'Til Death (DI Steven Marr Book 1) - UK Crime Fiction Whodunnit Thriller (13 page)

Sam smiled.

‘You’ll be alright, though?’ Becky asked.

‘Eventually,’ Sam replied, again not entirely sure if she meant it. In the grand scheme of things, she’d be fine; men were men – replaceable enough. For now, though, she couldn’t help but think of Lizzie, and the way her skin glowed, and how some things really, really didn’t seem fair.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Marr was on his way to have another talk with Thomas Coulthard when his mobile rang. It was Alex.

‘Boss, something interesting’s just come through from DI West.’

Rachel West was part of uniform, and had trained alongside Marr.

‘Interesting? I’m going to need more selling than that, Alex.’

‘Alright then boss; bloody interesting. A binman called up 999 this morning, nearly had his finger taken off with a hunting knife that someone had stuffed into their garbage.’

No way,
Marr thought.
Not a fucking chance.

‘And would you care to guess exactly whose garbage played host to this blade – sorry, this blade with dried blood on it?’

‘You sound like you’re on a quiz show, Alex.’

‘You did say sell it.’

‘Fair point. Caroline Marcus?’

‘Oh, better: Gregor Stanic. He’s already at the station.’

Marr cut the call. This case had already been irritating him, now it had reared up and was treating him to a non-stop round of ‘stop hitting yourself’.

He pulled over into a service station to fill up, and called up Thomas Coulthard to delay their meeting. He did want to speak to him – well as much as you could want to speak to someone like that – but it would have to wait for the moment.

He thought about calling Sam, but – hating himself slightly – he bottled it and decided to call Becky instead. As fate – or a vindictive god – might have it, it was Sam who picked up anyway.

‘Becky’s driving,’ she said.

‘We’ve found the murder weapon – the one used to kill Anna Markham. Probably, anyway: it’s turned up in Greg Stanic’s garbage.’

Sam breathed out.

‘Bloody hell.’

Marr listened while Sam told Becky.

‘We’re turning the car around,’ she eventually said.

‘No, don’t bother, I’ll go and talk to him. Rachel’s already brought him in, and I want to try and beat Stanic’s solicitor in there.’

‘You think he’s got a solicitor already?’

‘If he hasn’t called one by now, he’s an idiot,’ Marr replied, cutting the call.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

It only took Marr a couple of minutes to get back to the station, by which time Alex was already waiting by the front desk.

‘He’s in room C, and he looks guilty as hell.’ The constable said.

‘He didn’t do it, Alex.’ Marr replied, surprised at his own certainty. Alex shrugged.

‘Well, maybe not, but he couldn’t be in a much worse situation. Short of drinking blood and chanting ‘
Kill the innocent’
.

‘He called a lawyer?’

‘The right honourable Fenton Jackson, no less. You’ve probably got half an hour or so before he arrives and starts charging Stanic more per hour than we make in a week.’

Marr made his way through the station to the interview rooms. Entering room C, he found Rachel West herself overseeing what – it had to be said – was a very guilty looking Gregor Stanic. His head was low, his eyes fixed on the table top. It was the same look Marr’s brother’s dog wore when she used the living room carpet for a toilet.

‘Thanks Rachel,’ Marr said, smiling at her. ‘I assume he didn’t give you any trouble.’

‘None at all.’ She replied, moving to leave but stopping when she was within mumbling distance of him.

‘Guilty as hell’, she said, half under her breath but still loud enough for Stanic to hear. Intentional, no doubt.

After Rachel left, Marr shut the door behind her, and sat down in front of Stanic.

‘I’ve got to say, Gregor, I’m sorry to see you again so soon. Talk to me.’

Stanic said nothing, his gaze resolutely trained on the table in front of him.

‘I really am sorry,’ Marr continued. ‘I’m not stupid. I know that you loved Anna, and I know that whatever the hell has happened in the last few days wasn’t planned. Not by you, at any rate.’

Marr paused, giving Stanic room to reply. He didn’t.

Marr sighed.

‘You’re lawyer’s going to be here soon, Gregor. Fenton Jackson the 3
rd
, or whatever royal title he’s going by these days. Fenton’s an arse, but he’s a good lawyer. He’ll probably tell you to button up and save it for the trial. Gives him time to come up with a solid defence. See, the problem is he already
knows
you’re going to be charged. That knife we found hasn’t gone through forensics yet, true, but I know we’re going to find your prints or your DNA on it. It wouldn’t have been in your garbage, if we weren’t.’

‘So, unfortunately – we’ve now got a murder weapon. The CPS – that’s the Crown Prosecution Service, sorry – won’t have a problem going to court. We’ve gone to court with less before. And a lot – I mean
a lot
– of juries will find it very easy to see you as a murderer. And the trouble is, that means that they’re also likely to think you killed Caroline Marcus to cover it up.’

Stanic looked up, his eyes widening.

‘No…’

‘Well then, why did she turn up dead? With a note confessing everything? Bit convenient, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Someone must have put the knife in the garbage!’

‘Then why the hell has it got your DNA on it?’

‘Who says it did?’

Marr sighed again. He was getting very bored of this. Stanic wasn’t stupid, and playing dumb in his position was…well, dumb.

‘Greg, open your fucking eyes. That knife was in that rubbish bag for a reason. That reason might be because you stabbed your fiancée in the gut. Or, it might be because someone put it there to frame you. Either way, your prints are going to be on it.’

Stanic continued to say nothing. Marr picked up his phone and asked Alex to bring a shot of the knife to them. It took less than two minutes to arrive, a huffing and puffing Alex sounding like he’d run to the photocopier and back.

‘Ray says have the photo back in ten minutes,’ he said, between breaths ‘He needs to go home, apparently: there’s a women’s tennis match on.’

Marr rolled his eyes and held the photo out to Stanic.

‘This look familiar?’ he asked.

Stanic said nothing, but did at least look at the photo. He let out a deep breath, and sat back in his chair. He looked like a beaten man.

‘I take that as a yes?’ Marr asked.

Stanic nodded.

Marr handed the photo back to Alex.

‘Tell Ray to stop being such a creepy bastard.’

Alex nodded and left them to it. Marr turned back to Stanic.

‘Greg, I don’t think you killed Anna. And I don’t think you killed Caroline either. And, to be honest, I don’t even think Caroline killed herself. But for fuck’s sake, try and help me out.
Anything
you can think of help me find out who really killed them.’

The door to the handle clicked, and in walked the right honourable Fenton Jackson, his grey suit shining in the orange glow of the room’s light.

Marr sighed, and looked back at Stanic. The suspect was, once again, finding something incredibly interesting to enjoy on the table top. The interview was – for an hour at least – over.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

‘Well Steve, looks like you were right. Caroline Marcus probably didn’t kill herself after all. That was quick work even for you: and getting random bin men to help out, too: a stroke of genius.’

Brooke was looking pleased; this was, as far as he was concerned, a result.

‘Now that we’ve got the wife-killer - fiancée killer, I should say - locked up, I think we’re all due a pie and a pint, wouldn’t you say?’

‘It’s ten AM sir.’

‘Fry-up and a pint, then.’

‘He didn’t kill her, sir.’

‘Didn’t kill Anna?’

‘Or Caroline.’

‘You’ll have a bloody hard time trying to convince anyone of that, Steve. A murder weapon in the trash with his fingerprints all over them? Might as well knit him a jumper with the word ‘
Guilty
’ on it.’

Marr looked at the Chief Inspector, who sighed.

‘Steve, I said you could have forty-eight hours to conclude the case to your satisfaction. As far as I’m concerned, that forty-eight hours is still in effect. Do your worst. But I’ll be fucking amazed if Stanic isn’t serving his sentence this time next year.’

‘Thanks for the advice.’

‘My pleasure. What have you even got left to go on, anyway?’

‘Caroline Marcus’ burner phone, and Thomas Coulthard.’

‘The slimy friend? Sam said she needed three showers just to wash away seeing a photo of him.’

‘It’s a fair assessment. I’m not sure he’s evil, as such, but…well, he’s…’

‘A bit of a wrong’un?’ Brooke offered.

‘Yeah. And Becky will have the burner phone info back this afternoon.’

Brooke nodded.

‘Better give Mrs Alex a call, see if she had any luck with Leicester Square or whatever his name was.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

It turned out that yes, Becky had had a bit of luck with Leicester Square or whatever his name was.

‘Warren remembered Caroline coming and buying the phone. Well, more specifically, he remembered one of his work-mates talking about her ass.’

Marr nodded, pleased they’d at least managed to properly connect the phone to Caroline.

‘Sounds like a delightful chap. A pervert who works in a phone shop; sounds like a right catch.’

Becky laughed.

‘Well, I had to battle with my own feelings, believe me. She bought the burner and paid in cash, so at least we know it wasn’t planted. She wanted to talk to someone, and didn’t want anyone going through her own mobile to find out who.’

‘Well, you know what to do then.’

‘Go through her phone and find out who?’

‘You read my mind. Let me know what you get.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

After he hung up, Marr couldn’t help but think about Stanic, and his affair.

And then, inevitably, his own.

It felt a bit strange talking to Becky now that she knew. Marr wasn’t stupid enough to have imagined that the affair would always be kept quiet. He’d dealt with enough shaggers on the side to know that it always did; no-one kept affairs secret forever. Eventually, someone was always overcome, whether by selfishness or guilt.

He’d never really talked to Sam about his marriage. Not properly. Sam and Lizzie had gotten on well enough, but he’d still been surprised when Sam turned up in his house the other night. They hadn’t set any boundaries, but that didn’t stop him thinking she’d crossed one.

The question was, in the end, whether or not Sam wanted more. And whether
he
did.

Being with Sam was exciting in a way that he knew a marriage just couldn’t be. Familiarity meant some of the best things in life: warmth, comfort, and love. It gave you something unrivalled; at its heart, a good relationship brought the feeling that everything would be OK in the end.

But it wasn’t exciting. It didn’t give you the
buzz
; it didn’t send a shiver up your spine or make your skin crackle. It didn’t give you the feeling of being really, truly
alive
. The truth was that even the news that he was going to be a father hadn’t got Marr’s blood pumping the way that Sam had done that first night in the hotel room.

Maybe
that
was why he was scared: the baby. Now, he wasn’t just making decisions based on his own life. Most men could live with consequences if it only hurt themselves, or at worst another adult.

This, though, was different. Marr wasn’t just messing with his own future anymore. He had a baby to consider; a kid whose whole life was going to be shaped by what Marr did or didn’t do. Did he really want his child to be raised by two parents who didn’t speak to each other? Yes, single parents could raise children well – of course they could – but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t
nicer
for the child to have to parents that loved each other.