A Killing Moon (16 page)

‘You do? I’m impressed,’ gushed Ostrowsky. ‘How?’ Brook was rarely prepared to explain lines of enquiry to the public, but the Polish businessman answered his own question. ‘The references. Of course. Quick work.’

‘And all without money changing hands.’

Ostrowsky’s laughter barked short and sharp down the phone. ‘I’m afraid Jake didn’t show up for work this morning,’ he continued. ‘Now I know why. Shocking. He didn’t seem the type. And his brother seemed so nice.’

‘You know Nick?’

‘For a few days Jake would bring him to the bar while he worked. I only met him once, but he seemed pleasant. What should I do now, Inspector?’

‘I need to speak to you and your brother tomorrow,’ said Brook.

‘Max told me—’

‘No,’ said Brook firmly. ‘I don’t want second-hand information and I don’t want it over the phone.’

‘Very well. When?’

‘One o’clock tomorrow afternoon. The station at St Mary’s Wharf. Do you know where it is?’

‘My driver will find it,’ said Ostrowsky before ringing off.

Brook sipped his tea, deep in thought.

The door opened and Noble walked in. ‘Someone to see you at reception.’

‘At this hour?’ exclaimed Brook. ‘Who is it?’

‘They didn’t say. I was having a smoke in the car park.’

‘I thought I told you to go home,’ said Brook. He could smell the seductive eddy of tobacco wafting over from Noble.

‘I’ve got my promotion to think about,’ said Noble drily. He turned on his computer. ‘Besides, I thought you wanted some background on Ostrowsky.’

Brook plucked his jacket from the back of the chair. ‘I just put the phone down on the man. He saw the news bulletin. Jake Tanner
was
working at Bar Polski, though he didn’t show up this morning. When Ostrowsky saw Jake’s face on the news, he says he put it together.’

‘And took the trouble to tip us off,’ scoffed Noble. ‘Very public-spirited.’

‘My sentiments exactly.’

‘We should put him down for a good citizenship award.’

Tymon watched the activity around the Milton block from the safety of the Matalan car park. There were police vehicles everywhere, mostly empty as the occupants were knocking on the doors of the flats and houses in nearby streets. Occasionally a scene-of-crime technician would walk to the scientific support van, mask down, carrying evidence or ferrying equipment, before returning to the block for the arduous climb back to the eleventh floor.

Tymon examined the photocopy of Jake’s references in his pudgy hand. His boss had underlined the home address and all previous employers, as Tymon’s English language skills were a work in progress. Skimming down the list, something caught his eye.

‘Cream,’ he said aloud, checking the address on his list against the imposing cream-coloured building on the roundabout. Police vehicles were lined up no more than fifteen yards away, although there was no activity in or around the derelict bar.

Tymon opened the car door.
A derelict building. Good place to hide
.

Twenty

24 April

PC Anka Banach trudged along the corridor, flicking her torch into the dark corners, hunger gnawing at her stomach. Cold and damp was leeching off a concrete floor that never saw the sun’s rays. It was late and she was ready to knock off and get home to a warm bed.

‘Glad it’s not round here,’ she muttered, scanning the dank walls. The peeling paint, the crumbling permafrost concrete, the lack of lighting did not appeal as she shone the beam towards her destination. Two more flats.

Rapping her knuckles on the penultimate door, Banach stepped back. As she did so, her head swam and she stumbled forward, forced to jam a gloved hand against the door frame to steady herself. She felt like she might throw up. There was no answer to her knock, so she took a second to regain her equilibrium. A moment later, the nausea passed.

Must be hungrier than I thought
.

A glance back along the dark corridor confirmed that her misstep had gone unnoticed among colleagues, so, back to business, she made a note of the flat number, put a cross beside it and prepared to move to the last door. As soon as she stepped away, the door opened and an old woman peered tentatively out at her. Banach put a tick next to the cross. ‘Mrs Porter?’

‘Miss,’ said the white-haired woman, her opaque eyes blinking myopically.

‘Sorry,’ said Banach cheerily. ‘Look, my love, I know it’s late and we don’t want to alarm you, but we’re just asking a few questions about two brothers who lived on the eleventh floor. Jake and Nick Tanner.’

‘So that’s what all the commotion’s about. Not that I can sleep, what with Annie and everything. What did they do?’

‘Do you know them?’

‘No, dear,’ she replied sadly. ‘Never been up there and I wouldn’t know them to talk to. I don’t get out much except next door to Annie’s for a cup of tea and a natter.’ She nodded sadly towards the neighbouring flat.

‘You’ve not been up to the eleventh floor?’

‘Why would I, dearie? The lift never works and the next time I get that high I’ll be on my way to sit beside the baby Jesus, God willing.’

Banach smiled. ‘And you don’t know them by sight?’

‘My eyes aren’t the best,’ she said, brandishing her spectacle chain between finger and thumb. ‘And I don’t venture out after dark at my age. You don’t know who’s out there.’ She smiled. ‘You look a bit pale, my love. Are you cold?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Would you like a cup of tea to keep you going?’ she said. ‘Warm you up in this cold weather. It’s supposed to be spring.’

‘No, but thank you,’ smiled Banach. ‘I’ll let you get back to the warm.’

‘Good luck finding those boys. The streets aren’t safe to walk these days. I only opened the door because I thought it might be Annie. Stupid of me.’

‘All right my love, I’ll say good night.’ Banach headed for the neighbouring flat.

‘That’s Annie’s flat,’ called out the old woman, reaching out a claw. ‘She’s gone.’

A heavy footfall approached and a male voice shouted to Banach from the darkness. ‘We’re wanted.’

Brook arrived in reception. Cooper was there, exchanging banter with a constable he couldn’t put a name to. By the glass doors, a girl stood up from her chair.

‘Inspector Brook.’

‘Laurie! What are you doing here?’ He studied her. She looked different, her hair longer, worry lines on her brow beginning to take up residence. She’d been crying.

‘Is it Caitlin?’ she said, approaching him. ‘On the news. In that van.’ The words were an effort and her composure was on a knife edge. She seemed on the brink of collapse, and Brook stepped forward in case her legs gave way. She fell towards him, and he grabbed her shoulders to keep her upright. Her emotion couldn’t be contained and she forced her head on to his chest.

Reluctantly Brook’s arms began to enfold her and he rested a hand on her sobbing head as she moaned something wet and unintelligible into his shirt. He looked across at Cooper as though to tag him into the hug – Brook wasn’t good at this sort of thing – but realising he was stuck, he essayed a few consoling pats on her shaking shoulder blades with his free hand.

‘Okay, sir?’ enquired Cooper.

Brook nodded to confirm and Cooper headed silently for the exit, laptop in hand.

‘Sit down,’ said Brook, unpeeling the girl from his damp shirt and leading her back to the chairs. He glanced across at the unidentified young constable looking on. ‘Can you make a cup of tea, Constable? Sharpish. Plenty of sugar.’

A couple of minutes later, Laurie was able to raise her face to sip at the mug.

‘It is Caitlin, isn’t it?’ she said after a mouthful of hot tea. ‘It couldn’t be anyone else.’

‘We don’t know that,’ answered Brook truthfully.

‘I know. I recognised him,’ she said. ‘Jake was the barman that last night. At the Flowerpot.’ Brook didn’t answer. ‘Did
he
kill her?’

‘We don’t know,’ repeated Brook. ‘When we speak to him—’

‘All these weeks I’ve spent wondering where she went,’ continued Laurie. ‘I thought of all the places she could be, the people she might be with, sunbathing on a Greek beach with a new boyfriend, living a new life.’

‘She might be there yet,’ answered Brook.

‘Bullshit!’ snapped Laurie, standing abruptly and spilling the tea. ‘Don’t patronise me. She’s dead. She never left Derby, you said. She’s not living any kind of life because that bastard man killed her.’ This last was shouted and the tears began again. She gazed in horror at Brook, member of the same corrupt gender as Jake Tanner. The young constable glanced over to see if the senior detective needed assistance, but Brook reassured with a splayed hand and stood, unable to look at the girl.

‘Come on, I’ll take you home.’

‘Why?’ pleaded Laurie, shaking her head. ‘Why did this happen? Kitty’s life just snuffed out like that. For ever. What gave that bastard the right?’

Brook decided to abandon the soothing tone and weary platitudes. ‘Nothing gave him the right, Laurie,’ he said softly. ‘The person who did this assumed that right with no thought for the pain of others. Whatever he wanted with Caitlin – if that
is
her lying in the mortuary – whatever he needed her to do for him or
with
him or
to
him . . .’ his eyes speared into Laurie’s and her mouth opened in shock and awe, ‘he knew that he could never let her tell the tale, because he was so weak, his sense of self so compromised, so degraded, that he couldn’t risk his deepest, darkest desires being broadcast to others, couldn’t bear the disgust of ordinary people for the acts he felt compelled to commit. He didn’t hate her, Laurie. He hated himself, and probably still does.’

There was silence as both took stock of the sermon, Laurie stunned and mute, Brook breathless, contemplating victims past and present. Even the young PC was rapt, unmoving at his counter, his mouth open, his Adam’s apple temporarily stranded.

A few seconds later, Laurie managed movement, the rustle of her Gore-Tex coat bringing back basic sensation. She closed her eyes. ‘I’d like to go home now, Inspector.’

Brook nodded, a curious half-smile deforming his lips. ‘I’ll take you, Laura.’

She glanced up at his face as he led the way. ‘My name is Laurie.’

Brook’s break of step was barely noticeable as he marched on towards the smoked-glass doors. ‘That’s what I said,’ he mumbled over his shoulder.

PC Mitchell Ryan was tugging at the boards covering the windows of the deserted Cream Bar. They were solid.

‘Looks pretty dead,’ said Banach, appearing from the front of the building. ‘Funny, though, the front door lock seems well oiled.’

‘You tried knocking?’

‘Actually, I did.’

‘No sign of B and E.’ Ryan saw Banach yawning. ‘Come on, girl. We’ve done a double and we’re fifteen minutes over.’

‘Feels like longer.’

‘That’s lates for you. The next time I suggest coming off early turn for a bit of excitement, just ignore me.’

Banach’s answering smile froze on her lips and she trained her eyes on the first floor.

‘What?’

‘I thought I saw a light – upstairs.’ She gazed up at the building before marching towards the rear. ‘Come on. There’s an exposed window round the back and some crates we can stand on.’

‘Maybe it was a car headlight reflecting,’ hissed Ryan. ‘Slow down, Angie.’

A moment later, Banach stood at the rear of the boarded-up building, gauging the height of the first-floor window. She looked at the pile of wooden pallets positioned against the wall. ‘This is how they got in.’

‘You think someone climbed up there?’

‘How else?’

‘You said the lock was oiled. Maybe it’s legit, a keyholder or something.’

Banach raised an eyebrow. ‘At this time of night? It’s a derelict, Mitch.’

‘You’re not thinking of climbing up there.’

She turned to him with a familiar tight-lipped expression that spoke to her determination.
Just watch me
.

‘We should call it in. Wait for instructions.’

Banach put her foot on the first pallet. ‘Our
instructions
were to investigate, weren’t they? That’s what we’re doing.’

‘I don’t think this is what the sarge meant.’ Banach looked down at him from halfway up the column of pallets. ‘Damn it, Angie, be careful.’

‘Always,’ grunted Banach, clambering up to the top pallet, where she was able to lever herself on to the ledge of the first-floor window. The glass was broken, so she felt around for a catch, being careful not to cut herself on the jagged pane. A second later, she pushed open the window and swung her legs inside, then popped her head back out to gesture at Ryan.

‘Wait there for me,’ he hissed at her as he began to climb, but she was already gone.

Banach flicked her torch around the bare room. The beam caught something in the adjoining room and she made her way across the corridor, stepping gingerly on the bare boards. She knelt to examine a sleeping bag. It was cleaner than might be expected. There was even a cushion for a pillow, which looked new.

‘Odd.’ She moved the light across the floor and found an empty sweet packet, picking it up and discarding it a second later. ‘Someone’s been here.’

She heard a noise behind her. ‘In here, Mitch,’ she called, flicking the torch briefly over her shoulder. She was standing to continue the search when a footstep crunched on a bare board directly behind her and she turned towards the source. A heavy blow caught her on the side of the head and she gasped in shock and pain, her body crumpling on to the sleeping bag like a sack of potatoes.

Brook and Laurie drove on in silence, eyes glued to the road. A moment later, Brook became aware of Laurie’s discomfort and stole a glance at her. Following the direction of her gaze, he saw they were passing the Flowerpot and would be hugging the route of Caitlin’s last journey. At the lights by the A
38
overpass, she spoke.

‘I’ve not been in that pub since. I’ve not even seen it.’

Brook nodded, still forming questions of his own, practical questions about the case, about the hunt for a killer. He held his tongue. At this moment, any enquiry would be intrusive. But as Markeaton Park loomed large and dark on the left, he felt as though Laurie wanted to talk.

‘That night,’ he said. ‘Did Tanner do or say anything while you and Caitlin were in the pub? Anything strange or that struck you as odd.’

‘Strange?’

‘Did he pay Caitlin any undue attention or give the impression . . .’

‘That he was fixated on her?’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, no. He served drinks like a normal barman.’

Brook pulled the BMW on to the side road and ground to a halt outside Laurie’s bungalow before turning to her. ‘So you noticed him, then?’

‘I noticed him. Caitlin was going at it pretty hard. She hadn’t had a drink for a while. I mean, she’d missed St Patrick’s Day because of the pregnancy. And she’s Irish.’ She lowered her head. ‘She was Irish.’

‘Don’t make assumptions until we identify the body,’ insisted Brook. ‘How did Tanner make himself noticed?’

‘He saw that she was drinking too fast and suggested she slow down.’

‘What did he say?’

‘First it was just a look, kind of hesitating before filling her glass, giving her the eyes, like,
Are you sure about this? You’ve had plenty
. Then he said she could have another if she could read his name tag.’

‘Did she?’

‘Oh yes, but he knew she was bladdered.’

‘But he refilled her glass anyway.’

‘The customer is always right,’ said Laurie. ‘Except she wasn’t. And that was her last drink before she ran out to the toilet. She pretended she was fine, but I knew she was going to puke. I didn’t know she would take off like that, though.’ Her voice cracked as the implication hit her, but she retained her poise. ‘I never saw her again.’

‘Did you see Tanner after Caitlin left?’

‘You mean, did he leave and go after her? I’m not sure. I think he served my boyfriend when he arrived.’ She looked miserable. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember that well, I’d been drinking too . . .’

‘Don’t worry,’ soothed Brook. ‘We’re pretty sure he stayed.’

‘So maybe he grabbed her later,’ said Laurie. ‘If Caitlin was home alone, he could just as easily have gone along after his shift.’

‘But unless he followed her, he wouldn’t know her address,’ said Brook. ‘Unless he asked for ID.’

‘Oh shit, yeah. I showed him my NUS card.’ She squinted in confusion. ‘But that only has my date of birth.’

‘What about Caitlin?’ asked Brook. ‘Did her ID have her address on?’

‘It might have. I didn’t really notice.’

Brook smiled to signal the end of his questions and put a hand out to open his door.

‘I don’t live here any more,’ muttered Laurie, looking guiltily at him. ‘I couldn’t. Not after . . . Sorry, I meant to say. I moved into halls.’

‘Not a problem.’ Brook turned the BMW round for the short drive to the main university site. ‘That’s what I love about Derby. Everything’s five minutes away.’