Angela went back to the incident room, fed Una’s latest statement into the computer and clicked on “save”. Leanne and Derek were on the other side of the room, Leanne tapping away in front of a computer, Derek leaning over her. The information on the screen was taking up all their attention but something about their posture – he bending over her in a very relaxed manner, she leaning back slightly towards him – made Angela wonder if an office romance was brewing. She went over to them.
“How are things going with the Bel-Mor questions, Leanne?”
“I’ve set up the enquiry, guv, but the Financial Investigation Unit hasn’t got back to me yet.”
“OK, we’ve got no choice but to sit it out. There’s no need to panic. I don’t think any of our suspects are going anywhere.”
“Who have we got in the frame?” asked Derek.
“The front runners are Lavinia Bannister, Danny Moore, Philip Turnbull and Stewart Bickerstaff… What?” she asked as she saw Leanne’s mouth turn down at the corners.
“Oh, I wouldn’t like to think it’s Stewart. He’s cute.”
“Cute? No way!” exclaimed Derek with alacrity, making Angela wonder even more about them.
She grinned. “Yes, and I believe Dr Crippen was a charming man, but it didn’t stop him killing his wife.”
Leanne laughed. “Yeah, I know; I’m not thinking like a police officer, am I?”
“Not to worry,” said Angela, moving away. “Just let me know when the FI unit has been in touch.”
“Will do.”
Angela had a sudden thought and turned back to them. “Oh, Derek, I’ve got a little job for you.”
Derek straightened up. “Yes?”
“I need the calls to and from Lavinia Bannister’s mobile checked, going back over the last, say, five weeks. Her number’s in the system.”
“No probs. I’ll get on to it.”
Angela went and sat in her office feeling rather pleased with the junior members of her team. It was only when she considered the two sergeants that she found herself sighing. But she hadn’t been there for more than five minutes when she had cause to revise her opinion.
She was just debating whether to go to the coffee machine when Rick and Jim appeared in the doorway of Angela’s office looking pleased with themselves.
“Hello, you two,” she said, beckoning them into the room. “Had a result, have you?” They found perches for themselves, one on the edge of the desk and one in the chair.
“It’s Gary’s mate in uniform, guv,” said Jim.
“Martin Pearse, yeah.”
“Oh right, is that his name? Well, anyway, he’s kept his ears open, specially near that bunch of girls who spell out Stewart’s name by the letters on their T-shirts. He’s got the hots for one of them if you ask me, but the upshot is that we’ve got a sighting on Belic’s car round about half-past midnight, Sunday last, in Church Road, very close to the club.”
“Ah! Great stuff! Tell me more.”
Jim and Rick looked from one to the other. “We can do better than that. We’ve spoken to the girl who wears the ‘W’.”
“And what does Miss W say?”
“She can tell you herself, Angie, she’s downstairs. Her name’s Michelle Davies.”
“Oh, that’s terrific. Show her into the interview room. Oh, and ask Leanne to stop what she’s doing for now and sit in with me. I’ll be down in a jiff.”
Michelle Davies, a large green “W” emblazoned across her frontage, was chatting with Leanne when Angela arrived. She displayed no qualms at the turn of events and even seemed pleasurably excited to be in a police interview room. Angela introduced herself and sat down at the table opposite Michelle.
“Thank you for coming in to see us. Did you want a cup of tea or coffee?”
“No, I’m all right, thanks,” said the young woman, pulling a bottle of water out of her bag, which was on the floor.
“OK. I know you’ve told your story to the two detectives who brought you here, but I’d like you to go through it again, if you don’t mind, Michelle.”
“Sure, anything to help you; well, to help Stewart as well, really,” said Michelle.
“Help Stewart?”
Michelle smiled and looked a little embarrassed. “Yeah, well, I know you have to suspect everyone but Petar got out of the car and went into the club and Stewart drove off, so he can’t be a suspect. I mean, we all know he couldn’t possibly have done it anyway, it’s nonsense. But the police have to have a different attitude, don’t they?”
Angela breathed in and out carefully a couple of times and kept her voice neutral. “Yes, indeed, Michelle; you’re right. We have to check all the facts very carefully. Why don’t you tell me the whole story from the beginning?”
Michelle settled herself more comfortably in her seat and took a gulp of water. “Yeah, well, Chloe and I had a bit of a row. I’m sharing a tent with Chloe.”
“This is round in Wimbledon Park, right?”
“Yeah. So I’d gone off… well, in a huff, to be honest, and I ended up in Church Road. It was a bit scary ’cos it was so quiet. There’s nobody around at that time of the night – well, morning, really.”
“What time was this, Michelle?”
Michelle screwed up her face in the effort to remember. “Gone midnight,” she said eventually. “Maybe nearer one o’clock; I was just beginning to regret flouncing off when I saw Petar’s car parked a little way from the entrance to the club, so I went towards it. I mean, if I could have spoken to Petar it would be something to tell the others about when I got back.”
“You’re sure it was Petar’s car?”
“Oh yes, no question. We’ve watched Petar and Stewart coming and going at a lot of tournaments. We know their cars very well. We know their numbers backwards, and the numbers of their previous cars.”
“Right, so what happened then?”
“Just as I set off towards them, the driver’s door opened and Petar got out and went off into the club.” Michelle paused and her brow furrowed. “It was odd.”
“Why, what was odd about it? I mean, I understand you weren’t expecting to see him there at all at that time in the morning, but did something else strike you?”
Michelle thought some more about what she had seen. “Hmm… he didn’t look well,” she said finally. “He kind of staggered a bit as he got out of the car.”
Angela nodded, thinking of the image she had seen from the CCTV footage. To this young woman he hadn’t looked well; by the time Doug Travers saw him, he’d seemed reeling drunk. She took comfort from the fact that it was probably too late to do anything by then anyway. “What did you do then?” she asked.
“I went up to the car, but before I could get really close Stewart had shifted across into the driver’s seat and he drove off. The car shot away from the kerb really quickly. I was really disappointed because I’m sure Stewart would remember me from other tournaments, and to have been able to say ‘hello’, well, that really would have been something to take back to the others.”
Angela nodded. Hadn’t she once felt exactly the same about Petar? “How did Stewart seem to you? Were you able to get any idea?”
“It’s difficult to say, really. I didn’t get a good look at his face.” Michelle was frowning down at the table in the effort of concentration and didn’t see the sudden anguished glances of frustration that Angela and Leanne threw at each other.
Angela, her heart sinking, kept her voice level. “What exactly did you see?” she asked.
“Well, just the back of his head, really, but I knew it was him. I could tell, you know. I just knew it was him, even with the hood.”
“The hood? He was wearing a hoodie?” Angela wondered if it was possible for this interview to get any worse.
“Yeah,” beamed Michelle. “He’s got a couple and he looks really good in them. He wore this one a couple of times when he came to Queens the other week.”
“And he had this hood up?”
“Yeah.” Michelle had a big smile on her face. She was clearly enjoying the sense of importance she was getting from being brought into this interview room, and even happier that she could establish Petar was alive and in the club somewhere before his car had been driven away.
“Michelle, do you think there’s any chance that it might have been someone other than Stewart?”
Michelle’s mouth dropped open. “Someone else? Who else would it have been in Petar’s car?”
“I’m not sure but a lot of the players wear similar hoodies. Could you say for certain that it was Stewart?”
“Well… well, now that you put it like that… I suppose you might be right. I mean, I’ve seen him arrive for matches or practice so often with Petar – in Petar’s car, I mean. But, well, I didn’t actually get a good look at his face.” Michelle spoke reluctantly, disappointment etched clearly onto her features. Poor Michelle, thought Angela, your dreams of being a key witness are sinking fast. She supposed that was one of the problems with celebrity. The public built up a picture of somebody’s private life based on just the little bit they were able to observe. Angela pasted a smile onto her face, thanked Michelle for her help and told Leanne to arrange for her to be taken back to her friends once she had signed her statement. As soon as she had gone, Rick and Jim appeared in the room
“Well?” asked Rick.
“No-go, unfortunately.”
“Oh?”
“It was a good try, chaps. It looked promising for a moment, but she’s a fan who imagines herself in love with Stewart, and when you strip away the ‘yes, of course it was him, I’d know him anywhere, even from the back of his head’, you won’t have much left.”
“The back of his head?” queried Jim.
Angela nodded. “With his hood up.”
“What a bummer,” added Rick.
Angela sighed. “Yeah, she imagines it was Stewart because she wants to have seen Stewart so that she can boast to her friends about it. But what she actually saw is someone from behind wearing the same sort of warm-ups that she’s seen on Stewart. In fact,” she continued, “she’s just the sort of witness that defence barristers practise their demolition techniques on.”
“In any case, doesn’t Stewart Bickerstaff have an alibi?” said Rick.
“Yep – at home, or rather at Candy’s place, tucked up in bed with her.”
“I wouldn’t say no to an alibi like that,” said Jim.
“Hello, been watching the tennis, have we, Jim? Seen the gorgeous Candy playing? I thought you were a sharp-pointy-object-and-a-cork-board type of man.”
“Yeah, but those little dresses they wear… I mean, her legs; have you seen her legs?”
“It beats a pub with a load of beery blokes, doesn’t it?” Angela laughed. “Anyway, what Michelle told us helps us a bit. We’ve now got a sighting outside the club to tie up with the CCTV footage from inside, and we know that Petar was there in his own car.”
“Yeah, and not alone,” said Rick. “If Stewart was at home in bed, who else do we have that’s likely?”
“Well, there isn’t a wide field. Danny Moore was possibly in the area, and we’d have to include Lavinia Bannister, whom nobody saw after she left the restaurant… What?” she asked as she saw Jim goggling at her.
“Lavinia Bannister? But she’s… she’s…”
“Yes?” I think I’m behaving with commendable patience, thought Angela.
“Well, she’s a woman.”
Angela fought down a wave of irritation. “Think about it, Jim. Lavinia isn’t so very short; OK, she’s a lot shorter than Danny and Stewart, but the person in the car was sitting down and that can sometimes make it difficult to judge.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course; I get you.”
“Hood up, not a good view of the face; we can’t rule out that it was a woman in the car with Petar.”
“It could also have been that other bloke – Philip Turnbull.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Angela, her heart sinking as she said it.
“Nah,” said Jim. “He was tucked up in bed as well, wasn’t he, with that other American player, Tessa whatsername?”
“No. Think back over his initial interview,” said Angela. Read and digest, Jim, she thought. “He wasn’t in bed with Tessa.” Angela almost laughed out loud at the bemusement on his face. “Tessa tries to live her life as an obedient daughter of the Church. She’s not into jumping into bed with her boyfriends. He left to go back to his place after a snog – well, after coffee and a chat. That’s how he put it, anyway. Philip has no alibi, either.”
“What motive would he have, though, Angie?”
“Ah, there’s the rub. I haven’t found one yet; keep digging.”
“Will do,” they muttered as they edged back through the door.
Angela sat in her office for a long time after they had left. She thought very deeply about Philip as a suspect. She had kept to herself so far Philip’s off-the-record confession to taking speed. It had not seemed germane to the investigation at the time. Things looked different now. That information might have to enter the arena.
Both Stewart and Lavinia had been at that party and, now that Angela came to think of it, it must have been close to the time when Petar and Lavinia had first got together.
Look at it from Philip’s point of view, she said to herself, and concentrated on doing just that.
Stewart and Lavinia were party to Philip’s fall from grace. Almost immediately the blackmail started, and at virtually the same time Petar and Lavinia become an item.
Angela paused as the idea took hold, then allowed her mind to run on to the next logical thought.
Supposing Philip came to the conclusion that they were all in on it together, all laughing at him behind his back as he struggled up the rankings, not getting very far. The helpful snippets of advice that he claimed to have received from Petar would then become derisive scraps thrown to a pathetic dog. It could gnaw at a man, that kind of situation. It could build up inside him, smouldering away for months and years until it became too much to bear.
If that was the case though, why just kill Petar?
Suddenly Angela broke into a cold sweat.
If the murderer was Philip, perhaps he would be going after Lavinia and Stewart next.