I See You(18)

‘Did you witness the theft?’ Kelly asked, pulling her attention back to Zoe Walker. Surely she would have come forward sooner if she’d actually seen the offence take place. It occurred to her perhaps Mrs Walker had found the missing keys; that they could send them for forensics.

‘I’ve got some information for you,’ Zoe Walker said. She spoke formally, in an abrupt tone that bordered on rudeness, but there was an uncertainty beneath it which suggested nerves.

Kelly spoke gently. ‘Go on.’

The sergeant appeared, tapping his watch. Kelly pointed to her phone; mouthed Give me a minute.

‘The victim. Cathy Tanning. Her photograph was in an advert in the classifieds section of the London Gazette, right before her keys were stolen.’

Whatever Kelly had expected from Zoe Walker, it wasn’t that.

She sat down. ‘What sort of advert?’

‘I’m not really sure. It’s on a page with other adverts, for things like chatlines and escorts. And on Friday I saw the same advert, except I think it had a photo of me.’

‘You think?’ Kelly couldn’t stop a note of scepticism creeping into her voice. She heard Zoe Walker hesitate.

‘Well, it looked like me. Only without glasses. Although I do sometimes wear contacts – I use those daily disposable ones, you know?’ She sighed. ‘You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m some crackpot.’

It was so close to what Kelly had been thinking that she felt a stab of guilt. ‘Not at all. I’m just trying to establish the facts. Can you give me the dates of the adverts you saw?’ She waited while Zoe Walker checked the calendar, then scribbled down the two dates she gave her; Tuesday 3 November for Cathy Tanning’s photograph, and Friday 13 November for Zoe’s own. ‘I’ll look into it,’ she promised, although when she’d find the time, she wasn’t sure. ‘Leave it with me.’

‘No.’ Paul Powell was unyielding. ‘You had your three months swanning about in plain clothes, while the rest of us were picking up the work; now it’s time to do some real policing.’

Kelly bit her tongue, knowing Sergeant Powell wasn’t worth making an enemy of. ‘I just want to talk to Cathy Tanning,’ she said, hating herself for the pleading tone in her voice, ‘then I promise I’ll come straight back.’ There was nothing more frustrating than a loose end, and even though Zoe Walker had sounded flakey at best, something was nagging at Kelly. Could Cathy’s photo have appeared in the classifieds? Was it possible she wasn’t a random victim of crime, but carefully targeted? Advertised, even? It was hard to believe.

‘It’s not your job any more. If there’s an enquiry to be done, send it to the Dip Squad. If you’re short on work you only have to say the word …’ Kelly held up her hands. She knew when to quit.

Cathy Tanning had a house in Epping, not far from the Tube station. She had sounded pleased to hear from Kelly, suggesting they meet at a wine bar in Sefton Street when Kelly finished work. Kelly had readily agreed, knowing that if she wanted to pursue a lead on a case she was no longer officially attached to, she was on her own.

‘You haven’t found them, then?’ Cathy was thirty-seven; a GP at a practice near Shepherd’s Bush, with a direct approach Kelly suspected would get a few of her patients’ backs up. Kelly rather liked it.

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. I didn’t really expect you to. I’m intrigued though – what’s all this about an advert?’

The receptionist at the Gazette had been surprisingly helpful, emailing a colour copy of each of the pages appearing in the classified section of the paper, on the two dates mentioned by Zoe Walker. Kelly had examined them on the Tube, quickly finding the photo Zoe had identified as being Cathy’s. Only a few days earlier Kelly had watched the Metro photographer take a multitude of different shots, noticing the way Cathy’s fringe flopped to the right-hand side, and the slight furrow between her brows. The photo in the Gazette certainly bore a striking resemblance to her.

Kelly put the cut-out advert on the table in front of Cathy, watching the other woman carefully for a reaction. There was little information beneath the photograph, but the advert was surrounded by listings for escort services and chatlines, suggesting the ad offered similar services. Did GPs moonlight as chatline operators? As call girls?

The first thing Kelly had done on receiving copies of the adverts had been to type the web address – findtheone.com – into her browser. The URL had taken her to a blank page; a white box in the centre suggesting some sort of password was required, but giving no further indication as to what it might be, or how one might obtain it.

The surprise on Cathy’s face was genuine. A moment’s silence, then a short burst of uneasy laughter. She picked up the advert and looked more closely. ‘They could have chosen a more flattering angle, don’t you think?’

‘It is you, then?’

‘That’s my winter coat.’

The photo was closely cropped, the background dark with no discernible detail. Indoors, Kelly thought, although she couldn’t say why she was so certain. Cathy was looking towards the camera but not straight at it; she was gazing into the distance as though her mind was on something else entirely. The shoulders of a dark brown coat could be seen; a fur-lined hood loose behind her head.