Jack pulled forward a small office stool on wheels to sit close to Glenda. She pointed to the two other monitors.

  ‘They’re taking a bathroom break. The bloke at the end is concentrating on the rubbish collections, and the unfortunate gent beside me with nasty BO is focusing on a large charity clothes bin used for second-hand shoes and clothes, outside a food store. The shop has good CCTV. I think the shop owner made complaints about people dumping old push chairs and baby seats which weren’t getting collected, so he installed a good quality security surveillance camera, which is handy for us.’

  Glenda hardly drew breath as she went on to say that DCI Clarke had instructed them to go back some considerable time. She squinted at a thick notebook, then flicked through the pages.

  ‘We were told to begin from the time this SOB was arrested after his first assault. We immediately faced one big problem: with it being a basement flat there’s no footage of the basement courtyard, only the few steps at the top and the pavement outside. We had instructions to keep going further back for as long as we needed to in the hope of finding something useful. I’ve been editing clips together to avoid wasting time scrolling through hours of footage, and I mean hours. We’ve been at this all night and will probably still be working on it tomorrow.’

  Glenda was constantly pushing her face mask up over her round face, pinching it across her nose to try to keep it in place.

  ‘Right, handsome, let me show you what I have so far.’

  Jack smiled, then turned to watch the footage. A lot of it was very grainy, and Glenda gave a running commentary to explain what he was looking at. He could see Rodney Middleton being escorted to a waiting patrol car between two uniformed officers, dated and timed as the evening of his first arrest for assault. Middleton seemed totally unfazed and at ease, and at one point he turned to face the camera. One officer carried an evidence bag which presumably contained the weapon.

  The footage continued, showing Amanda Dunn leaving the basement flat carrying what looked like a bulging pillowcase. This was timed and dated as the day after the arrest. There were then numerous clips of her going in and out of the flat with what may have been the same pillowcase. She also went in on various occasions with food shopping bags, then finally left with a small holdall. Jack noted that one of the dates tied in with when she had called him from Euston Station.

  On the same night she told Jack she was catching a train to Liverpool, Amanda was seen carrying a brown paper bag, a bottle and boxes of biscuits. Then there was coverage of Jack and Laura parking outside and entering the basement, fast-forwarding to see Harold Miller pulling up in a car and Rodney Middleton stepping out of the passenger side. Miller opened the boot and took out a bag. He held it out to Rodney, but he ignored him, so Miller shut the boot, locked the car, and stopped on the pavement to talk to Rodney. He put the bag down and opened a wallet, handing Rodney some cash. It was obvious that Rodney didn’t think it was enough as he shoved it back at him. Harold reopened his wallet and took out some more notes, before putting his hand in his coat pocket. They then went down the steps to the basement.

  ‘Can you freeze on that last interaction?’ Jack asked.

  Glenda moved her mouse and rewound, then pressed pause. Jack peered closer to the screen.

  ‘Do you know, he has no bank account, or cards, with just a Post Office savings account for his benefits to be paid into. No driving licence, no car and so far, no mobile phone. The handset we have taken in is his girlfriend’s, which is very outdated, with no apps and just a few contact numbers. Middleton is very tech-savvy and has lots of the latest gadgets in TV and stereo equipment, so it doesn’t make any sense that he wouldn’t have a mobile. Can you enlarge that section where it looks like he’s being handed money, then passes it back and then Miller opens his wallet?’

  Glenda zoomed in as requested and Jack peered at the screen. He then sat back.

  ‘I think Middleton passed Harold a mobile, underneath the bank notes that he handed back. Harold opens his wallet and hands him more cash, then puts his hand into his coat pocket. I’ll get the team onto it because I think Harold Miller took away Rodney’s mobile because Middleton knew we were in the flat.’

  Glenda tapped her notebook, turning to Jack. ‘Well, you’re now up to speed with the coverage so far, from the original time frame we were given. To my mind it doesn’t add anything concrete, so now we go further back. These new CCTV cameras don’t wipe over anything, so everything is stored digitally – unless they’re switched off.’

  Jack stifled a yawn, and she glared at him. ‘Keeping you up, are we?’

  ‘Sorry . . .’

  Glenda turned as two officers came back into the room. She was certainly right about the bad BO. She rolled her eyes at Jack and pinched her nose over the mask.

  ‘Right, so this is me clipping a lot of footage together, but it gives you a really good look at the SOB and what he does. It’s not a lot, I’ll grant you, but keep watching,’ she said.

  Jack leaned forward as he watched Rodney go in and out of the basement. He was seen carrying food shopping and stopping to talk to Mrs Delaney, then helping her husband carry the bins up to the pavement. He staggered as he carried what must have been an especially heavy bin up the steps.

  Next there was footage of Rodney carrying what looked like large rolls of bubble wrap. Jack was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open, but then Glenda barked out that this next section was interesting and he should pay attention.

  He leaned closer, watching Rodney heaving a bin on his own, bouncing the wheels up the stone steps as he became visible at the pavement level. As he reached the top step, the lid opened, and a package fell out. Rodney bent down to pick up the tightly wrapped black plastic parcel and quickly stuffed it right down into the bin. He positioned the bin on the pavement and ran back down the stone steps, returning with a black bin bag with a yellow drawstring tie, which he placed on top of the rubbish already inside the bin, pushing it down. He shut the lid and leant heavily on top of it to press everything tightly down.

  Jack took a deep breath as Glenda instructed him to join the odorous officer beside her. He sat watching footage of the charity bin. Amanda was seen with the pillowcase, taking out clothes and shoes and pushing them into the open lid of the big container. The officer had so far been able to show three different trips over a period of many months, and on each occasion, Amanda carried a full pillowcase and emptied the contents into the container. She looked very unwell, with lank hair, and was always wearing the same old coat.

  Glenda leaned on the back of the officer’s chair. ‘As this footage was some time ago, it’s highly unlikely we’ll be able to track any of the items she’s getting rid of. But you can probably cross-reference the dates of the missing girls with the clothes drop-offs, as they could belong to the victims.’

  The other officer had been focused on bin collections, dates and times, and reported that there were three different collections. The green bin was for glass and plastic, the blue for cardboard and paper, and the black bin was for general non-recyclable waste and food. There was also a brown bin for garden waste, but that was only collected once a month. Each bin had to be positioned on the pavement on the appropriate collection day.

  Glenda said that it appeared that the black bin was always the heaviest, and therefore the most likely to be used for dismembered body parts. They watched Mr Delaney assisting Rodney, heaving the bin up the basement steps. There was also footage of the other tenants heading down to the basement with their respective kitchen bin liners or black dustbin bags. They never stayed any length of time in the basement courtyard.

  Glenda said that it was a very long shot, but they could begin searching the local landfill sites for any human remains.

  Jack remained with the CCTV investigators for another hour, and by the time he returned to the incident room he was feeling nauseous. This was partly caused by the intoxicating BO, but also from viewing the footage for over three hours.

  Some of the night duty officers had already left and Laura was just gathering her things together as it was almost 6 a.m. The thought of now having to go and meet Ridley made Jack’s head throb, but he hung back to mark up his findings on the board.

  ‘Bit over-eager, aren’t we?’ Laura said, putting on her Michelin Man coat.

  ‘Just finishing up a few things,’ Jack said, checking his watch. He was about to call home to talk to Maggie, but then Anik arrived, annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

  ‘Morning all. How did it go last night?’ he asked breezily.

  Jack smiled wanly and suggested that he take a look at the CCTV footage upstairs, then went over to knock on the DCI’s office. He waited, then eased the door open. DCI Clarke was lying on the floor next to his desk, using his overcoat as a pillow, with his mouth wide open. Jack quietly closed the door and packed up his briefcase.

  A very bouncy Sara suddenly launched herself through the door.

  ‘Morning, everyone. Can I get a round of coffee or tea?’

  There were a few orders shouted out, and requests for bacon butties. Jack was ready to leave when she stopped to ask if he wanted anything. He shook his head.

  ‘Just my bed. It’s been a very long night.’

  ‘I’ve got some good news from mispers about two of the girls,’ Sara said, looking at a report on her desk.

  Jack waited.

  ‘They’ve been traced.’

  ‘Good, that’s really good . . .’ he said quietly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ridley looked in even worse shape than the last time they had met. Jack handed him a coffee and sipped at his own double macchiato in the hope that it would give him some energy. They sat on their usual bench, and it was soon clear that depression was weighing heavily on Ridley.

  ‘It’s over, Jack; we have nothing. Apart from it appearing that someone was attempting to trace Sandra. Of course, they ran it by me, but they’d got nowhere so they weren’t really concerned.’

  ‘Maybe we should sit in my car so that I can tell you what I’ve discovered, and you can tell me what a fucking genius I am. I think I may have discovered Sandra’s identity, but I need you to look at everything I’ve got. I didn’t park too far away, so come on.’

  Ridley actually smiled as they approached the pea-green Nissan Micra, asking Jack if he had ever considered driving something a little less obvious. He climbed into the passenger seat while Jack sat in the driving seat beside him. Jack reached over to the back seat for his briefcase.

  ‘Did you know a woman called Lorna Elliot?’

  Ridley frowned and shook his head. Jack took out the newspaper photograph and showed it to him. He stared at the cutting and simply shook his head again.

  ‘OK, what about someone called Anton Lord?’

  Jack was taken aback at Ridley’s lack of response. He had been so certain that he had made a breakthrough. He told Ridley about the gravestones for the Raynor family, that their dead child had been called Sandra, and that the mother’s maiden name had been Norma Elliot.

  Ridley continued to stare at the photograph. Frustrated, Jack told him to think back twenty years, to any case involved with accountancy, perhaps a big fraud.

  ‘She is the right age, sir. She looks like a dog’s dinner in these photos, but if she had a lot of work on her face . . . she’s the same height and build. And this Anton Lord may have been a bad sort as well; take a look at his photo and see if it jogs your memory.’

  Ridley closed his eyes and Jack felt his frustration mounting.

  ‘Russia, they could have been working on something in Russia. Have they tested your car for any of that fucking Russian poison? Are there any results back from your blood and urine tests?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Ridley spoke quietly. ‘Is there something about a farmhouse?’

  Jack found the notes he had made from the newspaper cuttings. He passed them to Ridley. It was only a moment or two, but it felt like an age before Ridley’s head snapped up and he looked at Jack.

  ‘I don’t believe this. It’s got to be more than twenty years ago. I can’t remember her, but something is starting to click. Jesus Christ, it was so long ago that I think I was still in uniform for fuck’s sake. But how does it connect to the present day? I just don’t understand?’

  ‘What do you remember?’

  Ridley took a deep breath.

  ‘There was an investigation into the disappearance of a young guy, a banker or something like that. He disappeared from his country farmhouse, maybe in Essex, just disappeared off the face of the earth. I wasn’t on the case originally but was brought in years later as there had been a development in tracing a suspect.’

  ‘Go on . . .’

  ‘Well, like I said, I was just part of a team, but the suspect involved in this bloke’s abduction and possible murder had been traced to Moscow. It dragged on for eighteen months or so, while they were trying to bring him back to the UK to stand trial, but there’s no extradition treaty; they were going to be sending someone over to confront him. But before they could question him, he committed suicide. As far as I can remember there was a lot of money involved, all connected to illegal currency dealing. The poor bastard that disappeared was apparently very skilled at hiding money in complicated business webs and offshore trusts.’

  ‘This was Anton Lord?’

  ‘I honestly can’t recall, but the name rings a bell. I never met him, or his partner.’

  ‘That would be Lorna Elliot?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . but I can get the team working on it. They can start to dig up everything there is on the case. Right now, they’re still attempting to find all the CCTV footage where my car might have been driven. It’s still with forensics officers; they’re even testing soil particles from the tyres in an attempt to match a location. They’ve interviewed everyone in the bar the night it happened. But there’s no one suspicious . . . It’s a nightmare.’

  ‘Did they test for anything like Novichok, the nerve agent used by the Russians on the Skripals? This was a few years ago, but I remember a woman died because she had found a bottle the killers had discarded in a trash bin. I did a bit of research a while back: the symptoms are intense breathlessness, muscle pain, vomiting and it can also result in permanent nerve damage, but if you were given a minuscule dose, it could be why you lost consciousness.’

  Ridley was clearly becoming very anxious, but Jack picked up a slight hesitation before he answered.

  ‘Jesus Christ, they’re testing every inch of my car, and all the clothing I wore that night; I’ve had urine and blood tests. But the problem is that I was violently sick, so it all went down the toilet.’

  ‘If you had so much as a molecule it can stay in the system for up to two weeks,’ Jack said.

  ‘Well, as I said, they took blood samples, skin, hair, you name it. It could have been one of the date-rape drugs. Victims don’t recall anything for long periods.’

  ‘And you have complete memory loss for the entire night after leaving that pub?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve already told you that. Now can we go back to the woman? You say her real name is Lorna Elliot, correct?’

  Jack intuitively knew Ridley was changing the subject, but couldn’t fathom out why.

  ‘Yes, I believe that’s right.’

  ‘So why me? Why did she want to see me? How did she know me? I honestly can’t ever recall meeting this Lorna Elliot in connection with the Anton Lord investigation. I was a young, uniformed officer at the time. How would she have found out I was ever part of it?’

  ‘There has to be a link,’ Jack said. ‘You taught me that. Maybe the team looking into all this can find it. I’d start with what Anton Lord was up to in Russia.’

  Ridley nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. They’ve done fuck all to date. But at least it’s something new for them to start working on. And Jack . . .’ Ridley turned to him. Jack had his head down and his eyes closed.

  ‘Jack!’ he said loudly, and he jerked awake.

  ‘Sorry, sir, I’m totally wiped out. I’ve been on duty all night. But I’ve only just skimmed the surface. I can keep digging . . .’

  Ridley shook his head. ‘Let me start working on it. I’ll just say that I’m trolling through old cases. You’ve done enough. I don’t want your name getting mixed up in it all.’

  Jack was relieved, as juggling two cases was exhausting him.

  ‘What about this relative who lives in Sussex . . . an aunt?’ Ridley asked.

  ‘Her name is Barbara Elliot, but I’ve not had time to do a check on her.’

  ‘Can you just do that for me? If I go, wearing this damned tracer on my ankle will tip them off. It’s against the law as I’m a bloody Met officer, but I suggested it.’

  ‘How come you can get out to meet with me?’ Jack asked.

  Jack sensed the hesitation, before Ridley answered. ‘I use a burner phone, and they have a change-over at 8 a.m. every day, which gives me just enough time to walk along the river and get back. I am allowed out for some fresh air. They will obviously be able to track how far I am from the house, but I doubt this is going to last as they can’t keep this situation under wraps for much longer. That said, I still want you to be very careful, so don’t take any risks. Just see what you can do. Right now, you’ve proved to me that I was right about you: you’re the only person I can trust.’

  Jack couldn’t really say no, despite his exhaustion, so he agreed to find time the following day to track down Barbara Elliot. He watched as Ridley got out of the car and headed back towards the river. He didn’t know why he felt so uneasy. Had Ridley lied to him? Was there more to his situation than he was admitting? He couldn’t help feeling that Ridley was using him somehow – but to what end?

  By the time Jack arrived home the house was empty. Maggie had left for work, and Penny had taken Hannah to nursery. He drank a glass of milk and ate some biscuits, then he crashed out in bed, after setting his alarm for the night shift.