Yes.
But first he had to make a phone call.
62
Graeme Eades opened the door. He looked to Phil like a different man. Like he had aged enough to become his own father in the space of a day. But worse than that, he looked like a ghost that hadn’t realised it was dead yet. Guilt will do that to you, thought Phil.
He was staying in a Travelodge on the outskirts of Colchester. His own house was being treated as a crime scene, examined for potential forensic clues, and would be for some time.
‘Would have thought he’d had enough of cheap hotels by now,’ Anni had said as they had walked up to the front desk and shown their warrant cards.
Phil hadn’t answered, just asked for directions to Graeme Eades’ room.
‘Mr Eades?’ he said. ‘Just a few more questions, please. Won’t take long.’
Eades opened the door fully, walked back into the room. He was dressed in a pair of chinos and a sweatshirt. It looked as if he had slept in them too. He needed a shave and his remaining hair had been sculpted into interesting swirls and whorls. He sat on the bed and waited, head down. Like a death-row inmate awaiting execution. But from the look in his eyes, he was already dead.
Phil stood before him, leaning against the built-in set of drawers. Anni sat in the chair.
‘We’ve been looking into your background, Mr Eades, and there are a couple of things we’d like you to clear up.’
No response.
‘Four years ago you were picked up and cautioned for kerb-crawling, is that correct?’
Eades looked up. He frowned. ‘What?’
Phil started the sentence again. Eades cut him off. ‘What’s that got to do with… with…’
‘So that’s correct? You were kerb-crawling? Looking to buy sex?’
He put his head down, sighed. Humiliation piling on top of guilt. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice a broken thing, ‘yes, I was.’
‘Just the once, or more often?’ said Anni. ‘Was this a regular thing?’
Eades looked up, eyes away from Anni. ‘Does it matter?’ He tried to hide his embarrassment, worked it up as anger instead. ‘How does this have any bearing on… on my wife? Is this relevant? Is this part of the inquiry?’
‘Yes it is, Mr Eades,’ said Phil, keeping his voice steady but authoritative. ‘We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.’ He said nothing more, waiting for an answer.
Eventually, Eades, seeing that they weren’t going away until they got an answer, sighed. ‘I used prostitutes… a bit.’
‘A bit?’ said Anni.
‘A fair bit. All right, quite a lot.Yes, I paid for sex. Happy now?’
Phil took a photo out of his jacket pocket, handed it to Eades. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’
Eades looked at the photo. Susie Evans’ face was smiling up at him. He frowned. ‘She looks… familiar. A bit.’
‘Have you had sex with her?’ asked Anni. ‘Was she one of the women you picked up?’
He kept looking at the photo. Eventually shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think so. Not really my type. But she does look familiar.’ He handed the photo back.
‘She was murdered a couple of months ago,’ said Phil, repocketing the photo.
Eades’ head jerked up, eyes wide. ‘And… and you think… the same person did it?’
‘It’s a possibility we’re looking into,’ Anni said.
‘We’re exploring all avenues,’ said Phil.
Anni took a photo out of her jacket, handed it to Eades. ‘What about her?’
Eades looked at it, and there was no disguising the fact that he knew her. He sighed as he looked at her face.
Phil picked up on it straight away. ‘You know her?’
‘Has she been killed too?’ It sounded like genuine concern in his voice.
Phil ignored the question. ‘Do you know her?’
Eades looked again at the photo. ‘Yes.Yes, I remember her very well.’
‘You met more than once?’ said Phil.
‘Yes. Regularly. We met… she had a flat we went back to. I didn’t pick her up on the street. Sometimes in a hotel. Yes…’ He drifted off at the memory.
‘And would you say you developed a relationship with her?’ said Anni.
‘Well, I think so. We were together for… we used to see each other for quite a while.’
‘And you talked about… what, exactly?’ said Phil.
‘Oh, all sorts. Life, my family. Everything.’
‘So why did it end?’ asked Anni.
‘I met Erin,’ he said.
Anni folded her arms. ‘And you didn’t have to pay for it any more.’
‘That’s right.’ Eades looked up, realised what he had just said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that…’
‘That’s all right, Mr Eades,’ said Phil. He held his hand out for the photo.
Eades seemed reluctant to hand it over. He sighed, looked at it once more. ‘Oh, Sophie,’ he said.
Phil and Anni exchanged glances. They made to leave.
Graeme Eades stood up.
‘Please,’ he said, looking unsteady on his feet. ‘Please. Find my baby. My girl.’ He looked up. ‘It was a girl, you know…’ Then away again. ‘And she’s the last part of…’ He couldn’t bring himself to say his wife’s name.
He crumpled to the bed, curled up and sobbed.
They left him to his grief.
Outside, Phil shook his head, as if to dislodge Graeme Eades’ voice, the image of him lying there.
‘We have to find her,’ said Phil. ‘And fast.’
They drove back to the station.
Clayton stood outside in the car park. It was freezing, wind whipping his jacket back, promising ice and snow. He didn’t notice. He had his phone to his ear.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘pick up…’
It switched over to answerphone. ‘Hi, this is Sophie. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you really, really soon.’ Her voice dropped, low and teasing, on the last three words, holding the promise of fun and sex. It worked. Clayton knew that.
‘Listen, Sophie, it’s me, Clayton. I need to see you. Now. It’s important. I don’t know where you are, but go back to the flat, I’ll meet you there.’ He ended the call. Sighed.
He put his phone away. Thought. Took it out again. He would try his flat. Maybe she was there already. In the shower or something. He dialled, waited. Heard his own voice on the answerphone.
He started to leave a message.
‘Sophie? It’s Clayton. If you’re there, pick up.’ A long pause. Then a sigh. ‘Okay. Look, I’m coming back to the flat now. I really need to talk to you. Now. I’ve left a message on your mobile. If you’re there, wait.’ Another sigh. ‘This is so fucked. I’ve… we’ve got to…’ Another sigh. ‘No. I can’t say on the phone. We have to talk it through. We have to sort it.’ The message ended.
Across the room, sitting on one of Clayton’s dark leather armchairs, Sophie Gale took another drag on her cigarette, held it, let out a long plume of smoke.
The red light on the answerphone flashed. She didn’t move. Just put the cigarette to her lips once more, took down another mouthful of smoke, slowly exhaled.
Waited.
