‘We’ll forward all these details to be checked against the UK missing persons and unidentified bodies DNA database to see if a match can be found,’ she concluded.

  Burkett nodded to Regina, who had paused the film for a moment. Now the footage showed the removal of the bathtub and the shower, and the discovery of further blood splattering on the plastic shower door.

  Glenda Bagshot took over from the forensics team. She had been splicing sections from all the hours of CCTV footage in order to show the teams only the most relevant sections. Jack had already seen most of this footage, so he sat back and closed his eyes, thinking about the monster that was Rodney Middleton. How many women had he murdered over the five years he’d lived in that basement? And in how many of those murders had Amanda been a willing accessory?

  It was after 10 p.m. when the meeting finally ended. There was an uneasy silence, not just because everyone was exhausted, but because of the horrors they were now imagining taking place in that basement flat. DCI Clarke thanked the experts for their diligent work, then thanked all the officers again, saying there would be tea and coffee set up for them in the incident room. He looked haggard as he shook hands with Burkett and helped pack up the equipment. When most of the team had filed out, Jack overheard him asking Burkett how many victims he thought there might be. Burkett shrugged his thick-set shoulders, carefully replacing his half-moon glasses in their leather case.

  ‘I wish I could tell you, but it could be perhaps five or six. The place was literally a bloodbath.’

  Burkett put on a tweed jacket with a deep sigh.

  ‘As soon as I have any further information I’ll be in touch, but now I just need to get some sleep.’

  DCI Clarke spotted Jack, who had started jotting down more notes, as Burkett left the room.

  ‘I could do with some of that sleep, too, but I doubt that I’ll be able to after what I’ve just seen. How are you coping, Jack?’

  ‘Me? Oh, I don’t think I’ll have any problem crashing out for a few hours. This night duty isn’t doing any good for my marriage, though. We’re like ships passing in the night.’

  Clarke nodded. ‘You take yourself off home now, then. But I need you in a few hours earlier tomorrow. I’m going to take off in a minute myself. I want to be ready to interview Amanda Dunn.’

  Jack looked surprised. ‘You’re interviewing her?’

  ‘Yes, after what I saw tonight, we have to make it a priority. I have no doubt she knows the answers to a lot of our questions. Anik will be assisting, so please brief him with the latest findings first thing. Right, good work, Jack . . . now go home to your wife.’

  Jack was so taken aback he reached out to take Clarke’s arm. ‘Sorry, sir, but surely it makes sense that I . . .’

  Clark gave him a disdainful look as he eased his arm free. ‘Anik’s been at my side throughout the past few days, working through the night. Whereas you . . . this situation with you taking a break and getting pulled over and breathalysed is very unsatisfactory. Don’t get me wrong, Jack, you have done some very good work – ’

  Jack couldn’t contain his anger. ’Done some good work? If it wasn’t for me, Middleton would have been released to probably kill another innocent runaway, quite apart from the fact that I know more about the bastard than anyone else.’

  Clarke frowned. ‘Don’t query my judgement, Jack. It’s obvious you have a personal agenda with this case, and I am not prepared to let that get in the way of things. Goodnight, Jack.’

  Jack tried to control his rage as he collected his briefcase and coat.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Laura asked innocently.

  ‘Home,’ he snapped.

  ‘You’re sure it’s not another trip to the seaside?’ she said with a grin. ‘Well, watch what you drink; you don’t want to get stopped again.’

  Jack went and stood very close to her. ‘Why don’t you mind your own fucking business,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  Laura went pale. ‘Bloody hell, Jack, I was only joking . . .’

  He walked out, slamming the door behind him. As he reached his hated pea-green Micra he muttered, ‘Fuck them all!’

  Much as he wanted to go straight home, he still needed to check out the flat in Pimlico. But he decided that after he had done that, he was going to tell Ridley that he could fuck off as well. He was sick and tired of the lot of them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  When he got to the Dover Court flats in Pimlico, Jack parked in the residents’ car park and walked into the reception. A cheerful-looking porter simply smiled as Jack passed him, as if he was one of the residents. Still angry, Jack scowled as he headed for the lift.

  When he got to the top floor where the smaller flats and studios were located, he was relieved to find no one was about. He pulled out his set of skeleton keys, a bunch he had pocketed after an arrest a few years years earlier, but he was not that skilled with them and had to try the door of 54B a number of times before he successfully opened it, even though it was a simple Yale lock. Luckily there was no alarm. He quickly shut the door behind him and took a moment to assess the small, dark hallway before searching for the light switch.

  It was a very small apartment. The narrow hallway had doors leading to a sitting room, a bedroom with an en-suite bathroom and a kitchen. It was furnished with rather worn items and felt unlived in and lacking in anything personal.

  It also did not look as if anyone had been there for some time. In the kitchen he found a bottle of milk in the fridge that was a week beyond its sell-by date, along with some shrivelled fruit and a bottle of vodka. In the sink there was a glass and a plate. The bedroom contained a small double bed, dressing table and wardrobe. Jack stopped and drew in a deep breath. Beside the bed were two matching Louis Vuitton suitcases, and on it was an expensive leather briefcase. He opened the largest case first and checked through the selection of stylish clothes and shoes. There was also a blonde wig, neatly wrapped in a silk bag. Next, he opened the smaller case which contained underwear, nightdresses and a leather makeup bag with cosmetics and bottles of perfume, bath oils and skin-care pots. He felt round the lining, then closed the case and pulled the briefcase towards him.

  There was a laptop, a mobile phone, and an envelope containing two memory sticks. Tucked into the pocket of the briefcase was a small photo album. He flicked through it briefly, knowing it was the album he had been told about that morning.

  In the same pocket he found a passport belonging to Lorna Elliot with several hundred-dollar bills tucked inside. In the small leather-trimmed business card pockets were numerous bank cards in her name, including Chase Bank, Bank of America and Coutts Bank.

  After carefully replacing all the items back in the briefcase, Jack searched the rest of the flat. He was looking for other things that he felt should be with Lorna’s belongings: a handbag, keys to the flat, a wallet . . . He went into the drawing room and looked under and around all the furniture, then went back into the kitchen. He hesitated, then went into the ensuite bathroom. There on the side of the washbasin was an elegant leather handbag with YSL on the gold clasp. He opened it and found exactly what he had been looking for: a set of cars keys for a Jaguar with a rental tag in the name of Sandra Raynor, a folder from the dating agency, and a crocodile-skin wallet. The wallet contained a lot of crisp new £50 notes.

  Jack’s dark mood had lifted by the time he left the flat with the handbag and briefcase covered by his coat. At the car, he opened the passenger door and tossed them inside. He was now keen to get home and take a look at the contents of the laptop.

  As soon as he arrived, Jack hurried inside and ran straight up the stairs to his office with the briefcase and the handbag. He had just put everything down on his desk when Maggie walked in. She was wearing a dressing gown, and from her expression it was obvious that she was not in a good mood.

  ‘Well, thank you for letting me know what time you’d be home,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d still be at the station.’

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ Jack said, ‘but DCI Clarke let me off a bit earlier in exchange for being at the station early tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Have you eaten dinner?’

  ‘I have actually. This wonderful woman Glenda Bagshot ordered in a decent meal for everyone, as she was sick and tired of the awful canteen food at night.’

  ‘That’s alright then,’ she said in a sarcastic tone. ‘So now can you come to bed. I really want to have a talk.’

  He hesitated, gesturing at the briefcase. ‘I had to collect this on the way home and I was going to have a look at the contents. It’s connected to the Ridley situation.’

  ‘I don’t care about him, Jack. We’ve hardly had a moment together since you’ve been on nights. I know the case you’re working on is pretty tough going, but you’re running yourself ragged trying to do two things at the same time.’

  ‘Yes, I know you’re right. I had a big breakthrough earlier this evening, though.’

  Maggie walked to his desk and picked up the handbag. ‘This looks very posh. . . Yves Saint Laurent. Who does it belong to?’

  Jack raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I believe it belonged to the woman found in Ridley’s car. That’s her briefcase, with a laptop and mobile phone.’

  ‘So, what do you intend to do tonight?’ she asked, frowning.

  ‘I was going to check over it all and then contact Ridley.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Well, I don’t have time to do it when I’m on duty.’

  ‘So instead of spending time with me when we haven’t seen each other properly for days, you’d rather be chasing around after Ridley. I think you need to get your priorities sorted, Jack!’

  He had never seen her in this aggressive mood before, and he put his hands up in a defensive gesture.

  ‘You’re right, and I am so sorry. I feel bad. You don’t need this; I know how tough it is for you at work right now.’

  ‘Really, Jack?’

  ‘Of course . . . you’re still under incredible pressure day and night.’

  She folded her arms. ‘You can say that again. We also need to consider the pressure we put on Penny having to look after Hannah virtually all day and night, without either of us being able to take any weight off her shoulders. Jack, we need to talk about this properly; why don’t you go and have a shower and come to bed so we can discuss things?’

  He nodded. ‘OK, I’ll be right with you.’

  ‘No, now!’ she said, raising her voice. ‘Come on, out of here! I need to get some sleep, and I know if I leave you here, you’ll get distracted and you’ll forget about everything else.’

  Jack had to walk past her as she turned off the lights in his office. He went straight into the bathroom for a quick shower and when he got into bed Maggie had turned on the electric blanket and was sitting propped up by pillows. He flipped back his side of the duvet and snuggled up, putting his arms around her.

  Maggie pushed him away. ‘No, Jack, we need to talk. I have virtually had to tape my eyelids open as I am so tired. I don’t want any update on your cases, or sex, I just want you to listen to me. I have real concerns about your mum.’

  Jack lay back beside her with his eyes closed.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’

  ‘Yes, Maggie, and as you said earlier, she has virtually been running the house whilst we’ve both been working 24/7. We need to give her a break.’

  ‘Jack, she took Hannah out this evening; they weren’t home when I came back and that was after eight. She was very flushed and apologetic when she found me home and said that she had been visiting friends. What friends, Jack? She didn’t explain to me where she had been, and it may not seem late to you, but it was way past Hannah’s bedtime.’

  Jack sat up.

  ‘OK, let me talk to her tomorrow; maybe it’s these new people she goes to bingo with.’

  ‘She hasn’t been honest, Jack, because I phoned the church and asked about the bingo sessions, and they haven’t been happening since before the lockdown. Apparently, they’re hoping to resume next month because the man who organised them passed away, so they have been recruiting someone to take over.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s lied to us, Jack.’

  He frowned. ‘Shit, that’s unlike Mum.’

  ‘Yes, I know. So tomorrow you need to have it out with her. Will you do that?’

  ‘Yes . . . yes, of course,’ he said.

  Maggie turned off her bedside light and the electric blanket and snuggled down under the duvet. Jack rested back on his pillow, concerned about his mother’s odd behaviour. He switched off his bedside light, rolled onto his side and spooned his body around Maggie’s. He loved the way they fitted together. He had a moment’s thought about pulling up her nightdress but felt the rhythm of her breathing and knew she was asleep. Even with so much on his mind, just being beside her filled him with peace, and he fell into a deep sleep.

  Maggie’s alarm went off at five thirty the following morning. As usual she jumped out of bed and hurried into the bathroom. Jack was jolted awake by the noise. He had slept so soundly that he was confused when Maggie wasn’t beside him, then he heard the shower running and flopped back on his pillow. He turned to look at the time, and after a few moments decided it would be a good move on his part if he got up and made coffee for her.

  He was inserting four slices of bread into the lurid yellow toaster when Maggie came in, dressed and ready to leave for work. He handed her a portable flask of coffee, as he knew she liked to take one to sip on the way to the hospital. She declined his offer to butter her some toast, saying she would grab a bite to eat in the canteen. She gave him a big hug and a kiss, then paused on her way out of the door.

  ‘You will talk to Penny, as you promised last night, won’t you?’

  ‘I will. You have a good day. I’ll go back to bed for a while, then help with getting Hannah ready for nursery. I also think it’s time you and me went out for dinner – just the two of us.’

  She smiled. ‘That would be nice. Bye, then.’

  Jack waited for the front door to close before he buttered two slices of toast for himself and poured a mug of coffee. He was eager to get into his office and look over the things he had brought back from the Pimlico flat. Still wearing his boxer shorts and a dressing gown, he sat down at his desk and opened Lorna Elliot’s laptop. It was dead, but fortunately his own laptop charger fitted, so he plugged it in to charge the battery. He then took out the two memory sticks and inserted them into his old laptop.

  The first didn’t seem to be working, not allowing him access to the contents. He pulled it out and inserted it into a different USB port. A folder then came up with lists of dates and locations. He scrolled through the contents whilst he ate his toast. The name Gazprom featured numerous times with dates beside it. He googled it and discovered that it was one of Russia’s biggest energy companies. The dates were also linked to Rossiya Bank, which Jack discovered was based in St Petersburg and heavily associated with the corrupt practices of Putin’s regime.

  As he continued to scroll, Jack had no notion of exactly what he was looking at. He paused at the mention of a website called Proekt Media, which seemed to be a Russian investigative company specialising in in-depth journalism. The dates listed were associated with huge sums of money, millions and then billions. Jack took out the memory stick and inserted the second one. The name Dmitry Skigin immediately came up, alongside a company called Petersburg Oil Terminal (POT) which was part of the consortium that won a contract to manage the city’s seaport. Putin’s name also cropped up again, first as head of the FSB, the Russian domestic secret service, and then as president.

  Jack sighed. The data was from before the Russian invasion of Ukraine, and it all meant nothing to him. He sat staring at the screen, his attention wavering as he continued to scroll. The name Skigin came up again, with a note that he had been traced to Monaco, but in 2000 he was expelled for money-laundering.

  Skigin had died three years later, of cancer. He had left a fortune and a personal estate said to be valued at £560 million.

  Jack checked the time. It was already gone 7 a.m. so he removed the memory stick and put it back in the envelope with the other one. He checked to see if the other laptop had charged yet and the home screen came up. He had no idea what the password was. He tried ‘Sandra’ then ‘Lorna’, then ‘Elliot’, then ‘Raynor’ but none of them worked. He picked up the briefcase and took out the passport in Lorna Elliot’s name. Flicking through it he could see stamps reflecting the many trips she had made, to Moscow, St Petersburg and more recently to Monaco, the latter frequently, until two years ago.

  He went back to the laptop to try some more passwords. This time he tried ‘Russia’, then ‘Monaco’ and as a last attempt ‘Anton’, the Christian name of her partner. There was a satisfying ‘ping’ and the home screen opened up. He was about to start looking through the files when his mobile rang. It was Ridley. Before Ridley could give him the details of a new meet, Jack interrupted.

  ‘Listen, I am not coming to the ruddy John Lewis car park, or the river. If you and your ankle bracelet can make it, then you can come to me. I will be at home for another hour, then I have to go to work. It’s in your best interests to meet me. I found her for you.’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone, then Ridley said he would be there. Jack ended the call and tossed his mobile onto his desk, just as Penny knocked on the door.

  ‘Long time no see . . . you’re quite the stranger these days. Do you want some breakfast?’ she asked.