Walk a Narrow Mile Page 4

  Hillary smiled, but could think of several reasons. If Marcus Kane worked for one of the top firms of solicitors in the county, he’d be earning a fair whack, for a start. And married men with kids usually meant middle-aged men ripe to have a mid-life crisis, and dump the current wife for a younger, more glamorous model.

  ‘Tell me about her marriage to Brian Vickary. Did she talk about it much?’ she decided to change tack.

  ‘No, not really. I think it really hurt her,’ Georgie said, with a frown. ‘She used to go all pale and tight-lipped whenever I mentioned him, so I stopped asking.’

  Hillary nodded. ‘Doesn’t sound as if the marriage was a happy one. Well, obviously not, if it ended. I don’t suppose you know where I can find Mr Vickary?’

  ‘Sorry, not a clue. Although his name and number might be in Meg’s private papers. I still have all her stuff parcelled up at the flat. I don’t quite know what to do with it, you see. Her parents are dead, and I can’t sell it. What if she comes back?’

  ‘I’d quite like to have someone look through it, if I may, Georgie. If I arrange a time, could you be in?’ She looked across at Jimmy. ‘Ask Sam if he can pick it up. I want all her private papers, diary, address book, anything he thinks significant.’ Jimmy nodded and made a note. ‘Don’t worry,’ Hillary carried on, turning back to Georgie Biggs, ‘we’ll give you a receipt for it, and you can have it back when we’re finished with it.’

  Georgie nodded. ‘Anything to help. Do you really think you’ll find her? Now, I mean? I mean, if you’re looking into her case again, is it because you have new evidence?’

  Hillary didn’t want to look her in the eyes and see the hope there, but forced herself to do so. ‘We’re certainly going to do all we can to find her, Miss Biggs,’ she said.

  And meant it.

  Back outside, they walked back to the car. It was the start of rush hour, and they were stuck in the usual, horrendous tailback that began almost at the end of St Giles, and reduced them to a crawl the entire length of the Banbury Road.

  Hillary sat frowning thoughtfully in her seat. From time to time, Jimmy cast her a questioning glance.

  ‘Penny for them, guv.’

  Hillary sighed. ‘I’m not sure. Something about that interview didn’t sit right with me, Jimmy. You pick up on anything off?’

  Jimmy pondered. ‘Don’t think so guv. You think she was lying? I have to say, she didn’t strike me that way.’

  Hillary shook her head, still angry with herself for not being able to pin it down. ‘No, it’s not that. Like you, I think she was being pretty straightforward. But still, something wasn’t right.’

  ‘Well, she certainly had it in for her friend’s boss,’ Jimmy said, trying to be helpful. ‘Probably a bit of jealousy there. The dentist lass was pretty enough I suppose, in a way – if you like ’em blonde and plump, but I reckon her friend knocked her into a cocked hat and she knew it.’

  ‘Yes. Considering she never even met him,’ Hillary said, ‘she seemed really down on him,’ and then she snapped her fingers. ‘That’s it. Say you had a pal who was having an affair with a two-timing but probably harmless married man, but who’d also picked up some unknown admirer who sent her anonymous text messages and flowers. And then this friend suddenly went missing, wouldn’t you be more worried about the stalker than the married man?’

  Jimmy crept the car forward a few yards then changed back down to neutral. ‘Dunno boss. Married man with a wife and kids and a good job and a reputation to lose could be far more dangerous than some unknown infatuated jerk. I mean, from her point of view. Georgie Biggs had no way of knowing that her pal had caught the attention of a real nutter, did she?’

  Hillary sighed. Jimmy made sense. ‘No. I suppose you’re right.’ Even so, something about it still felt wrong.

  Or maybe she was just off her game. She didn’t want to think that the nightmares and the almost inevitable loss of some of her self-confidence after the attack on her were affecting her judgement. But it was possible.

  She felt her hand creeping up towards her neck to massage the scars there, then forced her hand back into her lap.

  Behind the driving wheel, Jimmy Jessop pretended not to notice, and inched the car forward another few feet.

  Back at HQ, she climbed from the passenger seat and stood at the open door of Jimmy’s car, glancing towards the entrance to HQ before deciding to go straight to her own car and then back home to her narrowboat, moored at the nearby village of Thrupp. It was clocking off time, after all, and she was going to have to get used to keeping to civilian hours. She was a strictly nine-to-five girl now.

  ‘First thing in the morning then, Jimmy, we’ll go and speak to Brian Vickary. See if you can track down an address for him, yeah?’

  ‘Not Marcus Kane, guv?’ Jimmy asked in surprise.

  ‘He’ll keep,’ Hillary said. ‘Unless you think that a responsible citizen like one of Oxford’s top solicitors is also our stalker, that is?’

  Jimmy grunted and gave a wry smile. ‘Sorry, guv. I keep forgetting we already know who our man is. I mean, not his name, but… hell, you know what I mean.’

  Hillary did. ‘It feels like an ordinary case, doesn’t it, and we’re trying to find our killer amongst the victims’ friends and families? Yeah, I know. But the truth is, our man is probably here somewhere,’ she said, nodding toward the large police HQ.

  Jimmy sighed. ‘You really think Rhumer and his team can track him down from this end?’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ she said, forcing her voice to remain non-committal. ‘In the meantime, we try and see if we can get a sniff of the bastard, via our three missing victims.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘See you in the morning then, guv,’ he said, and watched her walk away. When he was sure she was gone, he got out and walked down to the basement to confer with Steven Crayle.

  He wanted to make sure that Hillary would have someone watching over her tonight – whether she knew about it or not.

  Wednesday dawned bright and clear and, despite her efforts to keep civilian hours, Hillary found herself at work an hour early so that she could sit at her computer and type up a report of their activities for Geoff Rhumer. She printed off an extra copy for Steven and left it on his desk. She knew that he had an early meeting with Commander Marcus Donleavy, who was not particularly happy to have been talked into letting Hillary head up the missing girls’ inquiry. That meant they were going to have to babysit him all the way, which they’d agreed was Steven’s job.

  There was, as usual, no sign of Vivienne, who arrived any time she chose, but usually before ten. Her argument that because she wasn’t a ‘real’ copper, and wasn’t being paid a real copper’s wages because of budget cuts, meant that she had more flexibility than those that were, had some merit, Hillary supposed. But she noticed that, despite being in his last year of a BA course, and still not being paid a fair wage, Sam Pickles still managed to put in the hours required.

  Hillary would be glad when the little madam finally decided to call it a day, and go off and pursue a job in PR. Or the beauty trade. Or whatever.

  Jimmy came in with a mug of canteen coffee and the latest address of Brian Vickary.

  ‘Had the lad do some finger walking before he clocked off last night,’ Jimmy confessed, sipping his coffee. Although he could use a computer when he had to, Jimmy tended to avoid it when at all possible.

  Hillary nodded and began reading the file, giving him time to finish his much-needed caffeine fix.

  ‘Says here he owned his own double-glazing firm.’ She spoke out loud in case the old man hadn’t had time to study it himself yet.

  ‘Went bust though when the bankers tossed the world economy to the wolves, guv,’ Jimmy said, tacitly letting her know that he’d been a good boy and done his homework. ‘Been unemployed on and off for the three years since.’

  Hillary winced. ‘He’s only thirty-two.’

  Jimmy shuddered. ‘Tell me about it. Makes me glad I’ve still got t
his little gig, I can tell you,’ he said. Over at his desk, Sam chortled at Jimmy’s choice of words. He thought the old man was probably trying to sound with it, and he found it oddly touching that it only succeeded in making him sound even more of an old fart.

  Jimmy ignored the youngster’s mirth.

  ‘He’s just down the road in Begbrooke, guv.’

  Hillary nodded. The small village, distressingly situated beside a busy dual-carriage way, was literally only a few minutes’ drive away.

  ‘Well, since he’s having trouble getting work, I dare say we’ll find him at home then,’ Hillary agreed. ‘You fit?’

  Jimmy hastily gulped the last, still piping hot dregs, from his mug, making his gums wince in protest, and nodded gamely.

  Brian Vickary lived in a pre-fab bungalow that looked something like a beach hut. Tucked away far from the road, it appeared to be damp and somehow sagging. Even in the bright May morning, it looked as if it should be condemned. An identical bungalow beside it had a FOR LET sign. Hillary guessed that the landlord owned both, which meant that Vickary didn’t even own the place.

  A come down indeed for a man who’d set up and run a highly successful company, not so long ago. According to Sam’s research, Victory Glazing had rented offices in Banbury, and had employed four workmen/fitters and two office staff.

  Hillary rang the bell, realized it was defective, and banged on the door instead. The paint was peeling, and she was still wiping the knuckles of her hand when the door was yanked open suddenly and aggressively.

  ‘Hello? Whatever is you’re selling, I don’t want it.’

  The man who answered needed a shave, and was wearing an open-topped white shirt with grubby collar, and black, shiny trousers. With a mop of brown hair and large grey eyes, he was though unequivocally a handsome man.

  The whiff of beer coming off him at not even ten o’clock in the morning wasn’t quite so attractive.

  ‘Mr Vickary?’ Hillary showed her ID. ‘We’re here about your wife, sir. Can we have a few moments?’

  ‘Don’t have a wife,’ Brian Vickary shot back at once. ‘Got an ex-wife though. I suppose you mean her?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I heard she went missing. Wanna dig up the back garden? Help yourself.’

  Hillary smiled pleasantly. ‘Thank you, sir, but I think we’ll give the cadaver dogs a miss for now. Just a few questions, like I said.’

  Brian’s grey eyes regarded her steadily for a moment, and then he gave a reluctant grin, exposing white, even teeth. His smile was attractive too, and Hillary could understand why a woman with good looks of her own might have chosen him for a partner.

  ‘OK, fair enough I suppose,’ Brian said mildly. ‘Come on in. Mind the mess. But you’re wasting your time. Meg will just have found herself some other mug to feed off. She’s probably living it up on the Costa del Sol somewhere with a big, fat, ugly sugar daddy. Or do people still go to Spain now the bubble’s burst?’ he asked, with probably automatic and inconsequential charm.

  Hillary smiled obligingly.

  As he was talking, he led them through into a tiny living room – which was indeed messy. The floorboards underneath her had an oddly spongy feeling, and she half expected to put her foot through one of them. Two of the walls were badly affected by damp, and the wallpaper was peeling off.

  ‘Welcome to Casa Vickary. My other home’s a chateau in Bordeaux.’ Brian grinned, then abruptly sobered. ‘We used to go there you know. France. And Florida, and places like that. Twice a year, when the business was good.’

  Hillary nodded, but didn’t want to give him time to start getting maudlin.

  ‘I take it the break up wasn’t amicable, Mr Vickary,’ she said, sitting somewhat gingerly on a couch. Whilst it didn’t actively have broken springs digging into her backside, it wasn’t exactly welcoming either.

  ‘No,’ Brian said succinctly. Then, ‘Do you want a beer? I’d offer you tea, but I don’t have any milk. Or sugar. Or teabags, probably.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, we’re fine,’ she said. ‘Can you tell me why you broke up? Was there another man? You seemed to think your ex-wife wouldn’t be lacking for male companionship.’

  ‘What? Oh no. No, it wasn’t a man that broke us up, I’ll say that for Meg. She played fair. I met her when I was twenty-five, and I thought she was the most gorgeous thing on earth. I’d just got the business up and running, and she fancied me, and thought my prospects were good, as they say in the old-fashioned novels. So …’ He shrugged. ‘We got spliced.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable,’ Hillary said.

  ‘So it was. For a while. Quite a while, actually. It was good. Like I said, the company took off, we went on holiday twice a year, had a house on the outskirts of Banbury in the green belt, with a bit of a view. Two nice top-of-the-range cars.’

  ‘Again, it all sounds very reasonable.’

  ‘Right. Till it all went tits up and I lost the firm. Bloody bankers. ’Course, in a recession, the first things that are cut back are the non-essentials. People who’d been thinking of getting double-glazing, or adding value to their properties with conservatories and patios, suddenly realized that putting food on the table and petrol in the car are higher priorities. I lost two of my fitters, then one of the girls in the office. Started taking on more and more of the admin myself. Working crazy hours to try and keep it afloat. Meg started complaining how she never saw me, how the money wasn’t there anymore to do the Town and take in a show and have a meal, blah, blah blah. And as the money got tighter and tighter, so did the expression on my dear wife’s face.’

  Brian had wandered over the window and was staring outside. Now he turned back and gave them a savage grin. ‘And when the firm finally went, so did she.’

  ‘You lost the house?’ Hillary guessed.

  ‘Mortgage providers took it back, the bastards.’

  ‘The cars?’

  ‘Had to sell one of them. Hers, obviously, since I needed mine. And lo and behold, I come back one day from a particularly vicious interview with the bank manager, and no more wife. She moved out to live with a friend. Female, before you ask. I got a nice solicitor’s letter serving divorce papers about a week later, and that was it.’

  ‘You never tried to see her? Talk her into coming back? No sending her flowers, or letters begging her to return?’ Hillary asked casually. ‘Most men try to save their marriages, if possible.’

  Brian Vickary cast a bleary, attractive eye her way. ‘Are you kidding? Me, beg? No way. Besides, I considered myself well rid of her. If she couldn’t stick by me through the bad times, who’d want her?’

  He cast a look around at the ramshackle bungalow and gave a sudden burst of laughter. ‘You know, when I heard she’d gone missing, I was seriously pissed off. I had this fantasy, I guess, about starting up a new business after coming up with the big new idea that was going to make me millions. Then I’d buy a top-of-the-range Porsche – her favourite car by the way – and I’d drive it by her house wearing a load of bling and with an even better-looking girl in the passenger seat.’

  Brian Vickary laughed again. ‘I’m going to get another beer. Sure you don’t want one?’

  Hillary shook her head. ‘Just a few more questions first, sir,’ she said firmly. She had a feeling Brian was working himself up to a binge, and she needed him sober for just a little while longer.

  ‘You weren’t at all worried, then, when you heard she’d disappeared. You didn’t think, perhaps, that she was a victim of foul play?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Meg?’ Brian snorted incredulously. ‘Nah. She was nobody’s victim, Meg, believe me. She had a way of getting what she wanted. When I heard she was working in some posh office I knew damned well what her game was.’

  ‘You think?’ Hillary asked, deadpan.

  ‘Sure. Getting into the boss’s trousers. Mind you, I did bump into her once, just the once, in some trendy bar. About a year after the divorce it would be. It was a mate’s thirtieth, an
d he was buying. She just came swanning over, as if nothing had happened, and began chatting. Said she was working for a solicitor or some such. Bragged a bit about her salary, her nice flat in Oxford. My mate was well up for it, I could see, though I tried to warn him off. She hooked him like a prize carp, flirting, showing off the cleavage, giving it with the chat.’ Brian mimed with his fingers the universal symbol for gabbing. ‘She could really talk, could Meg. Wind men around her finger. She had my mate panting about her tales from the office. A boring bloody solicitor’s office, I ask you! But even that she could make into a tale. She told my mate she knew no end of West End villains, men who made the Kray twins look like cissies, who’d been got off by one or other of the QCs her bosses hooked them up with. Had my mate believing that she visited them in their Spanish villas and South American hideaways for freebie holidays all the time. And he was lapping it up, poor sod. I could see she was laughing up her sleeve at him. She only did it to rile me, I suppose. Show me what I’d been missing.’

  Brian suddenly realized what he was saying, and who he was saying it to. For a moment he looked nonplussed, but then he laughed again. ‘Honestly, straight up, I didn’t lay a finger on her. That was the only time I saw her – and if you still want to dig up the garden, the offer still stands. It’ll be a way of getting some free gardening done anyway. It’s a bit of a jungle out there.’

  Hillary smiled. ‘I’ll keep it in mind, sir. In the meantime, if you think of anything else…’ She handed him one of her cards.

  Brian Vickary saluted her with it, and walked them to the door.

  Hillary let him get back to his beer.

  If Brian Vickary was her stalker she’d eat her hat.

  If she had a hat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tom Warrington took his lunch hour early. Since he’d volunteered to be posted back to admin he had more flexibility with his working hours than he had when he’d been on the beat, provided he could keep on the good side of the dragon, a civilian clerk who thought she owned the records office.