Knife Edge

by Fergus McNeill

‘Yes,’ he told her simply. ‘I believe you.’

  She trembled slightly – was she about to cry again? – then startled him by quickly moving close and throwing her arms around him. For the few seconds that her head was on his shoulder, the scent of her hair took him back, to Sunday mornings in bed, long ago when he wasn’t alone. He stood awkwardly, unsure what to do, then gently let one arm enfold her in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. She felt warm and soft against his body.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered as she pulled away from him. There were new tears in her eyes but also, he thought, a glint of hope. She turned and hurried out of the room.

  Harland stepped out and watched her small figure as it disappeared down the corridor.

  40

  Friday, 15 August

  It was an insistent knock. Not hers. And not the way a neighbour would knock, unless there was some emergency. Frowning, Naysmith stood up from his desk and hurried down the stairs. He opened the front door and stared out at the two men, his pulse quickening as he saw that one of them was a uniformed police officer.

  Which made the other one … a detective? He tensed slightly, but fought down the instinct to run. If they had any idea who he was they’d have brought a lot more people. And they wouldn’t have knocked.

  Anyway, he’d been careful. He was ready.

  Forcing himself to breathe, he regarded the two men and asked, ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Robert Naysmith?’

  The detective was shorter than him – a dumpy man in his forties, brown hair thinning on top but worn longer and thicker on the sides, presumably to compensate. His suit was the shiny kind of thing you bought from a supermarket, and the shirt looked worn from too many washes.

  ‘Yes?’ He allowed himself to adopt an expression of concern. Normal people looked concerned when the police came to the door.

  ‘I’m DI Cadnam and this is PC Barden. Can we have a word?’

  ‘Of course.’ He stood back and opened the door wider. ‘Come in, please.’

  He ushered them into the hallway and closed the door behind them.

  ‘Can I get either of you a drink? Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘We’re fine, thanks.’

  The uniformed one – Barden – was tall and powerfully built, seeming to fill the hallway. Absently, Naysmith wondered if he would be difficult to take down, or if it was just bulk.

  ‘Go through to the living room.’ He indicated the door on the left and followed them.

  The house seemed very quiet as they walked in, their eyes sweeping the room, cataloguing and searching. As if he would be stupid enough to leave any clues lying around in here. As if he would be stupid enough to leave any clues anywhere.

  He gestured towards the sofa and remained on his feet until they sat down, forcing them both to look up at him, just for a moment. Then, conscious of the seriousness of the situation, he dropped into his own armchair and gazed levelly at each of them.

  ‘So.’ He adopted a business-like tone, as though he was eager to know what brought them here. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘We’re making enquiries about a crime that took place last year in the Bristol area – the murder of a woman.’

  They were both watching him carefully, studying him for any reaction that might give something away – he would have to play it just right. DI Cadnam had left a momentary pause to see if he would volunteer something, but if he was innocent he wouldn’t know what they were talking about yet. So he leaned forward and nodded earnestly, waiting to see what they told him next.

  Cadnam frowned.

  ‘In the course of our enquiries, we’ve identified a number of people who may have information that could aid our investigation.’ He paused for impact, then added, ‘Including yourself.’

  Naysmith let his face register shock.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he protested – a little anger, a little concern, smoothly raising the pitch and volume of his voice. ‘What information? What’s this about?’

  ‘Please.’ Cadnam was holding up his hands in a calming gesture. ‘We have to speak to any potential witnesses – you never know what will prove important.’

  He was doing his best to sound reasonable, and his use of the term witness was a deliberate attempt to defuse the situation – or perhaps throw him off guard? Still, Naysmith reasoned, an innocent person would find the word reassuring. Certainly preferable to suspect. He leaned back in his armchair and gazed at them warily for a moment, then shook his head.

  ‘Sorry,’ he frowned. ‘I know you’re only doing your job. What was it you wanted to know?’

  Cadnam took out a small notebook and opened it.

  ‘Can you tell me anything about your movements on Friday the twenty-fifth and Saturday the twenty-sixth of May last year?’ he asked.

  Naysmith stared at him blankly.

  ‘Last year? No idea.’

  He waited until the detective was about to speak, then added, ‘I can check my diary if you like?’

  Cadnam looked at him.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ he nodded.

  Naysmith got to his feet.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ he told them.

  His face displayed concern until he was out of the room, fading to mild annoyance once he was beyond their sight. Walking through to the kitchen, he picked up his laptop from the table, then turned and went back through to the living room, remembering to look anxious as he did so.

  Cadnam was eyeing the laptop as he sank down into the armchair again.

  ‘You keep your diary on there?’ he asked.

  ‘I have to,’ Naysmith replied. ‘My schedule’s pretty hectic and it varies from week to week.’

  He opened the laptop and hit the power button to wake it.

  ‘I try and keep track of everything on here.’

  Cadnam settled back a little into the sofa.

  ‘What is it that you do exactly?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m the sales director for Winterhill – a software company in Woking,’ he replied. ‘Not very exciting, I’m afraid, but it pays the bills …’

  The nervous banter of a mediocre man.

  The laptop chimed its start-up theme and displayed the desktop. Naysmith clicked on his diary icon and looked up.

  ‘What were those dates again?’ he asked.

  ‘Friday the twenty-fifth and Saturday the twenty-sixth.’

  ‘Sorry, which month?’

  Cadnam wasn’t going to catch him out like that.

  ‘May.’ The detective looked mildly irritated now. ‘Last year.’

  Naysmith moved his finger across the trackpad and paged back to May.

  ‘OK, here it is.’ He turned the screen so they could see. ‘Thursday was a sales meeting in Woking, but Friday I was working from home.’

  Cadnam leaned forward to peer at the screen, then glanced up.

  ‘Do you often work from home?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. A lot of what I do is calls and emails, so I can do that from here – saves the commute.’

  ‘And you were alone all day on that Friday?’

  Naysmith knew he ought to look worried by that.

  ‘Well, until Kim came home – my girlfriend … ex-girlfriend now.’ He let them see a flicker of regret that wasn’t entirely feigned. ‘She would have been home around six.’

  She hadn’t been of course. That Friday she’d gone to stay with her sister – he’d dropped her at the station before getting ready to travel to Severn Beach – but an innocent man wouldn’t remember one Friday more than a year before, and chances are neither would she.

  ‘And how about the Saturday?’

  The morning he’d killed Vicky Sutherland.

  Naysmith spread his hands wide, allowing his demeanour to become a little more agitated. They still hadn’t told him what was going on, and that would be worrying for an ordinary person.

  ‘I don’t remember. We usually went shopping in Salisbury, or Southampton.’

  He shrugged
, looking at them for more information.

  Cadnam regarded him for a moment, then consulted the notebook.

  ‘Would you mind checking another date for me, please?’

  ‘Of course.’ Naysmith frowned. ‘When do you want to know about?’

  ‘Wednesday the twenty-fifth of July. Last year.’

  Naysmith turned back to the laptop and paged forward to July, his mind recalling that terrible stormy night, the university lecturer, the sickening sound as metal had shattered bone and another game had ended.

  He showed them the screen.

  ‘There you are. Networking drinks evening in London,’ he explained. ‘I usually have one of those every month or so.’

  Cadnam stared at the screen for a moment, his eyes taking in all the other entries on the page.

  ‘Would you like a printout of my calendar for last year?’ Naysmith asked him. A calendar that he’d carefully maintained, covering his tracks, against just such a situation as this.

  Cadnam shook his head. Barden sat quietly, watchful and slightly unnerving.

  ‘In that case …’ Naysmith leaned forward ‘… I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what this is about.’

  Cadnam relaxed back into his seat and looked at him for a moment, considering his next move.

  ‘Tell me, have you ever been to Severn Beach?’ he asked.

  It was poorly played – a clumsy attempt that gave away too much.

  Naysmith made a point of frowning, then rubbed his eyes wearily as he slumped back into the armchair.

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘Once.’

  He sighed, as though disappointed by something.

  ‘Well?’ Cadnam leaned forward.

  Naysmith looked at him, his face expressing the regret of a person wronged.

  ‘I went there once, with Kim.’ He glanced at Barden, then back to Cadnam. ‘That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?’

  The detective looked at him thoughtfully, pen hovering over his notebook.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, carefully noncommittal.

  ‘Kim, my ex—’ He broke off, as though understanding something for the first time. ‘I took her out to Severn Beach after we’d been in Bristol one weekend. It must have spooked her more than I thought.’

  ‘Spooked her?’

  ‘We talked about that woman,’ Naysmith explained. ‘The one who got washed up on the beach.’

  She hadn’t been washed up – he hoped the detective noticed his mistake.

  Cadnam frowned.

  ‘Can I ask how you knew about the woman?’

  ‘There was a reconstruction on TV. And it was in the papers for a while.’ Naysmith shrugged. ‘That’s what gave me the idea.’

  Cadnam shot him a wary look.

  ‘Strange thing to do, take your girlfriend to visit the scene of a murder …?’

  Naysmith looked down, awkward now, as though some embarrassing prejudice or grubby sexual secret had been found out.

  ‘I know, it’s a bit weird, but if you knew Kim …’ He paused as though torn, as though reluctant to speak ill of her. ‘She responded to some unusual things.’

  Cadnam narrowed his eyes.

  ‘I’m not sure I follow you,’ he said.

  Naysmith hesitated.

  ‘Danger turned her on. I just played on that a little, you know? A bit of theatre – get her thinking about what happened there, get her excited …’ He looked at each of them in turn, then stared down at the carpet again. ‘It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but the whole relationship was pretty screwed-up.’

  He waited, feeling their eyes boring into the top of his head, waiting for one of them to speak. After a moment, Cadnam broke the silence.

  ‘You said you knew what this was all about?’

  A change of tack – good. But not good enough.

  Naysmith raised his head slowly.

  ‘Kim and I didn’t part on the best of terms,’ he admitted. ‘I assume she’s said something, and that’s where you got my name from.’

  He looked at them questioningly, but Cadnam turned it back on him.

  ‘Can you elaborate?’

  ‘OK,’ Naysmith sighed. ‘She was always fairly … suspicious. Always accusing me of seeing other women, even when I wasn’t.’

  He dropped that in – another deliberate piece of carelessness for them, reassurance that they really were so much smarter than him.

  Cadnam took the bait.

  ‘And when you were seeing other women?’

  Naysmith looked at him for a moment, as though considering whether or not to deny it, then let his shoulders drop.

  They had ‘outsmarted’ him.

  ‘She got very angry. I mean, really angry.’ He allowed his voice a wistful edge, choosing his words carefully so that the decisive blow would sound casual. ‘And she was really clever about it too. In the end, she waited until I was out of the country on business, then cleaned out one of my bank accounts and disappeared.’

  ‘Really?’ Cadnam glanced at Barden and scribbled something in his notebook.

  Naysmith nodded ruefully.

  ‘I can show you the statement if you don’t believe me,’ he sighed.

  ‘How much did she take?’

  ‘A little over six grand.’

  The detective tapped the end of his pen against the notepad for a moment.

  ‘Did you report this?’ he asked.

  Naysmith shook his head.

  ‘There didn’t seem much point. The account was in both our names, and I actually thought I’d got off lightly. She could have trashed the house or taken a pair of scissors to my suits …’ He smiled at them sadly, then looked down again. ‘And I suppose I did sort of deserve it. I know I didn’t treat her too well.’

  He could feel Cadnam staring at him. Good. Let that idea do its work for a moment, establish itself in their thoughts, erode Kim’s credibility.

  He lifted his head sharply.

  ‘But I never thought she’d do anything like this! I know she’s always been a little unstable, but if she’s trying to set me up with the police …’

  He let it hang there, filling the room with doubt.

  Barden shifted slightly in his seat.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ Naysmith pressed. ‘This is all because she figured out I was cheating on her?’

  Cadnam exchanged a brief glance with Barden, then softly closed his notebook.

  ‘I appreciate your time,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘If there’s anything further, we’ll be in touch.’

  It only sank in as they left. Naysmith’s heart was racing when he closed the front door and bowed his head against it. Standing there in the silence of the hallway, he took a deep breath and shuddered.

  She’d done her best – credit to her for having the courage to try – but it hadn’t worked. And now he was even more eager to find her again. It would be a uniquely personal challenge.

  41

  Tuesday, 26 August

  Kim pushed through the glass door and stepped out onto the broad swathe of paving stones that fronted the office. She halted for a moment, smoothing down her skirt, which was riding up a little, and doing up the top button of her blouse. Maybe she should have worn her light grey suit with these shoes, but that was in the case she’d left at Sarah’s.

  It didn’t matter – she was just glad that another job interview was over. She always found them a little unsettling, but as she walked away from the building she still couldn’t decide if the office manager was dreary or creepy.

  Or which was worse.

  She made her way between the lines of cars to where she’d parked. Slipping off her jacket, she folded it carefully and put it on the passenger seat with her handbag.

  Working in Exeter would be a long commute unless she moved, but the money was good.

  She started the car and found her way out of the car park, trusting the satnav on her phone to guide her through the town and onto the motorway. It would be good to get c
lear of Exeter before the rush hour – assuming they had a rush hour down here.

  Being in the wrong lane meant she had to go round the roundabout twice, but eventually she spotted the right exit and drove up the ramp to join the M5 for the journey back to Taunton. Merging with the rest of the traffic, she wondered if the long commute might make it impractical to stay there.

  Oh well, every cloud had a silver lining.

  She smiled at that, then her face grew serious again.

  Until the police dealt with Rob, it really didn’t matter where she was. Just as long as she was far away from him.

  There had been an accident earlier in the afternoon and the queue of slow-moving traffic meant it took her well over an hour to get back. Leaving the motorway, she considered going back to the B & B to change clothes, but the thought of that cramped little room was just too depressing. She’d promised to drop in on Sarah this evening anyway, so she pulled over at the side of the road, rummaged through her handbag and drew out her phone.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me. Just wanted to check you were home before I popped round?’

  ‘I’ve been back for a while. See you when you get here.’

  ‘Give me fifteen minutes.’

  Kim put the phone back in her bag and waited for a gap in the traffic.

  After stopping at the off-licence on East Reach, she threaded her way down the narrow streets and turned onto Gordon Road. There was a space on the opposite side to the house, a few doors down. Getting out, she pulled on her jacket, then grabbed the bottle and her handbag from the passenger seat.

  She wouldn’t stay late.

  Sarah opened the door with a grin, turning away and hurrying back down the hallway. Kim followed her, and the aroma of cooking hit her as soon as she stepped inside.

  ‘Something smells good,’ she smiled, walking into the kitchen.

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’ Sarah looked over her shoulder. ‘I’m making it for you.’

  ‘Oh, you didn’t have to.’

  ‘It’s no bother.’ Sarah peered into a large saucepan. ‘So how did the interview go?’ She looked at the bottle in Kim’s hand. ‘Are we celebrating or commiserating?’

  Kim sank down into a chair.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she laughed. ‘Both, I think.’