Blood Line (35 page)

‘She’s the main beneficiary,’ Brian went on. ‘They had a joint bank account, which his wages and hers went straight into, and it looks like she then withdrew cash for them both. They’ve got just over seventy thousand saved.’

Langton nodded, replacing papers as he sifted through the drawers. He took in the room: the awful bland pictures on the walls, the beige on beige furniture. It was boring and featureless – yet two young people lived in the flat. Even though it was a rented one, it nevertheless had little of the personality of either Alan or Tina.

‘They were planning on getting married. She told Travis that he had suggested she look for a wedding dress,’ Brian remarked.

‘What?’

Brian repeated his comment, adding sarcastically that Tina maintained she was unaware of her boyfriend’s sexual activities elsewhere. Langton remembered when he had been with Anna, holding her in his arms as he told her about the death of her fiancé. The bridal magazines, the way she had cut out pictures of the wedding dress she was contemplating wearing. There was nothing similar inside this flat to indicate that Tina was thinking of getting married, and nothing connected to surfing or Alan’s so-called other life. Could he have been that secretive?

‘Photographs?’ he said to himself. ‘Where are they?’ He gave a wide open-handed gesture.

Brian shrugged. ‘I think they did take in some kind of an album, but that was why we had a problem with Alan. To get him ID’d we’ve been using a surfing photo DCI Travis took from his parents’ home.’

Langton stood up, looking around the room.

‘Doesn’t make bloody sense. I mean, we can tell she lives here because of her make-up and hair shampoos, but what about him?’

‘DCI Travis reckons his life will be in Cornwall. They’ll be looking at the property there. Added to that he used his bedroom at his parents’ home.’

‘I know that,’ Langton snapped, walking out. ‘I’m through here, but I have got to talk to Tina.’ As Brian hurried to catch up with him, Langton added grimly, ‘You know why? Because this place doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Well, if they were planning on moving out to buy their own property, why bother doing anything with a rented flat?’

Langton paused on his way towards the patrol car, and turned back, saying, ‘I want to see the garage she uses.’

‘We don’t have a key,’ Brian said, exasperated. But it turned out that they didn’t need one as the garage was unlocked.

‘They took her car in, didn’t they?’

‘Yes. It was released back to Miss Brooks a few days ago.’

Langton looked around the empty garage. Like the flat, it was devoid of anything personal; there were just some car-cleaning products left in a cardboard box and a small cabinet at the back of the garage that had been checked out.

Langton looked over the odd tools. Again, these were in a neatly arranged order on a small bench. There was a tyre-pressure pump, petrol can, cans of oil and two small paint cans for white and cream bodywork. He sighed, beginning to understand more and more why Anna had broadened her investigation.

Anna woke with a start as Paul tapped her arm, to find that the trolley with food and drink was rattling towards them. They chose coffee and sandwiches and some fresh fruit.

‘I was fast asleep,’ Anna admitted, opening the wrapping.

‘Me too. At least these are fresh.’ He took a mouthful of his sandwich.

‘How much longer?’ Anna asked, biting into her ham and salad sandwich.

‘Another three hours,’ Paul said without looking at his watch.

‘Three hours . . .’ She sighed.

‘Did we ever check if Alan Rawlins went by plane? They’d have a record of it at the airport if he did. He had to be a bloody frequent flyer because I’m sure he wouldn’t be schlepping back and forth so often by train.’

‘Unless he drove himself,’ she said, chewing.

Paul took out his mobile and called into the incident room to speak to Brian Stanley, but was told he was out with Langton. Helen gave him the latest updates; they had found no vehicle licence or insurance on any other vehicle apart from Tina’s VW. Paul asked them to run a check with DVLA on anything with Alan Rawlins’s name and then to try the other names they knew he used. Anna looked over as Paul ended the call.

‘Brian’s out with Langton,’ he told her.

‘What?’

‘That’s all that Helen knew. They’ve been gone all morning.’

‘Call him.’

‘Langton?’

‘No, Brian Stanley. Find out what they’re doing, or more to the point, what Langton is nosing around for.’

When Brian saw that it was Paul who was ringing his mobile he didn’t pick up, as he and Langton had just arrived at Tina’s salon.

Langton breezed inside, where Felicity, on the desk as usual, said that Tina was not available as she was giving a treatment. Langton smiled and introduced himself, saying that he was not a client and he could wait until it was convenient for Tina to talk to him.

‘Is there a place we can sit,’ he read the name on her salon gown, ‘Felicity? And perhaps you could inform Miss Brooks I am here, and I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.’

‘Oh, I suppose you can sit in the staff section. There’s a coffee percolator in there. Hang on.’ She turned from her desk and called out for Donna, who was cutting a client’s hair. She yelled back that she was busy.

‘Just direct me – no need to get anyone,’ Langton said pleasantly.

Donna came up to the reception desk with the scissors in her hand, saying, ‘What is it?’

Langton looked at Donna’s name on her gown.

‘Good Afternoon, Donna. I am Detective Chief Superintendant Langton and this is Detective—’

Donna interrupted him. ‘Tina’s with a client.’

‘We know that, Donna, and Felicity here suggested we wait in the staff section.’

‘Is Tina expecting you?’

‘I don’t believe she is, but we can wait.’

Donna looked pensive and then shrugged. ‘Come on through then.’

Kiara was working at a small table with a client having nail extensions. She glanced up as they passed her. The small sectioned-off area used for the staff was an untidy mess of hairdressing magazines and a mound of wet towels. A junior was in there eating a bun but Donna told her to get back into the salon.

‘I’m supposed to be washing the towels,’ the girl said, stuffing the last of the bun into her mouth.

‘You’re also supposed to be sweeping up the hair. I’ll take these through to the washing machines.’ Donna gathered up the towels and tried to clear a space for Langton and Brian to sit, muttering, ‘Sorry about the mess in here. We’ve been very busy today.’

Langton stepped aside to allow her to pass by.

‘The washers and dryers are out in the back. Help yourself to coffee.’

‘I will, thank you.’

Langton noticed an array of used mugs and rinsed one out in the sink before he poured himself a cup of rather stewed black coffee.

‘You want one?’ he asked Brian.

‘No, thanks. The nail stuff they use here stinks and makes me feel sick.’

Langton picked out a biscuit from an open tin and then cleared a stack of magazines before he sat down.

‘Business looks thriving,’ he remarked.

‘Yeah, its running costs are high though. We had all her accounts checked out. She doesn’t own the premises, but rents them so she has to have a good turnover to make ends meet.’

Langton seemed totally relaxed now, flicking through one of the magazines. After a moment he tossed it aside and picked up a laminated salon price-list left on a chair.

‘Thinking of having a trim?’ Brian joked.

‘Hair extensions, nail extensions, colouring and perms, cuts and blowdries, beauty treatments, pedicures, manicures, massage, laser hair removal, seaweed wraps . . .’

He looked up at Brian. ‘What’s a seaweed wrap?’

‘No idea. Doesn’t this smell get to you? Reminds me of when I was a kid. My mother took me with her when she had her hair permed. She used to have these funny little rollers all over her head – it took ages and they slapped on this stuff that smelled of paint stripper, and after hours of sitting in this small cubicle she’d come out with tight curls all over her head.’

‘How fascinating,’ Langton said sarcastically.

Donna returned. ‘A client wants a coffee – is it still hot?’

‘Warmish,’ he said, watching as she rinsed out a mug and poured the remainder of the coffee into it.

‘I’ll come back and make a fresh pot.’

Langton nodded. Brian now sat down and started to read a magazine. They both turned as Kiara, the girl doing the nail extensions, walked in.

‘Have you found him?’ she asked.

‘No. How well did you know Alan Rawlins?’

‘I didn’t. None of us really had anything to do with him. He’d just come and sometimes collect Tina and wait for her in the car park. I told that to the lady who was asking questions before.’

‘So you did.’

Kiara got some fresh coffee, lifted the percolator lid and poured in the water. She sighed with irritation when she saw all the used mugs.

‘I dunno, the bloody juniors are supposed to keep this place tidy but they’re always brain dead. We had to let one go last week ’cos she was nicking stuff.’

‘How do you get on with Tina?’

Kiara washed the mugs and began to dry them on a dirty tea towel.

‘She’s my boss – I have to get on with her.’

Brian tapped Langton’s elbow. ‘You mind if I go out and get some fresh air? I’m feeling ill.’

Langton nodded and then smiled at Kiara, explaining, ‘It’s the stuff you use on the nail extensions.’

‘Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel as high as a kite and it takes so long, especially if you’ve got a client who wants the old ones removed. Mind you, if you think nail extensions take time, try hair extensions – up to four hours a session.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. You got to glue the hair onto the client’s bit by bit, then do the braiding. You want a fresh cup of coffee?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ He passed his mug to her. ‘How long have you worked for Tina?’

‘Two years, but I really want to work in a West End salon. This is in the sticks and we get so many pensioners on our cheap days. Not that I have anything against them, but that’s why we keep some of those old dryers; we roller the old ladies up and stick them under.’

Kiara passed Langton a cup of coffee and then sat opposite him. She had the longest, shapeliest legs he’d seen in a long time, revealed by her wearing a tight mini-skirt and the salon robe which just covered her thighs. She was also wearing very long ginger hair extensions with small beads at the end.

‘I like your hair.’

‘Thanks. I do it myself.’ She tossed her head, making the beads clink against each other. Then: ‘Odd thing, isn’t it?’

‘I’m sorry?’ He waited for her to explain.

‘Well, this Alan business. We all have a natter about it. She was upset when it started – you know, when he first disappeared.’

‘I suppose she would be, as they were going to get married.’

Kiara raised her eyes to the ceiling.

‘Well, let’s say she hoped. I don’t mean she was desperate, but she’d been dumped a couple of times before, or that’s what I was told. She kept him very much under wraps, worried in case he might fancy one of us.’

She giggled and then leaned towards him confidingly. ‘She’s older than she lets on – she’s always having Botox. I dunno if she keeps on doing it. There’s a bloke what comes in who’s one of her clients so she gets it on the cheap.’

‘What is a seaweed wrap, by the way?’

‘Oh, that’s one of her treatments. None of us girls are qualified beauticians. She always does all the treatments herself and has a regular stream of clients.’

‘What is it, though? I mean, would she do it in her own flat?’

‘Oh no, it’s ever so messy. They’ve got to strip off, then she smothers their body in the stuff; it smells like seaweed washed up on a beach, it’s horrible, and then I think it’s mixed with some kind of mud. Anyway, she has to lather it all over their body and then she wraps these bandages around them – quite tightly, I think – and then they sleep with a cooling mask on. When it dries it draws out the excess fluid and they can lose a few pounds off their entire body weight, especially the thighs. Then she unpeels the bandages, they shower and finally they get a body massage. That all costs about fifty quid.’

‘You think she gives herself a wrap ever?’

‘I dunno. She’s got a great figure, I’ll give her that – works out a lot so she don’t look her age, and you’ve got to be strong ’cos most of the clients who want it are overweight. One woman is at least seventeen stone and Tina’s gotta lift them up and turn them over. I think it’d be difficult to do it on yourself.’

‘Maybe she gave Alan one?’

Kiara shrugged. ‘He was good-looking. I think she gave him a few hair streaks ’cos he was ever so blonde. I know he used to use the sunbed at night. She does too, or she did, but with all the bad publicity about tanning beds we don’t really use the one we’ve got any more.’ She tossed her head again and laughed. ‘I don’t need one though.’ She rubbed her brown-skinned arm.

Langton smiled. She was flirting with him.

‘So he maybe came into the salon when you had all left?’

‘I presume so. I never saw him in here and we’re out like rats off a ship come six o’clock. She’d have us staying late and without extra pay, and did you get told about how she was always dipping into the juniors’ tip box?’

‘No, I didn’t know.’

‘Yeah. She’s always moaning about having no change and taking a few pound coins. None of us like it. I mean, they get paid a pittance anyway.’

‘She uses the coins for phone calls?’

‘Yeah. Why she needs to be nippin’ out when we got a phone here and she’s got a mobile beats me, but then I suppose it’s hard to have a private conversation at that pint-size desk of Felicity’s, and she’s always all ears.’

‘Who do you think she was calling?’

‘No idea. Alan maybe, but she’d not tell any of us. Very much above us all, she thinks she is. That’s why some of us reckon he never disappeared.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘We think he just did a runner to get away from her. I know I would. She’s got a terrible temper and—’