‘Long-term blackmail.’ We wait for him to elaborate. ‘See, after a while Holly started to question why she was putting herself out there, dressing up, going out, going through the same old motions two, three times a week, when if she picked the right target – the right man, sorry – she could spend one night setting them up, and then months, maybe even years, blackmailing them.’
‘She could have done that before?’ I say, not quite following. ‘What sort of man was she after?’
‘Being wealthy and married wasn’t enough anymore. If she was going to play the long game, she needed men with a lot more to lose. She really thought about it. She figured that ultimately, your average forty-something banker with the wife and two kids probably wouldn’t put up with being bled dry over the long run. They’d eventually crack, tell their wives, tell their HR person, maybe even tell the police if the only likely punishment was a few months in the spare room at home and a disciplinary at work. No, she needed men with standing, influence. Men whose lives would be ruined if she shared those staged photos. I know the first guy she targeted was a senior GP. He was the father of a friend – some friend, huh? He paid her £1,500 in cash every month. He had no choice. She had photos of him supposedly taking drugs, among other things. He could have been struck off.’
‘So how many other men did she target like this?’ I ask.
‘Several, I’m not sure precisely.’
Parnell’s pad is out. ‘We need names, Spencer.’
‘I don’t have names! She was working on her own, basically; I didn’t want anything to do with long-term blackmail. Things got really bad between us after that.’
‘Why didn’t you end the relationship?’
He looks me in the eye. ‘I was scared of what she might do is the truth. I’d seen her stitch up so many men, who’s to say she wouldn’t try to destroy me?’
I know I should do the required And you didn’t think to mention any of this at the time of her disappearance? but frankly, it’s a waste of breath. He was hardly going to incriminate himself, and anyway, he can always fall back on the now all-too-familiar stance: And it had nothing to do with what happened.
So much of Holly’s life left undiscovered, unexplored, the second it was assumed she was Masters’ fourth victim.
‘So what did you do with the money?’
He startles, blinking rapidly. ‘I’m sorry?’
My voice was perfectly clear. He’s stalling for time.
‘The money, Spencer. Holly’s bank account didn’t show any major deposits, so I’m assuming she kept the cash at the flat?’
I’m taking a punt on this. There was a whole twenty-four hours between Shaw reporting Holly missing and Serena Bailey coming forward with her ID. Twenty-four hours of Holly being classed as a missing person. Her phone records pored over. Her bank accounts scrutinised. Surely they’d have picked up on something like this?
‘There was no money in the flat.’
‘So where did she keep it? She was bringing in £1,500 a month from one target alone. She wasn’t walking around with it stuffed in her handbag, I assume?’
He stands and scoops the baby off the floor. She kicks and wriggles, turning puce with ascending rage, but he clings to her like a lifebuoy. The message being: ‘I’m a father now. Can’t you cut me some slack?’
‘Um, well . . . the money was usually in the flat but . . . um . . . it’d been broken into that weekend.’
‘Broken into?’ Parnell’s eyebrows hit his hairline.
‘I’d been with Loz all weekend – I’m not proud of that, but there you go – and when I got back, I could tell someone had been in the flat. The money was gone, some other bits too – jewellery, an iPod, both our laptops, a PlayStation Vita I’d literally just bought.’
‘Were there signs of forced entry?’ I ask.
‘No. But the front door lock wasn’t great. I’d got in once using a credit card when I’d locked myself out.’
‘But surely your first thought was Holly? That she’d taken these things and done a runner, especially since no one had seen her since Thursday. And yet you still reported her missing?’
‘I knew it wasn’t Holly. She had two wardrobes full of designer clothes, shoes, bags. All of those were still there. And personal mementos, gifts from her mum and dad. She would have taken those over my bloody PlayStation.’
‘How did you know she didn’t have her laptop, though? What made you assume that had been stolen?’
‘She never took her laptop anywhere. She never had the need, and anyway, all her bags were far too small. That’s one of the million things we used to argue about – how she’d spend £300 to £400 on a handbag and you could barely fit your keys in it.’
‘So you told the police all this,’ I say, although I don’t remember seeing it in the case file.
‘No. No, I didn’t.’
‘No?’ My exasperation makes the sleeping child stir. ‘You didn’t think it was important to mention it when the police arrived to talk about Holly?’
‘I wanted them to concentrate on her. I thought that if I mentioned the burglary . . .’
‘They’d have dusted for prints, checked CCTV. They’d have been able to do their jobs properly,’ says Parnell.
Dyer had said she’d known he was lying about something.
I persist. ‘Seriously, you didn’t make any connection between your flat being burgled and Holly going missing?’
He shrugs and I could slap him. ‘I’d been burgled before. I kept pretty shady company back then, it could have been anyone. Look, I probably would have mentioned it eventually, but when we found out she’d been seen with Christopher Masters, everything spun in a different direction. Suddenly she wasn’t “missing” any more. It was obvious he’d killed her. The burglary was irrelevant.’
‘Thing is, Spencer, for a few different reasons, it isn’t so obvious now. And you’ve just told us a story that suggests God knows how many other people had a reason to want Holly dead. If you don’t have names, do you still have any photos of the men who were blackmailed?’
The baby wails and I know how she feels. Shaw shouts over the top, making little effort to soothe her. ‘No, not any more, not in a long time.’
‘Are you sure you don’t know names?’ says Parnell. ‘You knew Dale Peters.’
‘Because he was different. She wasn’t blackmailing him, exactly, she was stringing him along for a pay-off. I think she actually liked him, in her own way. That’s why she took a different approach. She enjoyed his company for a while.’
She enjoyed the five-star hotels. But still, cold comfort for the lovesick halfwit.
‘Back to this GP . . .’ says Parnell.
‘I told you,’ Shaw whines, worse than the baby. ‘I don’t know who he is.’
‘You said he was the father of a friend. What friend?’
‘I honestly don’t know. “Friend” was a loose term with Holly. It could have been someone she met twice.’
‘What about Simon Fellows?’ I ask, his name a hard thud. ‘You said Holly was “stringing along” Dale Peters, which implies she told you what she’d told him about Fellows.’