Deadly Revenge

by Leigh Russell

  Silently she slid the bolts across and flung open the door. There was no one in the corridor. She searched the living room but it was similarly empty. From the bedroom she could hear the faint sniffly sound that babies made when they slept. Apart from the occasional muffled drone of a car outside, there was no other sound. Having satisfied herself there was no one in the living room, she unbolted the door to the kitchen. Next, still brandishing her knife, she checked the front door. It was locked with the chain on, exactly as she left it every night. After that, she went around rattling all the internal bolts to check they had not come loose. The landlord didn’t know about the bolts she had fixed to the doors, top and bottom, and so far he hadn’t spotted them. If he did, he would probably make a stupid fuss, claiming it was a fire hazard to lock herself in her room like that, but she knew there were more pressing dangers. With all the doors bolted on the inside, it would be difficult for anyone to break in and creep up on her without being heard. Even so, she lived in fear of being burgled, or worse.

  At last, satisfied that no one was prowling around the flat, she carefully bolted all the doors again. Afraid to put the bedroom light on, in case he saw the light under her door, she sat down on the bed and examined her injuries in the beam from her torch. One of her knees had a small dark mark on it, but the bruise on the other covered most of her kneecap and seemed to be spreading downwards. Now that she was able to stop and think about it, her knee hurt. Whimpering, she replaced the knife under the bed so that she could reach it without sitting up, stowed the torch under her pillow, lay down and pulled the covers right up to her chin, trying to ignore the pain in her knee. As soon as she closed her eyes, the silence was disturbed by the sound of a baby crying.

  26

  Rod Browning worked at a health food shop in the city. Situated in Colliergate, between Kings Square and the Shambles, it was a picturesque shop, in keeping with the surrounding area. Leaving her car nearby, Geraldine walked along Colliergate to her destination. It was a mild sunny afternoon and, as she walked along the street, she began to enjoy her brief respite from work. For a moment she pretended that she was a tourist enjoying the sights of York, oblivious to the darker side of the city’s life. More than anything, it was a relief to escape from the police station where she was at risk of seeing Ian, constantly aware that she was in the same building as him but unable to speak to him, except in a professional capacity. Their break-up would have been easier if they hadn’t worked together. The irony of their current situation was that she and Ian had discussed the pros and cons of embarking on a relationship with a colleague at work before he had moved in with her, and they had both felt confident their relationship was strong enough to cope with any of the potential disadvantages.

  ‘We’re not teenagers,’ Geraldine had said.

  ‘And it’s not as if we don’t know each other,’ Ian had agreed. ‘We’re hardly likely to surprise one other, after knowing each other for so long. What could possibly go wrong?’

  As she walked, Geraldine tried not to think about those conversations, but by the time she arrived at the health food shop her good mood had evaporated. ‘Yes, what could possibly go wrong?’ she muttered to herself. It had never occurred to her back then to enquire what would happen if Ian’s wife ever decided to return to him. Along with Ian, Geraldine had believed that Bev was happily settled with her former boss, and their baby. Now any certainty about Geraldine’s own future with Ian had vanished. All she knew for certain was that the longer the situation continued, the less likely it became that Ian would ever ask Bev to leave. It was fair enough that he would want her back. She was his wife and he had loved her for a long time. There was no reason why he shouldn’t want her back. Except that he had led Geraldine to believe he loved her.

  Looking back over the time they had spent together, Geraldine couldn’t recall him ever actually saying those words to her. He had once told her that he was ‘in love’ with her, but perhaps that wasn’t quite the same thing. She had never even questioned how he felt about her, but had just assumed he felt the same as she did. Now she realised that she had behaved like a gullible fool. Ian had been on the rebound and desperate for comfort, and it was that need, not love, that had driven him into her welcoming arms. No doubt Geraldine’s passion had soothed his smarting ego, but the moment Bev walked back into his life, his relationship with Geraldine had faded into the background. She had to accept that she had lost him or, rather, that he had never really been hers to lose. Their love affair had existed only in her mind, and she had been a blind idiot not to see exactly what was going on.

  Somehow she had to swallow her bitterness and move on, but by the time she reached Rod’s work place she was nearly in tears, despising herself and resenting Ian who had reduced her to a snivelling weakling. Her disappointment and rage threatened her ability to focus on the investigation, and she had to take a turn around the square to clear her mind before entering the shop.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Geraldine smiled at the slim girl standing behind the counter.

  ‘I’m looking for Rod Browning.’

  ‘Rod?’

  ‘Yes, I believe he works here?’

  The girl nodded.

  ‘Is he here today?’

  The girl gave another nod. ‘Yes, he’s out the back.’

  ‘Well, can you call him, or shall I speak to him there? Either is fine with me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know,’ the girl replied.

  Geraldine felt her smile slipping. ‘Shall I go and find him then?’ she asked.

  Without waiting for a response, she strode along the central aisle, between shelves packed with bottles and sachets, and brightly coloured boxes and packets, to the back of the shop. There was an internal door marked ‘Staff only’, with a keypad beside it, and no bell. Impatiently, Geraldine rapped on the door but no one came to open it. She knocked more loudly, and finally the door opened and a short, stocky man looked out at her. He had a pale freckled face and a mop of ginger hair that hung down past his ears, reaching the top of a bushy ginger beard.

  ‘Yes? Who are you? What do you want?’

  Geraldine introduced herself and explained that she was looking for Rod Browning.

  ‘Yes, that’s me. What’s this about?’

  He looked curious rather than concerned. Geraldine gave him a tight smile.

  ‘Is there somewhere we can go where we can talk?’

  With a nod, Rod ushered her through the door into a back office. The walls were covered in a coat of faded whitewash, and the bare floorboards were speckled with splashes of white paint. Although not large, the room felt smaller than its actual dimensions because it had no windows. There were a couple of plastic chairs and a table with papers and folders spread around in a disorderly jumble. Rod sat on one of the chairs and invited Geraldine to take the other.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘what’s this about?’

  ‘What can you tell me about Jonathan Edwards?’

  Rod hesitated. ‘Jonathan Edwards?’ he repeated. ‘You mean – Jonathan? Jonathan Edwards?’

  Geraldine didn’t answer but watched him, waiting for him to speak again. As she had intended, he looked increasingly uncomfortable under her silent scrutiny.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted at last, ‘I know a guy called Jonathan Edwards. He’s some sort of librarian, or he was. He lost his job in the cutbacks. We both did,’ he added, becoming more animated. ‘I used to do maintenance work in a school, odd job man, you know. But they laid me off, said the caretaker could do everything I did, fixing lights, patching things up, you know, changing fuses. There’s always something to do, mopping up and tightening screws, replacing display boards. It was never-ending. There’s no way the caretaker could do all that by himself. But they said the money had run out and they didn’t have the funds to pay me any more, so they laid me off.’ He scowled. ‘So that’s how I ended up her
e. It’s not a bad job, actually, better paid than I used to be and I get to take home snacks and things when they’re out of date. Not very out of date,’ he added quickly. ‘They’re absolutely safe to eat, but we just can’t sell them any more. It’s not like most of the stuff here goes off anyway.’

  ‘So you don’t feel aggrieved about what happened? At the school?’

  ‘No, not any more. I mean, sure I was pissed about it at first, who wouldn’t be? But it’s worked out OK. I mean, it was only a job. It’s OK here. It gets boring, but in some ways I prefer it. Less pressure. They were constantly on at me to do something.’

  ‘How did you meet Jonathan?’

  Rod nodded. ‘Jonathan, right. He was livid about losing his job. That’s how we met, at a so-called job seekers’ meeting. Jonathan’s trouble is that he hasn’t moved on. He’s still banging on about how he was badly treated, unfairly chucked on the scrap heap. I know he’s older than me, but he could have made more of an effort. I mean, look at me. I was laid off but I didn’t give up. I found another job, and that’s what he should have done.’

  ‘You attended public meetings together where David Armstrong was speaking?’

  ‘Oh yes, well, that was Jonathan’s doing. He rounded us up, me and a couple of retired teachers who came along because they had nothing better to do, and it seemed like fun. I mean, it was all a bit of a laugh to begin with, but Jonathan started getting carried away, and that put me right off. Then I got the job here and so I’m not often available these days anyway.’ He nodded towards the shop beyond the door.

  Geraldine gave no sign that she was particularly interested when she put her next question.

  ‘What exactly do you mean when you say Jonathan got carried away?’

  ‘He’s a nutter,’ Rod replied. ‘I had no idea how crazy he was when we first met. At first it seemed like – well, it’s fair enough to challenge the council. We do still have freedom of speech and all that. Anyway, we all agreed that the council should be able to justify their policies, so we went around asking awkward questions at meetings. Then Jonathan started heckling the guy.’

  ‘The guy?’

  ‘Yes, David Armstrong. He’s the leader of the council, and Jonathan seemed to blame Armstrong for everything that had gone wrong in his life. Anyway, Jonathan seemed to know whenever Armstrong was going to speak in public, and to begin with we went along to ask questions, challenging the councillor to defend his actions, that sort of thing, but then Jonathan began shouting out, trying to stop Armstrong from speaking at all, and the latest was –’ he broke off, grinning sheepishly. ‘Well, I’d rather not say any more.’

  ‘You’re talking about the egg throwing incident?’

  ‘Yes. I wasn’t sure if you knew about that. It wasn’t me,’ he added quickly. ‘I mean, I was there, but I never threw any eggs at the car. It was a stupid thing to do anyway.’

  ‘So what other plans did your friend Jonathan have lined up for David Armstrong? I’d advise you against withholding information from the police.’

  Rod’s grin faded at the severity of Geraldine’s tone, and he gave her a sly glance that made her wonder whether he was being completely truthful.

  ‘I haven’t withheld information…’ he stammered.

  ‘What other plans did Jonathan have lined up for David Armstrong?’ Geraldine repeated. ‘How far was he prepared to go?’

  Rod shook his head. His pale face peered anxiously at her from within its frame of ginger hair.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘He never said anything about any plans. He just called me and told me where the next meeting was, and pestered me to join him. He was always on at me to join him in his campaign. But, to be honest, it got to the point where it all seemed a bit personal to me. I mean, I’m all for political protest – peaceful political protest is the sign of a healthy democracy. But Jonathan seemed to have it in for David Armstrong and, to be honest, I got a bit fed up with it. We weren’t getting anywhere. How could we? I wanted to go bigger, you know, canvas our local MP. It’s government policies that are doing the real damage. Compared to what’s going on in parliament, our local council is irrelevant, but that’s something Jonathan couldn’t seem to get his head around.’

  ‘Did you argue with him?’

  ‘Not argue, exactly. We disagreed. But since I got the job here I don’t really have that much time for Jonathan and his protests.’

  ‘You were there in the car park when he threw eggs at David Armstrong’s car on Tuesday,’ Geraldine pointed out. ‘That’s only three days ago.’

  Rod nodded, suddenly serious. ‘Yes, and that’s when I decided Jonathan had gone too far. I mean, a stunt like that could cause an accident. It was unacceptable.’

  He sounded so earnest, Geraldine suspected he was putting on a show for her benefit. Neither of them mentioned David Armstrong was dead. It was even possible that Rod didn’t know about it.

  ‘Do you intend to see Jonathan again?’

  Rod shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Like I said, I’m kind of busy these days, and between you and me, Jonathan can be a bit of a dick.’

  27

  ‘So you think Rod Browning was over-egging it?’ Eileen asked with a smile when Geraldine reported back to the team the following morning.

  Geraldine chuckled. ‘Something like that, yes. But as for whether he was telling the truth about the extent of his own involvement in the attacks, it’s impossible to be sure.’

  ‘It’s not like you to be unable to see through subterfuge,’ Eileen commented.

  Geraldine shrugged at the compliment. ‘Maybe it had something to do with his shaggy beard,’ she said, adding that she hadn’t been able to see his face properly.

  ‘I think it may be time to have another word with Jonathan Edwards,’ Eileen suggested. ‘And what about the two retired teachers who protested with him? They might have something useful to add. They were there with Jonathan and Rod, weren’t they?’ She turned to Ariadne. ‘Now, what about forensics? Have we come up with anything useful?’

  They discussed the toxicology report in more detail. There was now no doubt about how David Armstrong had been killed. The composition of the drugs he had ingested had been established, and the likely brand of pill identified.

  ‘It had to be someone he knew,’ Geraldine insisted. ‘Only someone he trusted could have persuaded him to swallow such a bitter concoction in sufficient quantity to kill him.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have taken much,’ someone else said. ‘It only needed to be enough to knock him out, or make him woozy, so his killer could suffocate him.’

  ‘The killer might not have given him the pills,’ Ariadne pointed out. ‘He might have been discovered, semi comatose, quite by chance.’

  ‘And a passing killer seized the opportunity to finish him off,’ Geraldine added sceptically.

  ‘Possibly, if the killer was following him,’ Ariadne said, defending her speculation. ‘It’s plausible.’

  Eileen nodded. ‘The tox report suggests he ingested the pills and the alcohol shortly before he was killed, although they say it’s impossible to narrow it down too specifically. But we do know he was fit enough to address a public meeting just a few hours before he was killed. All the evidence suggests he took the pills shortly before his death.’

  ‘How quickly would they have taken effect?’ Ariadne asked.

  ‘Apparently the effects can be felt in as short a time as one hour,’ Geraldine replied. ‘So he could have taken the dose after the public meeting, all of which points to his wife.’

  ‘She may have had the opportunity,’ Eileen agreed, ‘but what was the motive? We need to look into this further. And we need to examine the exact terms of his will. So come on, let’s get going. Lots to do. Geraldine, you track down Jonathan Edwards’ other associates, and Ariadne, can you find out whether David’s widow is in any fit state to t
alk to us yet?’

  Geraldine would have liked to interview Anne herself, as she seemed to be the most likely suspect, in view of the way David had been killed. But she had her instructions and she was soon on her way to see Alyson Read, a retired teacher who had accompanied Jonathan and Rod on most of their protests. Alyson was reportedly working in a charity shop not far from the police station, along Gillygate. Geraldine went in there on the way to Alyson’s home and found her behind the counter. Alyson Read was a plump, comfortable looking woman of about sixty, with soft greying hair, kindly blue eyes, and a gentle voice. When Geraldine explained the purpose for her call, Alyson summoned her co-worker from the store room to watch the till, before leading Geraldine into the store room. Surrounded by piles of clothes and books, kitchen accessories and toys, Geraldine questioned her about Jonathan and Rod’s protests against the local council, and specifically their targeting of David Armstrong.

  ‘Oh, yes, the councillor,’ Alyson replied. She frowned. ‘I read somewhere that he died? Is that right?‘

  Geraldine nodded.

  ‘What was it? Because it wouldn’t surprise me to hear he had a heart attack or a stroke, or something like that. He always seemed so agitated and overexcited whenever I saw him. Of course Jonathan used to deliberately wind him up. The councillor was a horrible man, from what I could see, but even so, I’m sorry he’s dead. I mean, sorry for his family. I didn’t know him.’

  ‘You went to the meetings where Jonathan heckled him.’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s right. But I never spoke to him. And I didn’t shout out myself. I was just there.’

  When Geraldine asked Alyson why she went to the meetings, her response was vague.

  ‘My friend, Charlotte Stephens got me into it,’ she replied. ‘We both retired at around the same time and – well, Charlotte’s quite political. I can’t say that I’m all that bothered as a rule. Live and let live. But I don’t approve of the way the council’s been cutting services left, right and centre. Anyway, Charlotte dragged me along to the meetings with her, and to begin with it was fun.’