Doyle nodded. ‘I think that too.’
‘And we can’t recover it?’
‘No. It was professionally removed with cosmetic lasers.’
‘But, if she’s had the date removed, why the hell was she still wearing her wedding ring?’ Poe said.
Doyle said nothing.
Chapter 7
Flynn put Nightingale on speakerphone as soon as she had a signal. She updated her on the scar Estelle Doyle had found.
‘That’s helpful, DI Flynn,’ Nightingale said. ‘We can use it as a control filter when we go public.’
‘What do you want us doing?’ Flynn asked.
‘I’m concentrating on finding the bodies. Do you want to go over the first crime scene and see if you can work out how he did it?’
Poe nodded to Flynn. That was exactly where he wanted to start. He thought he knew how the killer had deposited the fingers at the church and he’d been on camera at Fiskin’s Food Hall, but so far no one had figured out how he’d got them into a Secret Santa mug at John Bull Haulage.
Craig Hodgkiss, the man whose Secret Santa present had been swapped, was on police bail. He’d been charged with a public order offence after his initial arrest as the responding officers hadn’t known what else to do with him. He had to report to Durranhill, Carlisle Area’s headquarters building, at 2 p.m. every day, and Poe and Flynn were waiting there for him.
He was led into one of the modern interview suites and they all took a seat.
He was an over-groomed man. Gelled hair and fake tan, bleached teeth and designer stubble.
‘I gather you were the only one in the office to piss yourself?’ Poe said. May as well annoy him straight away. Put him off any script he’d prepared beforehand.
Hodgkiss stiffened. ‘I most certainly did not.’
Useful information, Poe decided. Attacking his ego was clearly the way to go. He’d spoken to Nightingale before they’d started and he concurred with her overall impression of him: he was a dickhead but ultimately harmless.
‘Show him the video, boss,’ Poe said.
Flynn opened the laptop she’d brought in with her. It had a video set up. She pressed play and span it round so Hodgkiss could see.
Barbara’s friend, Tiffany, had taken it. It included the moment Barbara opened her Secret Santa present, but they’d also recorded a prologue.
They were in the work toilets. Tiffany was doing a mock interview with Barbara. She must have been using a selfie stick as they were both on screen.
‘Barbara Willoughby, today’s the big day,’ Tiffany said. ‘The great Craig Hodgkiss has selected you as his woman. In a few minutes he’ll ask you to marry him in the most romantic way possible: a cheap stunt in front of your workmates using your dead grandmother’s eternity ring.’
Barbara nodded. ‘I am indeed truly blessed, Tiffany.’
Tiffany snorted.
‘And will you be receptive to his magnificent gesture?’
‘Well, Tiffany, as you know I’ve given this a great deal of thought and, what with him having cheated on me several times, I was only too happy to acquiesce.’
‘And would you like to record a message for your future husband?’
‘I would, Tiffany.’
‘I’m sure he’ll treasure it. I know I will.’
Barbara composed herself.