‘There must be some mistake,’ said the sergeant who had been allocated the job of protecting Pine. He sounded as though he was half asleep. ‘Pine is working the 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift. I dropped him off at the depot myself at quarter past five.’
‘We’ve just come back from the depot and his manager said that today is his day off,’ said Henley as she stood outside Pine’s front door. The door knocker was missing and the doorbell didn’t ring when Henley pressed it.
‘That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve got a copy of his rota and he’s working today and Monday.’
Henley ended the call and dialled Pine’s number. She wasn’t surprised to hear the automated female voice tell her that the person she was trying to reach was unavailable. Ramouter’s face was against the window, peering through the yellowing net curtains, while Henley banged on the door with her fist.
‘Anything?’ she said to Ramouter, slamming the letterbox a few times.
‘Not that I can see,’ Ramouter replied. Henley kneeled down, and peered through the letterbox. All she could see was old carpet and an empty hallway that led to the kitchen.
‘Well, he’s not at work and he’s not here.’ Ramouter leaned back against the balcony. ‘Why don’t the UKPPS have eyes on him?’
‘Because they’re idiots and don’t have a clue,’ said Henley as she banged the front door with her fist again, more out of frustration than a misguided belief that Pine was sleeping in his bedroom. ‘They thought that he was at work.’
The neighbour’s door swung open.
‘Why are you making so much damn noise, what dey arse is wrong with you?’
An elderly black woman stepped out, her head wrapped in a dark blue headscarf, her face was almost lineless, but her body was showing the signs of age. ‘Big Sunday morning and you’re banging that door like mad people for the past fifteen minutes. I should call the police,’ she said, her words tinted with a Trinidadian lilt.
‘I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’m—’ Henley said.
‘Disturbing me? My husband has high blood pressure and you’re out making noise like—’
‘I’m Inspector Henley and this is TDC Ramouter.’
‘You’re an inspector?’ The woman’s voice dripped with scepticism.
‘Yes, we’re from Greenwich police station. I was just wondering if you could help us.’
The woman’s eyes darted around nervously.
‘What is it?’ she said, once she was satisfied that there was no one out there to accuse her of being a grass.
Henley didn’t ask to be let in, knowing that this woman’s hospitality would only extend as far as the doorstep. ‘How long have you lived here?’ asked Henley.
‘Oh lord, since 1978.’
‘You must have seen a lot of changes around here?’
‘And not for the better, if you ask me. If my husband could have travelled, I would have gone back home long time ago.’
‘How long has your neighbour at number 45 lived here?’
‘He came here after us. I’m not sure the exact date but it was eighty someting.’
‘And he had children? A son?’ asked Henley.
‘Bertrand? No, no. Never married. Never seen him with a woman,’ she whispered. ‘Ever.’
‘And what happened to Bertrand?’
‘Oh, he dead.’
Henley didn’t bother to hide her surprise. She rubbed her right temple. ‘And when did he die?’
‘Lord, must be seven months now. Cancer. He went into hospital and he never came back. He was a nice man.’
‘So, who’s living there now?’
‘Well, no one. His nephew, Dom, Don, someting like that, he still comes now and again. I don’t know what for but if you asked me, I’m surprised the council haven’t taken the flat back yet. They quick to run you down for the damn council tax—’
‘How often do you see his nephew?’ asked Henley.
‘Well, I used to see him once a month or so, but the last time I saw him was a few days ago. I could hear the washing machine going but he don’t live there. No sah. Never lived here.’
Henley’s mind was racing as she drove back to the station.
‘He was always able to escape under the radar,’ she said. ‘He works for the LAS twelve hours out of the day, sometimes more, and the minute protection was authorised, our copycat went quiet, over a week of absolute quiet.’
‘Because Pine knew that we were watching him.’
‘But they weren’t following him,’ said Henley.
The traffic lights turned red and the warning lights began to flash rapidly, signalling that Creek Bridge was about to be raised. Henley pulled up the handbrake and turned off the engine. She could see a couple of barges making their way down the creek.
‘I was just thinking,’ Ramouter said, ‘a harassment warning letter was sent to Naylor in April. A few weeks later, Lewis is dead. She wouldn’t have agreed to meet up with Naylor if she was that fed up of him.’
‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Henley agreed. ‘I want you to check the electoral registers when we get back to the SCU. Naylor and Pine had to be on the register when they were both picked for jury service. That would give us an address, whether it’s still his current address is another story.’
As Henley turned onto Greenwich High Road, the phone rang. It was a blocked number which meant that it was most probably a call from the SCU or Olivier. She felt herself growing hot.
‘Hello, Anjelica. It’s Ezra.’
‘Everything OK?’ Henley asked as her pulse rate lowered. ‘Why are you in the office on a Sunday?’
‘This case is important, innit, and I wanted to make sure that I updated you. We got the authorisation and subscriber information back for Olivier’s phone and it confirms everything that I’ve already told you.’
‘What about the bank account details? The card that was used to top up,’ asked Henley as she turned into the station.
‘All there. She actually registered the pay-as-you-go account using her own debit card before she started using a money card. I’ve printed everything out and left it on your desk.’
‘The mobile phone, debit card, CCTV. It’s enough to arrest and charge her, isn’t it?’ asked Ramouter as Henley pulled into the station.
‘More than enough.’