Thank you as ever to Emma and Kate. Hope you all had a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all!
Malcolm looked, if possible, even more of a mess. Having been in the same clothes for over 24 hours, they were crumpled and his hair dishevelled and messy. When Sam came back in with Jack he jumped to his feet angrily.
"You cannot keep me here like I'm some sort of criminal! I haven't done anything to Andrea!"
"Sit down, Mr Malcolm," Jack said, glancing at his watch and starting the tape recorder. "Interview with Bruce Malcolm recommences, February 26th, 2005. Present are myself, DCI Jack Meadows, DS Sam Nixon, Bruce Malcolm and Martin Wilds, solicitor."
"Sit down, Bruce," Wilds said calmly and Bruce sank into a seat and Wilds surveyed Jack and Sam. "Officers, my client has steadfastly denied having anything to do with Miss Dunbar's disappearance. Do you have any evidence to the contrary? If not, I think you've kept him here for quite long enough."
"As you were told yesterday, Mr Malcolm, we applied for a warrant to search your house, it was granted to us and a search was commenced yesterday."
Malcom sneered.
"Had fun, trailing through my scrapbooks, did you? Everyone does it. I bet some of you lot keep scrapbooks of anytime your name made it into the papers."
"Fascinating though your scrapbooks were, Mr Malcolm, it wasn't exactly what peaked our interest," said Sam and she placed the laptop, encased in an evidence bag, on the table. "Do you recognise this? I'm showing Mr Malcolm exhibit BM1, a laptop."
"It's mine," he said, his eyes narrowed. "You had no right to take that, its private property!"
"The search warrant gives us the right to seize anything we believe is necessary to prevent them from being damaged, destroyed or concealed." Sam lifted her brows at him. "Can you think of any reason why we would believe you would do that to this laptop?"
Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and he glanced wildly at his solicitor.
"Then let me enlighten you. When our officers searched the hard drive of this computer, they found a file, marked 'Andrea.' Inside the file were pictures, quite a lot of pictures. Our forensics expert thinks that a lot of them would have been taken with a long lens camera, much like the sort some of your reporters have. Did Andrea give you permission to take hundreds of photographs of her? Only, to us, most of them seem to be taken without her knowledge."
"What about Amber?" Jack said. "Or Sophie? Did they give you permission to take hundreds of photographs of them as well?"
Malcolm gave his solicitor another desperate look. Wilds took off his glasses and gave him a sharp look. The two officers guessed that Malcolm had not been upfront with the man.
"Answer that."
"No…not permission, as such, but they were in public places! I wasn't doing anything illegal!"
Sam laughed.
"Is that the best you've got? You go everywhere they go, taking pictures and you justify it by saying that they were in public? So that makes it all right? I can't imagine that being Andrea's reaction. Or Amber or Sophie's."
"Why don't you tell us about Amber Wade?" Jack said. "She worked for you, that's right, isn't it?"
"Yes. Andrea's predecessor. She only worked for me very briefly."
"Why was that?"
"She wasn't a good fit."
"And if we were to find Amber and speak to her, she would say the same? That it was a mutual agreement?"
"All right! I thought she was interested in me. She wasn't. It was too awkward. That's why she left."
"Right. Well we will be asking Amber to confirm that," Sam said. "In the meantime, can you tell me if you recognise this? For the tape, I'm showing Mr Malcolm, exhibit BM2, a shoe."
He gave them a bewildered look, then laughed.
"What is this, some sort of witch-hunt?"
"Answer the question, please, Mr Malcolm, do you recognise this shoe?"
"Yes. It's mine, one of my best, so when this nonsense is over, I expect it to be returned to me how it was found or I'll be billing you."
"Yeah, that's not happening," said Jack and pointed with his pen at the bloodstain. "See that stain? Its blood."
Wilds leaned forwards to look and shot a glare of annoyance at Malcolm. Sam guessed that he was a little more than annoyed at his client's lack of honesty.
"So, I hurt myself," he said. "That's a crime now?"
"It's not your blood. It's Andrea's."
He stilled.
"That's impossible."
"The chances of it being wrong are very slim. Can you explain how her blood came to be on your shoe?"
"No!"
"Maybe you can explain this," Jack said and put three more evidence bags on the table. "I'm showing Mr Malcolm exhibits BM3, a denim jacket, BM4, a red zipped top and BM5, a pair of trousers."
He stared at the items and shrugged.
"That's supposed to be what, exactly?"
"This is a picture of Andrea from the day she was last seen," Sam said, holding it up. "They are the same clothes she's wearing. The same clothes which were found burnt in a bin at the allotment behind your house. Can you explain that, Mr Malcolm?"
"This is a set-up," he said through gritted teeth.
"Sure. Someone went to the trouble of planting her phone and keys on you, getting her blood on your shoe and burning her clothes near your property. Let's not forget that video we have of you and all those pictures on your laptop. Sorry Mr Malcolm, but you're going to have to do a bit better than that!"
He looked from one to the other, finally dawning on him just how much trouble he was in. Wilds cleared his throat.
"Officers, I'd like to request a break. I need to speak with my client."
"Probably a good idea," Jack said and looked at his watch. "Interview terminated. We'll talk again in a few hours, when you've had some more time to think."
Amber Wade wasn't what Gina and Smithy had expected. A tall, thin woman with shoulder-length hair, she wouldn't have looked out of place in a Tim Burton movie. She hurried into the room at the office at which she worked, cheeks flushed and lanyard flying, holding her hand out to them
"Inspector, Sergeant, I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. I was stuck on the phone to a useless, useless producer. Put them behind a camera, no problem. Ask them about a schedule and it's like you're talking in a dead language."
She sat down with a huff and pushed her dark red hair back from her face, her long legs tucked beneath her on the chair. She wore a smart grey suit and had black framed glasses pushed on top of her head.
"So, how can I help? You said on the phone you wanted to talk about when I worked at the Daily News."
"Yes," said Gina. "You might have seen the news reports this morning, about a woman reported missing in the Sun Hill area?"
"Yes, Andrea, is that right? I remember reading about when her cover was blown." Amber winced, then rolled her eyes. "The idea didn't die out then?"
"What do you mean?"
"Bruce. He first tried to talk me into it. I wasn't interested in undercover work, though, but he always was a determined sort of person."
"So we gather," said Gina. "When she first went missing, we spoke to your former colleagues at the Daily News. One of them was Jennifer Quy."
Amber stilled and let out a shaky breath.
"She told you, why I left? What does that have to do with Andrea?"
"Evidence so far suggests that he might have something to do with her disappearance. We're very concerned for her welfare."
Amber bit her lip. Smithy leant forwards, his elbows on his knees.
"Please," he said. "We need your help. If there's any chance we can find her safe."
She stood up and sighed, staring out of the window, cradling her elbows in her hands.
"I did journalism straight from school. I had no idea what I wanted to do. I guess I had this grandiose vision of reporting on war zones and saving the world. And it wasn't like that at all. It was all so shallow and superficial. I did teen magazines at first. But there's only so many times you can write an article about how to get a boyfriend or how to deal with spots and my best friend hates me, blah, blah, blah. So I thought a newspaper might be more what I was looking for. London was a big step. I moved down from Telford when I accepted the job at the Daily News."
She broke off and Smithy and Gina exchanged a glance but let her carry on.
"It was great at first," she said. "Everyone was really nice. Bruce was especially attentive but I didn't mind that much at first. I didn't know anyone in London, I came down here on my own. But then, it just began to get a bit…creepy. I went on my break, so did he. I stayed late, so did he. And he was always finding excuses to stop by my office, even if it was to ask me about something we'd already talked about. At first, I felt sorry for him. I mean, he's the wrong side of forty and it's not like he was swarming with offers of dates. I stayed friendly, but I thought I'd put some distance between us. Come in, do my job and not engage in anymore chit-chat than I had to."
She sank back into her seat.
"Then one night, I stayed later than usual. He wanted a meeting with me, about that blasted undercover job. I said no and he…got annoyed. Didn't I understand he was offering me the chance of a lifetime here, this would make my name, didn't I understand what he was trying to do for me, he didn't do this for anyone else." She twisted her hands. "All the time, he was coming closer to me, then he just sort of lunged at me, kissing me, his hands all over me. I said no, stop, get off, and he leered. I stayed late so I must've known what would happen." She gave the two a dry smile. "I don't tend to go around telling people that I have a black belt in karate. I find the element of surprise works a lot better if people don't know about it, which Bruce found out. Anyway, he ended up in a heap on the floor and I told him if he ever touched me again, I'd cut off certain bits and make him eat them. Then I high-tailed it out of there and didn't go back. I ran into Jennifer a couple of weeks later and she asked me what happened. Apparently, Bruce had said I wasn't a good fit."
"Why didn't you report this to the police? What he did to you was sexual assault."
"I know. But it didn't seem worth it. I defended myself. There was no real harm done. I got away. But until now, I didn't think that someone else might not be so lucky." She licked her dry lips. "You said you'd found evidence."
"Some forensic evidence," Gina explained. "There were also photographs of his computer of her. There were also photographs of you."
Amber's head snapped up.
"Me?"
"You didn't know?"
"Are you being serious? He had photos of me on his computer?"
"Yes, but like I said, not just of you. Of Andrea as well and another girl. It looks like they were mostly taken without your permission. Some appeared to be group shots, maybe at a party, but you were the one in it, like everyone else had been cropped out."
Amber rubbed her arms and shuddered.
"That's just creepy."
"Would you consider making a statement now?" Smithy said tentatively.
"Isn't it too late?"
"No. Not at all. We need to stop him, before he hurts anyone else.
"She's important to you? Andrea?"
He shifted.
"I just want him stopped."
Amber nodded.
"I'll just go get my bag and let my boss know. Wait here, I won't be long."
She left, leaving the two alone. Gina put a hand over Smithy's clenched fist.
"He won't be getting away with it," she said. "There's too much on him. I know it's a small comfort."
He looked away as the tear trickled down his face. He wiped it away angrily.
"Why did it have to be this way?"
"It's life, Smithy," Gina said softly. "I'm sorry. I know you had feelings for her."
But to happen twice over in such a short space of time? It would be hard to take and harder still to get over. Amber returned and he quickly hid his red, tearstained face. She bit her lip.
"If he did this," she said. "And I could have prevented it by coming forwards the first time…"
"Not your fault," he said. "It isn't, Amber. But you can help us now. Put him away before anyone else gets hurt."
Bruce looked, if possible, even worse. His face was ashen and he looked up at Sam and Jack, a wild, desperate look in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and Wilds shot him a warning look, waiting until the tape recorder had been turned on.
"Officers, my client has remembered how Miss Dunbar's blood came to be on his shoe."
"Has he?" Jack said, with a lift of an eyebrow. "Would your client like to tell us?"
"It was a few weeks ago," he said, speaking quickly. "We ran a story about someone and they didn't like it. They came looking for me at the news office and there was a fight in the car park. Andrea was there for something and I think she was trying to help break it up, but she got in the way. She got hit and had a nosebleed."
"Who was the person who came looking for you?"
"Gregory something-or-other, some up and coming football star, too scared to step out of the closet. I gave a gentle nudge with a picture of him with his boyfriend and he didn't like it."
Sam gave him a cold stare.
"And it's your right is it, Mr Malcolm, to out people who aren't ready for it?"
"Look, I have a business to run," he said, some of the old swagger coming back. "I do what I have to do to meet my targets. Maybe people should remember that this is the twenty-first century."
"Right. So Andrea tries to diffuse the situation, gets hit and bleeds all over, as you said yourself, your best shoe and you don't clean it off?"
"I guess I didn't notice."
"Right. Now for obvious reasons, I imagine this wasn't reported to the police?"
"Well aren't you smart, detective sergeant?"
"Did Andrea go to hospital?"
"I don't think so. Like I said, it was just the nosebleed. If she'd been seriously hurt, I would have insisted she go."
"Would you?"
"Yes, of course."
"Who hit her?"
"I don't know. It could have been either one of us. Look, go and find the guy and talk to him. He'll tell you. It was only in the paper a few weeks ago."
"Oh, we will. I'd like to ask you some more about Amber Wade. You see, whilst we were interviewing you earlier, our officers were speaking to her. She's given them a statement."
Jack and Sam saw Malcolm's expression cloud over.
"You don't like it when women turn you down, do you Bruce?" Jack said.
"Does anyone?" he said through gritted teeth.
"I don't see how this is relevant, Mr Meadows," Wilds said.
"That's where you're wrong, Mr Wilds," said Jack and pushed Amber's statement at him.
Wilds picked it up and read, his eyes becoming narrower until they resembled slits. He shot a look of pure fury at Malcolm, who, Jack imagined had told him a story nowhere near resembling Amber's.
"So, what happened, Bruce? Did you try it on with Andrea? She turned you down and you saw red?"
"Well, she was being slipped a length by one of your lot, wasn't she? I've known that for months."
"And was that what made you snap? She'd rather have him than you? You couldn't take that?"
He shook his head.
"I did nothing to her. You're not pinning this on me."
"You don't understand the position you're in, do you Bruce? Andrea is missing, you, in your own words were angry, you've been following her, and her phone and her keys and the clothes she was wearing the day she went missing were found on or around your property. And let's not forget, we have evidence that you've been aggressive towards her before."
"There was one more thing we found in the allotment bin, Bruce, along with her clothes," Sam said and put a final item in an evidence bag on the table. "I'm showing Mr Malcolm exhibit BM6, a blood-stained rolling pin."
He stared at it through the bag. The wood was partially burned, but even he could see the red markings of blood.
"I'm sure it won't come as a surprise to you, Bruce, but the blood on this is Andrea's. The forensic examiner is satisfied that this would be consistent with the spatter found in her home."
"I haven't done this."
"The file will be sent to the CPS, Mr Malcolm," said Jack. "Pending their decision, they've recommended that you be held on remand. As you said, you can never be too careful with a journalist."
"You can't do that!"
Jack smirked.
"I just did."
Smithy sank into his chair, holding the crumpled letter in his hands. The last communication he'd ever have with Andrea. He closed his eyes as the words blurred through his tears. If only Fairfax hadn't chosen that day, of all days, to prove his pathetic little point. He would have been able to see Andrea, like he'd arranged. He would have been angry, so who knows how willing he would have been to listen to her, but however angry he would have been, one thing he knew was that he would never, ever have laid a finger on her. He could have been there. He could have protected her from Malcolm. To Hell if the man found out he'd been the man Andrea was sleeping with, right now he really couldn't care less. If it meant she was still here for him to hold. There was a knock at the door. Gina entered and wheeled June's chair to sit beside him.
"Smithy," she said, rubbing his shoulders. "I'm so sorry."
A tear fell onto the paper, smudging the writing. He put it down and rubbed his face.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"CPS are satisfied we have enough evidence to charge him with GBH, so he's being held. And unless he tells us where her body….where she is, bail's been refused. He's still denying it."
"Let me in with him for two minutes, I'll make him talk," Smithy said through gritted teeth.
"You know that's not going to happen," said Gina. "Though, we managed to track down Sophie Craven, you know the third woman he had photos of? Sam spoke to her on the phone, she lives in the states now. She had a remarkably similar story to Amber Wade. She's going to come and give us a statement."
"All the way from America?"
"Yes. She, much like Amber, said she didn't report it because she didn't think we would be very willing to help a journalist. She said she was worried she'd not be taken seriously or be thought to have an ulterior motive."
Smithy clenched his hands and ran them through his hair.
"She could have told me, Gina. I would have believed her. I would have helped."
"No you wouldn't," she said wisely. "Because you wouldn't have believed her. None of us would."
"What about Kent?"
"Smithy, I'm sorry, but there's not a shred of evidence to back up any of her suspicions. We interviewed him, he didn't seem to be that angry over the MIT thing."
"And you believed him?"
"Smithy, I know you don't like him, but we can't point the finger at him based on that. Not when all the evidence points at Bruce Malcolm."
"Yeah, a bit convenient that, isn't it?"
"So, what now? You think it's been planted?"
"Well, remember what Amber Wade said when we interviewed her? That she couldn't believe he would be so stupid as to leave everything for us to find, the pictures, her clothes. It's all a bit convenient, isn't it?"
"Funny, Bruce Malcolm never came across as that bright."
"Or is that just what we all want to think?" Smithy said. "We got a quick result, albeit without a body, so that's it? No need to investigate further for the journalist? Maybe that's why she didn't tell us that he was intimidating her."
"We investigate for people who've done far worse than Andrea ever did, Smithy," Gina said sharply. "These are your colleagues you're talking about, be very careful what you say."
"What about Graham?"
"He still needs to be told. I thought you could come with me. You seem to have built a rapport with him."
He dropped his head.
"If you don't want to, I'm sure Sam could come."
"No. I'll come. I think it's the least I owe her."
Well that took care of that. That couldn't have been planned any better if he'd tried, even though planting everything on Malcolm had been risky. It was just Malcolm's bad luck that he was a sleazy scumbag. He'd done everyone a favour, really, men like him usually built their way up to do what he'd been framed for. He'd just had him put away before he could reach that level. And him? He got to carry on with his life. Everyone was a winner. Except Andrea, but he was sure she would understand eventually. And Smithy. What a pathetic, snivelling cry-baby he was, behind that soldier-boy façade. How on earth he was so highly respected when that was his response to everything that happened was a mystery to him. If he hadn't told Andrea he was dead, she could have had that small measure of comfort. But oh well. You couldn't have everything your own way.
Gabriel shrugged into his denim jacket, trying not to smirk. It'd probably aggravate anyone who saw it, even after everything she'd done to them all. Some people always came up smelling of roses. Oh well. He got the last laugh. Better go and get some food and break the good news that she'd have time to get used to her new home.
The door closed quietly after Graham had asked Smithy and Gina to leave. He held his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs. He hadn't felt pain like this in twenty years. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he leant forwards on the sofa. Why did it have to happen again? And he hadn't been there to protect her. He hadn't been there to stop it. His breath came out in angry, raspy snatches. He looked up and saw the brandy on the kitchen counter. What did it matter now? What the hell did it matter? He'd lost everything again. His hand was halfway to picking up the bottle when there was a soft knock at the door. He opened it and narrowed his eyes at Smithy.
"I asked you to leave me."
"I know," he said. "I'm sorry. I just didn't think you should be alone. I'll sit in the corner and say nothing if you want."
Sorely tempted though he was to slam the door in Smithy's face, Graham didn't think Andrea would be very impressed. He stood back, noticing the tear tracks on his face. He turned to the kettle and again saw the bottle of brandy. Before he could change his mind, he grabbed it, unscrewed the cap and poured the almost full bottle down the sink. When he looked back, Smithy was watching him closely.
"Did you want some?"
He shook his head.
"No. Sorry."
He looked at his feet. Cleo leapt lightly onto his lap and curled up into a ball, purring. He scratched her behind the ears. Graham raised an eyebrow.
"She won't come anywhere near me."
"We're old friends," said Smithy as Cleo pulled his hand down with her paws, rubbing her face against it.
Graham turned back to the kettle, busying himself. He slammed it down abruptly. Cleo jumped and ran off Smithy's lap.
"You think he's killed her? You think that man's killed my daughter?"
"It's beginning to look that way," Smithy said quietly. "I'm sorry. They've involved MIT – murder investigation team – and they've been at him, but he won't talk."
"Give me two minutes in a room with him, and I'll make him talk," Graham said, menace in his voice.
"I don't think they'll go for it. Anyway. I've already offered."
Graham huffed out a laugh, then spun on his heel and gave him a searching look.
"Do you love her, lad?"
Smithy looked down, wishing Cleo was still there for him to busy himself petting.
"Yes."
Graham crossed his arms across his broad chest.
"Until I see a body," he said. "Unless I have proof. She's alive. My daughter is alive." His mouth twisted bitterly and he got the milk from the fridge, slamming the door. "I take it the DNA donors know, what did they say?"
Smithy's fist clenched, his eyes darkening. Graham scoffed and poured milk into the mugs.
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
"I wish she'd told me."
"About what?"
"Everything. You. Her parents. Malcolm. I wish she'd trusted me."
"Well, like I said, lad," said Graham, holding a mug out to him. "You're just going to have to remember that it wasn't personal. You weren't the only one in the dark."
Smithy held the mug in his hands, squeezing hard.
"I don't want to believe it either," he said. "I promise you. Either way, I'll bring her back to you."
Graham said nothing and stared at him over the rim of his mug.
"I think I like you," he said, surprising Smithy.
Smithy smiled slightly.
"Why do I get the feeling that's a rarity with the people Andrea knows?"
"Only the blokes," said Graham, a ghost of a smile twisting his own face. "I've known too many bad ones myself. If you're not in any special hurry, I think I'd like the company tonight."
Smithy nodded and settled into the cushions, glad now he'd turned back when he had. He shot a glance at the empty bottle. As glad as, he was sure, Graham was.