The old woman frowned. ‘My grandchildren? Oh, they're both away. Jessica's travelling. That's all she seems to want to do. And Mark lives in Scotland –’
‘I'm talking about the girl and boy who live next door. Did you see them very often?’ Geraldine interrupted gently. The old woman shook her head. ‘And Mr and Mrs Kirby – were you aware of any difficulties in the marriage? Did you ever hear them arguing?’
The woman's eyes lit up with sudden animation. ‘Oh, do you think he did it? Was it him killed her then?’ Unconsciously, she opened the door wider and leaned forward. ‘Are you going to arrest him?’
‘We've no idea yet who was responsible for her death –’
‘It was terrible, wasn't it? A teacher.’ The woman tutted loudly. ‘Well, I hope you're going to lock him up soon. I don't want to live next door to a murderer.’ She dropped her voice, as though afraid she might be overheard. ‘Now, you'll come in for a cup of tea, won't you? And I've got some nice chocolate bourbons.’
Geraldine and the sergeant exchanged a regretful glance. ‘That's very kind of you, but we need to get on. Here's a card. Please give me a call if you think of anything else.’
The Kirbys’ neighbours on the other side were keen to help, but similarly short on information. A middle-aged man came to the door and looked enquiringly at them without speaking. Once again, Geraldine introduced herself and Detective Sergeant Peterson and outlined the reason for their call.
‘Hmmm,’ the man replied. ‘They weren't exactly unfriendly –’ He broke off as a plump, bright-eyed woman joined him on the doorstep.
‘What's this, Brian?’ she asked fussily. ‘We're not –’
‘It's the police, Maisie.’ Her eyes opened wide in alarm. ‘It's about the Kirby woman next door. You know, the one –’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ she dismissed him and turned to Geraldine. ‘Have you found out who killed her?’
‘We're pursuing our investigation, but I'm afraid we can't say any more than that at this point.’
‘They want to know what they were like next door,’ Brian explained to his wife. ‘I was telling them they're not exactly friendly,’ he went on.
Maisie turned to Geraldine. ‘If you ask me, there's something not right about that family. I mean, she never seems to be there. He seems nice enough, doesn't he, Brian, but she's always off, out and about, till all hours, isn't she?’ She appealed to her husband then continued without waiting for him to respond. ‘Remember when they first moved in? We're not exactly demanding as neighbours. I mean, we don't like to intrude. But there's nothing wrong with being neighbourly, is there?’
‘What happened?’ Geraldine asked.
‘We went to see if there was anything they needed and she came to the door and – well, she gave us our marching orders, as if we were making a nuisance of ourselves. He never said a word, just shrugged at us before she shut the door. Now that's not very friendly, is it?’
‘I think she might just have been busy,’ her husband interrupted. ‘They had just moved in.’
‘That was no reason to talk down to us like that, as though we were naughty children.’
‘She spends all day talking to children –’
‘Well, we're not children. She was hardly ever there, as far as we could tell. And as for him, I haven't spoken to him since that first night. Not that there's any bad feeling, we just don't see them.’
Her husband shook his head. ‘Not everyone wants to chat over the garden fence. There's nothing wrong with keeping yourself to yourself.’
Maisie swivelled round to face him. ‘There's friendly and there's neighbourly. Everyone has to make time for other people. It's only manners. We were only being good neighbours.’ She turned back to Geraldine. ‘Now I come to think of it, she was pretty rude, if you ask me. But I'm sorry about what happened to her. It's a terrible business.’
‘And you say Mrs Kirby was hardly ever at home?’
‘Yes, that's right,’ Maisie replied. ‘Like I said, he seems pleasant enough, but she's always off out somewhere – or she was, I should say. Those children are left to drag themselves up – and she's a head teacher. You wouldn't believe it, would you? That girl looks as though she could do with a good wash.’
‘Yes, the girl's odd,’ Brian agreed, ‘but she's a teenager.’ As though that explained it.
‘I mean, you never hear any noise from them,’ Maisie went on. ‘Not that we're complaining, but that's not normal for teenagers, is it?’
Geraldine took a step back and handed Brian a card. ‘Thank you both very much. If you think of anything else that might help us in our enquiries, please call this number.’
‘What do you want to know?’ Maisie asked.
‘Of course we will, Inspector,’ her husband replied at the same time. ‘I told you, they want to know about Mr Kirby next door, to find out if he killed his wife,’ he explained.
‘Well, don't you go getting any ideas, Brian Fuller,’ they heard her say as the door closed.
35
CAROL
‘Carol Middleton's here and she's asking to speak to someone, gov.’
Geraldine looked up with a frown. ‘Carol Middleton? Am I supposed to know who she is?’
‘She's Vernon Mitchell's aunt.’
Geraldine slapped the file she was reading down on her desk. ‘Has he turned up then?’
‘I don't know, gov, but his aunt doesn't look very happy.’ The constable pulled a face and Geraldine's spirits sank. Vernon was a healthy seventeen-year-old who had been missing for less than two days. Under normal circumstances the police wouldn't be concerned. If Vernon hadn't been to the station with his hazy account of a man talking to Abigail Kirby shortly before she was killed, the police wouldn't have paid much attention to his mother's anxieties. But Vernon Mitchell had disappeared soon after he had come forward with his statement, just one day after he had reported that he thought he was being followed. Something about his disappearance didn't feel right.
‘OK, I'll see her now.’
A large red-faced woman was waiting in an interview room, a robust version of Mrs Mitchell. She had to be the invalid's sister. ‘Mrs Carol Middleton?’
‘I'd like you to tell me exactly what's going on,’ Carol Middleton said before Geraldine had a chance to introduce herself. ‘My sister reported her son missing twenty-four hours ago and she's not heard a word from you since then.’
‘I'm sorry –’
‘I don't think you have any idea what my poor sister is going through.’ Carol went on without waiting for an answer. ‘My sister is not a well woman, Inspector. She can't cope with the sort of stress you're subjecting her to.’
‘I'm sorry about your sister, Mrs Middleton, but I'm not sure what more you expect us to do –’
‘Find him, of course. Wherever Vernon is, you have to find him. My sister can't take much more of this. It's making her ill. Look, I'm not sure you quite understand the seriousness of the situation. I'd like to speak to a senior officer.’ Geraldine introduced herself and Carol Middleton nodded when Geraldine said she was an inspector. ‘Right. An inspector. Good. Now tell me exactly what you've done so far to try and find Vernon. I want to know exactly what's been happening.’
Geraldine began to explain that as much time as possible was being devoted to Vernon's disappearance but Carol Middleton interrupted her again.
‘That's frankly not good enough, Inspector. You have to understand, this is not just any teenage boy who's run off. Vernon's mother is a very sick woman. He knows how much she depends on him and would never disappear like that, without a word.’
Geraldine looked directly at the other woman and kept her voice even. ‘Mrs Middleton, has it occurred to you that Vernon might simply be taking some time off, taking some time for himself? Acting as a carer is difficult and demanding and Vernon's only seventeen –’
‘He's nearly eighteen, and he isn't my sister's carer. She has carers who come in and look after her needs every day. But
Vernon's her son, he's the only family she's got –’
‘She's got you,’ Geraldine pointed out.
Carol Middleton's naturally florid face turned a slightly darker shade of red with a flush that spread under her chin and down her throat. ‘That's not the same thing. Vernon's her son. He lives with her.’
As Geraldine watched Vernon's aunt talking at her she tried to feel sympathy for the stout red-faced woman but she couldn't help thinking Carol Middleton's complaints were unfair. The police were doing their best. It was hardly their fault the boy had gone missing. Uniform had questioned people living on Vernon's route back home from the party. No one remembered seeing him and he hadn't been spotted on any CCTV on buses travelling the route that night. Everyone they interviewed who had attended Gary's party told them Vernon had spent the evening with a girl called Jennifer.
All they learned was that Vernon had left the party ‘quite early’ and alone. A lot of alcohol had been consumed at the party, but there had allegedly been no drugs. As much man power as could be spared had been diverted to the search but the DCI hadn't been able to draft in more personnel. The Superintendant thought it unlikely there would prove to be anything amiss in Vernon's disappearance but Geraldine couldn't shake off an uneasy feeling that she had been wrong to dismiss Vernon's request for protection so quickly. Although her response had been appropriate with the information available to her at the time, and was all detailed in her decision log where she had to record reasons for all her actions, her disquiet made it difficult for her to insist with any degree of confidence that the police were doing everything they could to find Vernon Mitchell.
‘He's a young boy,’ she told Carol Middleton. ‘One day he's going to want to move out and live his own life. It's inevitable. He's going to want his own space and probably felt unable to demand it. It's not unusual for teenagers in his situation to run away from home like that and they almost always turn up, safe and sound. The chances of anything having happened to him are slight.’ She realised her attempt to reassure Vernon's aunt had backfired as soon as Carol Middleton spoke.
‘In other words you aren't taking this seriously and no one's doing anything to look for my nephew because you think he's run away from home. Are you really telling me you think Vernon's chosen to run off and leave my poor sister in a state of collapse, worrying about him? That's preposterous.’
Geraldine sat back in her chair and let the other woman talk for a while. It was a difficult interview. Carol Middleton insisted the police should be devoting all their resources to finding her nephew, on the grounds that his mother was an invalid. What made it worse was her refusal to listen to anything Geraldine said. By the time she managed to get away, Geraldine felt exhausted.
‘You OK, gov?’ Peterson asked when she returned to the Incident Room.
‘I've just had a hammering from Vernon's aunt.’
Peterson smiled encouragingly. ‘He'll turn up, gov. He's a seventeen-year-old boy. He's probably gone off with some girl. It'll be OK.’ But he looked worried.
Carol Middleton's words niggled at Geraldine all the way home that evening. ‘My sister… my sister…’
When Geraldine had eaten she picked up the phone. Celia sounded surprised to hear from her. ‘Geraldine? What's up?’
‘Nothing.’ Geraldine felt a twinge of guilt that her sister had assumed something must be wrong for Geraldine to call her during the week. ‘I thought I'd call because we haven't spoken for a week. I just rang to see how you are.’
Celia launched into her usual account of her daughter's news. ‘Chloe got a commendation at school for a maths test. She's been seeing a fantastic tutor after school and -’
‘What about you?’ Geraldine interrupted.
‘What?’
‘Of course I want to hear all about Chloe, but I want to hear about you as well. You never talk about what you've been doing.’
There was a pause. ‘I had my hair cut,’ Celia said uncertainly and Geraldine felt like crying. ‘There isn't really much to say. What about you?’
It crossed Geraldine's mind that she ought to tell Celia about her visit to the adoption agency but she felt too tired to tackle the subject and was afraid she might become emotional. ‘I'm fine. So – what were you saying about Chloe's maths? I thought she was struggling with it.’
Celia didn't need any more prompting than that. With a sigh, Geraldine sank back in her chair and listened. As Celia talked about her only child, Geraldine's thoughts drifted to Vernon's invalid mother. She wondered where the boy could be, and hoped he was still alive.
36
RELEASE
Matthew was checking through his post. ‘Bugger!’
Evie glanced up at her brother, eyebrows raised. ‘What is it?’ She knew better than to comment on his language but her face expressed her disapproval. Ben continued eating his breakfast and Lucy picked at her disgusting scrambled egg, pushing it around her plate. Evie insisted they all sit down together for a cooked breakfast.
‘I've got another bloody speeding fine,’ Matthew mumbled.
‘What?’
‘I've got another speeding fine.’
‘As if you haven't got enough to deal with right now,’ Evie said. ‘Can't they leave you alone? How much is it?’
‘Oh God, don't ask.’
‘Well I think it's outrageous!’
‘Serves you right for speeding.’ Lucy glared at her plate without looking up.
‘Everyone speeds,’ Ben told her.
‘No they don't, not like him. He's always driving over the speed limit. It's totally irresponsible. He could kill someone –’ She broke off, biting her lip, and scowled at her plate. ‘They ought to take your licence away. Then you wouldn't be able to go and see her all the time.’
‘That's enough,’ Matthew warned her.
‘So now I can't even open my mouth in my own home!’ Lucy stood up, knocking her chair over. It fell to the floor with a crash as she dashed from the room.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.
‘Can't you say you were upset? Claim special consideration or something?’ Evie asked at last. She turned to Ben with a bright smile. ‘That's what I like to see, an empty plate. Can you manage some more?’ He nodded and watched as she dolloped a spoonful of beans onto his plate. ‘And another sausage to go with it?’
He nodded again. ‘Thank you, Aunty Evie.’
She beamed at him before removing Lucy's plate from the table. ‘I'll leave this. She might feel peckish later…’
Peterson stared in consternation. ‘Speeding?’ he repeated. ‘Was it definitely Matthew Kirby?’ The sergeant wasn't the only one to look dismayed. A mumble of irritable voices rose and fell silent again as the DCI resumed.
‘Matthew Kirby's car was picked up on a speed camera at one ten on 24th October on the Maidstone road, just past the Tenterden bypass when, according to his statement, he was on his way to see Charlotte Fox – which means he couldn't have killed Abigail between one and four that afternoon, unless he left Charlotte again during the afternoon.’
‘We don't know where she was killed,’ Peterson pointed out. ‘Could she have been in the car with him then?’
The DCI shook her head. ‘The CCTV image is blurred, but there are no passengers in the car, and the driver looks like Matthew Kirby. There's no doubt it's him all right, driving his own car.’
‘Could he have already killed her and stashed her in the boot of the car?’
Kathryn Gordon stated the obvious. ‘SOCOs would have seen evidence. They've been over his car, inside and out, and found nothing. His tyres don't match any marks found near the recreation ground, and there's no record of his car being in that area on the 24th or 25th. So – could he have left Charlotte during the course of the afternoon, driven back to meet his wife somewhere, killed her and hidden the body, then dumped it by the recreation ground in the night? Is that feasible?’
Geraldine flicked through Charlotte's statement. ‘Cha
rlotte said he was with her all Saturday afternoon and I don't think she was lying, ma'am. She didn't exactly have a story prepared, because she was very vague about the time he arrived. Here it is. She said, “He came round and he stayed here, with me, until late. Neither of us went out. I'm sure of it.” She told us it was after midnight when he finally left.’
‘Well now we know he must have arrived at around one twenty,’ Kathryn Gordon said.
‘Yes, ma'am. And apart from that, her statement's clear. She was adamant he was with her all afternoon and evening.’
‘Damn!’ Peterson burst out. ‘I was sure we had him.’
‘We can never be sure of anything until we have incontrovertible evidence in our hands. And even then we can be wrong…’ Kathryn Gordon rubbed her forehead with the fingers of her left hand as though trying to erase the lines. ‘You'd better go straight round there, Geraldine. Talk to him face to face and put him and his family out of their misery.’
‘I'm sure they'll all be relieved, ma'am.’ Except for Lucy.
Matthew was tempted to slam the door in her face when he saw the familiar features of Inspector Steel on his doorstep again. ‘What is it now?’ he could hear the agitation in his voice as he struggled to remain calm. ‘It's one thing after another with you lot.’
‘Mr Kirby, your car was picked up by a speed camera on the 24th October –’
‘I know, I know, I've got the letter. It's not the first time.’
‘Your car was picked up at ten past one on the Maidstone road, near the Tenterden bypass, indicating you arrived at Miss Fox's flat at around one twenty that Saturday afternoon. We believe your wife was killed between one and four that day. It's impossible to be exact about the time of death, so we will have to ask you not to leave the area without informing us of your whereabouts, but I'm here to inform you that you're no longer officially a suspect.’
‘So you believe me now? That I didn't do it.’
‘For the time being, Mr Kirby, but, as I said, please don't leave the area without telling us. If you do, it might look suspicious, and you don't want –’
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