A twenty-minute walk from the city centre, Mountbatten House bordered Southampton Common. Built in the early twentieth century and with gardens to the front and rear of the property, it could house up to twenty individuals and was open to anyone who had fallen on hard times, but was primarily used by former offenders and those trying to kick addiction. A charitable organisation, all residents were required to pay a minimum weekly rent to cover the cost of utilities.
Kate and Quinlan showed their identification to the woman manning the front office, and asked to be taken to Nowakowski’s room.
The woman gave them a sceptical look. ‘We had to give Petr’s room to someone else after he didn’t return a fortnight ago.’
‘What about his possessions? Did he leave anything behind?’
The woman nodded, leading them to a locked door beneath the large staircase. ‘All unclaimed property is locked away in here, and if the individual doesn’t return for it within six months, we reserve the right to reuse or sell what is left.’ Unlocking the door, she held it open for them. ‘That large box is what we collected up, and that large suitcase was also in his room.’
Quinlan leaned in and pulled out the cardboard box, passing it to Kate before drawing out the suitcase.
‘And there’s nothing else?’ Kate asked.
The woman shook her head. ‘The people that stay with us don’t tend to keep a lot of possessions.’
‘Is there somewhere we can look through all this stuff?’
The woman looked at her watch. ‘I’m due on a break. You can use my office for now.’
‘You search the case and I’ll do the box,’ Kate told Quinlan when they were alone.
Reaching in to the box, Kate first pulled out a framed picture of Ana Nowakowski, captured mid-laugh, looking far removed from the distraught woman they’d spoken to at the supermarket on Monday. Beneath that was an antique-looking cigar box, the corners mottled and the label fading. Opening the lid, several loose photos fell to the desk. Kate scooped up and returned them to the cigar box, resting it on the desk. The remaining items in the box included a brown-stained mug, a toothbrush, toothpaste and a dog-eared copy of a spy novel. Kate held the book aloft, looking for any hidden notes between the pages, but nothing fell out.
‘Library book,’ she commented, noticing a stamp inside the cover. ‘What you got?’
Quinlan lifted a pair of underpants from the case with the end of a biro. ‘Underwear, T-shirts and work shirts; none of which smell clean.’
‘No phone, tablet or laptop?’
He shook his head, closing the lid of the case. ‘Maybe SSD can find fibres on some of his clothes. What have you got?’
Kate passed him the cigar box of photos and moved across to the noticeboard hanging from the wall, advertising various support groups for addiction, anxiety and depression. Kate snapped a photograph of each showing dates and times. Both Maria and Petr were trying to improve their lives; was it possible Jackson had met them in such a support group?
‘Ma’am?’ Quinlan suddenly called out. ‘You’d better look at this.’
Kate turned and saw him holding a pile of photographs in one hand, but just one aloft in his other hand. Stepping across, Kate gulped as she stared closer at two of the men in the group shot. ‘Nowakowski knew Liam Phillips?’
Phillips’ cocksure grin stared back at her, an arm draped around Nowakowski’s shoulders, both dressed in shirts and ties, while five other similarly dressed men looked on.
‘Does it say when it was taken?’
Quinlan shook his head. ‘No date or time. Small world, huh?’
She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Getting smaller by the day. Come on, let’s go and ask Liam how he knew our victim.’
50
Kate didn’t wait for Phillips to come to them in the waiting area of the offices of TUTD Surveyors, marching straight to his private office and knocking on the door. She heard voices from inside, and as Phillips opened the door, she saw his cheeks flush as he quickly apologised to the Asian man seated at the desk.
Phillips didn’t even acknowledge Kate, as he turned back to his prospective client. ‘Apologies, Mr Yamamoto. Could I ask you to step outside for just a moment? If you head down to the waiting area, my secretary will fix you a fresh cup of tea.’
The client bowed his head as he passed through the door, and made his way towards the waiting area, tightly gripping his briefcase.
Phillips ran a hand through his hair as he closed the door. ‘Don’t you people ever make appointments?’ he said testily, as he retook his seat.
‘Not when I’m investigating a double murder and the disappearance of a vulnerable child,’ Kate fired back, remaining on her feet.
Phillips switched off his monitor, resting his hands flat on the desk, and forcing a thin smile. ‘What is it I can do for you this time?’
Kate raised the photograph they’d retrieved from the cigar box. ‘How did you know Petr Nowakowski?’
‘Petr? We used to play football together. Why?’
‘Used to?’
‘Yeah, he stopped playing three or four years ago I think. He got pinched for armed robbery, as I recall. Never saw him much after that.’
‘Have you seen him recently?’
Phillips frowned. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘Have you seen him recently?’ Kate repeated.
The frown deepened. ‘About a month ago, I guess. He asked me for a job.’
‘And?’
‘And I told him I wasn’t hiring at the moment.’
‘Where did the two of you meet?’
‘I told you: playing football. A couple of friends and I signed up to play in a five-a-side league, and I met him there.’
‘You were on the same team?’
‘No. I was on a team with friends from university, and he played for one of the others.’
‘You seem very friendly in this photograph. Where was it taken?’
He studied the image for a moment, before staring straight at Kate. ‘As far as I remember, it was at an awards ceremony organised by the league sponsors. Our team had won the league and Petr’s were runners-up. There was a big party, loads of booze, and we were presented with our trophy.’
‘Did you ever see him socially outside of football?’
‘No. But I’d see him every couple of weeks when we’d have matches at the same time.’
‘Where did you play?’
‘The five-a-side place along the Millbrook Road.’
Kate knew the place. ‘When did you stop playing?’
‘I busted my knee a year ago, and the doctors warned me not to risk playing again. I now work off my stresses at the gym instead.’
‘Why did Nowakowski ask you for a job if you hadn’t seen him in so long?’
‘I don’t know. He showed up here out of the blue and asked. I wasn’t sure that he’d be able to do anything to help us, and told him we weren’t hiring.’
‘How did he seem when you spoke?’
‘Listen, are you going to tell me what this is all about? Why the interest in Petr?’
Kate kept her lips tight.
‘He seemed all right, I suppose. Looked like he’d put on a few pounds since I’d last seen him.’
‘Did he seem desperate for money?’
A flicker in Phillips’ eyes.
‘What is it?’ Kate pressed.
Phillips shrugged. ‘He asked whether he could borrow some money. Said he’d fallen on hard times and would do anything, but I said things were tough for all of us, and I couldn’t help.’
‘And afterwards, did you see him again?’
‘No. Seriously, what is all this? Why all the questions about Petr? Is this something to do with that girl’s foot you found at the school?’ A pause. ‘Oh God, do you think he was responsible?’
Kate watched Phillips closely. ‘We’re asking all males with access to the sports hall at St Bartholomew’s to provide a DNA sample for comparison. Would you be willing to come down to the station and provide a voluntary sample?’
Phillips looked from Kate to Quinlan and then back again. ‘Unless you want to arrest me, I think I’ll decline your offer. Certainly until I’ve spoken to my lawyer.’
Kate nodded at Quinlan. It was time to go.
* * *