The Murder House (36 page)

Oakley knew he should get some sleep before embarking on two such important interviews, but he still felt something wasn't right. If Randal had wrapped Paxton in the plastic sheeting, then why were Kovac's fingerprints on it? Suddenly, as he pondered, the pieces of evidence fell together and he felt he knew exactly what had happened.

‘Come with me,' he ordered Anderson, the only one of the original arrest team who was left. ‘I want you to witness something. Then I'll drop you at the station on my way home.' He switched off his phone. ‘I'm off duty anyway.'

Being there while Randal was arrested was unsettling, but not nearly as bad as it would have been if I'd had to go with Taylor to get Michael. Randal was as thick as two short planks, but Michael wasn't, and he may well have recognized me as the police officer that James planned to use in the plot to get his brother out of prison. For all I knew, James had shown him photos or had even told him my name. Somehow, I didn't think Randal was the kind of man James would have confided in. Nevertheless, I kept my hat on and head down when I was with Randal.

Oakley's reasoning about what happened made a lot of sense to me. I'd been right: one of the thugs in the Yorke gang
had
visited Orchard Street, hoping to hear that all was in place for the remand hearing and instead found James dead. And now I was sure I'd been right about what had happened to the false statement that James had tried to make me plant.

However, I didn't like Oakley's conviction that Randal was telling the truth, or that he knew James owned more than one mobile. It would only be a matter of time before he tracked it down, and then I would be caught for sure. I wondered what I could do to persuade him he was wrong.

‘Where are we going?' I asked as he drove.

‘Orchard Street. Mrs Greaves told me that Kovac had a thing about English baths.'

I fought back my irritation with his enigmatic remark. I hadn't had much to eat all day, my stomach hurt, and I needed something to absorb the acid that churned there. And I couldn't stop thinking about Colin, which made me realize I'd been fonder of him than I'd thought. If only he'd been more sympathetic. It was
his
fault that he was dead – and just when I could have done with a friend, too.

‘I prefer showers,' I said shortly when he made no effort to explain himself. Now what trail was the wretched man pursuing?

‘Well, Kovac liked baths. And when I first went to Orchard Street there was a smell of damp in the kitchen.'

‘You're kidding!' I exclaimed. ‘The whole place reeked of nothing but decomposing corpse.'

Oakley ignored me. ‘Mrs Greaves also said she'd seen Kovac on the Monday putting rubbish in the bin. I think Kovac liked overfull tubs, but the first time he did it, he spilled the water, which stained the kitchen ceiling. Then I think he filched plastic and a roll of tape from the university to put on the floor, to stop it happening again.'

‘Which he pulled up before he left?' I asked. ‘That was what the neighbour saw go in the bin?'

‘Precisely! It explains why his fingerprints are all over the stuff. Then Randal found it – he'd had to look out there because there were no bin liners in the kitchen.'

‘I suppose,' I said reluctantly. Bloody Oakley – was he never satisfied?

‘Merrick said he cuts several strips of tape when he wraps Christmas presents – not one at a time – and there were sticky patches on the wall in Orchard Street, where it looked as though this had been done. He was almost right. What happened was that
Randal
peeled the tape off the bundle from the bin and stuck them on the wall. Then he rolled Paxton in the plastic, and used the tape to secure him.

‘Poor Kovac,' I said, rather maliciously. ‘Half the world thinks he's wanted for murder, and you've set the Albanian police after him. All the time he's probably been at the seaside with his family.'

Oakley grimaced but made no reply, probably because we'd arrived at Orchard Street. He unlocked the door and turned on the light, walking through the house towards the kitchen. It wasn't pleasant being back there yet again. I glanced into the sitting room, half-expecting to see Wright, but there was nothing except a small, dark stain on the carpet. That was odd, as I hadn't remembered any blood. But then Wright's murder had been rather rushed, and I
had
hit him twice. Yes! I thought, as it suddenly came back to me. There had been a little blood.

I glanced at my uniform trousers and saw a couple of dark spots I hadn't noticed before. I moved under the light and looked more closely. Definitely blood. Jesus! I'd sat in front of those three superintendents from Professional Standards with Wright's blood all over me! The mere thought of it filled me with a sort of sick excitement. I'd been lucky, but I couldn't afford to be careless like that in the future. Supposing one of them had noticed?

‘Look!' Oakley was calling. ‘This is where Randal stuck the tape on the wall, and there are sticky bits in the bathroom upstairs where Kovac taped the stuff to the floor. We'll have to get SOCO here again. I'll put in the request tomorrow.'

‘Good idea,' I said. ‘They'll be busy with Yorke and Randal's houses tonight. I'm glad you nailed them.'

‘But I'm not sure they did it,' said Oakley. ‘Who sent the anonymous note that pointed us in their direction? It was a set up, and I'm inclined to think that whoever sent that is our culprit.'

Damn the bloody note! ‘Maybe Randal or Michael wrote it,' I suggested. ‘It looks like the kind of spelling and grammar that Randal would use.'

‘Randal's dyslexic, and Yorke wouldn't have been so stupid,' said Oakley. ‘No, the real killer's still out there, laughing at us.'

I wasn't laughing, I can tell you.

‘You weren't entirely honest with me yesterday,' he said suddenly. ‘About Colin.'

I stared at him in horror. Had he brought me here so he could tell me that he knew what I'd done? That Colin's body had been found, and the pathologist knew he'd been murdered? And because I wouldn't have murdered Colin for the sheer hell of it, Oakley had reasoned that I'd done away with Wright and James, too?

‘I don't know what you mean,' I said stiffly. I turned away from him and walked to the sitting room, where I stood near the mantelpiece. He followed and sat on the sofa.

‘I mean that I saw Colin waiting for you after you finished work. I happened to look out of the window when you both drove off. You told me you hadn't seen him the night before. Why lie?'

My fingers tightened on a rock, and I quickly slipped it behind my back. His attention was caught by some peculiarity in the old springs in the sofa, so he didn't notice. I took a step towards him.

There was an atmosphere of celebration at New Bridewell that night. Taylor brought a bottle of whisky and the officers who'd been on the raid drank it from plastic cups, sitting around on the desks and generally congratulating themselves. Finding a suspect for a murder was always a relief, but it felt particularly good to have the suspected killers of a policeman under lock and key.

Davis, Evans and Merrick sat together, slightly apart from the others. Davis told the two of them about Oakley's reservations, but Evans was sceptical.

‘Then why did he insist we nick Michael and Randal tonight? If he's not convinced they did it, we'd have been better waiting until we've built a stronger case. I'll be pissed off if this pair walk because he moved too early.'

‘He didn't know what Randal would admit then,' said Merrick defensively. ‘And he still thinks that whoever wrote that anonymous note is the killer.'

‘The forensic report came back on the saliva from the stamp today,' said Evans. ‘It was addressed to him so I didn't open it. You remember what he said about keeping that particular lead under wraps, because Taylor'd told him to drop it?'

‘Then let's see what it says,' said Davis. ‘Where is it?'

Evans rifled in the mounds of papers that covered Oakley's desk and dug it out. He opened it and read the result with a frown.

‘This can't be right.'

‘Why? What does it say?' asked Merrick.

‘It goes on about how the DNA was degraded, and says that the result is only an
indication
of the licker's identity. They ran it through the database, and came up with one possible, but it's from the police records – the ones we keep for elimination purposes.'

‘Who?' asked Merrick. ‘Wright?'

‘Helen Anderson.' Evans gave a short laugh. ‘Mind you, she's got a good reason for wanting rid of Wright!'

‘She was at school with Paxton,' said Davis. ‘And she met him for drinks with friends a couple of years ago.'

‘You don't think …?' Evans' voice trailed off.

‘Where is she now?' asked Davis. ‘I last saw her up at Randal's place.'

‘She went to Orchard Street with Neel,' said Evans. ‘He was going to look at something to do with a leaking bath. Get him on his mobile.' Merrick was already dialling.

‘I'll tell Taylor,' said Davis. ‘It's probably nothing, but …'

‘His phone's off,' said Merrick, snatching up his car keys and making for the door.

Oakley hadn't meant anything particularly significant when he'd told Anderson that she'd been caught out in an untruth. If he'd believed she was concealing anything remotely connected to a crime he'd have tackled her about it with witnesses, as was proper. He was just curious, and wanted to know why Colin Fairhurst hadn't shown up to give his statement as planned.

There was also the cinema ticket. Oakley had seen that particular film, and knew it was one of the more clever Bonds, not a lot of mindless chasing and fighting as she'd claimed. It told him she hadn't watched it, so she'd lied about that, too. He still felt pangs of guilt when he recalled the unpleasant scene in the briefing room with Wright. It had been his fault, and he felt a degree of responsibility towards her. If she was having relationship problems, then he wanted her to know he'd be a sympathetic listener.

Therefore, he was surprised when she came to loom over him in what could only be described as a threatening manner. He stayed sitting, hoping that a non-confrontational pose would reassure her that he hadn't meant any harm.

‘I'm sorry,' he said gently. ‘Colin seemed like a nice chap, and I hope you're not having difficulties.'

‘What do you mean?' she demanded angrily. ‘We were perfectly happy.'

‘
Were
happy?' he asked. So they
had
broken up, and it was a faltering relationship that made Anderson so moody and … well, strange, to be honest.

‘We
are
happy,' she corrected furiously.

‘Then why the anger?' he asked, then wished he hadn't. His kindly concern was turning into an inquisition, which he hadn't intended at all.

He glanced up at her, and suddenly everything became crystal clear when a heavy stone appeared in her hand. It flashed down towards him. He twisted quickly, but it still grazed the side of his head and brought stars dancing in front of his eyes. The sound it made was sickening, as though his skull had broken open. He felt blood gush down his cheek.

‘No, wait.' He managed to raise one arm, so the next blow was deflected. He sensed her moving around for a better angle, and tried to stand, but his legs were like jelly. Then the pain hit him. He hadn't felt anything when she'd first struck, but now all his nerves screamed in agony and he began to black out. He fought against it, knowing that if he did, he'd never wake.

‘Have you killed Colin?' As he couldn't stand, he rolled off the sofa so that his head was under the coffee table. She'd have to move it if she wanted to hit him again, which might buy him vital seconds. ‘To stop him telling us something about you and Paxton? And you'd have had time to kill Wright, too, if he'd left the door open and you were quick.'

‘Three minutes,' he thought he heard her say.

‘Was Paxton blackmailing you?'

‘Shut up!' she hissed, and he didn't recognize her face, twisted as it was with malice.

‘
You
gave him the stuff from the Noble file.' How long could he keep her talking? And what was the point? Help wasn't on the way. He persisted anyway. ‘The file was missing the morning of the trial, and you said you'd been reading it, but you'd actually taken it to show him. The STUD statement we found tonight would have been no good unless we took it to court. You were going to put it in the file.'

‘I wasn't,' she growled. ‘I wasn't going to do that.'

‘You saw Paxton's body at the mortuary.' He was finding it hard to concentrate and darkness tore at the edges of his vision. ‘You said, “it doesn't look like him”. Grossman thought you meant it didn't look human, but you meant that he had decomposed and didn't look like Paxton.'

‘It didn't,' she said dully.

‘The woman in the scarf.' He saw her bend to lift the coffee table. ‘That was you. You said you'd fasten it in the front, but that was to mislead me because you'd actually tied it at the back.'

Oakley was fading fast, and speaking was a massive effort. His eyes closed, and he couldn't open them again. He heard the coffee table being pulled out of the way.

I'd just moved the table, to see if I needed to belt Oakley again when I became aware of a movement in the doorway. Two men stood there: Mr Smith from next door and a handsome, green-eyed man whom I recognized from photos as Dr Kovac.

‘I have come to help the police,' he said in accented, but good English. He and Smith were looking at Oakley, probably wondering why I was standing over him with a rock. ‘I have been away with my family, and I had no idea I was needed to help solve a murder.'

I was fairly sure Oakley was dead. His speech had been strangely slurred at the end, and his movements slow and uncoordinated. It was a shame, because he'd been a decent man. But he'd brought his fate on himself by prying into my business. He'd left me no choice.