she asked. ‘The house doesn’t have a garage, so she’d be bound to park it on the street.’
‘I didn’t see one, guv.’
‘Odd. Surely a woman like this would use a car for work. Check the vehicle index on the PNC, would you, Gary?’
Tucked among the credit cards was a photo of a small boy beside a sandcastle. He had red hair and gaps in his teeth. The smile rated high on the aaah-factor.
Gary soon had the information. ‘Just as we thought, she owns a Picasso. Silver, two-thousand-six reg.’
‘Owned,’ Hen said. ‘Why don’t you take a short walk along the street and see if we missed it somehow?’
While he was outside, she listened to the answerphone. Someone called Gemma from work had called twice asking Fiona to get in touch and enquiring if she was all right. There were various cold calls. Nothing from the ex. Presumably he hadn’t needed to call. He would have assumed all was well until he returned the son to the house.
Gary returned, and he had a he-man with him, a middle-aged skinhead with muscles and a confident manner. ‘This is Mr Bell, from next door.’
‘Francisco,’ Mr Bell said with a defiant stare suggesting he wasn’t wholly comfortable with the name. ‘My old lady is Italian. She always said I could call myself Francis if I didn’t like it, but I said that’s a girl’s name.’
‘Frank?’ Hen suggested.
‘Then the kids at school call you Frankenstein. No thanks. I’ll stick with what I was given.’
Gary said, ‘I was asking Mr Bell about the victim’s car.’
‘Nice motor,’ Francisco said. ‘Two-thousand-six reg. She used to park it out front.’
‘It isn’t there now,’ Hen said. ‘We were wondering where it might be.’
‘Can’t help you.’
‘She didn’t rent a garage, I suppose?’
‘No idea.’
‘The keys aren’t in the house and neither are the documents.’
‘You think someone nicked it? Was that what she was killed for?’
‘Too early to say,’ Hen said. ‘You’re from next door, are you, Francisco? Were you here on the day she died?’
‘Might have been. If you’re asking if I saw anything, I didn’t. I work as a security officer in Portsmouth most nights. Catch up on my sleep next day, so I miss a lot of what goes on.’
‘You met Fiona, I expect?’
‘A few times, yeah.’
‘A good neighbour, was she?’
‘I s’pose. There wasn’t no trouble, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Quiet, then?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did you notice any visitors?’
‘Her ex called once a week with the sprog.’
‘Their child, you mean? Did you meet him, the ex-husband?’
He shook his head. ‘No reason to.’
‘What about other callers? Anyone you noticed?’
‘What do you think I am, some old git with nothing to do but stare out the window?’
‘Perhaps you’d answer my question, Francisco.’
‘I didn’t see squat, okay?’
‘No, it isn’t okay,’ Hen said. ‘I’ve seen a report stating that you and a work colleague of Fiona’s called in to report her missing and you were both outside the house when the patrol car turned up.’
He didn’t even blink at that. ‘So?’
‘So you not only saw one of her callers, but you spoke to the woman and agreed to call nine-nine-nine. Don’t tell me you didn’t see squat when it’s on record that you did.’
He shrugged. ‘That babe woke me up, didn’t she? I’ve never seen her, before or since. What’s the big deal?’
‘Fiona was murdered a few yards from your front door, that’s the deal,’ Hen said, increasingly impatient with him. His size and looks didn’t intimidate her. ‘Waste any more of my time and you’ll get nicked.’
He held up both hands. ‘All right, lady. Stay cool.’
‘Do you have a key?’
‘Come again.’
‘Key-to this house?’
‘No. Why should I?’
‘Neighbours often do-neighbours who can be trusted.’
‘That’s below the belt.’
‘You say you’re a security man. Position of trust. You look like a bouncer to me. Is that what you do?’
‘What’s wrong with that? Look, I come here voluntary when your boy asked me. I don’t have to listen to this.’
‘Francisco, it looks as if someone stole Fiona’s car. Not only that, but they came inside the house and took the registration certificate and all the documentation relating to the car. They didn’t break in. They let themselves in with a key.’
‘Got to be the killer, hasn’t it?’ he said. ‘He dumps her in the Mill Pond and grabs her handbag and uses the key to let himself in here. Then he gets into the files, takes the paperwork for the car, and makes his getaway. He can flog the car later.’
‘Sounds good,’ Hen said, ‘but there’s a problem with it. If he leaves in her car, what did he do with his own?’
‘Didn’t have one.’
‘How did he get here, then?’
‘Dunno. Bus?’
‘In all the time I’ve been investigating crime I’ve never heard of a killer arriving at the scene by bus.’
‘He’s local, then.’
‘He still drove away in Fiona’s Picasso. Where to?’
Francisco scratched his cropped head. ‘You’ve got me there.’
‘Not to worry,’ Hen said with a smile that took Francisco by surprise. ‘Our problem, not yours. That’s where a homing device comes in useful.’
‘A what?’
‘A bug. You’d know all about them, being in security.’
‘The car was bugged?’
‘Apparently. You can get them on the internet, dinky little things you put out of sight under the dash or in the boot. Fiona must have been proud of that car.’
‘How do you know she bugged it?’
‘The leaflet is in the files under S for security. The pinpoint tracker. The signals are bounced off a satellite, I gather, and we can access them on her computer. Unfortunately, as Gary will tell you, there’s a firewall device on the computer so we have to wait for a whizz-kid to help us.’
‘So you don’t know where the car is?’
‘Tomorrow we will. Maybe later tonight. And of course when we find it we can test for traces of DNA. You can’t drive a car without leaving some. Thanks for coming in, Francisco. If we need you again we know where to find you.’
‘Right, yes.’ He didn’t sound enthusiastic. His thoughts were elsewhere.
‘Gary will see you out.’
After the door was closed and Gary returned, he said, ‘Is that true about the bug?’
‘Francisco thinks it is.’
‘You made it up?’
She nodded. ‘Let’s see what he does next.’
