He’d left her a message, though. “We’re both having late nights, it seems. Ring me when you can. If there’s anything—” but he changed direction because he knew how she would take his offer of anything I can do, so he went on with “—prevents me from answering, I’ll get back to you when I’m able.”
He’d had his breakfast, then, and as it would probably be his only meal till a late-night dinner left warm by Charlie Denton, he made the most of it. He saw in the Guardian a story about a Scotland Yard investigation into the sudden death of a Metropolitan Police officer—Detective Sergeant Teodora Bontempi—and he murmured “Damn,” because the brief report could easily prompt more articles at the same time as it could provoke a demand for a progress report from Sir David Hillier. And Hillier was always and ever the last person with whom he wished to converse.
With the additional DCs now on the team, his office had become too small for a gathering, so the whiteboard had been moved to the larger area where the department’s detectives had their desks. The entire team was gathered in a semicircle in front of this whiteboard, which displayed a large photo of Teo Bontempi in the uniform all constables wore at the start of their careers. She looked quite solemn in the picture, as if all too aware of the responsibilities she was taking on. But a lift to one corner of her mouth suggested the pride she’d felt.
Beneath the picture, columns had been devised to document actions, the first column bearing information about the various sightings caught by the CCTV cameras: both from the building where she’d lived and from the various shops and other businesses nearby along Streatham High Road. The second column dealt with photos of the individuals who’d known the murder victim and where she lived. These had been shown round the block of flats, and where someone had been sighted by an inhabitant of the building, that was noted. The third and final column had to do with cars, listing what had been seen and to whom it belonged.
“Where are we, then?” Lynley asked as he took his spectacles from his jacket and looked at the columns more closely.
Havers replied, “This lot”—with a nod at the four constables in the room—“finished up showing the photos round last evening, sir. They’ve got recognition of Ross Carver, which isn’t a surprise as he lived there during his marriage to Teo and he’s moving back in. Rosie’s been. Mark Phinney’s been there as well. We got his mug from his police ID. But no one else from our stills was recognised, which could mean no one else got inside to see her.”
“Unless no one saw them,” one of the DCs said.
“Or someone let them in another way,” another pointed out.
“There’s that,” Havers agreed. “The only other entrance is the fire exit on the north side of the building. No CCTV there.”
“Could’ve been used for something else, that,” Nkata said. “It doesn’t set off an alarm when it’s opened.”
“Escape route for her killer?” Lynley asked.
There were murmurs of assent, but no name was offered.
“What do we have from her computer, Winston?” Lynley asked. “Anything yet?”
“I got one of the forensic computer techs giving it to me in dribs an’ drabs. He’s going for a deeper dive now, but so far what we know tells us a few choice bits.” He took up a manila folder from his desk and opened it. “We got emails to and from her colleagues, with a whole pile of them from the DS who took her place.”
“DS Jade Hopwood,” Lynley said.
“Right. Yeah. Also emails from Mark Phinney—nothing personal in them—”
“They saved the hot and bothered end of their business for their smartphones,” Havers added.
“—but a lot about what he wants her to do next and what she’s reporting on. There’s also emails to and from Ross Carver, her mum, her dad, an’ her sister. Most of it jus’ like regular correspondence if you know what I mean. But there’s an in’eresting bit with the sister. Teo’s emailed her asking would she drive her to and from ‘a bit of surgery’ she’s meant to be having. When Rosie responds to say she’ll need some lead time to get off work and what’s the surgery for, Teo doesn’t reply.”
“Perhaps she’d found someone else to do the driving?” Lynley asked.
“Or she changed her mind,” Nkata said. “Or she didn’t want Rosie to know what the surgery was for.”