Walk a Narrow Mile (7 page)

They ate easily and comfortably, with trays on their laps in the intimate sitting area, then, after washing up, watched the sunset go down from the roof of the boat, where they lay flat on their backs, watching the swallows swoop and dart.

Hillary was listening to a blackbird serenading in the nearby willows when she felt Steven stiffen beside her. She too sat up quickly, and saw what had attracted his attention.

A young man was strolling down the towpath, holding a padded envelope and clearly checking the names of boats. He wore black motor-cycle leathers and stopped when he reached the
Mollern
. He smiled up at them.

‘Hillary Greene?’ he asked. He was about twenty, around five feet five, and had impressive acne on his chin.

‘Yes.’

‘Package for you.’

Hillary reached down and took the envelope. ‘Can you sign just there and there please?’ he asked, handing over one of those machines that had a mostly blank grey screen but with a
black-outlined
box and affixed stylus. ‘Where the Xs are,’ he added helpfully.

Hillary signed and half-listened as Steven began questioning the courier. He made sure to get both his name, the name and address of the courier company, as well as the young lad’s immediate superior, before he let him go.

They waited until the puzzled lad was gone before she turned
the padded envelope over thoughtfully in her hands and studied it. It had her name and the name of her boat and nothing more. She glanced at Steven.

‘What do you want to bet that whoever the customer was, he paid in cash, and probably got some little kid to hand deliver it the courier’s office?’ she asked.

Steven smiled grimly. ‘No bet. Do you want to call in the bomb squad?’ he asked seriously.

Hillary thought about it seriously.

‘No. But let’s be careful.’ If they called in the bomb squad it would be all over HQ tomorrow. And for DI Rhumer’s
investigation
to stand any chance of catching her stalker, he needed to keep it on the Q.T. as much as possible.

She held the envelope far away from them, dangling it over the edge of the boat and out over the water. If it did hold
something
nasty, maybe she’d be able to drop it in the water before it did any real damage. Then she had a sudden, appalling thought.

‘What if it’s anthrax or something?’ she said. ‘It mustn’t get into the water system.’

‘Open it flap side up. That’ll keep the contents inside.’

Hillary did so. Nothing flashed, banged, or shot out at her, hissing. She peered cautiously between the two sides of the envelope, then reached in and drew out an old-fashioned jewellery box.

She opened it.

Inside, was a pretty, antique pendant of two love-hearts joined together by an arrow. Over her shoulder, Steven looked at it grimly.

‘Any message?’

There was: in the envelope, obviously computer printed:
From Lol.

‘Well, that gives us something to play with, at any rate,’ Steven said, trying to keep the mood upbeat. ‘First thing in the morning, Rhumer can start trying to trace that.’ He nodded down at the pendant.

Hillary shuddered, snapped the lid shut and handed it over.

‘What say we finish off that bottle of wine and go to bed?’ she asked savagely.

Wordlessly, Steven reached an arm around her and held her close. He kissed the side of her neck. ‘Now that’s an offer no man in his right mind would refuse.’

After a tense second, Hillary Greene smiled.

T
he next day, Hillary got in to work early. She’d slept badly again, and once the sky began to get light just after 4.30, she’d left Steven sleeping in their narrow fold-out bed and had spent the next few hours going through Geoff Rhumer’s list. She paid special attention to those men he had highlighted as having worked in either MisPer or on sex-crime cases involving rape or sexual attacks on women.

A lot of the names were familiar to her for one reason or another, of course. She had worked out of the HQ at Kidlington for most of her working life, and during the years, she’d come across many of the men named. Those she knew, she put a small neat asterisk by the name and a number, and on a separate page wrote out anything and everything she knew about the man, both from her own personal knowledge, or from what she’d heard about them through the general scuttlebutt on the grapevine.

Some she recalled simply for winning football or rugby matches and being a minor celebrity for a week, whilst others had a rep for being a bit of a lad with the ladies, or the horses, or the booze. A lot had worked on some of her cases where she had needed extra manpower doing the scut-work and
labour-intensive
jobs that higher-ranking members of her team wouldn’t have had time for. She spent a lot of time mulling over those particularly, since it might have been possible that she’d inadvertently ticked them off or somehow got on their
bad side, but she honestly couldn’t recall a problem with any of them.

Of the others, some she knew to speak to, others just to nod to, others had names that recalled some incident, but not a face to go with them.

She made detailed notes of everything and anything she could remember, because when you were dealing with a crazy any detail might matter. And she knew that as well as DI Rhumer.

For all she knew, her stalker could have targeted her because she happened to beat him to a car space at HQ. She might not even have been aware that he’d been competing for the same space. Or she might have seen a group of men, and greeted one by name, and one of the others had felt slighted. Anything could set a crazy off.

But as she walked into HQ and sought out Rhumer in his office, she didn’t hold out much hope for the list in her hands.

‘Hello. Heard you had more contact last night.’ Rhumer greeted her with a thoughtful smile, and she quickly filled him in on last night’s events, although it was clear that he had already been briefed, probably by Steven.

‘And here’s your list,’ she concluded, handing it over. ‘As you’ll see, I’ve made notes. But nothing stands out.’

Rhumer sighed and thanked her, and quickly began to glance through the lists. ‘So, what’s on your agenda today?’

Hillary smiled. ‘Keep on plugging. I’m going to concentrate on Judy Yelland today, the first girl to go missing. There was no joy at all from her parents – and I mean that literally.’

Rhumer nodded. ‘OK. Be careful,’ he added, and grunted a short laugh as Hillary gave him a mocking look. ‘Right. Grandmother. Suck eggs. Got it.’

‘I’d still rather have my job than yours,’ Hillary grinned, nodding at the long list of names. ‘It’ll take you and your team weeks to work through that lot.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ Rhumer groaned. ‘But we’ll start with those
both of us have marked, and who knows? We might just get lucky.’

Hillary left him to it, thinking that they bloody well needed a bit of luck.

Geoff Rhumer reached for her list. Towards the bottom of the alphabetical list on the last page, was the name of Thomas Warrington. It was neither highlighted in Rhumer’s yellow pen, nor did it have an asterisk with a corresponding note in Hillary’s hand.

‘Tell me again who it is we’re seeing?’ Jimmy asked, as he headed towards the Glory Farm area of the market town of Bicester.

‘Ruth Coombs. She was the friend of Judy Yelland who reported her missing,’ Hillary said.

‘Right, right, I remember. Didn’t the chap who took the
original
report think that she might well have had something to do with the girl upping sticks in the first place?’

Hillary nodded. She’d re-read Judy Yelland’s sparse file before collecting Jimmy for the off. ‘Yes. He found her pushy and domineering. Reading between the lines, he had the feeling that she was the sort who liked to be boss, and even marked down in his notes that if Coombs had been his friend, he’d have done a runner too.’

Jimmy snorted. ‘Sounds like we’re in for a barrel of laughs then.’

Hillary nodded. ‘It’ll certainly be interesting to see if time’s changed things any.’

‘And besides, you always like to make your own judgement calls, right, guv.’

‘Always, Jimmy.’

Ruth Coombs worked in shop on a small industrial estate that specialized in selling camping and outdoor gear. They parked near a large stock of propane cylinders, Jimmy eyeing them warily as they passed.

‘Had a bad experience with gas, Jimmy?’ Hillary teased. Living on a boat, she was used to using gas cylinders for all her cooking and heating needs.

Jimmy grunted something dire about rather being
electrocuted
than being blown to bits, or burnt, as they pushed on into the shop. It had seen better days, and décor wasn’t a particularly high priority, but at least it had several customers who were all shopping seriously. She supposed, in hard economic times, that cheap camping holidays were better than no holidays at all.

She waited to pass a man with an enormous beer belly who was stocking up on barbecue fuel. Given the vagaries of the great British summer, she had to admire his optimism if nothing else. When he moved to one side and they were able to get past, she headed for the only member of staff she could see in the place, a big-boned brunette serving behind the counter.

She held out her ID. ‘Excuse me, I’d like to speak to a Miss Ruth Coombs. She does work here, I understand?’

‘I’m Ruth,’ the woman said at once. She turned and suddenly barked out, ‘Hey, Joey, come out here a minute, will you?’ to someone out of sight behind the partition walling behind her and a moment later a thin, bespectacled man appeared. Ruth told him to mind the till, and inclining her head imperiously for them to follow, quickly led them round the back.

She was tall, and strode rather than walked. Jimmy gave a mock Nazi salute to her back. She was wearing a pale-blue nylon overall that was obviously the shop’s own uniform, and sneakers.

She led them to a cubby-hole that held a stockpile of fire lighters, storage heaters and single gas rings. It also boasted a kettle and a big tin of industrial-sized instant coffee.

‘Is this about Judy?’ she asked flatly. From the file, Hillary knew that Ruth Coombs was thirty-five years old, but she looked marginally older than that, mostly because her brown hair was already beginning to silver with grey. Her dark-brown eyes watched them with a hard, steady glare that almost defied
them to deny it. ‘It has to be about Judy, right?’ she asked, before either of them could say anything in response. ‘There’s no other reason for the police to come calling. Not that I expected anything from you people after all these years,’ she added, this time with obvious belligerence.

Hillary instantly understood the reason for it. ‘I’m sorry if you feel we’ve been failing to do our job, Miss Coombs. I can assure you, Miss Yelland’s case hasn’t been forgotten. The Crime Review Team periodically reinvestigates cold cases,’ she said, not quite accurately, but definitely in no mood to give this hostile witness any information about the current state of affairs.

Ruth Coombs sighed and leaned back against a chipped Formica work table.

‘So, what can I do for you?’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard from Judy since you reported her missing?’ Hillary began with the stock question.

Ruth snorted. ‘Of course not. I’d have been back on to you lot like a shot if I had. I’m not stupid, so please don’t treat me as if I am!’

‘I can assure you that wasn’t my intention,’ Hillary said, responding to the other’s woman’s heat with a cool, neutral tone. ‘What can you tell me about Judy, and about what happened just before she went missing?’

Ruth looked at her steadily. ‘OK. Fair enough. But I can tell you right now, the same thing as I said before: Christopher Deakin is behind it all.’

Hillary nodded. ‘This was Judy’s boyfriend at the time. You told the DC in Missing Persons that you thought he was acting suspiciously.’

Ruth flushed. She had an odd sort of face – at times she looked attractive, and at other times she looked downright plain. Now her eyes began to glitter, and the heightened colour made her look suddenly vivacious. Hillary wondered, suddenly, whether Ruth was single or living with someone.

‘Before Judy went missing, I know they’d been having some
rows,’ Ruth said, her voice once more belligerent, as if she was expecting Hillary to call her a liar.

‘They’d been seeing each other for some time?’

‘About a year. He was married, of course, still is, but that didn’t stop him. Or her, for that matter.’

Hillary caught a whiff of something besides a bad attitude in the woman’s voice. Pain perhaps? Spite? Obsessive, at any rate. It was definitely something interesting. ‘You didn’t approve?’ she asked guilelessly.

‘If a man doesn’t intend to be faithful, he shouldn’t get married,’ Ruth said flatly, crossing her arms across her ample chest. She shot Jimmy a sour look, but Jimmy had far more sense than to look up from his notebook let alone make a comment.

Hillary thought that although Ruth’s simplistic views were obviously heartfelt, she must have led a somewhat sheltered life if she thought them universal. Once more she wondered about the state of Ruth Coombs’s love life.

Closet gay? Had she, in fact, been in love with Judy? Or was it thoughts of Christopher Deakin that made her face flush with heat? And, if so, had she been jealous of her friend?

‘I understand you told the constable in Missing Persons that Judy had complained of a stalker?’

Ruth nodded reluctantly. ‘Some guy was sending her flowers and cards and what have you. Making nuisance phone calls. Judy had just changed her number.’

‘She never said who it was?’

‘She didn’t know. It wouldn’t surprise me if it wasn’t Christopher’s wife playing games.’

Hillary blinked. ‘Mrs Deakin knew about her husband’s affair with Judy?’ she asked sharply.

Ruth’s glaring gaze faltered slightly. ‘Judy didn’t think so,’ she admitted, grudgingly. ‘She was convinced that they’d kept it all such a secret. Who knows, perhaps it was Chris himself who was doing it.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Hillary asked, confused. She was
finding it hard to follow the younger woman’s thought processes.

Ruth sighed. ‘I don’t know. It was all a mess between Judy and Chris, I know that. Love’s young dream wasn’t all that dreamy any more, that’s all I know. And then, out of the blue, Judy just vanished into thin air.’ Ruth’s glare was now back. ‘You tell me that that was all a coincidence.’

Hillary nodded slowly. ‘When was the last time that you saw her?’

‘I already went through this. Judy came over the night before for a drink and to talk about Chris, and moan about her life, and how she needed her life to change. She went to work the next day, because I went to the shoe shop when I didn’t hear from her, and her boss there said she went to work in the morning, but didn’t come back from her lunch break. I think she went to meet Chris and he did something to her.’

‘That’s a serious allegation, Miss Coombs.’

Ruth shrugged. ‘I call it like I see it. I never liked or trusted Christopher Deakin,’ she added, far too adamantly.

No, but you wanted him, Hillary added silently. Call it a hunch, or a copper’s instinct, or sheer feminine intuition, but she was willing to bet there and then that was at the root of this woman’s angst. And still was. Had she kept in contact with Deakin? Somehow, Hillary thought that she had. Had she tried to take up where Judith Yelland had left off?

But even if she had, could it have had anything to do with Judy’s disappearance?

Then she gave herself a mental head slap. Of course it didn’t. As interesting as all this was, even if some sort of twisted love triangle had existed between Judy, Ruth, and Christopher Deakin, it was Judy’s unknown stalker they needed to find.

‘Did Judy ever mention seeing a man following her perhaps?’ she asked hopefully.

‘No,’ Ruth said flatly.

‘You said he made nuisance phone calls. Did Judy ever tape
them to take to the police, or did you ever answer the phone when you were around her place, and hear his voice yourself?’

‘Sorry, no.’

‘Did Miss Yelland keep the cards and envelopes they came in?’

‘No, she binned them the moment they arrived.’

Hillary sighed. ‘All right. Well, thank you, Miss Coombs. If we think of anything else we might need from you, we’ll get in touch.’

‘Huh. I shan’t hold my breath,’ Ruth Coombs said flatly.

Back at the car, Jimmy grinned at her over the roof. ‘Well, guv, I reckon the original flatfoot had it right: if you had a friend like that, wouldn’t you do a runner?’

Hillary smiled wryly. ‘Did you get the distinct impression that she wanted Judy’s boyfriend for herself?’

‘Hell yes, guv. Talk about a frustrated man-eater.’

Hillary shook her head wearily. ‘This case has got more twists and turns in it than a game of snakes and ladders.’

‘Where to next, guv? This Deakin guy?’

‘Might as well,’ Hillary said. ‘He might have a better angle on his girlfriend’s stalker. You can see why she wouldn’t confide in our Miss Coombs, but a girl might well cry on her boyfriend’s shoulder. Perhaps she did catch a glimpse of our man, and told him all about it.’

Jimmy snorted. ‘If she did, he never came forward and told us about it when she went missing,’ he pointed out.

‘He’s married, remember?’ Hillary said sardonically.

Christopher Deakin, according to all that Vivienne had been able to dig up on him when she could spare the time, was
thirty-three
years old, married to a woman named Portia, and had twin boys, now aged eight. Hillary wasn’t surprised to note that it was the wife who had the money. With a name like that, it was almost inevitable. But to give Deakin his due, although he’d started out life on a council estate in Milton Keynes, he had
successfully managed all of his wife’s money, a portion of which he’d invested in setting up his own business, a small television production company. According to the taxman and various other financial sources, the company was moderately and steadily in profit.