A Shred of Evidence (32 page)

Lloyd let the booklet drop and swing on its piece of string. “So far,” he said, “we have had a defence of your morals—which sound pretty well indefensible, I may say. But I understood you to say that you were going to explain why I shouldn’t now charge you with murder, Mr. Murray.”

If only he knew where Hannah had gone. Or even knew her other name. But she had vanished by the time he got down there, and when he had got back up to the staff room, Kim had gone too. She had said she would wait. Fifteen-year-old girls were much more trouble than they were worth. Perhaps he could get away without mentioning that bit.

“I was trying to leave,” he said. “But Natalie … well, she didn’t want to go …”

He had told her to hurry up; she had retrieved her pants from the floor of the car, and tried to pull them on in the confined space, lifting herself off the seat. Her shoulders had caught a pile of letters and sent them spilling down over both of them on to the floor.

She had laughed and had begun to pick them up; he had told her to leave them, to get out of the car and make herself presentable. They had both got out, and he had got into the driver’s seat.

He couldn’t be late getting the car back, he had said, starting the engine, but Natalie had been in no mood to hurry; there was plenty of time, she had said, leaning in the open driver’s window to kiss him, to tease him. She found Cochrane’s deodorant and started spraying it about until he got it off her.

He had told her to do up her shirt; she had said he’d unbuttoned it so he could button it up again. He had told her he didn’t have time for all that. He had told her to do what she was told. But none of it had worked.

“Make me,” she had said.

He had got out of the car, and she had giggled as he caught hold of her. He had pushed her against the wall, and … and he had no willpower, and … well, he hadn’t buttoned up her shirt.

But in the middle of it all he had heard Sherlock’s unmistakable bark, looked up and seen Erica Cochrane.

“So I just got in the car and got the hell out of there,” he said.

Lloyd’s face was grim. “Could Mrs. Cochrane see you?” he asked, his voice low.

Patrick shook his head. “Not to identify me,” he said. “It was too dark. I only saw her for a second, in the headlights.”

Inspector Hill looked up from her notebook. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You are saying that when you saw Mrs. Cochrane you immediately stopped what you were doing, got into the car, and drove off—leaving Natalie there?”

“It was survival of the fittest, as far as I was concerned.”

“Survival being the operative word,” said Lloyd. “Not, I think, of the fittest.”

“Maybe not,” said Patrick. “But I didn’t kill her. She was alive when I left, and Erica Cochrane’s told you that. It’s lucky for me Erica saw her—I told her to get out of sight.”

“A tall order,” the inspector said. “Given where she was. Standing in front of a sheer wall.”

Her delivery was always the same; always calm, always quiet, unlike the chief inspector, whose emotions, real or manufactured, were on display.

“What construction do you imagine Mrs. Cochrane put on what she had just witnessed?” she asked.

Patrick shrugged. “That it was Colin who was with her,” he said.

“That didn’t bother you?”

“Not really. She already thought Colin had a bit on the side. For all I know, he has.”

Lloyd shook his head a little. “And Mrs. Cochrane would then believe that she knew who this ‘bit on the side’ was, wouldn’t she?” he asked.

“She might as well think it was Natalie,” said Patrick. “Again—for all I know, it was.”

Lloyd waited for him to say more, but Patrick didn’t see the need to expand on what he’d already told them.

“That’s it, is it?” Lloyd asked. “This proof?”

“What more proof do you need?”

“More than that,” he said. “Mrs. Cochrane saw her husband’s car—naturally she would have thought it was her husband who was using it, and she didn’t tell us that. We therefore have no reason to believe the rest of her story—she could have found a body, couldn’t she? She could be lying to protect her husband.”

“Not now, she couldn’t,” said Patrick. “She’s known since this afternoon that I was in the car, not Colin. Do you think she would still be keeping quiet about it if she thought
I’d
killed her? She found her alive, just like she told you.”

Lloyd nodded, accepting that, and Patrick relaxed a little.

“But there is still a little puzzle, Mr. Murray,” Lloyd went on. “You see, we can’t work out—and your account doesn’t explain—why Natalia’s shoes were sitting in the depot doorway.”

And they had his fingerprints on them. The full story, then, the bit he had hoped not to have to recount, but that had always been a forlorn hope.

“I parked Colin’s car at the school, and I was picking up the envelopes to put them back on the shelf, when I found Natalie’s shoes.” He looked at the disapproving Inspector Hill. “Even I couldn’t let the kid go home in bare feet,” he said.

Lloyd was looking puzzled now, the animated eyebrows low over his eyes. “But if you went back, in what way does Mrs. Cochrane’s statement that she was alive when she saw her benefit you?” he asked. “For all we know, you went back, discovered that Natalia had failed to keep out of sight, and lost your temper with her.”

Patrick smiled. “My temper is always exactly where I left it, Mr. Lloyd,” he said. “I don’t lose it. I went back and left her shoes—I didn’t even see Natalie, and I’ve got a witness to that fact.”

“Couldn’t you have mentioned that earlier?” demanded Lloyd.

“Well, to be honest, it’s not really going to be much use now,” said Patrick. “But she can clear me, once you find her, because Erica Cochrane saw Natalie alive after I left, and this girl in an Oakland School uniform saw me arrive back, with
Natalie’s shoes in my hand. She watched me put them down, and she watched me leave. She knows I never even saw Natalie.”

Lloyd sighed loudly, and scraped his chair back, getting up. “A girl in an Oakland School uniform?” he said.

“I tried to find her, but all the kid knew was that she saw me with a pair of women’s sandals in my hand, and then Natalie was found murdered. She’s not been back to school since. All I can tell you is that her name’s Hannah.”

“How do you know her name at all?”

“Because I saw her tonight, and one of the other girls told me her name. But she ran away, because she’s petrified of me. I was in the staff room when I saw her, but by the time I got downstairs she had gone. Just … vanished. Her bike was lying on the ground, but she was nowhere to be seen.”

Lloyd looked less sceptical than he had, but even more sombre. “What time was this?” he asked.

Patrick did a calculation. “Sixish,” he said. “This Kim girl was with me, but she had gone when I went back. She probably knows where Hannah lives, but I can’t remember Kim’s other name.” He looked at the industrious inspector. “I’ve a terrible memory for names,” he said. “And faces. But you can’t write them down.”

Lloyd made an exasperated noise. “Does this mean we have to get hold of the register in order to find Kim in order to find Hannah?” he demanded.

“I know Kim,” said the inspector, almost absentmindedly as she went leafing backwards through her notebook. “Her name is Walters. But if I remember …”

“Go and ask her,” said Patrick. “She’ll tell you where to find Hannah. It’s crazy—this girl thinks I’m the murderer, and she’s the only person in the world who can vouch for the fact that I’m not.”

The inspector looked up from her notebook. “You do realize what you’re saying, don’t you, Mr. Murray?” she asked, and went back to her task.

Patrick’s mouth opened. No, he hadn’t realized what he was saying. That hadn’t crossed his mind. No wonder Erica
had been prepared to co-operate. How was he to know, for God’s sake?

“It’s not my fault!” he said. “I
told
Natalie to get out of sight.”

“Hannah,” the inspector said, not even acknowledging that Patrick had spoken. “There’s a Hannah Lewis on the list of girls we got from the drama group,” she told Lloyd. “She’s our best bet.”

The chief inspector agreed. “Interview suspended, twenty hundred hours,” he said. “In the meantime, Mr. Murray, I’m sure you’ll understand that we must put you in one of our cells.”

He sounded really upset about that, thought Patrick. But the worst had happened; the bleak future that he had outlined for Erica’s benefit was a virtual certainty. It had always been, really, from the moment he had discovered what had happened to Natalie. There had been moments when he had thought that he had got away with it, that’s all. They hadn’t lasted long.

But now, unless Hannah had really vanished into thin air, she would be found, and he would at least be able to prove that whatever else he was, he was no murderer.

“Oh, I understand all right,” he said. “And believe me, I want you to find her.”

Tom looked up as Judy and Lloyd came in. “No joy on Mrs. Cochrane, sir,” he said. “No one’s at home. The caretaker says she left the school at about six, he thinks. She was working late.”

“Was she, indeed?” said Lloyd. “And she’s disappeared too,” he added grimly.

“Who else has disappeared?” asked Tom.

Things began to fall into place as Judy told him Murray’s story. He had been wrong about Mrs. Cochrane as well, it seemed, but not that wrong. She had been stringing them along, but she hadn’t found Natalie dead. She had found her very much alive, and at it with someone she not unnaturally assumed was her husband.

“I’ve put out a general alert for Mrs. Cochrane,” said Judy as
they drove to where Hannah Lewis lived. “Meanwhile, we may have found our witness, with any luck.”

Tom had a feeling that whatever luck they had had, and that was precious little, might well have run out. The lorry driver and his mate being able to corroborate Cochrane’s story was luck, he supposed, but he wouldn’t have taken advantage of that. He took a breath. “The DCI stopped me making a fool of myself over Cochrane,” he said. “Didn’t he?”

She smiled. “He does have a rather unique way of doing people favours,” she said.

“Then I’ll do him one,” said Tom, with a grin. “Something can’t be rather unique.”

“Don’t you dare start that!” she said.

Tom laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not equipped to. I had a teacher who had a thing about that.”

As he had gloomily predicted, they did not find their witness. What they actually found was Mrs. Lewis, who almost passed out when Tom identified himself and Judy.

“What’s happened?” she cried. “Where’s Hannah? What’s happened to her?”

“Nothing that we know of, Mrs. Lewis,” said Judy, her voice as reassuring as she could make it, given that they had no idea what had happened to Hannah or Mrs. Cochrane. “May we come in?”

“Where is she?” said Mrs. Lewis again, as they walked into a pleasantly furnished, tidy sitting room. “She went to the school to meet Kim, but she’s not at Kim’s—I just rang. There’s no answer from the school. Something’s happened to her, I know it has.”

“We don’t know that,” said Mr. Lewis.

Tom hadn’t even noticed that he was there, but he was. Sitting on the sofa, silent until that utterance. For all Tom knew, invisible until then.

“Try not to worry,” said Judy. “We think she may just be with a friend—she may have been mistakenly frightened of someone. We’ll find her, don’t worry. In the meantime, can you tell me what Kim said when you rang her?”

“Kim wasn’t there—it was her mother I spoke to, and that’s what worried me.” Mrs. Lewis was on the verge of tears.

Tom caught Judy’s eye, and looked up towards the ceiling.

“Mrs. Lewis,” said Judy. “Has Hannah got a computer? A word processor?”

Mrs. Lewis was startled out of the tears. “Yes,” she said.

“Would you mind if Sergeant Finch had a look at it?” asked Judy. “It’s important.”

Mr. Lewis gave consent, challenged by Mrs. Lewis, but Tom was already on his way to find Hannah’s bedroom. He left Judy trying to find out exactly why Kim’s mother had so alarmed Mrs. Lewis, and went up to her room.

It didn’t take long. She hadn’t even taken the precaution of deleting the file. Presumably her parents were not into computers. Today’s letter, Tuesday’s letter, and a number of other letters. They were looking for the right girl, then, he thought. But if it was Murray she was afraid of, perhaps she hadn’t witnessed the murder after all.

“And Kim is with her aunt at the police station?” Judy was saying.

“That’s what Mrs. Walters said. I was just going to ring the police about Hannah when you came. Kim’s been phoning her at all hours of the day and night—she’s got Hannah into trouble, I know she has.”

No, thought Tom. If Hannah was in trouble, she had got herself there by not coming to the police in the first place. But Judy was probably right. She would be lying low with a friend, knowing that all this was about to break about her head. He said as much in an edited version, but Mrs. Lewis dismissed the idea.

“She would have come
home
,” she said.

“I’m not so sure,” said Mr. Lewis.

“Oh, do be quiet, George!”

Kim Walters, it transpired when they contacted the station and DC Marshall, had been very anxious to let them know that the man who had been seeing Natalia was not Colin Cochrane.

Judy smiled. “Better late than never,” she said as Tom headed for the Walters residence.

The reason for this knowledge did prove Patrick Murray’s contention that he had not known until Tuesday that Natalie was only fifteen. But he had known then, and he would be charged with the offence. Tom felt a little sorry for him; Natalie had hardly been corrupted by Murray’s attentions, and in truth he would be charged with being a cad, basically. And it wasn’t every day that ungentlemanly conduct ruined your entire life.

Kim, when they saw her, assured them that Hannah was quite safe—she was with Mrs. Cochrane.

Erica had reversed out of Colin’s parking space, and had almost driven straight into the girl she had already frightened out of her wits when she had screamed at her to get out of her office. The headmaster had heard her. Again. And come in and told her to take a few days off if things were as bad as they seemed. And had gone on at her about the evening paper.