Chapter 62
Chapter sixty-two
Matty stepped out of the car and looked at the front door of her flat. It was covered by a huge metal sheet, hiding the fact the actual door had been kicked in. There was no officer on guard now, just police tape across it, lettered with ‘DO NOT CROSS’.
Saint walked up, pulled a key from his trouser pocket, unlocked it, and opened the makeshift door. The creak was far too loud for this early in the morning.
“After you,” he said, raising up the tape.
Matty sighed. “I guess it is my place of abode.”
“Not for long,” Sloan muttered as they moved into the small space before the stairs.
Matty bent and tidied the pile of shoes. They’d clearly been kicked and knocked by every set of boots that had rushed past.
Upstairs, she stopped and looked around. It was a tip—cupboards emptied, drawers pulled out. Even the fridge had been cleared, the contents left on the side to sour.
“Really?” Matty said. “You come into people’s homes, wreck them like feral burglars, then just leave.”
Saint at least had the decency to look contrite. “I know it doesn’t seem fair—and it isn’t—but with this quantity of drugs, we can’t afford to miss anything.”
Matty turned away from the kitchen and headed down the hall towards her room.
“Just…prepare yourself.” Sloan’s hand found her arm, gently supporting. “Your room will probably be the same.”
It was the first time in her life she’d been grateful she didn’t own much. After the divorce, Amelie had bought Matty’s share of the furniture off her. That was how she’d had the money for the deposit and first month’s rent.
Her wardrobe had been emptied. The clothes she did have were strewn across the floor. Books had been pulled from the shelf, spines bent, left open and flattened, crushed under others.
“Christ. They seriously thought I’d hide a kilo of coke in Jane Austen?” she grumbled, gathering a few and stacking them neatly on the bedside table.
Sloan started on the clothes, folding and stacking them on the bed.
“Why don’t I get started in here and you can show DS Saint what he needs to see?” Sloan leaned in and kissed Matty’s cheek. “Suitcase?”
“Under the bed.”
“Good. Let’s get you packed up and out of here.”
“I can’t afford to—”
Sloan put a finger to Matty’s lips. “You’ll be coming home with me. That’s final—until you work out what you want to do next.” Her gaze flicked around the room. “I’m not leaving you alone a second longer than I have to.”
Matty nodded. She bit her lip, eyes on Sloan. “Hot.”
Sloan watched as Saint left the room with Matty following. “That’s not hot,” she called after her, “it’s just my job as your girlfriend.”
Matty’s head popped back around the door. “Keep going, and I’ll show you exactly how hot in a minute.”
Sloan grinned. “Oh, you’ll definitely be showing me.”
***
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?”