by Celina Grace
She said as much. Tin, with lowered brows, shook his head. “You’re ruining what should be a nice day. Why do we have to talk about this now?”
“Well, when would be a good time to talk about it, then?” demanded Kate. “When I’m back home, thousands of miles away? Or how about never? I just pack up my life and move out here to live with a man who can’t even have an honest conversation about where our relationship is going—”
“Oh, I’ve had enough of this.” Tin raised a hand in dismissal and turned on his heel. “I’ll talk to you when you’ve calmed down a bit,” was his parting shot, delivered over his shoulder.
Teeth clenched, Kate watched him walk away. Compounding the anger was the thought that her boyfriend had just left her adrift and alone in the middle of a strange city. She wasn’t even sure how to get back to his apartment from here. Kate blinked back furious tears and made her way over to a convenient park bench.
Staring at the ground in front of her, refusing to look up and try and see where Tin had got to, Kate thrust her cold hands into her jacket pockets and stiffened her jaw. She would not cry. Of all the things that pissed her off about being a woman, near the top of the list was her inability to get angry without getting upset at the same time. At least in personal situations. She seemed to manage it at work all right.
Next to the bench was a flowerbed, the sad remains of some brownish daffodils clumped together. Kate stared at them. Rising up inside her was the inescapable knowledge that this was it, with Tin. Really, this was it. She’d been fighting against the realisation for so long, for so many reasons. The fact that she was getting older. The fact she’d invested years in this relationship. The fact that she loved him and – she was still sure – he loved her. But not enough. Not enough to make that commitment that would have proved to Kate that he had her back, that he was in it for the long haul.
It was there, sitting on a cold bench in Central Park, looking at some dead flowers, that Kate realised she was never going to move to New York. All her life was at home in Abbeyford. She was never going to give that up. And Tin didn’t love her enough to move back to England. That wasn’t a crime. Even in the depths of her despair, she could at least be fair to him. They wanted different things, that was all. They’d met at the wrong time, or perhaps, deep down, they really weren’t the right people for one another.
Damn and blast it, the tears were coming anyway, despite her best efforts. Kate fished for a tissue in her pocket and bent forward, hiding her face. She’d never felt further away from home or lonelier than she did at that moment. She wished fervently that she could teleport herself home, onto the sofa in her house, Merlin ready and waiting to jump into her lap. But no matter how hard she wished, that was never going to happen, was it? That was being an adult, wasn’t it? Wading your way through all the crap life throws at you because that’s just what you had to do, whether you wanted to or not.
There was the scuff of a footstep in front of her and Kate raised her head to see Tin standing in front of her, looking sad and tired.
“Come on,” was all he said. “I’ve had enough of walking.”
Kate heaved herself up. She felt as if she’d been up for more than a day already. “Me too.”
Tin began to walk away. Kate followed him, only stopping to bend down and snap off the shrivelled brown head of a dead daffodil to put in her pocket, before she set off after her now ex-boyfriend.
Chapter Seventeen
“Kate!” Olbeck cried, almost running from his office to throw his arms around her as she wearily divested herself of her jacket at her desk. “You’re back! How was Tin? How was the Big Apple?”
Kate had been smiling, genuinely pleased at the warmth of her friend’s welcome. Now the smile dropped off her face. “That’s another story for another day. Can we leave it for now? I’m glad to be back, let’s just say.”
“Oh. Oh, right.” Olbeck drooped a little “Sure. Sure. It’s not the time, anyway. We’ve got too much work stuff to catch up on.”
Kate groaned, slightly deceitfully as she’d felt a pure spasm of joy at the thought of getting back into the thick of it. “Let me grab a coffee and we can catch up, if you’ve got the time?” She sometimes had to remind herself that, as a more senior officer, Olbeck’s hours were slightly more circumscribed than hers.
“That’s fine, I’m good for the next half hour. Come on over once you’re ready.”
Chloe had clearly been listening in on this exchange with half an ear. She looked up, as Olbeck walked away, and caught Kate’s eye.
“Don’t—” warned Kate, worried that if anyone gave her the slightest sympathy, that she might burst into tears.
“Wasn’t going to say a word.” Chloe dropped her gaze and then raised it again to wink. “Glad you’re back. Bird.”
Kate gave a wan smile. “I’m glad to be back. Bird.” She dropped into her chair with a sigh. “So, anything I should know about?”
“Mark will probably go through it all with you but there’s one big development—”
“Yes?”
Chloe smiled grimly. “Melanie Houghton’s been arrested. The house search turned up a raincoat just like the one worn by our mystery woman in the CCTV video.”
Kate found herself making an ‘ooh’ noise. “You don’t say.”
“I do say. Theo and Anderton are questioning her now.”
“Right,” said Kate, mind going a million miles an hour as she pondered the possibilities. She saw Olbeck waving to her from his desk behind his glass office wall. “Thanks. We’ll catch up later.”
“Sure.”
Kate hurried to the kitchen area, slopped some hot water onto a hastily spooned mess of coffee granules and then hurried back to Olbeck’s office.
“What’s all this about Melanie Houghton being arrested?”
Olbeck grinned. “Well. It’s like this. Melanie Houghton’s been arrested.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Presumably on – well, on what grounds? Finding a bloody raincoat?”
“Do I detect a touch of cynicism in your dulcet tones, Kate? Yes, the raincoat. Plus, we’ve pulled her phone records and gone through them with a fine-tooth comb. She’s had contact with our murder victim for months. One of Simon Farraday’s other squeezes confirmed that he told them about the secret entrance to the townhouse, so there’s no reason to suppose that Melanie Houghton wouldn’t have known about it and used it. Like on the night of the murder.”
Kate had been slowly sipping her muddy coffee through Olbeck’s speech. Grimacing, she put it down and leant forward. “Trouble is, though, if that’s Melanie Houghton on the tape, why come in through the front door? Especially if you’re going to commit a murder? Why wouldn’t you stay out of sight? It doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” admitted Olbeck. “Perhaps Anderton can get something out of her on that little issue.”
Kate drummed her fingers on his desk. “Do we have any tangible evidence that she knew about the tunnel? On a text message or something? An email?”
Olbeck shook his head reluctantly. “No, unfortunately. From the evidence of Simon Farraday’s other lover, it was something that came into everyday conversation. Pillow talk.”
Kate blew out her cheeks and sat back. “I suppose it comes down to proving that’s Melanie Houghton on the CCTV.”
“Ah, now, hopefully that’s something that is going right. Anderton’s had the footage sent off to a specialist, to see if we can get any more clarity on who it actually is.” Olbeck sat back in his chair and spread his hands. “Hopefully we might have that in a week or so.”
Kate got up and began pacing back and forth, trying to think things out. “Well, hopefully, by that time Melanie Houghton might have confessed.” She stopped for a moment, punching her hand into her palm in frustration. “Where’s the motive though? Why kill him – like that?”
Olbeck shrugged. “They were into that sort of thing. Bondage, domination. Suppose – suppose she just got carried away?”
/> Kate shook her head impatiently. “I’ve never heard of any kind of bondage that involves battering your lover over the head with a candlestick.”
“Well, no, but you’re not exactly on the scene, are you, Kate?” They looked at one another, Kate smiling reluctantly. “Supposing they were trying out some kind of role play and Melanie just lets rip, bangs him over the head and then realises what she’s done?”
Kate stopped walking and turned to look at Olbeck. “What, it was just – just a moment of madness?”
“It’s possible? Isn’t it? You can imagine a man like Simon Farraday saying to his lover in the heat of the moment ‘go on, hit me, hit me’, probably not meaning, you know, on the head with a heavy metal object, but she mishears him or goes crazy or something like that, bashes him with the candlestick and then she’s faced with what she’s done.”
Kate sat back down abruptly, staring at Olbeck. “You know, that would explain the CCTV.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, Melanie goes to the house all above board – well, not exactly that, but she’s not trying to hide herself. In fact, she probably might not even realise there is CCTV in the square. But afterwards, after he’s dead, she realises she has to get out without being seen. So she takes the secret exit.”
They looked at one another, weighing up the possibilities. “That’s a theory,” said Olbeck. “I might just go and pass that on to Anderton. No – it’s your idea. You do it.”
“You sure?” Kate asked casually, hiding the not entirely unwelcome leap of excitement at the thought of seeing her boss again.
“Sure. I think they’re in Interview Room Two.” Kate threw him a grateful smile and got up. “Oh, and Kate,” said Olbeck, just as she was leaving his office. She turned back around enquiringly. “If you fancy dinner this week—”
“Oh—”
“Just an idea,” said Olbeck. He smiled kindly. “Just – you know. If you want to talk.”
“Thanks,” Kate said, steadily. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
As she made for the stairs and the interview rooms, there was an unwelcome interlude of quietness that allowed her to start thinking again. Since she’d walked into the office, apart from that one wobbly moment when Olbeck and Chloe had greeted her, Kate had quite successfully managed not to think about Tin and the collapse of her relationship all morning. The moment her attention was distracted from the case, all those negative emotions came crashing back. Don’t think about it. Keep your mind on work. She blinked furiously, pinched the side of her hand to regain her focus, and squared her shoulders before knocking on the door of Interview Room Two.
Anderton was too experienced an interviewer to look surprised when Kate popped her head around the door, but there was a momentary flicker on his face that Kate interpreted as pleasure in seeing her. “Yes, DS Redman?” he asked.
“Could I have a quick word, sir?”
Once outside and out of earshot of the two people remaining in the interview room, Anderton dropped the professional act. “Good to have you back, Kate.” There was a moment when he feinted forward, almost as though he were going to hug her and Kate tensed, half willing, half reluctant. But he clearly thought better of it and converted the movement into a more fatherly pat on the shoulder. “How was New York?”
“Fine, thanks.” Kate was perfecting the rictus smile that graced her face whenever anyone asked that question. “Anyway, I don’t have time for that now. I wanted to talk to you about Melanie Houghton.”
Anderton threw a glance back to the closed door of the interview room. “I’m making some progress. I think she thinks she’s not got a lot to lose by telling the truth now.”
“Really?” Kate was momentarily distracted. “Well, anyway, Mark and I came up with a theory that might explain the CCTV issue. Listen—” She carefully laid out the idea of Melanie Houghton losing control in the middle of a sex game, watching Anderton’s face for his reaction.
He didn’t look sceptical but he didn’t look entirely convinced, either. “Mm. I suppose it’s a possibility. She doesn’t strike me as that type though but – well, I suppose it can’t do any harm to see what she says.” A thought seemed to strike him. “Are you busy now? Why don’t you sit in?”
Kate was busy – five days off would do that to a person – but after a moment’s consideration, she decided to take Anderton up on his offer. She followed him back into the room and he started the interview again.
Kate sat silently, observing Melanie Houghton who was sitting opposite, next to a solicitor whom Kate didn’t recognise. The man looked rather startlingly like Anderton; urbane, grey-haired, fifty-something. He could have been Anderton’s cousin, perhaps even a brother. Kate wondered whether Anderton had noticed the resemblance but thought he’d probably been concentrating more on his suspect than her legal representative.
Melanie Houghton no longer looked ill. Instead she looked angry. She sat very upright in her uncomfortable chair, her eyes snapping sparks.
“I’m sorry about that, Mrs Houghton,” Anderton said pleasantly as he sat back down again. “My colleague needed to speak to me. Now, we were talking about your relationship with Mr Farraday, weren’t we?”
“You were questioning me about our affair, yes.” Melanie spoke as if her jaws were clenched.
“You still maintain that you did not meet Mr Faraday on the night of the ninth of April?”
“As I have said, numerous times, I did not. We did not arrange to meet, we did not meet. I don’t know how many times you keep wanting me to say the same thing.” The Anderton-clone solicitor shifted uneasily beside his client, but Melanie took no notice. She folded her arms and stared across the table defiantly.
Anderton looked ostentatiously down at the folder he held on his lap. “We have a woman resembling you, wearing a coat very like the one we found at your house, entering the townhouse of Simon Farraday just before he was murdered.”
Melanie interrupted him. “That was not me.”
Anderton took no notice. “There is DNA evidence linking you to the scene.”
“I can’t help that. I have quite openly said that I used to meet Simon at the house all the time. Of course my DNA will be there. I was not there when he was killed.” Her face flickered for a moment when she uttered those last words. Kate watched closely, trying to ascertain the emotion. Guilt? Grief?
Anderton cleared his throat. “There are messages on the 4Adults website between the two of you, back and forth between your two accounts, arranging to meet up on the night of the murder.”
Melanie stared, stonily. “I did not send those messages.”
Kate felt rather than heard Anderton’s tiny sigh. He shifted position slightly and his leg touched Kate’s. She was suddenly very aware of its warmth beneath the table and felt her heart begin to beat a little faster. What was wrong with her? Keep your mind on the job, she told herself, not for the first time that morning.
Anderton leant forward, going in for the kill. “You and Mr Farraday enjoyed – if that’s the right word – a fully sadomasochistic sexual relationship, didn’t you, Mrs Houghton?”
“That’s not against the law,” Melanie said coldly.
“Yes, I know that. But killing people is against the law, Mrs Houghton. Did you get carried away on the night of the ninth of April? Did you hit Simon Farraday over the head?”
“I did not.” Melanie folded her arms and leant back in her seat.
“Did you forget your safe word? Is that what happened?”
“I—”Melanie began but her lawyer spoke across her, saying her name in a warning tone. She gave him a sulky glance and said “No – no comment.”
Kate sighed inwardly. They’d reached the stonewall stage of the interview.
“Did you lose control and kill Simon Farraday?” Anderton persisted.
“No comment.”
Kate knew one thing that might break this conversational deadlock – a change of questions. She pressed her foot again
st Anderton’s under the table – their old signal. He sat back, nodding at her very slightly.
“Where was this relationship going, Mrs Houghton?” Kate asked, deliberately cultivating a mild tone.
Melanie was obviously thrown by the change of interviewer, subject and pace. “What?”
“I just wondered where your relationship with Mr Farraday was going? You’d been seeing him for six months or so, so obviously it was quite serious. You – you loved each other?”
Melanie Houghton stared at Kate as if she’d never seen her before. “Yes. Yes, we did,” she said, after a moment. Again, Kate saw that flicker of emotion on her face.
“You must be feeling pretty devastated right now,” said Kate, putting as much sympathy in her voice as she could. It worked – she could see tears gathering in Melanie Houghton’s eyes.
“Yes. I am.”
Kate opened her mouth to say something else, but Melanie hadn’t finished speaking. In a voice roughened with tears, she said, “Well, actually, we were very serious. I wasn’t going to say anything about this because – well, I just wasn’t—” Her solicitor twitched but she ignored it. “But I don’t see any point in keeping it a secret any longer. Simon and I, we were – well, we were going to be together. Permanently.”
A moment’s silence. Melanie Houghton must have interpreted it as disbelief, because she flushed angrily and said, “It’s true. We were going to leave our – our partners and be together. So now that you know that, why should you think I wanted to kill him? Or that I did kill him? I loved him, and he loved me. We were going to be together.”
Chapter Eighteen
“So she says,” said Anderton, seating himself behind his desk. Kate hovered by the doorway.