Page 61 of Making a Killing

***

Gis is up bright and early the following morning too. Sarah Stillwell texted him overnight to say she’d tracked down Barry in Coventry, and Gis is quietly impressed – and prepared to be so vocally when the occasion arises.

He texted back to say he’d meet her there, as it’s quite a drive and they may need their own cars later, depending on how this pans out. Even allowing for Billy breakfast mayhem he’s on the road by eight thirty and pulls up just before ten outside a 1930s semi in a tired suburb north of Coventry centre. Stillwell is there already and is coming along the pavement towards him before he’s even had time to lock his car. It’s one of the biggest peeves he has with TV crime – cops arriving somewhere and swanning off straight away without locking up. Who does that? Especially police officers? And in any case, he’s far too cute to leave his vehicle like a sitting duck in a place like this.

‘Morning, Sarge,’ says Stillwell. She’s smart but dignified in a black skirt and white blouse, her hair pulled back in a bar-slide ponytail. He’d noticed the resemblance to Somer, just like Fawley did, and he gets the feeling she’s going to be just as much of an asset.

He pulls his jacket straight and looks around. The road looks like it’s given up. Bikes chucked in gardens any old how, refuse dangling out of bins, peeling paint, weeds. A couple of net curtains are on the twitch already. The natives are stirring.

He turns to Stillwell. ‘So Barry lives here, does he?’

Her mouth curls in the beginnings of a smile. ‘That’s just it, Sarge. Theybothdo.’

***

When Tony Asante woke the following morning he had that in-a-strange-bed moment of disorientation. Too much sunlight through too-thin curtains (he never remembers to pack a sleep mask), a door where the window should be. He had a slight under-taste of paranoia too, which took a second or two to attach itself to a memory. Not just the drink – though that won’t have helped. The woman. Marcia.

She’d made it pretty clear right from the start that she was interested. And he wasn’t exactly averse himself. But she’s a DI; indeed, she’s by way of beinghisDI for however long this lasts. So there was a bit of not-quite kissing at the door when she insisted on coming back to the hotel with him, and he’s just hoping it didn’t feel too much like rejection when he didn’t invite her in. She was pretty pissed by then, though, so who knows how much she’ll remember – or want to.

***

Ev knows from the address in the file that Leo’s new family are still at the same address as when he was first placed with them. The small pebble-dashed bungalow off the main road in Kidlington that Fawley must have come to, back when he used to visit. The house looks like it’s recently had a new coat of paint, though the garden is clearly struggling in the heat. The tubs of geraniums either side of the door are green enough but everything else is withering.

They can hear a dog barking as soon as they ring the bell, and then a woman’s voice, ‘Basil, you soppy sod, will you just quieten down and let me get to the door?’

It opens in a rush of dog and a smile. Jean Mann is in shorts and a T-shirt with her sunglasses on a cord around her neck.She looks like she’s just come in from the garden. It’s only just gone ten and it’s already 25 degrees.

‘Mrs Mann – we spoke on the phone last night? It’s DS Everett and DC Sargent.’

‘Yes, of course, please come in. If Bas will let you, of course.’ She bends down and grabs the dog by the collar and holds him back so they can get past. He’s a big dog and it takes some doing.

‘Go through to the garden,’ she says, gesturing. ‘I’ll bring out some cold drinks.’

Out the back there’s a swing seat under a canopy with a Shari Lapena book face down on it, and some flip-flops kicked to one side. Ev and Sargent take a seat at the garden table. There are dog toys strewn randomly across the grass and a football in one of the borders.

Jean Mann comes out with a tray a few minutes later, and slides it across the table. A jug of what looks like home-made lemonade and three glasses, already misting.

‘Gary’s been at the gym, but he just messaged me to say he’s stuck in traffic,’ she says, taking her seat. ‘Which gives us a chance to talk before he gets here. Just so I’m prepared. But I haven’t said anything to him yet, like you asked.’

‘I’m afraid it’s going to come as quite a shock for him,’ says Ev. ‘I know Gary’s moved on with his life, but all the same –’

Mann sighs. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I’m struggling to believe it. Phil said the same – we were up half the night talking about it.’

She pours the drinks and then sits back. ‘And you’re sure, are you? She really is still alive? Because I wouldn’t want Gary –’

‘To be honest, Mrs Mann –’

‘Jean, please –’

‘– Jean, we’re not very sure of anything right now. This is all based on DNA found at a crime scene which has been matched to Daisy’s. And given where it was found, there’sabsolutely no possibility that it could have been there for eight years.’

Jean nods. ‘I see. So how can Gary help you?’

‘Well, we’re not singling him out, if that’s what’s concerning you,’ says Ev. ‘We’re talking to everyone involved in the original case, including the Masons –’

A shadow flickers across Jean’s face. ‘Oh Christ, she’s going to get out, isn’t she – Sharon, I mean. I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘It looks that way,’ says Sargent. ‘If we can prove Daisy didn’t die in 2016, her mother will be released.’

---