Page 91 of Her Last Walk Home

Sure you are, Lottie thought. ‘You have been helpful. I now have an identity for the latest victim.’

‘Do you believe they were all killed by the same person?’

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘Are the killings connected to Cuan?’

‘Another possibility. Irene, I’d appreciate it if you kept all of this under wraps until I know what and who I’m dealing with.’

‘Of course. The last thing I need is anything unsavoury being linked to Cuan.’

64

It was dark by the time Lottie pulled up at Hill Point apartments. Her stomach growled in protest. It was past the time to go home and cook dinner, or have it cooked for her if she was lucky. But she felt she was on to something. It might turn out to be nothing, but a gnawing in her belly that wasn’t hunger kept her going.

The apartment door was opened by a young woman who told Lottie she’d been renting it for the last nine months. She knew nothing about the former tenant.

‘Try the caretaker,’ she said, ‘Nick Carter.’

‘Was the apartment cleared out when you arrived?’

‘Yes. Refurbished and painted. I could still smell the paint, but it faded after a few days.’

‘And nothing belonging to the former tenant remained?’

‘Not a thing. Even the furniture was brand new.’

‘Thank you.’ Lottie went back down the stairs wondering if the caretaker was still around. The office was on the ground floor, beside the dentist’s surgery. She knocked and was surprised when the door opened. A stocky, sweating man was zipping up his bomber jacket.

‘Mr Carter? I’m Inspector Parker. Can I have a quick word before you leave?’

‘Sure. Walk me to my car. The wife rang to say my dinner is on the table, and if I’m not home in the next fifteen minutes, she’ll chuck it in the bin.’

‘Really?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past her, she’s been so contrary recently. She hates the winter. I hate the winter. Dealing with burst pipes all day long. Do people not realise that in this weather you need?—’

‘Sorry, can I stop you there?’ She realised he was the type of man to moan about his wife and life until she ran out of time to ask questions. ‘I wanted to ask you about Aneta Kobza. She lived in apartment 5C last year. Do you remember her?’

‘Let me think. 5C. Little Polish girl. Very pleasant. She’d paid her deposit and an advance for the month, think it was up to the end of last February, but I’d have to check. All cash, that’s why I remember her. Then she upped and left without a goodbye or a thank you.’

‘She left suddenly?’

‘You could say that. Dishes in the sink, clothes in the wardrobe. Must have met a lad. Or hightailed it back to Poland.’

‘But why would she leave her clothes behind in either scenario?’

‘How would I know?’

‘Were you not curious?’

‘Look, Inspector… Parker, is it? Ha! Like nosy parker. Very good. You should see the state some people leave the apartments. Hers wasn’t too bad. It had been earmarked to be redecorated anyhow.’

‘Was there any sign of a struggle? Or anything to say she might not have left voluntarily?’

‘I’d have called you lot if there was.’

‘What did you do with her belongings?’

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