02-Shifting Skin (36 page)

‘Maybe you should be interviewing the other people who attended that exhibition, then. There were over eight hundred thousand of us.’

He was too glib, too well rehearsed. Time to shake him up.

‘So when did you meet Angela Rowlands?’ Gray flinched. ‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean, when did you meet Angela Rowlands? It’s a simple question.’

‘Did I?’

Jon leaned forwards, aware that his next comment was about to leave him wide open with McCloughlin. But he was so close to nailing the bastard sitting opposite him, he didn’t give a shit.

‘How else did your sperm get inside her?’

‘How do you...?’ The sentence faded out.

‘You’ve got a fucking record, man!’ Jon shouted. He remembered McCloughlin was listening, and lowered his voice.

‘Kicking the crap out of your wife and then two other girlfriends, remember?’

‘But I never gave a DNA sample. I don’t understand.’

Jon’s eyes flicked briefly to the mirror window at his side and he imagined McCloughlin’s face. ‘We know everything about you. Now, tell me what happened!’

Gray’s shoulders collapsed. ‘It was at a singles’ night in town.’

‘Which one?’

‘The Coach and Horses, near Piccadilly station.’

‘And?’

‘We talked, I gave her my number. I didn’t think she’d call, but she did. Obviously didn’t take her young friend’s advice.’

‘That was her daughter.’

Again Gray’s face showed complete surprise at Jon’s knowledge. When he proceeded, it was a lot more cautiously. ‘She rang me about a week later. We met, she came back to mine and we had sex.’

‘Just the one night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any talking involved? Chat to her about your interest in human anatomy?’

‘No! Look, I know you think I killed her. And you think I saw Carol Miller, don’t you? I didn’t. We talked on the phone about that bloody rowing machine, but she didn’t ever come round to see it.’

‘On the night she disappeared she was off to see someone about something.’

Gray started biting a thumbnail. ‘Listen. When you came asking about Carol Miller that time, I didn’t lie. I’ve never met her. But I had seen Angela Rowlands. I thought if I told you that, you’d haul me in. And sure enough, here I am.’

Jon found himself scowling. The interview wasn’t going as he’d hoped. ‘How long before we find the link between you and Tyler Young? There are officers searching her home now. Will they find one of those cards you like to hand out at karaoke nights?’

‘You’ve been following me!’

Jon ignored the remark. ‘When did you meet Tyler Young?’

‘How would I ever come into contact with a girl her age? Look at me.’ He glanced down at his paunch. ‘I’m a fat fortythree-year-old who does Elvis impressions.’ He looked up, and Jon was shocked to see a tear running down his cheek. ‘I’m a fucking hospital porter, for God’s sake. I’d have as much chance of pulling a girl like Tyler Young as I did with Angela Rowlands’ daughter.’

‘You tried it on with Lucy Rowlands?’ Jon asked emotionlessly.

By now Gray was openly crying. ‘Yes, when her mum had gone to the toilet. She told me to fuck off.’

Jon kept at him. ‘You’d have plenty of chance with Tyler

Young if you were paying for it.’

Gray hauled himself up in his seat. ‘I’ve never paid for it. Ever.’ Defiance rang in his voice.

The silence stretched out until Rick nudged Jon and made a

T shape with his hands.

Reluctantly, Jon reached over to the tape machine. ‘OK, interview suspended at three fifty-two p.m.’ The tape clicked off and he got up.

‘Cup of tea?’ Rick asked gently.

‘Three sugars,’ Pete Gray replied, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

Jon was halfway down the corridor when McCloughlin’s voice rang out behind him, ‘Have you been following that man?’

Jon stopped. ‘I was in a pub one night, sir, and observed him making a pass at a woman.’

McCloughlin gave a snort of disbelief. ‘What was that about finding his DNA in Angela Rowlands?’

Jon bowed his head. ‘After speaking to him in the hospital canteen the first time, I had a test run on the cup he’d been drinking from. We got a match from that.’

Fury made McCloughlin’s voice squeak. ‘Who the bloody hell do you think you are? I didn’t authorise it, you arrogant prick. You knew it went against regulations.’

Jon turned.‘No one ever need know, sir. Now he’s under arrest, we’re entitled to take an evidential mouth swab from him. We’ll get our match from that.’

‘He’s not under arrest – you’re to release him without charge immediately.’

‘What?’

‘You’ve badly jumped the gun on this one, Spicer. He hardly had the look of a guilty man to me.’

‘He’s had a sexual encounter with one victim, phone contact with another, and we haven’t even started looking into who the third victim was involved with.’

‘Pretty much the same could be said for over a dozen men Angela Rowlands met through her dating agency. We haven’t arrested any of them.’

‘I doubt they have photos of skinned corpses in their homes.’

‘So your little vendetta – which is what it looks like to me

– should suddenly take precedence in this investigation?’

‘I’d say it’s a very promising lead.’

‘A very promising lead,’ McCloughlin sneered. ‘DI Spicer, with Tyler Young’s identification the incident room has turned into a fucking spaghetti machine. There are very promising leads oozing out all over the place. I’ve got three extra indexers and they still can’t enter the information into HOLMES fast enough.’

Jon fought to suppress his rage.

It must have shown on his face because McCloughlin paused to let out a dry laugh. ‘I’ll give you one thing, you’re a tenacious bastard, aren’t you? The only reason you found those photos is because you barged into his home without a search warrant. And the only reason you know he had sexual relations with Angela Rowlands is because you obtained a sample of his DNA in a manner that will be laughed out of court. Now, in keeping with PACE procedures, you can put his mouth swab in for DNA analysis. It can join the queue along with our many other suspects’.’

‘It could be days before we get a result.’

‘So be it. I’ve got plenty of other leads you can be following up in the meantime. Now, process him, let him go and then report upstairs. It’s time you fitted in with this investigation just like everybody else.’ He brushed past.

As soon as the door to the stairway shut behind him, Jon spun round and slammed the heel of his hand against the nearest door.

‘Fuck!’

Rick kept his distance. ‘Easy, Jon. He isn’t getting away – he’s just got a stay of execution before we haul him in again.’

‘Yeah, by which time he’ll have destroyed any evidence in his house, had the inside of his van steam-cleaned, and thoroughly prepared his story.’ He took several deep breaths. ‘McCloughlin’s got it in for me and it’s tainting his judgement.’

Rick leaned against the wall. ‘Let’s just play it cool. There’s time yet.’

‘I need some air.’ Jon strode down the corridor and out through a side door into the car park.

The scent of cigarette smoke wafted over him and he looked around. A couple of uniforms were standing there, puffing away. Before his conscience could stop him, he stepped towards them.

‘Could I ponce a smoke off you?’

‘No problem. You look like you need one.’

He put the cigarette in his mouth, bent towards the lighter’s flame and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. Then he leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. Six months without a cigarette. Bollocks to it all, he thought, breathing out and immediately taking another drag. His boss, the case, the prospect of fatherhood; everything was getting to him. He thought about having to let Pete Gray back out on to the street and exhaled smoke in disgust.

When Jon and Rick walked into the incident the room an hour later the place was full of excited faces. Glancing at the windows of McCloughlin’s little office, they saw it was jammed with senior officers. They headed over to the receiver’s desk.

‘Hear you dropped a bollock with a suspect,’ he said.

‘We’ll see,’ Jon replied, lips tight. ‘Why all the commotion?’

‘DI Gardener’s team found Tyler Young’s diary in her bedroom.’

‘Really?’ said Rick. ‘And what was in it?’

‘Quite a few names.’

‘Was there a Pete Gray mentioned?’ Jon demanded.

The receiver looked down at a sheet of paper. ‘I’m putting together a list at the moment, but no, I can’t see him.’

‘How about Gordon Dean?’ Rick’s voice was full of hope.

‘No, we’ve looked for him already. Have a word with Sergeant

Evans – he’s ready to give out the first actions now.’

Jon and Rick drifted across to the allocator’s desk, where a few members from the team tracing Angela Rowlands’ contacts from the dating agency were already waiting.

‘Tracked them all down, then?’ Rick asked one of them.

‘No. McCloughlin’s given the Tyler Young leads priority.’ Jon glared out of the window, noting that the day’s brightness had died. While they’d been in the cells a layer of grey had silently closed in over the city. In the distance he could see dark ribbons of fine drizzle drifting down. The cooler air that crept through the window had a musty smell, like that of a dank cellar.

Behind him the allocator announced, ‘OK, you lot, come and get an action.’

Rick joined Jon a few seconds later, a piece of paper in his hand. He read it through and then looked up, bewilderment on his face.

‘What is it?’ asked Jon, turning away as the first droplets began hitting the glass and burrowing their way downwards.

‘We’re being sent to the Beauty Centre. Tyler Young had made enquiries with Dr O’Connor about lip implants. Then he told her he could do breast implants, too. Quoted her an amazingly low price if she could pay cash.’

Chapter 31

‘I’m sure I could help with that,’ Dr O’Connor said. ‘Why don’t you come in and see me?’ He paused, a pencil balanced in his fingers. ‘Tomorrow afternoon is good for me, too. I have a slot at three thirty... OK, that’s grand. And the name was?...Fiona. Fiona Wilson.’ He wrote it in his appointments book. ‘See you tomorrow, Fiona.’

After replacing the phone, he pressed a button at the top of the unit and looked at the woman on the opposite side of his desk. ‘Sorry about that. I’ve turned the thing off. Now, where were we?’

She crossed her legs. ‘I was saying that I haven’t discussed this with anyone.’

‘I usually advise all my patients to seek the opinions of family or friends before embarking on any procedure,’ O’Connor replied.

She shook her head. ‘I want it to be a surprise, that’s the whole point. I’m telling everyone that I’m going on holiday, then I’ll turn up as the new me.’

‘You haven’t even let your partner know of your plans?’

‘I’m single,’ she replied. Moisture glistened in her eyes, but she blinked back the tear and sat up straight in her seat.

Yes, O’Connor thought. You’ve been through a traumatic experience, in all likelihood created partly by a fundamental flaw in your character. Perhaps you were too jealous. Maybe insecure. Probably just plain dull. And now, rather than address the real reasons for why things went wrong, you’re going to reinvent yourself by taking out a bank loan and paying for a few cosmetic procedures. Probably treat yourself to a new hairstyle, too. And that’s it, the new you will carry on exactly as before because you really haven’t changed a thing.

He shifted slightly in his seat, the ache in his bad knee bothering him as usual. He looked down at the patient form on the desk, and moved straight to the last section. ‘Could I ask how you heard about the Beauty Centre? Were you recommended by word of mouth or did you see an advertisement?’

‘I saw your advertisement in the ‘Health and Beauty’ section of the local paper. When I realised you were near my office, I thought I’d pop in.’

O’Connor nodded.

‘So does this mean you’ll treat me?’ she said, as he began filling in the form.

‘Well, let’s start by assessing you. Which parts of your face are you unhappy with?’

She raised her chin and looked at him. ‘My eyes are sagging, especially the skin below them. And I’m developing these lines above my upper lip. My throat bothers me, too. The skin there needs tightening.’

O’Connor gazed at the face of a perfectly normal forty-fiveyear-old. Apart from the slight bagging off the skin below her eyes, which could be easily rectified with a blepharoplasty, she didn’t need any treatment. Apart from reasons of pure vanity, at least. ‘Well, I can certainly perform a couple of procedures to address those issues—’

‘And my skin in general,’ she interrupted, warming to her theme. ‘It just looks tired, no matter how much I exfoliate and moisturise. I noticed on the stairs that you offer those lasers. How do they work?’