‘They know their way around the house, and where I keep the spare key.’
‘No. Please, go and see to your guests. The fresh air will do me good.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ said Vicky. The thought that guests would be arriving made the situation seem all the more crazy. Colin and Ray lived in London, and they still worked at Goldsmith’s Drama Academy. It would be highly likely that they’d heard something. How was she going to deal with it? She would have to come clean with Cilla, and then where could she run to?
‘Take Nutmeg with you,’ said Cilla, leaning down to ruffle Nutmeg’s big wet head. ‘He’d love to have a longer walk, wouldn’t you?’ She looked up at Vicky with the dog’s baleful eyes in silent agreement.
Vicky carried on walking, with Nutmeg loping along ahead, sniffing at the sand dunes at the edge of the beach, and breaking into a trot to chase after the groups of seagulls basking in the sun. She glanced back a couple of times as Cilla grew smaller, walking towards the house, which was now a dot on top of the misty cliff.
Why doesn’t Cilla question me more? thought Vicky. If someone turned up at my door, unannounced, I’d be more curious… Or does she know already? She tried to push the thought down deep to the back of her mind.
The straps of her backpack were rubbing at her shoulders through her thin coat. Vicky walked to the edge of the water and watched the waves for a moment. The sea was growing rougher, and a cluster of gunmetal grey clouds were starting to form at the horizon. She looked back and couldn’t see Cilla. Nutmeg came loping up and stood patiently beside her as she stared out over the water. She sloughed off the backpack and opened the straps. He nuzzled closer and tried to push his head inside the bag.
‘No. Sorry, no dog biscuits in here,’ she said, gently pushing his head away. She reached down into the bag, under the clothes, and her hand closed over the metal hard drive. The salt water would work quickly to destroy the data. Vicky did the backpack up and put it back on. She looked up and down the vast expanse of the beach. The tide would soon be coming in. Cilla’s house was the only building for miles. Trying not to think about it anymore, Vicky pitched back on her heels and then put everything into an overarm throw. The hard drive soared high in an arc, and landed with a soft splash in the choppy waters.
23
McGorry was standing by the row of printers when Erika arrived back to the incident room.
‘Did you find the CCTV of Charles Wakefield at Blackheath station?’ asked Erika.
‘Yes, and no,’ he said, pulling a face.
‘What does that mean? Either he’s on the CCTV or not,’ said Erika.
‘He’s wearing a bloody hat,’ said Crane, who was sitting at his computer screen surrounded by coffee cups and empty crisp packets. Erika went over to him. ‘We’ve got him on the CCTV camera at Blackheath Station, buying his ticket at 1.55pm last Monday, the 22nd, and he took the 2pm train to London Bridge. I’ve also got him coming back into Blackheath station on the 5.12pm train from London Bridge. The only problem is that he’s wearing a wide-brimmed black trilby hat in all the images, and with his stoop the brim covers his face.’
He handed her a series of printouts. They all showed a portly figure wearing a long black trench coat and a black trilby, buying a ticket at the ticket office, and then walking across the concourse to board a train. There was a flash of his double chin, but the wide-brimmed hat obscured the top half of his face. Crane also twisted his computer screen around and showed her a CCTV video clip of Charles walking towards the train with bowed shoulders and hunched-over gait. She remembered seeing the long black trench coat and black trilby hanging on the coat stand in Charles’s flat.
‘Shit. Can you get anything from a camera on the train?’ she asked.
‘I’ve requested it,’ said Crane. Erika watched the footage as it played again.
‘When me and Moss looked around his flat, I saw his long black trench coat and a black trilby… But we can’t see his face!’
‘I’m going to keep looking, there’s CCTV requested from London Bridge station, too,’ said Crane.
‘That’s not the only CCTV footage we’ve found!’ said McGorry, coming back from the printer and handing her a sheet of paper with a series of blown-up colour CCTV images. Still warm from the printer, it was a series of three CCTV images taken from the roof-mounted camera of a bus stop awning. The first image showed Vicky standing on the other side of the glass of the awning running parallel with the pavement.