I was almost home when my phone sounded again. I hadn’t expected to hear from Lottie Mann for at least twenty-four hours, and so I was taken by surprise.
‘What’s up?’ I asked. ‘Was there something we forgot to cover over lunch?’
‘No,’ she said breezily. ‘I thought I’d give you a heads up on what we’ve got so far. We’ve still got a way to go before we have the complete picture, but we know some of it. Hodgson was fifty-four; he graduated in marine engineering from Heriot Watt Uni in Edinburgh and joined the Navy aged twenty-four. He served in the surface fleet, including some time in aircraft carriers during the first Gulf War. He retired, or he was retired, ten years ago and joined the Royal Fleet Auxiliary: that’s a civilian support . . .’
‘I know what it is; it gets people and things to wherever they’re needed by the military.’
‘That’s right. He turned that in when he was fifty, and moved to Wemyss Bay from the Portsmouth area. He was married from nineteen eighty-nine to twenty zero two. That ended in divorce; no children.’
‘Where did you get all this?’ I asked.
‘Department of Work and Pensions . . . if that’s what it’s still called,’ she chuckled. ‘He’s been paying self-employed National Insurance contributions for the last four years. We don’t yet know who his clients are apart from Mr Higgins, but when we can access his bank details and see where his payments have been coming from, that’ll give us a better idea.’
‘Where did he bank?’
‘We found an ATM card for a Santander account among his effects in the house. He had one of their credit cards as well, and a Barclaycard. Dan’s on to the bank now; as usual, they’re being difficult.’
‘Let DCC McGuire know if it becomes a problem,’ I suggested. ‘He has a special way with difficult jobsworths, plus he knows the Data Protection Act inside out.’
‘Will do, Mr Skinner, thanks,’ Lottie said.
‘Were there no papers in the house to help you?’ I asked.
‘Precious little. He had a file with council tax details in it, and another for insurance, but no receipts for utilities, gas, electric, the phone.’
‘Me neither,’ I confessed. ‘Everything in my household is online, and settled automatically by direct debit. But if that was the case with Hodgson,’ I pondered aloud, ‘it should be on his computer.’
‘And it probably is,’ she agreed, ‘but we don’t know where that is. A week or so before his death, he reported a break-in at his house. The missing property listed in the investigating officers’ notes was a hundred and fifty quid in cash, an inscribed Omega watch that was a leaving present from his Navy pals, some gold men’s jewellery, a valuable ring that he said was his mother’s, and a Dell laptop computer.’
‘Did the responding officers have the place dusted?’
‘Of course they did,’ she said, reprovingly. ‘And it was clean as a whistle. The ring was insured for five grand and Hodgson had a photograph of it. It’s a nice-looking piece. That was circulated to all the likely jewellery buyers, including pawnshops, but nothing’s shown up.’
I could see her frown, and her pursed lips, in my mind’s eye. ‘Go on, Lottie,’ I challenged, ‘tell me what you’ve got in mind. See if you’re wondering the same as me.’
‘If you insist,’ she responded, ‘although I’ll only have your word for what you’re thinking. I’m wondering whether all the other items were stolen to disguise the fact that the laptop was the real target.’
‘Then take my word for it,’ I told her. ‘But I’m not even wondering. I’d bet your house on it. A laptop’s worth bugger all in sell-on value. The dogs in the bloody street have got laptops these days. You may assume that Hodgson’s burglar was after the Dell, and I reckon that you can assume also that either it was password protected and he couldn’t crack it or there was nothing on it apart from email files of his phone bills. And so he came back,’ I concluded. ‘And here’s where I leave you behind, DI Mann,’ I went on, ‘for I might even hazard a guess at who he was.’
‘Are you going to share that?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. Do something else for me first. If the CSIs did their job, they went over the garage and they found a Samsung Galaxy phone lying in his car. If they didn’t, it’s still there. Either way,’ I said, ‘you should get hold of it and see what’s on it. If I’m right, then I’ll share, and as far as Chief Constable Martin’s concerned it was your idea all along.’
Forty-Two
‘Thank you for joining us, Mr Sullivan,’ Sammy Pye began as the visitor took a seat in his small office, facing him across his desk. Haddock made up a threesome, looking on from a chair beside the window, through which the low morning sun shone into Sullivan’s face.
‘You’ll remember us, DCI Pye and DS Haddock.’
‘Of course, and thanks for the lift,’ the man replied, taking a pair of Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses from the top pocket of his sports jacket and slipping them on. ‘That’s better,’ he murmured. ‘Now I can see you guys properly.’
‘Sure,’ Pye said. ‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘No thanks, I’m fine. Anyway, I’m not here for coffee, am I?’
The DCI smiled. ‘Not exactly. We want to give you an update on your stolen car. And we have a couple of questions. We’re recording this for the purposes of our investigation. Although you’re here voluntarily, we’ll be happy if you feel you want to have legal representation.’
‘To hell with that,’ Sullivan retorted. ‘I have nothing to worry about, so I don’t need a lawyer. As for an update, I’ve had that from the papers. You’re dead certain it was the lad Francey who stole it?’
‘One hundred per cent,’ Haddock replied.
‘I see,’ he muttered. ‘The other guy I told you about, the man King who came to see the Bristoclass="underline" did you get anywhere with him?’
‘No, but frankly we haven’t been looking. He stopped being of interest quite early on.’
‘Good, for he turned out not to be a time-waster after all. He phoned me on Monday evening and said he wanted to buy the Bristol, subject to a road test and independent inspection. We’ve done a deal.’
‘Then we’re happy for you.’
Sullivan frowned. ‘Okay, so you’re sure it was Dean Francey that took the Beamer, and used it to kidnap that poor wee girl. Are you working up to telling me you think our Maxwell might have been involved too?’
‘No, there’s no evidence of that at all,’ Pye said, ‘and it’s never been in our thinking. But that’s not to say that Francey acted alone. We believe that Anna Hojnowski was his accomplice.’
‘The girl that was in the car with him when he was found?’
‘The very same. You probably knew her as Anna Harmony.’
All the colour drained from Sullivan’s face, in an instant. ‘You what . . .’ he gasped.
‘Anna Harmony,’ Haddock repeated. ‘You did know her, didn’t you?’
‘Well, yes, but . . . I never knew that was her real name.’
‘You had a party at your house about a year ago, and she was there, wasn’t she?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, so what?’
‘It wasn’t a casual invitation, was it? You knew her before that.’
‘Yes,’ Sullivan admitted.
‘She worked for you?’ Pye asked.
‘In the factory, that’s right. But I never knew her real name; I didn’t hire her personally, or do the wages. She was always Anna Harmony to me . . . although I did hear people calling her Singer.’
‘And she babysat for you?
‘Once or twice.’
‘And you had a relationship?’
He nodded. ‘For a while.’
‘Was she the cause of your marriage break-up?’
‘Hell no. Janine never knew about her, and anyway there were others. What I told you before, it was true; Janine and I just weren’t suited. We both wanted out. It was amicable, and Anna had nothing to do with it. When the divorce went through she and I weren’t seeing each other.’
‘But you thought you might re-start it?’ the DCI suggested. ‘Was that why you invited her to your party in North Berwick?’