Daddy's Girls Page 5

  ‘I wonder what he’s after,’ she spoke her thoughts out loud. Although they couldn’t be completely sure it was a man, with no facial features on show and the whole figure shrouded in dark clothing, from the height and frame of the person it appeared to be more male than female.

  Hunter was still concentrating on the grainy image of the suspect as he retreated into the bushes at the edge of the garden. ‘I don’t know, but if it was property he was after then why wait and watch at each window for so long. He’d move on quickly and probably target the main doors to the premises instead. He looks much more of a peeping Tom than a straightforward burglar and… he’s in the right area and too similar in description to ignore.’ He turned towards the manager. ‘We’ll need to keep this recording safe for evidential purposes and to download a copy of it straight away. It’s possible our lab can enhance the film so we can get some stills. There might be someone that can recognise him if we give it publicity. Sometimes there’s a particular way a person holds themselves or moves that a relative or friend can recognise.’

  The manager nodded. ‘I thought the same. I did report it at the time, but the officer who came said that the guy hadn’t actually done anything wrong and the recording was not of sufficient quality to be of use.’ He scribbled down the time and date on a piece of paper. ‘It was nearly two months ago and we only usually keep our recordings for a month, but this guy just gave me the creeps and when I started hearing on the news about the night stalker targeting old people in their homes, I thought I’d keep it, just in case.’

  ‘It’s lucky you did,’ Charlie jotted down the details too. ‘It’s a shame the officer didn’t have the presence of mind to do the same.’

  *

  An hour and a half later and they were standing in the reception of Applewood House with a copy of the recording from Sunny Meadows on a DVD in Charlie’s pocket. Treetops Residential Home and Twilight Years Rest Home had both proved negative, though their managers had promised to pass the word around.

  Applewood House was one of the SW16 homes, set in the quiet side roads off Crown Dale and with a large apple tree adorning the front driveway.

  ‘You’d better come through.’ This time they were speaking to an apple-shaped middle-aged woman dressed in a blue uniform with a name tag showing her to be called Glenys Jones. The woman pointed to a register to be filled out before ushering them through to her office. ‘We did have a rather strange man who came around volunteering to take some of our old people out for trips some time ago,’ she scrunched up her face in concentration. ‘It was probably about a year, eighteen months ago. At first, we thought he was just a relative helping a few of the other residents out. He came a couple of times, but then, when it turned out he was just a volunteer, we asked for his full details to do a CRB check on him and to inspect his driving licence. He wasn’t very happy with that and abruptly stopped coming.’

  ‘Do you have any details?’ Charlie’s interest was stirred.

  Glenys shook her head. ‘Like I said, he didn’t show up again after we asked him for that, said that it was ridiculous that we had to check criminal records on someone who loved old people and just wanted to volunteer out of the goodness of their heart. I remember him using those words exactly as I thought they were a little strange. He was quite angry about the whole situation.’ She grimaced. ‘We’ve tightened up a lot more on our security and procedures since then. He did unsettle a few of us.’

  ‘Can you remember what he looked like?’ Hunter sat down on a seat at one side of the table, while Glenys bustled across to the opposite side and perched herself on the edge of a rotating office chair.

  ‘Well, as far as I remember, he was quite ordinary. He must have been in his mid-fifties, medium height, medium build, though I think you would call him portly – not fat or stocky but not thin either. He had a bit of a hangdog expression and yellowing teeth. I do remember he had these little round-rimmed spectacles which seemed too small for the size of his head. Oh, and he always wore a trilby-style hat, pulled down quite low as if he thought it was more fashionable that way.’

  Charlie pulled her notebook out, thinking of the size and shape of the shadowy figure in the previous recording and the description of their suspect. They were all of similar size, but without anything more specific it would be nigh on impossible to rule anyone in or out. At least it was a start though.

  ‘And you wouldn’t have him on any CCTV?’ She’d noticed several cameras positioned round the front entrance and reception. It was something she always looked for these days.

  ‘Well, we might have had then, but any recordings would have been wiped by now. It was a long while ago.’ Glenys shook her head. ‘But now I come to think about it, I’m sure he was here the December before last, when we had all the Christmas parties. In fact, I think he was actually here for one of them, not that we’re allowed to make videos these days.’ She raised her eyebrows, tutting out loud. ‘Data protection and all that. We’d have to obtain permission from all of the residents, and it’s just not worth trying to get all their signatures. Half of them can’t even remember their names.’ She chuckled quietly. ‘Anyway, as far as I recall, he was helping to feed one of the elderly women and was holding her hand while he did so. I thought he was being a bit overly familiar, but then he seemed so helpful, until his little outburst.’

  Charlie shivered inexplicably at the image. Why would the man be so unwilling to give his details if he wanted to help so much? Her mind returned to the positioning of the CCTV camera in the reception as a thought struck her. ‘Would he have had to sign in, like we did? Maybe we can get his name off your register?’

  The manager pursed her lips and stood up, pulling open the door of a small cabinet at the rear of the office. ‘Good thinking, and yes he should have.’ She leafed through a pile of correspondence and documents and came to a similar-looking book as the one they had both signed, checking the dates on the front. ‘Ah here we are and, as I recall, the main Christmas party was around the 15th December, not too close to Christmas Day itself.’ She turned towards Hunter, propping a pair of large, red-rimmed glasses on the end of her nose. ‘Some of our residents go home for Christmas, you see.’ Without waiting for a response, she buried her nose in the book, flicking from page to page until she stopped and pointed at an entry with a well-manicured finger. ‘Here, you are. I think this is him.’

  Charlie leant across, squinting at a name written in bold black handwriting, trying to make out the name that was written in the smudgy biro. The times were clear; showing 13.30 to 17.25, but the letters of the name were difficult to decipher.

  ‘That’s right,’ Glenys confirmed. ‘He was called Ray, or was it Roy?’

  Charlie stared down, recognising now the letters ‘R’ and ‘y’ but unable to make out the vowel in between. The surname began with a letter ‘S’, but the rest of the surname tailed off into little more than a squiggly line.

  It was disappointing… but it was more than they had three hours before. And at least, with the possibility of finding a more legibly written name for him on one of his other visits, it gave them something to work on.

  As they bagged up the registration book, bade Glenys farewell and headed their car back in the direction of Lambeth HQ, Charlie felt the adrenalin starting to build. It would still take a hell of a lot of hard work, and a fair bit of luck to put a face and full identity to their grainy recording, but as they made their way back to the rest of the team, her gut was telling her that these new discoveries just might be critical.

  7

  It was a warm evening as Thomas made his way out to his car. Emma was wrong. Catherine was back and, later on, he was going to visit her. First though he had to get some gear.

  Quickly he scanned the area, checking for the presence of police, but the coast was clear. It usually was these days, uniformed officers being a rarity on the streets, but he still didn’t feel completely relaxed driving with no insurance or MOT and with a car that was falling
apart. But needs must, and he needed a fix more than he needed to be legal.

  Jason’s new place was only a short distance away and within a few minutes he was parked up outside and walking towards the flat with the usual mix of shame and guilt bubbling up in his guts. Jason was his drug dealer, the shadowy figure who had stepped out from the shop doorway when he’d first tried to ease Catherine’s suffering. He’d heard it on the news. It was in the papers too. Cannabis was supposed to allay the symptoms of MS – but it wasn’t available legally. So he’d driven to the front line in Brixton and bought it there. It had been simple. Everything was simple then. Catherine needed cannabis. He loved Catherine. He would buy cannabis. Catherine would feel better. Job done.

  How was he supposed to know that Catherine would decline the small snap-bag of weed, the disgust in her rebuke still causing him to smart at the recollection? He should have thrown it away immediately, but like a weak fool, he’d given it a try, and, well, the rest was history. The drug was amazing, relaxing him and removing all his stress. It had, however, over time also removed the need to get up in the morning, don his train driver’s uniform and go to work. A random drug test sealed his fate. Unemployment was the result. The mortgage went unpaid and they had to move – again and again. Each time, Catherine cried. Each time, Emma cried. Each time, he promised to do better, but the weed dictated his motivation, making him more and more lethargic. Eventually, even the love that still burned for Catherine was not enough. The disease sucked the life from him just as surely as it had taken away his wife. With Catherine gone, he’d succumbed to the inevitable. Hard drugs dulled the pain and Jason proved to be a loyal presence, offering solace from reality and the chance to escape the pressures of life and a teenage daughter.

  Jason and his business moved regularly, so Thomas did too, his drug habit dictating that he shadow his dealer from place to place, wondering at the man’s ability to find so many available flats in the area, but never deigning to ask too many questions. His latest flat was on the borders of Streatham and Balham and that was where he now stood, rapping hard on the front door. The flat was on the first floor of a tall block, accessed from a grey, concrete balcony, its rear facing out across a postage-stamp square of green, with a ramshackle children’s play area as its centrepiece. The lounge looked out across this small area of colour and it was in this room that the motley crew of drug users would usual gather.

  The door swung open and a tall, skeletal prostitute stood back to let him through. Her hair reached to her waist, long, straight and black, with a flash of pure white which streaked down the length of one side and hung loosely over high cheekbones. She wore a patch over her left eye and had lost several teeth.

  ‘Ah, Tommy, come in,’ she purred, running her finger across his chin and tilting his head upwards as he drew level. ‘What can we do for you tonight?’

  Thomas smiled, taking in the woman’s pirate-like stature, her appearance always reminding him of his younger days spent devouring children’s adventure novels. One day he was sure she’d open the door with a loud, brightly coloured parrot perched on her shoulder. As if in recognition of this and possibly the white streak in her hair, her street name was Silver.

  ‘I need a couple of rocks,’ he said, stepping over the threshold.

  ‘Do you require anything else, darlin’?’ Silver drew her knee up to his waist, preventing his moving any further along the hallway, and hitched her skirt up higher.

  ‘Not tonight, Silver. I’m going to see my wife.’ He pushed her leg away gently, easing past her towards the lounge but pausing to acknowledge the frown on her face. He had on occasion used her services during the past year when the loneliness had become too much. Men had needs, and he was no exception, even though each time he was still riddled with guilt. ‘She’s come back,’ he added in explanation. ‘I’ve seen her a few times.’

  The air in the lounge was heavy with cannabis smoke when he entered, closely followed by Silver. He inhaled deeply, savouring its sweet, pungent aroma; the fumes immediately hitting the back of his throat and making him relax. The room was gloomy, lit only with a single naked light bulb hanging despondently from a grubby ceiling rose. A large window broken by the previous occupants had been covered by wooden boards, thrown up by the local council in an attempt to keep out the worst of the winter weather and warn squatters away. With the advent of milder spring weather, Jason had thrown caution to the wind and removed a small area of the boarding, letting a little more light in and covering the hole in the glass instead with several layers of cling film, which breathed in and out, like a giant face mask, in the gentle April breeze.

  Jason and two more working girls were lazing across a well-worn settee, their legs entwined, doped up to the eyeballs. Jason’s hands rested proprietarily on the inner thigh of each girl, caressing each in small careless circles. Both girls were young, not much older than Emma, named Ebony and Ivory by Jason, in honour of their skin colour and his favourite Stevie Wonder song. The girls had been with him for some time now, having bunked off school together, best friends looking for a bit of excitement, and Jason, always adept at moneymaking enterprises, had quickly ensnared them with promises of cash and thrills, before plying them with crack cocaine and claiming them as his own. They were Jason’s to do with as he wished now and Thomas knew to look but not touch unless invited to do so by his dealer.

  ‘Tommy, come and join us.’ Jason leered dispassionately towards the two girls and gave their thighs another squeeze, with fingers discoloured by faded tattoo ink. He was the same age as Thomas and had aged equally badly, the drugs making his skin appear sallow and lifeless. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and the light from the naked bulb highlighted a large zigzag scar that ran the length of one cheek, merging with a scarf of indistinct tattoos that covered the whole of his neck.

  Thomas glanced round, his eyes searching for a spare surface on which to perch, temporarily amused to hear the dulcet tone of Jeremy Paxman on the TV, chairing that week’s episode of University Challenge. A young black boy was asleep on the carpet in the corner of the room. The boy was new to the group and he wondered fleetingly who he was.

  ‘Not tonight, Jason. I can’t stay long. I just need a couple of rocks of white and a bag of skunk.’ He rooted about in his pocket and pulled out three crumpled ten-pound notes, pretty much all that was left of his fortnightly benefits.

  ‘Nice to see you’ve got some cash today,’ Jason dug deep into the front of his jeans, pulling out two tiny rocks of crack cocaine, which he passed across in exchange for the banknotes. ‘Help yourself to the skunk. I trust you to only take what you’ve paid for.’

  ‘Cheers, Jason.’ He bent down in front of a straggly potted fern and removed a bulging snap-bag of cannabis from a cavity between the bottom of the plant pot and its container, pushing it into his trouser pocket and slumping down in a vacant armchair. For a few months after Catherine had gone, he’d had to rely on his dealer’s good humour, often exchanging labour for drugs, but recently he’d become more street-savvy, learning to keep his benefits for drugs and shoplift for his living requirements. Supermarkets were less likely to prosecute for the theft of a small amount of food, and it kept Jason sweet.

  Silver sidled over, watching as he prepared a hit of crack. ‘Are you sure I can’t take a few quid off you?’ Her hand skimmed the skin at the top of his neck just as he inhaled, the touch of her fingers sending a quiver of desire straight down his spine to his groin. She leant forward, revealing empty breasts, and started to tug at the wrists of his jacket, but as the bulk of the tea towel up his sleeve snagged, the point of the knife jabbed into his skin, bringing his mission back into sharp focus. What the fuck was he doing allowing a hooker to touch him when Catherine was waiting?

  ‘I told you I wasn’t interested, didn’t I?’ He pushed her away.

  ‘It didn’t look that way to me.’ Jason raised his eyebrows, chuckling as Silver pouted irritably.

  ‘Tommy says he’s going to see h
is wife tonight.’ Her lips curled in a sneer.

  Jason snorted out loud. ‘Oh, is he now?’ He eyed Thomas with amusement. ‘And there was I thinking she was dead?’

  Thomas ignored the barb. ‘She’s come back. I’ve seen her at the local shops a few times – and I saw her again today. I know where she lives and I’m going to visit her soon.’

  ‘What do you mean, she’s come back.’ Jason laughed out loud this time. ‘She’s fuckin’ dead. She died last year, or was that just a scam to get some free gear and sympathy? What was she doing? Floating down an aisle in Lidl’s? Moaning and groaning in your bedroom?’

  The others started to laugh.

  ‘She might have died,’ he said calmly, ‘but now she’s come back to me, and if any of you fuckers want to argue about it, I’d be happy to put you straight.’ He pulled the tea towel from his sleeve and exposed the knife. The blade glinted dark and ominous in the gloom and he thrust it out in front of him, slicing it through the fetid air, his expression icy and challenging.

  Jason put his hands up in front of him. ‘Whoa, mate. We believe you. If you say she’s back, she’s back.’

  Thomas stood then, rewrapping the knife and replacing it up his sleeve. His senses were on fire, the sensation of the hooker’s hands on his neck leaving his whole body aroused and alive. Ignoring Jason’s overt mockery and the derisive tones of their collective laughter, he strode to the door. He had never been so sure about what he had to do.

  ‘Well, she is back,’ he said simply. ‘And I’m going to her now.’

  *

  Charlie pulled her coat up around her shoulders, buttoning it tightly at the neck as she prepared to leave for the night. There was nothing further that any of the team could do.

  Hunter had just finished briefing their guvnors and going through an overall plan of action. Bet and Paul had gathered as much CCTV footage as possible ready for the morning. Naz and Sabira had made a start on the list of definite and possible victims, and she had been working on the care home information.