‘And he wouldn’t have been able to use the usual dump site in Dulwich Woods, because by then they were crawling with . . . well, us.’ I find myself playing along despite the fact I haven’t even started to puzzle this one out.
‘Exactly. Good to see you’re not as rigid as your boss, Cat.’ She adds a grin to soften the dig, then takes another hurried look towards the door. ‘And Lu, it’s not a complete curveball. I said at the time we couldn’t rule out an accomplice, but I was told to park it, concentrate on Masters. We had someone, the public felt safe – that meant goodnight and God bless, as far as the top brass were concerned.’
‘Same as when you expressed concerns about Spencer Shaw,’ I point out. ‘Tell me, what was it exactly, ma’am, that you didn’t like about him – apart from the fact he sounds like a complete cretin? See, we haven’t tracked him down yet, but he’s definitely on the radar. Any light you could shine would be helpful.’
‘Hmm, well, he was a complete cretin, probably still is, but I don’t want to over-egg that part. He didn’t seem overly worried about Holly, that’s all, and I had a sense he was lying about something. But people lie to us all the time, you know that. And for someone like him, it would be second nature. The idea of an accomplice really needled me, though – far more than Spencer Shaw.’
‘Hold on, hold on.’ Parnell rubs at his temples. ‘I get how an accomplice theory might have legs now, in light of what’s happened, but why back then?’
‘A few things. All three girls were young, fit, healthy. Relatively hard for a lean man in his fifties to move on his own, don’t you think? There were no drag marks found at the dump site. No superficial wounds on any of the bodies consistent with having been dragged across a woodland floor.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not inconceivable that he carried them,’ I say, remembering Craig Cooke’s Defence of the Scrawny Man yesterday. ‘He did a fairly physical job. He was fit.’
She ignores me, changing direction. ‘And did you ever hear him speak? I suppose not. Well, whether it was put on for effect or not, he had quite an unusual voice. Affected, slightly fey. Older than his years. He always reminded me of one of those BBC newsreaders from the 1950s.’ I’ve got an inkling where we’re heading. ‘The advert – Roommate wanted – female, age 20–35, for quiet, respectful, friendly house near Clapham Common – to me, that sounds like an all-female house. You’d be expecting a female to answer when you called, or at the very least . . .’
‘You’re thinking a female accomplice?’ Parnell isn’t liking the sound of this. ‘No, look, there’s examples, obviously, but you’re talking about something extremely rare.’
‘You’d be expecting someone female or at the very least younger, was what I was going to say. Ling Chen’s friend told us that Ling was being very picky. She had a nice flat with her boyfriend, and as he didn’t know she was planning her exit, she wasn’t in any great rush to move out. Trust me, I interviewed Masters on several occasions. A young woman would not be rushing to view that room after a few minutes on the phone to him.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I say, ‘Six hundred pounds for a double room near Clapham Common is a hell of a bargain, even back then.’ I take a few seconds to consider the theory that Dyer’s been percolating for years. ‘Seriously, you really think someone else took the calls, lured them to the house?’
‘I thought it was a faint possibility back then.’ Her expression darkens. ‘I think it’s certainly plausible now. It also explains – could explain – why he always refused to talk. To us, anyway.’
‘He was protecting someone,’ says Parnell.
‘The silent pact,’ says Dyer. ‘We’ve seen it before. Often the imprisoned one cracks, but it can take years, decades. Masters didn’t get the chance.’
‘Who then?’ It’s more belligerent than I intended, but as much as I respect her, Dyer needs to put her money where her mouth is. ‘Jacob Pope said he hardly mentioned anyone from the outside except his family.’
‘Didn’t he inherit Valentine Street with two cousins?’ Parnell says. ‘I’m not suggesting we do a dawn raid, but it’s worth checking them both out, no?’
‘You’d have a job doing dawn raids, Lu. One lives in Cape Town, has done since 2003, so they’re in the clear. The other has been pushing up daisies since 2014.’
‘Which could still put him in the frame. Could,’ I add. While I’m happy to poke this theory with a stick, I’m not entirely rolling with it.
‘Her, actually.’ Dyer clinks a nail against her G&T glass. On the other side of the bar, a roar of frustration erupts from the race-watchers. Betting slips torn up, expletives coming thick and fast. We watch for a minute, probably less, before Dyer says, ‘There was the lad who worked for him – Brandon Keefe. A few people mentioned they seemed quite close. Masters’ wife said he’d always wanted a son – he couldn’t relate well to girls.’ No shit. ‘And he – Keefe – left the country not long after the trial, which in hindsight was . . .’ She chooses her words carefully, lacing her fingers on the table. ‘Noteworthy, I suppose.’ She shrugs. ‘He could be worth another chat.’
A chat. How genteel. Roughly translated as, ‘He could be worth fucking with, for no other purpose than shaking branches and seeing what falls.’
Brandon Keefe. The name means zip to me but Parnell nods. ‘Didn’t he do an interview with the Mail? A two-page spread. An “I always knew he was evil” type-thing.’
‘Not a very silent pact if he’s talking to journalists,’ I suggest.
‘Wouldn’t be the first time a guilty party thrust themselves into the limelight,’ says Dyer. ‘It could have been one big laugh between him and Masters.’
The ‘coulds’ are piling up. A stinking great compost heap of possibility. ‘So did you ever look into this Brandon Keefe?’
‘There wasn’t any real reason to. He was one of the few people that Masters associated with regularly, so obviously we spoke with him, but it was more to get a sense of what might have triggered Masters. It was Keefe who mentioned Masters’ anger over his ex-wife’s engagement.’ She places both palms flat on the table. ‘Look, it’s not like I was ever absolutely sold on the idea of an accomplice. It was just something I thought needed considering. But I was alone in that view and the truth is, when I was told to drop it, I dropped it. Do I regret that now? Yes. Do I understand why the decision was taken at the time. Yes.’
And is Brandon Keefe worth a chat? Sure, why not? Parnell gives me a small nod, signalling where our next stop will be.
‘So how old are your kids now? Boys, right?’ Parnell smiles as he takes a sharp swerve to the left, steering us away from witnesses and accomplices and the multiple kinks in this case. ‘I’ve got double the amount of boys since we last saw each other. Surprise twins, Joe and James. They’re nearly eight now.’
‘So I heard. You were a brave man going back to dirty nappies in your late-forties.’