Kay’s eyes narrowed. ‘What?’
‘I know. You’d think the last thing he’d be doing is appearing on television, right?’
‘How do you know that Duncan is being blackmailed?’
In response, he got up, walked over to an antique-looking writing bureau near the window and opened the top drawer. His hand shook as he plucked out an envelope and handed it to Kay.
‘Because the same person was trying to blackmail me.’
In the silence that followed, Kay cast her eyes around the room, taking in the sparse decoration compared to the collection of photographs that took up one corner of a sagging bookshelf.
Carys’s pen dropped to the floor, and Kay’s thoughts snapped back to the task at hand.
‘Sorry,’ said Carys, and scrambled for the ballpoint pen.
Kay sat further forward on the sofa. ‘If you only saw Duncan on the news yesterday, how do you know he’s being blackmailed?’
‘We’ve spoken. He phoned me out of the blue when he received the first letter.’
Kay changed tack. ‘How many letters have you received?’
‘Eight in total.’
‘Do you have them?’
She waited while he returned to the desk, rummaged through the top drawer and retrieved a handful of similarly-coloured envelopes. She took them from him, and pulled out each letter before reading it and then placing it back.
‘How often have you received these?’
‘One a month. The day they arrive differs, but it’s usually around the third week of the month.’
‘There are no postmarks. Were these delivered in an outer packaging?’
‘No. I’m presuming they were hand-delivered.’
‘When did you find them? In the morning? When you returned from work?’
‘Both. Sometimes I’d be upstairs getting ready to go to work. Sometimes there’d be one waiting for me on the mat when I got back.’
‘These are all asking for money.’
‘I haven’t paid any.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t care if people find out about my past. I’ve never hidden from it.’ He sighed, and joined her on the sofa. ‘I suppose someone of Duncan’s calling might not see it that way. He might be desperate to stop the blackmailer.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s only a thought.’
‘So, let me make sure I understand this. You haven’t paid any money, but the letters kept arriving, and you haven’t been exposed?’
‘No. I wondered perhaps whether I was being used as leverage somehow. The fact I’ve stayed silent might have been helping not hindering the blackmailer. I didn’t know how to contact Duncan, and even if I did, why would I? He might not be receiving letters like this, so why would I draw attention to the fact that I was? I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening, until I saw the story about that young girl. And then Duncan phoned me. I don’t know – I’m sorry, maybe I’m wasting your time—’
‘Not at all. We’d rather you spoke to us than not. What can you tell us about Duncan Saddleworth?’
He smiled. ‘He was a charmer. Everyone that met him fell for him. The girls, and the boys. He loved the attention – couldn’t get enough of it. Walked around like he was a rock star or something.’
‘Were you jealous of him?’
‘Not really. It might sound strange, but it was enough to be accepted into his circle of friends. Everyone adored him.’
‘What did you get up to?’
He leaned back in his chair, his face wistful. ‘It was the 1990s in Oxford, Detective. Bands from here were going global. Everyone got caught up in the scene – the music was incredible. So, we hung out in pubs, watched bands, and probably drank a bit too much.’
‘Drugs?’
He smiled. ‘Maybe. Just fun.’
‘And yet you lost touch with him. How long has it been since you last saw him?’
‘I haven’t seen him since the end of the third semester. I’d never spoken to him until he phoned about the first blackmail letter.’
‘Why?’
‘It all changed. He fell in love with someone else.’
‘Who else was around at that time? Can you recall any names?’
The smile faded. ‘I-I’d rather not say. I don’t want to get sued for slander or something.’
‘If you know something that would help our enquiries, you should tell us. I’m trying to find the killer of a sixteen year old girl.’
‘I’m sorry. I know.’
‘Who did he break your heart for?’
His head snapped up, his eyes wary. ‘How did you know?’
‘There are only photos in here of your time at university. There’s no-one else in your life, is there?’
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. ‘You’re very perceptive, Detective.’
He got up and wandered over to the collection of carefully framed photographs on the shelves. He pulled out a cotton handkerchief and dabbed at the glass of one of them, before turning back to Kay, tears in his eyes.
‘You’re right, Detective. He did break my heart.’
‘So, who was Duncan Saddleworth involved with after you?’
‘An American. Blake Hamilton.’
Forty-Three
Kay left Carys to park the car on their return to the police station, and wandered into the incident room.
Her mind spun with the information Felix Ashgrove had provided.
The probability that Sophie Whittaker was blackmailing three people was a serious allegation – and opened up more possibilities as to who murdered her.
The problem was, who?
She slumped into her chair and wiggled her mouse to wake up her computer screen, then looked up as a shadow passed her desk.
Gavin held a plastic evidence bag in his hand, a broad grin on his face.
‘Come on, let’s have it,’ said Kay. ‘What’ve you found? It must be good – you look like you’ve been bursting to tell me.’
His grin widened. ‘Remember that key Harriet’s lot found in Sophie’s bedside drawers?’
‘Yeah. You managed to trace it?’
‘Eventually. It’s from a safe deposit box – the sort you can rent from a bank.’
Kay held out her hand for the bag and turned it in her hand.
A nondescript steel key lay in one corner, bare except for the manufacturer’s stamp and a row of letters and numbers stamped into one side of the bow.
‘Do you know which one?’
Gavin held up a piece of paper. ‘This one. It’s here in Maidstone.
