‘You think Dodworth saw them together?’
‘That would explain the timing of this, wouldn’t it?’
Bren pondered. ‘We found the shop that supplied the batteries in the camera. The assistant thinks he might recognise Wylie.’
‘That would help,’ Brock said, but they both knew it was thin. ‘There is one other avenue. Wylie claimed that Abbott must have destroyed his own hard drive in the microwave, but the smell of burnt plastic in the flat was fresh, and Wylie’s own computer is missing, supposedly stolen.’
‘Emails,’ Bren said.‘Yes, we thought of that, but it didn’t seem a priority to find out.’
‘Until now…’ Brock said.
Kathy was sitting in the central gardens of Northcote Square eating a sandwich bought from Sonia Fikret, whose mood had been markedly less accommodating than before, no doubt to indicate that the family’s patience was running out over the continual police harassment at the building site. Kathy finished the sandwich and shook the crumbs from the paper bag. Immediately a sparrow swooped down to the gravel at her feet and began pecking.
‘Ah, you miss Betty,’ Kathy said. The gardens seemed bereft without her, the last of the leaves suddenly fallen as if in grief and the birds all gone except for this one scruffy little sparrow.
Her phone warbled in the pocket of her coat and she wasn’t surprised to hear the voice of Bev Nolan. She sounded older, a quaver in her voice.
‘Kathy? I am sorry to bother you. I know you must be so busy. Do you have a moment?’
‘Of course, Bev. How can I help?’
‘I suppose I shouldn’t ask, but we’ve just been so upset about these terrible things happening in Northcote Square. We only just heard on the news about Stan Dodworth.
They mentioned suicide, is that right? I mean, did he leave a note? Did it have anything to do with little Tracey? Could he have …’
‘I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you at the moment, Bev. We haven’t found a confession, if that’s what you were thinking, and we don’t know if it has anything to do with Tracey, but you can be sure that we will get to the bottom of it.’
‘Of course you will. We just…’ She seemed lost for words.‘The poor man. He was always polite when we met him, but very quiet. I felt Tracey didn’t… No, I shouldn’t say that.’
‘Go on,’ Kathy coaxed.
‘Tracey seemed very nervous around him. Maybe it was his manner. His appearance too, all dressed in black, his head shaved like a convict. But he wouldn’t have killed himself because of Tracey, would he?’
She appeared to need reassurance on this. Kathy said, ‘We’ve got no evidence of that, Bev.’
‘I see, yes. Thank you, dear. I am sorry to have bothered you.’
‘If we get any firm news about Tracey, I will phone you, I promise.’
Kathy rang off and saw that the sparrow had gone.
The laboratory liaison officer had encouraging news. The frozen dinner packet that Kathy had spotted in Reg Gilbey’s dustbin had once contained a meal very close to, perhaps identical with, that found in Stan’s stomach.
‘Perhaps?’ Brock pressed.
‘They’re doing chemical tests for additives, but even if they’re identical, it won’t prove that his food came from that particular packet. But we will be able to trace the shop where the packet came from.’
‘Fingerprints? DNA?’
‘No, we couldn’t find either in the rubbish, I’m afraid. But there was a pear, half eaten, in the same plastic bag as the meal packet. They’ve made a cast of the teeth marks and the forensic odontologist over at London Hospital Medical College is preparing a mould to test against Dodworth’s teeth. The trouble is, the pear was bitten into about forty-eight hours ago, and the flesh has lost some of its crispness. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to make a certain match.’
‘Was there anything else in the bag containing the meal packet and the pear that we can definitely link to Reg Gilbey?’
The LO handed Brock the list of items: the plastic food tray from the meal, food scrapings, banana peel, stale bread, a wad of plastic film, a screwed-up paper bag, two crumpled beer cans. Brock shook his head, disappointed. ‘He’ll be able to claim anyone could have dropped it into his bin.’
‘Fraid so.’
‘Still, it should be enough for a search warrant.’
The timing was bad, no doubt about it. Bren’s knock on the door was answered by DI Tom Reeves, whose eyebrows rose at the sight of all those police officers. Kathy realised what his presence meant, but she didn’t have a chance to warn Bren as he and two others charged on up the stairs. After the others filed past Reeves, who held the door open for them like an ironic butler, Kathy said,‘I take it the judge is upstairs.’
At that moment there came a roar of anger from above, and Reeves said, ‘Yes, I think we can assume that. Mind telling me what’s going on?’
‘We found some stuff in Reg’s dustbin that links him to Dodworth, the bloke we were looking for who was found hanged this morning.’
Reeves looked puzzled.‘Meaning what, precisely?’
‘That’s what we’re here to find out.’
‘I take it your guvnor knows about this raid?’
‘Of course.’
‘I mean, he ordered it, right?’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Kathy, a little bit of advice? Beaufort was steaming mad when I drove him over here. You know how shook up old Reg was after the woman next door was found. He’s been refusing to get on with the judge’s portrait, says his hands are shaking too much. Then this business in the gallery. It was all we could do to get him going today. But that wasn’t the only thing making the judge see red. He was also mad about you lot, and especially your guvnor.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he thinks he’s stuffing up this whole case…’
‘No!’
‘… and because of that stunt your guvnor pulled last week.’ He saw the incomprehension on Kathy’s face. ‘You don’t know about that? DCI Brock paid the judge a visit at his home last week and tried to intimidate him and his missus.’
‘Oh come on, Tom, that’s bullshit. Why would Brock do that?’
‘Because he knows what Beaufort’s got in store for SO1, and he’s trying to use this case to get at him. That’s why you’re here now.’
‘No, it’s just an accident we came when you and the judge were here.’
‘That’s not the point, Kathy. By the time you’re finished with Reg he won’t be painting for weeks, and Sir Jack’s moment of fame at the National Portrait Gallery will be stuffed. Listen, believe me or not, but do yourself a favour-get yourself off this case and distance yourself from Brock. He’s finished.’
Kathy sat in the back seat with Reg Gilbey for the trip back to Shoreditch station. He looked stunned, hands trembling, and Kathy could believe Reeves’s predictions about the effect on his painting.
‘Don’t worry, Reg,’ she whispered. ‘It won’t take long, then you can get back and have a drop of Teachers.’
He shot her a panic-stricken look, his jaw clamped so tightly shut it looked as if his teeth might crack. Kathy wondered if they’d be taking a cast of them too.
When they got to the station Reg was led away to an interview room. Brock met Kathy at the door. ‘Any problems?’
‘Only that Sir Jack Beaufort was there, having a sitting for his portrait. He was mad with Bren for interrupting.’
Kathy knew every shade of expression on Brock’s face, and recognised the neutral screen that seemed to slip across his eyes.
‘Mm. Oh well.’
‘His minder had a word with me. Apparently Sir Jack isn’t happy with us. He told me that you paid the judge a visit last week.’
‘Did he now? Well, let’s get on, shall we? I think I’ll do this with one of the Hackney lads, Kathy. You might like to observe, and tell us what you think.’
He left her standing in the corridor, puzzled. She turned back to the room with the monitors for recording the interviews and took a seat.
The Hackney detective was grim-faced as he led the questioning, while Brock was distant in his manner, as if he didn’t much care what Reg had to say. The detective began with a formal caution. It was hard to tell if the painter understood; he looked as if he were about to be hauled away to the scaffold.