?'

‘I know – it's a nightmare. Believe me, I've tried everything to speed things up. The trouble is there's a backlog of samples waiting to be tested at the moment. The current waiting time is eight weeks for non-urgent tests. We had to pay £2,000 to get the sample from Tina Jackson done quickly, but even if we pay that again we still won't get a result until the day after Boxing Day'

Megan looked at him incredulously. ‘But that's next Wednesday. How can we wait a whole week to find out whether this guy's the killer?'

‘We've got no choice. When the forensic people picked up the photo this afternoon they said the DNA lab is understaffed at the moment because of a ‘flu bug and it's closed anyway on Christmas Day and Boxing Day, so the earliest we can get a result is next Wednesday morning.'

‘So where does that leave the investigation?'

‘Well, we should get a blood grouping on the semen within the next couple of days,' Leverton replied. ‘That'll tell us if we're in the right ball park. But until then I think a lot's going to depend on Miss Lobelo.' He glanced at his watch. ‘It's half-past. Shall we go in?'

‘By the way,' Megan asked as they walked up the path, ‘any news on that personnel disc?'

‘Oh, it gets worse.' Leverton shook his head. ‘Turns out the entire file's been wiped.'

‘Isn't there some sort of back-up? Card files or something?'

‘Nothing. We're going to have to get everyone's details from scratch. God knows how long that'll take.'

How very convenient, Megan thought.

She was about to ring the bell when Leverton's mobile rang out. She watched his eyes glint in the lamplight as he listened.

‘Well, well.' He put the mobile back in his pocket. ‘Tina Jackson's killer took a gold pendant in the shape of a shamrock from her body.'

Megan raised her eyebrows. ‘Charlotte?'

‘Yep. We got her to look through Tina's jewellery box. There was nothing missing except the pendant, which Charlotte had given her as a birthday present.' Leverton pursed his lips. ‘So he's into taking trophies. What are the chances of some lucky lady finding that necklace in her Christmas stocking?'

*   *   *

Delva was much calmer than when she had last seen her, but Megan sensed that it was all a front. She sat, quite composed, as Leverton questioned her. He was asking exactly the things Megan had asked already. Delva repeated the answers she had given before. No, she said, there was no-one working at BTV that she suspected. No one she could think of who might bear a grudge.

When the time came for them to leave Megan saw the nervous, haunted look return to her eyes.

‘Don't worry, I'll be fine,' Delva said as she showed them to the door. ‘Jane's coming round in half an hour. She's staying the night.'

Megan frowned. ‘You're quite sure you want to go through with this thing tomorrow night?'

‘Yes. And I'll call you if that creep sends anything else between now and then.'

It had snowed again while they were inside. Leverton insisted on taking Megan's arm and walking her to her car.

‘I think she needs protection,' Megan said. ‘Can't you get someone to watch the place tonight?'

‘Don't worry, I'm on to it. Bye, Megan. Have a nice night.'

She saw him wink. Cheeky sod, she thought.

The main roads were gritted but Megan almost skidded as she turned into the cul-de-sac where Patrick lived. She sounded her horn and saw the light snap off as he came downstairs. ‘Sorry I'm a bit late,' she said as he got in beside her. ‘I had to go out on an interview with Martin Leverton and it went on longer than I expected.'

‘It's okay.' Patrick smiled. ‘The table's booked for nine o'clock so we should be all right.'

The place Patrick had chosen was one of the more upmarket balti houses in a part of Birmingham renowned for its Indian restaurants. All the waiters were in traditional costume and framed batik prints of elephants, hippos and tigers decorated the walls.

As Megan and Patrick were shown to their table they passed a trolley of sizzling meat on a silver platter. The smell of it had an almost magical effect on Megan's mood, temporarily lifting her from the gloom that had set in while she was listening to Delva and Martin Leverton.

She glanced at Patrick over the top of the menu. He looked happy and relaxed and she made a conscious effort to get him to talk about himself rather than launching into the latest developments on the work front. As they ate she asked him about the Irish side of his family.

‘I lived in Ireland until I was ten,' he explained between mouthfuls of prawn and spinach balti. ‘The company Dad worked for was setting up a factory in Dublin. My grandparents ran a lodging house and he moved in and met my Mum.'

‘Sounds very romantic.'

‘It wasn't really.' Patrick laughed. ‘The first time he saw her she opened the door with a towel round her head. She was really cross because she'd had to get out of the bath to let him in and he thought she was a dragon. I don't think it was love at first sight!'

‘Are they still alive, your parents?'

‘Oh yes. Dad retired last year and they're talking about moving back to Ireland. They fancy a little cottage on the west coast, I think.'

‘Sounds lovely. I've never been to Ireland.'

‘Would you like to?'

‘Yes. I've often thought of going to Dublin for a weekend: you can get flights from Birmingham airport.'

‘Well, if you decide to go while I'm over here, you've got to promise to let me show you round.'

‘Are you serious?' Megan gave him a sideways look as she snapped a poppadom into jagged pieces.

‘Of course!' he said, his eyes widening. ‘I've got loads of relatives there and I can take you to all the best pubs.'

Megan wanted to say that yes, she would love to take him up on his offer. It would be much more fun than going to Dublin alone. But past experience had made her cautious. She defused the situation by turning it into a joke. ‘It's not a very fair swap, is it? You show me Dublin and I show you Borth. It's not exactly throbbing with nightlife, you know.'

Patrick laughed and dug his fork into a bowl of curried vegetables. ‘Mmmm! Taste this!' Before Megan could protest he leaned towards her, holding the fork to her lips. She hesitated for a moment before opening her mouth. There was something very sensual in the way he gently slid the food into it. He was looking into her eyes the whole time and Megan felt herself struggling to suppress a sudden gush of lust that threatened to overwhelm her.

Instinctively she started talking about work, telling him about the meeting Delva's pervert had requested.

‘If this guy's the O killer – the one you think could be a pimp – what sort of age do you think he'd be?'

‘Older than AB.' She spooned more lime pickle onto her plate. ‘At first I thought he'd be younger because of the domination thing. But then I thought of the car Natalie Bailey was seen getting out of in the red light district in Wolverhampton. The other prostitutes said it was an old Ford Sierra. That's not the sort of car a young, successful pimp is going to drive. They usually go for brand new black BMWs with state-of-the-art sound systems blaring out.' She broke off a piece of Peshwari nan and dipped it into her balti. ‘I think this guy is a bit of a has-been. I'd put him between 35 and 45.'

‘Do you think he's going to try and pull a stunt while they're watching the wine bar?'

‘I wouldn't be at all surprised. Question is, what?'

They were still talking about the murders as they left the restaurant.

‘How did you get on with Leverton about those medical records?' Patrick asked.

‘Oh, that was really weird. I don't know what he's playing at, but he came up with some tale about the computer disc corrupting. He reckons they've lost all the records and everyone in the force is going to have to fill out their medical details all over again.'

‘Sounds pretty unlikely – I mean, they'd be sure to have some kind of back-up.'

‘Just what I thought. Oh, that reminds me,' she said with a smile, ‘what were you doing walking off with my profiles this morning? By the time I realised they'd gone you'd swanned off somewhere and I couldn't get them back!'

‘Oh – did I?' Patrick mumbled, ‘I, er, didn't realise.'

‘It's okay, it didn't matter!' She laughed at his embarrassed face. ‘I printed out another set. You can keep them if you like – as long as you don't leave them lying around for the students or anyone else to see.'

The car drew up outside Patrick's flat. Megan kept the engine running. ‘Thanks for the meal,' she said. ‘It was a real treat.'

‘Thank you for coming.' He leaned across, kissed her on the cheek and was out of the car before she had time to register what had happened. He turned and gave her a quick wave before disappearing through the front door.

Megan pulled away feeling vaguely disconcerted. What had she been expecting, she mused, as she drove home through the snow-muffled streets. An invitation for coffee in his flat? An attempted seduction?

Her mind switched gear, suddenly filled with disturbing images she tried to keep buried. No one was ever going to get the chance to use her like that again.

At home she put the kettle on and went to the fridge for milk. Opening the door she caught a flicker of movement.

‘Ugh!' She recoiled in horror. A half-eaten chicken on the middle shelf was crawling with maggots. ‘Oh God!' She staggered over to the sink, retching. She'd bought the cooked chicken on Sunday and had been picking at the remains for the past couple of nights. How could it possibly have got like that?