The Doll's House - [48]

‘I couldn’t say.’

‘Hazard a guess,’ Sanderson responded.

‘I don’t know – fifty to sixty per cent.’

‘We have a court order here allowing us full access to your tenancy lists.’

Andrew Simpson stared at her.

‘So when we look through your records, you’re confident that roughly fifty to sixty per cent of your tenants will be female?’ she repeated.

Sanderson caught the swift glance Andrew Simpson shot at the CID officers outside, who were meticulously leafing through his filing cabinets. His anxious secretary stood over them, all at sea at this sudden and unexpected intrusion.

‘Maybe not fifty to sixty per cent,’ he eventually replied. ‘It’s hard to remember off the top -’

‘How many?’ Helen interjected.

‘About ninety per cent or so.’

Sanderson shot a look at Helen, but her boss didn’t react. The phrase hung in the air. Then with a very slight nod of the head, Helen gave Sanderson the licence to proceed.

‘About ninety per cent. Possibly even a touch more, I’m guessing,’ Sanderson continued. ‘That’s statistically highly unlikely if they are randomly selected. Why are so many of your clients female?’

The ‘your’ was slightly louder than the rest of her sentence.

‘Because they’re less trouble. They are cleaner, more organized, more reliable -’

‘Not always,’ Sanderson shot back. ‘Pippa Briers left you in the lurch, didn’t she?’

Simpson paused, then:

‘Yes.’

‘What about Roisin Murphy? Did she give you proper notice?’

‘Not that I remember,’ he conceded.

‘And Isobel Lansley?’

‘I’d have to look at my records…’

Sanderson glared at him.

‘But I don’t think so,’ he conceded.

Silence. A long pregnant silence.

‘You should know that the bodies of Roisin Murphy and Isobel Lansley were discovered earlier today. Like Pippa Briers, they were tenants of yours. Is there anything you’d like to tell us about them?’ Helen said.

Simpson shook his head firmly. Sanderson noted the first beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

‘We estimate they were murdered within the last two to three years. I believe you’ve known them both for a while longer than that. Is that correct?’

‘I’ve already said I didn’t “know” them. Yes, they’ve been tenants of mine for several years but -’

‘Tell me about Isobel Lansley’s flat?’ Helen interrupted. ‘What state was it in when you gained access to it after her disappearance?’

‘It was ok. She always kept things nice and neat. She was very fastidious.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t know her?’ Helen said quickly.

‘I don’t. What I mean is that it was very clean and tidy when I went in.’

‘No signs of a struggle. Broken furniture or anything?’

‘No.’

‘The lock on the front door was intact? No windows forced open.’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘So either they let their killer in… or he let himself in?’

Andrew Simpson said nothing.

‘Presumably you have keys to all your properties?’

‘Of course,’ he replied, though he didn’t look happy admitting it. ‘Sometimes I lend them to workmen if there’s a job needs doing -’

‘But it wouldn’t be hard for you to get extra sets cut if you needed to.’

Simpson shrugged.

‘My guess is they were all abducted by someone who had access. Would you say that’s a fair assumption?’ Helen continued.

‘You’re the police officer,’ he replied evenly.

Helen nodded.

‘How many flats do you own in the Southampton area?’ Sanderson continued.

‘Forty-two,’ was the swift response.

‘And do you own any other properties?’

‘No. Other than my house of course.’

‘And you live in Becksford?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Nice and quiet round there, isn’t it?’

Andrew nodded, watching Helen carefully. Helen returned his gaze, enjoying the tension in the room. Then without warning, she got up.

‘That’ll do for now. I’m afraid we’ll have to leave a couple of officers here to gather the necessary paperwork. But thank you, you’ve been very helpful.’

Sanderson smiled her thanks too. Nothing unnerved suspects more than gratitude and courtesy. She followed Helen’s lead, shaking Simpson’s hand, then left the office with her. Both were silent as they walked back to the car. But conversation wasn’t necessary – Sanderson knew her superior well and could tell without asking that she was feeling the buzz too. At long last they were getting somewhere.

81

It was late and Ceri Harwood was alone in the darkness. After her unpleasant interview with Lloyd Fortune, she had poured the rest of the wine down the sink and collapsed on to the sofa. She lay there now, hangover slowly taking effect, chiding herself for her weakness and lack of control. To be drunk in the middle of the day was bad enough – to be drunk in front of a junior officer was unforgivable. What was he thinking now? Had her warnings hit home? Had she pushed him away? The thought made her feel sick.

As she cursed herself, her eyes drifted towards the island and the small Jiffy package sitting on top of it. In all the chaos and emotion, she had forgotten about it. Part of her couldn’t be bothered with it now – so much had happened in the last few hours to render previous preoccupations meaningless. Tim’s betrayal had changed her horizons for ever. And yet… there was something within her that suggested this might yet be her salvation. A way to assert herself against a world that delighted in hurting her.