I See You(37)

My eyes fall on the business card tucked into the clip on the edge of my noticeboard.

PC Kelly Swift, British Transport Police.

At least she listened.

I blow my nose. Take a deep breath. Pick up the phone.

‘PC Swift.’

I hear the sound of traffic in the background; the fading siren of an ambulance. ‘This is Zoe Walker. The London Gazette adverts?’

‘Yes, I remember. I haven’t found out much more, I’m afraid, but—’

‘I have.’ I cut in. ‘A woman from the adverts has been murdered. And no one seems to care about who might be next.’

There’s a pause, and then, ‘I do,’ PC Swift says firmly. ‘I care. Tell me everything you know.’





11


It was midday before Kelly was able to get back to the station and find a number for DI Nick Rampello, the detective inspector listed as Senior Investigating Officer. She was directed first to the incident number, an all-purpose helpline set up for members of the public who had information to give about Tania Beckett’s murder.

‘If I can take some details, I’ll make sure it’s passed on to the investigating team,’ said a woman, whose disinterested tone suggested Kelly’s was one of very many calls she had taken that day.

‘I’d really like to speak to DI Rampello, if that’s possible. I’m a police officer with British Transport Police and I think one of my cases might be connected with his investigation.’ Kelly crossed her fingers. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Zoe Walker had come to her, and it was still Kelly’s name on Cathy Tanning’s crime report. Her name, her job.

‘I’ll put you through to the incident room.’

The phone rang and rang. Kelly was about to give up when a woman picked up, slightly out of breath, as though she’d run up the stairs.

‘North West MIT.’

‘Can I speak to DI Rampello please?’

‘I’ll see if he’s in the office. Who shall I say is calling?’ The woman spoke like a BBC newsreader, and Kelly tried to guess what her role was. She had had little experience with Murder Investigation Teams: although BTP had its own, it was far less busy than the Met’s, and Kelly had never worked there. She gave her name and shoulder number and waited on hold for the second time.

‘Rampello speaking.’

No BBC accent there. Nick Rampello’s voice was pure London, and he spoke fast; businesslike to the point of abruptness. Kelly found herself stumbling over words in an effort to match his rapid delivery, aware she sounded at best unprofessional; at worst, incompetent.

‘Where did you say you worked?’ DI Rampello said, cutting in to Kelly’s explanation.

‘BTP, sir. I’m currently based on Central line. I picked up a bag dip the week before last that I believe is linked to Tania Beckett’s murder, and I hoped I could come and talk to you about it.’

‘With respect, PC …’ an upward inflection turned her rank into a question.

‘Swift. Kelly Swift.’

‘With respect, PC Swift, this is a murder investigation, not a bag snatch. Tania Beckett was nowhere near the Central line on the night she died, and everything points to this being an isolated incident.’

‘I believe they’re connected, sir,’ Kelly said, far more confidently than she felt. She braced herself for Rampello’s response, and was relieved when he didn’t pull her up for challenging him.

‘Have you got a copy of the file there?’

‘Yes, I—’

‘Send it through to the incident room and we’ll take a look.’ He was humouring her.

‘Sir, I believe your victim appeared in an advert in the classifieds of the London Gazette. Is that correct?’

There was a pause.

‘That information hasn’t been released to the public. Where did you hear that?’

‘From a witness who contacted me. The same witness who saw a photograph of my bag-dip victim in a different edition of the Gazette. The same witness who believes her own photo also appeared in the paper.’

This time the silence was even longer.

‘You’d better come in.’

North West Murder Investigation Team was in Balfour Street, discreetly located between a recruitment agency and a block of apartments with a For Sale sign fixed to the third floor. Kelly pressed the buzzer, which simply said ‘MIT’, and turned slightly to her left so she could look directly at the camera. She lifted her chin a fraction, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. DI Rampello had said he would see Kelly at six, which had just given her time to go home and get changed. What was it they said? Dress for the job you want. Kelly wanted DI Rampello to see her as a serious officer, someone with important information to give about his murder investigation, not as a uniformed beat bobby. She pressed the buzzer again, regretting it when a voice instantly replied, an impatient tone suggesting they hadn’t needed the prompt.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s PC Kelly Swift, from British Transport Police. I’m here to see DI Rampello.’

A loud click released the catch on the heavy door in front of her, and Kelly pushed her way inside, throwing a quick smile of thanks towards the camera, in case they were still watching. Lift doors lay immediately in front of her, but she took the stairs, unsure which floor MIT were on. The double doors at the top of the first flight gave no hint of what lay behind them, and Kelly hovered for a moment, debating whether to knock or simply to go on in.