Daisy in Chains(95)

Pete sits in his car, facing the building where a one-room industrial unit has become a crime scene. He is on the phone.

‘They’re taking the computer out now.’ He watches it being carried out to a waiting van on its way to a facility where geniuses who look like teenagers will strip it bare. Back inside the building, the investigators continue to comb the small, square room and the smaller kitchen and lavatory.

Several yards down the road, Maggie sits in her car. She is taking photographs, occasionally making notes on a laptop.

‘We’re going to have to tell Latimer,’ says Liz.

‘Soon as we know anything for sure.’ The last thing he needs is Latimer poncing up here like some bloody great drama queen, demanding answers that nobody can give him. ‘It still points to Wolfe, Liz. It’s in the right location. The password. And anyone else would have closed it down by now.’

Liz doesn’t argue.

Pete looks over at Maggie’s car. For a second, they seem to make eye contact. Then the investigators appear in the doorway once more, this time carrying the office desk, wrapped in a protective covering. It goes into the van, as does the chair. The carpet will come next, anything moveable from the kitchen and toilet, even the light fittings and blinds.

‘We have to talk to Latimer,’ Liz says again. ‘As soon as you get back.’

‘I know. We will.’

Pete is momentarily distracted by the sight of the grey carpet being carried out. Then the head of the investigation team heads over and Pete winds down the window, letting in a blast of cold air. The technician holds up a clear plastic evidence bag. ‘Little bonus surprise for you, Pete.’

In the bag is a pen. A cheap, plastic biro, without its lid. Blue ink. The technician leans in, as though trying to soak up some of the warmth from the car.

‘Tucked between the edge of the carpet and the skirting board,’ he says. ‘Of course, it might be nothing to do with the last occupant. It could have been there for years. But pens tend to have fingerprints. Especially ones that have been forgotten about.’





Chapter 94


LATIMER NODS HIS head, his eyes on the neatly written notes in front of him. He points a pencil at Pete. ‘So, if I understand it correctly, we have a city the size of Bristol, not to mention Bath and their various suburbs, small towns and villages, and this woman homes in on a crucial piece of evidence on the strength of a hunch? Did Wolfe tell her where to look?’

‘Well, whoever rented and furnished the office in the first place would have a head start when it comes to finding it again,’ says Pete.

‘No fingerprints, hairs on the carpet? Anything to tie it to Wolfe?’

‘Not so far, sir,’ Liz tells him. ‘But the team are still looking.’

Latimer sighs, then spins his computer screen round so that Pete and Liz can see it. ‘Guys,’ he says. ‘Do you ever think there’s maybe something not quite right about this Maggie Rose character?’

Pete glances sideways at Liz as he pulls his chair closer. Latimer has been looking at Maggie’s website. ‘What do you mean?’ he asks.

‘The whole blue hair business, for one thing. I mean, who dyes their hair blue?’

‘What women do with their hair is a mystery to me,’ says Pete. ‘I think it’s a mystery to most blokes, to be honest.’

‘Exactly. So you’re not asking the questions you should be asking. Liz, on the other hand, I would have expected more from.’

Liz opens her eyes a little wider. ‘OK, sir,’ she says. ‘What should we be asking?’

‘When people dye their hair unnatural colours, it’s for a reason, usually a desire to be noticed. I mean, everyone notices bright turquoise hair, don’t they?’

‘I guess.’ Pete can’t look at Liz any more.

‘And yet Maggie Rose is a recluse. She doesn’t do interviews, she never appears in court. No pictures on her website. Hardly anybody meets her unless she’s working directly with them. Why would someone who makes a point of avoiding attention dye her hair such a noticeable colour?’

‘I give up, sir,’ says Liz. ‘Why?’

In response, Latimer stands up and walks to the window. ‘When I was a kid, I was fascinated by magicians,’ he says. ‘Even the cheesy, crap ones you get at parties. I really wanted to know how they did their tricks and I could never spot it. And then, when I got older, I read books about magic. No real magician will reveal his secrets, but what they all seem to have in common is the use of distraction.’

A short silence.

‘Distraction is the magician’s way of diverting the audience’s attention from what he doesn’t want them to see,’ Liz says.

Latimer turns back to them. ‘Exactly. So, what I’m asking myself is, if the wacky hair and the sapphire eyes and the bright-coloured clothes are a distraction, what is it that she doesn’t want us to see?’

Liz and Pete look at each other. She gives him a small, almost imperceptible nod. He turns back to his boss.

‘Sir,’ he says, ‘we’ve got something to tell you.’





Chapter 95




PROPERTY OF AVON AND SOMERSET POLICE. Ref: 544/45.2 Hamish Wolfe.





Chapter 96