‘Well, I think Tariq liked her . . . and Chris Burt acted goofy whenever she looked his way . . . though, mind you, he’s sharper than he looks and Thelma keeps close tabs . . . Poor Peter Elford might’ve fancied his chances too . . .’
Jesus, thought Noakes glumly. This was turning into some sort of Agatha Christie story where pigging everyone could’ve done it.
‘I wondered if there was some hidden attraction at the centre . . . Thelma said she caught her hanging around downstairs quite a lot when there was no reason for her to be there. Lurking, Thelma called it . . .’
‘Do you think she was seeing someone here, Ms Bolton?’
‘No idea, Inspector. Looking back on it, I think something had gone badly wrong with that girl . . . something which scarred her quite early on . . . so she became a manipulator . . . a user.’
The librarian rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet. She looked wrung out, groggy.
Markham signalled to Kate.
‘DS Burton will take you back to the staffroom and make you a cup of tea, Ms Bolton. You look as if you could do with one.’
‘Yeah, wi’ lots of sugar,’ Noakes amended kindly.
Hopefully he and the guvnor could soak up a few rays while Burton rustled up the PG Tips.
But Burton was back in double quick time.
‘Didn’t she want a cuppa then?’ her colleague grunted.
‘She said she had a really bad headache . . . okay to drive, though, so I sorted some aspirin and saw her off.’
‘Good. Somehow I feel easier with her off the premises,’ Markham said. ‘Get Doyle to arrange for a patrol car to swing by her address a few times, will you, Kate?’
‘Will do, sir.’ She paused. ‘Where do we go from here, sir?’
‘The three of us are going to run through all the witness statements again.’
Burton brightened.
Oh bloody Nora. Her fellow DS let out a strangled whimper.
‘Sorry, Noakesy, it has to be done.’ The DI was adamant. ‘Someone lied about their alibi.’
‘And Loraine Thornley was killed because she cottoned on.’ Burton’s face was intent. ‘There may be a chink of light somewhere in those statements . . . Has to be.’
‘We’ll get Doyle to bring in some takeout and make an evening of it.’
Noakes cheered up visibly at the prospect of a ‘chippy tea’.
Burton’s mobile sang out and she moved into the shade to take the call.
‘What have you got, Kate?
‘A nurse at the Newman . . . used to work in the adolescent unit at Bromgrove General . . . She’d heard we were asking around about Rebecca . . . saw her a couple of times at the Newman . . .’
‘Don’ tell me we’re going back to Creepville,’ groaned Noakes piteously. ‘I hate that place.’
‘I think this one’s worth checking out, guv.’ Burton was deaf to his pleas. ‘Apparently, Rebecca told her she had someone from the centre “in her pocket”.’
‘“In her pocket,”’ the DI repeated thoughtfully. Such a cold phrase.
‘Right.’ He was decisive now. ‘First we check those statements and then it’s off to the Newman.’ He looked sternly at Noakes. ‘And no whining.’
‘We can tell the DCI we’re doing stalker profiles,’ Burton said eagerly.
‘You’re getting alarmingly proficient at blindsiding, Kate,’ the DI observed.
She beamed. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘He means you’re a shifty little bugger,’ Noakes groused.
And with that they turned their steps towards the main building.
Gradually shadows stole across the little back garden and all was still.
12. Little by Little
‘That was champion.’ Noakes exhaled with huge satisfaction at the conclusion of his chippy tea. ‘If there’s summat you c’n allus count on, it’s the Medway Fryer.’
DC Doyle grinned. ‘Actually, I thought it was time to give that joint across from the station a go. The blokes in Vice can’t get enough of it.’
‘Oh aye?’ Nothing could dent his colleague’s good humour. ‘Well I have to hand it to you, lad. They run Medway a close second.’
‘At least they offer fish in breadcrumbs,’ Burton sniffed. ‘Much better than all that batter.’
Noakes looked askance at this heretical pronouncement.
Doyle winked at Burton. ‘Bet you’d have preferred some nice guacamole instead of mushy peas, sarge.’
His colleague managed not to hear.
‘By the by, Sergeant,’ Markham put in, suddenly mindful of Muriel Noakes’s anxiety about her husband’s health, ‘I trust you’ll be rescheduling that doctor’s appointment you missed.’
The DS looked distinctly shifty. ‘Got too much on our plate right now, guv . . .’
‘I’m not such a slave-driver that I can’t spare you for a check-up, Noakes.’ The DI relented at the sudden panic in his subordinate’s face. ‘Once we get this investigation over, I want you to get it sorted . . . can’t have you flaking out during the foxtrot, can we?’
It was the right note to strike. Noakes’s face cleared. ‘I’ll make it a priority, guv.’
‘You do that.’ Markham surveyed the detritus of their meal. Like Burton, he had plumped for the healthier option and found it surprisingly good. ‘Let’s clear up and get the coffee on. Then we can review those alibis.’ The team had discussed the case in a desultory way while enjoying their takeaway, but the time had come for more rigorous analysis.
Ten minutes later the quartet sat round the conference table. The room was cool and peaceful now, the earlier oppressive mugginess having lifted. The DI left the door into the corridor open, so there was the hint of a draught. ‘The building’s quiet, so we’re safe.’ He looked interrogatively at Doyle.
‘’S right, sir. Everyone’s gone home,’ Doyle confirmed.
‘Okay,’ the DI began. ‘Shirley said that Loraine Thornley was upset because she knew someone hadn’t been truthful about their whereabouts . . .’ His
