Read Online The Lost Girl (Brennan and Esposito) by Tania Carver - Free Book Online
Authors: Tania Carver
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then I might be more help.’
She continued, answering Imani’s quizzical expression. ‘Historian. Retired, unfortunately.’
‘I see.’
‘But I’m not one of those busybodies with too much time on their hands, who spend the day curtain-twitching.’ The statement was more like an admonishment, thought Imani.
Don’t expect me to answer all your questions
.
‘Right,’ said Imani, smiling. ‘It’s good to keep active. I don’t suppose you saw the make or model of the car?’
‘Big and silver. Sorry.’
‘Or the registration number?’
Another smile. ‘As I said, I’m not a professional curtain-twitcher. I happened to look out of the window when I opened the living room curtains, here.’ She pointed to the bay window. ‘I saw the man from over the road getting into a car. I didn’t know I was going to be tested on it. If so, I’d have taken more notice.’
‘I understand. You’re being helpful, though, thank you.’
‘May I just ask one question before you proceed further?’
‘Certainly. If I can answer it.’
‘What is the man from opposite supposed to have done?’
‘Done?’
‘You’re a policewoman. You must be interested in him for some reason. Is he a criminal?’
‘No. He’s not. He’s a police detective. He works with me.’
‘Really?’ The woman’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Is he undercover?’
‘Why d’you ask?’
‘His clothes. He dresses more like a labourer.’
Imani returned the smile, shook her head. ‘You’re not the first to say that.’
Before the woman could speak further, Imani continued. ‘Did you see anybody else? Was someone driving the car?’
‘Yes. A big man. Bald. Or shaven-headed. It’s so hard to distinguish these days. A lot do it instead of having to comb over what hair they have that remains. I don’t suppose I could blame them, really. Although it does make one look like some kind of street thug.’
‘Absolutely. Did you catch what he was wearing, by any chance?’
‘Not really.’
‘A suit? Casual clothes?’
‘A shirt. And tie. Like he’d taken his jacket off. He helped the man from opposite with his luggage.’
‘Luggage?’
‘Put it in the boot. Then the man opposite got into the car with the bald man and they drove off.’
‘What time was this, exactly?’
Another smile. ‘Around nine o’clock. I’m afraid I can’t be more accurate. As I said, I wasn’t expecting to be quizzed about it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Imani. ‘Just one more question.’ She reached into her bag, drew out a photograph of Beresford that had been printed off from the email Franks had sent over. She showed it to Joan. ‘Was this the man driving the car?’
‘Well, as I said, I wasn’t watching closely but yes. Yes, it could very well have been.’
Imani stood up to go. Heart racing, tingling now. ‘You’ve been very helpful. By the way – did the man from opposite look like he was being coerced to get into the car?’
‘Not at all. They even shook hands.’
‘Thank you.’
Imani hurried out, phone already in her hand, dialling Cotter.
‘It’s me, ma’am,’ she said, getting behind the wheel of her car. ‘I’ve got a witness who saw Phil getting into a car this morning.’
‘What kind?’
‘Big and silver. Driven by a big, bald man. What kind of car does Beresford drive?’
She heard papers being moved in the background. ‘A Vauxhall Insignia. Silver.’
A shiver ran though Imani.
‘I’ve got what could well be a positive ID on DS Beresford being the driver from a witness.’
Cotter didn’t reply.
‘I’m coming back to the station. Right now.’
12
M arina knew how it ended. She had been there.
Fiona Welch falling to her death from a crane gantry by the old Dock Transit Company building on the River Colne in Colchester. Phil Brennan up there beside her. She didn’t need to bring up reports or old files to remember that.
Sitting at a desk, going through things as Cotter had suggested,
She continued, answering Imani’s quizzical expression. ‘Historian. Retired, unfortunately.’
‘I see.’
‘But I’m not one of those busybodies with too much time on their hands, who spend the day curtain-twitching.’ The statement was more like an admonishment, thought Imani.
Don’t expect me to answer all your questions
.
‘Right,’ said Imani, smiling. ‘It’s good to keep active. I don’t suppose you saw the make or model of the car?’
‘Big and silver. Sorry.’
‘Or the registration number?’
Another smile. ‘As I said, I’m not a professional curtain-twitcher. I happened to look out of the window when I opened the living room curtains, here.’ She pointed to the bay window. ‘I saw the man from over the road getting into a car. I didn’t know I was going to be tested on it. If so, I’d have taken more notice.’
‘I understand. You’re being helpful, though, thank you.’
‘May I just ask one question before you proceed further?’
‘Certainly. If I can answer it.’
‘What is the man from opposite supposed to have done?’
‘Done?’
‘You’re a policewoman. You must be interested in him for some reason. Is he a criminal?’
‘No. He’s not. He’s a police detective. He works with me.’
‘Really?’ The woman’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Is he undercover?’
‘Why d’you ask?’
‘His clothes. He dresses more like a labourer.’
Imani returned the smile, shook her head. ‘You’re not the first to say that.’
Before the woman could speak further, Imani continued. ‘Did you see anybody else? Was someone driving the car?’
‘Yes. A big man. Bald. Or shaven-headed. It’s so hard to distinguish these days. A lot do it instead of having to comb over what hair they have that remains. I don’t suppose I could blame them, really. Although it does make one look like some kind of street thug.’
‘Absolutely. Did you catch what he was wearing, by any chance?’
‘Not really.’
‘A suit? Casual clothes?’
‘A shirt. And tie. Like he’d taken his jacket off. He helped the man from opposite with his luggage.’
‘Luggage?’
‘Put it in the boot. Then the man opposite got into the car with the bald man and they drove off.’
‘What time was this, exactly?’
Another smile. ‘Around nine o’clock. I’m afraid I can’t be more accurate. As I said, I wasn’t expecting to be quizzed about it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Imani. ‘Just one more question.’ She reached into her bag, drew out a photograph of Beresford that had been printed off from the email Franks had sent over. She showed it to Joan. ‘Was this the man driving the car?’
‘Well, as I said, I wasn’t watching closely but yes. Yes, it could very well have been.’
Imani stood up to go. Heart racing, tingling now. ‘You’ve been very helpful. By the way – did the man from opposite look like he was being coerced to get into the car?’
‘Not at all. They even shook hands.’
‘Thank you.’
Imani hurried out, phone already in her hand, dialling Cotter.
‘It’s me, ma’am,’ she said, getting behind the wheel of her car. ‘I’ve got a witness who saw Phil getting into a car this morning.’
‘What kind?’
‘Big and silver. Driven by a big, bald man. What kind of car does Beresford drive?’
She heard papers being moved in the background. ‘A Vauxhall Insignia. Silver.’
A shiver ran though Imani.
‘I’ve got what could well be a positive ID on DS Beresford being the driver from a witness.’
Cotter didn’t reply.
‘I’m coming back to the station. Right now.’
12
M arina knew how it ended. She had been there.
Fiona Welch falling to her death from a crane gantry by the old Dock Transit Company building on the River Colne in Colchester. Phil Brennan up there beside her. She didn’t need to bring up reports or old files to remember that.
Sitting at a desk, going through things as Cotter had suggested,
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