'Til Death (DI Steven Marr Book 1) - UK Crime Fiction Whodunnit Thriller (9 page)

‘Very true. Did you get any luck from house to house?’

‘None at all. We’ve put out a request for information from any drivers working near Hendon House that morning, but we’ve had nothing back. The driver of that drinks firm – the one Brian the Barman knew – didn’t see anything.’

Sam looked thoughtful.

‘I think DI Marr suspects Thomas Coulthard. No alibi, and to quote the great inspector, one creepy prick.’

Becky nodded.

‘Well, it would make sense. A long-time loser who just can’t stick the friend zone anymore. He wouldn’t be the first. I don’t know; I feel more like Caroline Marcus has something to do with it. Though I don’t necessarily think she was actually the killer. What about Stanic?’

Sam shrugged.

‘No motive. DI Marr isn’t convinced either.’

‘What about Anna’s work?’ Becky asked. Sam let out a laugh.

‘They were really devastated to lose her, sorry for her family, and very grateful we let them know so they could hire a replacement.’

‘Christ. Just shows where being tied to a desk will get you, doesn’t it?’

‘That’s why I never went near a proper job: no loyalty anymore. The force for me.’

‘There’s just as much bullshit here as anywhere else.’

‘True, but at least there’s
some
good in it. Christ, imagine spending fifty hours a week on something like adverts.’

‘Everyone’s got to work’ Sam shrugged. ‘Though I guess you could probably question the logic of people in sales earning less than nurses, or mid-wives.’

‘As DI Marr will find out, soon enough.’

Sam looked thoughtful.

‘I suppose he will.’

‘How’re you feeling about it?’

‘Amused; in a way. I mean, it’s not like I even want a family, last of all with him. It’s Lizzie, though…well, I feel bad for her.’

Becky raised her eyebrows.

‘Well…as bad as you can feel, anyway,’ Sam added, conceding the point. ‘Whatever
he
’s done…she’s the mum-to-be. Not that Lizzie can’t take of herself, but still. As far as she knows, she’s got a young family. Husband, kid on the way…’

‘I don’t think Lizzie’s that old fashioned.’

‘Well no, maybe not, but it’d be nice for her to have the option.’

‘She still does. Even if she found out, it’s her choice what happens after that. And she’s tough.’

Sam nodded.

‘Tough as nails. Well, I suppose in a way it doesn’t really matter. I don’t think he’ll tell her.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No. Steve’s not an idiot. If he thinks he can get away with it, he’ll try to. Why rock the boat: I mean, what has he really got to gain by telling Lizzie?’

‘He won’t be lying to his wife if he does.’

Sam laughed.

‘He’s already been lying to his wife. For nearly a year. That’s never going away: it’s a stain he can’t clean off. So why bother? His kid-to-be will probably be better off not knowing, maybe he thinks Lizzie would be, too. Hell, maybe he’d be right.’

‘You could tell her yourself. It might be better off coming from you.’

‘Better off for
me
, maybe. She’d hate me, but that ship’s sailed anyway. All it would do is make him look even more spineless.
Christ, Steve, the bitch who ruined my marriage has more guts than you.
’

‘
You
didn’t ruin her marriage. It’s his affair, not yours.’

Sam smiled.

‘That’s not how these things go down, and you know it. I’m not betraying anyone, no, but it doesn’t stop me being the home-wrecker.’

‘So what do you actually want?’

‘More progressive views on gender? I don’t know. However far we’ve come, it feels like some things just won’t ever change. God forbid men actually get the blame sometimes.’

Becky shrugged, but Sam continued.

‘I mean, if Alex had an affair, would you be able to just take him back, just like that? To pass the buck along in order to make the marriage work, or at least to give it a try?’

‘Well, I suppose so. Not that there would be much to save: who really needs a husband with his eyes gouged out?’

Sam nodded, faux respectfully.

‘You’re a sensitive soul, DS Alexander. I suppose I’m only patronising Lizzie anyway: I’m sure she’ll have no problems dealing with the fallout.’

‘Even less so if she doesn’t find out.’

Sam sighed.

‘I don’t know; I’m happy to let him suffer. No more than he deserves. But I don’t know…ruining a family is something else.’

Becky smiled, reached across the desk to rest her hand on Sam’s.

‘If the family’s strong enough, it can be put back together,’ she said. ‘And if it can’t, it wasn’t you who ruined it, Ma’am. I like the boss, I won’t pretend I don’t, but anything bad that happens to him now is entirely his doing. I think he knows it, too.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Besides, look at Gregor Stanic; Michelle and John Markham. That’s a ruined family. There are some things that you just can’t come back from. I don’t think a fling is one of them.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Caroline’s hands shook as she typed out the search term into Google.

Heaven and hell.

Images flooded the page. Flames. Darkness. Faces twisted up in suffering.

She sighed.

Caroline had never believed in any of it, even when she was very young. She’d sung hymns at school, and like most of her classmates hadn’t believed a word.

Even as a girl, she’d been unable to reconcile the messages of love and mercy with the suffering.

It had seemed impossible to reconcile it with the suffering, the pain in the world. Earlier that week, TVs and social media had been flooded with the news of pilot, slowly burned to death by the terrorist group. Caroline hadn’t known what was worse: that the video existed, or that hundreds of thousands of people had been happy to watch it. Whatever they told themselves, it amounted to the same thing: people gawping at a public execution, just as they did back in the middle ages.

Anna had died alone. Died in the mud, in the dark. No-one to hold her and tell her it was all going to be OK. No-one to whisper in her ear and tell her that she was loved. That people cared.

The sorts of things, in other words, that Anna had always said to her. Whenever an attack came, or when Caroline was at her lowest, it was always Anna who’d pick up the phone. Anna, who’d answer the ringing of her own mobile, whatever time of day it was.

‘What’s up chick?’ she’d say.

And then she’d just
listen
.

No matter how stupid Caroline felt, no matter if it was something that she knew wasn’t something to get worried about. Some nights Anna would come over, and they’d just sit down and watch stupid, trashy TV. Caroline would cry on her shoulder, and Anna would say the right things, the things that would help Caroline feel like life was worth it.

Even when Anna was at work and unable to take a call, she’d send texts. Nothing too deep: quotes from TV shows, jokes she’d read in a magazine, photos of some hot guy from the papers: anything that would help to take Caroline’s mind off the day to day.

Caroline sighed.

And now Anna was gone. And it felt like the last bit of life had gone with her. It had been much easier to smile, to laugh, to be normal, with her friend around.

Anna gone.

Life, gone.

Caroline knew what she had to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The call came the next evening.

Marr was grateful that Lucy, Caroline’s line manager, had been more attentive than Anna’s. When Caroline hadn’t arrived for her shift, Lucy had popped round to make sure she was OK.

They found Caroline’s body in the bath. A green bathing suit covered her up. The ends of her fingers and toes had wrinkled up from time spent in the water. Two clean cuts had been made: one on each wrist. Both were deep; one deep enough to reveal a thin sliver of white bone. The bottom of the bath was invisible, hidden behind the deeper crimson of the water.

‘She knew what she was doing.’ Becky said.

Marr nodded. This was emphatically not a cry for help. There was music playing on the portable speakers, the iPod on a loop: Marr recognised what he thought was Nick Drake.

‘Why kill herself?’ he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Becky shrugged.

‘Anna always looked after her. Now she’s dead. Maybe Caroline relied on Anna even more than we thought.’

The CSIs were already searching the house. In the case of suicides, they weren’t technically always required. But this one…well, it was worth a bit more investigation. The main CSI – a man called Ray Carter – had just reached the top of the stairs.

‘Jesus, a pretty girl like that. What a fucking waste.’ Ray said.

Becky rolled her eyebrows.

‘Yup, a girl choosing to die rather than be with a man like you.’

‘Life is a mysterious thing.’ Ray replied, a sage look on his face.

‘No sign of anything downstairs?’ Marr asked. Ray shook his head.

‘No, nothing yet. Expecting a suicide note?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘Surely she did top herself, though?’ Ray said, ‘That’s a fucking complicated way to murder someone.’

‘Not if you want it to look like a suicide.’ Marr replied, pursing his lips. Ray did have a point, though: even if you were trying to imitate a suicide, there were easier ways. Chip pan fire. Carbon monoxide.

Hell, you could even hire a pro if you had enough money…

Marr’s thoughts were interrupted by a muffled yell up the stairs. A young-looking CSI by the name of Jack was looking up the stairs.

‘Suicide note’ he said, before moving back into the living room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Dear Michelle and John,

I’m so sorry. I killed Anna. I’m sure that, by now, you’ve found out that Greg and I were having an affair. I was in love with him, and I think he loved me, too.

To be honest, I just wanted to tell her about the affair. I wanted her to know because it seemed unfair for her to marry him not knowing about it. I don’t know why I took the knife; I guess I was scared how she’d react.

I killed her. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen. She attacked me and hit me and I just wanted her to stop.

I know doing this won’t stop what happened, but hopefully this at least offers some form of closure for you.

I’m sorry.

Caroline

Marr read the letter out loud, before passing it back to Jack, who bagged it.

‘Open and shut then,’ said Becky. Marr looked up at her.

‘You think?’

‘She doesn’t have an alibi. She was having an affair with Greg. She says that she just wanted Anna to know.’

‘Why take the knife?’

‘Exactly. The only thing I can think is that Caroline was hoping Anna would dump the cheating love rat, and that she could pick up the pieces.’

‘She’d been friends with Anna for years.’

Becky looked thoughtful.

‘People in love do stupid things. From what we know about Anna, it’s entirely possible she’d attack the person shagging her fiancée. And how many murders do we see from people who ‘just wanted them to be quiet’?’

True enough, Marr thought. Stranglings. Suffocations. A blow to the head. Arguments that got out of hand. Half of all the domestic murders in the country followed that same pattern.

Those murderers, though, were nearly always men. You could surprise someone with a stabbing, sure, but Yovanovitch said that Anna had been choked out first.

Marr looked at the bag containing the suicide note, and then again at Caroline Marcus’ body.

Two women dead, and a case all wrapped up.

It was too simple. Far, far too simple.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Sam was tired and cranky, and the last thing she wanted was to be stuck in a car with Gregor Stanic. And yet, there he was, behind the driver’s seat.

He had, to be fair, come quietly. But then he didn’t yet know what he’d been pulled in for.

The chances are he’d get angry when he was told.

Sam had already established that he didn’t have an alibi; he’d been on his own watching TV all evening. The neighbours hadn’t heard anything, but unless he watched Eastenders with speakers at rave volume, why would they?