Blood Line (43 page)

‘Do you have any of his letters?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you allow me to see them?’

‘They’re private.’

‘Listen to me, Craig – you need to know that the man you knew as Daniel Matthews has been missing for some considerable time – and that is probably why you haven’t heard from him. I’m sorry to say that we have grave concerns about his safety. In fact, we fear that he may have been murdered, so anything you can do to help me try to either trace him, or find out what has happened to him, would be greatly appreciated.’

‘Murdered? Are you saying he’s dead?’

‘Possibly.’

The tears the young man had been trying to keep under control rolled down his cheeks.

‘I loved him,’ he sobbed.

‘These letters, Craig – please may I see them?’

‘They’re in my room.’

‘Will you take me there?’ Anna tried to be gentle, to curb her impatience.

He drew a shuddering breath and then nodded.

P
aul’s legs felt like jelly as he got down from the helicopter. Williams found it amusing, saying that at least he hadn’t thrown up. He put his arm around Paul’s shoulders and guided him towards the waiting patrol car.

‘Get a cup of our coffee down you and you’ll feel better.’

‘Promise?’ Paul said with a weak smile.

When they arrived at the station Harry Took repeated to Williams that Anna had gone to talk to guys they had interviewed at the hotels. Williams didn’t like it, saying sharply that he should have driven her as she was going to be hours, and with the weather getting even worse she would find driving hazardous.

They ordered sandwiches which were brought into the incident room on a trolley. Seeing them made Paul feel even worse. He also felt like a spare part. The trip in the helicopter had revealed nothing apart from the scale of Sammy Marsh’s territory for drug-dealing. He sat at an empty desk as Williams asked his team if they had any new developments, listening to the latest reports: there had been no movement in any of Sammy’s known bank accounts, no credit-card use, and the monies transferred to Alan Rawlins’s account in the Cayman Islands were also untouched. Paul excused himself and went to the gents to put in a call to Anna, who answered abruptly, saying she couldn’t talk, but that she would be heading back to the station shortly. She suggested he use the time to take a look over the Smugglers café, the known haunt of Sammy and Alan.

‘It’s closed,’ Paul pointed out.

‘Check it out anyway,’ she said and cut off the call.

Paul next rang the incident room in London, only to discover that Brian Stanley was off sick and Helen was out of the station, on enquiries at Asda.

Paul was told that the manager had rung to say he had made a mistake and therefore the footage for the day Tina Brooks had purchased the bleach may not have been erased. Paul hung up, unconvinced that this would add anything as they already had the date and time on Tina’s receipt and she was not denying the purchase of bleach and carpet cleaner from Asda.

He returned to the incident room as the team finished up their tea and sandwiches, and Williams gave him a sidelong glance, knowing he would have been calling Anna.

‘How’s your lady boss?’

‘Couldn’t talk as she was busy, but do you think we could go and look over the Smugglers café?’

‘It’s closed. We’ve also checked it out and there’s nothing there.’

‘I know that, but just out of interest.’

‘Sure – I’ll arrange it.’ Williams turned to Harry Took, who was still eating.

‘Harry, wheel Paul here over to the Smugglers café. Call the guy that owns it and see if they can open it up.’

Paul caught the amused glances between Williams and Harry, feeling even more like a spare part as he delved into his pocket for some chewing gum, anything to take away the taste of bile still in his mouth.

The rain was still lashing down. Anna had to use the fleece to cover her head again as Craig led her out of the hotel via a back exit and around through the gardens to the staff quarters. He’d said he didn’t want anyone from the management to see them go into his room as they didn’t like their staff entertaining.

The staff accommodation was in a small single-storey building attached to the main hotel. Each unit had its own entrance door. Craig unlocked his, soaked from the rain, his blonde hair dripping.

It was just a single bedroom with a shower unit and a small kitchen annex, all very tidy. On the bedside table were three small framed photographs. Each one had Craig and Alan Rawlins together, sunbathing, dining out and walking close together on the beach.

‘Who took these?’

‘I did. My camera’s got a timer on it. Dan bought it for me.’

Anna sat on the only comfortable chair as Craig opened a drawer in a small painted dresser. He took out a bundle of letters in their envelopes and then sat on the bed as he thumbed through them. A couple he placed to one side.

‘They’re from my mum,’ he explained, looking up.

He then passed Anna four letters, all of which she noticed had peel and seal envelopes and therefore no chance of any DNA from Alan Rawlins’s saliva.

‘They’re very personal,’ he said quietly.

She opened the first. There was no date and no address, but she noticed a London postmark. The letter had been written over a year ago. The writing was neat in felt-tipped pen and it was rather touching, saying how much Alan had enjoyed meeting Craig and that he couldn’t wait for when he would be able to see him again. It also mentioned he had enclosed some money for him to start saving for the surfboard he wanted. He had signed
Dan
and underlined it three times. The next two letters were similar in content, but more familiar, describing how much he had liked Craig’s body and suggesting he start to work out in the hotel gym. Again he had enclosed money and again he’d signed his name as Dan.

Craig remained silent as Anna read through the letters. Nothing in them gave any indication of what Alan Rawlins’s intentions were, although there was the promise of the Mercedes for Craig’s birthday.

‘How much money did he send you?’

‘Two or three hundred. It’s all in a savings account.’

There was something almost fatherly about the instructions to eat well and work out to build up his strength. There was a reference to when Alan would be next coming to see him and that he would be bringing some clothes for him and some new shoes.

‘Did you reply to his letters?’

‘No, as I never had his address. He said it wouldn’t be a good idea, but whenever I asked why, he would change the subject. He told me he often stayed over at his parents’ and I thought that maybe I could write to him there, but he said it wouldn’t be convenient and that if I needed anything I could always contact him on his mobile.’

‘Which you did?’ She looked up from the letters.

‘Yes, until about nine weeks ago.’

‘Could you give me the number you called?’

He nodded and got up to write on a notepad as Anna reread the letters. There was never a date or address. She concentrated on the contents of the last one as it looked different; the writing was hurried and slapdash, although it expressed as always how much he missed and loved Craig, but then came a passage about business problems and that he would not be coming to see him for a while. Anna looked at the date on the envelope: it was seven months ago. Underlined were instructions for Craig to stay well away from Sammy and to give him no indication that they were seeing each other. It was imperative they keep their relationship private; this was underlined twice. The next paragraph in the letter read:

Anna refolded the letter back along its creases and tucked it into the envelope.

‘What do you think he meant by getting in over his head?’

‘The costs of the house were mounting. He said he hadn’t bargained for it in his budget and he needed a lot of money for the contractors. They were going to down tools if he didn’t pay up.’

‘When was this?’

‘Oh, before that letter, but he was worried. He must have got himself out of trouble financially though, because he started making even more plans and ordered this expensive kitchen unit for the house.’

‘Did you ask him about his problems?’

‘Yes, he said they weren’t to concern me, but he was a bit different.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Very strung out and a bit tetchy with me, but I never asked too much as I didn’t want him to get the feeling that I was in it with him for the money.’

Craig opened his wardrobe and began taking out various items: a fringed suede jacket, a suit and some shirts. All were new and bought for him by the man he called Dan.

‘And shoes?’ He bent down and brought out a box of suede loafers, before neatly replacing the items after he had shown them to Anna.

‘He said he wanted me to smarten up. I don’t earn much here, in fact I’ve never had much so I keep them for best – keep them for when I see him.’

He turned and the tears brimmed in his eyes again.

‘You see, I really thought he cared for me, but to just cut me off like that . . . I don’t understand it.’

He sat down hunched on his bed, and suddenly blurted out that it was his first time with a man, and that although he’d always known about his sexuality, he had never been with anyone until Dan.

‘He told me how hard it had been for him, and that he had hated himself for years. That his parents didn’t know – in fact, no one knew he was gay in London. He was tired of having to be so secretive.’ Craig took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

Anna stood up and passed the letters back to the young man.

‘He’s very secretive, Craig. In fact, his name isn’t Daniel Matthews, it’s Alan Rawlins.’

Craig looked up, shocked. ‘Why would he lie about his name?’

‘Because he was leading a double life here with you, but now what I am trying to uncover is who else knew.’

Anna quietly explained to Craig the discovery at Alan Rawlins’s flat, the blood pooling, and how they had been unable to identify who it came from as there was no DNA to match.

‘We don’t know if it was Alan who died in his flat or whether he killed someone else. That could be the reason he has disappeared.’

Craig sat, dry-eyed now, listening. He seemed stunned and saddened, all at the same time.

‘There was a Mercedes being reconditioned in the garage where he worked. He was telling you the truth about it, and I’m sure he did intend on driving it down here to give to you. He was waiting for the soft top to be delivered. But before he could do so, we believe something happened that resulted in either his committing a murder or him being murdered.’

Craig stood up and went into his small shower room. Anna thought that perhaps he had gone for some privacy, but he left the door ajar and then came out.

‘He was very particular about his hair. He always brought his own shampoos and conditioner when he stayed here for the night. This is his hairbrush, razor and toothbrush.’

Anna could have kissed him! She opened her briefcase and took out a plastic evidence bag, slipping the items inside.

‘Here’s his mobile number you asked for. I’ve rung it loads of times but he never answers.’ Craig began to cry again as Anna unfolded the note to look at the number. She sensed something was not right. Taking her notebook from her bag she compared the number she had for Alan Rawlins’s mobile recovered from his 280SL Mercedes. They were different.

‘Are you sure this was the number?’

‘Yes, positive. Why, what’s wrong?’

‘Sorry, my mistake. Nothing for you to worry about.’

Craig was very subdued as he walked out with her towards the car park. The rain was still heavy and he carried an umbrella to shield her.

‘Thank you for your help, Craig. I really appreciate it,’ she said as they reached the car.

‘Do you think it has something to do with Sammy Marsh?’

She was halfway into her seat but now she stood up again. ‘Why do you say that?’

Craig turned and pointed to the cove. ‘A girl was washed up near to the rocks – teenager – they said she’d died of a heroin overdose. The last call I had with Dan, he spoke about it. He was very distressed, so much so I asked if he’d known her, but he just changed the subject and told me to never talk to anyone about him and Sammy.’

‘So when you were questioned previously, you never mentioned this phone call?’

‘No, but they never asked me anything about Dan.’

As she turned the car to head towards the cove and onto the road, she could see him in her driving mirror, the rain dripping off the big black umbrella. His sweet face and skinny frame shook as he gave a small wave of his hand.

Paul, accompanied by a very disgruntled Harry Took, plodded across the wet sands towards what looked like a rundown shack with a rickety veranda. The wooden steps were broken in places, and dangerous. They had had to wait for the owner to supply the keys, although they were hardly necessary as the door looked as if a hard push would have opened it, its hinges were so rusty.

Harry unlocked a large padlock that was looped through the door handle to a nail hammered into the wooden slatted frame. He eventually pushed open the creaking door and they went inside.

They could find no light switch so used a high-beamed torch, revealing a long bar rather like those in the saloons in cowboy films. Wooden chairs and tables were stacked against one wall, and empty bottles were visible behind the bar, along with old used candles stuck into their necks. There was a small raised stage where the bands would have performed, Harry told him, ladies and gents toilets, and behind the bar a door which led to a kitchen that was filthy, according to Harry.

‘Hard to believe that come summer, this place is hopping. It’s a big hang-out for the kids, especially the surfers,’ he remarked.