DI Giles BoxSet Read online

  “We considered that Inspector, but it’s unlikely. You see she wouldn’t have left without us. We usually saw that she got home alright. One of our group would have taken her back.”

  “So when did you realise she was missing?”

  “When everyone started leaving. Catherine insisted that we stay and look for Emma, even after everyone had gone home.”

  “Was Emma seeing anybody? Having a relationship?”

  Graham loosened his tie, swallowing nervously. “Err, no. There were rumours about Emma and her tutor, but nothing that any of us took seriously.”

  “That would be Keith Jeffries.” Yvonne was curious about Graham’s nervousness, but didn’t want him to stop talking.

  “Yes.”

  “Back to the night in question.”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you and Catherine together all night?”

  “Pretty much, yes. Well, I mean we did spend some time apart because we both had other friends and people we wanted to talk to. I remember at one point that I had lost my arm band.”

  “Arm band?”

  “Yes. It’s what they gave us all to show in the tents so that we could get our free champagne, etc.”

  “I see. Did it turn up?”

  “No. I didn’t find it, but they took pity on me anyway and I got my freebies. The guys on the stalls were off their faces on cannabis.”

  “I see. Did your group of friends do cannabis?”

  “Only occasionally.”

  “Did you have some that night?”

  “We did a little.”

  “Did Emma?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you see Keith Jeffries at the ball?”

  “I did see him, quite early on. I think he left early or at least I didn’t notice him after about ten o’clock.”

  “Did you like Emma?”

  The question momentarily threw Graham. Yvonne waited for his answer.

  “She was a lovely girl. Attractive. But I was in love with Catherine. I wanted to marry her. I wouldn’t have allowed anything to jeopardise our relationship.”

  “What about your brother Michael?”

  “Michael?” Graham’s look was one of surprise at the mention of his brother’s name.

  “Yes. He’s your brother, isn’t he? How close was he to Emma?”

  “Yes, he’s my brother and they were friends. The same as any of us.”

  Yvonne closed her notebook and rose to leave. “Thank you Graham. You have been very helpful. Would you please give my regards to Catherine?”

  “I certainly shall Inspector.” Graham looked relieved.

  Yvonne paused at the door. “Oh and we may need to call you in so that we can take samples to check your DNA. Would that be okay?” She watched his face closely.

  “DNA check?”

  “Yes. It would just be a quick swab of your mouth for a few cheek cells. Will that be alright?”

  “Anything to help solve Emma’s death”. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  Yvonne smiled sweetly and Graham let her out of the shop. She put a tick next to Graham’s name and noted that he had said yes to the DNA sample.

  61

  Michael Swann was charming people out of their hard earned cash on his Camden market stall. The DI had called at his flat and been ringing for some time, when a neighbour took pity on her and told her where to find him.

  He was like a poker player, she thought, weighing up just how far he could push the price. How long he could hold out, before giving just a little.

  She must have watched him for at least twenty minute,s while he dealt with those who were waiting and the queue slowly disappeared. Only after they had gone did he display any emotion, and then only to grin and congratulate himself.

  “Michael Swann?” She had waited long enough.

  “The very same.” He answered, looking her up and down and giving her a smile which only just stayed on the right side of leering.

  “I’m DI Yvonne Giles, from Thames Valley Police, and I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

  He looked at his watch. “Inspector, I’m due for some lunch.”

  “Great idea. I’ve just passed a cafe.” She pointed vaguely. “We could get something to eat at the same time.”

  “I’ve brought sandwiches.”

  “Fine, then I’ll talk to you while you eat. I didn't need any lunch anyway.”

  “Come out the back, there’s probably enough for two if you like ham and mustard. Pete!”

  A guy on the next stall looked over at the sound of his name.

  “Keep an eye on my stuff for ten minutes, will you?”

  The other guy nodded assent and Yvonne followed Michael as he took her behind the back screen of his stall.

  “Michael, I’ve come to talk to you about the death of a College friend of yours - Emma Shilton.”

  “Emma Shilton?” She had his attention. He passed her a dog-eared sandwich on a paper plate which she gingerly took from him.

  “Thank you. I understand that you were a member of her closest circle of friends.”

  “We were in the same class if that’s what you mean.”

  “I thought you spent time out of class with Emma and friends of your brothers.”

  “Yes, but Emma was a quiet one. I didn’t know her as well as the others. Catherine was usually the centre of attention.”

  “Catherine?”

  “Yes, at the time she was engaged to my brother but had dated myself and Gerald. Catherine was the glue that held the group together.”

  Yvonne wasn’t going to be thrown off her subject. “Exactly how well did you know Emma?”

  “We chatted occasionally. She was always with Catherine. Good looking girl. I was sorry when she died.”

  “Michael...she was murdered.” Yvonne pointed out, because the way he had said it was so matter-of-fact. “Were you aware of her seeing anybody from college or outside of college?”

  “I asked her out once and she refused.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Just accepted it. I was only asking her out for a drink. Most of the men she knew had asked her out at one time or other.” Michael had finished his sandwiches and begun picking non-existent fluff from his shirt sleeve.

  Yvonne felt that she wasn’t really getting anywhere.

  “Did you know she was pregnant when she died?”

  “Only after her death. She was obviously a dark horse…”

  “Did you have any suspicions as to who might have been the father?”

  “No, none.”

  “Would you object to going into a police station for us to take some cheek cells for DNA testing?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Michael, what do you remember of the College ball the night Emma disappeared?”

  “Not much. I just remember getting drunk. It was a long time ago, Inspector.”

  “Do you remember seeing Emma?”

  “Yes I remember seeing her around.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “I talked to a lot of people. I don’t specifically remember talking to Emma. I may have done.”

  “Well, usually when people hear of the tragic death of a friend, they remember when they last talked to them. So didn’t you, at any point, try to remember the last time you spoke to her?”

  “I try not to waste time having morbid thoughts, inspector.” He sighed then and appeared to relent. “Look, I was in shock. We all were. We had exams coming up and I guess I just wanted to shut the whole thing out. I did talk to Emma that night but it wasn’t for very long. She was busy circulating, okay?”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “I dunno, general stuff like...how hot it was and how many people were there. Had we been doing enough revision for the exams? The kinds of things students discuss at parties.”

  “And that was it?”

  “That was it. Didn’t speak to her again all night.”

  Yvonne wasn’t entirely happ
y with his version but since she didn’t know what he might be holding back, she thought she’d leave it there.

  “Thanks, Michael. I’ll be in touch and thanks for the ham sandwich,” Yvonne said, handing back the paper plate as she rose to leave.

  “Just let me know if I can be of further help,” he returned. He was already heading out to the next potential customer.

  62

  Gerald Adams was far easier to interview. When she arrived at his London home, he was pushing the door of a large four-wheel-drive shut with his foot, hands full of shopping bags, a two litre bottle of water under each arm His house keys dangling from his mouth.

  “Are you alright? Here, let me help you with some of that.” Yvonne announced, as she rushed forward, frightened that at any moment the water bottles would fall to the floor and lose their contents.

  “Oh, thank you. I tell you, I always leave my shopping to the last minute and then I have a devil of a job getting the stuff home.”

  Yvonne smiled warmly “I know what you mean. I’m sometimes guilty of that myself.” There was something very homely about a man doing shopping and getting himself in a tangle. It made him seem vulnerable – like he needed looking after. The over-sized Arran wool jumper only enhanced the effect.

  Relieved of the water, he set down the bags and unlocked his front door. It creaked a little and he smiled an apology. “Must get some oil to the hinges.”

  There was the smell of fresh gladioli in the entrance hall and Yvonne glanced around and found the vase with the bronzed orange flowers. “Beautiful,” was all she said.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” he said suddenly, holding out his hand.

  Yvonne took it, finding spontaneous pleasure in the warmth of it. “Inspector Yvonne Giles, Thames Valley CID. I thought you'd be expecting me. My Sergeant called through this morning to tell you I was coming.”

  “Ah yes, so he did. I've been so busy, it completely slipped my mind. I have a million essays waiting for me to mark and that’s only a slight exaggeration.” He smiled, creasing the skin at the corners of his eyes and Yvonne took a full two seconds to reply.

  “I am informed that you work at the University College here in London.”

  “That’s right, Inspector. I lecture in History. What can I do you for?”

  Yvonne followed him into to his shaker-style kitchen, her eyes immediately drawn to the floor-to-ceiling glass display cabinet containing a myriad of food jars - from olives and capers to quails eggs and octopus. They appeared to be from a variety of countries.

  “I’m here to ask you a few questions actually.” She felt a curious disappointment that that was the sole purpose of her visit and mentally chastised herself for almost wishing she had come to dinner, to sit at the square farmhouse-style table in the centre of the room.

  He finished putting shopping items into the cupboards and motioned her to take a seat. “Can I offer you coffee?”, he asked as he took down a cafetiere.

  Yvonne answered by shaking her head.

  “Questions about what?” He began filling the kettle.

  “About your Oxford days.”

  “Good lord. That was a millennia ago.”

  Yvonne laughed. “I know it may seem like that, but this really is very important. We are reopening the investigation into the death of one of your fellow students. Emma Shilton.”

  “Emma.” He sighed. “You know a light went out when she disappeared. It was very hard on all of us. And then when we heard she had been found murdered. I don’t think we were able to look upon life in quite the same way again.”

  “What do you remember about her disappearance, Gerald?”

  He thought for a moment, head cocked to one side. “She disappeared during the College May Ball. I remember I’d been talking to her and Catherine earlier in the evening and she was extremely happy. We, that is Catherine and I, could barely get a word in edgeways.”

  “Did her happiness seem unusual in any way?”

  “Well, it did strike me as odd that she was so chatty because she was the quieter of the two girls normally. I just put it down to the excitement of the evening - but there was definitely a glint in her eyes.”

  The coffee smelled good as Gerald pushed down the plunger on the cafetiere and Yvonne wished that she had said yes to a cup.

  As though reading her thoughts, he took two tall stainless steel mugs from the cupboard. “Are you sure you don’t want any?”, he asked as he began pouring into one of them.

  “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess…”

  “When did you notice Emma was missing?”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t know about her disappearance until the following day, when Catherine and Graham phoned to ask me if I had seen her. I left about one in the morning, totally unaware that there was anything untoward. I think Catherine and Graham hung around waiting until five or six that morning because Emma had arranged to go back with them.”

  “You didn’t see Emma before you left?” The strong, spicy coffee warmed her on its way down.

  “’fraid not but then there were so many people present that you had to make a real effort to find anyone in the crowds.”

  “Had Emma said anything about meeting anyone or seeing anyone?”

  “Not at all. At least I don’t remember her telling me anything like that. As far as I remember she was happily single and flirtatious only when she was drunk.”

  “Was she drunk that night?”

  “I think we were all more than a little drunk that night.”

  “But you didn’t see her with anyone or see her leave with anyone?”

  “’Fraid not Inspector.”

  “Gerald, will you call me if you remember anything else? Anything at all?”

  “Of course, Inspector. I’d be glad to.”

  He smiled warmly and Yvonne found herself blushing a little as she finished up the coffee and rose from the table.

  “I’m sorry my visit has been so brief. There is just so much to do I must get back. It was nice meeting you.” She meant it.

  “My pleasure.” He opened the door for her. She walked out into the chilly autumn afternoon with a smile on her face.

  63

  Catherine turned the small brown package around in her hands. Nervous, she peeled back the sticking tape.

  Inside was a small, grey velvet box. There was no note; no explanation. With trembling fingers she struggled to open the little box. When she finally managed it, she sharply sucked in air and slumped down on the settee.

  “What is it?” Her husband asked, jumping up from his paper to investigate.

  “Earrings. Sterling silver. Aquamarine stone.”

  “Very nice.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “What?”

  “They’re…they’re..”

  “What?”

  “They’re Emma’s. Oh my God, they’re Emma’s.”

  “What do you mean they are Emma’s? Emma Shilton you mean? She’s dead. You know she is. What makes you think they’re hers? Did that Inspector spook you?”

  Catherine stared shell-shocked at her husband, “I just know. I bought her these earrings for her birthday, just before she died. I was undecided between these and a moonstone pair. Since she was a Pisces, I chose these.”

  “Look, what with the re-opening of the investigation you’re probably just a little hypersensitive. I bet those earrings are nothing to do with Emma.”

  Catherine wasn’t listening. “I would know these anywhere.” She rose again from the settee. “I’d better ring the Inspector. Tell her what’s been happening.”

  “Well hang on a moment,” Graham appeared flustered. “What about the other things you were sent. Were those Emma’s as well?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”

  “It could just be a coincidence you know.”

  Catherine examined the bottom of the grey-velvet box.

  The tiny label re
ad ‘Fairbrothers Jewellers, Headington. Oxford.’ There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she was right.

  Yvonne was thrilled and intrigued by the unexpected twist lent to the case by Catherine's news. The atmosphere was thick and sticky in Peterson’s room as he, Superintendent Simon Mathews and Yvonne, discussed the possibilities regarding an exhumation of Emma Shilton’s remains.

  “You see, this gives us the opportunity of solving two investigations at once.” Yvonne's eyes shone.

  “I do see where you’re coming from but,” the Superintendent was thoughtful for a moment, “the problem is funding. Our budget is already extremely tight…”

  “I agree.” Peterson stood shoulders back, rocking on his heels. The rest of Yvonne’s pleas were directed at Simon Mathews himself.

  “Look, I know money is tight but we have a great opportunity of coming at this murderer from two angles at once - a sort of pincer movement. If the cases prove unrelated, well, then at least we may solve Emma’s murder. Surely, even after all this time her mother deserves closure.” She could tell she was close now and was aware of the uncharacteristic dampness under her armpits. “Firstly, there are the earrings which Catherine is absolutely sure were Emma’s. On top of that we have other items mailed to Catherine which are suspiciously similar to items belonging to Kelly James and Hannah Wilson, as witnessed by their friends.”

  “Similar but there is no proof that they are the same.”

  “Not yet, but they've been sent for DNA testing and I'll be gob-smacked if they're not.”

  “Well I...”

  “And what about the rope used to bind all of the victims - from the same batch, with splashes of the same varnish on each. Please, you can’t deny that there has to be some sort of link between all of these murders.”

  The Chief thought for a few moments, rubbing his chin and sighing.

  “Alright. Alright, I’ll give the go ahead. But if this goes tits up…”

  “I know, it’s my neck.”

  “Just get the right result.”

  64

  Yvonne stared at the list of names with her head in her hands. It had been a very long day. Looking at her watch, she couldn’t believe that it was already eight pm.