Death Bed (14 page)

‘S
o it’s looking like Stafford’s our man after all,’ Sam said brightly as she drove back to the station.

‘I still don’t think he’s the one we want.’

‘But he could have bought William Kingsley’s car. You admitted as much yourself.’

Geraldine sighed, wishing Sam wasn’t pursuing Stafford quite so eagerly. He was their only suspect, but that didn’t mean he was guilty. She flicked through her notebook.

‘A tall dark-haired man wearing a long coat and expensive shoes, and speaking with an educated accent, who gives the impression he has plenty of money. Douggie Hopkins and William Kingsley are describing the same man, aren’t they? As far as we know, he bought a car for cash, leaving no paper trail, a car in which Jessica Palmer dropped the pendant she always wore, a car this man paid Douggie Hopkins to dispose of in a hurry.’

She broke off, frustrated. They had been given an elusive glimpse of the man who had killed Jessica Palmer, but he didn’t sound like the Northerner who had visited the massage parlour.

‘I just don’t think Robert Stafford’s our man,’ she concluded bleakly.

‘Because - ?’

‘Well, for a start this is a meticulously planned operation. It’s not the work of someone who booked into a massage parlour under his own name before bumping off his regular masseuse. I think the man we’re looking for is more devious than that. He paid Douggie Hopkins to torch his car without revealing his identity, if we believe Hopkins, which I do. I don’t think Hopkins knows who this man is any more than we do. What are we missing, Sam?’

‘I don’t know. But I do know that Hopkins is scum. I daresay he knows more than he’s letting on. If you ask me, we ought to pull him in, not let him off in exchange for giving us information.’

‘You know as well as I do that we depend on scum like Douggie Hopkins to give us information. Sometimes that’s all we have.’

‘That doesn’t justify it. We shouldn’t turn a blind eye because he knows something we don’t.’

‘So what would you do then? Lock up all the petty criminals, the snouts and the messenger boys, ones we can mop up easily – and give up trying to catch the bigger fish?’

‘Without foot soldiers carrying out their instructions the ones behind it all would have nothing. They’d be nothing. Lock up all the petty criminals and the game’s over for whoever’s running them.’

‘We’re talking about men who stay out of sight pocketing the profits. They’re loaded, some of them. They’ll always find people to do their dirty work for them.’

‘Yes, I know. Of course you’re right, in practice. But if something’s wrong, it’s wrong,’ Sam protested. ‘We shouldn’t have to make allowances for scum like Hopkins, that’s all I’m saying.’

Geraldine shrugged.

‘Well, you’re right too, in theory. But we have to be practical. If a small-time crook can help us put a murderer behind bars, it’s got to be a good thing. It all depends on where you draw the line about what you’re prepared to tolerate and why.’

‘There should only be one line,’ Sam insisted. ‘And that line is the law. It has to be upheld, regardless. It’s not our job to decide when the rules can be bent.’

‘Sometimes the means have to justify the ends or we’d never be able to protect the majority of people, and that’s our job too. Keeping the public safe.’

‘So according to you, if a murderer gives us information that leads to the arrest of a serial killer, the murderer should be rewarded? And how about if the serial killer then helps us find a sociopath?’

Geraldine shook her head, smiling.

‘Now that
would
be crossing the line.’

‘Oh come on. People pay – what is it now? – sixty quid for parking in the wrong place, or driving a few miles over the speed limit, and here we are, condoning someone torching a car that could have led us to Jessica Palmer’s killer. We let him off scot free for telling us about it when he was the one who destroyed the evidence in the first place.’

‘Letting Hopkins off for destroying evidence isn’t the point. The evidence has gone - ’

‘Thanks to Hopkins,’ Sam interjected.

‘All we can do now is salvage what we can from the situation. And if that means striking a bargain with Hopkins for information, so we can try and discover who used that car to abduct Jessica Palmer and kill her, so be it. However you look at it, you can’t put torching a car in the same category as murder.’

‘Yes, but - ’

‘It’s all well and good arguing, and maybe you can make an ethical case, but here in the real world we have to work with what we’ve got even if that means ignoring moral absolutes. Now come on, this isn’t a philosophy class. What do we know?’

‘We know enough to suspect Stafford’s the man we’re after,’ Sam replied, crotchety. ‘What makes you so sure he’s not guilty?’

‘What makes you so sure he is?’

‘Think about it, Geraldine. He knew her. He stopped going to the massage parlour just after she was killed, and he was a member of the National Front.’

‘For six months, when he was a teenager.’

‘Alright, he’s a National Front sympathiser then.’

‘Possibly. But we don’t know that. If he’s a racist, why would he ask for Jessica Palmer to do his massage? It doesn’t make sense. Surely he wouldn’t want her touching him.’

‘Maybe he liked humiliating her, seeing her in a subservient role. Perhaps he wanted to control his victims - chaining Jessica up could be an extension of her services in the massage parlour where he saw himself as some sort of high and mighty white boss, with black women as his captives, like his slaves. Maybe that’s what he enjoyed.’

‘And killing his victims would be the ultimate power trip,’ Geraldine added. ‘Well, I can see how what we know about Stafford could fit what little we actually think we know about Jessica Palmer’s killer but what’s his connection to Donna Henry? No, something’s not right.’

‘You can say that again. The whole thing stinks. A massage wasn’t all he was after for a start.’

‘We don’t know that, Sam. And even if there were other services on offer - ’

‘
If
there were!’

‘That still doesn’t mean he killed Jessica, or that he’s done anything illegal, unsavoury though the whole thing might be.’

‘It means he’s a disgusting liar.’

‘You might well be right, but even if he was cheating on his wife, that’s not a crime. And we don’t know there was anything like that going on. He might just be the type to go to a massage parlour like that when he was really only after a massage. His story about a rugby injury sounds convincing enough.’

‘But it all fits,’ Sam replied doggedly. ‘The same night we let him go, Donna Henry was killed. It had to be him. Why make things more complicated than they really are?’

‘I just want to be confident we’re going after the right man.’

Sam shook her head.

‘I can’t see the problem.’

‘Doesn’t it bother you that he booked into the massage parlour under his own name when he could easily have used a false one?’

‘Presumably he wasn’t planning on killing her when he started going there.’

‘We’ll bear it in mind as a possibility, but we can’t go jumping to conclusions.’

Geraldine couldn’t give a satisfactory explanation as to why she didn’t believe Stafford was a killer, but her instincts told her the man they wanted was altogether more cunning than the Northerner who had patronised the massage parlour.

Tired and dispirited, all she wanted to do was go home and sleep, but her day wasn’t over. After work it was time for her to set off on the drive to Kent where her sister, Celia, was expecting her for supper. Although she welcomed the break, she couldn’t put the investigation out of her mind. Despite what she had said to Sam, she wasn’t ready to disregard Robert Stafford completely. Sam might be right to suspect Robert Stafford had bought William Kingsley’s car for cash, putting on a false voice. Geraldine had come across less likely scenarios in previous cases. In any event, they needed to find out more about Stafford and his associates. They knew he had been a member of the National Front as a teenager. He claimed he no longer associated with them and accepting a massage from a black woman certainly seemed to confirm that he had moved away from the views he’d held in his youth. But such prejudices ran deep. Maybe Stafford was cleverer than she thought.

As she left London behind, the investigation slowly began to drift away from her. It seemed strange driving back along familiar roads. It was only a few weeks since she had left the area but it felt as though she was stepping back in time. When she reached Celia’s house, time concertinaed as though she had never left at all.

‘You’ve grown up!’ she said, smiling at Chloe who grinned at her.

‘Are we going shopping, Aunty Geraldine?’

‘You know perfectly well it’s too late for shopping, young lady,’ Celia replied. ‘It’s supper and then bed for you. School in the morning.’

‘Oh mum.’

‘I’ll take you shopping next time I come,’ Geraldine said.

‘Do you promise?’

‘Promise.’

‘You’ll have to come round earlier next time then,’ Chloe told her. ‘Come on Saturday and we can spend all day shopping.’

‘Don’t be bossy, Chloe,’ Celia remonstrated. ‘You know Aunty Geraldine’s busy. Eight going on eighteen,’ she added, turning to Geraldine.

Behind her mother’s back, Chloe stuck her tongue out.

‘Isn’t this nice?’ Celia said when she had finished serving the food. ‘Three girls together. We should do this more often when daddy’s out.’

Chloe chattered about school and insisted on telling Geraldine all about her best friend, Emma. Preoccupied and tired, Geraldine did her best to appear interested. As soon as they finished eating Chloe stood up.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I need to call Emma.’

‘She can wait. Aunty Geraldine’s here.’

‘But I’ve got to speak to her about our project.’

‘Chloe, don’t tell me you’ve got homework for tomorrow?’

‘It’s not for tomorrow but I need to ask Emma about it. Aunty Geraldine doesn’t mind, do you?’

‘Well, I’d like to see more of you, but if you need to speak to Emma, then that’s OK with me, as long as I have a hug first.’

Chloe grinned and ran up and flung her arms around Geraldine.

The rest of the evening passed in stilted conversation with Celia. Geraldine considered telling her sister she had contacted social services about tracing her birth mother, but decided against it. If the reunion with her mother went well, she would be open with Celia, happy to deal with her curiosity. But the topic might remain too painful to discuss freely, and once she knew about it, Celia was bound to keep asking her about it.

Arriving home, Geraldine kicked off her shoes and went into the bedroom where she sat down, opened her bedside drawer and took out the one photograph she had of her mother. Sadness overwhelmed her. She put the photograph carefully down on the top of her bedside cabinet and stared at it, thinking about Celia and Chloe. Girls were naturally close to their mothers but Geraldine had never felt accepted by the woman who had brought her up, even before she had known about her adoption. Although she had always been kind and patient towards her, Geraldine had never felt her adoptive mother sympathised with her or understood her on a deep level.

‘That’s hardly a suitable career for a girl,’ was all her mother had said when Geraldine had announced that she was joining the police force.

Geraldine knew it was deluded to imagine she was closer to a stranger in a photograph than to the woman who had raised her. Perhaps it was merely wishful thinking that she felt a tacit bond with the woman whose face she shared. Remembering Mrs Henry’s grief at the mortuary, she wondered whether her own mother had grieved at the loss of her baby, and if she still yearned to see her again.

J
ill ran out, slamming the front door behind her, literally shaking with anger. Adam had gone too far this time. It was one thing making snide comments about her admittedly spiteful sister, but when he started on her parents as well that was intolerable. They had only been thinking of Jill when they’d suggested delaying the wedding until Adam found another job.

‘There’s a bloody recession on,’ Adam had fumed. ‘Or haven’t they noticed yet? What the hell are they thinking? That I just waited until the invitations were sent out and then deliberately jacked in my job? Do they think I want to spend the rest of my life living off my wife?’

‘Don’t be so stupid. You know that’s not it. They’re just concerned, that’s all. Wouldn’t you be?’

‘If a daughter of mine was going to marry someone like me, you mean? I’ve never been good enough for your bloody parents, have I? But of course, they’re paying for the wedding so I don’t get a say in it, do I?’

A light rain was beginning to fall as Jill hurried along the street listening to the soft thud of her footsteps on the pavement and the distant hum of traffic. A fine spray shimmered in the light of a streetlamp and she shivered, but having stormed out in such a fury she could hardly sneak back for her umbrella. She was confident Adam would come after her before long, although if he didn’t show up soon she wasn’t sure what she would do. She’d come out without her bag. No phone. No money.

There was no sign of Adam when she reached the end of the road, damp and disgruntled. It wasn’t his first outburst but she understood he was under a lot of pressure. Being made redundant just when they were planning the wedding had been terrible timing, especially as he had only been at the firm for eight months so wasn’t even entitled to any sort of decent redundancy package. He’d been so pleased with his new job and now it had all gone down the pan. Of course he’d find another position, he would have to, but while Jill was resigned to the likelihood that it was going to take a while, Adam was still struggling to come to terms with his situation. None of that excused his behaviour though. It wasn’t her parents’ fault that he was temporarily unemployed.

Jill waited on the corner, hoping Adam would turn up soon. He must have heard the front door slam, must have noticed she’d gone. She heard a car draw into the kerb. Turning round, she was disappointed to see it wasn’t Adam, but a stranger in a black car.

The driver wound his window down and peered up at her. He looked worried.

‘Are you alright, Miss?’

Jill drew back and glanced along the road but there was no sign of Adam.

‘I’m fine,’ she stammered, turning away.

‘Can I offer you a lift home?’

Jill was startled to hear the stranger’s voice right next to her ear. He must have got out of his car and approached her noiselessly. She swung round and took a step back, uneasy at such close proximity.

‘I said I’m fine, thank you. I’m just waiting for my boyfriend. He’s meeting me here.’

‘He shouldn’t keep you hanging around on a street corner at this time of night, and in the rain too,’ the stranger said, pulling his hood further over his brow. He spoke pleasantly, making no effort to move close to her again, and Jill felt reassured.

‘I expect he’s been held up in the traffic,’ she lied. ‘I think I’ll just walk home. It’s not far.’

‘I can give you a lift if you like. It’s alright, I’m a police officer. Only you’re getting wet and - ’ he paused. ‘It’s not always safe to be waiting around on the street after dark. It’s not very sensible, really, is it? You never know who might be watching you.’

Jill shivered. He made it sound so sinister.

‘It’s fine, I’m fine, really,’ she assured him.

The man pulled out an identity card.

‘Here’s my ID. You should have asked to see it before now,’ he reproached her. ‘You don’t know me. I could be anyone.’

Jill nodded. He was right. She looked back along the street and to her relief she saw Adam running towards her.

‘Here’s my boyfriend now. My fiancé.’

She turned to the policeman but he was already back inside his car, closing the door. He must have left the engine running, because before she could step over to thank him the dark car roared off down the street.

‘Who the hell was that?’ Adam shouted as he ran up. ‘That man? What was that all about?’

‘It’s alright, he was a policeman. He just stopped to see if I needed a lift.’

‘Is that what he told you?’

‘He was alright, Adam. He just offered to drop me home.’

‘And you don’t think that’s dicey? Some stranger asks you to get in his car with him at night and you think that’s alright?’

‘Don’t be so paranoid. I told you, he was a policeman. I think it’s nice to know there are police around keeping an eye on things. At least he was worried about me. You just left me hanging around on the street on my own at night in the rain - ’

‘I didn’t leave you anywhere. You rushed out and nearly got yourself picked up by a stranger. What the hell was he doing, offering you a lift like that? I should’ve punched his lights out.’

‘I told you, he was a policeman.’

‘Yeah right. That’s what he said. You’ve no idea who he was.’

‘Of course I know who he was. You don’t think I’d talk to any stranger who comes up to me on the street? God, do you really think I’m that naïve?’

‘A policeman in a hoody?’

‘It’s raining, Adam, or hadn’t you noticed? I’m telling you, he was a policeman. The first thing I did was ask to see proof of his identity. I’m not an idiot.’

Adam grunted.

‘As soon as we get in, you’d better phone the police and check if he really is who he said he was. For all you know, he could be a pervert.’

‘If you say so, although I’ve no idea who he is. And did you see his car number?’

‘Me? You were the one talking to him. Now, come on let’s go home. You’re soaked.’

Adam seized Jill’s hand and together they hurried back along the glistening pavement.