Bloodline

Lots of other people were running towards the main doors, and one or two were staggering back inside with wide eyes, holding their heads or hugging one another. I didn’t want to think about what they had just witnessed on the pavement outside.

The man appeared to be ignoring the disturbance just to his right, marching straight on towards the left-hand side of the main exit.

‘Can’t you zoom in?’ I asked.

DS Sharp tried but the image became very fuzzy and indistinct.

‘I think he’s got his collar turned up,’ the sergeant said. ‘And maybe a scarf around his face as well.’

Why would anyone wear a coat with the collar turned up and a scarf when that particular September evening had been so warm? Was he trying to hide his face from the CCTV cameras?

‘Try another angle,’ I said.

He brought up the image from the camera near the lifts. It showed the man clearly from behind as he walked away. There was no chance of seeing his face from that direction.

DS Sharp went through every camera position in turn but there was no clear image of the man’s features.

‘How about the one outside?’ I asked, realizing as I said it that any images from out there would also show Clare’s body on the ground.

‘Are you sure?’ the sergeant asked. ‘I’ll have to get the original recording rather than the copy.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Don’t. If the man took such efforts inside the hotel not to be seen, he’d hardly let it happen once he was outside. He’d have just gone on walking with his head down.’

‘I can get it if you want,’ he said. ‘We only made the copy without the last bit because we didn’t want some unscrupulous idiot uploading it on YouTube. The original is securely locked in my office safe.’

I could feel my heart beating.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it wouldn’t show anything we can’t already see.’

‘Maybe I’ll look at it later,’ he said. ‘Just to be sure.’

‘Right.’ I breathed deeply and was reminded of my broken ribs by a sharp stabbing pain in my left side. But it was in my head that a bell was ringing.

‘Could you please show me that shot again of the man walking away from the camera?’

DS Sharp pulled up the images onto the screen.

There was something about the way the man moved — an easy, large-stride, lolloping motion, with his head bobbing up and down slightly with each step.

Maybe I didn’t need to see the man’s face in order to recognize him.

22

I arrived back home at five past ten and it was as lonely and cold as I had feared, and it was starting to rain.

Ever since leaving Newmarket I’d kept a keen eye on the Honda’s rear-view mirror to ensure I wasn’t being followed but, nevertheless, I was very wary when I parked the car on the street outside my flat and walked quickly to the front door.

I let myself in and put my Chinese take-away supper in the oven to keep warm while I collected the rest of the things from the car.

Street lighting in my part of Edenbridge could hardly be described as comprehensive. There was a lamppost about twenty yards away in each direction up and down the road, but their meagre glow hardly made it to my door. Consequently I was spooked by every shadow, seeing in my mind a potential murderer behind every bush.

My ribs were too painful to carry much at once, so it took me six separate damp trips to bring in the boxes of Clare’s paperwork, plus the other things like the racing trophies and some of the stuff that Angela had sorted from the kitchen.

With the help of one of Geoff Grubb’s stable staff, Clare’s clothes and shoes had been packed into my rented Honda, and I’d driven them to a charity shop in Newmarket High Street. There had been great excitement and giggling amongst the three middle-aged women who ran it when they’d unpacked the bag overflowing with the black lace undies.

‘We don’t normally resell people’s underwear,’ one of them had said, chuckling and holding up a pair, ‘but these are beautiful and I think we’ll make an exception. Once they’ve been washed, of course.’ The woman had giggled again and I rather wished I’d just thrown them all away.

I was very glad when everything from the car was finally in the flat and I was able to lock my front door, with me safely on the inside. Not that I considered this particular home to be much of a castle. It had taken Austin Reynolds six mighty blows with a sledgehammer to break into Clare’s cottage. Looking at the simple latch lock on my own front door, I thought a well-placed kick might be enough to gain entry. I’d never considered it much of an issue as I had precious little that anyone would want to steal. But was it enough to keep out a murderer while I was sleeping?

I propped one of my two kitchen chairs against the door, tucking the back of it under the doorknob. It probably wouldn’t be enough to keep out an averagely determined child but at least it might give me a few moments’ warning of their arrival.