Plenty of time for him to come back and pick up his little sister.
Plenty of time to kill her and clean her body.
After all, if he’d lied to the police twice, then what else could he have been lying about?
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The first thing Tomek noticed was the mantelpiece. The former priceless ornament that had been unfortunately broken in Johnny Whitaker’s fit of rage, had since been replaced with another priceless ornament, like Roy and Daphne had a plastic dump bin full of them out in the garage. One out, one in. No expense spared. The current replacement was a human skull that had been carved from stone. The markings and indentations in the forehead and eyes, deep and prominent, implied that it had been transported from somewhere in South America. Tomek picked it up. Heavy, weighty, certainly enough to do some serious damage.
‘We got that from Peru in the summer of eighty-nine,’ Daphne said as she came to a stop by his side. In her hands, she held a mug of tea for him. ‘We’d not long been together, and it was our first holiday. We wanted somewhere neither of us had been before. It was beautiful. I’ll never forget it.’ She took the stone head from Tomek and held it up to the light. ‘This is from a temple in the middle of Peru. It is said to have belonged to the Chavin, a long-lost civilisation from around a thousand BC. It was the first major culture in the country, but very little is known about them. I found this little thing just sitting on the floor.’
‘Just sitting on the floor?’ Tomek was dubious.
‘Yeah.’
That this piece of history had lain dormant, untouched for millennia, and the first person who’d stumbled across it was a flight attendant for British Airways on a holiday with her boyfriend was somewhat unbelievable.
‘So it was just lying there, and you decided to take it?’
‘Well…’
‘You didn’t find it in a gift shop then?’
‘Well, no…’
‘Right.’
And there Tomek was, thinking it had been a replica from China, not a stolen artefact. Was that how they’d acquired the rest of the possessions in their home? Looting and stealing them like a pair of private colonisers? He didn’t know. But he was sorely tempted to call the Peruvian National History Museum, if there was such a thing, and report a crime. Before Daphne could justify her actions any further, her husband entered the room. He was flustered, his hands flapping in the air, and was dressed in dark navy trousers and a thin jumper. A pair of glasses were positioned on his head, and he was covered in flecks of paint.
‘Sorry,’ he said, breathless. ‘I was just working on my plane.’
Tomek shook his hand.
‘Hope that’s not a euphemism.’
‘Sorry? Oh. That. Good one. No, I was putting the finishing touches to my model airport. I’m working on a Boeing 787-8 at the moment.’
‘It keeps him quiet,’ Daphne commented with a hint of disdain in her voice. ‘Sometimes he’s locked up in there for hours.’
‘Right,’ Tomek responded.
‘I’ve got terminals and everything. All the luggage carriers, fire engines, safety trucks, the tugs, even the little figures on the ground waving the indicators. It keeps me busy.’
‘How does it work?’ Tomek asked. ‘Do you just buy them as is or do you have to paint them, like in Warhammer?’
‘Personal preference. But I prefer to paint them myself. First you have to dip them in solution so the stickers just slide off. Then wait for it to dry and voila! Your canvas is ready to begin.’
‘Nice,’ Tomek said, though he had no interest in anything like that. Not because he thought it was stupid or childish, but because he didn’t have the time to be interested in it, whereas for Roy it had been a lifelong passion, a hobby that had turned into a lucrative career, and now in his retirement he’d found a different outlet for his love of aviation. ‘How long have you been doing that for?’
‘Twenty years. The airport’s changed gradually in that time – buildings have come and gone, the layout’s changed, the people have melted in the sun – but the passion’s remained.’
Tomek offered the man a thin smile, gestured for him to sit in his own home, then joined Anna on the sofa. She had been waiting patiently, silently, listening to their conversation from the comfort of the chair.
‘It’s good to see you again, Anna,’ Daphne noted, as the sides of her mouth flickered into a warm grin.
‘Surprised you’re not sick of me,’ the constable replied.
‘Never.’
Tomek believed her. Anna was one of the best, exceptional at her job. And while she wasn’t always there to deliver good news, she was able to help ease the pain, the hurt, the suffering of a loved one’s death in a caring and compassionate manner. She was their safety blanket, their support system. And when that was taken away, Tomek wondered how the couple might cope afterwards.
‘We’re sorry to disturb your afternoon,’ Tomek began, ‘but we were wondering if we could speak to your son.’
Daphne and Roy glanced at one another. ‘We… we think he’s at the pub,’ Daphne answered. ‘To be frank, we don’t actually know where he is.’
Tomek’s eyes narrowed.
‘After all the mess that’s come out with him and Rose, we invited him to stay here, but…’
‘But he hasn’t actually stayed here at all,’ Roy finished. ‘He said he was going to the pub, that was on the first night with us, and he hasn’t been home since.’
‘Have you spoken to him?’ Tomek asked.
‘Oh, yes. Daphne’s been on the phone to him nonstop to make sure he’s still alive.’
‘And?’
‘He’s alive,’ the woman answered softly. ‘Just very, very drunk.’
