Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(48)

“Where did you take these photos of Caitlyn?” asked Kate.

“Out near Salford. There was a nice walk you could do and go swimming in the lake. We used to go skinny-dipping.” He raised an eyebrow suggestively. Kate felt alarm bells going off. She was shut in this room, at the end of the corridor. The door was closed, and he was sitting halfway across it.

“When was this?” she asked, forcing herself to stay calm.

He blew out his cheeks. “June of 1990. It’s all gone. There’s a new housing estate there.”

Kate nodded. “And the video shop where you met Caitlyn?”

“It was just on the other end of this row, where the Tesco is . . .” He knocked back his coffee in one gulp.

“You didn’t see anything or anyone around Caitlyn who was odd or strange?”

“When?”

“The times you met?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never lost my copper’s instinct. You must have it still too?”

Kate nodded. He stared at her again.

“Are you sure I can take these photos? Caitlyn’s parents will want to know where they came from.”

“Perhaps you should leave out the part that we had an affair . . .” He smiled and shook his head. “It’s best kept in the past. I have a good marriage.”

“Of course. The photos don’t show you in them. I’m glad we found you through Victoria. It’s cleared up a line of inquiry.”

Kate just wanted out of the tiny little room. She could smell his sweat, but she knew her next question was the most important.

“Did you ever meet Peter Conway? He was a police officer in Greater Manchester at the same time as Caitlyn went missing.”

“No. I never knew him. Our time didn’t overlap. Terrible man. Did terrible things.” He shook his head.

“Did any of your colleagues know him?”

He blew out his cheeks and tilted his head back.

“I only ever heard people talk about him after you caught him, and like you, they always thought he was a great police officer. He fooled you all, by the sound of it.” He looked at her for a moment, a mocking smile twitching at his lips. “Would you like more coffee? Although you haven’t touched that one.”

“No, thank you.” She stood. “I’d better be going.” He looked surprised that she was leaving. Kate moved round the small table to the door. There was a long pause when she thought he wasn’t going to move, but he then heaved himself up off his chair and, to her relief, opened the door.

As they walked along the corridor and back to the front of the shop, Kate saw the door opposite the pharmacy was now open. It was a storeroom full of filing cabinets, a large photo-processing machine, and a stack of old promotional branding signs for cosmetics. The sign on top said ONE-HOUR PHOTO, and it was written inside a stopwatch.

“Thank you,” said Kate when they were back in the front of the shop. He put out his hand, and she shook it.

“Anything else, don’t hesitate to call me,” he said, holding on to her hand a little too long.

It was raining when she came out onto the pavement, and as she looked back, Paul was standing in the window, next to a revolving display of reading glasses, and staring at her. She nodded and hurried away. Shaken, but not quite able to put her finger on it. Was it the glass eye that gave her the creeps? Or did he enjoy dominating women? The three young women who worked in the pharmacy seemed so subservient and quiet. But he was in the clear. He had an alibi.

Kate left Altrincham just before three, and it was dark when she arrived in Chew Magna; the uneasy feeling hadn’t left her as she drove. Almost every place from Caitlyn’s past was gone, apart from that creepy pharmacy, which looked trapped in time.

As she reached the end of the dirt track to Malcolm and Sheila’s cottage, flashing blue lights bounced off the surrounding houses. A siren blared, and an ambulance came shooting out of the dirt track and turned off to the left at high speed, streaking away in a blare of sirens.

“Shit,” said Kate. She turned into the track, and when she reached the end, she saw an old lady with white hair coming out of Malcolm and Sheila’s cottage. Kate wound down her window, and she came over.

“I’m here to see Malcolm and Sheila. Are they okay?”

“It’s Sheila. She collapsed, and she’s in a coma,” she said.

“I’m Kate Marshall . . .”

“Oh yes. You’re the private investigator they hired to look into Caitlyn going missing? Have you any news?” she asked, her lined face brightening briefly. Kate still didn’t feel comfortable calling herself a private investigator, especially when her investigation seemed to be going nowhere.

“I was due to deliver it,” said Kate, holding up the file she and Tristan had put together. “I’m afraid we’ve drawn a blank.”

The woman shook her head sadly.

“I’m Harriet Dent, neighbor and friend. Do you want me to give Malcolm the file?” She didn’t seem keen, and Kate could imagine she didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.

“No. Thank you. I’ll hold on to it. Can I give you my number? I’d like to know when Sheila is better,” said Kate. She scribbled it on a piece of paper, and Harriet took it.

“It’s not looking good for Sheila. She’s been waiting for a donor for three years. We all had checkups to see if we were a match.” She shook her head. She held up the piece of paper. “I’ll phone you when I know more.”