'Til Death (DI Steven Marr Book 1) - UK Crime Fiction Whodunnit Thriller (8 page)

‘Did you think she was spoilt?’

Thomas laughed.

‘Oh god, no. No, John and Michelle were loving parents, but they didn’t have any money when Anna was young. John’s earned his money in the last ten years or so. I always got the impression he was a little bit of a drifter, but then hit forty and realised he had no money for his retirement. Ten years later, he sold a business and retired. He should write a book: ‘How I changed my life in ten years’ or something. I’d buy it.’

‘Where do you think Anna got her toughness from?’

‘Who knows? I used to think it might have been Michelle, but then I saw her sobbing her eyes out to a TV show about puppies. The truth is, I think Anna was just born tough. The first day I met her, she strolled right over to me and said ‘I want that book’. Needless to say she got it, along with a lifetime friendships. What a waste…’

All the things Thomas was saying, Marr would expect someone who’d just lost a loved one to say. But the tone…it wasn’t quite right. Thomas sounded like he was reading lines from a play: he was an actor who hadn’t yet mastered the text.

‘What did you think of Anna’s fiancée?’ Marr asked, receiving a barked laugh in response.

‘Ah yes, the caveman. Well, I won’t mince words: I don’t think she could have made a worse choice.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Well, I presume you’ve met Greg by now?’

Marr nodded.

‘He seemed like a nice enough guy.’

Thomas smiled.

‘Did you actually think that, or did you just think he was a bit dim?’

‘I’m assuming you thought the latter.’

Thomas sighed

‘Greg’s clearly a decent looking guy – but I just thought he was too basic for Anna. She was beautiful, clever, sophisticated…I thought she probably could have done better than a former soldier.’

‘What’s wrong with a soldier?’ Marr asked, and Thomas smiled and wagged his finger.

‘You won’t catch me out like that inspector. One poorly phrased comment and I’ll be splashed over the local papers: ‘Army hating murder suspect’. No, I don’t have a problem with soldiers. What they do is incredibly brave, and they deserve respect. But it’s pointless to pretend that they aren’t mostly a bit dim, especially the ones who go in when they’re seventeen. I mean, show me an intelligent person who sees footage of desert warfare and thinks, ‘I’ll have a piece of that’.

Thomas sounded like he was auditioning for a television panel show. Every word he spoke sounded like it was for some external audience. Like he was playing to a room that only he could see.

‘Did you ever voice your concerns to Anna?’ Marr asked. Thomas just smiled again. The smile reminded Marr of a text Lizzie had sent him once.

‘It’s like playing chess with a pigeon; no matter what you say or do, the pigeon is still going to knock all the pieces over, shit on the board and walk around like it’s won.’

Thomas was definitely the pigeon.

‘I think I probably got drunk and said something once,’ he continued ‘But there was little point me wagering some kind of sustained campaign against him. For starters, every idiot knows that the worst possible way to try and split a couple up is to attack the boyfriend: it’s an invitation to protect him. Secondly, this was Anna. She was stubborn and knew what she wanted: and like it or not, she wanted Greg. Her mind simply wasn’t for changing.’

Marr nodded, agreeing the point. Marr didn’t doubt that had anyone attacked Gregor, Anna probably would have defended him.

What perplexed Marr was how someone like Thomas – who whatever else he might have been, obviously had some brains – could struggle to understand why a girl would fall in love with Gregor Stanic. A hard-working, well-off, in-shape tough guy who was obviously dedicated to his wife.

But then men like Thomas, in Marr’s experience, could be pretty selective about where they aimed that all-knowing ‘perception’. Sure, you could learn to be perceptive; to analyse people and situations with a bit more depth. But what would you see if that gaze turned inwards?

‘What about Caroline Marcus?’

‘What about her?’

‘You were friends with Anna, and she was friends with Caroline. I assume that you knew her, too?’

‘A bit, but I didn’t see her that much. We were definitely only surface friends. Caroline was fine, don’t misunderstand me, but we never would have gotten on at a deeper level.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, Caroline – and I don’t mean to sound too cold here – Caroline was just a bit of a drama queen. She seemed to crave hysterics. It seemed like whenever I met her she was in the throes of some kind of crisis, whether it was work, or home, or boys. I don’t know, some people just don’t seem like they’re alive unless they’re making a fuss. It was all first world problems, too.’

‘Anna’s parents seemed to think that she had depression.’

Thomas’ lip curled.

‘Well, she might have been prescribed medication for it.’

‘But?’

‘I got the sense that if Caroline could just take the identity crisis that would come with realising she was just as boring and mundane as the rest of the human race, she’d probably be OK. She had that raging insecurity that comes from a fear of mediocrity.’

‘The trouble with people like that is they don’t realise that it’s much nicer to be around someone who’s boring and OK with it than someone who’s constantly crying out for attention because they’re scared to look in the mirror. Caroline wasn’t depressed, inspector, not really: she was just in denial.’

‘Anna didn’t seem to think so.’

‘Well, maybe not, but Anna was her father’s daughter. She might have been a ballbreaker at times, but Anna cared about people. And Caroline was always ready to lap up any sympathy going.’

‘Do you think Caroline could have killed Anna?’

Thomas barked a laugh. Like almost everything that came out of his mouth, it sounded put on; deliberate. A show.

‘No, I don’t think Caroline would have killed Anna. Anna was her audience: where would she have been without her? Anna was always, always ready to deal with Caroline’s little problems. Even in the lead up to the wedding Caroline had been texting her about boy trouble, and Anna had been doing her best to sort it.

I bumped into Caroline at The Castle pub a few nights ago, actually. Last Tuesday I think it was. Going on and on about life, her troubles. You’d think with the wedding she’d be able to put her own issues aside, wouldn’t you? But no, she just went on and on and on. Maybe it’s lucky the wedding
didn’t
go ahead: it saved everyone the ignominy of Caroline answering a phone call from her on/off man halfway through the ceremony.’

Marr sighed. Talking to Thomas was draining. It was like talking to a teenager: that combination of arrogance and a lack of self-awareness, and the ability argue both points at the same time just to ensure he sounded smart.

‘Who do you think murdered Anna, Thomas?’

Thomas shrugged.

‘I’m afraid I haven’t a clue. It
could
have been Caroline, I suppose: maybe she went nuts and decided she couldn’t bear sharing the attention, even for Anna’s wedding day. Maybe the caveman was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and thought Anna was a Jihadi soldier. Who knows?’

The bait was obvious, and Marr ignored it. Thomas was a man who liked to get reactions, meaning that he wasn’t worthy of one.

‘And you Thomas, where were you…’

‘Here, Inspector. I was here doing the night-shift. You can ask Beth at reception.’

He smiled an unpleasant smile, one that Marr was happy – just this once – to return.

‘And when was that?’ he asked.

‘Last night.’ Said Thomas, as if it was obvious. Marr said nothing, enjoying as the smile slid off Thomas’s face. His eyes narrowed, and he understood.

‘I see. Anna wasn’t murdered last night, then?’

‘No’ said Marr, knowing immediately that Thomas definitely didn’t have an alibi at work, and that he probably didn’t have one anywhere else either.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘Thomas has got nothing, No alibi, no witnesses as to where he was.’ Marr said, calling Brooke from the car on his way back home.

‘Neither does anyone else’ Brooke barked back, ’the fiancée, the parents, the best friend. Christ, why don’t these people get out more? Bloody TV, that’s what it is: digital subscriptions are killing off our social lives.’

‘Maybe that’s true, sir. We should issue a press statement: Superintendant blames murder rates on BBC iPlayer.’

‘iWhat? Don’t tempt me, Steve. Honestly, my lad lives on his iPad. I’d chuck it out but the little bugger’s got this thing installed which means he can go and find it if I do. It’s like living with a fourteen year old wizard. Has anything come out of the house-to-house?’

‘No, nothing. Did the doctor tell you it was a stabbing?’

‘Halfway through a rant about the mud on his wheels, yes. If marrying cars becomes legal, he’ll first down the aisle. Anna’s fiancée’s a soldier, isn’t he?’

‘Ex-soldier.’

‘Well then, I’d say that puts him nicely near the top of our list of suspects.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Brooke laughed.

‘Well, I’m happy to be proven wrong, but the doc seemed to think this was quite a sophisticated kill, which means a sophisticated killer. It’s down to you to prove otherwise.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When Marr got home, the smell of gravy was ready to meet him.

‘Casserole?’ he said, walking through the kitchen door.

‘No, Lizzie,’ his wife corrected him, ‘You could at least have learned my name before you knocked me up.’

Marr shrugged.

‘Well, I knock up so many women…’

‘I suppose at thirty seconds a shag, you can squeeze a lot of them into a day.’

She kissed him on the cheek before retrieving the casserole from the oven. Marr devoured it hungrily, Lizzie watching him consume the bowl with an expression that was half pity and half respect at the speed.

‘I saw the doctor today’ she said.

‘Any bad news?’ he replied, smiling. Lizzie rolled her eyes.

‘Don’t be such a detective. No, everything’s fine, but they’ve said it’s medically important that I ask you whether you actually want this baby.’

Marr raised his eyebrows.

‘That doesn’t sound like medical advice.’

Lizzie shrugged.

‘No, it’s not, there was no non-awkward way of me just asking you.’

‘Fair enough,’ Marr replied, ‘Tell the doctor I didn’t know he cared so much.’

‘Well?’

Marr reached out for Lizzie’s hand, and pulled her to him.

‘What do you think about it?’ he asked.

‘You can’t use delay tactics on me, mister. You already know what I think, I’ve sent a text round to about twenty people.’

‘So does it matter what I say?’

‘Yes, of course it does. I could always trip down the stairs, tell everyone that you pushed me and that you’re a monster.’

Marr snorted into his bowl.

‘You’re sick, you know. I don’t think someone with your sense of humour should even be allowed near children.’

‘I’m a teacher.’

‘Yes, and haven’t grades fallen since they took you on…’

Lizzie slapped him with the tea towel.

‘Shut up. And tell me what you think:
really
.’

Marr sighed and took Lizzie’s hand.

‘Yes, I was shocked: I don’t think that’s optional unless you’re planning. Don’t you remember when Paul found out Jane was pregnant?’

Lizzie laughed.

‘He really was messed up, he looked like he’d sat on an iced toilet seat. But you’re not…well, toilet seat scared are you?’

‘No, I’m not. Look, I love you.’

‘I should fucking well hope so…’

‘…and I think you’re going to be a brilliant mum. And I think I’m going to be a horrible dad, and I think between us we’ll raise something resembling a passable human being.’

Lizzie reached over and kissed him on the cheek.

‘You’re a funny guy.’

‘Well, I try. Can’t knock ‘em up if you don’t knock ‘em dead first.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Across town, Becky and Sam were still working.

‘DI Marr already left?’ Sam asked.

Becky nodded.

‘Yeah, he’s on a six o’ clock start tomorrow.’

‘So am I; and yet, here I am.’

‘Slave to the cause, ma’am.’