“Could he have gone looking for Charles Williams? Did he know him? Was there any connection?”
“He burgled the man’s house—that’s the only connection I know of. Why?”
“A man turned up in Addison Gardens around the anniversary—days after Bennett was released.”
“Right. Well, we never found any link.” Wicks busied himself with his plate.
“But you looked?”
Wicks looked up and nodded slowly.
“Yeah. There were things that jarred with me. The alarms, for a start. There were two or three separate ones—but they didn’t go off. It would’ve taken ages for anyone to disable them without the codes. Mr. Williams said his daughter knew where to find them—she’d seen him put the list in his desk drawer once and told him off for not locking them away. She could have told Bennett when he tortured her. The thing was, we couldn’t ask her, could we? She was in a coma for weeks and then her injuries meant she couldn’t remember anything.”
“No, we’ve met her, poor girl.”
“And there were some very valuable antiques and jewelry missing but we found only Mr. Williams’s computer in Bennett’s squat. My boss thought Bennett must have dumped the stuff in people’s bins when it went pear-shaped. They were small items and he was an addict robbing to feed his habit, not a jewel thief stealing to order. We searched but never found anything. And he wouldn’t say a word when we questioned him. The psychiatric assessment for his defense team said he was severely traumatized.”
“He was? What about the victims?” Caro said.
“Quite. The father was destroyed when I told him what had happened,” DI Wicks said. “He threw up in my car.”
Elise put a serviette over the remains of her food.
“What do you think happened to the stolen goods?”
“I really don’t know. We had our hands full with the murder and attempted murder, and as I remember, the insurance company was dealing with retrieving the stuff. I think the parties came to a settlement in the end. I could check.”
“Please. Did Stuart Bennett do it alone?” she asked. “Did he have associates? Fences? People he could have stayed in touch with?”
“There was no evidence of an accomplice,” Wicks said as he wiped up the last of a yolk with a crust of bread. “But the squat where Bennett lived was full of junkies and no-hopers—there were even little kids living in that shithole. We questioned them all but got nowhere. I can have another look in the files if you like.”
* * *
—
Elise drove back. They were sitting in nose-to-tail traffic and Caro was checking her e-mails.
“There’s an update from the lab,” she said. “Results from the contents of Charlie’s suitcase. They’ve found his fingerprints and the laborer’s everywhere and—oh, hang on—a thumbprint on the phone matches a Philip Golding. He’s on the system. Date of birth: October 1982. And a record for possessing and supplying cocaine and several drunk-and-disorderly offenses.”
“Who the hell is he? He doesn’t sound like Charlie Perry’s type. Tell Wicks.”
It didn’t take him long to call back.
“I’ve found him,” he barked down the phone. “Golding was living in the squat and questioned at the time but nothing stuck. I’m sending a photo of him. I expect he’s probably shooting up in a park somewhere now.”
He wasn’t. A quick search on Caro’s tablet showed that an inquest had just been opened into Phil Golding’s death. Which was a shame on two counts, as he was also the man on Birdie’s residential home CCTV.
Fifty-four
FRIDAY, AUGUST 30, 2019
Elise
Ronnie was standing outside her door, looking up the High Street, when Elise finally got home.
“Hi,” she called, and Ronnie turned and half raised a hand. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“No, just getting a breath of air,” Ronnie said, her voice flat and small.
“Ronnie? What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She plastered on a smile. “The heat and Ted are taking it out of me, that’s all. How are you feeling?”
“I’m good, thanks. Just been up to London—come in and have a cup of tea.” It was the last thing Elise needed but she was worried about Ronnie.
“I’ll stick the kettle on,” she said, dumping her work stuff on the sofa. “Or do you fancy a glass of wine?”
Ronnie followed her into the kitchen and leaned on the counter while she found glasses, opened bottles of Gavi and fizzy water, and rummaged for a jar of olives in the fridge.