son, a daughter?’
‘We don’t have children,’ she replied, the corner of her left eye beginning to tick. ‘I’ve already called all the people I could think of. No one’s heard from him.’
Jon’s eyes went back to the snap of them in Paris. ‘Mrs Dean, it would be a great help if we could have a recent photo of your husband.’
They drove back up the M6 in the last light of day. Jon’s mind switching between Gordon Dean’s disappearance and Rick’s intimate knowledge of a bar in the Gay Village. Was the bloke a homosexual? Something odd was definitely going on.
As they approached the Knutsford services the sky darkened and, minutes later, drops of rain started hitting their windscreen.
‘Welcome to Manchester,’ Jon commented with ironic cheer.
The manager at the Novotel was a woman of around forty, with wiry ginger hair fighting to break free from a cluster of hairclips. ‘How may I help you?’ An Eastern European accent added a brusqueness to her greeting.
Jon checked her name tag. ‘Hello, Kristina. I’m DI Spicer, this is DS Saville.’ The enthusiastic way she responded to the sight of their warrant cards surprised him. Perhaps it was something to do with attitudes to authority in her native country. She listened to their request, then looked at the computer before confirming that Gordon Dean had booked in the day before. ‘The room is now occupied by another guest.’
‘So Mr Dean checked out. Can you tell me at what time?’ asked Jon.
‘It is not possible to say. Many guests leave the key in the door, others drop it in the box at the end of the counter. The room is paid for at check-in and should be vacated by eleven the next morning.’
‘Can you tell us if anything was left in his room? Bags, a laptop, that sort of thing?’ Rick asked.
‘I will check Lost Property.’ She disappeared into the back room, returning a minute later. ‘No, nothing from his room.’
Jon pondered the information. Gordon must have returned at some stage, packed his things and moved on. He pointed to the CCTV camera above the entrance. ‘Do you keep the tapes from previous days?’
She nodded. ‘For the last two weeks only. But I would need permission from head office before you can take one. They are shut now, I’m sorry.’
Jon tapped a finger on the counter. More and more, he suspected that Gordon Dean had simply eloped. However, he knew McCloughlin would be tracking him closely on this one.
‘Actually, Kristina, we could seize the tape as evidence here and now. But don’t worry, I’m happy if you could just put in a request for us to borrow yesterday’s.’
Chapter 9
Jon clicked his biro shut and dropped it on the pile of paper and messages on his desk. Among them was a note saying the check he’d requested on the mobile phone number Fiona Wilson had given him had shown it to be a pay-as-you-go: untraceable. It was almost ten o’clock at night and the incident room was nearly empty.
‘I’m calling it a day,’ he announced.
Rick stretched his arms above his head. ‘Yeah, good idea.’ He pushed a batch of forms aside. ‘This can wait until tomorrow. I’d never have believed getting someone’s credit-card records would take so long.’
‘That’s data protection,’ Jon replied. ‘Lots more paperwork for us.’ As he got up he saw the card from Cheshire Consorts on his desk. Shit, he’d promised Fiona he’d have a word at the motel. ‘One more job to do,’ he said, sitting down again.
Rick was hesitating, jacket draped over an arm.
‘That favour for my other half’s friend? I said I’d check the motel she stayed in. You get on.’ Jon nodded towards the door.
‘Oh. OK, see you tomorrow.’
Jon tried to look up the number for the motel but couldn’t find it in the Yellow Pages. However, a quick visit wouldn’t take him too far out of his way.
In the deserted car park he was surprised to see Rick standing by his vehicle. Jon was parked almost next to it. ‘Car
‘We don’t have children,’ she replied, the corner of her left eye beginning to tick. ‘I’ve already called all the people I could think of. No one’s heard from him.’
Jon’s eyes went back to the snap of them in Paris. ‘Mrs Dean, it would be a great help if we could have a recent photo of your husband.’
They drove back up the M6 in the last light of day. Jon’s mind switching between Gordon Dean’s disappearance and Rick’s intimate knowledge of a bar in the Gay Village. Was the bloke a homosexual? Something odd was definitely going on.
As they approached the Knutsford services the sky darkened and, minutes later, drops of rain started hitting their windscreen.
‘Welcome to Manchester,’ Jon commented with ironic cheer.
The manager at the Novotel was a woman of around forty, with wiry ginger hair fighting to break free from a cluster of hairclips. ‘How may I help you?’ An Eastern European accent added a brusqueness to her greeting.
Jon checked her name tag. ‘Hello, Kristina. I’m DI Spicer, this is DS Saville.’ The enthusiastic way she responded to the sight of their warrant cards surprised him. Perhaps it was something to do with attitudes to authority in her native country. She listened to their request, then looked at the computer before confirming that Gordon Dean had booked in the day before. ‘The room is now occupied by another guest.’
‘So Mr Dean checked out. Can you tell me at what time?’ asked Jon.
‘It is not possible to say. Many guests leave the key in the door, others drop it in the box at the end of the counter. The room is paid for at check-in and should be vacated by eleven the next morning.’
‘Can you tell us if anything was left in his room? Bags, a laptop, that sort of thing?’ Rick asked.
‘I will check Lost Property.’ She disappeared into the back room, returning a minute later. ‘No, nothing from his room.’
Jon pondered the information. Gordon must have returned at some stage, packed his things and moved on. He pointed to the CCTV camera above the entrance. ‘Do you keep the tapes from previous days?’
She nodded. ‘For the last two weeks only. But I would need permission from head office before you can take one. They are shut now, I’m sorry.’
Jon tapped a finger on the counter. More and more, he suspected that Gordon Dean had simply eloped. However, he knew McCloughlin would be tracking him closely on this one.
‘Actually, Kristina, we could seize the tape as evidence here and now. But don’t worry, I’m happy if you could just put in a request for us to borrow yesterday’s.’
Chapter 9
Jon clicked his biro shut and dropped it on the pile of paper and messages on his desk. Among them was a note saying the check he’d requested on the mobile phone number Fiona Wilson had given him had shown it to be a pay-as-you-go: untraceable. It was almost ten o’clock at night and the incident room was nearly empty.
‘I’m calling it a day,’ he announced.
Rick stretched his arms above his head. ‘Yeah, good idea.’ He pushed a batch of forms aside. ‘This can wait until tomorrow. I’d never have believed getting someone’s credit-card records would take so long.’
‘That’s data protection,’ Jon replied. ‘Lots more paperwork for us.’ As he got up he saw the card from Cheshire Consorts on his desk. Shit, he’d promised Fiona he’d have a word at the motel. ‘One more job to do,’ he said, sitting down again.
Rick was hesitating, jacket draped over an arm.
‘That favour for my other half’s friend? I said I’d check the motel she stayed in. You get on.’ Jon nodded towards the door.
‘Oh. OK, see you tomorrow.’
Jon tried to look up the number for the motel but couldn’t find it in the Yellow Pages. However, a quick visit wouldn’t take him too far out of his way.
In the deserted car park he was surprised to see Rick standing by his vehicle. Jon was parked almost next to it. ‘Car
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