Innocent Graves

by Peter Robinson

  When she turned back to the door, Owen hurried across the street behind them. It was a hell of a long shot, but it might just work. They had their backs turned, the street wasn’t well lit, and they couldn’t hear him because of the rain and the rumbles of thunder. Adrenalin pumped him up and seemed to rekindle some of the earlier bravado. He was close now. It all depended on how slowly the door closed on its spring behind them.

  As soon as they were both inside and the man let go of the door, Owen dashed on tiptoe up the steps and put his hand out. He stopped the door just before it had completely swung back and relatched.

  He looked around at the houses across the street. As far as he could make out, nobody was watching him. He heard another door open and close inside the building, and the lights went on in one of the ground floor flats.

  Softly, Owen pushed the front door open and slipped inside.

  V

  Stafford Oakes quickly assured Spinks that the charges against him could be reduced to a manageable level-the drugs, especially. Add that he had no prior record, that he had been upset over a missed job opportunity and any number of other mitigating circumstances that affected his stress-level when he stole and crashed the car, and he’d probably get a few months community service. Lucky community.

  “So,” Banks asked him when Oakes had left. “Why don’t you tell us about it? Then we’ll get the Crown to put the lesser charges in writing. More coffee? Cigarette?”

  Spinks shrugged. “Why not.”

  Banks poured from the carafe he had had sent up. “Off the record,” he asked, “did you steal Michael Clayton’s car on August 20 last year?”

  Spinks snapped the filter off the cigarette and lit it. “I don’t remember the exact date, but it was around then. And I didn’t steal it. Just borrowed it for a quick spin, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? Because he treated me like shit, that’s why. Fucking snob. Like I wasn’t good enough to wipe his precious goddaughter’s nose with.”

  “This was just after he and Lady Harrison found you and Deborah drinking wine in the back garden?”

  “Yeah. We weren’t doing no harm. Just having a barbie and a drop or two of the old vino. He acted like it was too good for the likes of me. It was only a fucking bottle of wine, for Christ’s sake. He’d no call to be so rude to me, calling me an idle lout and a thickie and all that. It’s not my fault I can’t get a job, is it?”

  “And you did some damage to the car, for revenge?”

  “No. It was an accident. I was still learning, wasn’t I? That car’s got a very sensitive accelerator.”

  From what Banks had heard of Spinks’s driving history so far, it might be a good idea if the court could somehow prevent him from ever getting a license. Not that it seemed to have stopped him so far.

  “Did you also take a notebook computer out of the car?”

  “It was in the back seat under a coat.”

  “Did you take it?”

  Spinks looked at Gristhorpe. “It’s all right, sonny,” the superintendent said, “you can answer any question Chief Inspector Banks asks you with complete impunity.”

  “Uh? Come again.”

  “No blame attached. It’s all off the record. None of it is being recorded or written down. Remember what the solicitor told you. Relax. Feel free.”

  Spinks drank some coffee. “Yes,” he said. “I thought it might be worth something.”

  “And was it?”

  He shrugged. “Piss all. Bloke on the market offered me seventy-five measly quid.”

  And the market vendor was reselling it for a hundred and fifty, Banks remembered. A hundred and fifty quid for a six-thousand-pound computer. “So you sold it to him?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Before you sold it, did you use it at all?”

  “Me? No. Don’t know how to work those things, do I?”

  “What about Deborah?”

  “What about her?”

  “She was a bright girl. Studied computers at school. She’d know how to get it going.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “You were still seeing Deborah at that time, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And did she ever visit your house?”

  “Yeah. Once or twice. Turned her nose up, though. Said it smelled and it was dirty.” He laughed. “Wouldn’t use the toilet, no matter how much she wanted to go.”

  “Right,” said Banks. “Now what I’d like to know, John, is did Deborah have a go with the computer?”

  “Yeah, well, she did, as a matter of fact.” He turned to Gristhorpe, as if for confirmation that he could continue with impunity. Gristhorpe nodded like a priest. Spinks went on, “Yeah. Deb, she was with me, like, when I…you know…went for a ride.”

  “Deborah was with you when you stole Michael Clayton’s car?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said. Only don’t use that word ‘stole.’ I don’t like it. See, it was even more in the family with her being there wasn’t it? Just like borrowing the family car, really.”

  “Did you ever tell him it was the two of you who’d ‘borrowed’ his car?”

  “Course not. You think I’m stupid or something?”

  “Go on.”

  “Anyway, she didn’t like the idea at first. No bottle, hadn’t Deb. But soon as I got us inside, quiet as could be, like, and got that Swedish engine purring, she took to it like a duck to water, didn’t she? It was Deb noticed the computer. Said she was surprised Clayton let it out of his sight given as how he was the kind of bloke couldn’t even jot down a dental appointment without putting it on his computer. I said let’s just leave it. But she said no, she wanted to have a go on it.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “After we’d finished with the car we went back to my house. My mum was out, as usual, and I was feeling a bit randy by then, after a nice fast drive. I fancied a bit of the other, but she went all funny, like she did sometimes, and after a while I didn’t even want it any more. She had a way like that, you know. She could be really off-putting, really cold.”

  “The computer, John?”

  “Yeah, well once Deb got it going I couldn’t drag her away from it.”

  “What about the password?”

  “Whatever it was, if there was one, it didn’t take her very long. I will say this, though, she seemed a bit surprised at how easy it was.”

  “The password?”

  “Whatever it took to get the bloody thing going.”

  “What did she say?”

  “‘Well, bugger me!’ Not exactly those words, mind you, but that was the feeling. She didn’t like to swear didn’t Deb. More like gosh or golly or something.”

  “And then?”

  Spinks shrugged. “Then she just played around with it for a while. I got bored and went upstairs for a lie-down.”

  “Was she still playing with it when you went back down?”

  “Just finishing. It looked like she was taking something out of it. One of those little square things, what do you call them?”

  “A diskette?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where did she get it from?”

  “I don’t know. The computer was in a carrying case and there were a whole bunch of them there, in little pockets, like. I suppose that’s where she got it from.”

  “What did she do with it?”

  “Put it in her pocket.”

  “Any idea what was on it?”

  “No. I asked her what she was up to but she told me to mind my own business.”

  “Did she do anything else with computer?”

  “Yeah. She tapped a few keys, watched the screen for a while, smiled to herself, funny like, then turned it off.”

  “And then?”

  “She told me I could sell it if I wanted and keep the money.” He looked towards Gristhorpe. “I mean, she practically gave it to me, right? And it was in the family. Well, he was her godfa
ther, anyway. That has to count, doesn’t it.”

  “It’s all right,” Gristhorpe assured him. “You’re doing fine. Just keep on answering the questions as fully and as honestly as you can.”

  Spinks nodded.

  “Did she tell you at any time what she’d found on the computer?”

  “No. I mean, I didn’t pester her about it. I could tell she didn’t want to say anything. If you ask me she found out he’d been fiddling the books or something.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

  “Did she ever refer to the incident again?”

  “No. Well, it wasn’t much more than a week or so later when her mother caught us in bed. Then it was cards for me. On your bike, mate.”

  “Do you know if Michael Clayton ever found out that you took it, or that Deborah used it?”

  “I certainly didn’t tell him. Maybe Deb did, but neither of them ever said anything to me about it.”

  “And you got your seventy-five quid?”

  “Right.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No, that’s everything. I’ve told you everything.” He looked at Gristhorpe. “Can I go now?”

  “Alan?”

  Banks nodded.

  “Aye, lad,” said Gristhorpe. “Off you go.”

  “You won’t forget our deal, will you?”

  Gristhorpe shook his head. Spinks cast a triumphant grin at Banks and left.

  “Christ,” said Banks. “I need a drink to get the taste of shit out of my mouth after that.”

  Gristhorpe laughed. “Worth it, though, wasn’t it. Come on, I’ll buy. We’ve got a bit of thinking to do before we decide on our next move.”

  But they hadn’t got further than the Starrs when Banks heard his telephone ring. He looked at his watch. Almost ten-thirty.

  “I’d better take it,” he said. “Why don’t you go ahead. I’ll meet you over there.”

  “I’ll wait,” said Gristhorpe. “It might be important.” They went into the office and Banks picked up the phone.

  “Chief Inspector Banks?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Vjeko. Vjeko Batorac.” The voice sounded a little muffled and hoarse.

  “Vjeko. What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “I thought I should tell you that Ive Jelačić was just here. We fought. He hit me.”

  “What happened, Vjeko? Start from the beginning.”

  Vjeko took a deep breath. “Ive came here about a half an hour ago and he was a carrying a book of some kind. A notebook, I thought. It was a diary, bound in good leather, written in English. He said he thought it would make him rich. He couldn’t read English so he brought it to me to tell him what it said. He said he would give me money.” Vjeko paused. “That girl, the one who was killed, her name was Deborah Harrison, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Banks felt his grip tighten on the receiver. “Go on, Vjeko.”

  “It was her diary. I asked him where he got it, but he wouldn’t tell me. He wanted me to translate for him.”

  “Did you?”

  “I looked at it. Then I told him it was nothing important, not worth anything, and he should leave it with me. I’d throw it away.”

  “What happened then?”

  “He became suspicious. He thought I’d found out something and wanted to cheat him out of his money. I think he was hoping to find someone he could blackmail. He said he’d take it to Mile. Mile can read some English, too. I said it was worthless and there was no point. He tried to snatch it from my hand. I held on and we struggled. He is stronger than me, Chief Inspector. He hit me. Dragica was screaming and little Jelena started crying. It was terrible.”

  “What happened?”

  “Ive ran away with the diary.”

  “You said you read it?”

  “Some of it.”

  “What did it say?”

  “If I am right, Chief Inspector, that girl was in terrible trouble. I think you should send someone to get it right away before Ive does something crazy with it.”

  “Thanks, Vjeko,” Banks said, already reaching out to cut the call off. “Stay where you are. I’m calling West Yorkshire CID right now. Jelačić was heading for Mile Pavelič’s house, you said?”

  VI

  Owen walked up the carpeted stairs in the dark to the first-floor landing. There, he found a timer-switch on the wall and turned the light on. He knocked on the door of Flat 4, noticing it didn’t have a peep-hole, and held his breath. The odds were that, if she had friends in the building, especially friends who were in the habit of dropping by to borrow a carton of milk or to have a chat, she would open it. After all, nobody had buzzed her, and not just anyone could walk in from the street.

  He heard the floor creak behind the door and saw the knob begin to turn. What if it was on a chain? What if she were living with someone? His heart beat fast. Slowly the door opened.

  “Yes?” Michelle said.

  No chain.

  Owen pushed. Michelle fell back into the room and the door swung fully open. He shut it behind him and leaned back on it. Michelle had stumbled into her sofa. She was wearing a dark-blue robe, silky in texture, and it had come open at the front. Quickly, she wrapped it around herself and looked at him.

  “You. What the hell do you want?” There was more anger than fear in her voice.

  “That’s a good question, that is, after what you’ve done to me.”

  “You’ve been drinking. You’re drunk.”

  “So what?”

  “I’m going to call the police.”

  Michelle lunged for the telephone but Owen got there first and knocked it off its stand. This wasn’t going the way he had hoped. He had just wanted to talk, find out why she had it in for him, but she was making it difficult.

  They faced each other like hunter and prey for a few seconds, completely still, breathing hard, muscles tense, then she ran for the door. Owen got there first and pushed her away. This time she tipped backwards over the arm of the sofa. Owen walked towards her. Her robe had risen up high over her thighs and split open at her loins to show the triangle of curly golden hair. Owen stopped in his tracks. Michelle gave him a cool, scornful look, covered herself up and sat down.

  “Well, then,” she said, pushing her hair back behind her ears. “So you’re here. I must admit I’m a bit surprised, but maybe I shouldn’t be.” She reached for a cigarette and lit it with a heavy table-lighter, blowing the smoke out through her nose. He remembered the mingled taste of tobacco and toothpaste on her mouth in bed after lovemaking. “Why don’t you sit down?” she said.

  “Aren’t you frightened?”

  Michelle laughed and put her little pink tongue between her teeth. “Should I be?”

  Her blue eyes looked cool, in control. Her long, smooth neck rose out of the gown, elegant and graceful. Even at twenty-four she still looked like a teenager. It was partly the flawless, marble complexion, the delicately chiseled nose and lips whose fine lines any sculptor would be proud of.

  But it was mostly in her character, Owen realized, not her looks. She was the cruel teenager who called others names, the leader of the gang who suggested new cruelties, new kicks, with not a care in the world for the feelings of the ones she bullied and taunted.

  “If you really believe I murdered those women, then you should be scared,” he said. “They looked like you, you know.”

  “You were killing me by proxy. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t? You’re not afraid because you know I didn’t do it. Am I right?”

  “Well,” Michelle said, “I really found it hard to believe you had the guts, I’ll admit. But then I was mistaken enough to think it takes guts to strangle a woman.”

  “And you found out different?”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You did it, didn’t you, Michelle? I’m not sure about the first one, abo
ut Deborah Harrison, but you did the second, didn’t you? You killed her to frame me. Or you got someone to do it.”

  Michelle laughed and glanced towards the door again. “You’re mad,” she said. “Paranoid. If you think I’d do something like that, go to all that trouble, you’re insane.” She stood up and walked over to the cocktail cabinet. Her legs swished against the robe. Owen stayed close to her. “I’d offer you a drink,” she said, “but I think you’ve had too much already.”

  “Why did you do it, Michelle? For God’s sake why?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Why did I do what?”

  “You know what I mean. Kill that girl to implicate me. You broke into my house, stole the film container with my fingerprints on it and took hairs from my pillow. Then you messed the place up to make it look like a hate-crime.”

  Michelle shook her head “You’re crazy.” She poured neat Scotch into a crystal glass. Owen could see her hand was shaking.

  “And what you said to the police about us,” he pressed on. “That stuff in the newspapers. Why did you tell those lies about me?”

  “They paid well.” She laughed. “Not the police, the newspapers. And I didn’t kill anyone. Don’t be an idiot, Owen. I couldn’t do anything like that. Besides, I didn’t tell any lies.”

  “You know it didn’t happen like that.”

  “It’s all versions, Owen. That’s how it happened from my perspective. I’m willing to admit yours might be different. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t sound so ungrateful. You did help me through college. You helped me financially, you gave me somewhere to live, and you certainly helped with my marks. It was fun for a while… But you’d no right to start spying on me, following me everywhere I went. You didn’t own me. And you had no right to throw me out in the street like that. Nobody ever treats me like that.” Her eyes blazed like ice.

  “Fun…for a while? Michelle, I was in love with you. We were going to…I can’t believe you’d say that, make it all sound so meaningless. Why do you hate me so much?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t give a damn about you one way or another.”