Dead End (26 page)

‘No one does,’ Geraldine replied bluntly. Susie continued to stare at Peterson who looked at the floor. ‘Susie, did Vernon talk about anything that was worrying him recently? Only he came to see us –’

‘About that bloke he saw in the queue, having a bit of a barney with his old headmistress, was it? Good. I told him to tell you lot, because I could see he was worried –’ She broke off suddenly and slapped her palms against her cheeks. ‘Oh my God, he was killed because of that, wasn't he? And it's all my fault!’

‘Your fault?’

‘Yes, don't you get it? He only came to see you because I told him to. He never would have told you about that man otherwise. And that's why he was killed. It's all my fault.’ She dabbed at her eyes, checking the black smudges on her tissue. ‘It's my fault, isn't it? What shall I do?’ The sergeant didn't answer.

Geraldine handed Susie a card. ‘If you can think of anything else that might help us please talk to one of our constables.’

Susie nodded her thanks. She was crying in earnest now, genuinely upset, as if the truth of the death was only now finally striking her. ‘He was a nice guy – just a nice guy.’

It didn't take long to interview the rest of the staff. None of them had spent much time with Vernon, but they all agreed he was a decent lad, sweet on Susie.

‘You can't blame him for that, mind,’ Tim added. ‘If I was twenty-one I'd have a go at her myself. She's a good-looking girl.’

‘You know, gov, when Susie asked me what she should do, it was on the tip of my tongue to tell her to grow up,’ Peterson said as they left the store.

Geraldine laughed. ‘She wasn't that bad, just young and enjoying the effect of her good looks. And she was the only one who seemed actually upset about Vernon's death. Shame she's an unreliable witness. I'm not sure we can take what she says at face value.’

46

IMPATIENCE

L
ucy opened her eyes and strained to see her watch in the darkness. It was nearly half past one in the morning but she had distinctly heard footsteps on the stairs. She lay on her back, rigid, listening. A door was opening very slowly. Someone was walking around, and they were trying to be quiet. That could only mean one thing. There was a burglar in the house. Suddenly she couldn't stand it any longer, waiting in ignorance in pitch black. If the intruder saw her light was on he would probably leave her alone and, if she was going to be attacked, at least her assailant wouldn't have the benefit of surprise. With the light on she felt less vulnerable but she glanced repeatedly at the door as she rummaged in her bag for her phone. It wasn't there. She remembered she had received a call earlier on, some idiot from school calling her names, and she had switched it off and flung it across the room.

As she stared at the door she thought the handle moved. She waited, holding her breath, but nothing happened. A memory of her mother flashed into her mind. She wouldn't have crouched by the bed, trembling with fear. She would have been more likely to go out there and give the burglar what for. Lucy took a step forward, and looked around for a weapon. Seizing her hockey stick she crossed the room and opened the door as quietly as she could. The landing was empty. She took a few steps along the landing, brandishing the hockey stick in front of her face. Her eyes fell on her watch and she realised she'd misread the time in her panic. It wasn't half past one but nearly ten past six. She paused. It seemed a funny time for a burglar to break into the house, when the residents might be waking up. Some people were early risers. From behind her father's door came the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing in his en suite. Lucy scowled, vexed that he had been out all night with his woman friend, but relieved at the same time. Before she turned to go back to her own room his door flew open and her father peered out. He was in his pyjamas. Behind him she could see the duvet lying smooth on his bed.

‘Lucy!’ He whispered. He was smiling but she could tell he was surprised. ‘What are you doing up?’

‘I was just going to the toilet.’

‘With your hockey stick?’

‘Oh, I have to do exercises, to strengthen my arms…’ The worst of it was that he didn't even stop to consider how weird that was. He just nodded and went back in his room.

Lucy went back to her room and leant her stupid hockey stick against the wall. She hated hockey but the school made them play so her mother had bought her a stick of her own. She climbed back into bed but couldn't sleep. She had been awake since six, which was really annoying because the weekend was the only time she didn't have to get up early. It was all her stupid father's fault.

She couldn't sleep so she got up at seven and logged on but Zoe wasn't online. She hesitated before checking her Facebook page but it was only more mean comments from girls at school. ‘Sorry about your accident’ when she hadn't had one, and some really horrible anonymous messages. She had thought of going to the police at one point, or at least telling her mother, but while she had been worrying about what to do Zoe had come along and advised her to just ignore it.

‘They'll soon lose interest,’ her friend had told her. ‘If you don't take any notice they'll stop bothering you, but the more you react, the more they'll pester you. Close your account and forget about it. No one looks at other people's Facebook pages anyway.’ It was sound advice. She had told those idiots at school that she'd closed her account but that wasn't true. She couldn't resist reading the comments, like picking at a scab. At least she and Zoe had arranged to meet up on instant messenger. Having just one good friend made everything bearable.

Lucy's week at school had been horrible again. She had done her best to keep away from the worst of the bullies but she couldn't avoid them in all her lessons where they tripped her up, moved her bag, jacketed her pens and books and flicked hard little balls of chewed up paper at her face.

‘Who threw that?’ the teacher would snap but no one ever owned up. Occasionally someone called out Lucy's name and Lucy would deny having thrown anything. As the teacher continued the lesson a low chant would break out at the back of the class, ‘Lucy, Lucy, teacher's pet.’ Break times were the worst, when they surrounded her with jeers and insults.

They had laid off her for a few days.

‘Leave the freak alone, can't you? She lost her mother.’

‘Yeah, her mother's dead. Lay off.’

It was only two weeks since her mother's death and Lucy had only been back at school for a week but they had already resumed their teasing. By the end of the week even the school nurse was less sympathetic.

‘You need to try and settle back into your lessons, Lucy. I know it sounds harsh, but it's for your own good. Now, let's see you making an effort to get back to normal next week. I know it's going to take time, and of course you can come up here if you need to, but it's really best if you try to carry on with your lessons if you possibly can. Otherwise you're going to have work to catch up with on top of everything else, and the last thing you want now is more stress in your life.’

‘Yes, sister,’ Lucy agreed. As if she gave a toss about her school work, with her mother murdered and her father shagging some stranger.

She had nothing else to do, so she unpacked and repacked her rucksack again. It was still only half past seven. She went downstairs, made herself some breakfast, and took it up to her room and stuffed herself until Zoe came online.

‘At last!’ she typed.

‘Been waiting?’

‘Yes. I have to get away.’

‘You can come this weekend!’

‘Yay!’

Someone banged on her door. ‘Go away!’ she yelled. The door flew open and Ben entered. ‘I told you not to come in here.’

‘You told me not to come in without knocking. I knocked.’

‘Get out!’

‘Aunty Evie wants to know if you're coming down for breakfast. I only came in to ask.’

‘Well I'm not. So now you know you can get out! And don't come back!’ she shouted at his retreating back.

She returned to her screen. ‘Sorry, my stupid brother came in.’

‘Has he gone?’

‘Yes. So?’

‘I just spoke to my dad. He's cool to drive me over tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It's not that far.’

‘Great! I'm packed. What time?’

‘Six.’

‘It'll be dark.’

‘That's OK.’

‘I'll be at the corner of Belvedere Road and Western Lane at six. How will I know it's you?’

‘We'll be in a battered old black van – and don't forget the password!’

‘No worries.’

‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Can't wait!’ Lucy logged off instant messenger, closed her account, and shut down her computer. This had to work.

47

IDENTIFICATION

V
ernon's aunt bustled into the entry hall, red faced and strident.

‘Ah, there you are,’ she hailed Geraldine, as though she had just spent hours searching for her. ‘Come on, then, let's get this over with. I'm sure it's all some dreadful mistake. There's no way Vernon would have got himself involved in anything – anything like this.’

‘Mrs Middleton, you need to prepare yourself. I'm afraid you're about to view your nephew's body –’

‘Now let's not start jumping to conclusions,’ the stout woman's voice boomed across the hallway. ‘Whoever it is you have in here hasn't been identified yet. You can't possibly be sure it's Vernon.’

‘I met your nephew twice, and I'm afraid there's no doubt. It's him.’

‘Hmmph. Well, come on then, show me.’ She glared as though challenging Geraldine to do her worst.

‘I have to warn you, this was not an accidental death and it wasn't a simple murder. He's been damaged.’

Carol Middleton stared, her eyes wide, her voice suddenly low. ‘You mean – someone interfered with him?’

‘Not sexually. But his face has been altered.’

‘What?’ Carol frowned, uncomprehending. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The killer mutilated his body. He removed his eyes. Vernon wouldn't have felt anything,’ Geraldine added quickly, regardless of the truth, ‘but you need to be prepared for what you're about to see. And you'll have to decide if you want the body returned to you in its present state for burial – if your sister should see him as he is. His eyelids can be reconstructed, of course, but if the papers get hold of this… ’

‘Oh my God,’ Carol's face had lost its ruddy glow. ‘Can we get this over with, please?’ She followed Geraldine submissively into the viewing room and gazed at Vernon's eyeless face, her countenance almost as pale as his.

‘Mrs Middleton, can you confirm this is your nephew, Vernon Mitchell?’

Carol whimpered and her bulky frame shook. ‘It's him, oh God, it's him. What am I going to say to Janice?’ She buried her face in her hands and her voice came out muffled. ‘Take it away, please, take it away.’

Geraldine covered Vernon's face and steered the crying woman back into the hall. ‘I'm so sorry, Mrs Middleton. We're doing everything we can to find out who committed this terrible crime.’

‘Why?’ Carol dropped her hands and stared at Geraldine in bewilderment. ‘Why would anyone do that? Why kill him? And – Why? He was a nice boy. He was so good with my sister. God knows she hasn't got much in her life. What's going to happen to her now? Oh God.’ She broke down in tears.

Geraldine led her to a chair. ‘Sit down, Mrs Middleton and take your time. You're in shock. It's only natural.’

‘How was it?’ Peterson asked.

‘Carol Middleton identified him. She took it badly, but that's understandable. He's not a pretty sight.’

‘I thought they did a good job on him, considering.’

‘But he was her nephew, and he was only a kid.’

‘How about you, gov?’

‘Me?’

‘Are you OK?’

Geraldine shrugged. ‘Some seem worse than others, that's all. But it's the same job to be done, so what's next?’

Vernon's colleague Susie was in the station waiting to be interviewed again. There was a possibility she might be able to give them more information.

‘That's one for you, gov,’ the sergeant said, his expression uneasy.

Geraldine smiled. ‘I would have thought you'd be up for this one. She's an attractive girl. And more to the point, she seemed to like you. Don't you think she might open up to you?’

‘Spin me a line, more like. No gov, take it from me, if a girl like that is going to talk sense – which I doubt – it's going to be to another woman.’

Susie was looking at the door, her lips arranged in a pout, when Geraldine entered the interview room.

Her face fell but she recovered quickly and greeted Geraldine brightly. ‘Hello. Is the sergeant coming too?’

‘No, it's just me, I'm afraid.’

‘That's OK.’ Geraldine was relieved that Susie didn't seem put out. She leaned forward. ‘Just girls together, eh?’

Geraldine smiled thinly. ‘Yes. I want you to think very carefully, Susie. What you have to tell us could make a crucial difference to our investigation into Vernon's murder.’

‘It was definitely murder then?’

‘Yes. There's no question about it.’

‘How horrible. He was a really sweet boy, you know, and he had this thing about me.’ Tears sparkled at the corner of her eyes.

Geraldine handed her a tissue. ‘You know Vernon came to see us.’ Susie nodded and blew her nose loudly. ‘You know he was worried. He confided in you, didn't he?’ Susie nodded again, with slightly less certainty. ‘Did Vernon ever mention anyone, or say anything about anyone he thought might be threatening him?’ She waited. ‘Was he scared of anyone in particular?’

‘Yes. He said he saw a man arguing with that woman who was murdered and then he said someone followed him home. He was scared, proper scared, so I told him to go to the police. I mean, I didn't know who was following him. I told him to see you lot. You're the ones who should've helped him. What was I supposed to do about it?’

‘Susie, listen to me. No one's accusing you of not doing everything you could to help Vernon. You were a good friend to him – probably his only friend. As far as we knew, you were the only person he talked to about this.’