Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(64)

Gary’s heart jumped. The boy had fingered Cade!

Nick Barley handed the paper back. ‘He was often hanging around with the bloke who got me to copy the keys, and he was at the party in the crypt.’

‘So how does he dress?’

‘Always the same. Greased back hair, glasses, scruffy black chinos, a dark polo shirt and a black nylon tracksuit top.’

Gary felt sick. That was the description Rosie had given of the man she recognised, but couldn’t place. She had actually seen Cade at a party! And hopefully Cade hadn’t recognised Rosie.

‘Dirty bastard,’ grunted Nick. ‘Is he the one that spiked Ethan’s bird’s drink?’

‘Could be, Nicholas. And maybe he’s done far worse than that.’ Gary paused for a moment, then added, ‘Would you testify?’

‘What? Go to court? Fucking hell!’ The boy’s eyes widened.

‘It could do you a lot of good, son. Our boss would be extremely pleased with you, and she’s got a lot of influence. And if she’s pleased, I’m sure she could make things considerably easier with your father.’

The boy sniffed. Shrugged. ‘I dunno. I suppose, well, I could, but . . .’

Gary smiled at him. ‘Good lad! I knew you had it in you.’

As he walked away, Nick called him back. ‘There was another girl, wasn’t there? Emily?’

‘I’d rather we kept this to ourselves, Nick. I don’t want Toni hearing about it yet.’ Gary paused. ‘Emily’s dead.’

Nicholas’s pasty face turned whiter still. ‘Dead? What? Murdered?’

‘Abducted from one of those parties, Nicholas. Drugged, imprisoned, probably raped, made to suffer terribly, and left to die. I’d say that was murder, wouldn’t you?’

Nick breathed deeply for a minute, evidently near to tears. Then quietly, firmly, he said, ‘I’ll testify.’

*

Marie was pacing in the foyer. It was after six and the university had rung half an hour ago to say they were couriering Ted Watchman’s information to her. Then she spotted the leather-clad motorcyclist peeling off his helmet and ringing the bell. She met him at the door, signed for the packet, admired his big Yamaha and gave him a fiver.

She pulled open the large manila envelope and stared at the contents. She didn’t dare remove them as there were other officers around, but she could see the series of face recognition photos. Marie withdrew the short explanatory note, scanned it, and let out a soft whoop of delight.

She’d been pretty certain, but as the hours had passed she had begun to doubt her own convictions. Now she held a positive match in her hand.

She thought of Valerie, her dearest friend and first crewmate. She’d had a cheeky smile and blonde hair that swept her shoulders, striking green eyes and beautiful skin. She saw Valerie eagerly jumping behind her onto her motorcycle and daring her to break the speed limit. In their time off they often went up the coast and walked along the beach. It had been a happy time in those early days — the days before Cade.

Marie’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the photographs. ‘Your time is up, bastard,’ she whispered to herself, then gathered the documents together and hurried from the foyer.

She almost fell into Jackman’s office.

‘From the look on your face, I don’t need to ask, do I?’ said Jackman slowly.

‘It’s the result we hoped for.’

Jackman slid the report and the photos halfway out, glanced at them, then returned them to the envelope and locked it in his desk drawer. ‘This stays here until we need it.’ He clipped the small key onto the ring with the other keys, and pushed them deep into his pocket. ‘Insurance. We are going to need every bit of evidence we can get if we want to nail Cade.’

Marie yawned. ‘It’s half six. Shall I send out for some food?’

Jackman nodded. ‘In a while. There are a few things I need to catch up on first. Could you ask Clive if he’s heard from the lab regarding those handwriting comparisons?’

Marie caught Clive tidying up his desk and shutting down his computer.

‘I’m off home, Sarge.’ He handed her a sheaf of papers. ‘All these are for the DI. The phone has been red hot in the last half hour. They are mainly non-urgent, with the exception of the pathology report on the top.’ Clive switched off his printer and locked his desk drawer. ‘See you in the morning, Sarge.’

Marie murmured good night, picked up the report and went back to Jackman’s office.

‘Look, sir! The handwriting on the cards over the beds is an exact match with the samples that Max took from Elizabeth Sewell’s annexe.’

Jackman read the report and groaned loudly. ‘This is lunacy! It doesn’t make sense. How can a weak and sensitive woman, someone known to be both physically and mentally delicate, possibly be involved in murder on this scale?’

‘Because she wrote them for her beloved employer, Benedict Broome. What else could it mean?’ Marie frowned. ‘But whatever it means, we now have a direct link between her and the scene of the crime. We are going to have to get her moved to a secure unit, aren’t we?’

Jackman picked up the phone. ‘Damned right, we are. I’ll get an order to have her moved from the general hospital to Saltern Hall Psychiatric Hospital pending evaluation. And we need to speak to Benedict Broome again.’