‘It must have been about nine o’clock. I was cooking and one of those people came to the door. Selling things, you know.’
Nottingham knocker, thinks Ev.
‘Could you describe the man – the one at 62a, I mean.’
She looks contrite. ‘I am sorry, I was not really concentrating. I was trying to make the salesman go away. My husband does not like those people. I wanted him to go before Rajesh came home.’
Ev doesn’t like them much either. It’s one of the unexpected benefits of living in a first-floor flat with an entryphone and no street door.
‘The man at 62a – was he tall? Young? White?’
The woman nods. ‘White, yes. And dark hair. Quite tall, but everyone looks tall to me.’ She smiles, then glances across at Quinn on the next-door step. ‘He looked a bit like your friend, perhaps? But I only saw his back. I do not think I would know him again.’
‘What was he wearing, do you remember?’
‘Oh yes. It was shorts. Shorts and a T-shirt. A white one. And training shoes. Like for running, you know?’
‘Do you remember the colour of the shorts?’
Mrs Singh’s face crumples a little. ‘Oh dear. Not really. Black, perhaps? I am sorry, I am not sure.’
‘And the conversation they were having – did that seem friendly to you?’
‘Oh yes. I’m sure they knew each other. She let him in, after all.’
‘She let him in?’
The woman nods. ‘Yes, yes. I saw him go inside.’
Ev’s making frantic notes now. ‘Did you see him leave?’
‘No. I was cooking, and then Rajesh came home and it was fuss, fuss, fuss. Husbands – you know how it is.’ She gives a conspiratorial smile, which Ev tries to mirror, but never having been married it’s a bit of a fake.
‘You didn’t hear or see anything after that? No arguments, cars leaving suddenly, anything like that?’
Mrs Singh shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says. ‘But there was a car outside I hadn’t seen before. When I pulled the front curtains later it had gone.’
‘And that would have been around –?’
‘The time? Ten thirty. I always go to bed at the same time.’
Ev nods. ‘And what sort of car was it? I know this is hard, but if you could remember the make –’
The woman shakes her head with a smile. ‘I do not know anything about cars. It was dark. Blue or grey? Something like that. An ordinary car.’
‘Ordinary?’
‘You know. Not one of these big ones that look like the army.’
‘Ah, I see. A saloon. Not an SUV.’
The woman holds up a finger. ‘Exactly! Exactly that. That is what I meant.’
When Quinn joins her on the pavement a couple of minutes later Ev’s still making notes.
‘Looks like you had more luck than me.’
She glances up. ‘There was a man at number 62a last night. About nine. Dark, tallish and possibly driving a dark-coloured car.’
Quinn exhales. ‘Blimey, that changes things a bit.’
Ev’s face is grim. ‘It wasn’t random, Quinn, and it wasn’t while she was out running. She let this predator in.’
* * *
‘OK, Baxter, can you get started on her social media, Ev, you’re on the parents, and Somer, I want you to go and see her colleagues, especially the one who called it in.’
Back at St Aldate’s and Quinn’s back in his stride. This is more like it. Real policework. He’s not dissing the assault case – well, not as such – but that whole area is a bloody bear trap and whatever you do is wrong. Quinn likes his crime clear-cut. No hidden snares, nothing that’ll come back to bite you on the arse. A chance to actually achieve something. And if he gets this sewn up before Gis gets back –
But an hour later his initial elation has rather cooled.
‘She’s not on Facebook? Come on, Baxter, everyone’s on Facebook.’
‘No,’ says Baxter stubbornly, ‘they’re not. And this woman’s one of them. There is an Instagram account, but it looks to me like she only set it up to post shots from when she was out running, but after half-a-dozen or so she must have lost interest. She’s not on Twitter at all, and the LinkedIn is just professional stuff to do with her work at the council. Whoever that bloke was she let in last night, I don’t rate your chances of finding him on there.’
Quinn frowns. ‘OK, OK, but keep looking, right? She lives alone so it’s a fair bet she’s on Match.com or Tinder or something.’
Baxter heaves a loud sigh, but he doesn’t argue.
‘Right,’ says Quinn. ‘What about the rest – the mobile? Ev?’
She looks up. ‘The last signal was at 9.47 last night at the flat. Nothing since.’
‘Did you track down the parents?’
She nods. ‘Yes, but they couldn’t add much. They weren’t aware there was a boyfriend on the scene at the moment and didn’t come up with much by way of male friends either. I didn’t get the impression they knew much about her personal life.’
‘When did they last speak to her?’
Ev flips back through her notes. ‘Two and a bit weeks ago. It was her father’s birthday. But it was just a call. Not a visit. They live in Bournemouth, so I suppose it would have been a bit of a trek. I for one wouldn’t have relished spending two hours on the road in this weather.’
Quinn frowns. ‘I thought she didn’t have a car?’
‘No,’ she says, a bit flustered. ‘She doesn’t. Sorry – it was just a figure of speech.’
‘What about Somer?’ says Quinn, looking round. ‘Wasn’t she supposed to be talking to the co-workers? Where is she?’
‘Ah,’ says Ev quickly. ‘I think she just nipped out for a coffee. She won’t be long.’
* * *
‘Quinn’s looking for you. He wants to know why you haven’t left yet.’
Somer looks up. She’s standing over the sink, leaning in.
‘Are you OK?’ says Ev, taking a step closer. ‘You look like you’ve been throwing up.’
Somer takes a deep breath. ‘Must
