Death in Cold Waters

by Tannis Laidlaw

  Maddie wrote it down. Had Shirley spell it out. “Not Timming? Timmons?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know how much we can trust Cynthia’s spelling, or her hearing for that matter; she’s getting on in years. She’s been secretary the whole time I’ve been going to meetings and that’s almost a decade.”

  “Thanks for trying,” Maddie said. “I’ll see what I can find out.” She took a deep breath. “And there’s one more thing, Shirley. Do you remember the pile of clothes I took for Henry Macgregor? The clothes he’d left and Kathy had put them under the serving desk?”

  “Yes, of course. We met shortly afterwards.”

  “Do you remember the pile of clothes specifically?” Maddie didn’t want to influence Shirley’s recollection.

  “Yes, for sure.”

  “Can you remember what was included?”

  “But you saw them, Maddie. Didn’t you take them into the police?”

  “Yes, I did. But I’m wondering if all the clothes were there. Can you recall them?”

  “He had a nice navy blue jacket, I do remember that. I think there was a t-shirt and trousers – can’t recall the colours but they were both dark coloured. No jersey. No hat. No underwear. No socks or shoes.”

  Maddie smiled at her. “Exactly what I remember,” she said. “No shoes. Did you see him when he was dressed in the suit and tie, the clothes he bought for his luncheon with his daughter?”

  “Yes, I guess so. Vaguely.” She frowned. “Yes, I must have because Kathy and I had a short discussion about how clothes change a man.”

  “I saw him later that day,” Maddie said. “He was still wearing the outfit he’d bought. We met up after his lunch out. But I cannot remember his shoes. Do you?”

  “Sorry. But I do wonder one thing,” Shirley said slowly. “When Kathy and I were talking after he’d left, you would think inappropriate shoes would have been in the conversation. You know, ‘How lovely that suit looks on him, but too bad about the shoes.’ That sort of thing.”

  Maddie nodded. “Exactly. I didn’t notice his shoes either and surely I would have had the same reaction if he had been wearing trainers or even his usual Ecco shoes.”

  “Ecco shoes? What kind?”

  “Soft leather casual shoes. Lace-ups. He has two pairs I’ve seen over this past year, a black pair and a brown pair. Soft soles, too.” She brought her phone onto the table. “I’ll google Ecco and see if they have the type of shoes he usually wears. And we can see if they could be worn with a suit and tie without comment or us noticing.”

  A minute later, she scrolled through the Ecco site until she found what she was looking for, black casual shoes with a price tag of well over £100.00. “There.” She passed the phone over to Shirley.

  She shook her head. “I can’t imagine we’d not notice these shoes if they’d been worn with office gear,” she said. “What do you think?”

  “I usually pride myself on my powers of observation,” Maddie said. “And I agree with you. I think I would have noticed.”

  They both stared at the image.

  “I’ll look at their soles.” She brought up another photograph. The soles had a small grid pattern, unlike dress shoes and unlike the deep indentations found on all trainers. “Distinctive,” she said. “If these are the same. His are over six years old.”

  “Is it important?”

  Maddie shrugged. “I think it could be. Maybe.” She grabbed her phone and shut off the image. “They’re not trainers, anyway. And I trust myself to have noticed if he had been wearing trainers.”

  “Me, too,” Shirley said.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Jade broke through the throngs of schoolgirls being picked up by their parents. Usually she and Freya walked a little way together, or they would go to one of each other’s houses. But Freya was away in New York. New York. Broadway musicals, towering buildings and fashion. Lucky, lucky Freya.

  She dawdled along the footpath, not looking forward to another session of studying alone and unaware of pounding footsteps coming up behind her.

  “Jade. Wait up,” Brody’s voice called.

  She stopped and glanced around. He looked a right mess. Not only was he wearing his gardening clothes, jeans with ripped knees and bits of grass everywhere, but his hands were red. Bright, blood-like red. She didn’t know whether to cower or run. She could hardly breathe.

  He grinned at her. “I fixed the bugger.”

  She noticed red speckles on his hoodie and even his face. “Fixed?” She struggled to get the word out.

  He wiped his hands on his trousers. “Bloody paint. Gets over everything.”

  Relief coursed through Jade’s whole being. Paint. Bloody coloured maybe, but paint. “What ‘bugger’, Brody?” she asked, her voice still faint from the tension.

  “Linsey’s bloody stepfather, that’s who,” he said with some enthusiasm. “Do you want to see it?”

  Jade stared at him. She could smell the paint now. Definitely not blood. Red paint. “Do I want to?”

  “Course you do,” he said. “Come on. It’s not far. You’ll love it.”

  “What have you done, Brody? Jeez, you’re not in more trouble, are you?”

  “Probably. But who cares when I’m up for a murder I didn’t do.”

  “They let you go, Brody. You’d be in jail if they thought you’d done it.”

  He made a face. “That’s what Mum says. But I don’t trust cops. Do you?”

  Jade shrugged. She wasn’t going to get into that with him. She just walked half a step behind him, not saying anything.

  “He did it. I’m sure.”

  “Who?”

  “That bugger.”

  There was only one person Brody would call a bugger in this whole scenario. “Linsey’s stepfather?”

  “He has reasons.”

  “I know. You told me. But the police know about him and they haven’t arrested him.”

  He frowned. “They should.”

  Jade shrugged. “My best guess is that he’s got a solid alibi. What does he do for a crust?”

  “Some sort of salesman, I think.” He’d lost his cock-sure look. His steps slowed.

  “It was late morning. He was probably at work. And salesmen are with other people at work.”

  “Other people? They could be lying for him.” Stubbornness clouded his speech.

  “Yeah, they could.” But she knew better. Lying for others was highly unlikely in grownups. Common enough in teenagers, of course. But she could see that sort of blind loyalty fading a bit in herself now. And she was not yet eighteen.

  She was becoming increasingly aware Brody wasn’t the sharpest tine on the fork. But for all that, she didn’t think he was a bad person. And she knew her mother had discounted his guilt in Linsey’s murder. Which mattered.

  Why had the police not made that clear to him? When people think others have wiped them off the face of the earth, they can find themselves doing stuff they’d not usually do. She glanced at Brody’s face. “Come on, Brody. Tell me. What did you do?”

  They turned a corner and it was obvious.

  “Oh, Brody,” she said under her breath.

  In the space between the corner of the house and a window, a tall, narrow slot of white render was crudely painted with an elongated stickman. It sported an oversized thingie. An erect thingie, painted in bright, bloodlike red. Under the window was the word ‘PERV’. In mirror writing, a large word was painted on the window, its letters dribbling down to the sill. ‘SCUM’, it read.

  “See?” he asked Jade. “You can read ‘Scum’ from inside.” He shot a grin at her.

  Over the doorway, he’d written ‘KIDDY FIDDLA LIVES HERE’.

  “You’ve certainly made your point,” Jade said. “But we’d better get out of here as fast as we can.”

  Brody frowned.

  “If nobody saw you do the deed, it would be crazy to expose yourself now.” Oh, ouch. Expose. That was inadvertent.

  “Yeah,” he s
aid. “But I wanted you to see it. I waited until school was out so I could show you.”

  “Thanks,” she said but quickened her pace. Yeah, thanks for nothing. “I’ve got to study now, Brody. See you around. And, hey, good luck on not being caught.”

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re a good sport, Jade, you know that?”

  She smiled and took off, keeping herself under a run, but walking as fast as she could. She hoped he wasn’t becoming interested in her. She wouldn’t want to create any more angst for the poor guy because, eventually, she’d have to tell him there was no hope of anything happening her end.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Ethan dropped by Tuesday morning. “Any chance of a cuppa?” he asked.

  Maddie smiled. “Glad you asked. I just happen to have the kettle on,” she said. “And I wondered if I’d hear from you.” She picked up the paper and waved it at him. On the front page was a photograph of the word ‘SCUM’ written on a living room window. The headline read, ‘House of Murdered Schoolgirl Targeted’.

  “You’re my conduit into the world of teenage angst.”

  “Jade didn’t mention anything about it but I did see her read that item through to the end this morning. She’s usually disdainful of newspapers.”

  “‘Scum’ was the least of it,” Ethan said. He proceeded to describe to her the other more salacious bits of graffiti decorating the house.

  “And you managed to restrict the photographer to that one word?” She passed him a mug of tea. Milk and two sugars, as always.

  “He decided he’d not get permission to print any of the other words so prominently displayed. Or the rather graphic diagram.” Ethan laughed and lifted his mug of tea in silent salute.

  “Awful for the Gainly family.”

  “Gainly, yes, you’re right. Linsey Benton is the stepdaughter,” he said. “Besides, it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

  Maddie glanced at him sharply. “You’re not impressed with him?”

  “Let’s just say we’re watching him carefully. Not for the murder. His alibi is rock solid. But we did find some rather suggestive diary entries hidden in Linsey’s bedroom. Not the kind of evidence that could stand on its own, unfortunately, but evocative, to say the least. It seems as if the graffiti artist knew about the suspicions.”

  “You’re not referring to a young man of our acquaintance?”

  “He’s awaiting me in the station. I decided to let him sweat a bit. Stop by my friend Maddie’s and beg a cuppa from her before hurrying to the station for the interview.”

  “Meanie,” Maddie said. “Drink up. I’d hate to be the cause of more torment to that young fellow.” She half meant it.

  He emptied his mug and thanked her.

  “I’ll call you later if anything comes of it,” he said at the door.

  Half an hour later, he rang.

  “Guilty as sin,” Ethan said in delight. “We’ll get him onto cleaning it up as soon as possible. And he can clean up his hands at the same time. We caught him red-handed, Maddie. Literally.”

  She grinned. Silly, silly boy.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Maddie looked up the Saturday trains to Wimbledon. She knew they were frequent because Wimbledon was on the main route to London, but weekends were different. She decided to take an earlier train from Surbiton to avoid any awkwardness of meeting Geneva at Kingston station and having to make small talk until they were in the anonymity of the café.

  Maddie caught the 8:48 from Surbiton station and arrived, as planned, just after 9. The shopping mall had opened and she wandered its broad corridors, staring at displays of short skirts and crazy combinations of prints, checks and plains, shaking her head all the while. Somehow, most of the window displays appeared to be appealing to the buyers’ market of the very young. How did kids have the money?

  Still, she was enjoying herself; she’d tell Caroline about it next time they met. Window shopping was an activity she hadn’t indulged in for years. She’d had neither the time nor the inclination.

  At 9:30, she entered the café and grabbed a table on the side but where she could see Geneva when she arrived. Which she did almost immediately. Gone were the totteringly-high heeled shoes and the fussy dress and heavy makeup of their last meeting. Instead, Geneva, her shiny brown hair on her shoulders, wearing jeans, trainers and a simple t-shirt, looked to be the teenager she probably still was.

  Geneva was frowning. Red blotches on her cheeks. Looking around her with short jerks of her head. Maddie decided to wait for Geneva to find her, rather than waving her over.

  Geneva didn’t call out as she put in her order, but casually sauntered around the tables until she ‘accidently’ spotted Maddie. Maddie, playing the part, gestured for Geneva to join her.

  “What a lovely surprise to see you here,” Maddie said in loudish tones, as if anyone was listening. So far, the café was sparsely populated.

  “Thanks, Mrs Brooks,” Geneva breathed as she took her seat. Her hands shook.

  “Call me Madeleine,” Maddie said. “You’re an adult now. My first name is Madeleine.”

  Geneva’s blotches intensified. “Okay, Madeleine. Thanks.”

  Until their coffees arrived, Maddie gently questioned Geneva about her life, her friends, the music she enjoyed and movies she’d seen. Geneva, her blush faded, became more animated and relaxed, exactly as Maddie had hoped.

  But the arrival of the drinks signalled something in Geneva. She took a tiny sip of her coffee and kept her eyes on the surface of her coffee. “Can we keep this confidential? I really don’t want my parents to know anything about all this.”

  Poor kid. Maddie used her most soothing tones. “Unless something is so blatantly dangerous for you or anyone else, I can assure you I will keep our conversation confidential, Geneva. Suits me fine. Suits us both, doesn’t it?”

  Geneva nodded and took a deep breath. “Something you said last time has been bouncing around in my head, Mrs … Madeleine. The bit where you said Mr Macgregor could not have murdered little Linsey.” She looked up.

  “He couldn’t. He was buying a new suit for himself and the sales assistant remembers him well. He was actually dressed in the suit when he left the shop and walked to a nearby café, leaving his other clothes in the shop. The sales assistant tucked them away and they were picked up the next day. Macgregor continued to be in public view, having a coffee, then being picked up by his daughter for their fancy lunch together shortly thereafter. He was at that luncheon for several hours. He was arrested by the police not long afterwards.”

  “Could he have ordered the coffee and left? Gone to the river and killed Linsey, then returned to drink his cold coffee? And the café people didn’t notice?” Her voice was almost pleading.

  “First, he had no transport and there’s no bus service to that spot on the riverbank. Second, he was dressed up for the luncheon. Everything he wore was clean and neat. Nothing was on those clothes, no mud, no soaked trousers, nothing that indicated he had been in the Thames or even on the riverbank. And thirdly, the body of the child was discovered when Macgregor was in the café or already with his daughter and the medical examiner said she’d been killed only an hour or so earlier, which would have been when he was in the shop buying his new suit.”

  “Okay. What about the sales assistant? Could she be confused? Maybe the old clothes were wet? That’s why he needed to buy the new suit.” She was frowning as she said this.

  “The clothes were handed into the police as soon as they were collected from the shop the next day. The forensic investigators said they were totally clear of anything suggesting the Thames frontage.” Maddie relaxed her muscles to keep her grounded. Geneva had done some good thinking. “You are absolutely right to question every aspect of his alibi. I did too. One other thing, the supervisor of the sales assistant saw him in the shop that morning, as well. I think we can eliminate Macgregor from suspicion.”

  “Why is he still in prison, then?” Her voice was a
bit more assertive.

  “Getting out of prison is a massive bureaucratic exercise. It will happen, but things grind slowly in the Corrections system.”

  “You would know. You’re a Probation Officer.” Almost aggression.

  “Yes,” Maddie said, continuing to speak in a calm voice. “Or was, at the time. I’m pleased you want this to be kept between us as I’m letting you know about things nobody else knows other than the police.”

  “Really?” Geneva said, betraying her youth.

  “Really.”

  “Okay. That makes it clear. And that isn’t really what I want to talk to you about. Except it’s important that I can trust it wasn’t Mr Macgregor this time.”

  “You’re okay with it now?” Maddie looked at her directly, but noticing that Geneva had switched back to ‘Mr Macgregor’, a teacher’s name rather than a criminal’s.

  “Yeah. Mr Macgregor is in the clear.” She played with her spoon, turning it over and over in her hands. “And everyone says whoever killed Linsey also did – you know, the same thing – to her as he did to me. The same thing. Only I lived. And, well, we now know Mr Macgregor couldn’t have done it to Linsey.” She leaned forward. “Do you think that when they find out who did it to Linsey, they’ll look to see if that same guy could have done it to me?”

  Maddie’s heart pounded. Geneva was considering something that went directly against her previous testimony. “Geneva, will it help if we quietly go over the details leading up to that attack on you? I certainly don’t want you to describe what he actually did. We can accept you were attacked and you were only twelve at the time. A disgusting and horrible thing. But can we concentrate for a few minutes on the events before and afterwards?”

  “I’ve been thinking about nothing else since I saw you,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve got to get it out of my brain. I’ve heard talking about something is good for that. But I haven’t anyone I can do that with. Except you, Mrs Brooks.”

  Maddie didn’t correct her. “You discovered you’d left your shoes at school, yes?”