“But why go back later? Surely, they’d have done their attempt at a cover-up straightaway? They wouldn’t have risked going back a second time, would they?”
“We need to push Greene harder. . . .” Elise felt like tearing out her new hair. “When we get him back. What are we doing now?”
She suddenly wasn’t sure and took a quick look at her list. “The call history on the phone in Charlie’s bag? The one linked to Phil Golding?” she asked Caro.
“Chasing but it’s a sideshow, isn’t it? The priority’s nailing Toby Greene and Kevin S-P, isn’t it? We’re very close to cracking this.”
“Yes, yes, of course . . .” Elise knew she was right, but as soon as Caro left, she rang the forensics lab. Just tying up loose ends.
“I’d been told to concentrate on Scott-Pennington’s phone,” the officer grumbled. “But I can send you what I’ve found so far.”
It pinged up in her e-mail seconds later and she sat down to plow through a list of numbers. The last text Golding received had arrived after his death. Hello, mate. Why aren’t you picking up?
She searched the case files for the sender’s number and whooped when it came up.
“Stuart Bennett! It’s bloody Stuart Bennett!” she shouted.
“Are you calling me?” Caro put her head round the door.
“No. Come in. Stuart Bennett got in touch with Phil Golding on August the fifteenth.” Elise slapped her hand down on the desk. “Were they planning something together—planning to get Charlie?”
“Well, if they were, it didn’t happen, did it?” Caro said. “Phil Golding was dead on August the fifteenth. And it looks like our pair got there first.”
Elise waited for Caro to leave and dialed DI Wicks to see if he’d found anything else. Just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.
Elise held for what felt like an age while someone went and found him.
“Elise? Sorry to keep you but I was tracking down the postmortem report,” he boomed down the phone. “It got stuck in what is laughingly called the system. Anyway, you’ll be glad you waited. Phil Golding died of ethylene glycol poisoning.”
Elise gripped the phone harder. “Poisoning?”
“Yes. He drank vodka with an antifreeze mixer.”
“Bloody hell? Was it suicide? Or did someone give it to him?”
“We don’t know yet. We’re opening an investigation and examining the bottle found by his body. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got something.”
“Right—and what about Charlie’s stolen pillbox? Have you got anywhere with the previous owner in Germany?”
“Bloody hell! Am I the only one working on this case? You’ve got a roomful of young coppers!”
“Okay. Calm down! Send me the contact details and I’ll push it along.”
Elise walked too fast to the incident room.
“We’ve got another death linked to the inquiry. It’s Phil Golding,” she told Caro, and knew she sounded breathless. Like a new girl. “He died after drinking vodka and antifreeze the week after attempting to visit Charlie’s daughter.”
“Bloody hell, that’s a turnup,” Caro said.
“Quite. The receptionist at Birdie’s residential home said Golding never came back,” Elise went on. “But let’s get the security tapes for the days until he died. Charlie may have been involved in more than fraud.”
Elise realized she felt good for the first time in ages. This was what made her happy. The hunt, the rush to the finish line.
Everyone was busy, so she picked up a ringing phone.
“We’ve got into another of Charlie Perry’s e-mail accounts. An old business one, it looks like—for Williams Rental Properties,” the voice on the other end said. “Can you tell the boss there’s something of interest?”
“I am the boss,” Elise said, trying not to smile. “Tell me.”
“Sorry, ma’am. There has been nothing but junk mail for years but Charlie got an e-mail on Wednesday, August twenty-first, asking him for a meeting.”
“Who from?”
“You are kidding! Is it signed?”
“No. No names used but they arranged to meet on Sunday the twenty-fifth. In Ebbing. I’m sending you the thread now.”
Elise called Caro over.
“It looks like Charlie was on his way to meet someone from his past when Toby and Kevin grabbed him,” she said, trying not to sound smug.