The congealed remains of lamb rogan josh lay in foil dishes on the concrete floor; the air stank of cardamom and coriander. Caitlin reclined on the mattress, playing a strand of hair through her fingers. ‘What time is it?’
‘Why?’ Smiling, he propped himself up on an elbow.
She parted her lips a fraction. ‘It feels like bedtime.’
‘Again?’ He laughed. ‘I’m knackered.’
‘Good.’ She giggled artlessly. Fucking good. That had been the general idea, even though she felt she’d never get rid of his smell. She made a playful grab for his wrist, checked his watch. ‘Hey, it’s only eight. We’ve not seen the film yet.’ Kneeling now, hands on thighs, she asked what he’d brought.
He pointed to an Asda bag on the far side of the room. ‘Take a look.’ She knew he just wanted to ogle her naked body as she padded over. She bent over, threw in a wiggle or two. Feast your eyes, monkey man. I Know What You Did Last Summer. Sodding joker. Straightening, she clutched the DVD to her boobs. ‘Hey, I love this movie. Ace choice.’ She sashayed back, reached down for her glass, tilted it towards him. ‘Cheers.’ The cheapskate hadn’t run to champagne but the Chianti wasn’t bad. He’d downed a couple of lagers as well, didn’t look particularly out of it though.
‘Wanna stick it in?’ She cocked an eyebrow, angled a toe at the laptop.
‘Sure, and the disc.’
The film had barely started when he slid into her from behind. The booze hadn’t touched his sex drive.
‘A neighbour’s fingered Portman, ma’am.’ Holmes covered the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘Want a word? It’s Huntie.’
Sarah took over the phone. ‘John. What’ve we got?’
Ray Castle. The one-man Neighbourhood Watch had clocked a guy mooching round on the pavement outside his house several times in the last month or so. The man paced up and down, smoked a fag often as not. Castle went out once to ask what he was playing at. The guy told him he was an undercover cop and Castle was jeopardizing an operation.
‘Almost got to admire the bloody cheek,’ Hunt said.
‘Castle’s a hundred per cent?’
‘Recognized the photo straight off, ma’am. Portman was definitely the driver last night.’
‘I want it out there now, John.’ Social media, TV news, web sites, press. Bloody sandwich boards if need be. “Have You Seen This Man?”’
Huntie knew the drill. Pensive, she handed the phone back to Jed. She wished to God they had more to go on. But if Portman had nothing to hide, surely he’d come into the open?
‘Reckon Portman’s our man then, boss?’ Harries asked.
‘Who the hell’s Portman?’ Nicola stood in the doorway, Beth just visible over her shoulder.
‘He’s a person of interest. Someone we need to talk to.’ She brought the picture up on her phone. ‘A caretaker at Caitlin’s school.’
She stared at the screen then shook her head. ‘Never laid eyes on him.’ Sarah recoiled at the sour smell of vomit; Reynolds didn’t just look sick.
‘Why not go and lie down, Mrs Reynolds? Try and get some rest?’
‘I’m waiting for a call, remember?’ Her voice dripped with contempt. ‘To say goodbye to my daughter.’
Caitlin hardly dared breathe, let alone move. She felt the rise and fall of his clammy chest against her spine, fancied she could feel the beat of his heart. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his eyelids droop. His phone lay just out of reach. Sleep, you bastard, sleep.
Linda Walker slowly opened her eyes. Each time she regained consciousness she’d seen things more clearly. Not just the sterile surroundings of the side ward; her own ghostly reflection in the window. She knew she had to act quickly before her resolve weakened. She had to talk to DI Quinn, the detective who’d touched her in more than one way. She rang the buzzer. A nurse popped his head round the door. She asked him to bring a phone and pen and paper.
‘Where are you? We have to talk.’
Sarah sighed. ‘Not now, Caroline.’ She was en route to the hospital, Harries behind the wheel. The summons from Linda Walker had sounded serious. Reynolds had refused point blank to go with them. Beth or Jed would make sure the DI knew when anything moved. It was now 20:05 – sooner the better.
‘I’ve seen him before. Jake Portman.’
‘Where?’
‘In person or not at all.’
She rolled her eyes, no time to argue, knew King wouldn’t budge a gnat’s anyway. ‘Can you be at the QE? Ten minutes.’
‘Main entrance. Don’t be late.’
Caroline had a head start. She was there already. Nothing ventured, nothing blah-blah. She’d turned up halfway through visiting time and tried – again – to blag her way in. The reporter had moved on by now from just seeing Walker as her ticket to the top; she was genuinely fascinated by the story, convinced she could do it and the woman justice.
She’d actually given up the blag as a bad job – just for the night – and was sitting in her car when she checked the cops’ Twitter feed. Portman was a dead ringer for a pic she had on her phone. What you might call a snatch shot. One of several taken during her comfort break at Crawford’s pad. The landing walls held more family snaps than the National Portrait Gallery. It’s not just old habits that die hard; Caroline never missed a digital trick these days. One of her mantras being: you never know …
She didn’t know what Jake Portman was doing posing with Ted Crawford at a barbecue but the picture would be worth a lot to Sarah. Far more than a thousand words with Linda Walker.
‘Why the hell didn’t you let me see this earlier?’ Sarah snapped, handing back the reporter’s phone. The question was stupid – she knew that. Until this evening, the cops themselves had no idea of Portman’s POI status. King had only realized twenty minutes ago, couldn’t have contacted Sarah any quicker if she’d tried. Harries was back in the car calling in the new intelligence to the squad room; soon every available detective would be working the angle. Even as she stood here arguing the toss with King an unmarked car should be en route to Worcester to pick up Crawford. Initially at least, he’d be helping police inquiries.
Caroline’s tapping foot echoed in the hospital corridor. ‘You just can’t stand the fact I’ve bailed you out yet again, can you?’
‘Bailed me …?’ The DI wasn’t often speechless. With Caitlin Reynolds’ life still at stake and the deadline ever closer, bailed out was the last thing Sarah felt. Floundering up a creek with a paper paddle maybe. She watched Caroline raise a finger, knew what was coming.
‘I hand you the Reynolds-Bailey link on a plate.’ A second finger. ‘I tell you Walker’s retracted her confession.’ A third. ‘I pass on info from the abductor.’ A fourth. ‘I place Portman with Crawford. Four-nil, DI Quinn. Strikes me a bit of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.’
Sarah tightened her mouth. Loathed feeling beholden to the bloody woman. King’s smug superiority didn’t help either. Fact was her words held a grain of truth. The DI had already made up her mind on the score. King just had to shut up and listen. ‘This gratitude? It wouldn’t be in the form of letting you come in with me to see Linda Walker, would it?’
The reporter shrugged. ‘Could be.’
Sarah turned on her heel, called over her shoulder. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘You’re serious?’ The killer heels clacked as she power-walked to keep pace.
Of course. A mental clock was ticking. ‘If Walker agrees, it’s OK with me. One condition, Caroline.’ She cut her a glance. ‘I talk, she talks, you—’
‘Listen.’ Caroline nodded.
Sarah stifled a sigh. Bloody woman still hadn’t got the hang of it.
Caitlin’s piss-take comments on the movie had long since dried up. They’d not been funny in the first place, more a means of making him think she was happy. She was dead serious now. For what seemed hours, she’d made not the slightest sound. She’d even matched her breathing to his, the frequency, the depth, every rise and fall in complete harmony. As fucking if. She curled a lip. Mind, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to get out of the place. The foul stickiness between her thighs proved that.
Had the bastard dropped off yet? Gently, so very gently she moved her hand an inch towards the floor. What was it she’d said? Slowly, slowly catchy monkey man. She daren’t rush anything anyway; she knew she’d only get one crack at it.