The Sleepover

by Carol Wyer

  He dropped his head. ‘The left.’

  ‘You sleep on the left-hand side of the bed. You can see from the picture that there is no bedside table or place to rest a clock or phone on the right-hand side. Cathy couldn’t have seen the time from her side of the bed.’

  ‘She could see it from her side of the bed.’

  ‘No, Paul, she couldn’t. That is a Lexon Flip alarm clock and it only shows a display when you hover your hand over it.’

  ‘I must have done that. Yes. That’s it. I remember. She asked what time it was and I told her.’

  ‘I have no doubt that you told her the time. It just wasn’t the correct time.’

  He was about to protest but she silenced him. ‘I was asking about the oil leak on the Yamaha. These are stills taken from CCTV footage of a motorbike that drew up beside St Mary’s church in Armston at 12.43 on Sunday morning.’ She began to lay out all the photographs so Paul could see them.

  ‘DI Ward is now showing the suspect a series of photographs JB9 through 14,’ Ian added.

  ‘The tyres on this bike have been identified as Pirellis.’

  Paul said nothing.

  ‘In this photograph you can make out a person wearing what appear to be leather motorcycle gloves, carrying a container, which we believe to be a jerrycan.’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ he said, his words mere whispers.

  ‘First thing this morning, one of my officers went to St Mary’s church and examined the area where the bike drew up. He found oil stains where the bike had been standing.’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’

  Natalie swigged the black coffee that Lucy had brought back from the machine and stared at the clock. It was almost ten. This was now turning into a long waiting game yet she was sure Paul would crack. He was back in the holding cell. The evidence they had was flimsy at best and all she could hope for was a confession. She drained her cup and waited for the internal phone to ring.

  They all used the time to hunt for more information and she trawled back though the case notes hoping to find something else they could use. She was surprised to hear a gentle cough and looked up to see Darshan.

  ‘You might find this useful. I’ve been going through the computer we brought back from the flat and Paul purchased this off Amazon.’ It was a 2.5 gallon no-spill poly gas can. ‘It can take just under ten litres of fuel,’ said Darshan.

  ‘That’s quite a hefty thing to carry on a motorbike. How would he have managed that?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Saddlebags, backpack or my guess is strap it down on the back seat with bungee straps,’ said Darshan.

  ‘Have you told Forensics?’ Natalie asked.

  ‘I rang Mike immediately,’ he replied with a small nod.

  ‘Thank you. This is exactly what we needed.’

  Ten minutes later, presented with the evidence, Paul was willing to confess. He dragged his hands over his grey face.

  ‘I admit that I set fire to the house in Linnet Lane. I wanted some payback – for the humiliation, for treating me like scum. I bought the petrol can and planned to burn down their fancy house while they were out. I made sure both Charlie and Seth could give me an alibi, and after they’d gone to bed, I sneaked out. I wheeled Charlie’s bike down the road, started it up there and parked up at St Mary’s church. I didn’t want the engine to rouse anybody on Linnet Lane. I carried the can to their house. I’d planned on wetting rags and stuffing them through the letter box but the door to the entrance opened when I pushed on the letter box, so I poured the petrol all over the floor, set it alight and ran.

  ‘Believe me, I had no idea Roxy was inside at the time. How could I possibly have known she’d be there? I haven’t been able to eat, sleep or even think about it since. I can’t live with myself for what I did.’

  ‘Habib saw you when you approached the house. Did you spot him?’

  ‘I didn’t see a soul. I was fully focused on getting to the house, starting the fire and getting back home as quickly as possible. I planned it so nobody would be inside. I didn’t want anyone to die!’ he wailed.

  ‘You deny seeing Habib?’

  ‘I swear I didn’t see him.’ He rested his hands either side of his temples and stared at the table with haunted eyes.

  Natalie continued, undeterred by his evident upset. ‘What happened to Cathy? Did she find out what you’d done? Did she threaten to tell us?’

  ‘Cathy? I didn’t kill Cathy. I had nothing to do with her death. I loved Cathy.’

  The lawyer spoke quietly. ‘I think we’re quite clear on this matter. My client is admitting to arson and the possible manslaughter by misadventure of his stepdaughter, Roxanne Curtis.’

  ‘I am not giving up.’ Natalie was sticking to her guns. They’d tried comparing Paul’s handwriting to that on Habib’s suicide note but it had proved inconclusive. In spite of similarities in letter formations, the expert couldn’t say with complete certainty that Paul had written the note.

  Aileen Melody was once again the voice of reason. ‘You have to make the decision to charge him accordingly. We can’t wait about indefinitely. If he isn’t responsible for the deaths of his partner and Habib Malik, then we are wasting valuable time.’

  ‘There’ll be something. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You have ample evidence to convict him of the arson attack.’ While they had forensic proof that confirmed Paul was behind the arson attack, they had nothing that placed him at the other crime scenes. ‘I’m giving you until one o’clock to make the call.’

  Natalie was dismissed and headed directly to her car. The frustration had become a physical mounting pressure in her chest and she needed to get away for a while. She tore down the lanes towards Armston, knowing she wouldn’t be much help but needing to be at the flat in Clearview. There was something they were missing. Her phone rang and she put it on speakerphone.

  ‘Mike, I’m headed in your direction.’

  ‘That’s timely.’

  ‘What have you found?’

  ‘Meet me where we found Habib.’

  She pulled up behind the white forensic van right outside the field where they’d found Habib. She paused for a second to survey the remains of Gavin and Kirk’s house. Normally, in such tragic circumstances where a person – especially a child – had died, floral tributes would have been laid out, but she was saddened to see there was nothing to show anyone cared. A flash of red caught her eye and she crossed the road to better examine it. It was a small, heart-shaped balloon with a message that read, ‘To the best friend in the world. Swing high until we meet again. Love you forever. Ellie.’ She thought back to what Lucy had told her about the swings in the park where the two girls had made plans and laughed together, and a lump rose in her throat. She swallowed it down. Now was not the time for sentimentality. As she turned away she spotted Mike by the open gate and crossed to join him.

  ‘I found the bungee leads used to strap the petrol can onto the bike in the back of Paul’s van along with these, caught up in some ripped dust sheets.’ He lifted a small plastic evidence bag containing grey particles.

  ‘And they are?’

  ‘Fragments of bark from an oak tree. Come with me.’

  She followed him into the field where a ladder was resting against the tree trunk. Remnants of a dust sheet had been tied to both the top and bottom of the ladder to cover the feet. Mike explained his theory. ‘Paul’s an aerial fitter and I’m pretty certain he’d be expected to cover up the rubber feet on his ladder so they don’t mark walls when he clambers into loft spaces, hence the dust sheets. It’s been bugging me how Habib was strung from the tree and why we couldn’t find any evidence to indicate how he got there. I think the killer prepared the rope so it was hanging quite close to the trunk. He wrapped torn pieces of dust sheet around the ladder feet and then strapped Habib to the ladder, using the bungee cables and more pieces of ripped sheeting. Then he propped both the ladder and the body against the tree. The ground was dry so the ladder didn’t leave an
y marks and the thick material protecting the feet prevented obvious indentations in the bark.

  ‘There is no other way this could have been accomplished. It’s really difficult to raise a dead body up a tree by tying a rope around it and hauling it over a branch, or by standing on a step and lifting it into a noose without assistance, and besides, we’d have found some forensic evidence to suggest that was what had happened. However, it is possible for a killer to tie a body to a ladder and extend that ladder little by little until it is high enough for that person to climb up a few rungs, slide a prepared rope around their victim’s neck and then cut them free from the ladder. The body would swing sideways and come to rest in a position that would make it appear the person had committed suicide.’

  Her heart thudded against her ribs and she was keen to get back. ‘Is this Paul’s ladder?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘You have the sheets and samples of bark and can prove unequivocally that he committed this crime?’

  ‘Unless somebody else had access to his van, then yes, I can. We can test the bungee ropes for Habib’s DNA too.’

  ‘What about Cathy? How can I prove he killed her?’

  ‘I can’t help you there. We simply don’t have enough evidence for you to point the finger at anyone.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll work with what I’ve got. Thanks for this.’

  ‘I’m only doing my job.’

  ‘And it’s appreciated.’

  She dashed for her car, glancing one last time at the house opposite. She couldn’t bring the girl back to life but she had at least found the person responsible for her death. She too had done her job, except there was still one final line to add on this particular dot-to-dot drawing before it would be completed.

  Thirty-Six

  Thursday, 5 July – Afternoon

  The office was stuffy, having heated up thanks to the sun shining directly through the window. Natalie squinted and drew the louvre blinds to shut out some of the dazzling rays that bounced off the whiteboard and showed up every fleck of dust on the dark desktops. Below her the never-ending traffic rumbled along but behind the double-glazed windows she heard only slight stirrings from her team as they waited for her to begin the brainstorming session. Ian sat with a notepad in front of him. Murray was once again fiddling with items on his desk while Lucy sat upright, hands on her thighs as if ready to jump up at any moment, like a cat poised to strike. They had Paul’s confession that he’d set fire to the house in Linnet Lane and substantial proof that he’d killed Habib, but they still had insufficient evidence to link him to Cathy’s death. Natalie returned to the front of the room and nodded at Ian, indicating he should continue.

  ‘I could talk again to the man who saw the motorbike near Linnet Lane. Maybe he was wrong and it wasn’t Seth’s bike that he saw,’ said Ian.

  Lucy was quick to disagree. ‘No, he gave us the last two letters of the registration and it was definitely Seth’s bike. Plus, Seth admitted he was at the canal. The witness definitely saw Seth.’

  Natalie stared at the names on the board, her forehead creased in thought. There had to be a reasonable explanation. There was one possibility, which she tested on her team. ‘What if there were two bikes and the witness only happened to spot Seth’s?’

  Murray flicked at a pencil, propelling it into a circle, and after it came to a halt, he said, ‘Wasn’t Paul working on the Yamaha? His neighbour heard him swearing at it.’

  Lucy nodded in agreement. ‘Unless she was mistaken about the time, but she was playing with her kid outside and she was quite clear about them going inside to eat.’

  Natalie chewed at her thumb, ideas now mounting up. ‘What time exactly did she hear Paul swearing?’ she asked, sending Ian scurrying for the notes.

  ‘Six thirty or seven.’

  ‘It wouldn’t take long to reach the canal. Fifteen minutes by bike. Maybe Paul arrived shortly after Seth left.’

  ‘What about the text Cathy sent Paul?’

  ‘He could have sent it himself from her phone.’ It was falling into place. Then she had the lightbulb moment. ‘Lucy, get me a name and number for Paul’s neighbour.’

  It took a few minutes to find the information but soon Natalie was speaking to Heather Collins. ‘It’s DI Ward from Samford Police. You might remember I spoke to you a few days ago.’

  ‘I do. There’s been police crawling all over the house. I heard they’ve all been arrested.’

  ‘I wouldn’t believe everything you hear. I need to ask you a question.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Can you think very carefully about this? You told us you heard Paul swearing and you took Tommy inside.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Did you hear anything else at all?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Did you hear an engine start up?’

  There was a pause. ‘No. I don’t think I did.’

  ‘How about a loud squeak?’

  There was another hesitation, then the voice at the other end lifted. ‘Oh, you mean his gate. It always squeals. I wish they’d put some bloody WD-40 or something on it. Actually, yes. I did hear it. It made that noise just after he shouted, “Fucking bitch!” I was almost inside by then. He was in a right lather.’

  After hanging up, Natalie stared at the board and made her announcement. ‘I think Paul Sadler’s been messing with us. He wasn’t swearing at the bike he was repairing. He called it a “fucking bitch”. I know cars, bikes and ships can be referred to as female, but I think he was talking about Cathy. He was angry with her and fixed the bike quicker than he said he did – and what Heather overheard was him venting as he left the yard with the bike. Now we need to prove my theory.’

  She looked into the corridor, heart hammering. She almost had him. A figure was fast approaching the office. It was Mike.

  ‘Natalie! The dust sheets. They’re made of cream cotton twill. I think one might have been used to strangle Cathy.’

  With the evidence mounted up against him, Paul could deny the accusations no longer. After another lengthy interrogation, he hung his head in shame. ‘I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I only wanted to pay those bastards back. I didn’t know Roxy would die. I was sick when I found out – properly sick. My world imploded and I didn’t know what to say or do. I had to stay calm, pretend it wasn’t me who’d caused the fire, but Cathy was astute. She put two and two together so quickly. I don’t know how she did it. Maybe she knew me too well, could see I was hiding something, and she went through my computer history and found out I’d bought the jerrycan.’

  Paul doesn’t know where to turn or what to do next. He’s screwed up in ways he never imagined possible. What the fuck was Roxy doing inside those bastards’ house? He’s killed his stepdaughter. He’s got to sort out Habib and he has a plan to silence the boy. He’ll offer him a stupid amount of money to keep quiet about seeing him. The kid will do anything for cash; he has few morals in spite of his shy demeanour. He leans over the toilet bowl again and throws up. He only just held it together while the police were at his flat. He can’t break down now. They have no way of knowing it is him. He has to play it cool. He stares at his face and wipes the sweat from his brow. He can’t seem to stop perspiring and Cathy’s been giving him strange looks. She senses he’s keeping something from her. She’s no idiot but even she can’t guess what he’s done, can she? He bluffed her when he got back, told her it was just gone midnight when it was actually almost two o’clock. She is his alibi for that night, and besides, she loves him. She’ll believe in his innocence, won’t she?

  He hastens out of the bathroom. Cathy’s been surprisingly calm since the news of Roxy’s death while everyone else has acted in their own ways to the tragedy. Charlie has gone to his girlfriend’s house and Seth’s buggered off somewhere and now Paul feels strangely left out. He loved Roxy too but they’ve seemed to forget that.

  He walks into the sitting room and Cathy, who’s at the computer, shuts it down suddenly
. The movement is quick and in contrast to how she stands up and meanders to the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with him.

  ‘I’m going to look for Seth. I’m worried about him,’ she says.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No. I’m going alone. He’ll be upset and confused. He needs me.’

  The words hurt. She’s shutting him out. As she disappears to collect her bag, he checks the computer and finds the last page she was on. His blood runs cold. She’s been searching for a phone number for DI Ward at Samford Police Headquarters. He checks what else she’s been looking at and sees she’s been searching through the computer’s history and that she’s discovered what he ought to have deleted but never thought to – the website from which he bought the jerrycan. He should have deleted his browsing history but he never imagined the police would knock on his door. Not in a million years.

  He races after her and catches her putting on her wedged sandals.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ he asks, testing her.

  ‘Fine.’

  That one word tells him all he needs to know. Cathy suspects him. She may love him but she’ll never forgive him for Roxy’s death, accidental or not. Moreover, he can’t trust her to keep quiet.

  She doesn’t kiss him goodbye and leaves him standing in the doorway, knowing the police will come back, and the next time, they’ll take him away. He won’t let that happen.

  The fucking bike is still leaking oil. He was lucky to have got back home earlier from Armston before it broke down. It is an easy enough fix. He sets to work and gets angry firstly with himself then Cathy. He can’t let her tell anyone what she suspects. He doesn’t want to hurt her but she’s brought this on herself. Why couldn’t she keep her fucking nose out? It would’ve been all right. They’d have pulled through. Roxy was a pain in the arse at times anyway. Always arguing and carrying on. They’d have got over her. Next door, the little brat is squealing and shouting. He’s a noisy little fucker. In spite of the high-pitched, excitable screams coming from the yard next door, he resolves the issue with the bike and wipes his hands on a cloth.