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“Okay, we’ve made a note. If we get a few more sa
ying the same thing we’ll follow up. If we don’t, we can go back to Cathy Smithson and see if she can elaborate on that point. Good work, guys, but I think we’ll have to trundle up a few more paths and knock on a few more doors before we have a breakthrough.”
Keen to press on, Gardener immediately turned his attention to Patrick Edwards. “Anything more from Seacroft?”
Edwards shook his head, dismayed, as if he’d failed in his mission. “No, sir. I covered a lot more ground today. Robbie Carter did stop and talk to a couple in the car park: a Mr and Mrs Allen, live about ten minutes’ drive in Alwoodley. But they only stayed a few minutes – too cold. They have a wedding anniversary coming up and they wanted to know if they could book Robbie privately. He said it was okay, gave them a card and left.”
“And he didn’t stop at any of the local fish shops before going home?”
“Not that they could remember. But as they said, you get a lot of people in at that time of night and all you’re interested in is serving and getting ’em out of the door. I also tried all the fast-food places, showed his photo – no luck.”
Gardener nodded. “Okay, Patrick, don’t worry. You’ve tried your best. Tomorrow I want you to help Sarah and Bob to concentrate on as many of her contacts and customers as you can. Most of those will be friends but I suspect she will also have had friends outside the equine circle.” He turned to Emma Longstaff. “Maybe you can help us there, Emma.”
“I’ve really managed to delve into her Facebook pages.” She reached into a folder, withdrawing sheets of paper. “I’ve made a comprehensive list of her friends here. Trouble with Facebook is, despite people being in your circle of friends, they might not necessarily be friends in real life.”
Emma Longstaff passed out the photocopied sheets of the victim’s friends. “There aren’t as many here, which makes me think they really are her friends: there’s only seventy-five.”
“It’s enough,” said Gardener. “It’s still another seventy-five possible people to interview.”
“Who was in her top friends?” asked Patrick Edwards.
“I was just coming to that. The Atkinsons were there, as well as Robbie, and Carrie Fletcher. I was able to go back quite some time. In the very beginning there were quite a number of intimate messages from Robbie.”
“Must have been when they first met,” said Reilly.
“When was that?” Gardener asked.
“About three years ago.”
“Did she say how they met?”
“Not in so many words, but I got the impression it was a dating website.”
“Really?”
Cragg continued updating the charts so he immediately wrote that down and turned to speak to Emma Longstaff. “Did she say which one?”
“No. Not that I noticed.”
“How do you know about dating websites, Mr Cragg?” asked Mike Atherton.
“Got to keep your finger on the pulse, son,” he replied, with a wry smile that must have left everyone wondering what the hell he meant by it.
“Anything else from the social media angle?” Gardener asked.
“I haven’t checked Twitter or Instagram yet, I’ve been a bit too busy with Facebook. But I thought you might like to know there was more interaction between her and Carrie Fletcher, than with Robbie.”
“What kind of interaction?”
“Usual stuff: planning nights out, meeting up for meals during the day.”
“Did you make notes?”
She consulted her sheets of papers. “Some.”
“When was the last time they connected on Facebook?”
“Friday night, about eight o’clock. Carrie wondered if she wanted to meet for a drink but Jane said she was tired. She was going for a bath. After that, it was a glass of wine and a bit of TV.”
