“Why would he attack you?” Jack Morgan asked.
Knight picked up the photograph of Sophie and Patel in front of the waterfall. “I think he killed Sophie. There was a photo of them together where you found her. It was turned facedown.”
“He couldn’t look at it,” Morgan guessed. “But why keep it?”
“Maybe because he didn’t want her friends to be suspicious if they came by?” Knight suggested. “Or he kept it because to hide the evidence would be an admission of his guilt he wasn’t willing to make, even to himself. He doesn’t seem like a cold-blooded killer, Jack. I think he killed Sophie, but I’m almost certain it was a crime of passion. When I saw him cornered by Eliza, there wasn’t an ounce of aggression in him. He was terrified.”
“Don’t sleep on this guy, Peter. For all we know, he thought you were dead when he put you down. We need to find this bastard, and soon.”
Knight knew the same, and began a frantic search of Patel’s home for clues. “Stay on the line while I take a look around,” he told Morgan.
“Go to his office, or whatever he has that passes as one,” Morgan instructed. “Look for a passport. We need to know if he’s trying to jump the country.”
Knight found the office at the top of the stairs. He began pulling out the drawers of Patel’s desk, dumping their contents out on the floor and searching through. “No sign of a passport.”
“Check his closet,” Morgan suggested, and Knight ran to the bedroom, flinging open a door to a walk-in wardrobe—there was a large section of clothes missing in a chunk from the railing, and more on the floor.
“He grabbed a load of clothes in a hurry,” Knight informed Morgan. “He’s not coming back. Can we stop him at the airports?”
“Not a chance. He’s only a suspect to us, not to the law. Either we stop him, Peter, or no one does.”
; There was silence on the line as both men contemplated that likely and sickening possibility.
It was Knight who broke it.
“I’ve got an idea.”
Chapter 44
JACK MORGAN PACED outside the school with the phone held to his ear. The line had been silent for almost five minutes while Knight carried out his plan. Morgan thought it was a long shot at best and was readying himself for the news that Knight had come up empty-handed from his inglorious task—Knight had emptied the contents of Patel’s trash on the pavement and was rummaging through it for clues. Knight’s reasoning was that Sophie’s death had occurred within days and that the bins were full. They probably hadn’t been emptied since it happened. Knight didn’t expect he’d find evidence of a murder in such a place, but there might be a suggestion as to the destination Patel could be looking to escape to.
“I’ve got it!” Knight shouted victoriously down the line. “I’ve got something, Jack!”
“What is it?”
“It’s a torn-up letter. I found all three pieces. It’s thanking Patel for opening a safety deposit box at a bank in Staines.”
“Staines?” the American asked.
“It’s close to Heathrow!”
Morgan understood the implications at once—a safety deposit box opened within days of the murder of Sophie Edwards, a few minutes from one of the world’s busiest airports.
“How long to get there from where you are?” Morgan asked, feeling his pulse quicken.
“No more than ninety minutes,” Knight replied. “He’s got at least an hour’s head start on us, Jack.”
“OK, send me the address and I’ll head there too… And Peter, contact your sister-in-law at the Met. Beg her, lie to her, do whatever, but we need surveillance at every train station within a three-mile radius of that bank, and the bank itself.”
“I’ll do my best,” Knight promised. “Why three miles?”
“Patel hasn’t planned any of this well, but he may be smart enough to not get off at the nearest station.”
“But what if he gets a cab, or a bus?” Knight asked.
“There’s nothing we can do about that. I’m sending Cook to your location. She’s too far out to make it to the bank ahead of us, but she can secure Patel’s place ready for the police investigation.”