‘Do you recall the names of the other surfers with Alan?’ Paul asked.
‘You must be joking! That was taken years ago, and like I said, the guys come and go every summer.’
‘Do you mind if we keep this?’
‘Not at all. It’s no use to me.’
Paul stood up to shake Sal’s hand. The latter’s grip was so strong it made him wince.
‘Thanks for your help.’
Driving back to the station, Helen jotted in her notebook.
‘You know something strange?’ Paul said thoughtfully. ‘It was obvious that Alan liked surfing, but we’ve not found any wetsuits, flippers or whatever they use, and no surfboard at his flat.’
‘Well, Sal said he hired one of his,’ Helen noted.
‘That was a few years ago, right – and he also said that Alan went off to take in other bays. He had to have become very proficient so he could have bought his own board.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘The other thing: we should look into any information we can find about where he stayed in Cornwall. There’s nothing in his address book, is there, but if he went there regularly, wouldn’t you think he’d have contacts? I have when I go to Wales. I rent a cottage and I’ve got loads of addresses and phone numbers.’
‘Yeah, we can have a nose around. Also, from what Alison said, you know how careful he was about money, saving to buy a property – same scenario with Tina Brooks, saving to buy a flat of their own. So we have this careful guy saving his pennies for what seems like years before he lived with Tina.’
‘Yeah? So what. I’ve been saving all my adult life and I’ve not got a pot to piss in,’ Paul said.
‘He earns good money as a mechanic, fixes up vintage cars and sells them. The Merc is one, right?’ Helen asked.
‘True. Apparently he made a big profit when he sold the cars. Cash in hand as well.’
‘I doubt Tina puts every client through the salon books, so with his money from doing up the cars . . . I guess saving the seventy thousand between them wouldn’t have taken long.’
‘Yeah, maybe not.’
‘In fact there could be more somewhere if it’s cash. How much rent did he pay?’
‘I dunno.’
Helen closed her notebook and stared at the back of the photograph.
‘Maybe we should run a check on this Sammy Marsh.’ She turned it back to look at the four surfers. ‘Handsome-looking guys. I might think about a holiday in Cornwall.’
Paul laughed. ‘You’re not the only one. I was thinking of doing that myself.’
‘Do you surf?’
‘No. I’m not that interested in the surfing.’
‘Honestly,’ she giggled, punching his arm.
Anna had been waiting in reception at Michael Phillips’s company, Aston & Clark, for fifteen minutes. The receptionist eventually said that he could see her. She passed Anna the security badge and repeated that she should go to the fourth floor.
‘Yes, thank you, I remember,’ Anna said curtly.
The same secretary was waiting as the lift opened and she led Anna down the corridor, this time to a different room, but with an identical table and the same offer of coffee and tea placed on a sideboard with two flasks of hot water.
‘Please help yourself. Mr Phillips shouldn’t be a moment.’
‘I hope not.’ Anna sat down, not bothering with refreshments.
It was another fifteen minutes before Michael Phillips finally swept into the room full of apologies. He was wearing the same suit as before, but with a pink shirt with a white collar and cuffs, and a blue silk tie.
‘I am so very sorry, but I had an important meeting and I couldn’t leave. You should really have made an appointment as I have meetings almost back to back today. I’m afraid I will have to make this short.’
‘Really?’ Anna was fuming. ‘Well, Mr Phillips, that can easily be done. I am simply here to ask if you would be willing to give us a DNA sample.’
‘
‘You can come to the police station at a time convenient to you, but the sooner the better as it is very important.’
‘What do you want it for?’
‘I am investigating a murder, sir, and I need to eliminate you from my enquiry.’
‘Hang on, hang on – murder? I don’t understand.’
‘We now believe that Mr Alan Rawlins . . .’
‘But I thought he was missing – right?’
‘Yes, but we have found evidence that leads us to believe he may have been murdered.’
‘But I don’t even know him!’
‘Nevertheless, Mr Phillips, as you are a very close neighbour we require your DNA to eliminate you from my enquiry.’
‘That’s all I bloody am, for Christ’s sake – a neighbour. I didn’t know him and I find this all very intrusive, never mind inconvenient.’
‘I would be most grateful if you would agree.’ Anna was trying to keep calm.
‘But I don’t have to?’
‘No. That is your prerogative, but as I said it would assist my enquiry if you would agree.’
‘I don’t. If you want anything from me, you get it via my lawyer because I find this outrageous. I did not know Alan Rawlins.’
‘What about Tina Brooks?’
‘No. I have already told you. Of course I do know
‘So you are refusing?’
‘Yes.’
Anna pursed her lips, trying to be controlled. ‘You must be aware that by refusing to assist my investigation it appears to be very suspicious.’
‘It can appear, but I am still refusing.’
Anna picked up her briefcase. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Phillips.’
She walked out, leaving him sitting in the centre of the board room, where he remained for some time before returning to his office.
Anna was still seething by the time she returned to her office. She knew that without any implicating evidence against him, Phillips could legally refuse to give a DNA sample.
By now, Paul and Helen had returned from their interviews and were marking up the incident board with their details. They pinned up the photograph of the group of surfers. Brian Stanley came back and he too wrote up a report. He tapped the photograph.
‘I still say Alan Rawlins was a shirt-lifter. Very friendly with each other, aren’t they?’
Paul bit his tongue, refusing to rise to the bait. Stanley continued, ‘I’ve been at that pansy gym – load of wankers there. First they wouldn’t even let me look in Rawlins’s fucking locker.’
‘We’d already checked it,’ Paul said stiffly.
Stanley turned on him and produced a bag with the bottle of aspirin.
‘I took this. I want Forensic to check out if they really are aspirin. I think the guy might be on steroids.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Paul demanded.
‘Because the muscle rippers there are using – I’d put money on it. One of them is a weight-lifting idiot that got right up my nose.’
‘He could see you as competition, could he?’ Paul said sarcastically, looking pointedly at Stanley’s beer gut.
At this moment Helen signalled to Paul. She had run a check on Sammy Marsh and it proved to be interesting. He had previous convictions for possession with intent to supply and supplying cannabis, for which he spent a short
