Duncton moved aside as the SOCO photographer and videographer turned on some bright lights and moved in to record the scene. ‘It was already here. We assume it was the killer. That’s why the body wasn’t discovered until now. The old man found her.’ Duncton nodded across to Graham Harper, who was standing on the stoop of his shed with a blanket around his shoulders, watching horrified as his onetime haven of solitude was overrun with men in uniforms and white plastic jumpsuits yet again.
*
Kate smiled and looked up at the clock. It was three o’clock in the afternoon now and already it was very dark outside. The black rain clouds overhead didn’t show any sign of letting up, neither did the rain which was hammering loudly against the large plate-glass windows of the pub as though they were in a tropical monsoon somewhere far more exotic than Camden Town. ‘You’re absolutely sure it’s him?’ she said to the handsome bar manager who was looking at the photo of Jamil that Kate had just given him.
‘Absolutely positive,’ he replied. ‘Hang on, I’ll get his jacket for you.’ His accent was central-casting Australian and Kate couldn’t help wondering how many of them were working in London pubs. He was cute, though, Kate admitted to herself, in his thirties with a surfer-boy physique, blond hair and a perfect tan. He reminded her of the young Robert Redford. If he had offered her his number she might well have had to think about it.
She smiled to herself again and held a hand to her stomach. No, she wouldn’t. She’d take the rough Irishman and his gruff ways over a pretty-boy charmer any day.
She pulled out her mobile and a scrap of paper with some numbers on it and tapped them into her phone. ‘Tony, it’s Kate. We’ve got a hit. I’m in The Outback pub. Okay, see you in a bit.’
By the time DI Bennett made it across the road, the bar manager had given Kate Jamil’s coat. A dark woollen pea-jacket, good-quality wool at that. She rummaged through the pockets and took out a wallet as the detective headed up to the bar. She opened it.
‘What have we got?
Kate handed it to him. Bennett opened it and took out a couple of credit cards with Jamil’s name on them. He opened the back section and removed a condom, five twenty-pound notes and a handwritten note. The letters were block capitals.
‘What does it say?’ asked Kate.
‘It says “Ten-thirty at The Outback”.’
‘That’s all?’
‘That’s all. Ten-thirty at The Outback.’
‘Which is here.’
‘Which is indeed here.’
Kate turned to the bar manager. ‘What’s your name again?’
‘It’s Michael.’
‘Did you see Jamil Azeez with anybody that evening?’
‘Sorry, no. It was rammed here on Friday night. Always is.’
‘But you recognise him?’ asked Bennett.
‘Oh yeah, like I told your colleague here. I served him but he was on his own at the bar.’
‘Can you remember what you served him?’
‘A Coke and a pint of lager.’
‘You seemed to remember that pretty quickly.’
‘He came up three or four times, always the same order.’
‘Anyone else order that?’
‘Not that I recall.’ Michael shrugged. ‘But like I say, mate, it’s pretty rammed on a Friday.’
Bennett pointed to the CCTV camera mounted above the bar. ‘You got footage from the night?’
‘Yeah, but it only covers the till. We get a few jokers trying the short-change scam. Keeping the till on tape soon sorts them out.’
‘Can we get the footage anyway?’
‘No worries, I’ll do you a copy.’ Michael turned and called to a woman sitting at one of the tables by the window, drinking a cup coffee. ‘Karin, do you reckon you could give Sean a hand behind the bar while I nip upstairs for five?’
The woman nodded.
Kate pointed at the note. ‘It’s not the same person’s handwriting, is it?
‘As in the book?’ said Bennett.
‘Yes.’
‘Could be. These are block capitals. Hard to tell.’
‘Maybe that’s the idea.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that whoever arranged to meet him here that Friday night didn’t want anybody else knowing about it.’
