They went upstairs first, to the room that had been Sarah’s. Just as Saint had said, it was empty. Spotless. The carpet showed fresh hoover lines like a show home.
Matty stood in the centre of the room and spun around. “I can’t believe it.” She crossed to the built-in wardrobe and opened the door. Empty. “She would go off to bed, come down in the morning in a dressing gown. How did she get in and out without us knowing?”
“There’s a ladder round the back,” Saint said. “Long enough to get anyone up to the flat roof above the bathroom.” He beckoned her over to the window. “I noticed this.” Cold air hit Matty’s face as the window lifted. They leaned out, and on the roof, propped against the wall, was a shorter ladder. “I think she came and went through here.”
“That’s why you believed me and not Brandon?”
He nodded. “He can’t lie for toffee. It was obvious he was covering something. But you…you were genuinely perplexed that we had no knowledge of Sarah, and you were rightly angry when I told you Brandon denied she existed.”
“So what happens now?”
He shrugged. “Unless I can find evidence that points me towards her, it all goes cold. We’ve got Brandon for dealing. That’s about it.”
“She must have left something,” Matty said. “You can’t fake living somewhere and not leave something behind.” She stopped, thinking about Sarah’s movements inside the flat. “She showered here. I saw her last week—came out of the bathroom in a towel and dashed back upstairs.”
***
The bathroom was no different to the rest of the flat. Matty looked around. Everything had been tossed into the bath. Lids unscrewed—shower gel, shampoo, toothpaste—dripping into one huge, gloopy mess. The smell was sharp—mint and cheap citrus.
“Great.” She sighed.
“I’m sorry,” Saint said, and he sounded like he meant it.
“Probably wouldn’t be much help anyway,” Matty said. “Those are Brandon’s. That’s all mine.” She was pointing at the different bottles, then stopped. “But that’s not.” She pointed at a small box of tampons. The contents, like everything else, were strewn about, but the box sat on the floor beside the bath.
Something tightened in her chest as she stared at it.
“You think that’s hers?”
“It’s not my brand. And I’m pretty sure Brandon hasn’t got a girlfriend who’d leave them here,” Matty said. It was a brand-new box, still unopened. “What woman goes anywhere without an emergency box of tampons?”
Saint pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and slid a glove on, the latex snapping at his wrist, then picked up the box and sealed it inside the clear plastic. “If this has a fingerprint and she’s in the system…we’ve got her.”
“And if she isn’t?”
“Then we move on and wait to see if she pops up somewhere else. People like her don’t stay quiet for long.”
Matty laughed. “And you thought that was me?”
“According to you, Sarah lives in this fleapit too.” He stopped dead. “Sorry, that was—”
“Absolutely accurate.” Matty smiled. “I moved here out of necessity, not choice.” She glanced around the bathroom again, taking in the bottles and the mess in the tub. “Do I have to clean all this up?”
“Not up to me.”
“I guess my deposit is gone. I don’t even know who the landlord is. I answered the ad and it was Sarah who talked to me…took the deposit.” Matty’s jaw tightened as she said it.
“She’s a scam artist too. Probably got wind of the raid and cleared out before you all knew what was happening.” He held the bag aloft. “But if we can’t get anything off this, then it’s pressure I can put on Brandon.”
“You could round up his mates.”
“Got any names?”
Matty smirked. “So now I’m your snitch?”
He grinned. “We can call it being a consultant, if you prefer?”
Chapter sixty-three
