be having a lot of it.’
‘You know me,’ said Slider. ‘I never rule out anything. Well, let’s do some background checks on Catriona Aude to begin with, so we can get her out of the way. Then we’ll start on the doctor. We don’t even know yet who his next of kin was. Who’s in charge at the site?’
‘I left Mackay on it. Norma’s coming back – via the sandwich shop in Goldhawk Road.’
‘Good thinking.’
‘That’s why I get the big money,’ said Atherton.
THREE
Deliver Us from Ealing
‘Ade comes up clean, guv,’ Connolly said, leaning on his doorpost.
Coming back from far away, Slider hadn’t made sense of her sentence at first, and his drifting mind latched on to detergent. Comes up clean? Had there been a spillage in the CID room?
‘Hmm?’ he said neutrally, marking time.
‘She’s no criminal record,’ Connolly elaborated, and he fetched up to reality with a bump. ‘No large chunks a jingle floating around. Owes a coupla hundred on her credit card. No big recent purchases. And she rents: shares with three others, in Putney. I know the street, guv – I looked out that way when I first came to London – and it’s a bit of a kip, so she’s not spending on property. She works for Tangent Publishing in Brompton Road. Editorial assistant, which means she’s the office dogsbody and paid a pittance for the hope o’ glory. Fifteen thousand. And that’s before tax. So she has to make ends meet by stripping two nights a week.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘The woman’s twenty-seven! She’d want to cop on to herself before it’s too late.’
‘Did you speak to someone at Jiffies?’
‘The manager. Name a Williamson. A fine class of a man: pays the girls minimum wage and lets them keep their tips. He says no carry-on with the customers is allowed, but he doesn’t know what they get up to in their free time.’
‘A cautious citizen.’
‘It’s members only, so they get a big take at the door, and then there’s the price of the drinks – which you’d want to have seen,’ Connolly said. ‘So they must be raking it in. Wouldn’t want to get into trouble with the peelers for promoting prostitution.’ She checked her notes and went on, ‘Rogers was a newish member, joined last November. He gave another club – the Rochelle in Mayfair – as a reference. I checked with them. He’s been a member there three years.’
‘The Rochelle?’ Slider queried. It was new since his Central days.
‘High-end strip joint, with a casino attached. Members only. All crimson velvet and chandeliers – it’d appal you. Even the bouncers have double-barrelled names.’
‘So watching strippers is not a new hobby for Rogers,’ Slider mused. Could there have been something seedier in his background? Some little hobby or habit he could have been blackmailed for?
Connolly shook her head sadly. ‘What is it about men and nipples?’
Slider declined the bait. ‘So you think Aude’s out of it?’
Connolly was flattered to be asked her opinion. ‘She’s not deep in debt, and she’s not living on the pig’s back. Her story checks out, and I can’t find any medical connection. And flat-sharing’d make it hard to get up to any carry-on without getting caught out.’
‘All right. I don’t want to waste any more time on her if she’s just an accidental bystander. But we’ll need to keep tabs on her, in case we have more questions. Has she got family?’
‘She has parents, according to HR at Tangent. They’re her next of kin. They live in Guildford.’
‘That’ll do. See if she can go and stay with them for a few days when she comes out of hospital tomorrow. I know Mike Polman at Guildford. He owes me a favour. I’ll ask him to keep an eye on the house. She ought to be safe enough there.’
It was late when McLaren stuck his head round the door to say, ‘The first of the papers have come in from the house, guv.’
‘Right,’ said Slider, glancing at his watch. ‘Let’s have a quick look.’ So far, from the site they had culled a big zero. The street search had produced no gun or discarded clothing, and the canvass had drawn a blank. Nothing for which to pull an all-nighter. He might as well send them all home and save the overtime for another day.
He didn’t expect great things of the first bag, but there was treasure of a sort: the doctor’s birth, marriage and divorce certificates, tidily together in one envelope, taken from the top desk drawer.
‘Born fourth of June 1962 in Greasley in Nottingham,’ Atherton read out over Connolly’s shoulder. ‘Father’s down as clerk, insurance office. Humble beginnings for the Dirty Doctor.’
‘He was married in June 1988 to Amanda Jane Knox-Sturgess of The Lodge, Quickmoor Lane, Sarratt,’ Connolly continued. ‘Where’s that?’
‘Hertfordshire,’ said Atherton. ‘Carrot country.’
‘Ah, she’s a culchie, so!’ Connolly said innocently.
‘It’s a very expensive village,’ said Slider corrected. ‘The local church is one they used in
‘Her father’s down as a solicitor,’ Atherton said. ‘That plus “The Lodge” suggests money all right.’
‘Definite step up for the lad from Greaseborough,’ McLaren commented.
‘Greasely,’ Slider said. ‘Very different place.’
‘Come on, guv,’ McLaren objected. ‘It’s all “oop north” to us.’
‘Here, the doctor’s address book.’ Slider threw it to him. ‘See if you can find the ex-wife in it.’
‘Shame the marriage didn’t last,’ Connolly commented, opening the Decree Absolute. ‘They were divorced in September 1999.’
‘Eleven years isn’t bad in these debased times,’ Atherton said. ‘No other marriage certificates in the envelope. Can we assume he’s been fancy-free for the last ten years?’
‘Maybe the ex-wife will know,’ Slider said. ‘If there were children, she would probably have kept in touch. I’m hoping she’ll be able to tell us who the next of kin is, anyway.’
McLaren said, ‘Guv, there’s an address and phone number in here under A for Amanda, no surname. Grange Road, Ealing.’
‘Look it up, get a surname,’ said Slider.
‘Where’s Grange Road?’ Atherton asked. He didn’t know Ealing as well as Slider did.
‘On the Common.’
‘Common? Bit of a comedown from a lodge in Sarratt.’
McLaren, at his own desk, was not long in finding the property on the electoral register. ‘The name’s Sturgess, guv, no Knox and no hyphen.’
‘So she’s reverted, and simplified,’ Atherton said. ‘What does that tell us?’
Slider gave him a look. ‘That she’s called Amanda Sturgess. Don’t strain yourself.’
McLaren went on. ‘Also listed at the property is a Robin Frith.’ He looked up. ‘Either she’s letting a room, or she’s shacking up.’
‘Either way, definitely letting herself slip,’ said Atherton. ‘Not the conduct we expect from the best people.’
‘Ex wives can be bitter,’ Slider said, ignoring him. ‘Apart from the next-of-kin issue, she could be a suspect. We’ll have to visit her.’
Connolly was eager. ‘Oh guv, can I go?’
Slider looked at his watch again. ‘It’s after quitting time. I’ll go myself. Anyway, it’s out in my direction.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Atherton said. He caught Slider’s look. ‘What? It’s all right, I don’t expect overtime. Emily’s not back until tomorrow so I’ve got nothing to go home for.’
‘Play your cards right and you might get invited to supper,’ Slider said.
The house was a two-storey Victorian semi-detached – which description did not come near to expressing the size of it. Red brick and white stone edgings, enormous sash windows, a bay window on the ground floor; a
