say to him, but she wanted to confront him before they went in, see what he said about escorting Brotherton’s girlfriend back to the house last night. About what happened in the car.
‘You have a good workout, then?’
Clayton looked puzzled. ‘What?’
‘The gym.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Another relieved smile. ‘Yeah. Should join me sometime.’ The smile took on another, unmistakable meaning. ‘Work up a sweat together. Might be fun.’
Her turn to smile then. But not in the way he necessarily imagined. She opened her mouth to speak, the thought transferred directly to her lips, bypassing her brain.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.
‘Good. I’m lookin’ forward to it.’ Clayton gave her another smile, as if he could imagine exactly what would happen. This was the moment, she thought, when she was expected to squirm and look grateful. He should know her better than that.
He began walking towards the doors.
Anni held back. ‘I’ll join you in a bit. Just got something I want to check out first.’
He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
He turned, walked away. Smiling at another woman he passed.
Anni shook her head. He just couldn’t help himself, she thought.
She paused, looked at the entrance, watched Clayton disappear inside. She tried to analyse her feelings, her reactions to Clayton’s responses. She felt spurned, for sure. He had used her for sex, and while she had tried to pretend to herself that she was using him too, she had found herself hurt all the same. But if that was all it was, she would have confronted him about it, told him exactly what she thought of him.
No, it was something more. It wasn’t just the fact that she had seen him with another woman. That woman was at the very least a witness in a multiple murder case. Possibly an accessory even. He was keeping things from the team. Things that could potentially harm the investigation. And she wasn’t going to allow that to happen.
She had thought about the best way to deal with it, and had given him the chance to say something. He hadn’t taken it; in fact he had lied to her, looked scared that she might have found him out.
Anni turned, walked towards the double doors, her mind made up. She would say something, but not yet. First she was going to find out everything she could about possible links between Clayton and Sophie Gale.
Phil looked round the room. The Birdies were there, Clayton; even uber-geek Millhouse had torn himself away from his computer screen, his eyes red-rimmed behind his black-framed glasses. Anni sat at her desk, Marina at hers. His gaze lingered on her a beat too long.
No sign of Fenwick.
The room was exactly as it had been the previous day. The board still dominated in front of the bar, the TV/VCR/DVD set up next to it. Phil scanned the room once more. Already the strain was beginning to show on his colleagues’ faces. It wasn’t so much that they were tired but that they were all feeling the collective responsibility of having to come up with a positive result, and quickly. And in the intense spotlight glare of the media and the public. Not to mention the police themselves. Catch the killer, find the baby alive. No pressure there, then.
‘Okay,’ he said with energy, trying to inject some adrenalin and focus into his group, ‘let’s make this quick and get out there. What have we got?’
‘CCTV,’ said DC Adrian Wren. He crossed to the TV, turned it on. Slipped a disc in, took the remote, sat down in the nearest seat. ‘Came through first thing. Watch.’
The TV screen showed a grainy image of Claire Fielding’s block of flats. It was night-time.
‘Night before last,’ said Adrian. ‘Here’s the time we want.’ He froze the frame. It showed a figure moving up by the side of the apartment block. A tall, stocky figure wearing a buttoned-up overcoat and a hat pulled down, disguising its face. Adrian let the footage move again. The figure walked purposefully towards the entrance of the block, looked round, waited. Adrian froze the frame once more.
No one in the room spoke or moved. Their attention was focused solely on the TV. Phil was no different. He was thinking exactly what everyone else in the room was thinking:
‘Big bloke,’ said Clayton, the first to speak. He was voicing what everyone in the room was thinking: it could be Brotherton. A few nods, grunts of assent in return. They waited for the footage to resume once more.
‘Time here?’ asked Phil.
‘Just after seven thirty,’ said Adrian. ‘Now look. He wants to get in but can’t find a way. No key. So he waits.’
He clicked and pointed with the remote once more. The figure tried the double doors, then moved away and disappeared round the corner. A slight fast-forward, then he returned carrying three bags of shopping.
Phil frowned. ‘We didn’t find any shopping anywhere…’
The figure stayed around the side of the building. Eventually a woman approached the double doors, took out a key to enter. The figure detached himself and struggled towards her, making the bags look as heavy as possible. The woman turned, her hand keeping the door pushed open.
‘It looks like he’s calling to her,’ said Adrian, ‘asking her to hold the door.’ He looked at the screen again. ‘And she is, look. There. She’s smiling.’
The woman held the door open for him. He seemed to be bobbing his head in thanks. The door swung shut behind the pair of them.
‘And he’s in,’ said Adrian.
‘Who’s that woman?’ said Phil. ‘Have we spoken to her? Has she given us a description?’
Adrian gave him a look that managed to be both elated and exasperated. ‘We’ve seen her. But we haven’t spoken to her.’ He paused the recording, rewound until she reappeared on the screen. ‘Look again.’ He pressed play. They all moved forward, staring intently.
‘Fuck,’ said Clayton.
‘Exactly,’ said Phil. ‘Julie Simpson.’
It was like a collective sigh of exasperation had been heaved in the room. Phil shook his head. ‘She let her own murderer in…’
‘If it was Brotherton, she’d have recognised him,’ said Clayton.
‘Not if he was disguised,’ said Anni. ‘His face hidden.’
The room fell silent as they watched the screen.
Phil held up a hand. ‘Shopping bags? We didn’t find any in Claire Fielding’s apartment… Have we checked the stairs, everywhere else in the flats?’
‘He’s going to reuse them,’ said DS Jane Gosling.
‘Very eco-friendly,’ said Clayton.
‘Right,’ said Adrian, bringing the focus of the room back to him and the TV. He restarted it. ‘So he’s in. At seven thirty-eight.’
He fast-forwarded again. Stopped it when the double doors were opened.
‘Nine ten,’ he said. ‘Chrissie Burrows going home. Fast-forward again…’ He stopped the footage. Geraint Cooper was seen walking out. ‘Nearly twenty-five to ten.’
‘So we don’t know what he does or where he goes,’ said DS Jane Gosling, ‘but we know he’s in the building all the time. Biding his time. If he gets stopped, he’s got his carrier bags as cover. He can look like he’s making his way up the stairs.’ She looked at the screen again. ‘Probably on his way to the flat by this time. Probably inside. Doing what he set out to do. Let’s see what happens when he comes out.’ She ran the images through until she found the one she wanted. The double doors opened, the figure emerged. He was dressed exactly the same, still carrying the shopping bags from earlier.
‘He must have had his equipment in the bags, his tools, disguised by groceries,’ said Jane. ‘And something to wrap the baby in.’ Her voice dropped. ‘There’d be an awful lot of blood.’
‘But he must have put the set dressing somewhere,’ said Phil. He noticed Marina look up, smile slightly at his choice of phrase. He felt his cheeks reddening, looked round. No one else had noticed. He continued. ‘I still want
