No Place to Die (30 page)

‘Can I help you?’ a voice said from behind them.

She turned to see a man, who looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, carrying a Lidl bag of shopping. He was unshaven and his eyes looked as if his lunch had been of the liquid variety.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’re here to see Gary. Flat five.’ The man nodded, stepping around Jane and Lockyer and putting his key in the lock.

‘Do you know him?’ Lockyer asked.

The man smiled. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I am him.’ He pushed open the door. ‘It’s a bit of a trek up, I’m afraid. No lift.’

Jane followed in behind him. The three of them climbed the stairs in silence. She kept throwing occasional glances back at Lockyer. Was Gary Reynolds expecting them? Not many people would let two strangers into their home without at least asking who they were. Unless, of course, he had guessed they were coppers. Some people – usually those who had regular dealings with the police – seemed able to spot a plain-clothes officer in two seconds. Whatever the reason, Gary Reynolds didn’t look bothered or even interested.

The Communications team had called to confirm that the bogus call from an ‘Oliver Hanson’, naming Lebowski, was in fact from a mobile phone registered to Gary. The same mobile that had been used to make repeated calls to Lebowski. Without the actual phone, Jane couldn’t do much and she didn’t have enough evidence to requisition it, but that didn’t matter. The call from Comms was the break she needed. It had brought her here. It was enabling her to question the man who linked Lebowski to both murders: Amelia and now Maggie.

‘Do you live alone?’ she asked.

‘Not at the moment, no, but don’t tell the council that,’ he said, swinging the bag at his side as if the momentum was helping him with the ascent.

When they reached the third floor, Gary, who was out of breath, put his key in the lock and opened his front door. ‘After you,’ he said, stepping aside. ‘The lounge is to your left.’

The smell of cat urine and faeces hit Jane the second she crossed the threshold. She put her hand to her mouth and looked over her shoulder at Lockyer, who was doing the same. ‘That’s enough to make your eyes water,’ he whispered.

‘Go on and make yourselves comfortable,’ Gary said. ‘I’ll just dump this in the kitchen.’ He shuffled off.

‘How old is he?’ Lockyer asked.

‘Forty-eight,’ she replied, raising her eyebrows.

‘The years haven’t been kind,’ Lockyer said under his breath as they walked into what was meant to be the lounge.

There was a three-seater sofa against one wall. It was, at one time, beige, but now looked almost black, with stains covering the arms and the trim. A black leather armchair was next to it, a portable television opposite, resting on a tiny glass table. Jane flicked on the overhead light, as the bed sheet was all but blocking out the daylight. Two mangy-looking cats scrambled underneath the sofa, disappearing from view.

‘Looks like he emptied a skip to furnish this place,’ Lockyer said. He seemed to be deciding where to sit, before taking a place by the window and putting his hands behind his back.

Jane decided the leather chair was the best bet. She pulled her jacket around her and sat down. ‘So who was twitching the sheet before?’ she asked, but before Lockyer could answer a young girl walked into the room.

‘Gaz wanted to know if you want tea or coffee?’ she asked.

‘Nothing for me,’ Lockyer said.

‘I’m fine,’ Jane said, thinking she could murder a proper cup of coffee. ‘Do you live here?’

‘Kinda,’ the girl said. She didn’t look much older than nineteen, maybe twenty. She was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. Her hair was dyed. Jane had seen the hairstyle advertised. It was the kind where the top was bleached and the ends were dark. She looked as if she had been hung upside down and dipped in oil.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Phyllis,’ the girl said. Jane looked at Lockyer. He rolled his eyes.

‘Phyllis what?’ she asked, taking her notepad out of her pocket and resting it on her knee.

The girl thought for a moment. ‘Phyllis Pitt,’ she said, grinning.

‘Right,’ Lockyer said. ‘Good to meet you. It must have been hard losing Brad to Angelina, but I’m afraid we don’t have time to dick about. Can you get Gary for us, please?’ The girl sniffed and sloped out of the room. He peered behind the makeshift curtains. ‘It’s a glorious sunny day out there and we’re stuck in here with Wayne and Waynetta.’

Jane could hear muttered talking, and then Gary Reynolds shuffled into the room and fell, rather than sat, on the sofa. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘My name is Detective Sergeant Bennett and this is my colleague, Detective Inspector Lockyer. We would like to ask you a few questions, Mr Reynolds.’

‘He hit me,’ Gary said, touching his forehead. ‘Damn near knocked me out.’

‘Who did?’ Jane began, and then hurried on before he could answer. ‘We’re not here about an altercation, Gary. We would like to talk to you about Mark Leech.’ Gary sniffed and scratched his beard. The sound made Jane’s toes curl up in her shoes.

‘Yeah,’ he said.

‘Do you know him?’ Lockyer asked.

‘Obviously. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would you?’ Gary said, without bothering to look at Lockyer or Jane.

‘Can you tell us when you last saw him?’ Jane asked, opening her notepad.

‘Not seen him for years,’ Gary replied. He bent forward and hooked a carrier bag that lay underneath a wonky coffee table. He pulled out a can of lager. ‘Do you mind?’

‘No, go ahead,’ Lockyer said, shrugging when Jane looked at him.

She supposed it didn’t really matter if Gary Reynolds had a drink. It was clear it wouldn’t be his first of the day and she doubted it would make him any more incoherent. He opened the can, took a swig and then slurped from the top of the can. As he continued to lick every last drop off the rim, ‘Phyllis’ strolled back into the room and plonked herself down next to him. She snuggled into him like a child, but from the position of his hand on her upper thigh, Jane guessed he was anything but fatherly.

‘It would be helpful if you could be more precise, Gary,’ Lockyer said.

‘Four, five years,’ he said, taking another swig of his beer, his eyes glued to the girl’s legs, his thumb rubbing up and down her inner thigh.

Jane looked away. ‘Have you had any contact at all with Leech in that time?’ she asked.

‘Leech?’ the girl said. ‘Isn’t he that copper friend of yours that’s missing? There was something about it in the papers,’ she said to Lockyer. ‘We get the paper on a Sunday, don’t we, babe?’ She turned to Gary. He didn’t answer.

‘So you know Mr Leech?’ Jane asked the girl.

‘Only met him once when—’ She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Jane saw Gary’s grip on her leg tighten.

‘She hasn’t met Mark,’ he said. ‘You’re thinking of Martin, babe. He used to be a copper.’

The girl nodded her agreement. ‘Oh yeah, you’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m crap with names. Sorry.’

‘I’ve not seen Mark in five years at least,’ Gary said. ‘Anything else I can help you with? Cindy and me are heading out soon.’

‘Does the name Victor Lebowski mean anything to you?’ Jane asked, making a note of the girl’s real name.

Gary blinked a few times. ‘Nope. Means nothing to me.’ Cindy was shaking her head.

‘Do you have a mobile phone?’ Lockyer asked.

‘No,’ Gary said, refocusing his attention on Cindy’s thigh. Her mouth opened, but she shut it again.

‘We have a number here,’ Jane said, reading out the mobile number from her notepad and showing it to him, ‘that’s registered to you, purchased in 2005. There are a few calls we would like to discuss.’

‘Must be a mistake,’ Gary said. ‘I told you. I don’t have a mobile. Search the place, if you want.’

She looked at Lockyer. He nodded and left the room. ‘Have you ever had a mobile phone, Gary?’

‘Yeah, but not for ages. I’ve not really got the money for a bloody fancy phone, have I?’ he said, throwing his arm out and pointing at the mess surrounding them. ‘The landline works, but only for incoming calls. Check it for yourself,’ he said, pointing to the doorway.

She looked and saw an old-fashioned plug-in phone that had once been white. ‘Thanks,’ she said, standing. ‘What’s the number?’

‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘It’s written on it somewhere.’

Jane walked over and bent down, picking up the receiver with the tips of her fingers. She would need to wash her hands after this. She turned it over, noted down the number and listened to the dial tone, without letting the smudged plastic touch her skin. ‘I’ll check it when I get back to the office. Thank you,’ she said. Gary shrugged. ‘My colleague won’t be long,’ she said, gesturing in the direction Lockyer had left. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Gary. We might need to speak with you again, if that’s okay with you?’

‘No problem. Any time,’ he said. ‘Cindy’ll see you out when you’re done.’ He put his hand under the girl’s buttocks and pushed her up. ‘Off you go now.’ He patted her behind. The gesture made Jane wince.

Lockyer joined them at the front door and shook his head. Jane turned and said to Cindy, ‘How long have you and Gary been together?’

She shrugged. ‘Two years, on and off.’ She leaned towards Jane and whispered, ‘He can be a bit of a handful when he’s had a few.’ The alcohol on her breath forced Jane to turn her face away. ‘You know how guys can be?’ she said, nodding at Lockyer.

‘Not all guys are like that, Cindy,’ Lockyer said. ‘You should do yourself a favour and find someone who’s nice to you.’

‘Gaz is nice,’ Cindy said, sniggering. ‘Just sometimes he’s too nice. If you know what I mean.’

Lockyer looked at Jane and shook his head. ‘Are we done?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Cindy. Here’s my card.’ The girl took it without so much as glancing at it.

As they walked towards the car Lockyer said, ‘The place was a shit-hole. I’d need half a dozen officers to search it properly, but given that he offered up the search and didn’t seem surprised to see us, he’s clearly not that stupid. He makes the phoney call about Lebowski, then stashes the phone, knowing it’s only a matter of time before we’re knocking on his door.’

‘Why not use a different phone – a clean SIM card?’ she asked.

‘As he said, he’s not exactly flush, is he? It’s an old phone, running on old credit. He used what he had to hand, I guess,’ Lockyer said. Jane stopped and took a deep breath. ‘What did you give that girl your card for?’ he asked.

‘She can’t be more than nineteen,’ she said. ‘It makes me sick to see girls like her giving themselves to a guy like him.’

‘Gary Reynolds wasn’t always like this,’ Lockyer said. ‘His daughter was murdered. He’s lost his wife and he’s clearly an alcoholic. What do you expect?’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s not his fault, but he’s taking that poor girl down with him.’

Lockyer shrugged. ‘Come on. Let’s get back to the station and, if you’re lucky, I’ll take you to Bella’s for a coffee and a piece of carrot cake.’

‘I love carrot cake,’ she said, rubbing her stomach.

‘I know you do,’ he said.

Jane waited for him to unlock the car. She looked up at Gary’s flat, before getting into the car. ‘Cindy had met Mark.’

‘No doubt,’ Lockyer said, ‘and the timeframe fits in with the phone calls to Lebowski.’ He started the car.

‘Does he seem like the kind of guy to rely on the justice system to you?’ she asked.

‘Not really, why?’

‘It’s the calls and the tip-off about Lebowski. It’s still bugging me. If Mark told Gary that Lebowski had killed his daughter, why just call? Why not take the law into his own hands?’ As she spoke she wondered if that could be part of the puzzle she was missing. Maybe killing Lebowski wasn’t enough for Gary. Maybe he wanted more.

‘I don’t know, Jane, and I think it’s fair to say Gary’s in no hurry to tell us,’ Lockyer said.

‘Or Sue,’ she said, flicking down the visor and looking at herself in the mirror. She snapped it shut at the sight of her haggard face. ‘She’s obviously trying to protect Mark. I get that. But if she won’t tell me about Lebowski, it’s another door slammed in my face.’ Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She had remembered to put it on vibrate before they got to Gary Reynolds’s flat. She answered the call. ‘Bennett.’

‘Boss,’ Franks said. ‘We’ve had a package arrive, addressed to you.’

‘And?’ she asked, shrugging when Lockyer mouthed ‘What?’ to her.

‘It looks like what Mort was telling you checks out. As soon as I realized what it was, I bagged it and sent it to the lab. They said they’ll put a rush on it, so you can have it by the time you’re back in the office.’

‘We’re on your way,’ she said, ending the call.

‘Good news?’ Lockyer asked.

‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

Lockyer pulled away from the traffic lights and put his foot down. Jane rested her head back and said a silent prayer that Lebowski’s luck had finally run out.

5th May – Monday

Jane blinked her eyes several times before refocusing on the computer screen. The tranche of Monday-morning emails was intimidating, even for her. Lewisham nick didn’t stop for bank holidays. Nor did she, it seemed: weekdays and weekends had blurred into each other. At least she’d had yesterday off. After Saturday, seeing Mort, Sue and Gary Reynolds all in one day, she needed the bloody rest. She had kept an eye on her emails for anything relating to either the Hungerford or Leech cases, but other than that she had managed to switch off, unplug and actually spend some time with her son. They had been to the swimming baths, which Peter had loved, and the cinema to see the new Pixar film. She had almost cried when her son had cuddled her, unbidden. It was as welcome as it was unusual. She had held him and breathed in the soapy smell of his skin and hair. When she had dropped him at her parents’ this morning his face had been relaxed and happy. She smiled as she looked at the picture of him on her desk. He had her father’s nose. She hadn’t noticed it until now.

The lab had been unable to process the package as fast as they had hoped. She was expecting someone to drop it in for her this morning. The anticipation was driving her nuts. All she knew, from Franks’s assessment on Saturday, was that the documents had Lebowski’s name on them and seemed to contain research material and details of an experiment. She had tried calling the lab yesterday, after the cinema, to ask if they could read some sections out to her, to end the suspense, but they had not been receptive to her request. Patience, she was finding out, was not her strong point. Of course she had a good idea what she would find, from Mort’s statement at the weekend. The implied threat that his PhD and future publication could be affected, if he withheld evidence, had made him much more cooperative. Within ten minutes he had admitted to snooping, stealing and lying.