Reckless Endangerment (4 page)

‘You can go now,’ Kate said to the woman officer who was still seated, a lack of courtesy that had obviously irritated her.

‘At last, thank God!’ The PC stood up and stretched. ‘I could do with a cup of tea. I’m parched. Well, I’ll be off, then,’ she said, directing her comment at Kate.

Kate followed the woman officer to the door, out of earshot of Sharon Gregory. ‘It’s
ma’am
when you talk to me, young woman, and don’t you forget it,’ she said, in a menacingly low voice. ‘And do up your cravat and button your shirt. You’re a bloody disgrace to the uniform.’

‘Sorry, ma’am,’ said the PC, adjusting her clothing as she fled from the room.

Kate Ebdon could be very hard on her own sex, particularly those in the Job. A flame-haired Australian, she had honed her detective skills as a sergeant on the Flying Squad, where, it was rumoured, she had given pleasure to several male officers; but you shouldn’t believe everything that policemen tell you.

Kate was attired in jeans and a man’s white shirt, a form of dress that she usually adopted. It was this informal attire that had somewhat irritated our conventional commander when Kate had joined HSCC on promotion to DI; he took the view that an officer reaching the rank of inspector should behave like a lady. Not that there was any doubt that Kate
was
a lady, no matter what she was wearing. Certainly her appearances at the Old Bailey, in a smart blue suit, high-heeled shoes and gold earrings, turned a few male heads, including the judges and members of the legal profession. However the commander didn’t see it that way, and when he had suggested that I speak to Kate about her outfit, I had jocularly warned him that this may be seen as either sexism or racism, or both. The commander, a keen devotee of diversity, had taken me seriously and had said no more on the matter.

‘Perhaps you would start by telling me where you were when this man broke in, Mrs Gregory,’ I began. ‘Inspector Ebdon will write down what you say in the form of a statement, and I’ll ask you to sign it when we’ve finished. Are you up to doing that now?’

‘Yes, of course. To answer your question, I was in bed with my husband.’ Sharon Gregory spoke confidently and seemed perfectly composed, despite the gruelling ordeal she had undergone, to say nothing of the brutal slaying of her husband. ‘It must’ve been about ten o’clock when I heard this noise downstairs and I shook Cliff, but I couldn’t wake him.’ She paused and cast her eyes down. ‘I’m afraid he has a drink problem and he’d had a lot to drink this evening,’ she said in a soft voice that was probably intended to inspire sympathy.

But if she was hoping for consolation from Kate, she failed; Kate wasn’t much interested in Sharon Gregory’s alcoholic husband, at least not yet. ‘Is Cliff his given name?’ she asked.

‘No, it’s actually Clifford, but he’s always called Cliff.’

‘I’ll make that clear in the statement, if that’s all right with you.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘How long have you been married?’ asked Kate, having included the deceased man’s full name.

‘Seven years,’ said Sharon promptly.

‘Are you saying that you couldn’t wake up your husband because he was drunk?’ Kate wanted to be absolutely clear on the point.

‘I’m afraid so. He often went to bed in that state, I’m sorry to say.’ A few forced tears rolled down Sharon’s face and she reached across to a box of tissues. ‘In the circumstances I had no alternative but to go downstairs myself, but I was a bit scared.’

‘What were you wearing, Sharon? You don’t mind if I call you Sharon, do you?’

‘Not at all, Inspector. And I wasn’t wearing anything.’

‘I see. So, you went downstairs completely naked to find out what this noise was. Is that correct?’ Kate stared at Sharon, clearly wanting to confirm what, in her view, was strange behaviour for any woman. Especially one who had claimed to be ‘a bit scared’.

‘I don’t see that there was anything wrong in that.’ Sharon lifted her chin slightly, almost giving the impression of defiance. ‘My husband and I never wear nightclothes, especially in weather like this. It is awfully hot, isn’t it?’ She smiled and fanned herself with her left hand. The hand bore neither an engagement ring nor a wedding ring, not that that meant a great deal these days.

‘And you didn’t think to put on a robe?’

‘No, why should I? I often walk about with nothing on. Anyway, it’s our house, and I honestly didn’t think the noise was anything serious. It was just something I’d heard. I thought it could even have been something outside because all the windows were open; we get a lot of noise from people going home from the pub. But I had to satisfy myself that everything was all right, otherwise I’d never have got back to sleep again. I’m sure you know how it is.’

‘When you say that all the windows were open, did that include the downstairs windows?’ asked Kate, who knew perfectly well that they were closed. At least, they had been when we arrived. And when Miller, the next-door neighbour, had spoken to Dave, he’d said that they were closed when he’d arrived. But Kate knew the value of checking everything a witness said. And then checking it again.

‘No, of course not. Everyone living in this area takes part in Neighbourhood Watch. And we’ve been told all about crime prevention by the local home-beat policewoman.’

‘Oh, well, that’s all right, then,’ said Kate quietly, but her sarcasm was apparent to me if not to Sharon Gregory. Kate shared the view of most police officers: that the scheme was pointless and time-wasting. It had actually degenerated into a system of telling people about crimes long after they’d been committed, and that was of no value at all in terms of
preventing
crime.

‘Please carry on, Sharon,’ I said.

‘I had a look round downstairs, and when I went into the sitting room there was this man standing there.’

‘Did you recognize the man?’

‘No, of course not. I’d never set eyes on him before. Anyway, he was wearing a mask. The sight of him terrified me and I screamed. Then he stepped towards me and put his hand over my mouth. He said that if I didn’t be quiet he’d kill me.’

‘What sort of mask was it?’

Sharon spent a few moments thinking about that. ‘It looked as though it was a stocking what he’d pulled over his head,’ she said after a short pause.

‘What colour was it?’ I asked. For no particular reason I made a mental note of her grammatical slip. ‘Black, brown?’

Sharon hesitated. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t remember. It was such a shock seeing him there in my house that I felt violated.’ Once more, she cast her eyes down, but then looked up, a coy expression on her face.

‘Did this man say anything else, after he’d told you to be quiet?’

‘No. I asked him what he wanted and why he was there, but he didn’t say another word.’

‘What sort of accent did he have? Was it local, or maybe North Country? Scottish or Welsh perhaps, or even foreign?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t pay too much attention. I was so scared.’

‘Can you describe him? What he was wearing, how tall he was, if he was stocky.’

‘He was quite tall; about your height, I should think,’ said Sharon, glancing at me. ‘And he was quite slim. He was wearing a black sweater and jeans – genuine Levis, I think – and trainers.’

‘D’you remember anything about the trainers?’ asked Kate.

There was no hesitation before Sharon replied, ‘They were black with light green soles. Oh yes, they were Nikes. They had, like, that tick trademark on the side what they all have.’

Again Sharon made a syntactic error and that prompted a question.

‘Where were you born, Sharon?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I’m a Home Counties girl.’

‘Yes, but where exactly?’

Sharon paused before replying. ‘Basildon,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s in Essex.’ She spoke reluctantly, as though her birthplace was something of which she should be ashamed.

‘What happened next?’ I asked.

‘He grabbed hold of me.’

‘But hadn’t he already got hold of you?’ Kate paused and waggled her pen in the air. ‘You said that he’d put his hand over your mouth.’

‘Yes, but then he held me really tight.’

‘How did he do that?’ I asked. ‘Did he take hold of your arms?’ I was beginning to have doubts about this story. I had interviewed many victims of violent crime, and to my experienced ear her account sounded as though it had been carefully rehearsed. It was much more detailed than I would have expected. Then again, shock has some strange effects. Perhaps she was babbling on in a mistaken attempt to be helpful.

‘At first, yes. He held me really tight,’ she said again. ‘I was terrified. Then he swung me round and got hold of me by the waist. At least, I think he did, but it all happened so fast. He picked me up – he was very strong – and carried me into the hall, stood me down and then forced me on to the floor. Then he tied me up and stuffed a rag in my mouth. It was dreadful, Mr Brock. I was frightened to death. I was sure he was going to rape me.’ Sharon looked down demurely as she spoke of her apprehension. ‘Or even attack me with a knife,’ she added, looking up again. ‘It was all quite awful. I was choking a bit and I think I must’ve fainted, but I can’t remember how long I was out.’

‘Did he have a knife, then?’ I asked. ‘You said you thought he might attack you with one.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sharon, ‘but don’t people like that usually carry a knife?’

‘Is it true that you’re an airline stewardess?’ asked Kate. From the dramatic fashion in which Sharon Gregory was describing the events of the night, it had crossed Kate’s mind that the woman might be an actress.

‘Yes, I am. But we’re actually called airline cabin crew. I’m usually on the long haul to Miami out of Heathrow.’

‘Getting back to this assault, Sharon, exactly how did this man tie you up?’

‘He knelt down and put a knee in my back and forced my arms behind me and then he tied my wrists and ankles together and then he—’

‘Hold on. Slow down a minute.’ Kate was recording Sharon’s account on a statement form as fast as she was able to write in an attempt to keep up with the woman’s story.

‘Did he bring this rope with him?’ I asked.

Sharon Gregory appeared to be nonplussed by the question. ‘I suppose he must’ve done,’ she said eventually. ‘I honestly don’t know where it came from.’

‘Go on.’

‘The next thing I heard was him crashing around the house as though he was searching for something.’

‘Did you see him leave?’

‘No, but I think I must’ve fainted again. When I came round I managed to push the gag out of my mouth with my tongue and I started screaming at the top of my voice.’

‘Didn’t you think that this intruder might still be in the house and would come back to attack you, or even kill you?’

‘I wasn’t thinking. Anyway, a few minutes later Sid came in through the front door and untied me.’

‘My sergeant has spoken to Mr Miller,’ I said, ‘and Miller claims that you told him that the man had already left. Is that true?’

‘Did I say that? I really don’t know. I was so confused and frightened by the whole business that I didn’t know what I was saying half the time.’

‘How did this man get in?’ I asked.

‘I don’t really know,’ said Sharon. ‘Through the front door, I suppose.’

‘Wasn’t it locked, then?’

‘I thought it was.’ Sharon looked directly at me. ‘I leave that sort of thing to my husband. He always makes sure the house is secure.’

‘Who closed the downstairs windows?’

‘I did. My husband forgot.’

‘Did he perhaps also forget to lock the front door?’

‘I suppose it’s possible. I didn’t think to check.’

‘Did the intruder take anything?’ asked Kate, switching the subject again.

‘My jewellery,’ Sharon replied without hesitating.

‘How did you know that? You were tied up.’ Kate stopped writing and looked up, smiling to mask her suspicion – a suspicion that was growing stronger as Sharon’s account unfolded.

‘Well, Mr Miller had a look round the house to make sure that the burglar really had gone.’

‘This is your neighbour, the same Sidney Miller, that you’re talking about, is it?’ I asked.

‘Yes, he and his wife Janet are very good friends of ours. Of me and poor Cliff, that is.’ Sharon stifled a sob. ‘I followed him upstairs to the master bedroom and it was then that I saw Cliff. I was sure he was dead and Sid felt his pulse and said that he was. I must admit that I screamed hysterically at the sight of my poor husband lying there covered in blood, and I fainted.’

‘You mentioned that this man took your jewellery, Sharon,’ prompted Kate impatiently.

‘When I came to, I saw that my jewellery box was on the floor near my head. It was empty.’

‘You hadn’t noticed it there when you first entered the room?’

‘No, but I didn’t really know what I was doing.’

‘Presumably you’d put on a robe before following your neighbour upstairs, Sharon.’ Kate was doing what she always did: returning to an earlier statement to see if the story had changed.

‘I think so. Yes, of course I did.’

‘Where was this robe?’

‘Er, in this room.’

‘Do you sleep in this room, then?’ Kate glanced at the undisturbed bed.

‘No, I sleep with my husband.’

‘But the robe was in this room. Is that correct?’

‘Yes, it’s a spare one I keep in here.’ Sharon plucked at the front of her robe. ‘This one.’

‘So there should be another robe in the master bedroom?’

‘Yes, I’m sure there is. Well, there must be, I’ve got more than one.’

‘So when did you come up here to get the one you’re wearing?’

It was obvious to me that Kate was interested in this business of the robes. But knowing Kate, I sensed that her interest went far deeper than that.

‘Straight after Sid untied me,’ said Sharon.

‘You didn’t look into the main bedroom to see if your husband had been disturbed or even attacked?’

‘No – well, I didn’t know whether the man was still here.’

‘Just now you said that Mr Miller had already had a look around the house and he’d told you the man had gone. Apart from which, Mr Miller told one of my officers that when he untied you,
you
told him
that the man had gone.’