‘We believe her to be in her twenties. A lot of them do look younger than they actually are. When you spoke to her?’
‘She didn’t say much, just got hold of Boris, not that she liked dogs, held him at a distance, and handed him back to me.’
‘You’ve got the photo. Anything else you can tell us?’
‘She wasn’t happy to be there. I saw her another time arguing with him in the back garden.’
‘He hit her?’
‘I heard him say that it was up to her, but the repercussions would be on her head and her family's.’
‘Which you understood to mean?’
‘They left that night. I didn’t think any more about it, but that’s her in the photo. Is she in trouble?’
‘We don’t know, but it’s suspicious. What do you know about the murder in Kensal Green Cemetery?’
‘A young woman. Was she involved, her next door?’
‘She’s a person of interest, someone we need to find before it’s too late. Any help–’
The woman interrupted her. ‘I’ll tell you what I know, not that I was nosey, but she wasn’t the first woman in that house. There had been others.’
‘Why wasn’t this mentioned before?’
‘You know…’
‘I know somebody who’s taken more than a casual interest in her neighbours. Before this goes any further, and being nosey is not a crime, just mischievous and in bad taste, you’d better tell me the truth.’
‘I saw two other women.’
‘Describe them.’
‘One was Asian, the other was white, not sure where from.’
Gwen opened up her smartphone, scrolled through the photo gallery, showed one of the images to a woman with an unhealthy interest in spying on her neighbours.
‘That’s the white woman,’ the neighbour said. ‘Who is she?’
‘She’s the woman that was murdered in the cemetery.’
Chapter 17
It seemed that Analyn, the mysterious and most important person for the team to interview, was at the Holland Park address under some duress and that Ian Naughton was involved in a shady business where women were possibly trafficked. But that assumption was flawed in that the woman on the grave was English, her DNA’s genetic markers confirming her ancestry.
If Analyn and the other Asian woman seen by the nosey neighbour were brought into the country either illegally or legally, under contract or not, it didn’t explain why the murdered woman had been at the grave with a man.
The early-morning meetings at Challis Street continued. Larry still struggled with his weight, Wendy with her arthritis, and Isaac with Jenny’s advancing pregnancy, the morning sickness, the occasional mood change, the decision to put the flat on the market and to buy a house. It was only Bridget who seemed immune as she spent her days with her computer, the evenings enjoying a glass of wine, and watching soap operas on the television.
Chief Superintendent Goddard would occasionally be in Homicide, not that Isaac concerned himself too much, except that the man would ask penetrating questions which the team couldn’t answer.
‘Still no idea who the dead woman is?’ Goddard said.
‘Not yet, but we’re getting closer,’ Isaac said, realising that it was a stupid reply.
‘I read the report,’ Goddard continued. ‘Long on detail, short on fact, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’ve run out of ideas.’
Isaac, as the senior investigating officer, wanted to deny, to offer up a fervent rebuttal, but he knew that it was best to let his senior have his say. The pep talk and the criticism were the way the man operated, and he wasn’t a tyrant, not like Commissioner Davies.
Homicide, Challis Street, was a special focus for the man, especially after the commissioner’s favourite, Seth Caddick, had been brought in to replace Isaac firstly and then, after his promotion to superintendent, Richard Goddard. On both occasions, Caddick had left with his tail between his legs, but he was still there, champing on the bit, eager to prove his worth.
Isaac and Goddard had no time for the man, an incompetent sycophant, sucking up to Davies, but he wasn’t the only one in the Met. There were more than a few who succeeded through adroit manoeuvring, waiting their time, moving in to grab the accolade, retreating to the shadows when someone needed to take the blame.
On a couple of occasions, Isaac had considered leaving, finding himself a more regular job, head of security for a company overseas, but each time he had stayed, although the salaries on offer had been inviting. And as he had reflected with Jenny the night before, more money would come in handy. They had spent a couple of hours looking at their finances, the price they could sell the flat for, the mortgage they would need to take for a house.
‘We’ll manage,’ Jenny said. ‘And when the baby’s old enough, I can find a job.’
The expected promotion to superintendent hadn’t occurred for Isaac and wasn’t likely to as long as Davies remained in control.
‘We’re making a concerted effort to find the Asian woman,’ Larry said.
‘Yes, I know all that, but why’s it taking so long. Assuming she’s relevant–’
‘She is,’ Larry interrupted the chief superintendent’s flow.
Not a good idea, Isaac thought, as he cast a steely glance over at his DI: keep quiet, it inferred. Larry took the hint and picked up his mug of coffee from the desk, grasped it firmly and sat back.
‘As I was saying, assuming she’s relevant,’ Goddard continued. ‘And now we’re using criminals to find her. It’s irregular.’
Isaac and his team knew it wasn’t, as did the chief superintendent, but others in the police force, isolated from the reality, back-room boys, politically correct aficionados, believed that criminals were to be arrested, not consorted with.
Richard Goddard had to deal with those people, as did the team in Homicide, but it was a
