‘I don’t want to miss what’s happening,’ he added, giving her a sharp glance.
Registering her husband’s sudden interest in the local news, a horrible thought occurred to Ann. He had given her no other reason to suppose he might have killed Mark, but as soon as the idea occurred to her, she felt an unnerving suspicion that she could be right. David’s behaviour towards her had definitely changed since Mark’s death. For no obvious reason he had become very solicitous, and she could think of no other explanation for his concern. He asked her repeatedly if she was all right, which was unusual. The only way he could have realised something was amiss was by knowing about the affair and what had happened to Mark. And if he had discovered the affair, the only reason he would have refrained from mentioning it to her would be if he had decided to deal with the situation himself by getting rid of Mark.
It was a wild conjecture, but it was possible that, in an insane bid to save his marriage, her husband had killed her lover. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. She recalled Mark telling her that he was being stalked. She had been afraid then that David had been following her. He had always been aggressively possessive, refusing to allow her to see any of her friends without him until, one by one, they had stopped calling her. There had never been many of them to begin with. At first, she had not really minded. She had been kept too busy looking after the baby, and tending to her husband’s needs, to pay much attention to anything else. Fussy about his food, and fastidious about the house being kept spotless, David expected her to cook and clean every day. For a long time she had not realised his behaviour was peculiar, and she had puzzled over how the married women among her few friends had been the last to stop calling her, as though their husbands had accepted they would want to go out with their girlfriends.
The thought that David could be responsible for Mark’s death made her feel physically sick. Her legs trembled. She would never see her lover again, never feel the touch of his lips or his hands on her body, never watch his muscles move as he undressed and walked towards her to take her in his arms. If it was David’s fault, she would avenge Mark’s death. In that moment she realised she hated him with a passion that threatened to overwhelm her, as though all her love for Mark had been channelled into loathing for David. Alone in the kitchen she leaned against the sink while the room seemed to spin around her and she struggled to control her rage. She breathed deeply and tried to think clearly. She told herself she must be overreacting, allowing her emotions to overrule her sense. There was no evidence that David was guilty. Yet she knew, deep down, that she was right to suspect him.
If it was impossible to accept the loss of the man she loved, it was going to be unbearable living with the man she suspected of killing him. Convinced she would never manage to control her emotions, she was aware that she had to get away from her husband, but she understood David would never let her leave him. It was not in his nature to let her go. In his mind she was a possession, like a dog, only more useful and more malleable. Despite his authority over just about every aspect of her life, he could not control her affections any more than he could dominate her thoughts. She went into the living room, determined to confront David and learn the truth, but her resolve weakened when he turned his head and saw her watching him.
‘Look at this,’ he said, with a strange smile on his face, ‘there’s been another murder in York. That makes three in quick succession. Someone’s been busy.’
He sounded almost pleased about it.
‘What do they know about the killer?’ she asked. ‘You know you should be careful. If there’s a killer on the streets, you could be his next victim.’
‘Oh, I won’t be,’ he replied airily.
Hardly able to breathe, she asked him how he knew. She could hardly believe her voice sounded normal, when David had as good as confessed to being the murderer.
‘Because whoever this nutter is, he’s only killing homeless people,’ he replied.’
‘What about me? Could I be in danger?’
‘No, I told you, he’s only killing tramps. He won’t touch you.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘Of course, I can’t be sure. No one can. But he’s only killed men so far, so it seems likely he’ll carry on doing just that. The police have no idea who he is,’ he added.
She saw his reflection in the window, and his grinning face seemed to confirm her suspicion. Returning to the kitchen, she studied the report in the newspaper David had brought home. The police believed one man was responsible for three murders in York, his victims all strangled with a red tie. She ran upstairs and checked the tie rail in his wardrobe. All his ties were neatly displayed in a row. All but one. The red tie she had given him for Christmas was missing. Reaching for her phone, she hesitated. If the police knew that Mark had been her lover, and David’s red tie had disappeared from his wardrobe, they would certainly investigate her accusation. But David was clever, and there might be insufficient evidence linking him to the crime scenes. He would have made sure he would be able to wriggle out of the charges, and her revenge would be incomplete. She put her phone back in her pocket and went back downstairs.
Stacking the dishwasher, she listened to the muffled sounds of the news on the television in the next room and realised that, whatever happened, ending her marriage would not be enough. Her shock hardened into a cold anger against the man who had ruined her life, snatching away her one chance of finding happiness. She would never love anyone as she had loved Mark. Such a loss could never be redressed. In that moment she knew what she was going to do. It was going to take careful thought and she would have to carry out her plans away from the house.
Finishing the clearing up, she joined David in the living room and was just in time to catch a television presenter chairing a discussion between a police spokeswoman and the manager of a homeless shelter.
‘That makes two homeless people murdered in recent weeks on the streets of York, and there has been a third murder in the area,’ the manager was saying. ‘The point is, if these victims weren’t homeless and disenfranchised, their deaths would be getting a lot more attention in the media and more public money would be spent on bringing their murderer to justice.’
‘More attention than air time for a discussion on television gives them?’ the policewoman asked wryly.
‘This,’ the manager waved a hand irritably in the air, ‘this is all just propaganda. What we want to know is, what is being done to find this killer? If innocent householders were being murdered on the streets, there would be uproar.’
‘Uproar? How would that help?’ the policewoman enquired quietly. She sounded slightly bored.
‘The question is surely: what is being done to make our streets safe again?’ the broadcaster asked.
The police spokeswoman sat forward and reeled off a list of actions that the police were taking. More police on the beat, helplines open for anyone who had noticed anything suspicious, an unnamed person helping them, and several leads being followed up.
‘Oh, yes, someone’s helping you with your enquiries, and there are various leads being followed up,’ the manager of the homeless shelter said, with a visible sneer. ‘But that’s exactly my point. It’s all just talk, isn’t it? The question we want answered is, what exactly is being done and, more importantly, when are you going to make an arrest?’
‘We are doing everything possible to reach a swift conclusion, and I can assure you that every murder victim is given the same attention, regardless of his or her background. The victims’ identities and circumstances make no difference to our procedures. We investigate any death with equal determination and rigour.’
There was more along those lines, with the two interviewees batting away each other’s claims and protests and refusing to change their own views. After a while, Ann stopped listening. What worried her was that the police were inc
reasing their presence on the streets. That was going to make her plan more difficult to carry out. Difficult, but not impossible. She would just have to be extra cautious. But nothing she had heard weakened her resolve. Somehow she was going to find a way to kill her husband and, to make her revenge perfect, David would look in her eyes as he was dying, and he would understand how much she had loved Mark.
34
The van was registered to a man called Don Wilson who lived not far from York St John University in Portland Street, just around the corner from the car park where the van had been found. He had reported it stolen on Tuesday morning, just a matter of hours after the estimated time of death of the victim.
‘He could be an innocent victim of theft, but it’s equally possible he killed Mark, made a poor stab at disguising the registration number of the van, dumped it in the car park and then reported the van stolen in an attempt to distance himself from the contents of the van.’
‘I still don’t understand why he only tried to disguise one number plate,’ Naomi said.
‘Presumably he’d covered both plates, but one of the false ones fell off,’ Eileen replied.
‘Either that or he was a complete moron,’ Ariadne said.
‘Or both,’ Ian added. ‘The false one on the back was only stuck on with gaffer tape.’
‘Not much of an attempt to conceal it from us,’ Eileen commented.
Geraldine had been listening to the discussion. Now she spoke up. ‘It seems as though whoever left the van there didn’t care if we traced the owner. Surely that bears out the owner’s claim that it was stolen?’
‘With the specific intention of disposing of a body,’ Eileen agreed. ‘Well, let’s speak to the owner and see what he has to say for himself, bearing in mind that he could be hoping to trick us into believing he’s innocent. Remember, he didn’t report the van missing until the day after Mark was killed.’
Geraldine and Ian went to the address where the van was registered, and Don himself opened the door.
‘Yes? What do you want?’
The two detectives introduced themselves and his face brightened.
‘Are you here about my van? What’s happened? Has it been found?’
‘We’ve located your missing vehicle,’ Geraldine said.
‘So when can I have it back? Only I’ve not been able to work –’
‘I’m sorry, but we can’t release it just yet.’
‘What do you mean? It’s mine. I’ve got the logbook and everything, and it’s insured. I can show you the certificate. Look, I know it’s a rusty old heap, but it’s how I earn my living. I couldn’t even get an old bike with what the insurance company’s offering to pay out. I know the tyres are a bit bald, but I’m on it. In fact, I was about to take it along to the tyre and exhaust centre when it was stolen. But I’ll get on to replacing them as soon as I get it back. So, where do I collect it?’
‘I’m afraid you can’t have it back just yet,’ Ian said.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s being examined,’ Geraldine said.
With a detective inspector and a detective sergeant telling him he could not have his van back, it was understandable that the owner of the van began to look nervous.
‘What for? I told you, I’m going to get it fixed. Listen, do me a favour, it’s just an old van. So the tyres are a bit bald. I know that. I’m not denying it, am I? If there’s a fine, I’ll just have to take it on the chin, but it hardly seems fair when I’m willing to sort it out. I want to get it done up. I mean, it’s not as if it’s unsafe –’
‘I’m afraid this is more serious than a few bald tyres,’ Ian interrupted him.
‘What do you mean? Is it the suspension? If it is, then –’
‘Your van is being held in a criminal investigation,’ Geraldine told him.
‘What do you mean, a criminal investigation? It’s not a crime to have a few bald tyres and –’
‘We’d like you to accompany us to the police station. We need to ask you a few questions,’ Ian said.
‘What questions? What are you talking about?’
‘Come along, Don,’ Geraldine said gently. ‘We only want to ask you a few questions. It won’t help you if you resist.’
‘Resist? Who said anything about resisting? You’re putting words in my mouth.’
Still grumbling, Don went with them to the police station. Although Geraldine was almost convinced their suspect was innocent of murder, she agreed it was possible they had just apprehended a serial killer. Ian was more optimistic about the chances they had solved the case.
‘If you’d killed someone and wanted to dump the body in your old van, wouldn’t you say it had been stolen?’
Eileen decided Don should initially be charged with obstruction, at least until they heard what he had to say. She hoped nerves would help to loosen his tongue. But Don seemed genuinely aghast at the charge, and insisted he had no idea what they were talking about.
‘My van was stolen,’ he kept repeating. ‘I’m not a criminal. You can’t charge me just because my van was stolen. I reported it. I told you I was going to replace all the tyres, only someone nicked it before I could get it to the garage. I’ve got a crime number.’
He had calmed down a little by the time they were all seated in an interview room with a duty solicitor in attendance.
Ian showed Don a photo.
‘Who the fuck is that?’ he asked.
‘Do you recognise this man?’
‘No, I don’t. I’ve never seen him before in my life. I take it he’s the one who nicked my van?’
Ian shook his head. ‘He was found in your van.’
‘Good. I’m glad you got the bastard. I couldn’t be more pleased. You’ve got your thief, and I can have my van back.’ He hesitated. ‘There is just one small problem.’
‘I think it’s more than a small problem,’ Ian said quietly.
‘I seem to have lost my keys. I think I may have left them in the van. But don’t worry,’ he laughed nervously, ‘I’ll sort that out. Can I go now?’
Ian grunted. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’ He tapped the photograph on the table. ‘This man wasn’t driving the van. He was left in it.’
Don frowned. ‘Left in it? What does that mean? Was he being transported somewhere? Like illegal people trafficking? But how is that even possible? I was driving my van the day before it was stolen, and you told me it was in York when it was found. It can’t have gone far. This is ridiculous.’
‘We’re not investigating people trafficking,’ Ian replied solemnly. ‘We’re investigating a murder. Now, I want you to think very carefully before you answer. Have you seen this man before?’
Don had gone pale. ‘A murder? What do you mean? What are you talking about?’
‘We’re talking about the murder of this man,’ Geraldine said, pointing to Mark’s photo.
‘But what’s that got to do with me?’ Don asked. His expression altered suddenly. ‘The victim... you said he was left in my van? What? Are you telling me there was a body? In my van?’
Geraldine was convinced his shock was genuine, but Ian was not so sure. They discussed the interview with the other members of the team once they had finished questioning Don.
Eileen agreed with Ian. ‘He would deny it, wouldn’t he?’
‘There was no sign the van had been broken into,’ Ian pointed out, ‘and Don told us he hasn’t got the keys, even though he told the insurance company he had left the van locked.’
‘So he’s asking us to believe he lost his keys after he locked the van for the night, and it was stolen?’ Ariadne asked.
‘And however clumsy his attempt was to conceal the registration number, he did try to hide it,’ Ian concluded.
Eileen nodded briskly. ‘Charge him.’
Geraldine understood why Eileen
might think that, but she had an uneasy feeling about the accusation.
‘What if he’s not guilty?’ she asked.
‘Then we’re back where we started, only with one more victim,’ Eileen replied. ‘No one’s happy about this, Geraldine, and it may well turn out that Don Wilson isn’t our man, but the likelihood is that he’s guilty, so until he can prove otherwise, we’re not letting him walk out of here.’
Geraldine nodded, satisfied that the investigation had to continue, at least until Don’s guilt could be confirmed. But she was concerned that after Tommy and Jasper, now Don had been arrested, and the case against all three had been incomplete. She had to follow the orders of her senior officers, but it was frustrating to find herself powerless to influence the decisions of the detective chief inspector who appeared to be settling for the easiest option again.
‘Is everything OK?’ Ariadne asked her, seeing Geraldine scowling at her screen.
Geraldine grunted. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Well, I’d hate to see you on a day when it was all going horribly wrong,’ Ariadne replied with a grin.
Geraldine did not respond.
35
At nine o’clock the next morning, Geraldine arrived at the school where the third victim had worked, and waited half an hour for a fleeting and pointless meeting with the headmaster who was able to confirm only that Mark had been employed in the establishment as a peripatetic guitar teacher.
‘Of course I know all the full-time staff personally,’ he explained, ‘but I only meet the peripatetics at their initial interview, after which I don’t really see them unless any problems arise. They’re not required to attend academic staff meetings, and the music block isn’t part of the administration corridor, or even the main teaching block. It’s on the far side of the campus, beyond the science labs and art studio. This young man didn’t have any problems as far as I was aware, so there was never any call for him to come and see me once he’d been appointed. So I’m sorry I can’t help you any more than to say that he seemed a pleasant young man. Our head of music will have seen him regularly and will be able to tell you more. I’ve alerted him to your visit and he’s waiting for you in the music block. The school secretary will escort you there. I thought you might like to see where Mark worked.’
Deathly Affair Page 15