The Doll's House - [74]

‘No, that’s not quite true,’ Alastair offered. Helen swung her gaze towards him.

‘She had some more cut. I know that because she sent one to us. She gave the other one to her landlord, I believe. Much against her better judgement, but those were the rules.’

‘And do you know where she got the extra keys cut?’

There was a long pause as both parents racked their brains for a half-forgotten memory, the tiny events of yesteryear, before eventually Alastair looked up and wearily said:

‘I’m afraid we’ve no idea.’

119

Andrew Simpson looked up sharply as Helen burst into the room. He and Sanderson had been locked in one of the remoter interview suites for hours already – Helen could tell by the musky scent of his BO that filled the room – and his files were spread out like a blossoming fungus across the table.

Helen leaned on the table and, dispensing with formalities, got straight to the point.

‘Isobel Lansley had her locks changed.’

Simpson stared at her, still startled by her sudden arrival, then slowly he nodded.

‘Her lock was glued up I think. So she had it changed. What of it?’

His defences were already up, sensing another attack.

‘How do you remember that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You didn’t give a shit about your tenants’ lives or the hovels they lived in. Why would you remember such a small detail?’

‘Because it’s in the records, the financial records, I mean. Every time something like that happens, I charge a… small fee. For the administrative hassle.’

‘I bet you do,’ Helen thought to herself, but swallowed the insinuation.

‘This is really important, Andrew. Did any of the other girls – Ruby, Roisin or Pippa – have their locks changed at any point?’

Andrew thought for a long time.

‘Roisin definitely did. Was told to by her boyfriend of the time, I believe. And we could check the records of the other two…’

Helen was pleased to see that Sanderson was already leafing through Pippa Briers’ tenancy file. Her finger ran down the columns at breakneck speed.

‘There. A £25 administration fee. Would that be it?’ she said, turning to Simpson.

He looked at it.

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘Dated one month before she went missing.’

‘Because of Nathan Price,’ Helen said, as the pieces slowly started to fit together. ‘She was scared of her ex, so she changed the locks to keep him out.’

‘And look here.’

Sanderson was now holding Ruby’s tenancy file.

‘An administrative charge of £25. Six weeks ago. Just over a month before she went missing.’

‘No great surprise,’ Simpson piped up. ‘That girl was incredibly scatty. She probably lost them or had them pinched. Never knew if she was coming or going.’

‘He kept an extra key.’

Helen shivered as she said it out loud.

‘Say they all got them cut at the same place, somewhere central, somewhere they all knew. What’s to stop him cutting an extra one for himself, while doing theirs?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘And when they came back to collect the keys, all he’d have to do is shut up shop and follow them home.’

‘He’s a textbook stalker,’ Sanderson said, picking up Helen’s thread. ‘He would then know where they live and could watch them at his leisure. He could find out what their family situation is, if they have partners, flat-mates, what their daily routine is -’

‘But what separates this guy from ordinary stalkers is that he has a key,’ Helen interjected. ‘He could enter their flats whenever he wanted. He could even do dummy runs while they were out, to make sure the abduction was perfect.’

‘No sign of a struggle, no forced entry.’

‘No need,’ Helen replied, the awful simplicity of it hitting home. ‘Because he was already in their flats when they came home. He was waiting for them, hiding in a wardrobe, loft, spare room. He was waiting for them to come back and go to sleep.’

Helen could scarcely believe it, but it made perfect sense.

‘They thought they were back safe at home. But in fact they had just walked right into his trap.’

120

He kept a good distance behind, so as not to alert her to his presence. He had eventually found his tongue and responded to her concern for his cut finger, before taking the job from her – a simple boot re-heel – promising to have it ready first thing tomorrow as recompense for her kindness and sympathy.

After she’d gone, he’d remained at his work station for a silent count of twenty, then switched off the shop lights, flipped the ‘Closed’ sign and hurried out, locking the door behind him. Experience had taught him not to dawdle during this process – you risked losing your quarry among the crowds of shoppers, if you were too cautious. You just needed enough time for her to clear the immediate vicinity of the shop.

He scanned left and right, before spotting her a hundred yards away, idly window shopping. Her crisp navy suit and smartly tied-back hair made her quite distinctive among the loafers and driftwood that usually populated this place. Tired of daydreaming, she moved off again. And he went with her, as always at a discreet distance.

She meandered slowly homewards. She had finished work for the day – she really did look smart and professional – but clearly had no one to rush home to. She stopped to look in various shop windows, to buy a copy of the