But with luck and perseverance this won’t be the end of Gavin’s story. We’re still supporting Gavin and his lawyers, with a view to making a second application to the Criminal Cases Review Commission early next year.
In the meantime, Gavin’s determined to make the years he still has left count for something. He’s spending a lot of time with young offenders and rebuilding his relationship with his children. And, of course, they’re not kids any more. Ryan is working in the leisure and wellness sector, and Dawn now has a family of her own …’
‘A gym,’ says Gislingham. ‘Ryan Powell is working at a bloody gym. Jesus, why didn’t I think of that? How much DNA do you think gets left behind on a bloody gym towel? You just dump the damn things in those bins and don’t give it a second thought. That’s how they framed Fawley –’
‘Hang on, hang on,’ says Gallagher. Though she seems to have gone very pale. ‘You’re jumping to vast conclusions –’
Gislingham’s stabbing at his phone, breathing heavily now. ‘Look,’ he says after a moment, holding it towards her, his hand trembling with purpose. ‘Look – Headington Health and Leisure – HHL – it’s the boss’s gym –’
A line of PT instructors smile out of the screen, neat and tidy in branded polo shirts, by a row of gleaming exercise machines. Rhona Hammond, Daryl Jones, Polly Lewis, Jad Muhammad, Ryan Powell.
A bright, open face, fair hair. He looks clean-cut, honest, genuine. But Gallagher is not fooled.
Gislingham is watching her. ‘That pubic hair you mentioned? The one thing the boss has never been able to explain?’
She looks up. ‘Yes?’
‘If you were trying to filch one of those from someone without them knowing, I can’t think of many better sources than a used gym towel. Can you?’
She opens her mouth, closes it again. Shit, she thinks. Shit.
* * *
Alex watches the doctor standing over the foetal heart monitor. Even with the oxygen, her own pulse is beating so fast she feels light-headed. The midwife has her by the hand, trying to calm her, telling her it’s all going to be fine, but they wouldn’t have called the obstetrician if there wasn’t a problem – they wouldn’t have brought in that machine if they weren’t concerned –
The doctor looks up. ‘The heart rate’s tachycardic,’ she says crisply. ‘Prep for caesarean, please, and notify Theatre Two. We need to get this baby out.’
* * *
‘But even if you’re right about the hair,’ says Gallagher, ‘we still need to check if you can actually transfer viable DNA from a towel –’
Gislingham cuts across her. ‘But it fits, doesn’t it? It all fits.’ He points at the ‘RP’ ringed at the bottom of the page. ‘And it looks like Alex thinks so too.’
‘Do we know if Ryan’s been in contact with his father?’
Gis shakes his head. ‘I don’t, no, but we can easily check. Though from what I know of Parrie, he’ll have found a way to do it that doesn’t leave a trace. Snail mail would be my bet.’
Gallagher looks back at the paper. ‘This point she makes here, about him watching their house –’
Gislingham makes a face. ‘According to Nell, Alex’s been convinced there was someone watching the house for weeks, but everyone kept telling her she was imagining it – that Parrie had a tag so there was no way it could be him.’
Gallagher nods slowly. ‘And they were right. He wasn’t.’
‘No, he wasn’t. But we were all reckoning without his son, weren’t we? He was completely under the radar. Especially if he’s been calling himself Ryan Powell. And if he’s been watching the Fawleys, he’d know a shitload about both of them – where they shop, who their friends are, the fact that the boss goes to Headington Health and Leisure –’
Gallagher takes a deep breath. ‘So he gets himself hired at the same gym – is that what you’re thinking?’
Gis shrugs. ‘Why not? Places like that are always looking for staff. And Alex is right about the car too. It’d be easy enough to rent a Ford Mondeo – there must be hundreds of the bloody things.’
‘And poor Emma Smith just happened to do the wrong thing at the wrong time.’
Gislingham is nodding. ‘Going round to see the Fawleys when Ryan was sat outside, right.’ He sits back again; he looks troubled now. ‘He must have worked out pretty smartish that she was just what they were looking for: a single woman who lived alone and had hardly any friends. The ideal victim.’
Gallagher sighs. That poor woman, she thinks. She was sure someone was stalking her, she just didn’t know why.
Or who.
Gislingham is watching her face. ‘Smith never saw enough to ID him, but Ryan made bloody sure she knew he was there – he wanted her to know.’
Gallagher stares. ‘But why –?’
‘Think about it, ma’am – if you’re scared you’re being stalked and you know a DI, who are you going to ask for advice?’
‘She could have just spoken to him on the phone. There was no guarantee he’d actually go round there.’ She’s saying the words, but it’s just the devil’s advocate kicking in. She knows he’s right.
‘Parrie’s had nigh on twenty years to plan this. He’d have found a way to get Fawley round to that flat sooner or later. Staged a break-in – something.’ He shrugs. ‘And the minute he did turn up – bingo – game on.’
‘So it was Ryan who killed her – is that what you’re saying?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah. After all those years inside, Parrie’s not going to pass up the chance to do another girl, is he? What was done to Emma, that has him written all over it. Even down to that tiny bit of hair he just couldn’t stop himself taking.’
She gives him a dry look. ‘There’s still the not-so-small matter of the electronic tag. Despite what Alex Fawley says, they really don’t malfunction that often.
