‘DCI Travis reckons his life will be in Cornwall. They’ll be looking at the property there. Added to that he used his bedroom at his parents’ home.’
‘I know that,’ Langton snapped, walking out. ‘I’m through here, but I have got to talk to Tina.’ As Brian hurried to catch up with him, Langton added grimly, ‘You know why? Because this place doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Well, if they were planning on moving out to buy their own property, why bother doing anything with a rented flat?’
Langton paused on his way towards the patrol car, and turned back, saying, ‘I want to see the garage she uses.’
‘We don’t have a key,’ Brian said, exasperated. But it turned out that they didn’t need one as the garage was unlocked.
‘They took her car in, didn’t they?’
‘Yes. It was released back to Miss Brooks a few days ago.’
Langton looked around the empty garage. Like the flat, it was devoid of anything personal; there were just some car-cleaning products left in a cardboard box and a small cabinet at the back of the garage that had been checked out.
Langton looked over the odd tools. Again, these were in a neatly arranged order on a small bench. There was a tyre-pressure pump, petrol can, cans of oil and two small paint cans for white and cream bodywork. He sighed, beginning to understand more and more why Anna had broadened her investigation.
Anna woke with a start as Paul tapped her arm, to find that the trolley with food and drink was rattling towards them. They chose coffee and sandwiches and some fresh fruit.
‘I was fast asleep,’ Anna admitted, opening the wrapping.
‘Me too. At least these are fresh.’ He took a mouthful of his sandwich.
‘How much longer?’ Anna asked, biting into her ham and salad sandwich.
‘Another three hours,’ Paul said without looking at his watch.
‘Three hours . . .’ She sighed.
‘Did we ever check if Alan Rawlins went by plane? They’d have a record of it at the airport if he did. He had to be a bloody frequent flyer because I’m sure he wouldn’t be schlepping back and forth so often by train.’
‘Unless he drove himself,’ she said, chewing.
Paul took out his mobile and called into the incident room to speak to Brian Stanley, but was told he was out with Langton. Helen gave him the latest updates; they had found no vehicle licence or insurance on any other vehicle apart from Tina’s VW. Paul asked them to run a check with DVLA on anything with Alan Rawlins’s name and then to try the other names they knew he used. Anna looked over as Paul ended the call.
‘Brian’s out with Langton,’ he told her.
‘What?’
‘That’s all that Helen knew. They’ve been gone all morning.’
‘Call him.’
‘Langton?’
‘No, Brian Stanley. Find out what they’re doing, or more to the point, what Langton is nosing around for.’
When Brian saw that it was Paul who was ringing his mobile he didn’t pick up, as he and Langton had just arrived at Tina’s salon.
Langton breezed inside, where Felicity, on the desk as usual, said that Tina was not available as she was giving a treatment. Langton smiled and introduced himself, saying that he was not a client and he could wait until it was convenient for Tina to talk to him.
‘Is there a place we can sit,’ he read the name on her salon gown, ‘Felicity? And perhaps you could inform Miss Brooks I am here, and I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.’
‘Oh, I suppose you can sit in the staff section. There’s a coffee percolator in there. Hang on.’ She turned from her desk and called out for Donna, who was cutting a client’s hair. She yelled back that she was busy.
‘Just direct me – no need to get anyone,’ Langton said pleasantly.
Donna came up to the reception desk with the scissors in her hand, saying, ‘What is it?’
Langton looked at Donna’s name on her gown.
‘Good Afternoon, Donna. I am Detective Chief Superintendant Langton and this is Detective—’
Donna interrupted him. ‘Tina’s with a client.’
‘We know that, Donna, and Felicity here suggested we wait in the staff section.’
‘Is Tina expecting you?’
‘I don’t believe she is, but we can wait.’
Donna looked pensive and then shrugged. ‘Come on through then.’
Kiara was working at a small table with a client having nail extensions. She glanced up as they passed her. The small sectioned-off area used for the staff was an untidy mess of hairdressing magazines and a mound of wet towels. A junior was in there eating a bun but Donna told her to get back into the salon.
‘I’m supposed to be washing the towels,’ the girl said, stuffing the last of the bun into her mouth.
‘You’re also supposed to be sweeping up the hair. I’ll take these through to the washing machines.’ Donna gathered up the towels and tried to clear a space for Langton and Brian to sit, muttering, ‘Sorry about the mess in here. We’ve been very busy today.’
Langton stepped aside to allow her to pass by.
‘The washers and dryers are out in the back. Help yourself to coffee.’
‘I will, thank you.’
Langton noticed an array of used mugs and rinsed one out in the sink before he poured himself a cup of rather stewed black coffee.
‘You want one?’ he asked Brian.
‘No, thanks. The nail stuff they use here stinks and makes me feel sick.’
Langton picked out a biscuit from an open tin and then cleared a stack of magazines before he sat down.
‘Business looks thriving,’ he remarked.
‘Yeah, its running costs are high though. We had all her accounts checked out. She doesn’t own the premises, but rents them so she has to have a good turnover to make ends meet.’
Langton seemed totally relaxed now, flicking through one of the magazines. After a moment he tossed it aside and picked up a laminated salon price-list left on a chair.
‘Thinking of having a trim?’ Brian joked.
‘Hair extensions, nail extensions, colouring and perms, cuts and blowdries, beauty treatments, pedicures, manicures, massage, laser hair removal, seaweed wraps . . .’
He looked up at Brian. ‘What’s a seaweed wrap?’
‘No idea. Doesn’t this smell get to you? Reminds me of when I was a kid. My mother took me with her when she had her hair permed. She used to have these funny little rollers all over her head – it took ages and they slapped on this stuff that smelled of paint stripper, and after hours of sitting in this small cubicle she’d come out with tight curls all over her head.’
‘How fascinating,’ Langton said sarcastically.
Donna returned. ‘A client wants a coffee – is it still hot?’
‘Warmish,’ he said, watching as she rinsed out a mug and poured the remainder of the coffee into it.
‘I’ll come back and make a fresh pot.’
Langton nodded. Brian now sat down and started to read a magazine. They both turned as Kiara, the girl doing the nail extensions, walked in.
‘Have you found him?’ she asked.
‘No. How well did you know Alan Rawlins?’
‘I didn’t. None of us really had anything to do with him. He’d just come and sometimes collect Tina and wait for her in the car park. I told that to the lady who was asking questions before.’
‘So you did.’
Kiara got some fresh coffee, lifted the percolator lid and poured in the water. She sighed with irritation when she saw all the used mugs.
