Killer Plan (13 page)

33

Most days Denny didn’t
mind his job. He grumbled about it, along with the other lads at the depot. They all liked to moan about their hours, their exposure to the weather, the heavy sacks they had to carry, and the threat of vicious dogs. Urban legends had grown up about horrific injuries suffered by postmen. There was certainly no shortage of issues to complain about. All the same, if he collected his deliveries early, on a good day he could be finished by the end of the morning. On Tuesday morning he set off as usual, whistling cheerily. The clouds that had threatened rain earlier on had drifted away and the sun was shining. Tulips and wallflowers dotted the gardens with splashes of yellow and red, dazzling when he looked straight at them. The sky was a bright turquoise, reminding him of summer holidays, lazing on the beach.

He was checking the letters, not looking where he was going, when his foot kicked against something on one of the paths, and he stumbled. A couple of letters dropped from his hand. Regaining his balance, he bent down to retrieve them and saw what had tripped him up. Sticking out from a ragged hedge that ran along the side of the garden a trousered leg with a brown shoe lay across the path. Denny frowned. There was something peculiar about the leg. He had inadvertently kicked it quite hard, nearly falling over, but there had been no response. Its owner must be unconscious – or worse.

Intrigued, and curiously excited, he knelt down and placed his free hand on the calf of the motionless leg. It felt cold. He placed his hand on the ankle and shook it, calling out softly. The leaves on the bush rustled with the movement. Slipping the letters he was holding back into his bag, he carefully parted the branches of the shrub and gasped. A face was lying on the earth, staring straight up at him. It looked ghastly, the complexion pale and streaked with dried blood.

‘Bloody hell!’

Startled, he released the twigs he was holding and sprang backwards. Although his hands were shaking, he felt surprisingly calm. The situation was clear. He had come across a corpse. Cautiously, Denny leaned forward and parted the leaves again. There was no doubt about the thin red line around the neck, or the dried blood on the bruised face. This was what they called ‘suspicious circumstances’ all right.

His initial excitement rapidly faded with the realisation that this was likely to be time consuming. He might be expected to hang around for ages, answering questions. It was tempting to ignore the few letters addressed to the people living in that house, and continue on his round as though nothing had happened. But there was no doubt about it. Denny had uncovered a crime scene. If he had contaminated it, he had done so unwittingly. He couldn’t walk away. Apart from anything else, the police might somehow be able to trace his presence from his brief contact with the leg and the bush. He had seen too much television not to know the police could do all sorts of clever tricks with DNA. He couldn’t take that risk. Plus he would have a great story to tell the lads at the depot. He gave a guilty start because the prospect of telling his mates made him smile.

‘A dog barked at you?’

‘It was a bloody big dog. Could’ve taken my hand off.’

‘Yeah, that’s tough. All I did was stumble on a dead body.’

That would make them all sit up and listen.

He stepped carefully over the leg and rang the doorbell. As he waited, he rehearsed what he was going to say. It was going to be tricky. He didn’t know if the victim had lived at that address. Perhaps he had been attacked on the street and staggered up the path, seeking help, as he was dying. He might have been killed elsewhere and dumped there, hidden from view. Whatever the reason for his finishing up in that particular garden, it was going to be a nasty shock for the householders. He waited with growing unease, but no one answered the door. He looked around. Apart from the leg lying across the path, there was nothing untoward about the garden. He rang the bell again. He heard it ringing inside the house. Still there was no answer.

Only a few minutes had passed since he had first tripped, but it felt as though he had been standing there for hours. People along the street might be wondering when their post was going to arrive. He would finish his round late. He looked around again. No one was going to answer the door. He couldn’t wait there indefinitely. This was down to him. He had no choice but to make the call. Taking a deep breath he stepped back over the protruding leg as he dialled 999. It sounded funny to say he had found a body. He had to explain what he was doing there, in a stranger’s front garden, and give his name and his own details. He had only just rung off when a patrol car drew up outside and a uniformed policeman jumped out and called his name. Denny’s legs began to shake as he went down the path to talk to them.

34

Intending to drive to
work after the rush hour on Tuesday, Geraldine was gutted to be woken by a phone call just before eight in the morning. Still half asleep and cursing, she reached out to answer it. Recognising the number on the screen, she stretched, yawning, and propped herself up on one elbow.

‘What is it?’ she asked sleepily.

‘You need to come in right now.’

There was no point in remonstrating. She wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep now. All the same she protested feebly, on principle.

‘The DCI wants you here right now.’

‘Yes, so you said, but you haven’t told me why.’

‘Just get here without making a fuss, for Christ’s sake, will you?’

‘Why? What’s happened?’

She knew the answer. The detective chief inspector must have found out that she and Max had gone to question a man known to be violent without logging their visit. Failure to follow protocol where the safety of officers was concerned was a serious infringement. She wouldn’t have been summoned so peremptorily for any other reason, unless it was a second murder. But if that had happened, the sergeant would have told her.

‘What is it? Tell me,’ she demanded.

The sergeant on the line spoke gruffly. He said he had more calls to make, and rang off. Geraldine swore. However hard she tried, there was always something waiting to trip her up. This had been Max’s error, but the buck stopped with her as the senior officer. Fully alert now, she dressed hurriedly, checked her equipment, and set off to the station. Irked that the duty sergeant had refused to pass on any details over the phone, she put her foot down and the car leapt forward. The summons had been urgent. She wracked her brains to think of a witness who might have complained about her, but she couldn’t imagine what problem could be severe enough to warrant her being called like that first thing in the morning. It could only be the issue with Max.

The atmosphere at the station was tense. Everyone seemed aware that something dreadful had occurred, although no one knew what it was. A meeting had been convened for everyone working on the murder case. Geraldine was puzzled. Clearly this wasn’t about her and Max after all. For once, Reg didn’t keep them waiting long. A faint murmur rippled through the assembled officers as he entered. Ashen, he shuffled with stooped shoulders, seeming to have aged overnight. Only a ferocious glare in his eyes when he turned to face them gave any sign of vitality.

‘This is hard,’ he announced and paused.

No one challenged him. No one spoke.

Reg heaved an audible sigh, almost a groan. ‘This is hard,’ he repeated.

He gazed around the room as though looking for help, seeming to register the presence of his colleagues for the first time. Geraldine wondered if he was going to announce that he was sick. With an abrupt return to his customary brusqueness, he straightened his shoulders. Speaking very quickly, he posted a photo on the screen.

‘There’s been another murder. This case concerns someone we all know – all knew…’

Several of her colleagues blurted out an expletive of some sort. Geraldine felt as though everyone was looking at her as the breath caught in her throat and she felt a hot surge of blood to her face. The room fell silent as they all gazed in horror at the screen. A picture of Nick Williams stared down at them, his expression blank as a passport photograph. Beside it another image was displayed showing his face bloodless, with wildly staring eyes, his mouth gaping blackly.

No one knew that Geraldine had dismissed Nick’s desperate plea for help. She might have been the only person in whom he had confided, and she had dismissed his fears as nonsense. And now he was dead.

Reg broke the stunned silence. ‘As you can see, it was a vicious assault…’ He paused and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘A vicious assault,’ he repeated, looking around the room. His shoulders sagged again. ‘He was attacked in the street outside his house. It looks like a random mugging that went wrong, but we have to keep an open mind. You know what to do,’ he went on firmly. ‘We’re on this twenty-four seven. No one takes any leave, not a minute, until we’ve got the bastard who did this behind bars.’

‘What about the Robinson case?’ a female constable asked.

‘This takes priority over everything else,’ Reg snapped. ‘Greg can wait. I don’t want anyone being distracted from this, not by anything. Not till we’ve found out who did this. Let’s focus on getting the ball rolling. We’ll have no slackers on this one.’

The atmosphere was sombre. This had probably been a random attack, or it could have been personal. It was possible Nick had been violently murdered just because he was a cop. If that was true, they could all be at risk. But that was unlikely, and besides, they were already investigating a murder.

Geraldine took up the question about the Robinson case. ‘I mean,’ she faltered, realising everyone was looking at her in surprise, ‘it’s just that, well, we’ve already started...’

‘If you don’t feel comfortable working on this new case, you can opt to stay with the Robinson case,’ Reg growled. ‘I don’t want anything half-hearted about this new investigation.’

‘No, no, that’s not what I meant,’ Geraldine felt her face going red. ‘I want to be part of it, of course I do. I just meant…’

She broke off in confusion.

‘Right, let’s get started,’ Reg snapped.

For a moment no one responded. No one moved. Then everyone began talking at once. The room seemed full of officers rushing purposefully around. Checking the list, Geraldine saw she had been allocated the task of questioning Nick’s wife. The widow had been informed, but no one had yet questioned her to establish whether she could tell them anything about the circumstances of her husband’s death. Geraldine told Max to wait for her in the car. Then she turned and hurried after Reg. She caught up with him just as he reached the door to his office.

‘Reg?’

He turned and raised his eyebrows in a weary expression of forced interest. ‘What is it?’

‘Can I speak to you about Nick?’

Without a word he opened his door and motioned to her to go in. He sat behind his desk and looked up at her, waiting. It was difficult to begin.

‘It’s about Nick…’

‘Yes? What about him?’

Tentatively, Geraldine told him that Nick had been concerned that he was being followed shortly before he was murdered.

‘Followed?’ Reg repeated. ‘As in someone was stalking him?’ He sounded incredulous.

Geraldine nodded dumbly. Reg put his head in his hands for a second. She waited awkwardly, knowing this was too important to walk away from. At last he looked up.

‘Listen, Geraldine, I know you’re upset about what’s happened. We’re all upset.’ He leaned forward as though to give his words emphasis. ‘I worked with Nick for over ten years. He was a fine colleague. But it doesn’t help to be hysterical. We need to be level-headed in our assessment of the situation, and work on facts alone. Speculation can lead us into all sorts of blind alleys.’

‘Reg, I’m not being hysterical…’

‘The fact is, when Nick was worried about anything, he spoke to me. As I said, we worked together for a long time. He used to tell me about his troubles. Can you give me one reason why he would have come to you with anything like this, and not breathed a word of it to me, or to his wife? No,’ he shook his head, ‘I’m afraid you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Misunderstood something he said, and made a drama out of it. You didn’t know him for very long, but I…’ He broke off with a sigh. ‘He was a friend as well as a colleague. If he was worried about anything, he would have come to me, as I hope you would too, Geraldine. We’re on the same team here, and we have to pull together, now more than ever. Come on,’ he added, heaving himself to his feet. ‘I’ll come with you to see Eve.’

35

Nick Williams had lived
in West Hampstead. The door was opened almost at once by a uniformed female constable.

‘I’m just making her some tea, sir.’

‘How is she?’ Reg enquired in a subdued voice.

The constable shook her head. ‘Not good, sir. This way.’

With a quick nod, he strode after her. Geraldine followed. A faint smell of mould hung in the air as they crossed the hall and entered the kitchen where a woman was sitting motionless on a stool. Her arms hung limply at her sides. She didn’t look up when they walked in. Geraldine studied her furtively. With her head lowered, her fair hair fell forward hiding the top half of her face so that only the tip of a thin nose and a pointed chin were visible.

‘Eve, you know what’s happened?’

The thin woman nodded and her hair swung further forward.

‘They told me about it,’ she whispered. ‘They were very kind.’

Looking around, Geraldine was surprised to see how untidy the kitchen was. It couldn’t have degenerated into such a tip in the one day since Nick had been killed. The large kitchen could have been a nice room, but the sink was full of dirty dishes and the worktops were strewn with used saucepans, stained cups and foil takeaway containers. There was a stench of stale food. Geraldine couldn’t help thinking about Nick’s obsessively tidy desk at work, pens in a straight row, files neatly stacked, not a paper out of place. She wondered how he had coped with the chaos at home. Eve perched on a stool staring at the floor, seemingly oblivious to their presence as they sat down.

‘Eve,’ Geraldine said gently, ‘we’re going to find out what happened to Nick.’

The widow looked up on hearing her dead husband’s name, but her expression was dull and she didn’t seem to register that she was being addressed. Geraldine pressed on, determined to proceed as though this was a routine investigation and the deceased hadn’t recently spent a night with her.

‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm your husband?’

‘No.’

‘Was he worried about anything?’

‘What do you mean, worried?’

‘Did he say anything to you about being worried about anything, or anyone?’

The blonde woman frowned. ‘Worried about what?’

Abandoning caution, Geraldine leaned forward and stared directly at Eve’s face, half hidden behind a fair veil of hair.

‘Did Nick say anything about being followed recently?’

‘Followed?’ Eve echoed.

Reg cut in officiously. ‘We’re just wondering if he might have been targeted by an ex-con with a grievance. We have to consider every possibility.’

He glowered at Geraldine, his heavy brows lowered. Ignoring his disapproving glare, Geraldine pressed on. Whatever the personal cost, she had to discover the truth. If she could do so without revealing that Nick had confided in her, so much the better. She wanted to avoid raising questions that could damage her reputation. She didn’t want to risk appearing promiscuous as well as incompetent. She bitterly regretted having failed to insist Nick go to Reg with his suspicions.

Geraldine tried again. ‘We knew Nick. He was our colleague…’ her voice cracked. ‘We all want to find out what happened to him, and see justice done. You can help us.’

Eve gave no sign that she had heard. Geraldine pressed on before Reg could cut in again.

‘Did he seem uneasy about anything before he died? We wondered if someone was following him.’

Eve looked at Reg. ‘Nick was careful. He would have told you if he was worried about anything. He was always careful.’

‘Of course, we’re just trying to find out what happened,’ Reg interrupted forcefully.

Unable to prise any information out of the stunned widow, Reg asked her to contact them if she needed anything at all, and left.

‘A constable will stay with you, and if you need anything you just ask, anything at all,’ he added kindly.

Eve didn’t even look up.

On the way back to the station, Reg reprimanded Geraldine for her crass questions.

‘I would have expected better from someone of your rank.’

She was relieved to get back to her own office. Predictably, Max agreed with Reg when Geraldine gave him a sanitised version of the interview.

‘She was in shock, poor woman. We all are. We can only hope she’ll get over it in time,’ he added pompously.

‘They were estranged,’ Geraldine reminded him.

Max grunted.

‘He told me so himself.’

Geraldine didn’t add that Nick had told her a lot more than that.

‘Well?’ Max asked. ‘What did you make of her?’

Geraldine shrugged. Other than wondering what Nick had seen in the little blonde woman in her dirty house, she was preoccupied with what Nick had told her about being followed. She wished he had reported his suspicions to Reg, rather than confiding in her, or that she had taken him seriously. If she had acted on his fears, he might still be alive. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone what had happened between her and Nick. She suspected Reg would refuse to believe her. Whatever his reaction, confessing now could only damage her reputation. Worse, she would lose Sam’s trust. And it wouldn’t help Nick.