‘And much of her not-so-enjoyable present as well, I imagine.’
He nodded, saddened by the thought of the young woman’s lifestyle outside this house. ‘Perhaps a bleak future, too. But at least she did get some respite here; not all of them do.’
Before heading downstairs, they carried out a cursory check of the bathroom and toilet. If he had been hoping to see two toothbrushes, Bliss was disappointed. No shaving bag, aftershave or male deodorant, either. No sign at all so far that a man had come anywhere close to sharing Abbi’s life.
There were only two main rooms downstairs as well. The kitchen yielded nothing of significance, and as they exited it, Bliss had the sinking sensation that the search of Abbi Turner’s home was not going to take them any further in their investigation. He barely said a word as they sifted through the living room. He noticed a chessboard laid out on a stout rectangular side table. Unlike Yeva Savchuk’s, the set was wooden. A game looked to be in progress; he wondered if they’d catch a break and find their killer’s prints on any of the pieces. He’d make sure the CSI team paid close attention to it when they arrived.
When he and Chandler had entered the house, Bliss had no real idea of what he hoped to find. A brochure or leaflet, perhaps, advertising the kennels their man might have a connection with. One drawer in every home – most often in the kitchen – usually contained such items. Chandler had found Abbi’s and tipped its contents out on the small circular dining table. The two of them ferreted around, but came across nothing useful.
Chandler went through a wall calendar looking for names. She found seven, but each was female. She made a note of them anyway. Bliss found an address book. It mostly contained details scrawled on Post-it notes. After finding two numbers associated with male names, he called DC Hunt to ask him to run the numbers and when he got hits, put them through a PNC check.
They were halfway through their living room inspection when Hunt called with answers. The name Ian came back to a hairdresser who worked from home, while Jakub was a Polish national who provided a handyman service.
‘I called both men once I knew who and what they were and had checked their records,’ Hunt told Bliss. ‘Ian did our girl’s hair once every six weeks. Last time was a month ago. Jakub built some cabinets for her.’
Bliss had spotted the shelves. Built from limed white oak, they had a cabinet-maker’s finish about them. Perfect joints, no screws; the work of a craftsman. He admired them more closely as he went through Abbi’s small collection of Blu-Rays and CDs. In his experience, people often hid letters and notes between book covers, but as there were no books to be found he thought perhaps he might stumble upon something tucked between the various cases. Once again, he completed his search with nothing to show for it.
Chandler had completed her own exploration of the soft furnishings and the coffee table drawers. Groaning a little as she stood upright, she turned to him and shook her head. ‘Forensics might come up with something – but whatever it is, it won’t be obvious. I have to think the reason we’ve found nothing is because there’s nothing here to find.’
‘That’s what bothers me. No computer, laptop, tablet, or even a games console. Don’t you find that odd?’
‘Not really. These days people have everything they need on their phones. Plus, whatever she had could have been stolen.’
Frustrated, Bliss let go a deep sigh. ‘I thought we might find what we needed here. No idea what it might have been, but I felt sure we’d find some indication that this man actually existed.’
‘You think he might not?’
‘He could be nothing more than a fantasy. Plenty of girls who do what Abbi does for a living yearn for that one man who will take them away from it all. Perhaps that’s all he was. Somebody who lived only in her imagination.’
Chandler let out a sudden groan and cursed. ‘I forgot to do the bins in the kitchen. We’ll leave the main ones outside to CSI. You never know, though. The recycling bin might hold something for us.’
Alone in the living room, Bliss walked across and stood on the threshold. He surveyed the entire room section by section, seeking something out of place – an item you had to stand back from in order to fully appreciate its significance. His eyes moved beyond the chessboard and a moment later hesitated. He glanced back. Had his attention been snagged? If so, by what? He moved a couple of steps closer. The game looked to be no more than eight or nine moves old. One piece captured by each player. No discernible pattern that he could see, though he was hardly a player of distinction. He moved in for a closer inspection.
The pieces themselves and the board appeared to be made from ebonised mahogany and sycamore. A nice-looking set. Bliss struggled to see what his mind had clearly latched on to. Thirty-two chessmen. Four bishops, four knights, four rooks, two queens and two kings. Sixteen pawns. Equal numbers in the ebony-tinted mahogany and sycamore. Except…
The white king was not made from sycamore at all. Neither did its styling match the other king. It was close in both colouring and shape, but Bliss could tell it was not part of the set. It did not match. Remembering its position on the board, he picked up the piece, then did the same with the black king. The latter was a good deal heavier. Indeed, the fake one felt almost hollow.
Puzzled, Bliss brought the item up to his face for closer inspection. He blinked a couple of times. Took out his reading glasses and squinted at it, rolling it over between his fingers. That was when he noticed
