Jacob pulled around into the car park and drove straight into a space. The booming of his music could be heard from outside. He turned the Kings of Leon off and stepped out of his car. ‘Anything from Wyre, yet?’
She nodded. ‘She sent me a text saying she wasn’t good, whatever that means.’
‘A text?’
‘I know. Something’s not right.’
Jacob pulled his gloves on and did a comical shiver. ‘I know Smith’s team is a couple of PCs down too.’ He pulled his hat further over his ears. ‘It’s like the arctic out here.’
Gina rubbed her hands together. ‘I suppose we best get on with it then.’ They walked down the winding lane together at the back of the apartment block. It was sectioned off by a row of lopped off conifers that seemed to reach the height of the block. A ray of winter sun reached through the gaps in the foliage, glistening off the ice-tipped branches and fallen needles.
A rugged road led them to a bungalow that looked condemned. The aerial seemed to be attached with old rope to some plastic piping that was swaying on the side of the building. A collection of old used tyres were piled up beside the front door and a shopping trolley sat in the middle of the mud garden as if it were a feature.
Jacob glanced up and down. ‘This place looks condemned.’
Gina almost slid on the icy uneven slabs as she put her hands out and regained her balance using the front door. ‘You’re not wrong.’ She knocked as hard as she could with her balled up hand. There was no knocker and no bell, only a little exterior post box attached to the right side of the door. Several flyers were leaking out, threatening to escape. She knocked again and placed her ear against the door. ‘I can’t hear anything.’
‘Wait.’ Jacob stepped to the side. ‘I just saw a curtain twitch down the far end.’
The front of the bungalow had four large windows and the curtains were drawn across all of them. She knocked again and then an interior door slammed. Moments later, after listening to about three locks being slid across followed by the turn of a key, the door creaked open.
‘What? Don’t you know what time it is? I don’t want to buy anything. I don’t do charity or religion.’
‘It’s eight thirty in the morning. I’m DI Harte and this is DS Driscoll. We’d like to have a few words with you. May we come in?’
He scrunched his face up making it look like his mahogany brown eyebrows were meeting in the middle. His thick lips smacked. ‘No.’
‘It would be easier if we could talk inside.’ Gina was hoping to take a look at how he lived and his body language was not sitting well with her – plus, it was cold. From what she knew, Vincent Jordan claimed to be in on the night of Amber Slater’s abduction and now, for some reason, he wasn’t going to let them in. He didn’t have to let them in but he was looking more suspicious by the second. He didn’t respond in anyway. If anything, he pressed the door closer to his body, leaving no room through the gap for Gina to see in. ‘We need to talk to you about Amber Slater’s abduction and murder. She was your tenant and neighbour. Either you invite us in or we book an appointment for you to come and speak to us down the station, this morning.’ That was enough to make him open up.
He rattled the flimsy door open and folded his arms as they stepped inside the dark, flowery-wallpapered hallway. A scurrying sound came from above. He pointed upwards. ‘Rats in the loft.’
Gina shivered. The one wall was filled with pictures, a ramshackle mixture of old photos of places and prints of famous paintings. She glanced up at the loft as a rat ran above her. The dirty pink runner led to a kitchen that looked like it had been fitted in the sixties. Tidy but scuffed doors were hanging off cupboards by their hinges and the old freestanding cooker stood against the wall, grease melded onto every part of it. She glanced out of the window, which revealed a huge garden with several large sheds at the bottom. The smell of grilled cheese hung in the air, then she spotted the pizza box leaning against the bin.
‘I’d offer you a drink but I don’t want you to stay. I don’t do visitors so just say what you have to say so we can all get on with our day. I have to clean the communal areas today and sweep up leaves.’ He pulled his vest down further over his maroon bed shorts. His feet padded along the dirty lino flooring before he stopped and leaned against the worktop.
‘Amber Slater was last seen on Friday night. Evidence is pointing to the fact that she was taken from the car park in front of the apartment block you manage. She was later found dead at Cleevesford Park. We need to ask you a few questions. Did you see or hear anything from the apartment block on Friday evening after six?’
He let out a snigger. ‘I don’t see or hear anything. Have you seen how far back I am? The conifers also provide a screen. I don’t have anything to say because I don’t know anything.’
‘That’s not what the tenants say. They say that you’ve gone over to the block a few times when they have music on and asked them to turn it down. So you can hear from your bungalow.’
‘Yeah, when it’s turned up so loud it sounds like they’re having a rave. I bet they didn’t tell you they played it that loud.’
Jacob leaned against the fridge. ‘Where were you between six and nine last Friday evening?’
The man’s gaze flashed to Jacob where he stared at him. ‘I was here. I’m always here. Always around, always on call, that’s me.’
‘Mr Jordan.’ Gina stared at him and paused, wanting to unnerve him a little. He fitted their bill. He seemed to be a loner, he was cagey. He was everything they could be looking for, on paper. ‘Tell me a bit about yourself.’
He opened his mouth, then closed it, not expecting her to say that. ‘There’s not much to tell. I live here. It’s my job to maintain and manage the apartment block and I do the general maintenance for a few others. My parents own a few properties and they leave this one with me to look after. It comes with the bungalow so that I’m always around should anyone need me. This is my main and only job. I’m forty-five. Anything else?’
‘Do you have an alibi for Friday evening?’
‘No and I don’t like where this is going.’
‘May we take a look around?’
‘No. Please leave. Unless you have anything to charge me with or any evidence that I have done anything wrong, I’m not saying another word without a solicitor.’ He stepped forward, ushering them out of the kitchen and back into the hallway. As they passed a slightly open door, he slammed it closed. Gina tried to glance through the next door but he did the same again, ending her view abruptly. He literally nudged them out the door and back into the cold. ‘At about seven thirty on Friday evening I was on a phone call to my electrician, Eamon. One of the lights in the block is out and he normally comes to replace the bulbs. I don’t do electrics. He is listed under EL Electrical Contractors and I called him from my home phone. I’m sure you’re both skilled enough in detective work to verify that, look him up, and ask.’ He smiled as he rubbed his stubble and slammed the door.
