‘He’s never contacted you, since May?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘You’re absolutely certain of that? No unexplained silent phone calls, no indirect approaches? He would have needed help after it happened, and he might have thought of someone from the past, like you, who we wouldn’t necessarily consider.’
‘He wouldn’t have come to me. And I haven’t the faintest idea where he would have gone. I thought of Spain, like everyone else, but I don’t know of any secret boltholes.’
‘There was speculation that he might try to make contact when Charlotte has her baby. Do you think that’s plausible?’
‘I guess it’s possible. He’d want to know, of course, but he wouldn’t be stupid enough to make a direct approach. You think Charlotte might know how to send him a message? Or the Spanish woman? Or Madelaine, of course…Formidable Madelaine.’ She thought for a moment, then said, ‘Actually, if I’d been asked what would make him come back, it wouldn’t have been Charlotte’s baby.’ She reached over to the table beside her and handed Brock a thick magazine. The front cover showed a dramatic glossy photograph of a building, so geometric and brilliantly coloured that at first glance it looked like an abstract graphic, two squares, red on the left side and blue, fretted with shadows, on the right. Beneath the name of the magazine was the issue’s title, ‘Il Carcere Nuovo’.
‘Marchdale,’ Gail said. ‘ “The New Prison”. It came out last week, ahead of the opening, and before they knew about Charles’s reinstatement. That didn’t bother the Italians one bit. In fact, from the text you’d say that the fact that the architect was a famous murderer only increased the building’s glamour. But they also give it a very detailed appraisal, and the conclusion is that it’s brilliant.’
Opening the magazine, Brock found pages of dense text interspersed with plans and lush photographs. He wondered how they’d been able to conjure such blue skies, such beautiful raking shadows, in the fen country.
‘I have a friend at the Architectural Review who tells me that their special issue is about to come out, equally glowing. It seems Marchdale really is Charles’s masterpiece, and I can’t imagine how he’ll be able to stay away, especially now, with this sort of publicity.’
He thanked her for her time and she led him to the front door. The rain had stopped, a weak sun forcing through the cloud. As he walked back to his car, several streets away, he felt rather as if he’d been through a Turkish bath, like he sometimes did after a particularly probing conversation with Suzanne. The effect was both exhausting and rejuvenating. He wondered what story he could use to mobilise the security services and local police at Marchdale to be alert for a man who no longer existed.
22
Kathy tried the home number on file for the former laboratory clerk Debbie Langley. She wasn’t expecting a reply in the middle of the day, but the phone was answered by Debbie’s mother, with whom she apparently lived. ‘Debbie gets home from work at six,’ the mother said. ‘Well, would it be convenient if I called tonight at, say, six-thirty?’ ‘I don’t know,’ the woman said defensively. ‘Does she know you?’
‘We’ve never met. I’m with the police. It’s not a big matter, and it only indirectly affects Debbie, so it’d be easier me seeing her at home rather than asking her to come to a police station. It won’t take long.’
Debbie’s mother agreed, and Kathy put the phone down, feeling a squirm of guilt.
The house was a rather gloomy dark-red brick semi, not far from the local commuter rail station and shops. The paint on the garage door was peeling and the concrete path cracked. Debbie Langley opened the door looking worried. Her make-up was fresh, her cheeks flushed as if she’d rushed to get ready to face this unexpected complication to her day. From the back of the house came a smell of cooking and the sound of a child’s voice. She closed the front door after Kathy and led the way into the front sitting room, the furnishings spotless but worn.
‘Could you tell me what this is about?’ she demanded anxiously, clutching her hands. Kathy had the impression of someone who had faced a fair bit of bad news lately and was bracing for another little smack from fate. ‘It’s not my car is it? Only I told Cheryl when I lent it to her that I’m not going to be responsible…’ She stopped, seeing Kathy smile and shake her head.
‘No, it’s nothing like that, Debbie. It’s just a loose end I have to tie up on a case I’m on at the moment, and it’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about.’
‘Oh, good.’ She drew a cautious breath of relief.
‘It’s in connection with your work at the laboratory.’
‘But you know I don’t work there any more, don’t you? I’m on the clerical staff at the hospital now, full time. I was only part time at the lab, you see, and I really wanted full-time work. If it’s about the same thing they came about before, about the internal review, well I thought I’d done everything needed.’
‘Yes, it probably does overlap with that. When was it, that they spoke to you?’
‘Oh, a week ago? Maybe more.’
‘And what exactly did they ask you about?’
‘He had a report he was writing, about tightening up procedures. He just wanted my signature.’
‘Did you read the report?’
‘Oh no, it was too long, and he was in a hurry.’
This sounded wrong. Kathy wondered what kind of inquiry they’d carried out. She herself had only seen the summary of conclusions, not the background documents.
‘But he explained what was in the report?’
‘Not really. He said he just needed to get everyone who’d worked there in the past twelve months to sign off on it, and frankly I wasn’t bothered, now I don’t work there any more.’
‘Did he talk about last May, about some work the lab was doing then, on a case for us?’
‘May? I don’t think so. Which case was that?’
‘The Verge case.’
‘Oh, I remember that one! We were all fascinated. Well, everyone was. I remember telling Mum when I was typing up the forensic schedules, you know, about the bloodstains and that.’ Debbie suddenly looked anxious again. ‘That is all right, isn’t it? I mean, we could talk about our work…’
‘No, it’s fine. And did the man who saw you last week mention anything about your work on that case?’
‘No, I’m sure he didn’t.’
‘He didn’t say that was what the report was about?’
‘Oh no. I mean, I wouldn’t normally have signed something without reading it, but he was in a hurry, and since I knew him and everything
… Why? Is something wrong?’
‘There’s been a suggestion that someone made a mistake in the original forensic report for the Verge case, Debbie,’ Kathy said carefully. ‘I just thought he might have mentioned that to you, maybe asked you if you knew anything about it.’
‘A mistake? Oh dear, was it serious?’
‘It caused a bit of delay.’
‘Well, it certainly wasn’t me. I was always very careful, especially with the big cases. I was just a keyboard operator, you see, mainly transcribing reports. All those lists! It would have been easy to skip an item. Some of the girls would copy them by eye, but I had my own method to make sure I didn’t make a mistake. If I couldn’t transcribe electronically, I’d make a photocopy and strike out each item in turn after I’d entered it, to make sure I didn’t miss any. It was slower, but it avoided errors.’