Thread of Evidence

by Frank Smith

  He parked the car on the grass verge beneath a stand of trees. It was the same place he had parked the night before, just down the road from the pub. He switched off the lights and listened to the sound of rain. He could have done without that, but he’d come prepared. He pulled up the hood of the dark plastic raincoat, and stepped out of the car, pausing to listen, but all he could hear was the soft patter of rain.

  He walked the short distance to the pub. There weren’t as many cars there tonight, and as he drew close to the window he could see that the place was half empty. The man who had answered the phone last night was there behind the bar, and so was Joanna, laughing at something one of the patrons had said. He looked around the room but there was no sign of the girl. Since it seemed that she worked there, he felt reasonably sure that she would come again at the same time tonight. If not, he would have no choice but to go after her on the boat.

  A VW mini-bus clattered into the car-park and pulled into a vacant space. He drew back into the shadows as four men piled out and ran toward the door of the pub, hopping and skipping to avoid the puddles. “Ten minutes, mind, no more,” said one of them. “It’s half nine already.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we know, but there’s time for a quick one.”

  Half nine. Time to be going.

  It was comparatively dry beneath the arch of trees that overhung the path behind the pub. He needed the torch, although he used it sparingly just in case there was anyone else about. Not that it was likely, but there was no point in taking chances. Not when he was so close to eliminating the only person who might be able to identify him. He still wasn’t sure that Vikki had seen his face, but why take a chance? After tonight, there would be no way anyone could connect him to the murders. No way at all.

  He reached the tow-path, and there ahead of him was the boat, its low black shape made visible only by the pale glow coming from the cabin window and a small light above the cabin door.

  He drew back along the path to the place he’d picked out the night before, after following Joanna and Vikki from the pub. From beneath his coat he took out the short length of yellow rope with a wooden handle on each end and slipped the torch into his pocket. His eyes were becoming used to the darkness, and he could make out the boat more clearly now.

  He waited.

  The rain made brittle splashing noises as it hit the water of the canal, and a restless bird above him flapped its wings as if trying to dry them out. Faint sounds drifted through the trees—voices, muffled but distinct enough to tell they were calling out good-nights down at the pub. And then a sharp, insistent sound, someone who’d had a bit too much to drink, no doubt, playing silly buggers on the car-horn.

  He thought he saw a movement aboard the boat. Yes! He gripped the home-made garrotte tightly and watched as the figure of a girl crossed the plank and stepped onto the path. She pulled up the hood of her mac and ducked her head against the rain, then started down the path. She was carrying something, but he couldn’t make out what it was.

  He allowed her to pass his hiding place, then stepped out behind her. He heard her gasp as the rope went round her neck, heard her gag and choke as she dropped whatever it was she was carrying to claw desperately at her throat. He wrenched her head back and pulled, but she twisted round and rammed an elbow into his stomach. Hard! It caught him by surprise, and he lost his grip on the garrotte. He fumbled for it, but the girl wrenched it from his fingers and it flew into the darkness.

  She almost slipped away, but he got an arm around her neck and dragged her toward the water. She struggled, but she was no match for him in a test of strength. He dragged her to the bank, pushed her to the ground, and slammed a fist into the side of her head. She went limp. He grabbed her legs and shoved her down the muddy bank, forcing her head under water. He held her there, counting …

  He heard a noise behind him. Someone was coming along the path. He could see the light bobbing through the trees. He crouched down, using all his strength to keep the girl down. He must make sure this time. Make sure that she was dead!

  “Hey!” someone shouted, and he realized that there was more than one person on the path, and they were almost on him. “What the hell … ?”

  He let go of the girl’s legs and scrambled to his feet. She slid down the bank and disappeared beneath the rain-swept water as he turned and ran.

  Damn those two men! Where had they come from, and why just then? Another minute and he could have made certain that the girl was dead. But she had to be dead. She hadn’t struggled when he held her down, and they would have to find her first. Even if they did manage to find her and get her out, she couldn’t possibly be alive. No one could live with their head under that muck.

  But he wished he’d had a minute longer to be sure.

  He cursed them roundly as he pounded along the sodden path, splashing through puddles, slipping and sliding on the wet grass and mud. His feet and legs were soaked, and he hated to think what his trousers looked like.

  He must have gone half a mile before he saw the hump-backed bridge over the canal and the path leading from the bank up to the road. It hadn’t been used for years, and brambles tore at his clothes as he scrambled up the steep slope. He didn’t think anyone had followed him, but he didn’t dare slow down.

  He reached the road and turned to the left. It should take him back to the road that ran past the pub, and to where he’d left the car. Thank God he’d parked it this side of the pub. But he’d have to hurry; someone had probably phoned the police by now.

  The road was narrow, little more than a country lane winding between high grass banks, and the sooner he was off it, the better. But it was farther to the junction than he’d thought it would be; instead of running parallel to the Raddington Road, the canal must have veered to the north, and it was a good ten minutes before he saw the junction. He approached it cautiously and was about to round the corner when the distant wail of sirens stopped him. He drew back into the lane and crouched down beside the hedge. The sounds grew louder and burst upon him as two vehicles flashed by the end of the lane—a police car and an ambulance. Both stopped within seconds, which meant that the pub must be just down the road. He listened, but could hear nothing heralding the arrival of more police cars.

  He stepped out into the road and ran the rest of the way. There were precious few places in which to hide, and he didn’t want to be trapped in someone’s headlights. He reached his car and scrambled in, then sat there shaking. He could see the flashing lights outside the pub farther down the road, but all the activity would be directed toward the canal, not back this way.

  He had to get away before more police arrived. He started the car and moved out cautiously from beneath the trees. Steady, he told himself as he made a three-point turn in the road. Easy does it. The last thing he needed was to be stopped by the police and asked why his clothes were torn and covered in mud.

  CHAPTER 29

  Paget was on the point of going to bed when he received the call. Not many details, but two stood out clearly. A young woman was the victim, and Raddington Arm was where she had been attacked.

  He was on his way within minutes, silently berating himself for not having followed up the information he’d been given that afternoon instead of postponing it until morning. There had to be a connection. How many people lived on a narrow boat on Raddington Arm?

  He cut across country and arrived at the Invisible Man in twenty minutes flat. Police cars blocked the road, and people were milling about in the car-park. Paget abandoned his car and identified himself to the nearest PC.

  “There aren’t any lights on the path, yet, sir,” the man warned him. “You’ll need a torch.” Paget returned to his car and took out the big square-battery job and locked the car again. Other vehicles were arriving, including a couple of SOCO’s white vans.

  The PC directed him to the path behind the pub. The distance to the canal was less than a hundred yards, and he was challenged by another uniformed constable as he emerged from
the trees. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping to one side, sir,” he said deferentially when he saw Paget’s card, “we’re trying to avoid contamination of the crime scene, and the ground’s a bit churned up hereabouts.”

  Paget was impressed. It seemed that one man, at least, had taken the lectures to heart.

  “It’s a bit cramped,” the constable went on, “but I’ve asked all concerned to stay on the boat. There’s the two men who dragged the girl out of the canal, and the woman who owns the boat, as well as WPC Jackson. She’s been taking preliminary statements from each of them.”

  “You said ‘dragged the girl,’ not ‘the body.’ Are you telling me she’s not dead?”

  “She would have been if it hadn’t been for one of the blokes inside,” the PC said, indicating the boat. “He got her breathing again, and the ambulance men reckon she’s got a fifty-fifty chance. But it was a near thing from the look of her. Bastard!” He spat the word.

  “And the man responsible?”

  “Took off down the tow-path.” The man pointed into the darkness with his torch.

  “Very good, Constable. SOCO should be here any minute, so if you’ll stay here and help them get started, I’ll go aboard.”

  As the constable had said, it was cramped inside. Two men wrapped in blankets sat on the edge of a bunk, while a woman sat at a small table across from the young policewoman. WPC Jackson greeted Paget smartly, and gave him the names of the three people there. Todd Elman, Justin Banks, and Joanna Freeborn.

  “You’ve probably told Constable Jackson what happened,” said Paget, “but I’m going to have to ask you to go over it again. Who was first on the scene, and what brought you here?”

  It was Todd Elman who spoke up first. “We were down at the pub,” he said, “waiting for Bunny, but she didn’t come and time was getting on. We had a gig in town, see, and we needed to be there by ten to set up. We were cutting it fine as it was, so I said to Justin that I was going to see what the hold-up was, and he said he’d come with me.”

  “Hold on a second,” Paget told him. “Who is Bunny?”

  “The girl we pulled out of the canal,” said Todd. “That’s the only name she has as far as we know, and Joanna gave her that.”

  Paget turned to face Joanna Freeborn. Her face was deathly pale and her dark eyes looked haunted. “But you know who she is, don’t you?” he said, “because you spent a night in the cells with her in Broadminster.”

  Joanna stared at him. “That wasn’t Bunny,” she said. “That was Vikki. And I think it was Vikki he was after. He must have mistaken Bunny for Vikki in the dark.”

  “So where is Vikki now?”

  Joanna shook her head. “That’s just it,” she said. “I don’t know. She’s disappeared, and I’m worried sick about her.”

  Paget groaned and shook his head in disbelief. Would they never find this girl?

  “All right,” he said resignedly, “now that we know who’s who, let’s begin again.” He looked at Todd. “Carry on from where you left off.”

  “Right. Well, as I said, we came to see what was holding Bunny up, and we heard these sounds like somebody was thrashing about, and when we got closer, we could see this man trying to drown Bunny. I shouted, and we both went for him, but it’s muddy, see, and I slipped and fell. By the time we got to Bunny, the bastard had gone and all we could see of Bunny was her feet sticking out of the water. I jumped in and tried to get her head above water while Justin grabbed her legs and pulled her out.”

  Justin took up the story. “I thought she was dead, but Todd started mouth-to-mouth, and suddenly she choked and spewed up. That’s when this other girl came out. I didn’t know who she was; I’d never seen her before, but she ran back in here and got some blankets and helped us get Bunny wrapped up. I told her to get down to the pub, tell Joanna what had happened, and ring for an ambulance. That’s the last I saw of her.”

  “Vikki came down to the pub,” Joanna explained. “She was in a terrible state. I could hardly make out what she was saying. She looked awful. Once I got her to calm down and she told me what had happened, I asked George to ring for an ambulance and call the police. Then I came back to the boat as fast as I could. Vikki had disappeared, and I assumed she had come back here, but when I got here there was no sign of her.

  “The police and the ambulance arrived, and one of the policemen went with Bunny to the hospital. They wouldn’t let me go with her because they said someone would want to talk to all of us. Anyway, Todd and Justin were soaking wet and filthy with mud, so I brought them in here and had them strip down and get cleaned off.”

  Paget turned to the two men. “I don’t suppose you got a look at the person who did this?” he said.

  They both shook their heads. “Too dark,” Todd said. “All we had was a torch between us and we lost that when I jumped into the canal.” He grimaced. “God, it was cold! But at least we got Bunny out in time, poor kid. I hope she’s going to be all right.”

  Paget turned back to Joanna. “Have you any idea where Vikki might have gone?” he asked. He looked round. “Did she take anything with her, do you know?”

  “I’m sure she didn’t,” Joanna said, “and I haven’t got a clue where she might be. She came here in the first place because she had nowhere else to go, and all she had with her are the clothes she has on. I’m sure she has no money.”

  “In that case, tell me what she was wearing and we’ll get a description out and start scouring the countryside for her. I’m going to leave you my card, and I want you to let me know if Vikki gets in touch with you, because it’s imperative that we talk to her.” He saw the look of doubt on her face. “It’s all right,” he assured her, “she is not in any serious trouble, but we must find her for her own sake before this man gets to her. What happened here tonight gives you some idea of how desperate he is, so please let me know at once.”

  “She won’t be charged with killing that man, Bolen?” Joanna said.

  Paget shook his head. “She was set up,” he told her. “But we do need to talk to her.”

  Joanna gnawed at her lip, then abruptly stood up. She reached into the upper bunk and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Then this might help,” she said, handing Paget a single sheet. “Vikki’s a bit of an artist, and this is a self-portrait. That’s how she looks today.”

  “There’s not much we can do till morning,” Charlie said. “We found the victim’s guitar, and we’ll check the case for prints in case your man touched it during the struggle. What about this other girl, Rutledge? Is it worthwhile going through the boat to see if she left anything behind that might give us a clue to where she might have gone?”

  “From what Ms. Freeborn tells us, I doubt if you’ll find much,” said Paget. “The girl arrived with nothing of her own.”

  “I’ll have Grace give it the once-over, anyway,” said Charlie. “If there’s anything to be found, she’ll find it.” He began to walk away, then stopped. “And speaking of Grace, when I asked her how the roads were when she came back from Worcester in that storm last week, she told me you came back with her. She said she might not have made it through without your help in pulling a tree off the road.”

  “It’s Grace who deserves the credit,” said Paget tersely, very much aware that Tregalles had pricked up his ears. “She drove most of the way. I was just a passenger.”

  “All the same, it was a bit of luck, her being down there when your car broke down,” Charlie observed, casting a sidelong glance at Tregalles. “Sort of like fate, you might say.”

  “Fate,” Tregalles agreed solemnly.

  “What did happen to the car?” asked Charlie. “Grace said there was oil all over the ground, and you thought it might be a broken gasket.”

  “Cracked engine block,” said Paget tightly. “Now, are we going to stand round here all night, or can we get on? We still have a lot to do, so what are you waiting for, Tregalles?”

  “Nothing, sir,” said Tregalles. “I’m on my way.”


  Later, as he was on his way home, Tregalles thought about what he had heard. So Paget had come back from Worcester in Grace’s car. They’d come back through the storm on Saturday, and yet he had seen Paget getting out of Grace’s car on Sunday morning. And since Paget lived in Ashton Prior, which was closer to Worcester, it would make more sense for them to have stopped there rather than come on to Broadminster.

  The storm hadn’t abated until well into Saturday evening, so it wouldn’t have made much sense for Grace to drive into Broadminster on her own in the dark with trees all over the road.

  Which meant she must have stayed out there in Paget’s house all night!

  “The crafty old bugger!” Tregalles said beneath his breath. So he’d finally noticed Grace, though God knew it had taken him long enough. She’d certainly tried hard enough to get Paget to notice her in the past, but even Tregalles couldn’t see her going so far as to crack his engine. Perhaps it had been fate, as Charlie said, even if he had said it with his tongue firmly in his cheek. On the other hand, maybe it was Paget who had engineered the whole thing. Now, there was an interesting thought.

  “Got a lift back with someone,” he’d said. Never mentioned that it just happened to be Grace Lovett. Or that she’d stayed the night. Tregalles rubbed his hands. He’d have that fiver off Ormside yet.

  It was one o’clock by the time Paget reached the hospital and spoke to the constable who had accompanied the girl in the ambulance.

  “She’s just been taken up to ICU,” he told the chief inspector. “Dr. Marshall is the one you want. He’s the one who worked on her when she first came in.”

  Dr. Marshall was a slight, sandy-haired man of about thirty. “All I can tell you at the moment is that the young woman is relatively stable, but in cases such as these where someone has been immersed in stagnant water and was not breathing when taken out, the next twenty-four hours are critical. A massive influx of water like that can affect the heart, lungs, kidneys, blood—you name it. All sorts of complications can arise, which is why she will be monitored closely. People have been known to die many hours after they were thought to be stable, so we don’t take chances.”