No Hiding Place: An edge of your seat mystery/thriller. (DI Sally Parker thrillers Book 2) (9 page)

“Little shit!” Jack
mumbled.

They hopped in the car and
headed back to the station. “What was your impression of him,
Jack?”

“If you must know, it was
mixed.”

“Care to clarify that?”

“Well, one minute, I would have
loved to bop him one on the nose, but then right at the end, when
the couple were discussing their infertility, I felt like throwing
a consoling arm around each of them. That must be hard, mustn’t
it?”

“Wanting a baby so much that
you go down the fertility route?”

“Yeah. What a comparison to
Teresa, eh? Apparently, she got pregnant the first time she had
sex. What are the odds of that happening?” he complained.

“Quite high, actually, if I
recall a magazine article I read last year about the subject. Not
that it was of any interest to me of course.” Sally wrinkled her
nose. “I’ve never seen the attraction to cleaning up after a baby
twenty-four-seven.”

Jack laughed. “You wouldn’t
object to doing that to a puppy, of course, would you now?”

Her eyes left the traffic for a
second as she turned to wink at him. “You know me so well. They
don’t bawl their eyes out, either.”

“True enough. Hey, what do you
think his big secret is?”

“I have no idea. I’m leaning
towards him announcing that he and Gemma had some sort of affair or
secretive friendship going on, that neither of them wanted to
disclose to the rest of the family. Roll on tomorrow, if only to
discount him from our enquiries. Shifty bugger all the same.”

“There’s something about him
that didn’t sit well with me. That’s for sure,” Jack said,
nodding.

“Let’s hope the others have
found out more from Gemma’s friends about what went on last night
than we have.”

“Me, too. Because as it stands,
we’ve got very little to go on so far,” Jack agreed.

There was a buzz in the
incident room atmosphere when Sally and Jack returned.

“What’s going on, Joanna?”
Sally asked, perching her backside on the desk nearest the
detective constable.

“Well, we questioned a few of
Gemma’s friends—not all, as one of them is away with her work.
Anyway, it would appear that Gemma acquired a new admirer at the
pub last night.”

Sally raised an inquisitive
eyebrow and leaned forward. “Tell me more. As in someone was
pestering her?”

“That’s not how it was coming
across to me, boss.”

“Hmm… that’s going to certainly
be worth chasing up, all the same. How many of the women did you
get around to questioning, Joanna?”

“Only two out of the three,
boss. One lady in particular was keen to help.”

“Okay, make it a priority to
track down the last one tomorrow. What’s the name of the lady who
gave you the information? What did she say exactly?”

Sally glanced up at the clock
on the wall, aware that she was asking her team to work overtime.
However, none of her colleagues appeared to notice the time and
went about their duties while Joanna filled her in. “Miss Audrey
James said that a man was standing at the bar, eyeing up Gemma. She
said she felt Gemma made up an excuse about the pub being stuffy
and that she needed to get some fresh air and went outside for a
while. She noticed the man leave the bar and follow her friend out
of the pub.”

“I see. I don’t suppose she was
that intrigued to find out what they got up to outside. The body
language between the two, if they met up, that is?”

“No. She was distraught when
she found out about Gemma, full of self-recriminations. She said
the conversation was far too interesting amongst the group, and she
didn’t even think to go after Gemma to see if she was okay.”

“How long was Gemma missing?
Could she tell you that?” Sally asked, disappointed.

“She guessed it was around ten
minutes.”

“Okay, what was the name of the
pub again? I’ll give them a call, see if they’ve got any CCTV
cameras.”

“The Red Lion at
Cringleford.”

“Okay, that’s close to my
parents’ home. I could drop by instead on my way over there this
evening,” Sally replied, sitting upright and rubbing at her
chin.

“Other than that, neither of
the friends could really tell us much. They were both shocked by
the news of Gemma’s death. I left a card and asked them to contact
us if they think of anything else concerning last night’s events,
or if they can recall any strange incidents that have taken place
in Gemma’s life recently, that she confided in them.”

“Great job.” Sally clapped her
hands to gain the team’s attention. “Okay, we’ve all done really
well today. Let’s go home, get some rest, and start afresh in the
morning at eight. All right, everyone?”

The team switched off their
computers. Sally watched her colleagues file out of the incident
room then dipped into her office to make a call.

“Hi, Mum. Is it okay if I visit
this evening?”

“You know it is, sweetheart.
You must’ve known we’d have plenty of dinner spare this evening.
How does lasagne and salad sound?”

“Perfect. Just shove mine in
the microwave, Mum. I’ve got a quick call to make en route. I
should be with you around seven to seven thirty.”

Her mother chuckled.
“Impossible with a salad, but I get what you mean, dear. Drive
carefully, love.”

Sally hung up and smiled at
Jack, who was leaning against the doorframe. “She still thinks I’m
a bloody child. Last words she said were ‘Drive carefully’.”

“I guess all mothers are the
same, especially when they’re related to coppers.”

“I suppose so. What are you
still doing here? I thought you would’ve left with the others by
now.”

Jack shrugged. “Thought I could
tag along to the pub with you.”

Sally frowned. “I’m not going
there to sample their finest liquid refreshments, Jack. It’s work
related. It’ll be a straight in-and-out job.”

“That’s all right. I can still
tag along, can’t I? I’ll follow you in my car. After we’ve obtained
the info, we can go our separate ways.”

She tilted her head and
narrowed her eyes. “What’s this really about? I’m guessing one of
two things are riffling through that complex brain of yours.”

He opened his mouth, ready to
object, but she raised a hand to silence him.

“Either you’re looking for an
excuse not to go home,
or
—and this is the more likely reason
springing to my mind right now—you’re trying to protect me, the way
you always do when we deal with a female victim who has been
attacked in mysterious circumstances.”

He held an imaginary gun to his
head and pulled the trigger. “Guilty as charged on the second
count, boss. Just humour me, eh?”

“All right, this will be the
last time, okay? I’m aware this is a side effect from living with
an abusive moron like Darryl. However, he’s out of my life and not
liable to intrude on it again any time soon. Got that?”

“I know. This will be the last
time, I swear.”

“It better be,” she grumbled,
rising to her feet and following him out of the office.

When they arrived at the pub,
at around six thirty, a few punters were at the bar and a couple of
families were sitting outside in the children’s play area, making
the most of the warm evening sun. A bearded man in his forties was
leaning against the bar, engrossed in a chat with some of the
customers. When Sally and Jack entered the lounge bar, he
approached them with a welcoming smile that showed off a few
crooked and missing teeth.

“What can I get you, folks, on
this fine autumnal evening? The food won’t be available until
seven, as the chef had to attend a family funeral today. Finest in
the area, so well worth the wait, although I might be a little
biased there.” He laughed and winked.

Sally immediately warmed to his
friendly nature and made a mental note to call back another time to
sample the menu with her mother and father, maybe at the weekend.
She produced her warrant card, and in a hushed voice, she asked,
“Are you the manager or owner of this establishment?”

The man crossed his arms and
nodded. “The owner. Bill Warburton. Something wrong, miss?”

“Can we talk in private? In an
office perhaps?”

The man nodded. “Terence, watch
the bar while I deal with these nice people, will you?”

The young man he’d spoken to
was sitting on the other side of the bar. He hopped off his stool,
lifted the bar flap, and stood behind the beer pumps.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to cause
you any inconvenience.”

The owner waved her suggestion
away. “You haven’t. He was due to start work in half an hour
anyway. I’ll see him right with an extra pint after his shift.” He
showed them through to a whitewashed room, stacked full of pub
supplies. “Excuse the mess. We had a delivery earlier, and I just
shoved them in here, out of the way. What’s this about,
Inspector?”

The room was bare as far as
seating options were concerned. “Well, we’re investigating the
murder of one of your customers.”

“What? Who?” The man seemed
shocked by the news and stumbled backwards against the wall behind
him.

“A Gemma Whiting. Do you know
her?”

He shook his head and frowned.
“Don’t recognise the name. A lot of folks pass through these doors,
though, that I can’t really put a name to. Do you have a
picture?”

“Sorry, no. She was in here
last night with a group of friends. Does that ring a bell?”

He clicked his fingers. “Audrey
was in here last night with some friends. I haven’t met them
before, so I have no idea what their names are.”

“Okay, here’s the thing. Audrey
told us that Gemma went outside during the course of the evening.
It’s possible that she might have met up with a man. Do you have
any form of CCTV either inside the pub or surveying the
exterior?”

“I do. Wow, I’ll go and check
the machine, see if it was working last night. Fingers crossed,
eh?” He rushed out of the room, seeming eager to help, and returned
a few minutes later. He gave them the thumbs-up. “Do you want to
come through to the other office and take a look?”

“Incredible news. I really
wasn’t expecting that.”

Sally and Jack followed the man
into an even smaller office. They all squeezed into the confined
space full of shelves, storing bulging boxes of what Sally presumed
to be the pub’s accounts.

“Excuse the mess. One of these
days, I’ll get around to clearing up this place. You know how it
is.”

“There’s no need to apologise.
Is it a CD you have or video?”

“It’s a CD. I can make you a
copy, if you like?”

“Let’s see what we have first,
Bill.”

He ran the tape. Sally leaned
in closer to the grainy picture. “Can we make it clearer at
all?”

The man messed around with the
contrast a little and came up trumps. The film consisted of Gemma
Whiting, walking out of the pub’s back door and into the children’s
play area at the rear.

“Well, she’s alone so far,”
Jack pointed out.

Within seconds, a man appeared
at the door of the pub, and without faltering in his stride, he
marched over to where Gemma was sitting.

“If I didn’t know any better, I
would say that meeting was arranged. Look at her reaction—she’s
smiling at him. I’m not sure I’d treat his interruption with as
much grace. In fact, I would be treating him warily,” Sally said,
shaking her head.

“Yeah, but then you’re a
copper, boss. You have a built-in scumbag radar.”

She laughed at her partner’s
turn of phrase. “Except where exes are concerned, eh? I’ll still
take that as a compliment, Jack.” She returned her attention to the
couple on the screen. “They seem to be getting along pretty well,
would you say?”

Both men observing the film
with her nodded their agreement.

“Do you recognise the man at
all, Bill?”

“I think I’ve seen him in here
once or twice. Let me get a printout and ask Terence. He’s lived in
the area all his life. If anyone knows this guy, he will. I’ll be
right back.” He ran the disc backwards and stopped the film at a
spot where the man’s face was as clear as possible, considering the
footage had been taken during the night-time.

After Bill had printed off the
picture and left the room, Sally set the disc in motion again, and
together she and Jack continued to voice their suspicions.

“His mannerisms aren’t really
signifying any evil intent towards her, not to me anyway,” Sally
said.

“Hmm… I’m thinking along the
same lines. Apart from startling her initially, the more I see of
the film, the more it looks like just a couple of old friends
having a chat. Is he pointing out that Porsche?”

Sally peered closer at the
man’s pointing finger. “It appears that way to me, Jack. We’ll ask
Bill if he knows who it belongs to.”

The owner of the pub returned,
beaming. “I’ve got a name for you, folks.”

Sally stood up and cocked her
head. “Really? That’s fabulous news. Jack, get this down, will
you?”

Her partner scrambled for his
notebook and pen, poised for action.

“It’s Taylor Hew. Now that I’ve
heard the name, I do recognise him as being local. He’s only
stepped foot in the pub a few times, though. He lives within a
ten-mile radius of here, according to Terence.”

“That’s excellent. I don’t
suppose you know what car he drives?”

Bill frowned. “No, I could ask
Terence.”

“In a moment.” Sally rewound
the disc to where the man motioned towards the vehicle they
suspected belonged to him. “Here. It looks like they are discussing
this car. It’s a Porsche. Would he likely be driving one of
those?”

“I’d have to ask Terence. Look,
why don’t I make a copy of the disc for you, and then I’ll take
over from Terence at the bar and let you have a chat with him?”