Harris's expression changed to bemusement. 'So that's where you were. I could have done with you pounding on a few doors.'
Foster ignored the slight.
'On what basis do you think the cases are connected?'
Harris asked.
'The victims were related.'
'How?'
'Distant cousins. They shared a common maternal ancestor.' Before Harris could intervene, he continued.
'The hair left on Katie Drake's clothing belonged to a male. You know they couldn't obtain anything other than an mtDNA sample. It turns out that the person who owns that hair and Katie Drake shared a maternal ancestor.
Could have been ten thousand years ago, could have been a hundred. Forensics knew that and didn't deem it useful.
I thought about it and decided to ask Nigel Barnes, the genealogist who worked on the Karl Hogg case, to discover just how many maternal relations of Katie Drake were still alive. Turns out he can't trace their ancestry back beyond about 1890, which means there weren't many. I fed the names into the database and I came across the Stamey family'
He paused for breath. Susie had walked back into the room. Harris's face wore an inscrutable look, but Foster knew he was listening. 'Go on,' he said.
'Leonie Stanley's mother was found dead of an overdose.
She was a junk
She was fourteen.' He let the words hang in the air for a few seconds.
'She was kidnapped?'
'The local force looked into it. They decided she ran away.'
'Sounds like valid reasoning to me. There was hardly any attraction for her to stay.'
'Then we have the slaughter of the other branch of the Stamey family'
'Which has all the hallmarks of a gangland slaying, Grant. I see where you're going with this but I don't see anything but coincidence. They were related. So what?
I'm not an expert in genealogy but even I know that you and I could share an ancestor way back in the mists of time.'
Foster expected nothing less. 'I know, sir. I don't expect you to give me teams of men and resources to spend time on it. But I think there's a link. I'm in contact with the SIO
on the Stamey family killing.'
'What does he think?'
'That Martin Stamey was a naughty boy who crossed the wrong person.'
Harris gestured as if to say, 'There you go.' Then he admitted, 'Look, Grant, you know as well as I do that we aren't making a great deal of progress on finding Naomi, dead or alive. You keep pursuing this link if you want. But I need something far more concrete if we're going to invest some manpower in it.'
Foster nodded. 'I need some help. There are three living relatives from that maternal bloodline. The Stamey's daughter, who was at a friend's when they killed her family; she's under protection. There's a man in his forties who may or may not exist. And there's Leonie Stamey's younger brother. If I'm right, he might be next. I'd like to put him in a safe house.'
'Where is he now?'
'In a care home. He's a walking crime wave. I'm on my way to get him now.'
You're talking about taking him out of a home and putting him somewhere safe on the basis of a hunch?
Sorry, Grant. Essex murder squad has reason to protect the girl. I can't see the justification for protecting this boy.
Anyway, how can anyone know he's in the care home?
The details of who's there aren't public knowledge. He's as safe there as anywhere.' He looked back at his watch once again. 'Look, I must shoot. Keep me informed how this line of investigation goes. Find me some proof of a definite link and we'll have a chat about this again. We're desperate for some kind, any kind, of breakthrough.' He looked at his watch. 'The performance is due to start in half an hour,' he said to Sus
'I'll phone a cab,' she said.
'No need. I'm driving.'
'OK, give me a second.' She left them alone once more.
Foster drained his beer. 'Going anywhere nice?'
'The opera. Don Giovanni. You seen it?'
'Not recently, no.' He put the beer down on the side.
'I'll leave you to it then.'
Harris nodded. 'Enjoy your weekend.'
Fat chance of that, Foster thought as he made his way down the hall and out. The sound of your slurping lips kissing Susie will be echoing through my mind.
'Do you have satellite TV?'
They were the first words that Gary had spoken since Foster collected him from the care home. All the way back he sat sullenly staring out of the window, his desire to be hostile quenching any curiosity about where he was being taken. Foster had turned on the radio, found a station that was playing something urban and gritty that he believed Gary might like, but eventually turned it off after he found the beat so banal and repetitive that he'd switched back to a station playing classic hits. Gary did not stir.
You're coming to my place. Not for long. Just until we get something else sorted,' Foster had told him. Again, no response.
It was late when they got back, and Foster took Gary into the lounge and introduced him to the television.
Yes, I do,' he said in reply to Gary's query. 'God knows why. Just more channels with nothing worth watching.'
He handed Gary the remote. 'Find yourself something to watch. As long as it's not pornographic or violent.'
There was a childlike glimmer of excitement in Gary's eyes as he took the thick piece of plastic from Foster. He turned the television on and went straight to the screen listing the available channels.
You know what you're doing then,' Foster said.
Gary shrugged. 'I've stolen loads of these. Is that the new Sony plasma?' he added, nodding towards the television.
'It
is, yes,' Foster said.
'Thought so. They're the lick,' he said enthusiastically.
He looked at Foster for the first time with something other than disdain. You must be loaded.'
'Well, I had a bit of time off work recently. Upgraded my home entertainment system. Which reminds me.' He grabbed the remote off Gary, hit mute then handed it back. 'If one item from this house goes missing then I'll find you and make sure you go to a young offenders'
institution for a very long time. A really nasty one. You get what I'm saying?'
Foster had already performed an inventory in his mind of all the possessions Gary might steal, and the TV and stereo were the only likely ones. They were both insured, so that didn't matter. His father's cellar, or what little remained of it, wasn't, but he guessed Gary had not yet developed a taste for vintage claret.
Gary hit mute and the sound returned. 'I ain't gonna nick nowt off no copper.' His eyes locked on the screen then glanced back at Foster. 'Just why's you brought me here anyway? You not a fucking nonce, are you?'
'No,' Foster said wearily. 'I'm no nonce. And when you're here in my house I'd be grateful if you watched the language. I brought you here because I'm interested in keeping you out of trouble. I think you can help me with the case I'm working on, and you can't do that when you're up to no good.'
