Blood On the Wall (8 page)

T
he briefing over, Georgiou detailed the team their immediate tasks. Tennyson was told to go to the IT department to try and dig deeper into tracing the website. Seward and Taggart were to continue interviewing everyone in Tamara Armstrong’s circle, from a list of names they’d compiled.

‘It’s going nowhere, boss,’ Seward complained.

‘Dr Kirtle seemed to think Tamara knew her killer. If we can find any link between Tamara and Michelle Nixon, or Han Sun …’

‘There isn’t one,’ said Taggart. ‘Not between Tamara Armstrong and Michelle Nixon, anyway. There are no names as a common link. No common group. Neither of them were connected in any way, not socially, not even in the kind of shops they went into, the places they went to, or the magazines they read.’

‘Check Tamara out against Han Sun,’ said Georgiou. ‘Talk to her friends. Find out if she ever went there for a takeaway.’

‘It’s clutching at straws!’ Seward protested.

‘Right now, straws are all we’ve got,’ said Georgiou gloomily.

Seward and Taggart nodded, and left, their faces showing they were unconvinced. Georgiou turned to Conway, and for an awful moment Conway thought that Georgiou might be going to ask him about Richard Little, but instead the inspector wanted details of Conway’s visit to the Han Sun family, and what he’d been able to find out about Han Sun’s last known movements.

Conway told him what he’d learnt: that Han Sun had closed up the takeaway at midnight. Mrs Sun had been upstairs, getting things ready for breakfast for the next morning, waiting for her husband to come up from the shop.

‘Her two brothers also live above the takeaway. They share a room. They both work in the kitchens. Mrs Sun’s sister works on the counter, along with Mr Sun, the victim. The sister has her own room upstairs, as well.’ He gave a sigh. ‘It’s a
very
crowded flat.’

‘Tensions between them?’ asked Georgiou.

‘Not that I picked up,’ said Conway. ‘I’m just saying that it’s so crowded they don’t have any choice but to keep a very close eye on one another.

‘Anyway, according to Mr Li Chan, the older brother who does most of the talking, he and his brother and their sister went upstairs to have a late-night drink of tea with Mrs Sun, and then they went to bed, leaving Mrs Sun to wait for her husband. But he never came up.’

Georgiou frowned.

‘He never came upstairs?’

Conway nodded. ‘That’s what they said.’

‘So they … what … just went to bed? Didn’t anyone go downstairs to the shop to see where he was?’

‘Not according to Mr Li,’ said Conway. ‘I couldn’t get much out of Mrs Sun, she doesn’t speak much English. Nor does the younger brother. So I got most of this information from Mr Li and Mrs Sun’s sister.’

‘Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’ asked Georgiou.

‘Not really,’ said Conway. ‘It often happens that one of a couple goes to bed before the other one, and then falls asleep.’

‘So let’s look at the scenario,’ said Georgiou. ‘Mr Sun is downstairs in the shop. It’s midnight. He’s locked up. Where are the stairs between the shop and the flat? Does he have to leave the takeaway to get up to the flat?’

Conway scanned his notes.

‘No,’ he said. ‘He can do, because there’s a separate set of stairs from the street to the flat, with a separate door, so people can go in and out of the flat without going through the shop. But there’s another flight of stairs at the back, from the kitchen, that go directly up to the flat.’

‘And which flight of stairs does Mr Sun normally use after he’s closed up the shop?’

Conway checked his notes again.

‘According to Mrs Sun, he uses the stairs from the street,’ he said. ‘At least, that’s what her brother, Mr Li, translated what she said as.’

‘Why?’ asked Georgiou. ‘Think about it, Iain. He’s in the shop. He’s already locked the door to stop more customers coming in. There’s a set of stairs in the kitchen that takes him up to his flat. Why would he bother to unlock the shop,
go out into the street, lock the shop door, then unlock the door from the street to go upstairs?’ He frowned. ‘Did you see where the two sets of stairs came into the upstairs flat?’

‘Yes.’ Conway nodded.

‘Do either of them go straight into one of the bedrooms?’

‘No,’ said Conway. ‘They both came up to a landing.’

‘So it’s not a case of not using one particular set of stairs because it goes into a personal living space of his brothers-in-law, or his sister-in-law.’

‘No,’ said Conway, shaking his head.

‘So, it’s still the same question,’ said Georgiou. ‘Why does Mr Sun use the stairs from the street rather than from the kitchen?’

Conway shook his head again.

‘No idea,’ he admitted. ‘Do you think that’s what happened? That he went outside to go upstairs using the door from the street, and was grabbed by the killer, who then took him to Birdoswald?’

This time it was Georgiou’s turn to shake his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I think Mr Sun went somewhere else after he finished work for the night.’

Conway looked at him, startled.

‘You think he’s got a fancy woman?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Georgiou. ‘If my hunch is right, we’ll know where he was taken from, and it won’t be outside his takeaway.’ He picked up his phone, dialled the IT department, and asked to speak to DS Tennyson.

‘Mac,’ he said. ‘I’m going with Conway to have another word with the Sun family. It might be a bit of a delicate chat, so I’m going to keep my mobile switched off so we’re not
interrupted. If anything comes up, I’ll sort it out when we get back. OK?’

‘No problem,’ said Tennyson.

‘How are you getting on with IT?’ asked Georgiou.

‘Slow,’ said Tennyson. ‘Slow, but steady.’

‘I’ll see you when I get back,’ said Georgiou.

Conway frowned, puzzled.

‘What do you mean, a delicate chat?’ he asked.

‘I’ll tell you if I turn out to be right,’ said Georgiou. He stood up. ‘OK, let’s go and see this Mr Li.’

G
eorgiou and Conway sat in the same small cramped room above the takeaway where Conway had sat just an hour or so before. This time only Mr Li, the elder of the two brothers-in-law, was in the room with them. Mrs Sun was in her bedroom being comforted by her sister. The younger brother was downstairs in the kitchen of the takeaway, preparing food for that evening. As Mr Li had told them as they sat down: ‘Work goes on.’

Georgiou studied Mr Li. He was in his fifties, Georgiou guessed, and with the death of Mr Sun, Mr Li was now the head of the family. Before, Mr Li had just been ‘a worker’; the name on the shop front was ‘Han Sun Chinese Takeaway’, so Mr Sun had been the boss. There was a great deal of wariness in Mr Li’s eyes. He wasn’t happy about being alone with the two policemen. With his two sisters and his brother in the room, he could hide, divert attention onto many other things, but not alone with these two.

He’s wary because he’s hiding something, thought Georgiou. And I think I know what it is.

Georgiou offered his condolences again, in a sympathetic
voice, and asked a few mild questions about Mr Sun, rephrasing most of them from those which Conway had asked in his earlier visit, all to lull Mr Li into dropping his guard a bit. It didn’t work. Mr Li remained as wary as ever; so Georgiou dropped his bombshell, still keeping his voice low, gentle, concerned, as he asked: ‘Where was last night’s game?’

Mr Li looked back at him, a puzzled expression on his face, but Georgiou had caught the momentary look of concern in his eyes.

‘Game?’ repeated Mr Li. He shook his head. ‘What game?’

‘Mahjong,’ said Georgiou. And he added a brief sentence in some strange sounds that caused Conway to look at his boss, taken aback.

Mr Li looked uncomfortable, then shook his head fiercely.

‘No game,’ he said firmly.

Georgiou leant forward, his face showing concern.

‘Mr Li,’ he said, ‘I’m not interested in causing trouble for people who want to relax after a hard night’s work with a friendly game. I’m not interested in illegal gambling—’

‘No illegal gambling!’ snapped Li sharply.

‘All I’m interested in is finding out who killed your brother-in-law. And I think you want that, too.’

‘Racists!’ barked Li.

Georgiou nodded.

‘It may well be racists,’ he said. ‘But we need to get evidence to find out
who
. And, to do that, we need to know where he was last night so we can examine the area and see if the murderer left any clues when they snatched your brother-in-law. I don’t need to see the inside of the place, just
the outside. Once I know that, I’ll have my men check every inch of the distance between the shop and there, checking for clues. I know it’s not far, because your brother-in-law walked there. I know that because we’ve checked with the taxi companies, and he didn’t use a cab. Nor did he take a car. Which means it’s not far from here, walking distance. Now, as I say, I’m not interested in arresting anyone for gambling, but if we’re going to catch the person who did this to your family, I need to know where to start from. And you’re the only one who can help me with that information.’

Georgiou sat watching Mr Li, doing his best to keep the tone of his voice friendly, approachable, unthreatening. Li sat silent, obviously weighing up his options in his mind. Finally, he muttered: ‘Tait Street.’

‘Thank you,’ said Georgiou. ‘Which number?’

‘Fourteen.’

‘And did Mr Sun play there last night?’

Li shook his head.

‘I go there and ask. They tell me he not come.’

‘So he was snatched somewhere between here and Tait Street,’ said Georgiou. ‘What time did he leave here?’

‘After shop shut and cleared up. One o’clock.’

Georgiou nodded.

‘It would take about ten minutes to get to Tait Street. So he was snatched sometime during those ten minutes.’ Georgiou got up and held out his hand to Li. ‘Thank you, Mr Li. There’ll be no trouble for your friends, but I will need to send DS Conway here to talk to them, to confirm what you’ve told me. I’ll give you time to talk to them to reassure them they won’t be arrested.’ He smiled. ‘Not this time, and
not by me.’

‘Thank you,’ said Li, and he took Georgiou’s hand and shook it.

As Georgiou and Conway stepped out into the street, Conway asked: ‘How did you know? About the gambling? And was that Chinese you were speaking?’

‘Cantonese,’ said Georgiou. ‘And just a brief word or two. While I was in the Met, I did a stint in Chinatown. I learnt two things there. One: if you say a couple of words in Cantonese it worries them into thinking you might know a whole lot more, so they don’t use that “No speak English” ploy. Two: once the Chinese restaurants and takeaways close for the night, there’s only one game in town for most of the cooks and waiters – gambling – and usually it’s mahjong. But mahjong gambling is a very noisy business, those tiles being thrown down makes a hell of a racket, and there’s always lots of shouting when players lose. So it would need to be in a house where that kind of noise at night is already going on, and the houses around won’t complain.’

‘And Tait Street has got quite a few houses with students living in them,’ said Conway, nodding. ‘Yes.’ He turned to Georgiou. ‘But you don’t think that Mr Li was gambling there?’

‘No,’ said Georgiou. ‘Because if he had been, he’d have been with Han Sun when he was snatched.’ He looked along Botchergate towards Tait Street. ‘There are CCTV cameras along here, aren’t there?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Conway.

‘Right. Get along to the council and ask to check the CCTV footage in Tait Street between 1.00 and 1.15 this
morning. Let’s see what vehicles were around at that time, and run their number plates. Also, get uniform in and get them to check the route between the takeaway and 14 Tait Street; pick up every piece of litter they can find and bag it. It may lead nowhere, but it might give us a start.’

I
nside the briefing room at HQ, the phone on Tennyson’s desk rang. It was the desk sergeant.

‘There’s a Diane Moody wants to talk to the inspector. I told her he was out, so she wanted to talk to you. She says she’s got some information she thinks you need to know.’

Not more on the Reivers, groaned Tennyson inwardly

‘Put her through,’ he said.

There was a click, then Diane Moody’s voice came through. ‘Sergeant Tennyson?’

‘Speaking.’

‘I think I might be able to throw some light on these murders. Especially after the one that was reported this morning, on the news. It was at Birdoswald, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Tennyson.

‘Then I definitely have something.’

‘And that is…?’ asked Tennyson, pen poised over his notepad.

‘Do you think you could come to Tullie House and I’ll explain? It’ll be easier than over the phone.’

Warning bells rang in Tennyson’s head. More history?

‘If you could give me a clue.…’ he began.

‘Or, if you prefer, I could come and see you.’

Tennyson weighed it up. Once she was in the building it might be hard to get rid of her. Diane Moody did love to talk. At least, if he saw her at Tullie House, he could offer an excuse and leave.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll come and see you. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.’

He hung up and scribbled a note: ‘Gone to Tullie House to see Diane Moody. Mac.’ He added the time beneath, then placed it on Georgiou’s desk.

‘Right,’ he muttered to himself wearily. ‘Time for another history lesson.’

But then another thought occurred to him. Maybe Diane Moody had been in the area of Birdoswald the previous night and had actually seen something. But who goes to a place like Birdoswald in the middle of the night? Tennyson chuckled to himself. Someone who was doing something she’d rather other people didn’t find out about. Maybe that was the real reason Diane Moody didn’t want to say anything over the phone.

As Georgiou walked back into the office and saw the note from Tennyson, his phone rang. It was the desk sergeant.

‘I’ve just had that woman reporter from the
News and Star
on again, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Jenny McAndrew. It’s the fourth time.’

‘I trust you told her I wasn’t available,’ said Georgiou.

After the report in the paper hinting that he was guilty of beating up an innocent youth, Georgiou had issued an order
to his team that no one was to talk to Jenny McAndrew. ‘Whatever you say, she’ll twist,’ he’d told them. ‘So if you don’t tell her anything she’ll have nothing to base her so-called journalism on.’

‘I told her, but she said it was important,’ said the desk sergeant.

‘If she phones again, tell her I’ll talk to her when the murder case is solved. Until then, I’m busy. And so are the rest of my team.’

With that Georgiou hung up. He was just sorting through the forensic reports on Tamara Armstrong and Michelle Nixon when his mobile rang.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Inspector, you’re a hard man to get hold of,’ said a woman’s voice, and Georgiou recognized it as Jenny McAndrew.

‘That’s because I’m busy,’ he said. ‘Might I ask how you got my mobile number?’

‘That’s privileged information,’ she said. ‘I need to talk to you about these murders.’

‘No comment,’ said Georgiou curtly.

‘But …’ began McAndrew.

‘All enquiries have to go to press liaison. They’ll be able to answer any questions you have.’

With that Georgiou ended the call.

As he expected, his mobile rang again almost
immediately
. He checked the number. As he expected, it was Jenny McAndrew calling again. He ignored it and let the voicemail pick it up.

He was returning to the reports on Han Sun when his
desk phone rang. At least it won’t be Jenny McAndrew, he reflected as he picked it up.

‘Georgiou,’ he said.

It was a woman’s voice. Very young, by the sound of it.

‘I’ve got some information,’ she said.

Her voice was muffled, as if she was speaking through cloth of some kind.

‘What sort of information?’ he asked.

‘I can’t talk on the phone,’ she said. ‘Can you meet me?’

‘When?’ asked Georgiou. ‘Where?’

‘Do you know the lock-up garages on Raffles? Off Mardale Road?’

‘Yes,’ said Georgiou.

‘I’ll see you there in half an hour. Come alone.’

‘How will I recognize you?’ asked Georgiou.

‘I’ll know you,’ said the voice. ‘If you bring anyone, I won’t show.’ And then the line went dead.

Georgiou rang through to the switchboard.

‘I’ve just had a call,’ he said. ‘Did you get the number it came from? Was it a mobile?’

There was a pause, then the operator said: ‘No. It was public call box.’

‘Where?’

Another pause, then the operator said: ‘Local. Creighton Avenue.’

The Raffles estate. Which fitted with the location the caller gave.

Georgiou dialled Mac’s mobile phone. It was switched off. He left a message telling Mac he was going to the Raffles estate following up some promised information. Then he left.
The chances were it would turn out to be a false errand. But at this stage in the game, with the murderer on the loose, he couldn’t afford to turn down any chances.