spell in jail. He was also currently wanted by the Devon and Cornwall Drug Squad for importing and supplying cocaine.
‘He did a runner just before he was about to be arrested. They found a substantial amount of ecstasy tablets and skunk cannabis plants, and two guys already under arrest implicated him in a six-kilo cocaine deal. Street value, quarter of a million.’
Paul looked over the printed sheets. ‘They got any idea where he ran to?’
‘Nope. Possibly Florida, just as Sal told us, but that was last summer and there’s been no sighting of him since then.’
Stanley did his irritating raised finger gesture.
‘Here comes the boss.’
Anna perched on a desk listening to Paul and Helen’s accounts of their afternoon and then to Brian Stanley’s. When they had finished, she asked what they felt was a positive outcome. She looked to Paul first.
‘Well, I don’t know about outcome, but what we discussed between us was the possibility that Alan had more money saved somewhere, even though we’ve found no evidence of this at his flat. We also have found no surfing equipment, wetsuit or board, which if he was a keen surfer he should possibly have. The other thing is that we might try to trace these other guys in the photograph and also check out possible places where Alan might have stayed when he was in Cornwall. Again, from his address book we have no contact numbers for there. We now know that the man who took the photograph, a Sammy Marsh, is a convicted drug dealer who’s on the run from the local police.’
Anna took a deep breath. All the new information could give them a clue to where Alan Rawlins could be, if he was alive. She picked up on the detail that his ex-girlfriend, Alison Bisk, had noticed a remarkable change in Alan on his return from his surfing holiday.
‘It could be that the very clean-living Alan Rawlins had an introduction to drugs there, but we have no evidence of that.’
Stanley did his usual finger.
‘He might have come out of the closet there as well – good reason to leave his girlfriend.’
‘I don’t really buy that. He went to live with the very strident Tina, so whether or not you think he might be a latent homosexual, and—’
Stanley pointed to the surfers’ photo. ‘All very cheesy-looking blokes,’ he said.
Paul was about to explode, but Anna nipped it in the bud.
‘No evidence that they were, as you say, “cheesy” guys. They all look very heterosexual to me, but let’s see if we can track them down. That will mean going to Cornwall, but it would be easier if we had some evidence that Alan did have a usual place he stayed at. So . . .’ She sighed. ‘We found no indication of anything connected to Cornwall at his flat, but I think we might have to check with his parents. He was a regular visitor, so maybe he kept details there. That needs to be sorted.’
‘What about Michael Phillips?’ Stanley asked.
‘He has refused to give us a DNA sample. However, if we find any evidence that shows he is lying to us then we can arrest him and if necessary take his DNA by force. Have we any news, Brian, on the mobile phones? Any calls back and forth to Tina Brooks?’
‘Nope, but I’ve not got all the billing details yet.’
‘Make it a priority, please. What about the Asda CCTV?’
‘I’m waiting for the manager to get back to me.’
‘Well, chase it up. Tomorrow we should get Liz Hawley using the Luminol test at the flat and we are waiting on the new sample from Alan’s mother to hopefully identify the blood from the flat as his.’
Anna called it quits for the day and returned to her office as her desk phone rang. It was Liz Hawley and it wasn’t good news.
‘I’m sorry to tell you this, but we are unable to give you a positive result. Mr and Mrs Rawlins are
‘Shit,’ Anna muttered.
‘Sorry.’
Anna replaced the phone. This was not good news. They still had not confirmed the victim’s identity from the blood. She couldn’t believe it. If their son was adopted, why didn’t they say so? It didn’t make any sense. But if it wasn’t Alan Rawlins’s blood, then whose was it? She was just about to leave the office when her phone rang again. This time it was Mr Rawlins asking if she now had proof that their son had been murdered. Anna chose her words very carefully, saying that there was a delay, but she would like to talk to him. He told her that he was not working the following morning and he could see her at his home.
‘How is your wife?’ she asked.
‘She’s calm now, but she got into a dreadful state. She doesn’t understand, you see. In fact, it’s very difficult. She told me that Alan had been to see her. She doesn’t remember that she hasn’t seen him for nearly two months now.’
‘I am so sorry, but I also wanted to ask you, did Alan keep any papers or belongings at your house?’
‘Yes, in his bedroom. I told the officers who took the original missing persons report about his room. They had a quick look in it before they left.’
‘Sorry, they seem to have left that out of their report. Would I be able to take a look?’
‘Yes, of course. He used it sometimes when he stayed over. It’s always been his room.’
‘Thank you very much, Mr Rawlins. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She dropped the receiver back, leaving her hand resting on it. Looking through the blinds she could see the remainder of the team packing up for the evening. In prime position was the photograph of Alan Rawlins with the surfers. Handsome, smiling, tanned and fit, he also looked relaxed and happy. Was it his blood? Did the gentle and calm Alan Rawlins really have another side to him, perhaps another life that had resulted in murder?
Anna shut off her office light and made her way out to the car park to head home. Preoccupied and troubled, she went over in her mind all the new information. Although she was unaware of it, this was the first time she wasn’t thinking about her own situation, about Ken. Her commitment to work was slowly eroding the pain. She also felt hungry for the first time in quite a while and decided to stop off and buy a hamburger and chips.
With her takeaway still in the carton, Anna poured herself a glass of wine. When she shook up the tomato ketchup and squirted it over the French fries, it didn’t make her think of whose blood oozed into the carpet. That came later as she tried to sleep. She had no body. She had a murder and no identification of the victim. Her original suspect, Tina Brooks, was no longer top of the list, but was now on the back-bur ner, along with Michael Phillips . . .
It was the first night she did not use sleeping tablets, just a couple of glasses of wine. She wanted her brain to work as it used to, on a sort of automatic pilot knitting the evidence together to produce an insight into the case. Drifting into her subconscious was a photograph she had seen in the Rawlinses’ lounge. It was of Alan’s mother standing in a garden, shading her eyes as she smiled to camera. She was obviously pregnant. Anna couldn’t understand why the tests seemed to indicate otherwise, but she would find out – and it was not a meeting she was looking forward to.
Chapter Seven
Anna rang the bell to the Rawlinses’ terraced house. She had begun the day at Tina’s flat watching Liz Hawley setting up her equipment. She’d then had to rush off for this meeting just after nine. But now she had to wait a while before the door was answered. It turned out that Rose had an emergency at her home and so Anna was greeted by a close friend of Mrs Rawlins. Freda Jackson was a woman of about the same age as Kathleen, but rather more smartly dressed, and she introduced herself before asking Anna to go into the lounge. Along with Rose having an emergency, Freda also informed her that Edward had been called to replace someone at court.
‘It’s this wretched flu,’ she said as she indicated for Anna to sit down and then closed the door. ‘And I don’t think Kathleen is really up to talking to you. She’s been very confused.’
