Frozen (17 page)

Leverton frowned. ‘Maybe he didn't have a choice. If he was being blackmailed or something.'

Before Megan could reply she spotted PC Costello emerging from a doorway halfway down the corridor. He walked up to them, waving a sheet of paper.

‘Got him, sir!' he said eagerly.

‘That was quick. We were just bringing you a coffee,' Leverton said. ‘What's his name?'

‘Tyrone Campbell, sir. He was arrested two weeks ago on a charge of supplying crack-cocaine.'

‘Right! Where is he now?'

‘That's the bad news, I'm afraid, sir. He was refused bail and he's on remand in Winson Green.'

‘Damn!' Leverton peered at the charge sheet Costello was holding out. ‘So there's no way he could have killed Maria Fellowes and he couldn't have had anything to do with the deaths of Tina Jackson and her husband either. But presumably he was out when both Donna Fieldhouse and Natalie Bailey were murdered.' He turned to Costello. ‘Check that out, will you, and get on to Winson Green: I want to interview this character as soon as possible.'

‘Yes, sir.' Costello took his coffee and disappeared down the corridor.

Leverton turned to Megan. ‘What do you reckon?'

‘It's possible,' Megan agreed. ‘He could have killed Donna Fieldhouse himself and then murdered Natalie along with the other guy. Maria's death could even have been some sort of revenge killing on the part of the accomplice.'

‘What, you mean if Campbell had let him down in some way?'

‘Like I said, it's possible.'

‘But you're not convinced?'

Megan took her coffee from the tray in Leverton's hand and took a sip. ‘It's just that I can't see a pimp like Campbell allowing himself to be dominated in that way. I mean, the way Maria's mother described him, he sounds like a big-time drug-dealer with women all over the shop, a flash car and a bunch of cronies who all look out for one another. I just can't see someone like that being held to ransom by a punter – unless, of course, the punter has very strong links with the police.'

She looked at Leverton, who was frowning. Whatever his thoughts were, he obviously wasn't going to voice them. Touché, she thought.

‘Apart from anything else,' she went on, ‘there's the description of the car those two prostitutes in Wolverhampton saw Natalie Bailey getting out of. An old Ford Sierra, they said it was. Now to me, that doesn't fit in with what we know about Tyrone Campbell.'

‘Hmmm. That could have been a punter's car, of course: those women were only guessing when they said they thought it was her boyfriend.' He turned and started walking back towards the stairs. ‘Come on, let's get back to my office. I'll get on to the detectives looking after Mrs Fellowes and ask them to find out what sort of car Tyrone Campbell drives. If it's a Ford Sierra, you owe me a beer!'

They climbed the stairs in silence. As they passed a window, Megan glimpsed the pavement far below. In the glare of the streetlamps, its icy surface shone like an orange river. Megan glanced at her watch. It was nearly six o'clock. She wondered how soon Leverton was planning to visit Winson Green jail and suddenly she remembered all the Christmas food shopping in the boot of her car. She shuddered, remembering the maggoty chicken. At least the turkey wasn't likely to have defrosted.

Leverton picked up a sheet of paper as he sat down at his desk. ‘What!' he gasped, reading the brief note from his secretary.

‘What is it?' Megan asked.

Leverton pushed the piece of paper across the desk towards her. ‘The forensic lab called to say they've managed to do a test on the semen from the photograph. It's blood group O!'

Megan read the message and replaced it on the desk, frowning as she did so. ‘That's interesting,' she murmured to herself.

‘Interesting?' Leverton gazed at her open-mouthed. ‘Surely this blows your whole theory about the BTV pervert being the killer out of the water!'

‘Not necessarily, no,' Megan replied, returning his gaze, excited despite herself.

‘But the guy that killed Tina and Natalie – the anal rapist – we
know
he's blood group AB,' said Leverton in exasperation.

‘I know,' Megan replied calmly. ‘When I gave you the photograph I said that the person who took it was likely to be the killer of Tina and Natalie. I stand by what I said.'

‘So how do you account for this semen sample being blood group O?' Leverton was obviously trying hard not to lose his patience.

‘The person who sent the photograph may not be the person who took it.'

‘What?'

‘It's possible that the man who handcuffed and killed Maria Fellowes took a Polaroid photograph of his handiwork. Perhaps he took several. Perhaps he gave one to his partner-in-crime or left it lying around the accomplice's house, if that's where the murder took place. The accomplice saw it and decided to send it to Delva Lobelo.'

‘Hang on a minute, let's get this straight. You're now saying that the one with the blood group O – the one we've been calling the pimp – is the perverted letter-writer who works at BTV?' He looked at her incredulously. ‘I thought you were convinced it was the other guy – the one with AB blood – that was the pervert?'

‘I admit it seemed likely,' Megan said, still looking him in the eye. ‘But in the light of this new forensic evidence it's clearly
Donna's
killer who works at BTV.'

‘Are you serious?'

‘Yes, of course I am.' She tried to quell the frustration she felt inside.

‘I'm sorry, Megan,' he said, shaking his head, ‘but if I heard you correctly, what you're saying is that the man we've been referring to as the pimp is employed by BTV?'

Megan nodded.

Leverton shook his head again. ‘What as?'

Megan took a deep breath. ‘Look, Martin, I know it sounds strange, but I know for a fact that BTV employs scores of casual and part-time staff. Delva Lobelo told me only this week that several of the ancillary services have been put out to tender: catering and security, for example…'

‘Oh, I see', Leverton cut in. ‘So our man doffs his chef's cap after serving up the evening meal in the BTV canteen and goes out to do a spot of pimping, does he?' He stood up. ‘I'm sorry, Megan. I just don't buy it. Now if you'll excuse me,' he said curtly, ‘I'm off to Winson Green.'

*   *   *

Megan hadn't really intended going back to the university, but found she had driven there on automatic pilot. She sat in the car park, still fuming from her encounter with Leverton. How could he be so pig-headed, she thought? While he was pissing about with that pimp in Winson Green the real killers were still out there. He should be at BTV going through the staff records with a fine-tooth comb.

‘Oh for a cigarette,' she moaned, leaning across to the glove compartment. She dialled her sister's number on the mobile, crunching her way through half a dozen Maltesers before she heard Neil's voice.

‘Hi. It's Megan. How's Joe?'

‘Oh, he's fine. We've just come back from visiting him.' She thought he sounded edgy again.

‘Have they said any more about letting him come home?'

‘Yes, tomorrow afternoon. Oh, by the way, I told Ceri what you said about staying with us on Saturday night and she said yes, if it's still okay with you. She says she's dying to see you and she sends her love.'

‘Great!' Megan was instantly cheered at the prospect of seeing Ceri. ‘I'll see you all tomorrow – about sixish, okay?'

She was about to start the engine up again when she noticed a light in one of the windows of the building. It was Patrick's office. What was he doing in the department at this time of night? She got out of the car.

The lobby was in semi-darkness, the thin beams of the security lights casting an eerie glow over the empty porter's lodge. She glanced at her pigeonhole as she walked past and noticed a couple of Christmas cards. She stuffed them into her bag and headed for the lift.

The first floor was even darker than the lobby. As she made her way towards Patrick's office, the door flew open.

‘Megan! I'm so glad I've caught you. I thought you'd disappeared for Christmas without giving me a chance to say goodbye.'

Megan was taken aback. ‘I … er … had to go straight to the mortuary from home this morning and I've been with the police all day. When did you get back from Long Lartin?'

‘Not until late last night. I've got a great interview – you must hear it. I'd given up hope but they phoned me at home yesterday morning to say he'd changed his mind. They told me he was about to be transferred to Parkhurst so I thought I'd better go to Long Lartin straight away. I wasn't sure if my expenses would stretch to a trip to the Isle of Wight.'

‘When are you going home – to Holland, I mean?'

‘Tomorrow afternoon. I was just packing a few papers to take with me. Can I take you out for a Christmas drink?'

‘What, now?'

‘Yes, why not?' Patrick laughed. ‘Unless you'd prefer to go at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning?'

Megan didn't know what to say. She felt worn out and she was sure she looked terrible. What she really wanted was to go home and have a long soak in the bath, preferably with a large scotch balanced on the soap rack.

‘Come on,' Patrick said, ‘you look as if you need a drink. Did you say you've been at the mortuary again?'

Megan's expression gave her away.

‘Hey, what's the matter?' Patrick asked. ‘You look as if you've seen one dead body too many.'

‘No, it's not that.' She sighed. ‘Detective Superintendent Leverton and I have had a disagreement about the profiles I gave him. I won't be working on the case from now on.' Patrick frowned. ‘It's okay,' Megan said, ‘I just don't feel much like going out, that's all.'

‘Well, I'm not letting you off the hook that easily.' He went back into his office and pulled something out of a holdall. He re-emerged holding a bottle of single malt whisky in one hand and a large box of Belgian chocolates in the other.

‘Your place or mine?' he grinned. ‘I have to warn you though, I've only got two glasses and one of those has my toothbrush in it.'

Megan laughed in spite of herself. ‘Oh come on, you poor student!' she said. ‘You can come back to my house. But I might get you wrapping Christmas presents or taking the giblets out of the turkey. Do you think you can handle it?'

*   *   *

Martin Leverton called in at BTV on his way to Winson Green. A couple of detectives had spent the day quizzing employees but they were no nearer to locating the missing tape.

A temporary incident room had been set up on the ground floor of the building. One of the detectives was studying a list of names and a man Leverton recognised as the head of security was sitting nearby.

‘Evening, sir,' the detective said, looking up. ‘You haven't met Mr Simon, have you?'

Leverton offered the man his hand. ‘It's an awful experience, seeing something like that. How's your mother now?'

‘Oh, not too bad, thanks,' he replied. ‘She's gone to a friend's house – I didn't want her to be at home on her own.'

‘No, I can understand that. Thanks for coming back in – we do appreciate it. It's vital that we find out what happened to that tape.'

‘I know. I can't understand it. Brian O'Malley was on duty from seven o'clock last night to seven o'clock this morning. He was still here when I arrived and, you know, found the – body. He said he finished his shift and went to the canteen for some breakfast. Two of the other lads had already arrived to take over when he left the back security office. Their names are Henry Fletcher and Gary Widdowson. They're both a hundred per cent reliable. I mean, I'd trust them with my life. I can't believe either of them could be responsible for that tape going missing.'

‘And the tapes are kept in a locked cupboard in the back security office?'

‘Yes.'

‘Is the office ever left unattended?'

‘Only when the lads nip to the toilet,' Simon replied. ‘I mean, we're talking five minutes at the most.'

‘And who has a key to the cupboard?'

‘Well, all my lads have got one, plus the senior staff at BTV all have master keys.'

‘Is this a list of the security staff?' Leverton asked, taking the piece of paper attached to the detective's clipboard.

‘Yes. A few of them have booked time off for Christmas, though, so I don't know if you'll be able to get hold of everyone on the list.'

‘Which ones are those?'

‘The ones with an ‘L' next to their name. The only one that I know has definitely gone away is Adrian Barber. I gave him a lift to the airport yesterday lunchtime. He was off to Tenerife, lucky so-and-so.'

‘Right,' Leverton said. ‘So that leaves twenty-six others including the three who were in this morning. It seems an awful lot of staff for a building this size. Are any of them part-timers or casual staff?'

‘None of them are completely full-time here – this is just one of my security contracts, you see. I cover another firm in Stafford and I do temporary contract work as well – guarding film equipment on location, that sort of thing. Most of my lads go from one job to another depending on their availability and the number of contracts I've got on at any one time.'

‘I see,' Leverton said. ‘Complicated, isn't it? Do you ask for references when you take people on? I mean, we'll obviously have to check that none of these people has a criminal record of any kind.'

‘I think you'll find they're all kosher,' Simon smiled. ‘I know some security firms take on ex-cons, but when you're running things on a contract basis you can't afford to take any risks.'

‘Yes, I can appreciate that. Right, Mr Simon, thanks for your help. You can go home now if you want to. We'll give you a call if we need to know anything else.'