The Murder House (4 page)

Reluctantly, I found an empty carrel and opened the file so roughly that it tore. I didn't care. I should have been walking to the train station, and now not only was I forced to spend a pretty afternoon in New Bridewell, but I'd miss all my connections and wouldn't arrive in Newcastle until the small hours of Saturday morning. I'd miss the party Caroline had arranged, and everyone would probably be asleep when I got there.

‘Good,' came a voice at my shoulder. It was DI Oakley, nodding approvingly. ‘CID have been studying that all week, but I've ordered everyone to lay off it for the weekend, so as to be fresh on Monday. We've hogged it, so I hope you don't mind having it now.'

‘Oh, no!' I said with bitter sarcasm that made him blink and back away with an uncertain smile. ‘Not at all.'

I watched him go, and it was then that the idea came. There was nothing I could do about Monday, except catch a train at some godforsaken hour to be at court at ten. In my limited experience, I knew I could sit around there all day, only to be told that I wasn't needed after all – which made the situation all the more annoying. But I could salvage Friday. Lots of people worked on trains – I would too. The only problem was that court files weren't supposed to be removed from the station – ever – for obvious reasons.

But I would be careful. Wright and the rest of my shift had gone, so no one would miss me. The file wouldn't be missed either, given Oakley's remarks. With a feeling of guilty unease, I shoved it in my bag and ran the half-mile or so to Temple Meads. By three o'clock I was in my designated seat as the train pulled out of the station.

I tugged the folder from my bag and laid it on the table. The carriage was half empty – a testament to the fact that you need to re-mortgage your house to buy a train ticket these days. There was someone at the table in front, but no one behind or opposite, which meant I could work without being worried that someone was looking over my shoulder.

The file was putty pink, with the name ‘Noble' written at the top. It looked no more appealing now than it had in the station, and I turned my attention to the brown fields that flashed past outside, letting my mind wander.

‘Helen!' came a warm voice. ‘I thought it was you.'

I was startled and a little disconcerted to see James standing over me. He looked much as he had when we had parted after our date, but more self-assured. His light grey suit was cut perfectly to show off his broad shoulders, and his loosened tie was carelessly stylish.

There was a man behind him who stirred distant memories. He shoved past James, as though they didn't know each other, but there was something about their body language that suggested he did, and I was fairly sure it was the monkey-faced man who'd collected James from school. Surely his mother's ‘bit of rough' wasn't still driving James around? But it was none of my business, so I turned my attention to James himself.

‘Have you moved up north?' he asked, sliding into the seat opposite. ‘I don't have time for socializing with the old crowd these days, so I don't know any news.'

‘Just going to Newcastle for the weekend.' I could see the female student at the table in front looking at him admiringly, and it felt good to be the focus of his attention for a few minutes. ‘To see some friends.'

‘Nice,' he remarked pleasantly. ‘That's where you went to university, isn't it? What did you study again?'

I told him, and we spent a few minutes going over information we'd exchanged before, and that I remembered about him, but he hadn't retained about me. I didn't mind. James was one of those people who went through life pretending to be interested, but the answers went in one ear and out the other. As he spoke, his eyes were constantly scanning the aisles, in the way people do when they're looking for someone more interesting. We chatted for perhaps ten minutes, then he excused himself, telling me that he was supposed to be buying coffee from the buffet car for some colleagues. He went on his way, and I turned back to my file.

The sun poured through the window, making the carriage stuffy. I knew I should move, but that would mean less privacy. I toasted gently in the heat, and gradually felt my eyes close – I'd had to get up at four a.m. that day to be at New Bridewell by six. Just a five-minute nap, I told myself, and then I'd be refreshed enough to spend the rest of the journey studying.

I woke with a start when the guard announced that we were about to arrive in Cheltenham. I rubbed my eyes and stared out of the window, taking a deep breath to banish the floating sensation that waking from a deep sleep often brought. When I glanced at the table, my stomach clenched in horror. The Noble file was no longer there. With unsteady hands, I pawed through my bag, first systematically, then more wildly. It wasn't there. It wasn't on the floor, and it wasn't on the seat. It had gone. I glanced at my watch and estimated that I had been asleep no more than twenty minutes at the most. It had disappeared during that time.

Looking back, it should have been immediately obvious that James had taken it. I hadn't seen him walk back from the buffet car, so it stood to reason that he'd done it while I slept. It had been obvious that it was a court file – at least, obvious to a criminal lawyer. But I wasn't thinking rationally. With a voice that shook with panic, I asked the few people in the carriage whether they had seen anyone take anything from my table, but of course no one had. I'd been pleased with the location of my table precisely because it
w
asn't
overlooked by other passengers.

I rummaged in my bag again, sick with worry and remorse. There was no excuse for what I'd done. I'd not only removed the file from the station, but I'd left it where it was vulnerable. For a few minutes I considered a plan where I denied that I'd even seen it, so they'd blame someone else for its loss, but Oakley had seen me with the damned thing. And there was Wright to consider. He'd be the first to put two and two together.

I put my head in my hands, wondering whether I should get off at Cheltenham and go straight back to New Bridewell and confess – make a clean breast of the whole thing. I wish now that I had, even if it meant losing my job. But when the train rolled into Cheltenham, I sat frozen. I needed time to think.

Gradually, I began to ask myself why anyone would make off with a grubby folder but leave my purse, which had been on the seat next to me. Then I understood – James couldn't have failed to notice the name on the file, and he was Noble's lawyer.
He
had taken it. I was half out of my seat to confront him when it occurred to me that he wouldn't
need
to steal it – he'd have already received a copy as a matter of course. And there was unlikely to be anything else he could use – Oakley wasn't the sort to leave incriminating ‘Post-it' stickers all over the place.

Yet James
must
have stolen it, because no one else would have been interested. I wondered why. And what should I do? Confront him, and risk making a fool of myself in front of his colleagues? Or wait for him to come to me?

As it happened, I didn't need to decide. James came to me – going towards the buffet car again, I noticed, which meant he
had
passed while I'd been asleep. With supreme self-control I kept my face impassive as he slipped into the seat opposite again.

‘Enjoy your beauty sleep?' There was an edge in his voice that was far from pleasant.

‘Yes,' I replied, holding his gaze steadily, although my heart thudded horribly. ‘Until I woke up and saw a thief had been by.'

He glanced behind him, then leaned across the table. ‘Look, I won't beat around the bush. We both know that removing court files from police stations is a no-no. You'll lose your job – and believe me, it won't be easy for a sacked officer to get another.'

‘Your word against mine,' I blustered.

He smiled. ‘Yes, but I have the file to support my claim. You have nothing.'

‘If you use it against me you'll have to admit to stealing it,' I countered.

He gazed at me with raised eyebrows. ‘But I
found
it on a train. I didn't
steal
it.'

‘What do you want?' I asked, trying to sound unconcerned, although my stomach was acid. ‘Me to beg for it? To blackmail me into doing something for you? What?'

He smiled again. ‘Not blackmail, Helen. Cooperation. I want information, so we shall make an arrangement that'll suit us both.'

‘What arrangement?' I felt as if I were in some dreadful nightmare. Under the table, I dug my nails hard into the back of my hand. It hurt, but I didn't wake up to laugh at the tricks the imagination could play.

He glanced around again, although no one was close enough to catch anything he said. The student was sleeping, while the shaven-headed hulk further down had wires dangling from his ears and a dazed expression on his face.

‘I want you to help me,' he said softly.

‘How?' I asked numbly. ‘I'm only a PC.'

‘True.' He grinned cruelly. ‘Two years ago, I thought a police contact might come in handy, but a lowly constable with scant prospect of promotion was no use. Why do you think I never called you after our evening together? But things have changed, and I'm of a mind to reconsider.'

‘Bastard,' I muttered. Was he really so calculating, even then?

He turned his smile on me again, and I felt myself stiffen. ‘Unfortunately, the Noble case is pretty watertight as far as I can see. Oakley is a careful man, so I need an edge if I'm to win.'

I was beginning to feel sick. ‘An edge?' I asked in what came out as a whimper. He was right: Oakley had a reputation for meticulous attention to detail, and there was no way he'd have made a mistake with Noble.

‘Don't worry; I won't demand the impossible. I just want you to clarify something. Then you get your file back, and no one will ever know about our little tête-à-tête.'

‘Clarify something?' I repeated stupidly.

‘My client tells me there was a commotion concerning his property when he was in the cells. He couldn't hear exactly, but he knows it was something to do with him.'

‘I don't know anything about that.' Yet I did – Wright had overheard Oakley giving Butterworth a roasting for tampering with the evidence book, and there wasn't an officer at New Bridewell who hadn't been lured into a corner and regaled with details of Butterworth's stupidity. The sad thing was that the heroin in the packet was completely different from the heroin on the boat – FSS had found both on Noble's clothes – so Butterworth's fiddle wouldn't have made any difference anyway.

‘Police stations are no places for secrets,' said James smoothly. ‘Now tell me.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' I insisted. ‘I went home as soon as Noble was processed. I wasn't there when he was in the cells.'

‘I'm not asking for an eye-witness account,' said James. ‘I just want to know what happened.' He gave that confident smile of his and reached for my hand. I snatched it away. ‘Don't be stupid about this. You tell me the rumour, and I'll give you your file back. I promise no one will know the information came from you.'

‘Go to hell,' I muttered, looking out of the window so that he wouldn't see the tears that welled in my eyes.

He stood up. ‘Fine,' he said, his voice cold. ‘As I said, police officers sacked for losing confidential files have a hard time finding another job. I hope you put your Newcastle degree to good use frying hamburgers.'

‘Wait!' I said, thinking fast. All I had to do was to invent something he'd believe, get him to give me the folder, and that would be the end of it. I didn't have to tell him about Butterworth. And then he would get his just deserts when he tried to produce some cock and bull story in court. But what could I say? What could Noble have overheard?

James sat down. ‘I know you'll be truthful,' he said, as though he'd read my thoughts. Perhaps he had. I wasn't very good at lying then, although I got better at it later. ‘I have a few snippets from Noble, so I'll know if you're spinning me a yarn. I wouldn't make up some wild tale to make me look stupid, if I were you.'

And then, to my horror, I told him the whole sorry tale. I heard myself speaking, but it was as though someone else was saying the words while I watched helplessly from a distance. James' face was impassive, and he heard me out in silence. He nodded occasionally, his eyes never leaving my face. When I finally faltered into silence, he reached out to pat my arm.

‘That wasn't too painful, was it?'

‘The file.' I hated the pleading tone in my voice. ‘Please give it back.'

He reached into his briefcase and removed the familiar pink folder. I snatched it from him, and then I did start to cry, hugging it like a baby as I vowed never to break the rules again.

‘There's just one other thing,' James said, standing. ‘The smartphone is a wonderful device. I took photos of a few salient documents and emailed them to my office – documents that weren't in the copy I received officially, like the memos from Oakley to his various plods. You know as well as I do that there's no way I could have those without some sort of leak.'

I gazed at him in horror. ‘You mean you can still prove you were in possession of a file removed illegally from a police station? But you said it would all be over if I told you what you wanted to know!'

‘I lied,' he acknowledged smugly. ‘Call it insurance – now you won't go running to Oakley about our little chat. Not unless you want to destroy your future. See you in court.'

T
he horror of what I'd done stayed with me all that weekend, although there were one or two moments when the company of good friends allowed me to forget about it briefly. Since the horse had already bolted, there was little point in locking the stable door, but I did it anyway, keeping the file close to me all weekend, even taking it out to dinner on Saturday. The time dragged, and I was relieved when I was on the train home.