'Til Death (DI Steven Marr Book 1) - UK Crime Fiction Whodunnit Thriller (20 page)

‘I don’t see why not. He didn’t strike me as much of a liar.’

‘Agreed. Why wouldn’t he tell Anna, though? Was he really protecting her by not saying anything?’

‘He might have thought he was. He was probably wrong.’

‘True. I don’t know; it seemed like he bottled it, to be honest.’

‘Well, maybe he was being stubborn: if he had told Anna then he’d have been doing what Caroline had been trying to get him to do. Maybe he didn’t want to give Caroline the satisfaction of thinking she played him.’

‘Well, it was the fact that he thought he could keep it a secret that got me. I mean, if he thought she was doing it to break the wedding up, she’d try something else, surely? She’d tell someone else. She wouldn’t just give up.’

And then, it clicked inside Marr’s head.

‘Maybe he did. Thomas Coulthard. I’m sure that he said he’d had a drink with Caroline the week before the wedding: that he’d just stumbled across her at a bar.’

‘That’s a co-incidence.’

Marr nodded.

‘What’s the bet that Caroline was trying another approach? What if Caroline was the one that told him about the affair?’

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Michelle Markham sipped her tea at the table, thinking about her husband, and the daughter she no longer had.

John wasn’t a bad man, Michelle knew that. He’d been a lovely father to Anna. Supportive but tough. He’d worked hard to make sure they wanted for nothing. Anna’s toughness had come from him. Michelle loved her daughter and her husband so much.

My two soldiers.

And yet, here they were. John had changed. The toughness had melted away. He’d been unable to protect his little girl.

Well, it was time for him to be protected. He deserved it.

And, even though she wasn’t here anymore, Anna deserved it, too. She deserved something better than that hungover detective.

John had lied for good, if stupid reasons. Caroline had been trying to stop Anna’s marriage. But unlike John, Michelle wasn’t foolish enough to think that she’d have given up just because one attempt at doing so hadn’t worked as well.

So, if she hadn’t gotten what she wanted from John, where would Caroline have gone? She wouldn’t have gone to Anna, because she was scared. She wouldn’t have gone to Greg either; she knew that he would just do whatever his dick told him to in the moment.

No, Caroline would go to Thomas. Doubting Thomas, Michelle thought, smiling slightly. If ever there was someone who’d be prepared to help Caroline out, it was Thomas. Yes, Thomas would have been very happy to try and help ruin Anna and Greg.

Hell, he might even have been behind everything from the start. A dickless little boy like that.

She couldn’t be sure, but she couldn’t let the possibility lie.

Michelle heard the sound of the football blaring from the TV in the next room, and smiled.

That’s it, love. You just relax. I’ll take care of it from here.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

By the time Marr and Becky reached Thomas’ workplace, he had built up a head of a steam. He knew – knew – that Thomas had been lying. He’d known it all along. But now, though, he had proof. Enough to stand up in court? Possibly not. But it was enough for Marr to carry on investigating Thomas, and he knew that Brooke would see it in the same way.

However, Thomas wasn’t there. The secretary on the front desk said that he’d called in sick earlier on that morning, claiming a dislocated knee.

‘Said he’d probably not be back in until next week,’ the secretary said, ‘That he needed a week to rest it.’

Leaving the building, Marr punched the side of the doorframe, immediately cursing himself as the pain shot across his knuckles. Not broken, but they’d definitely bruise up.

‘Come on sir,’ Becky said, touching his shoulder, ‘we’ll go and see if his knee really is knackered.’

Marr nodded.

‘And if it isn’t, we’ll try not to dislocate it ourselves’.

Again, though, there was no luck. If Thomas Coulthard really was at home, he was doing a good job of ignoring them. Marr banged the back door hard.

‘Oi!’ came a call from across the road.

Marr turned to see an older woman, probably in her seventies, pottering across the road, waving her stick in the air.

‘He’s not there, for god’s sake. What the hell do you want?’

Marr pulled out his ID.

‘DI Marr, DS Alexander. Where’s he gone?’

The old lady shrugged.

‘No idea; he left about nine this morning. He was chatting on his phone, but I obviously couldn’t hear him from across the road. Got in his car and drove off. I thought it was odd; he wasn’t wearing his work outfit, and he normally does during the week.’

‘Was he limping, or on crutches or anything like that?’ Sam asked.

The old woman, who Marr assumed was the nosy neighbour Thomas had mentioned before, shook her head.

‘No, nothing like that. He looked like he was in a hurry if anything. Red-faced, flustered. It could be his size, though; he’s definitely got a bit bigger in the last couple of years, I don’t mind saying. All that office work doesn’t do a young man good, in my estimation. He should be out moving around like you people.’

Marr smiled despite himself and handed over a card with his number.

‘If you see him come back, can you give me a call?’

The old lady looked over the card.

‘Well, I’ll think about it, but don’t hold your breath. I don’t like to stick my nose in other people’s business you know, I’m not a tattle tale.’

And with that, she was walking back across the road, leaving Marr slightly gobsmacked in her wake.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

It took three rings for Brooke to pick up.

‘Steve, where are you?’

‘Chasing down Thomas Coulthard.’

‘Well, I hope you’ve got something bloody good, because Caroline Marcus’ inquest just got pushed forward.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘No; apparently a friend of DCS Hume owns a stake in Hendon House, would you bloody believe it. They’re rather keen for the press to die down, and think that Caroline’s inquest – which at the moment is likely to end with her being dubbed Anna’s killer – is the best way to achieve that.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Well, yes. So, what have you got?’

‘Evidence that Thomas did know about the affair between Anna and Greg, and probably found out the night Anna died.’

‘Real evidence?’

Marr thought about this.

‘Technically not yet, but I believe it all the same. What’s more, he’s gone. He called in sick saying he’d bust his knee up, but a curtain twitcher across the road saw him drive away this morning.’

Brooke exhaled thoughtfully.

‘Well, I admit it sounds iffy. But it still doesn’t prove anything, does it? Hell, he works in a call centre, they probably get fifty sickies a fortnight. It might be he’s just going to the pub.’

‘It’s too much of a coincidence. Whatever the hell he’s up to, it’s got something to do with the case.’

‘The trouble is, we can’t prove that. I’m sorry, Steve, but we can’t prove a thing. The inquest is on Friday. You’ll have to provide evidence for it, of course.’

‘Caroline didn’t kill herself; Thomas killed her. He killed Anna, too. I’m sure of it.’

‘So why the hell has Gregor Stanic done a runner? And more importantly, where’s he gone?’

‘Christ knows. But how can they confirm Caroline killed Anna when the bloody murder weapon showed up in Stanic’s rubbish? And he didn’t do it, either! Christ, I don’t know, Sir.’

‘Steve, if you’re stuck, I’m stucker. But that’s enough. You’ll need to pull a real rabbit out of the hat to get Thomas. He’s only public enemy number three: public enemy one’s dead and public enemy two’s done a runner.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Relaxing back in her armchair, Sam took a sip of her drink.

What a fucking shitty day.

Becky had sent her a quick text earlier.

Told him.

No explanation, not that the message needed one. Her and Marr had said their piece already; what happened now was really his problem. His to deal with.

She flicked her phone onto Bluetooth, and began to scan through her music.

Swans,
The Seer
. Perfect for the sort of mood she was in right now. Tense, pissed off, and unresolved.

She turned up the noise, letting the jagged chords ring out in her head as ‘Lunacy’ kicked off the record.

‘Break the chain, hide within, innocence, not innocent, innocent, in no sense…’

Sam closed her eyes, and tried to block out the day. She tried not to think about Marr and her in the car. Her offering herself up, and him rejecting her.

The buzz of her door system broke the state. Loud enough to go right through the music.

She got up and walked to the handset, where the building’s camera showed the outside of the door.

It was Lizzie.

Sam exhaled, loudly. She didn’t have the energy for this; this wasn’t her problem anymore, was it? She wasn’t the one who was married; she hadn’t been in the wrong.

Lizzie looked into the camera, and Sam saw her eyes were pooled. It wasn’t raining; Lizzie had been crying. She held up a bottle of whiskey and shrugged, in a why the fuck not way?

Sam, however not bothered she felt, found herself unable to come up with a reason to disagree. She buzzed Lizzie in.

They drank the first two glasses in less than ten minutes, in virtual silence. Both of them seemed accepting enough that if they were going to do this, they needed to be at least moderately drunk. Otherwise it would be just
too
uncomfortable.

‘How are you?’ Sam asked, beginning to feel the slight warmth spread across her body as the wine took effect.

Lizzie shrugged.

‘I’ve been way, way fucking better’ she replied. That seemed like a fair assessment.

As always when Sam was around Lizzie, she wondered just why the hell she was married to Marr. She was gorgeous; she really was. But cute, too; the ultimate girl next door, he’d heard Alex describe her as once. Surely, surely, she could do better than some Inspector who just mindlessly followed his dick around.

It was true – at least Sam assumed it was – that Marr probably hadn’t done this kind of thing before. But then, she didn’t
know
that. She’d assumed that he wasn’t the type to just sleep with anyone. But was she right?

The drink talking – or the drink giving her the gall to ask – Sam did.

Lizzie shook her head.

‘Not as far as I know. Does that make you feel better? It must do, I suppose. Good to know you’re not just some tart. Hell,
I’d
want to know.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sam said.

‘No, you aren’t. If you were, you wouldn’t have done it. I’m not here for an apology; it wouldn’t mean much if you did give me one, anyway. He said that he’d broken it off with you before he knew I’d found out. I came here to ask you if that’s true.’

Sam thought about what answer to give. She suddenly felt oddly in control. The chance to change Marr’s future. It was the opposite of how helpless she’d felt in the car when Marr turned her down. It was a nice contrast to the embarrassment: the inability to think of anything she could do.

By the way Lizzie was looking at her, the way she was really waiting on the answer, Sam got the feeling that if she said no, the marriage would be over. The affair Lizzie might be able to bear, especially with a baby on the way and a potential family on the line. The lie, though? That was what real scumbags did, especially if it was just to save their own skins.

So, what should Sam do? It was nice to have the control. She liked to think of Marr crawling back to her, a broken man. In tears because of what his own weakness had cost him. And then she could turn him down in turn, and let him deal with that, too.

With frustration, though, she slowly realised that the finger on the trigger was enough. Sam wasn’t going to ruin a marriage. She had gotten involved with Marr because it felt good and exciting; it felt new. It wasn’t because she wanted to hurt people, even him.

‘Yes,’ Sam said, finally, ‘he was telling the truth. We ended a few hours before he went home. I…well, I tried to keep him, but he turned me down.’

Lizzie exhaled, and then downed the rest of her glass. Sam held up the bottle, offering a refill and, she supposed, a bit of a peace offering. Lizzie nodded.