Souls of Men Page 2

  They stopped by Elaine’s blue BMW. “By the time you’re my age, you’ll have a whole menagerie of hominids like him in your scrapbook. I like to think of them as the blokes who had better call me ‘ma’am’ if they know what’s good for them.”

  Elaine considered the young woman standing in front of her. Liz was a bit wide-eyed, but she had a good brain. She’d be fine as long as she stood up for herself.

  “Right, then,” Elaine said as she opened the door of her car. “When you’re done with the house-to-house, meet me back at the nick and we’ll find this killer.”

  TWO

  Elaine watched Detective Sergeant Paula Ford chew the end of her pencil as she read the roster list on the desk between them. Paula’s tiny build, sharp face, and tenacity reminded Elaine of a willful rat terrier on a mission—darting from place to place, keeping the lower-ranked members of her pack focused on searching for another rat to kill.

  Paula shook her head and ran her fingers through her black pixie-cut hair. “Even with Bull and Barker on board, we’ll still be looking at a lot of overtime.”

  “Can’t be helped. Budgets are tight. Simon Costello’s putting in for sergeant. Ask him to keep an eye on them.”

  An officer rapped on the door frame. Paula turned and took a slip of paper from him. She scanned it and immediately handed it to Elaine. A woman had dialed 1-0-1 to report a missing teenage girl, and the description she had given matched their victim. Elaine immediately went to Benford’s office.

  “Sheila Watson, age fifteen.” She glanced at her notebook. “Her mother called in the report. She fits the description. Her home is about eight kilometers from where we found her body.”

  Benford rose and retrieved his coat from its hanger. “Let’s take your car. We’ll get there quicker.”

  “Are you sure you can handle my driving this early in your day?”

  “I drive like a fat, old grandfather. You drive like a crazed female Jenson Button. Besides, when I drive, you sit and twitch and mutter under your breath.”

  Elaine smiled at Benford’s routine joke. She had to complete the little ritual. “I always thought it was because you outrank me.”

  “It’s the way of the world, Elaine.”

  Sheila Watson’s home sat at the end of a row of dismal, slab-sided terraced houses. The family liaison officer arrived at the same time as Elaine and Benford. Together the three carefully picked their way past a broken gate, a tangled garden hose, and two rusted bicycles.

  The woman who opened the door was dressed in a faded housecoat. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and the frown lines at her mouth testified to a hard-earned middle age. She had obviously been crying. Elaine noted the apparent relief in her red-rimmed eyes when the detectives displayed their warrant cards.

  “Thank God. I thought you’d never get here. I’m Loretta Watson. Please come in.” She led them into a small sitting room, where a nicotine-stained three-piece suite seemed to match perfectly with the heavy fug of stale cigarette smoke and fried sausage.

  A spark of hope had flickered, which Loretta fanned as she brought out a picture album.

  “I have so many pictures of Sheila. I’m sure your officers can use them to find her.” She brushed back a loose strand of graying hair and sorted through several photographs.

  “This was at her cousin Sophie’s wedding last August.” She pointed at a dark-haired teenage girl standing outside a marquee in a line with Loretta and several other women. “That’s our Sheila. Isn’t she lovely? The loveliest girl there. She was so happy for Sophie.”

  The length of Sheila’s hair and her hairline looked right. Her height and overall build appeared to be a close match to the murdered girl as well. Elaine’s stomach clenched. The interview now might well turn into a death call, but they needed as much information as they could get to be sure. Elaine avoided looking at Benford and concentrated as she took out her notebook and listened to Loretta Watson’s account.

  “She’s a good girl. She got more independent after her father left. Started staying out all hours, any night she chose. Her uncle, that’s my brother, talked some sense into her and it worked. Now she goes every Friday night to stay with her friend Leah, Leah Robinson.”

  No father at home, Elaine thought. Which was better—no father at home or one who couldn’t look at you? But she didn’t comment. She asked, “And was she at Leah’s last night?”

  “Yes. Like I said. Every Friday.”

  Elaine jotted a note. “And what do you normally do on Friday nights?”

  The lock of hair strayed again and fell in Loretta’s eyes. “Friday’s the night that Al, my boyfriend, comes by, and he and I go out to a film or maybe dancing. Leah’s house is just a few blocks away, on Mayford Close, third on the right from the main road. Sheila goes so she doesn’t have to be alone. But Laura, that’s the mum, said Sheila left there last night and weren’t there this morning, and I didn’t know what to do, so I called you lot. Have you found her?”

  “We need as much information as we can gather. Were you at home last night?”

  “Why do you need to know where I was?”

  “I’m just considering where she may have gone. She may have stopped by if she had decided to go somewhere with another friend. If you weren’t here at home, you would have missed her. Did you and Al go out?”

  Again, Loretta brushed the stray lock of hair back to its place behind her ear and gathered herself. “Ummm, no. Last night we decided to stay in.”

  “So you would know if Sheila came home at any time, right, Mrs. Watson?”

  Loretta sniffed and nodded her head. “Yes, I think we would have done. But I didn’t hear nothing.”

  “Could Al have heard? Is he here, Mrs. Watson?”

  “No, he left a bit after dawn. He’s driving a lorry to Blackburn today.”

  Elaine made a note to check Al’s whereabouts before she continued. “Did Sheila have any boyfriends? Was there a boy she was very fond of or one that perhaps she might have gone to see?”

  Loretta looked aside. “I only know of a couple, from the school. She hasn’t been going on dates much since she started going to Leah’s. Do you think maybe she ran off with a boy?”

  “It’s something we must check. Another officer will be here later to get names from you. Do you know if she was having any problems at school?”

  “No. I haven’t heard of any. Her marks were average, and I haven’t heard from the headmaster about any trouble.”

  Elaine nodded and wrote in her notebook. Now for the tough part. “We’ll follow up at the school. There’s one last question for right now, Mrs. Watson.” Elaine leaned forward and spoke more calmly than she had since their arrival. “Does Sheila have any distinguishing marks? Maybe a tattoo, Mrs. Watson?”

  “Yes, a little butterfly, right on the back of her neck.” She pointed to her own nape. “Right about there.”

  Elaine tried not to register a reaction. But perhaps she averted her eyes ever so slightly. It might have been a simple tightening of her mouth. Or perhaps Benford gave it away. Elaine did not know, but at that moment Loretta Watson’s face sagged.

  “How did you know that? You’ve found her, haven’t you! Why didn’t you say? She’s dead, isn’t she? Oh my God, Sheila!” she wailed.

  Elaine looked at Benford, who interjected quietly. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but . . .” He held out the close-up photo of the green butterfly etched on white skin, with two strands of wet hair crossed over it. “Is this her tattoo, Mrs. Watson?”

  Loretta Watson shrieked and collapsed on the sofa. Benford signaled for the family liaison officer to take charge of her, then formally told Mrs. Watson about finding the body they thought was Sheila’s. A few minutes later, the detectives left after mumbling their inadequate condolences.

  * * *

  The door at the Robinson house on Mayford Close was opened by a small teenage girl with mousy brown hair, large gray eyes, a bad case of teen acne, and streams of te
ars running down her cheeks. Before they could identify themselves, a torrent of words poured from her.

  “You’ve come about Sheila, haven’t you? Have you found her? Please say you’ve found her and she’s all right. I didn’t know she wasn’t coming back. I swear I didn’t know. She said she would be back before dawn.”

  A woman who appeared old enough to be Leah’s grandmother came to the door and introduced herself. “I’m Laura Robinson, Leah’s mother. We’re so worried about Sheila. She’s such a nice girl whenever she’s here. Leah has told us that she went out the window last night, but I can’t believe that she would do such a thing.”

  “I know it’s hard. We’re trying to understand too,” Elaine said softly. She turned to Leah. “I’m sure there’s a lot of useful information you can tell us, but right now, we need to find out where Sheila went and how she got there. Did she take a bus, or did someone pick her up in a car?”

  “She said she was taking a bus.” The girl glanced nervously at her mother. “I went out the window with her like I usually did and watched her to the end of the street.”

  “What time was that, Leah?”

  “It was around ten thirty. Right after my parents went to bed.”

  Mrs. Robinson gasped. “Usually? Usually, Leah? If we had known . . .”

  “I know, Mum. That’s why I promised Sheila that I’d never tell. If you knew, then she couldn’t go out and have her adventures.”

  The older woman’s voice rose to a panicked shriek. “Adventures? Is that what the two of you called it? Adventures?”

  Elaine intervened. “Do you know what adventure she was going to have last night? Was she going to meet someone?”

  “She said she was meeting a bloke named Danny. She said he’s older, like maybe twenty-five, and really hot. I think maybe he’s a footballer. He has a posh car, and he was going to take her clubbing. Do you know what’s happened to her?” She wrung her hands.

  Leah was rapidly losing her composure, so Elaine spoke gently. “A posh car? Did she mention what it was?” Leah sniffled and shook her head. “Thank you. Just a bit more information, please, Leah. We need to find the bus that Sheila took. Do you know what number it was?”

  “I think she . . . she said she had to catch the 432. Oh, God, Mum.” Leah choked back a sob and drooped against her mother, who leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I think she went to the stop by the hospital.” The tears and sobs finally overcame her, and she sank her face into her mother’s shoulder.

  “Fine. Thank you, Leah. You’ve been extremely helpful. Some other detectives will be over in a while to get some more information and write it all down.” She looked at Mrs. Robinson. “Will you be at home?”

  “Yes, we’ll be here all day. I can’t imagine going out until we find out what has happened to Sheila. That poor girl.”

  * * *

  Elaine slowed the car as they passed the bus stop near the hospital. Sure enough, 432 appeared on the posted schedule. Benford called the station. “Call Transport and tell them we need to see the CCTV disc from the bus that was on the 432 route last night and interview the driver. Also, tell the constables who are on house-to-house to ask about a bloke named Danny who drives a sports car. Might be a footballer. And tell Paula to get two DCs over to Leah Robinson’s house on Mayford Close and interview the girl and her mother in depth about what happened there last evening.” He turned to Elaine. “That should keep everyone busy for a while. Let’s talk over a curry.”

  They sat in a small restaurant around the corner from their offices near Earl’s Court. Benford looked gray and sounded tired. “Every year it seems like the dead get younger and the murderers get colder blooded. My health isn’t what it was, and there’s no way on God’s earth I could pass the next fitness test. I’m ready, Elaine, and I want you to be the first on the team to know. I’ve given my retirement notice, effective in thirty days.”

  She had wondered recently if Benford’s retirement was in the works. There were sighs, random comments he made about how long he’d been a copper. Over the last few months, his hair had turned almost completely gray. Lately he’d seemed bone-tired and was walking more slowly, lumbering. He’d lost the bulldog vitality she had once so admired. Elaine set down her fork and waited.

  Benford chewed a bite of his tikka masala. His slow Jamaican accent made him sound even more tired than he looked. “Mandie and I are going back to Jamaica. My cousins grow coffee outside a town, a village really, in the mountains five miles above Port Antonio. There’s a little house there that we fell in love with years ago. They say it’s ours if we want it. And we do. I want to wake up every morning and have breakfast with Mandie, look out over Frenchman’s Cove, and go fishing off Navy Island. We’ve told them we’re coming. It’s time.”

  Elaine looked through the window into the cold rain that had begun to drum down yet again. She had been to Jamaica once with a former boyfriend, and she was able to picture the Blue Mountains, where the smooth, world-famous coffee was grown. London in winter was no competition. Even if she had to sleep in a hut and live on ackee and grilled goat, with only Red Stripe beer to drink, she’d retire there gladly.

  “It sounds wonderful, sir. Will you have a spare room? I don’t eat much.”

  “Well, you won’t fit in our bags, so you’ll have to get there on your own. Besides, you’ll be a DCI soon, just in time to pick up where I leave off.”

  “That’s not official. I think I have a good shot at it, but . . .”

  “Don’t worry. You impressed them at the interviews, and in a few weeks, I’ll be a hemisphere away. Bygones can be bygones once I’ve left. DCI is in the bag, Elaine. In the bag.”

  Benford was quiet for a moment. With a shake of his head, he returned to the present. “Right, then. I’m not done yet. I’m getting this result before I leave.”

  Elaine’s mobile rang as they walked to the car. The CCTV disc and the bus driver were on the way to the station.

  THREE

  Jitendra Singh’s face displayed a full beard and a large mustache, all topped by a white turban. He sat at the table in the interview room, looking puzzled and holding out his hands, palms up, to the two detectives, his dark, thin fingers spread in a quizzical gesture. “Why have you called me here? I am a simple bus driver. I have done nothing wrong.”

  Elaine spoke in a calm voice. “Please don’t be alarmed, Mr. Singh. Thank you for coming to speak with us. We need information about someone who may have been on your bus last night.” She arranged her notebook and settled in her chair. “Do you remember a girl boarding your bus around eleven at the stop near Saint Stephen’s Hospital?”

  “Ah. You need my help.” Mr. Singh visibly composed himself, placing his hands in his lap and closing his eyes for a few moments. “The hospital stop. That would be stop D. Yes, there was a girl. A teenager about my daughter’s age. She had on a yellow raincoat made of plastic. It looked like she was wearing a party dress under it. There was something else . . . ah, yes. I thought it was odd that she had on blue trainers, the kind that runners wear. And she had a backpack. She had a bin bag to keep the rain off, and she shook it to dry and it sprayed me with water drops. I almost asked her to stop, but there was no point.”

  Elaine’s face was a model of friendly interest. “Do you recall if anyone else got on at that stop?”

  “Of course I do. A man in a hoodie got on ahead of her. He is a regular, and he always sits at the back of the bus. He is tall, not two meters, but taller than you, and he has long hair, dark brown, much the same color as yours.” He nodded toward Elaine before continuing.

  “I think he works at the hospital. It was a very rainy night with not many passengers, so I remember most of it very well.” Singh sat forward, as if he sensed the next question.

  “Why do you think he works at the hospital?”

  “Because several nights I have seen him running to the stop from that direction. I have to wait a moment so he can catch the bus.” Singh beat them to the
next question. “Like I said, he rides my bus often, at least twice a week, sometimes more. It must be for over a year now.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly. “He’s American. I think he is from Texas.”

  Elaine looked at Benford, and having no other choice, she took the bait. “Why do you think that, Mr. Singh?”

  “Because when he greets me, he says ‘howdy’ instead of ‘hello.’” Again Singh leaned forward.

  “Did he seem to be paying any special attention to the girl? Talking with her, maybe?”

  “No, he was quiet. He sat in the back of the bus.”

  “And do you recall where the girl got off?”

  He sat back and smiled, triumphant. “Most certainly I do. She got off at stop S on the high street. The man from the hospital did too, right after her. That is funny, though. He usually gets off at stop T.” Singh hesitated again. “The answer to your next question is yes. They both walked south on the high street. Which is the opposite direction from stop T.” He beamed. “That is helpful?”

  “Yes, thank you. We have a recording we would like you to watch.” Elaine pressed a button on the DVD player. “What time do you arrive at stop D?”

  “Approximately fourteen minutes after eleven—23:14.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Singh.” Elaine forwarded the video to 23:13. In the recording, they saw a man in a hoodie board the bus and take a seat behind a young couple. A split second later, Sheila boarded and moved to the front, to the left of the camera. The time stamp on the screen said 23:14.

  Elaine whispered, “Please. Pull back the hood.” When Hoodie Bloke finally pulled it back, his face was mostly hidden by the hijab of the woman in the seat in front of him.

  “Mr. Singh, what time do you reach stop S?”

  “At about 11:29.”

  Elaine forwarded the video. At 23:29, they saw Sheila stand and bound off the bus as soon as the doors opened. Hoodie Bloke stood and pulled up his hood. As he got off, he looked straight into the camera.

  “Got you, dammit!” Benford slapped his hand on the table. “Now who are you?”