done anything like this before so you escaped with a caution. End of story'
He threw the file back on the table. 'But let's get the formalities out of the way before we get on to what I think you can help us with. What were you doing on Monday?'
'I was at home most of the day. I took the day off. Did some shopping'
Foster raised an eyebrow.
'Online,' he explained. A few add-ons for my computer.'
Sure you did, Foster thought. 'Receipts for those would be nice,' he said, though he knew they would confirm little.
You do anything else? Go anywhere? Speak to anyone?'
Vickers went silent for a few seconds, then his face lit up. 'I returned a library book in the afternoon. Shepherd's Bush library. About three thirty.'
The time Naomi Buckingham probably went missing.
'The book?'
Vickers's face reddened slightly. 'Is that necessary?' he asked.
'Well, you don't think we're going to take your word for it, do you? They have records. We want to check it out.
Prove that you were there and you're eliminated from the investigation.'
He looked down at his feet. 'Escaping Obsession!
'Thriller?'
'No. A self-help manual.'
'Come again?'
Vickers looked up, face scarlet but jaw held defiantly firm. 'The full title is Escaping Obsession: Dealing With the One You Want Who Doesn't Want to Know!
Foster nodded, bit his lip, made a note. 'Were you obsessed with Katie Drake?'
'You don't have to answer that,' his lawyer mumbled.
Vickers waved an impatient hand in response.
'It's all right,' he said. His eyes had become moist. 'I loved her. I never told her that because I knew there wasn't a cat in hell's chance she'd be interested in me. I took a few steps to deal with my unrequited love. But I had nothing to do with her death. Now my life's just.. .fucking ruined.' He emphasized the profanity with absolute conviction and anger.
'We'll corroborate the library thing, Trevor. We'll let the press know you're no longer part of our investigation. Can I just ask a few questions, about Katie?'
He'd composed himself. Nodded slowly.
Was she seeing anyone else, to your knowledge?'
'No.'
'Did you notice anyone in the shop hanging around when she worked?'
'No.'
'She have a disagreement with anyone in the shop?'
'No.'
This is going nowhere, he thought. Time to leave the bloke to the tender mercies of the press pack outside -- and the attempt to rebuild his life. Just another bit of collateral damage in the media frenzy that engulfs some cases.
Last question. 'Did you notice anything different about Katie recently, anything strange, or odd in her behaviour?'
There was a pause instead of an instant negative. He looked at Foster directly, but the detective could see he was lost in thought. Eventually he spoke.
'There was one thing,' he said. 'It struck me as a bit odd.
Last Monday, not the one just gone, the one before that, a woman came in with a great pile of stuff belonging to someone who died. She was from an old people's home round the corner. Apparently the dead woman had lost contact with all her family and they'd been unable to track down any relatives so they were giving away all her things.
Very sad, but not uncommon. Which is why I was surprised that Katie got so upset. Don't get me wrong, she wasn't in hysterics or anything like that, but she was definitely moved. She said to me how sad it was that you could die and no one would know or care.'
'Did you respond?'
He nodded his head. 'I agreed with her. It is sad.' His voice was low, as if considering what Foster was at that moment thinking: how that desolate observation was applicable to him. 'Then she said, 'But I don't have to worry about that any more.''
'What did she mean by that?'
'I don't know. Naomi presumably'
'But she said 'any more'. As if dying and no one caring had been the case before.'
'I know. Someone came in and interrupted us. I'd forgotten about it. Until now.'
Foster stared intently at the list Heather handed him, as if the answer to the whole case lay buried in those names. It was late in the evening and yet another day had crawled by without an event of significance. Trevor Vickers's alibi checked out, as he knew it would. There had been two reported sightings of girls matching Naomi's description but neither turned out to be correct. Instead of sloping off home at five, he'd hung on until Heather returned with the names, the lights off and the door shut to make it appear he was out. When she arrived, he asked her to keep the door shut and her voice down.
'I expected more names than this,' he snapped, breaking his own rule.
'Nigel could only trace the maternal line forward from 1890 or so. Before that is a mystery. This is probably only about half the names we could've found.'
Foster rubbed his hand up the back of his shaven head, then tapped the space bar of his desktop PC. It crackled into life from its slumber. 'I suppose it makes our job easier.
Let's feed these into the national computer first, and see if anything comes up,' he said to Heather. 'Then we'll seek out those we can.'
He started with the males. He entered each name, cross referencing with their date of birth when more than one person appeared on the database under that moniker. He received three hits, all from the same branch of the family.
Martin Stamey and his brother David, the former convicted of drink-driving and aggravated assault, the latter of handling stolen goods, driving without insurance and grievous bodily harm, for which he was currently spending three years at Her Majesty's pleasure.
'Nice family,' murmured Heather behind his shoulder, making a note of Martin Stanley's address. 'Should be worth having a chat with him.'
The third hit was Christopher Stamey, who'd served two sentences for serious drug offences and was found murdered three and a half years ago. No one was arrested for the crime.
'Coincidence? Heather said. 'This lot certainly sound like the black sheep of the family'
'There're a few dark woolly creatures who might sue you for that,' Foster replied. 'They sound like scumbags.'
Logic told Foster it was all unrelated. But experience told him not to always trust logic. 'It's worth checking out.'
For the sake of completeness, Foster punched in the names of the seven women. The first six provided no matches.
'Here's the last one,' Foster said, typing in the name of Leonie Stamey, niece of the brothers grim. 'She'll be only seventeen, and even allowing for the criminality in her family that should --'
He stopped abruptly.
Heather was on her way out of his office to find out more about the Stamey clan. 'What is it?' she said.
'Fucking hell.'
'What is it?' she repeated.
'Leonie Stamey is missing' He swivelled on his chair to face her. 'She disappeared on her fourteenth birthday.'
