dragged her back from family time regardless, got a description of Mr Smith, had her go through CCTV until she could point him out checking in, asked her when he came and went, if she spoke to him, what was said… completely forgetting that we don’t know that this Smith has anything to do with Thomas Long at all.
‘I’m confused, Cori,’ he concluded, as downcast as she had known him. ‘I’m quite simply confused.’
‘Well, we’ll see Josie tomorrow,’ offered his Sergeant, ‘and we can ask her all that then. Anyway, it is getting late,’ she said, placing a bundle of papers back on the desk. ‘Perhaps after we’ve slept on it it will all come clear?’ But even as she tried to sooth him, she didn’t feel very hopefully herself.
‘Well, if there is a link between the cases,’ he continued, ‘then going through this rubbish isn’t going to help us find it,’ he gestured dismissively at the papers before him.
‘So what have you got, sir?’ she asked anyway, knowing his professionalism would win out over apathy if called upon.
‘The stuff of life: Xeroxed gas bills and circulars; receipts from local food stores. What does Nash think we’ll get from all this?’
‘He did say the file was thrown together, everything not sensitive to Carman.’
‘Well, they must have a Constable hiding in the letterbox.’ He tossed the bills he had been reading back on the pile. ‘Yourself?’
‘Not much more to be honest,’ answered Cori, while moving papers between her nimble fingers. ‘I know they have a nice flat and nice furniture.’
‘Who says crime doesn’t pay?’
‘I have copies of receipts from at least four stores I’d be glad to shop at myself!’
‘How big is this flat?’ asked Grey in mock-amazement as he saw how many purchases they had been making for themselves.
‘He must have a lot of customers for what he’s selling,’ Cori reflected. ‘Nottingham doesn’t seem the kind of place.’
‘Everywhere is the kind of place,’ answered Grey depressingly. ‘What else have you got?’
‘Only this,’ she said, sifting for it under other pieces. ‘The edited records of calls made to Isobel’s phone over the past few weeks.’
‘Edited isn’t the word,’ said Grey upon seeing the rows of redacted lines. ‘What would these deleted numbers be?’ he speculated. ‘Calls from Carmen’s drug buddies? Calls Nash has already traced and know have nothing to do with Isobel?’
‘There’s not a lot of it not blacked out,’ Cori admitted. ‘In fact, take away the call received from the hotel on Tuesday morning, and there’s only one other number listed here.’
‘Nash did mention another call, didn’t he?’ remembered Grey from the phone conference. ‘He asked if we had any idea who might have made it?’
‘It looks like they’ve called before,’ she said, leafing back through the photocopied data, ‘but not often and not for a while; the last time being late on Monday.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Grey, spotting a hand-written note on one of the pages. He read, ‘“Handheld device on a private network. No phone company info!”’
‘It must be from when they tried to trace the number.’
‘And I suppose they can’t just go calling these people up and asking who they are.’
‘No, Cori agreed, ‘Carman might already be worried they he was being watched; and so imagine someone as wary as him learning his associates were getting anonymous calls?’
‘Hmm,’ Grey considered. ‘If there is a clue somewhere in all this, then that is it.’
But at that point there was a knock on the door, as a woman put her head around it. ‘The Southney detectives?’ she asked. ‘Sorry,’ she said as she came forward to drop a further, thinner folder on the desk, ‘we’ve been very busy this afternoon, and I’d forgotten these were at the printers.’ Cori’s impression was of someone very efficient but rushed off their feet. ‘They’re copies of surveillance photographs. The Chief wanted me to tell you that they have been specially cleared for you to take away with you, but that he regrets the rest of the photo log is still with Technical Crimes.’
But before Grey could ask her how they might go about contacting Technical Crimes, she had gone, shutting the door behind her with a decisive click, that Grey took to be interpreted as very much the end of their exchange: they had been left this room and what was in it, and that was their lot.
Grey flipped open the flimsy cover; and was stunned to see a blown-up black and white photograph of Isobel Semple. Taken while out shopping he guessed, the scene bright and bustling; she unawares and caught in quarter- profile, flaxen hair tied back and shades resting on her nose. It was time-stamped just three months ago.
‘Definitely her?’ Cori asked the man who’d know.
‘Definitely her.’
‘She’s moved on a bit,’ noted Cori. ‘Very sophisticated.’
The Inspector remained silent.
‘Nice to see a different photograph of her, eh sir?’
‘Very nice, Cori. Very nice indeed.’
‘And this will be something to show Rose; and her family eventually.’
‘When we are allowed to.’
She considered, ‘Well, I got the feeling from Nash when he called us that that wouldn’t be very long now.’
‘We’ll make a detective of you yet, Sergeant,’ he joked. ‘I thought exactly the same.’ He was silent again, before announcing, ‘You know, Sergeant, I am going to make a supposition.’
‘Oh?’ she asked intrigued, amazed at how the photo had perked him up.
‘Always dangerous to assume anything, I know, but I trust you’ll pull me back if I fall into a suppositional ravine:
‘At the moment, we have two axes, each entwined around the other like coiled snakes, but never touching. On the one hand, we have Alex Aubrey and Thomas Long, meeting at the Club and at the office, Thomas ending up outside the hotel; on the other hand, we have Isobel Semple, this Mr Smith calling her from the hotel room, and her other mystery caller from this “mobile device”. My supposition is this: that Smith and the “mobile device” caller are one and the same; and that the call on Monday night was to tell her of whether he was planning to do at the hotel the day after. And what do men making secret calls to women generally have in mind when booking hotel rooms?’
‘Now, that is a supposition,’ she counselled.
‘But an interesting idea, you’ve got to admit.’
‘Granted.’
‘And if we suppose that far, then we could also suppose that Mr Smith is a Southney man — else why meet there? And a married man — given he’s reduced to calling from hotel rooms and untraceable “mobile devices”.
‘Possibly,’ she offered warily.
‘And I suppose it would be far too neat to suggest that this man is Alex Aubrey?’
‘Especially when Gail Marsh and Cynthia confirm he was at the office that morning…’ Cori batted that one back easily.
‘And helping Thomas with the payroll problems to boot,’ Grey reflected. Well, I’d say that’s enough wild speculation for one evening.’
Sat back in Nash’s ergonomic back-supporting chair, Grey took a moment to think. Meanwhile, in her more considered way, Cori picked at simple facts: the blatant, obvious, left behind for her seagull mind like scraps after a meal,
‘Well, here’s a question rather than a supposition, sir: whether one caller or two, how did either of them know the phone number of a woman still officially listed as missing?’
It was, the Inspector had to admit, one to ponder.
‘Good Lord, look at the time,’ said Grey after a while. ‘Look, let’s pack up here and get home to our beds. If we’re lucky we might be home in time for Newsnight. You might get to see your little ones at least.’
‘They’ll be fast asleep by now. Were you allowed up till nine thirty when you were four?’ She smiled at his naivete, his words so evidently those of one who hadn’t children. Our own childhood memories, she had discovered upon becoming a mother herself, were shrouded in the mists of forgetfulness, and needed kids of your own around
