Back to Corinne’s secret fantasy life, and in light of the afternoon’s conversations Ferreira felt even less convinced they would uncover the murderer there.
Sutton knew all three women and had had sexual contact with Corinne, which bumped up the likelihood of him being responsible, simply because prior intimates were statistically the greatest danger to women. Far more so than random attackers who jumped out of the shadows.
She didn’t like how flippant he was, how pragmatically he appraised Jasmine as out of his league, suggesting he considered Corinne fair game, expecting gratitude for his attention.
There was more to him, she thought.
But no potential lead could be left unexplored, so she sent over the emails to the tech department and asked them to trace the IP addresses, see who, if any, was local, then set Bobby to work on the mobile phone numbers, let him work his charms on the providers or the dating site firms, whoever was most susceptible.
There was no sign of meetings being arranged via text message. It was just more of the same with a few dick pics thrown in, the calibre of them suggesting Corinne was aiming down in age, attracting young men drawn by the idea of an experienced older woman. The photographs she’d sent back were all of her chest and Ferreira had to admit the boob job she’d had done was very good, a sentiment shared by the intended recipients judging by their responses.
The only odd note was in Corinne’s correspondence with a man who’d picked the username ‘HungDaddy’ – Ferreira checked; he deserved it. They’d engaged in the usual sex talk and his taste was pretty standard. But around a third of their conversation was about football, both of them Spurs fans and once he got over the initial shock of her interest they went on at length about tactics and transfers and injuries, seemed to be messaging each other as they watched games.
It was the only instance of friendly, vaguely bantering discussion in all of what she’d read and Ferreira began to wonder how much Corinne missed that kind of thing.
Would Brynn be who she usually dissected each match with? Her almost-brother, her oldest friend, the man her children called uncle and had accepted so smoothly into their family because he’d been a regular presence ever since they could remember.
How could you drop a friendship like that? Brynn still seemed attached to Colin’s memory and Colin was still in there. There was no reason for them to break contact. Except that Nina would hate it if they didn’t.
She tried to decide what she’d do in that position. Being told by your lover that you couldn’t see a particular friend was a massive red flag. Indicated controlling behaviour, the cutting away of a support network. At the very best it was an unreasonable demand to be at the centre of your attention.
She didn’t think she’d put up with it, but had never been placed in that position.
If you thought you were in love and the issue was framed correctly, maybe it would be easier to let a friend slip away than keep being accused of privileging them above all else.
Zigic came back into the office, returning from a debriefing in CID.
‘What happened with Adams?’ she asked.
‘Walton’s car came up clean. He is not happy about that.’
‘Like it was going to be anything else. Walton’s not that stupid.’
‘We had to check,’ Murray said, turning away from her desk, a defensive edge in her voice. ‘You might want to take a look at this, sir.’
Zigic went over to her desk and Ferreira was at his elbow a few seconds later, both of them focusing on the image from a CCTV camera. It showed a car park, bordered by a black tarmac pathway, and beyond that a grey sheet of water, mottled and shadowed by clouds. One of the lakes at Ferry Meadows, the one near the boathouse, Ferreira realised, the place Lee Walton had been on the morning of Corinne’s murder.
The date stamp at the bottom of the screen was over two weeks old though.
‘Why are you checking this far back?’ Zigic asked.
‘I wanted to get a feel for Walton’s routine,’ Murray said, her shoulders squaring. ‘And it turns out he’s got a very interesting one. He’s been to Ferry Meadows nine times in the two weeks leading up to Corinne’s murder.’
Ferreira leaned over Murray’s shoulder. ‘Is that his car, the silver one?’
‘Yep, that’s him.’ Murray unpaused the footage and the driver-side door opened, Lee Walton climbing out, hopping over the barrier and onto the pathway before disappearing out of shot. ‘He’s going there at different times of the morning, between sunrise and eight thirty.’
‘He needs it to be light enough to see who’s about,’ Ferreira said.
‘Exactly.’
Zigic folded his arms, clearly unimpressed with what Murray was showing him. ‘Corinne’s routine was far more stable than that. She’d have been home by the time he arrived.’
‘He’s scouting for a victim,’ Ferreira said. ‘Isn’t that the obvious answer here? He’s going at different times because he’s looking for the right type?’
Zigic nodded. ‘Which isn’t Corinne.’
Murray changed to a different section of film. Ten days previous, 7.56 a.m. Sunlight glinting on the car’s windscreen, shimmering over the gently wavering surface of the lake. A man ran past, a scruffy white dog following on a long lead. Then Walton got out of his car and stepped over the barrier again, straight into the path of a woman in neon-pink leggings and a matching beanie, who swerved around him, before sprinting on.
‘And there she is,’ Murray said.
‘Play it again.’
The same few seconds and this time Ferreira was watching for Walton’s reaction to Corinne, saw nothing as she ran past him. He had his eyes down, was concentrating on zipping up his coat.
‘He didn’t even notice her.’
‘He noticed her,’ Murray said firmly.
Again she took the footage back and whatever interplay she was witnessing Ferreira didn’t see it. Corinne was moving fast, past Walton in a second.
‘I don’t think he did,’ Zigic said. ‘He’s not looking in her direction as he goes over the barrier, he doesn’t look after her once she’s gone and his attention is elsewhere when she passes him.’
He stepped away from her desk and Ferreira could see the uncharacteristic anger stiffening his shoulders and arms. Knew he was coming to the end of his patience with Murray. He was a good boss and he expected that to count for something with the officers under him. Respect given, respect returned. But Murray was fixated on Walton, wasn’t prepared to pursue any other lines of inquiry. She’d done everything he asked her to, but grudgingly, making the minimum effort so she could return to this as quickly as possible.
Maybe she thought Zigic was a pushover after working under Adams for so long, someone she could steamroller despite being a lower rank.
On the desktop Murray’s hand made a quick fist and opened again. ‘Walton is there on the morning she’s murdered and now we’ve got him stalking her in the weeks leading up to her death.’
‘This doesn’t even meet the loosest criteria for stalking,’ Zigic said, glancing at Ferreira as if for support. ‘It’s coincidental.’
‘In fairness he’s obviously up to no good,’ she said. ‘But we’ve been through this, Corinne isn’t his type.’
Murray stood up, looking between the two of them with an expression of barely checked fury. ‘She might not fit the typology for the victims we know about but Walton is filth. He’s a fucking animal. Who knows how many other women he’s attacked who haven’t come forward yet. He’s got a record going back to his teens. You know how this works. Men like him escalate, they want fresh challenges. Their victim type evolves. It broadens out.’
‘You’ve got nothing to tie Walton to Corinne.’ Zigic walked away, went to pour himself a coffee.
‘And you’ve got nothing to suggest this is a Hate Crime,’ Murray snapped. ‘What are we looking at here? Some bloke she was dicking about killing her? Her son getting pissed off and going for her? If this isn’t a Hate Crime it should be in CID.’
Zigic slammed his cup down, coffee sloshing over his hand. ‘If you can’t work as part of this team you should be in CID.’
‘I’m liaising,’ Murray said.
‘You’re obsessed.’
‘That piece of shit has been building up to this for years,’ Murray said, stabbing her finger towards the screen. ‘If you can’t see that …’
‘Yes, DS Murray?’ He waited, giving her a hard stare. ‘If I can’t see that, what?’
She looked away from him, mumbled an apology.
Zigic jerked his head towards the door. ‘Go home, Colleen.’
‘But—’
‘Go home and make sure you’ve got your head straight by tomorrow morning.’
Murray snatched her bag from under her desk and strode out of the office with her chin in the air, footfalls ringing out hard all the way to the stairwell door.
‘You know she’s taking this straight down to Adams, don’t you?’ Ferreira said.
‘I don’t give a shit what she does.’
Ferreira backed away with her hands up, went to the windowsill to roll a cigarette. He was under more strain than she’d realised, or wasn’t coping with it as well as he usually did. The sleepless nights, perhaps, piling up now. They all knew Riggott wanted the case moving from them, that he could whip it away at any moment. This footage might be enough for Adams to sway him and they had no counter-argument.
Zigic was staring at the board and Ferreira eyed it too, knowing what he was thinking – this is all we have to show for three days’ work.
Nina Sawyer, Harry Sawyer, Brynn Moran, Sam Hyde. Up there because they were family and families could always find a reason to kill one another.
Walton – sexual sadist, recidivist, in the area.
Sutton – ‘chaser’. Maybe worse.
‘Is there a link we’re missing?’ Zigic asked.
‘Where?’
‘Between Walton and Corinne.’
Ferreira looked at the paperwork piled up on Murray’s desk. ‘If there was one she’d have shoved your face in it.’
Zigic checked his watch. ‘Let’s look at this afresh in the morning. Maybe the tech department will come back with something from Corinne’s phone.’
‘Ever the optimist.’ Ferreira slammed the window shut.
‘Morning briefing at half eight,’ he said. ‘Any bright ideas welcome.’