‘Did you supply the diamante stones?’ Anna asked.
‘Yes. The colour the client wanted was very vibrant, consequently more expensive than usual and therefore more costly to make up. But the jeweller was Theo Fennel, a top of the range designer, with a shop on the Fulham Road.’
Anna listened, trying to be patient. ‘Yes, I recognized the logo. So you’re saying the stones were not mass- produced?’
‘No. In fact, the ones you are talking about were the last of a batch. They went out of business soon after so we couldn’t order any more.’
Anna closed her eyes. ‘Thank you.’
When Anna returned to sit with Barolli, she relayed the information. The scientist appeared and gestured for them to join him. Two massive blow-up pictures were in the light box. One contained a single stone removed from the T-shirt; the other had the shard of pink glass.
‘You can see from picture one that on the entire stone there are small grooves, resulting from the claws that held the stone in place. On the second picture, we have a section of that stone. In the right-hand corner there is a very tiny indentation and at first we didn’t even see it. Then it was magnified to this size.’
They stepped across to a computer and watched the broken section slide into place on the empty claw. It was a match to the right-hand corner.
‘My God,’ Barolli said in a hushed tone.
‘Could any stone fit that claw?’ Anna asked the scientist.
‘Absolutely not. It’s just like a ballistic test on a bullet. Although mass-produced, each stone will have some slight flaw. These are not a particularly hard stone, so when they were clipped on to the material, it left an identifying mark.’
Barolli and Anna exchanged glances.
‘Would you be prepared to testify in court that, without doubt, this section of stone came from Melissa Stephens’s T-shirt?’
‘Yes.’
Anna spontaneously threw her arms around the surprised scientist’s neck, while Barolli watched, grinning.
It was a major breakthrough.
Lewis left the interview room to take a phone call. Langton continued interrogating McDowell. When Lewis returned, he passed a memo to Langton who glanced at the information, then momentarily closed his eyes. Then he looked at the prisoner as if there had been no interruption.
‘Excuse me. Can you repeat what you just said, Mr McDowell?’
‘I said he was foreign.’
‘Foreign?’
McDowell leaned across to whisper to his solicitor. After a few moments, Francis Bellows faced Langton. ‘As you know, my client maintains that the drugs found in his possession and at his home were for his own use. He is very concerned that if he answers your question regarding this person, it could implicate him in the charges of drug dealing.’
Langton sighed, impatient. To get McDowell even to admit that someone had approached him in Manchester had taken half an hour.
‘If Mr McDowell has information that helps my enquiry and assists in proving he was not involved in the murders, then it will obviously be beneficial to both parties.’
McDowell looked to his solicitor. Langton leaned forward.
‘Mr McDowell, I am attempting to find out if someone set you up. Not for drugs, but for three murders. Now, about this man who approached you
McDowell spoke hesitantly: ‘It was a while ago, good few months. Maybe three or four, but Barry, he was on the door, right?’
Langton interrupted. ‘Sorry, who is Barry?’
‘The other guy what does the doors with me, alternative nights. We work them between us; there’s just the two of us.’
‘Right, carry on.’
‘Well, I’m in the back having a bevy before I go out front and Barry comes and tells me there’s this bloke asking for me. Said he was foreign, well-dressed and he’d walked up to Barry and asked if I was around.’
He said he’d asked Barry what the bloke wanted and Barry had told him that he wanted to score. ‘He’s a good bloke is Barry, so he’d told the bloke that he didn’t know where I was. Then he asked for me address. Said could he come around there? That’s when Barry got a bit suspicious and come to find me.’
Langton nodded encouragingly.
‘I said to keep him talking; ask him who put him in touch with me.’
‘And?’
‘When he went back out, the bloke had gone.’
Langton shifted his weight. ‘So you didn’t actually see him?’
‘No. When I heard he’d gone and pissed off, I got really edgy, you know? Because why come to the pub, ask for me, say he wanted some gear, then piss off?’
‘Did he ever come back?’
‘No.’
Langton rubbed his head and looked at a note Lewis had just passed to him suggesting Daniels had followed McDowell home. Langton scrunched the note in his hand. ‘You stated that your basement has been broken into many times. Do you recall if there was a breakin after this foreign man was seen at your pub?’
While this could have been a convenient lead for McDowell to follow, he responded in the negative, shaking his head and stubbing out his cigarette.
‘I really don’t remember. ‘Cos I work most nights until three or four in the morning, there was always some bastard jemmying the padlock off the doors: kids, dossers.’
‘We will need your mate’s surname and address.’
‘Barry Pickering.’
‘And his address?’
‘Well, he was living at his mother’s, over in Bolton, but he won’t be there. He’s in Walsall Cemetery. Died of a brain tumour, six months ago.’
At that point, Langton snapped, ‘Six months ago? Then how could he have seen this foreigner outside your pub?’ He stood up quickly, pushing out the table and started gathering his papers together.
‘All right,’ McDowell said loudly. ‘I met him.’
‘What?’
‘I talked to him.’
‘Go on.’
‘I didn’t want to get meself into any more shit than I’m already in. That’s why I lied. Since Barry’s not been around, it’s been me doing the doors on my own.’
Langton did his best to keep his temper under control. As he asked McDowell to describe the man, his jaw muscles were working overtime.
‘He was tall, good-looking. Wore a baseball cap, pulled down low. I told him I didn’t have any gear on me and he’d have to wait around, so he went into the pub and stayed for a few drinks. Then he just upped and left.’
‘Would you recognize him again?’
McDowell gave a half shrug. ‘I don’t know. To be honest, I was a bit worse for wear.’
‘You must have a few punters coming up and trying to score from you. So how come you remember that specific one?’
McDowell pouted, sulking. ‘Well, he was foreign for a start and for another thing, he give me a few quid.’
‘And this foreigner never made contact with you again?’
‘No.’
