I nodded at the security guard we’d had placed at the entrance to the building. She wasn’t in uniform and I was discreet about it. The authorities still didn’t know that we had Hannah back safe and we wanted to keep it that way. Time enough for explanations and recriminations later.
Priority one was getting Harlan Shapiro back. His daughter’s rooms were on the ground floor. I keyed in the entrance code at the door and walked into a brightly lit warm corridor with rugs on the floor, flowers on a side table and modern artwork on either wall between the doors to the student apartments. To the right as I walked in was the students’ kitchen. Far fancier than the one I remembered from my student days.
Sitting at the table was Suzy, drinking a cup of tea, and Sam Riddel doing likewise. Herbal for him, no doubt.
I threw Suzy a slightly critical look. ‘I thought I said to stay with Hannah?’
‘She had a visitor.’
‘Laura?’
‘No.’
I knew they hadn’t let Chloe out. I had the hospital on speed-dial. With Chloe things were going well. They were talking of moving her out of intensive care. Which was good. But no way were they letting her home yet. Which was bad.
I snapped back to the present. ‘So who?’
‘Her tutor. Professor Kidman.’
I smiled, briefly. Not like Suzy to be jealous. But then I realised she wasn’t being jealous. It was a good call – the professor did look like the actress.
‘Annabelle,’ I said.
‘Annabelle?’
‘How did she know?’
‘I guess Hannah called her.’
‘You let her use the phone?’
‘Didn’t say not to,’ Sam joined in.
They were right. I hadn’t. ‘Could make things complicated, word gets out,’ I said.
Suzy smiled, but her eyes were deadpan. ‘Maybe you could have a word with Annabelle? Buy us some time.’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
I knocked on the door and, after a pause, walked in. Hannah was dressed in a bathrobe. Her hair was wet.
She was being hugged by Professor Weston who smiled gratefully at me as I entered. Hannah didn’t move for a while, her head nestled against the older woman’s shoulder.
Annabelle gave her back a reassuring pat. Like a surrogate mother, which I guess she was in some ways. Apart from her age. A surrogate older sister, maybe.
‘Thanks for bringing her back to us,’ Annabelle said.
‘De nada,’ I replied. And I was right, it was nothing. All I’d achieved was to swap one hostage for another and pay the kidnappers five million pounds for the privilege.
Hannah straightened herself and moved away from the professor. ‘Thank you, Mister Carter,’ she said.
‘I told you, it’s Dan. And you can thank me when I get your dad back home.’
Hannah nodded and, although her face had been scrubbed clean and glowed once more with the innocence of youth, there was still a deep sadness in her eyes.
‘So, what brings you here, Mister Carter?’ asked the professor.
‘I think we have a lead.’
‘Really?’
‘A witness.’
Chapter 80
‘A witness?’
The professor looked surprised. ‘I thought there was no one there. Why hasn’t he come forward before?’
‘Who is it?’ asked Hannah.
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said the professor.
‘We found something on one of the crime scene photos, Annabelle.’
‘What was it?’
‘A scrap of material. Well, not a scrap really, just the part of it that was visible in the photograph.’
‘What kind of material?’
‘A blanket. Belonging, we think, to someone who was sleeping rough.’
‘You think he was there when I was attacked?’
‘It’s possible. He may have seen something. May have a number plate.’ I shrugged.
The professor rubbed Hannah’s back and smiled hopefully.
‘Well, that’s good, then, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘It’s a long shot. But if someone was there when the girls were attacked, when Hannah was taken, it’s something at least.’
‘I just want my dad back,’ said Hannah. Tears starting again in her eyes.
‘And we’re going to get him back. Get dressed, Hannah. We’ve got somewhere safe to take you.’
‘Where?’ asked the professor.
‘Not far.’
‘Give me two minutes,’ said Hannah.
The professor held out her arms and gave her another hug, then stroked her cheek. ‘I’ll only be at the end of the phone if you need me. And if you want, I’ll come straight back.’
‘Are you going somewhere… Annabelle?’ Hannah was clearly not happy.
‘A symposium. Up in Harrogate. Maybe I should just cancel…’
Hannah shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘We’ll take good care of her, I promise,’ I added.
Seems I had made that promise before but the professor fixed me with a considering look and then nodded. ‘I guess you will,’ she said. She took a step towards me and held out her hand.
It was as firm a grasp as I remembered, and as warm. I realised I was holding on a tad long. Annabelle looked at me appraisingly. I held her gaze. Not easy with a psychiatrist. You always think they can see right through you. What am I saying? She’s a woman. Most women can see right through me. I’m like the guy from Chicago. And I don’t mean Walt Disney.
‘You’ll keep me posted, Mister Carter?’
‘Of course.’
Chapter 81
Di James jiggled some keys in her hands.
They were the spare keys to the optician’s, a scant hundred yards from where the shop’s owner had been blown into pieces.
‘I’m not sure I should be doing this,’ she said.
Kirsty Webb bit on her lower lip. It was a big ask and she knew that. Going outside the official channels in an investigation was not looked on kindly. The police force was like the army. You had to work together as a team. That was drummed into you every bit as hard at Hendon as it was in any army boot camp.
‘Far as anyone knows, there is no connection between the body in Stoke Mandeville morgue and the recently deceased optician,’ Kirsty said finally.
‘Except we know there is.’
‘You phone it in… and it’s out of our hands.’
‘I know that, too.’
‘There could be some serious kudos going round with this collar if we make it.’
‘And some serious shit either way.’
Kirsty nodded. ‘Risk and reward.’
The Buckinghamshire-based detective tossed the keys in the air and clutched them in her fist.
‘The sisterhood doing it for themselves?’ she said.
Kirsty shrugged. ‘Something like that.’
DI James stepped over to the shop’s door. ‘Come on, then, Alice,’ she said. ‘Let’s go down the rabbit hole.’
She slotted the Chubb key in the lock and turned it. She depressed the door handle and opened the door.
‘Just the one lock?’ Kirsty asked, surprised.
‘This is Chesham,’ said DI James. ‘We don’t have crime in Chesham.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said Kirsty Webb.
It didn’t take long to process the shop. A couple of desks, a couple of cupboards, a big filing cabinet with patients’ records, duplicated no doubt in electronic form on the computer.
They had split up. DI James took the front office and reception area and Kirsty Webb checked the back office and examination room.
Half an hour later Kirsty came out to the front, still wearing latex gloves, and looked at her new colleague who was sitting behind the reception desk reading an office diary. ‘Anything?’ she asked.
DI James looked up from the A4-sized book. ‘Chappel kept an office diary. He used it for personal stuff too.’
‘Don’t tell me. He’s made a confession. Death by gas barbecue. It was an elaborate suicide.’
DI James flashed a brief smile and shook her head. ‘If only. It would make our jobs a lot easier if people did the decent thing like that.’