Rick toyed with his drink. ‘Ones that advertise in the broadsheets?’
‘Yup. And at several hundred quid just to join, they’re not cheap.’
‘So we’ve got her coming into contact with various men, none of whom had a previous social connection with her. Have we got the list of people she had dates with?’
‘Only just. They were reluctant at first, because their members’ records are strictly confidential. Then someone pointed out to them that having the Butcher of Belle Vue on their books was probably more of a risk to their profits than a few disgruntled members. Rowland received dozens of member profiles, but only had around fifteen actual dates, we think. Each one’s being looked into now.’
Jon downed his coffee in one gulp. ‘According to Lucy, she hadn’t had much luck with any of them. Her confidence was low. Before the divorce she’d only ever dressed up for a few gin and tonics at their local every Friday. Now her wardrobe was hopelessly out of date.’ He tapped a forefinger on the table to emphasise his next point. ‘Then she mentioned to her daughter over the phone that she’d decided to do something. She sounded nervous and excited. She wouldn’t say what, just that it was something she should have done a long time ago.’
‘Did Lucy find out what she was up to?’ Jon shook his head. ‘Next time she saw her mum, it was in the mortuary. We’ve gone over her phone records and bank statements, but nothing of much help there.’
Both men were silent as they turned possibilities over. Jon looked up. ‘What about the porter selling this rowing machine? That was a surgical glove back there. They must be two a penny in hospitals. How about nipping over to Stepping Hill hospital?’
Rick looked uncomfortable. ‘Shouldn’t we run it by
McCloughlin first?’
‘Strictly speaking, yes.’
Rick hesitated before pulling out his mobile. ‘I’ll give him a quick ring, then. May as well play things by the book.’
Jon gave a noncommittal shrug as Rick made the call.
Chapter 4
Rick snapped his phone shut. ‘Yeah, he says to get over there, but stressed just for a chat. What did he think we were going to do, batter him?’
Jon knew the comment was directed at him. In McCloughlin’s view, Jon’s temper was his Achilles’ heel, a constant threat to his career.
Half an hour later Jon laid his warrant card on the counter in the main reception at Stepping Hill hospital. A different woman looked up at him.
‘Could I use the phone please?’ he asked. ‘Internal call.’
‘Here you are.’ She turned it round and put it on the counter. Jon dialled 241. He was about to give up when the phone was answered. ‘Is Pete around?’
‘Pete Gray?’
‘I don’t know his surname.’
‘Well, there’s only one Pete works in here. He’s on his way with some supplies to the surgical wards. Left two minutes ago.’
‘Cheers.’ Jon handed the phone back and looked at the site map. A very cheerful volunteer with the name ‘Sue’ on her badge pointed out the way they needed to go. Thanking her, they set off down a long corridor, passing a procession of hospital staff, patients and visitors. Soon they reached a T-junction and followed the overhead sign. At the next crossroads, they could see the surgical ward immediately in front. Jon glanced to his left; a man with a large paunch was swaggering towards them, pushing a trolley piled with boxes. As he got nearer Jon said to Rick, ‘Check out the box on top of his pile.’
The label said: Mediquip Inc. Powder-free surgical gloves. Sterile.
24 boxes of 200.
‘Pete Gray?’ Jon asked. Taking in the porter’s jet-black laquered quiff, Jon guessed he was in his late forties and clinging to the same haircut of twenty years ago. When baldness hit, it was going to hit hard. The heavy gold neck chain seemed incongruous with the simple white overalls he was wearing.
‘Yes?’ he said, slowing down.
Jon held his warrant card up. ‘DI Spicer and DS Saville, Greater Manchester Police. Once you’ve dropped that lot off, can we have a quick word?’
The porter seemed to think about this for a second, eyes fixed on Jon’s badge. Nervously he raised a hand to his chin. No wedding ring. ‘Here? What’s it about?’
‘Perhaps a café area would be more comfortable,’ Jon replied, ignoring the second question.
Pete’s eyes flicked from Jon to Rick and back again. ‘OK.’ He pushed the trolley through the double doors, Jon and
Rick watching him through the windows.
‘Him selling a rowing machine? No wonder. He obviously didn’t get much use out of it,’ Rick said quietly.
Pete re-emerged and, confidently now, led them to a quiet café area round the corner. After they’d all got a drink, Pete walked over to a table with a discarded copy of the Sun on it, peeling back the front page to stare at the page three girl beneath.
‘I wouldn’t kick her out of bed. Tits are fake, though.’
Jon studied his face. With the build-up of flab on his cheeks and below his jaw, there was a faint resemblance to a Las Vegasera Elvis. In his younger days he’d probably been quite the ladies’ man. The way he passed judgement on a topless model some thirty years younger than him suggested that he thought he still was.
‘How long have you worked here, Pete?’ Jon placed a white plastic stirrer in his upturned cup lid.
Pete finished pouring a third sachet of sugar into his coffee.
‘About eight years.’
‘Ever have to work nights? I could never get used to them when I was in uniform.’
Pete’s shoulders relaxed a little. ‘I don’t mind them, actually.’ Jon stretched his legs out to the side of the table, took a sip of coffee. Allowing a note of boredom into his voice, he said,
‘This is just routine stuff because your name was thrown up as part of an ongoing investigation — it shouldn’t take long. Were you working yesterday?’
‘Yeah, I finish at eight in the evening.’
He wasn’t quite sure why, but Jon was getting a feeling about the man. Keeping it casual, he looked away, appearing to be more interested in the Give Blood poster on the wall. He was about to ask his next question when Rick jumped in, ‘What did you do for the rest of the night?’
A wary expression slid across Pete’s face. ‘Watched a couple of videos.’
Jon tried to steer the conversation back to just a chat. ‘A couple? You a film buff?’
‘Just Elvis ones.’
‘I think I’ve only ever seen Viva Las Vegas. What else was he in?’
‘Loads.’
The man had clammed up and Jon could tell he was only going to get more tense. Cursing Rick for having jumped in so clumsily, he decided to go for it. ‘Did anyone watch them with you?’
‘No, I live alone.’ Guarded now.
‘Pete, are you into exercise?’
‘Not really.’
‘What about rowing?’ He shook his head.
‘You’ve never tried a rowing machine?’
Pete blinked. ‘Oh, yeah. I’ve tried it a couple of times.’
‘At a gym?’
‘No, I bought one. The thing’s still in my house.’
‘Must clutter the place up. Ever considered selling it?’
The stream of questions was irritating Pete and he tried to reverse the flow. ‘Why? You want to buy it?’
Jon laid his forearms on the table. ‘Did Carol Miller want to buy it?’
He watched as connections came together in the other man’s head. ‘I’ve never laid eyes on her.’
‘Was she looking to buy your rowing machine? The one you’re trying to sell on the noticeboard of the maternity ward?’ Pete ran a hand back and forth across his chin, eyes shifting to the side. ‘We spoke. She was interested, but she never followed it up.’
‘You spoke? You mean over the telephone?’
‘That’s right. She rang me — internal call.’
No record of calls made on an internal phone system, Jon thought. He was considering his next question when Pete spoke first. ‘I don’t like where this is going. I’m not prepared to continue.’ He finished his coffee and got up.