Brian Johns hesitated. “These details are given to us in confidence. She isn’t under investigation, is she?”
“If she were, we’d need them anyway. As it happens, we’re concerned for her well-being.”
“She isn’t in hospital?”
“Not that we’ve heard. Would you do this directly, please? I’m Detective Sergeant Ingeborg Smith.” She told him her email address and direct line.
“With any luck,” she told Diamond when she’d ended the call, “we’ll be able to phone her shortly and make sure she got home safely.”
“I’m trying to get Pinto’s address as well.” He hadn’t heard anything yet from Paul Gilbert, but he had to admit to himself that the priority now was Belinda, as Ingeborg’s next statement made clear.
“Not if she’s okay, guv. He’ll be in the clear.”
“There’s that other woman in the BHF shirt,” he reminded her. “Susie Bingham. We haven’t checked whether she finished the race.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
They returned to the results. Susie Bingham had recorded a time of just under three hours for the full distance.
“So Susie is okay. We can eliminate her,” Ingeborg said.
“Not yet. We may need to interview most of these runners, particularly those coming behind. If Belinda retired from the race, they may have seen the incident.”
She nodded. The boss was covering every angle, as he should. She checked her phone for messages. Nothing yet from Brian Johns. “Anything else we should be doing?”
“See if she’s on Facebook or Twitter or any of those.”
“That will be easier when we know where she lives.”
“Bath, I’m assuming.”
“It’s not so simple. People travel quite long distances to join in races like this one. Here we go — a message from Brian.”
The email undermined Ingeborg’s last remark. Belinda Pye had an address in Spring Gardens Road, Bath.
“You know where that is?” Diamond said, but not in a told-you-so way. “Right on the riverbank, on the other side from where the nick was. If I remember right, it’s nineteen-sixties terraced housing. Try her mobile first.”
She touched in the numbers. “I’m getting unavailable.”
“Is there a second number, a landline?”
“No.”
“So what’s this other number?”
“That’s the friend she had to nominate in case of emergencies.”
“This is an emergency.”
“Okay.” Ingeborg dialled it up and listened. “Busy.”
“Ask for ringback. What’s the friend’s address? Is that in Bath as well?”
“St. Michaels Road, Twerton. Bella Kilbury.”
“Still busy?”
“Hang on, it’s dialling.” She nodded to him as she started the call. “Ms. Bella Kilbury? This is Bath Police, Sergeant Ingeborg Smith, with an enquiry about Belinda Pye, who I believe is known to you. She nominated you as the go-to person when she entered for a half marathon here in Bath. Does that make sense?” She gave the thumbs-up to Diamond. “Have you spoken to her since the race?... I see... We’d like to know a little more about her. She lives in Spring Gardens Road, I believe.”
From the lengthy gap in the conversation, Bella Kilbury was talking freely about her friend. Ingeborg didn’t need to prompt her much.
“No, it’s a routine enquiry, but we may need to get back to you... Can you give me Belinda’s email address?... Thanks. You’ve been helpful.” She ended the call and turned to Diamond. “They went through university together. Belinda is thirty-two, works in IT, mostly from home, which is a rented bedsit in a private house in Spring Gardens Road. She took up running about a year ago because she felt she spent too much time in front of the computer. She decided to enter the Bath Half to give her an extra incentive, but applied too late, so signed up for the Other Half. Managed to get in as a BHF runner and raised most of the sponsorship money over the internet. She’s quite shy and confessed to Bella that she didn’t want to ask people face to face. No current boyfriend. Extremely conscientious. An introvert, according to Bella, but a lovely character when you get to know her. She asked Bella’s permission to name her as the person to reach in an emergency, but said she didn’t want Bella to turn up to cheer her on. That’s a measure of how shy she is.”
“I’m getting the picture. Did you ask about her hair?”
“The blonde ponytail?” Ingeborg said. “Stupid. I should have done.”
“I don’t like this,” he said. “The nervous woman under pressure from a predator like Pinto. She’d find it difficult to shake him off.”
“Any woman would, from what you’ve told me.”
“Yes, but some might enjoy the attention.”
“Not many, from a skunk like him.”
“Don’t be so sure. He had a technique that worked.”
“Once.”
“Once was all he needed.”
He needed to visit Spring Gardens Road, leaving Ingeborg to deal with any more information coming in from Brian, the Other Half man. There was still a chance Belinda might be back in her bedsit and getting over the bad experience of the day before. He had to keep reminding himself that his worst fears about her fate were speculation. He was always warning the team about making unsafe assumptions.
The drive down Pulteney Road, with the Sports Centre to his right, made him aware how close Spring Gardens Road was to the open area that became the runners’ village on the day of the half marathon. Belinda wouldn’t have needed to store her bag in the tent provided. She could go straight from home to the start. If she chose to wear an extra layer she could do what many others did and use an old, unwanted sweater that one of the charities would gratefully collect and recycle.
The street was right beside the Avon, facing the post office sorting office. The houses were terraced and built in the same unattractive yellow stone used for his old workplace in Manvers Street.
He noticed the twitch of a curtain at a downstairs window before he rang the bell. The occupant wasn’t quick in coming to the door and when she answered it was from behind a safety chain.
“I don’t buy anything at the door.” The voice was thin and elderly and came from halfway down the narrow space. She must have been under five feet tall.
“Madam,” he said. “I’m not a salesman. I’m from the police.”
If these were meant as reassuring words, they had the opposite effect. She slammed the door hard and he heard a bolt being forced home.
He stooped to raise the flap on the letterbox. “You’re not in trouble. I’m here about Belinda, your lodger.”
No response, so he tried again.
“I don’t want to force the door.”
After more seconds passed, he heard the bolt withdrawn and the latch turned. The slit between door and frame reappeared, but she left the safety chain on.
“I need your help. Is Belinda in there with you?”
“No.”
“Was she here last night?”
“No.”
“I need to know she’s safe.”
“Go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I get what I came for. I’ve reason to be worried about her. Here’s my ID. Can you see?” He held it at what he thought was her level. “Superintendent Peter Diamond. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Mrs. Hector.”
“Let’s do this in a civilised way, Mrs. Hector. I can call for assistance, but you don’t want a police car outside and you don’t want your door knocked down with a battering ram.”
She closed the door again, but this time to free the safety chain. Revealed, she stood defiantly in the doorway with arms folded, a wisp of a woman in apron and slippers, short as a broom handle and not much broader. “This is not a council house,” she said. “It’s privately owned by Mr. Patel. I’m allowed to have a lodger.”