Ghigau 9 part 2

Sam stood, “Would you mind if I looked around the house? You can show me round if you have time.”

    Lenny looked taken aback at first, but then readily agreed. 

    As Sam might have expected,  the house was comfortable and welcoming throughout. If it reflected the personalities of its residents it seemed a happy place. As they wandered from room to room, she looked for any signs of disturbance; there were rumpled sheets on the bed, two electric toothbrushes in the bathroom, male and female clothes draped across the edge of a laundry basket, a woman’s razor on the shower shelf. Nothing seemed out of place, no signs of a struggle or argument. Just a normal family home in a nice middle class neighbourhood. 

    Lenny opened the door to Lydia’s room and Sam looked in without going inside, feeling somehow it would be insensitive. She doubted there would be anything significant there anyway. 

    When they had descended the stairs, Sam walked to the back door and opened it. “Can you show me exactly how it was when you got home?” She stepped aside to allow Lenny past. 

    Lenny pushed the door until it was ajar about a foot. 

    Sam could see that the lock was a standard Yale type that locked itself when the door closed. It had a button to hold back the latch if you wanted to step out without the door locking behind you.

    “Was the latch retracted?” Sam asked.  

    “I don’t think so.” Lenny sounded unsure.

    “Try to remember. Did you have to release the button to close it? Sam said.    

    “No, I’m sure I didn’t.” He seemed certain now. “I just pushed it closed and it locked. Like this…” He pushed the door lightly, it swung easily and the latch clicked satisfyingly as it closed.

    “Ok,” said Sam. “I think that’ll do for now.” She folded her notepad closed and looked Lenny in the eye. “ I just want to give you a couple of statistics. Less than one percent of adults who go missing stay missing for a long period. Ninety-seven percent are found within a week. Please try not to worry. It may seem that there is no explanation at the moment but I can assure you in the vast majority of cases there is a perfectly sensible one, and the missing person has not come to any harm”

    Lenny looked grateful for her reassurance. “Thank you - I’m sorry did you say your name was Sam”

    “Yes, Sam Tate.”

    “Sorry Sam, I’m a bit all over the place.” 

    “It’s fine, really.” Sam assured him. She thought about her next words carefully. “I might want to talk to your daughter at some point. Not for now, I don’t want to alarm her, or cause her any undue stress. But she was with Nikki after you in the morning and there might be something she heard or saw that’s relevant. I’m just preparing you, I’m not saying it’s a definite. Ok?”

    “Ok,” Lenny agreed, a little reluctantly. “She’s a bright girl. I have asked her about that morning, but there doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary about their walk to school.”

    Sam handed Lenny her card and they walked to the front door. “Try not to worry Lenny. We are working on it, I promise. I’ll be in touch very soon” They shook hands.

 

    As Sam stepped out onto the street, she checked her phone. There were two missed calls from Tench. She walked back towards the station which was only a half-mile or so east. She would need to check Lenny Talbot out of course, and thoroughly; but her gut told her that he had nothing to do with his wife’s disappearance. And if that’s true then we have a problem because when he finds out about her report to the Police, he’s going to be mightily pissed off. And rightly so, she thought gloomily.

         As Sam walked back towards the station she observed the beautifully maintained terraced houses that had once, not so long ago, been mostly divided into bedsits. Gone were the cheap plastic doorbells, greying, net curtains, and lines of overflowing bins in the small front gardens, to be replaced by glossy front doors in heritage colours, close cut hedges and restored parquet paths. The cars parked in the residents permit bays were shiny, new or newish, and predominantly hybrid or electric. This part of London wore its green credentials proudly. The pavements were clean and the trees well trimmed. It was a lot nicer than the street Sam now lived on. 

    Why would a woman who lived here just disappear? Sam considered as she walked. What would make her want to leave? Violence? Debt? The crushing weight of grief? And if you planned your escape, wouldn’t you choose a better time to go? Maybe one morning after the kid had gone to school and the husband to work; you could take your time, pack your things in the leather hold-all you kept above the wardrobe; not too much, just a few nice pieces; a pair of trainers, jeans for laying around in, a dress for dancing. Maybe you’d take the train, a cab would be too easy to trace. Then catch a ferry, foot passenger only  — not a plane, airport security would be too high and you’d be remembered and recorded on camera.  Overnight you’d be on the continent where the weather was warmer, the gin colder, the roads more empty. A passport, a wad of cash  — freedom. What would it be like to just — take off?

    She called Tench. He answered on the second ring. “Sarge?” He sounded out of breath but that wasn’t unusual.

    “Anything new?” She asked.

     “I’ve got a few bits, are you on your way back?” Tench puffed.

    “Half way there,” Sam said.

    “Ok, come and see me. I’ll show you.”

    

Tench was at his desk when Sam got back. She went and sat opposite him. 

    “How’s your head?” he enquired. This time his tone wasn’t challenging.

    “Better, thanks.” She remembered her snarky comments from earlier. “I was a bit out of order this morning.” She tried to look suitably apologetic.

    “Forget it. I’m a grown up.” Tench pushed a sheaf of paper over to her.

    “What have you found?” Sam could tell something had got Tench’s interest.

     “I’ve got everything that’s been sent to Nikki Talbot.” He pulled a summary sheet from the pile and read from it. “forty-six emails, thirty-eight facebook messages, over a hundred instagram messages.” 

    “I skated over these this morning. Why do you think she didn’t block them?” Sam asked.

    “My guess is she wanted to keep them as evidence.” Tench said. “And it looks to me as if she either knew or suspected who the stalker was.” Leaning forward, he pointed a pudgy finger at the pile of paper . “There’s a theme, every message basically says the same thing — you’re in the wrong life, you aren’t being valued, you’re with the wrong person. None are signed, no names. The accounts change but the style and the message content is the same.” He paused for effect, “Except one.”

    Sam looked up from flicking through the pile of paper. “Oh yeah?”

    Tench pushed a piece of paper he’d been holding back across the desk, “This one.”

    Sam took the sheet and read the words…

 

 

 

    to:    nikkitalbot1985@***********.co.uk

    from:    undertaker1983@*********.com

    You know what I want. But now I have something you want, SOMETHING YOU NEED. You know where to get in touch.

B32.

    The tone gave Sam the creeps. ‘Something you need’  This sounded specific, directed. Did the choice of ‘Undertaker’ as a name mean anything? “Undertaker?” she read out loud.

    “Bit morbid yeah.” Tench agreed. “But here’s what’s interesting. This is the only email Nikki received from that account. And as far as I can establish it’s a free account signed up via a VPN and only one email was ever sent from it; this one.” He warmed to his theory, “And what about the ‘you know where to get in touch’, all the other messages are from anonymous fake accounts so, if it is the stalker, how would Mrs Talbot know how or where to get in touch?” Tench paused, then continued, “And I didn’t get this from the original stalking complaint. I got it from Nikki Talbot’s email provider, who were very helpful by the way, she received it last Saturday, and she didn’t tell anyone, including us.”

    “Did she reply to the email?” Sam enquired.

    “Nope, at least not from this email address. She could have others that we don’t know about but I don’t see that as likely. She definitely read it though.” Said Tench.

    “And it’s signed B32, what’s that?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

    Tench shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. It’s a postcode in Birmingham, and an American plane. That’s as far as I’ve got with it.”

    “So you think this message is from a different person from the stalker, and that it could be linked to her disappearance?” Said Sam.

    “Seems a possibility don’t you think?”

    Sam thought about it. “Yes, I do.” She agreed. “I do think.”