Killer Plan

by Leigh Russell

  ‘Can I speak to you about Nick?’

  Without a word he opened his door and motioned to her to go in. He sat behind his desk and looked up at her, waiting. It was difficult to begin.

  ‘It’s about Nick…’

  ‘Yes? What about him?’

  Tentatively, Geraldine told him that Nick had been concerned that he was being followed shortly before he was murdered.

  ‘Followed?’ Reg repeated. ‘As in someone was stalking him?’ He sounded incredulous.

  Geraldine nodded dumbly. Reg put his head in his hands for a second. She waited awkwardly, knowing this was too important to walk away from. At last he looked up.

  ‘Listen, Geraldine, I know you’re upset about what’s happened. We’re all upset.’ He leaned forward as though to give his words emphasis. ‘I worked with Nick for over ten years. He was a fine colleague. But it doesn’t help to be hysterical. We need to be level-headed in our assessment of the situation, and work on facts alone. Speculation can lead us into all sorts of blind alleys.’

  ‘Reg, I’m not being hysterical…’

  ‘The fact is, when Nick was worried about anything, he spoke to me. As I said, we worked together for a long time. He used to tell me about his troubles. Can you give me one reason why he would have come to you with anything like this, and not breathed a word of it to me, or to his wife? No,’ he shook his head, ‘I’m afraid you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Misunderstood something he said, and made a drama out of it. You didn’t know him for very long, but I…’ He broke off with a sigh. ‘He was a friend as well as a colleague. If he was worried about anything, he would have come to me, as I hope you would too, Geraldine. We’re on the same team here, and we have to pull together, now more than ever. Come on,’ he added, heaving himself to his feet. ‘I’ll come with you to see Eve.’

  35

  Nick Williams had lived in West Hampstead. The door was opened almost at once by a uniformed female constable.

  ‘I’m just making her some tea, sir.’

  ‘How is she?’ Reg enquired in a subdued voice.

  The constable shook her head. ‘Not good, sir. This way.’

  With a quick nod, he strode after her. Geraldine followed. A faint smell of mould hung in the air as they crossed the hall and entered the kitchen where a woman was sitting motionless on a stool. Her arms hung limply at her sides. She didn’t look up when they walked in. Geraldine studied her furtively. With her head lowered, her fair hair fell forward hiding the top half of her face so that only the tip of a thin nose and a pointed chin were visible.

  ‘Eve, you know what’s happened?’

  The thin woman nodded and her hair swung further forward.

  ‘They told me about it,’ she whispered. ‘They were very kind.’

  Looking around, Geraldine was surprised to see how untidy the kitchen was. It couldn’t have degenerated into such a tip in the one day since Nick had been killed. The large kitchen could have been a nice room, but the sink was full of dirty dishes and the worktops were strewn with used saucepans, stained cups and foil takeaway containers. There was a stench of stale food. Geraldine couldn’t help thinking about Nick’s obsessively tidy desk at work, pens in a straight row, files neatly stacked, not a paper out of place. She wondered how he had coped with the chaos at home. Eve perched on a stool staring at the floor, seemingly oblivious to their presence as they sat down.

  ‘Eve,’ Geraldine said gently, ‘we’re going to find out what happened to Nick.’

  The widow looked up on hearing her dead husband’s name, but her expression was dull and she didn’t seem to register that she was being addressed. Geraldine pressed on, determined to proceed as though this was a routine investigation and the deceased hadn’t recently spent a night with her.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm your husband?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was he worried about anything?’

  ‘What do you mean, worried?’

  ‘Did he say anything to you about being worried about anything, or anyone?’

  The blonde woman frowned. ‘Worried about what?’

  Abandoning caution, Geraldine leaned forward and stared directly at Eve’s face, half hidden behind a fair veil of hair.

  ‘Did Nick say anything about being followed recently?’

  ‘Followed?’ Eve echoed.

  Reg cut in officiously. ‘We’re just wondering if he might have been targeted by an ex-con with a grievance. We have to consider every possibility.’

  He glowered at Geraldine, his heavy brows lowered. Ignoring his disapproving glare, Geraldine pressed on. Whatever the personal cost, she had to discover the truth. If she could do so without revealing that Nick had confided in her, so much the better. She wanted to avoid raising questions that could damage her reputation. She didn’t want to risk appearing promiscuous as well as incompetent. She bitterly regretted having failed to insist Nick go to Reg with his suspicions.

  Geraldine tried again. ‘We knew Nick. He was our colleague…’ her voice cracked. ‘We all want to find out what happened to him, and see justice done. You can help us.’

  Eve gave no sign that she had heard. Geraldine pressed on before Reg could cut in again.

  ‘Did he seem uneasy about anything before he died? We wondered if someone was following him.’

  Eve looked at Reg. ‘Nick was careful. He would have told you if he was worried about anything. He was always careful.’

  ‘Of course, we’re just trying to find out what happened,’ Reg interrupted forcefully.

  Unable to prise any information out of the stunned widow, Reg asked her to contact them if she needed anything at all, and left.

  ‘A constable will stay with you, and if you need anything you just ask, anything at all,’ he added kindly.

  Eve didn’t even look up.

  On the way back to the station, Reg reprimanded Geraldine for her crass questions.

  ‘I would have expected better from someone of your rank.’

  She was relieved to get back to her own office. Predictably, Max agreed with Reg when Geraldine gave him a sanitised version of the interview.

  ‘She was in shock, poor woman. We all are. We can only hope she’ll get over it in time,’ he added pompously.

  ‘They were estranged,’ Geraldine reminded him.

  Max grunted.

  ‘He told me so himself.’

  Geraldine didn’t add that Nick had told her a lot more than that.

  ‘Well?’ Max asked. ‘What did you make of her?’

  Geraldine shrugged. Other than wondering what Nick had seen in the little blonde woman in her dirty house, she was preoccupied with what Nick had told her about being followed. She wished he had reported his suspicions to Reg, rather than confiding in her, or that she had taken him seriously. If she had acted on his fears, he might still be alive. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone what had happened between her and Nick. She suspected Reg would refuse to believe her. Whatever his reaction, confessing now could only damage her reputation. Worse, she would lose Sam’s trust. And it wouldn’t help Nick.

  36

  The wheels had been set in motion on Nick’s investigation, with teams of officers drafted in to question the dead officer’s neighbours and friends, even his colleagues. Yet more constables were checking criminals who had recently been released from prison, looking into any who might have held a grudge against the dead detective. Geraldine wondered whether they ought to be questioning husbands and partners of women Nick had seduced but she hesitated to make the suggestion to the detective chief inspector. He had already lambasted her for interfering with the investigation he was heading. He clearly didn’t want to hear about Nick’s infidelities.

  With nothing more she could do to support the investigation into Nick’s murder, she resolved to stay out of trouble and turn her attention back to Dave Robinson. Checking the most recent statements, she came across an odd report. His widow had co
me to the police station claiming that one of her sons was missing. Her statement hadn’t been taken seriously, partly because she had been drunk at the time. Geraldine went to question the constable who had spoken to Caroline. She found DC Timothy Clark at his desk. A snub-nosed young man, he looked about sixteen.

  ‘Oh that,’ he replied airily to her question. ‘No, that’s all sorted.’

  ‘What do you mean by all sorted?’

  ‘The boy’s not missing at all. The woman’s just nuts. Crazed with grief and all that.’

  ‘All what? How do you know he’s not missing? Has she reported he’s back home?’

  ‘Not to us, but she’d already called the school to tell them he was at home, too upset to go to school after what happened to his dad, so the boy’s not been kidnapped, even if he is at home with a crazy mother.’

  ‘Why did she report him missing then? Has anyone seen him?’

  Timothy shrugged. ‘How am I supposed to know what’s going on in her head? She’s crazy, I told you. Maybe she’s feeling guilty because the boy’s fallen apart over losing his dad, and she hasn’t. But I can follow it up.’

  Geraldine agreed that would be a good idea, although she wasn’t satisfied. What Timothy was telling her sounded strange, but she held back from openly challenging him for being so laid back about Caroline’s report. She had been criticised in the past for being unwilling to delegate. Reg had already accused her of being interfering. She didn’t want to be dogged by a reputation for being controlling. Without telling anyone, she decided to go and speak to Caroline again. If it turned out that Timothy had been correct in his conclusions, all well and good. No one need know she had been checking up on him. At the same time, she couldn’t ignore her unease. Timothy was a constable, young and inexperienced. It would be a dereliction of her duty to refuse to follow her instincts out of a misplaced concern for her own reputation.

  Caroline looked dreadful. There were grey bags under her eyes, and a lifelessness about her smacked of depression. She clearly hadn’t been sleeping, which was understandable, and looked as though she hadn’t washed for days, which was probably true. She started back when she saw Geraldine, and motioned to her to go inside the house.

  ‘Quick, quick,’ she muttered, ‘before anyone sees you.’

  That suited Geraldine, although it was odd that Caroline wanted to usher her inside so promptly, and she wondered why Caroline seemed so anxious that no one saw her. Before Geraldine could mention the purpose of her visit, Caroline turned to her in frantic desperation.

  ‘Have you got any news?’

  ‘News?’

  ‘Yes.’ Caroline’s eyes met Geraldine’s for a brief moment before sliding away. ‘Have you found out who killed Dave?’

  ‘You came to the station yesterday to report one of your sons missing. You said he’d been kidnapped. Is that correct?’

  Caroline gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘No, no. That was all a mistake. I was just in a right old state.’

  Her laughter sounded so fake, Geraldine was convinced she was lying.

  ‘You reported he’d been kidnapped by someone called Brian.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought, but I was wrong, see? Ed came home. He’s back here now. He’s not missing at all.’ She gave another nervous laugh.

  Geraldine didn’t tell Caroline she had looked into her school records and traced someone called Brian who had been in her class at school.

  ‘What made you think Brian took your son? Has he been in contact with you?’

  Caroline hesitated. ‘Yes, I mean no, I mean I’d seen him recently, bumped into him in the park. Then he met Ed and – brought him home. I got in a panic when Ed didn’t come straight home, that’s all. I thought he wasn’t coming back. You don’t know what it’s like, without Dave here. But it’s got nothing to do with the twins. They’re fine. They’re both fine.’

  ‘I just want to understand what’s going on, Caroline. Why would you think Brian had kidnapped your son?’

  ‘I told you, he met Ed and he – took him out for tea, and then he brought him home. Why does that matter? I miss Dave.’

  Caroline was clearly making up her story as she went along, but Geraldine was no closer to understanding why she would falsely accuse someone of abducting her son. She supposed Caroline was just falling apart after losing her husband, but the story of the kidnap didn’t sound right. If anything, Geraldine felt even more confused than she had done when speaking to Timothy.

  For all her desperation, Caroline clammed up when Geraldine attempted to quiz her more about the alleged kidnap. Unless she was prepared to talk, there was nothing much Geraldine could do. She couldn’t pursue a report of a kidnap when the person who had made the claim had retracted it. All the same, she had a feeling Caroline was hiding something. Other than suspecting it must be connected to Dave’s murder, Geraldine had no idea what it was, and she had no evidence that Caroline knew more about the murder than she was willing to say.

  She gave it one last go. ‘Unless you tell me what this is all about, I can’t help you.’

  Caroline raised stricken eyes, but shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she wailed. ‘There’s nothing more to say.’

  ‘So you’re telling me both your sons are at home now?’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Now for God’s sake, find out who killed my husband.’

  There was a desperation in her demand that was more complicated than grief. Caroline was frightened.

  37

  Brian was so upset by the whole episode, he could barely stand up. Afraid he might collapse, he sat in his front room, physically shaking with shock. A police constable had been to his house asking questions. If the boy had been there, the whole carefully constructed plot Brian had set in motion would have unravelled in front of his eyes. It had turned out to be a stroke of luck, the boy disappearing like that before the police came calling.

  His thoughts darted around wildly. Obviously Caroline had betrayed him. The constable had given some flimsy pretext for calling, pretending he was carrying out a house to house enquiry about the missing boy. He didn’t fool Brian. He knew they suspected him of hiding the boy. They must be watching him. If they found Ed before he did, Brian might never see him again. The thought brought tears of anger to his eyes. Clearly it was risky for the boy to carry on staying in his house. When Brian found Ed, they would have to move away. The police might be back at any time. It was a pity, because they were comfortable together in the house, where Ed even had a room all to himself. He liked that. It was a shame they couldn’t carry on living there.

  It was Caroline’s fault the police had called. He should have known she would be trouble. Women always were. Brian felt a brief flicker of pity for the woman who hadn’t seen her son for three days, but Caroline had another son. Brian had no one else. It wouldn’t be fair for Caroline to keep two boys for herself, when Brian didn’t even have one. In any case, she had forfeited her claim to the boy. She had failed to do what was necessary to earn him back. It had been left for Brian to finish the job himself. He had been happy to do that because it meant he could keep Ed for himself. So it had all turned out well in the end. He just had to wait for Ed to come home. If he didn’t, Brian knew where to find him. Next time, he wouldn’t let him go.

  Caroline was playing a dangerous game. It was because of her that Ed had run off by himself. He might be facing all sorts of hazards out on the streets alone. He was only a child. Caroline was crazy to let that happen. And Brian’s wife had accused him of being mentally disturbed. Caroline was the one who should be locked up, not Brian. He was the victim. Him and that poor boy who was all on his own. When Brian found him, he would never let him out of his sight again.

  He nearly didn’t answer the door when the bell rang that evening. He was afraid it was the police returning. Worse, it might be doctors come to take him away again. Last time that happened, his wife had driven him to the hospital herself. Like a fool, he had gone with h
er in the car. In all fairness, he hadn’t really understood what was happening. By the time he realised where he was, he had been too confused to protest. He still hadn’t forgiven his wife for standing by and watching while a softly spoken stranger had stuck a bloody great needle in his arm and explained calmly that he wouldn’t be going home for a while. He had no idea how long he had been sectioned in the hospital but gradually his thoughts had begun making sense, without the white hot anger that had sparked his incarceration. They called it treatment. Whatever else happened, he was never going back into a ward for mentally disturbed patients. He would rather die than return to that grey half-life. It had all been his wife’s fault. The bitch had deserved everything that had happened to her.

  The doorbell rang again. Peering out from the side of the curtains in the living room, he couldn’t see anyone standing on the doorstep. Whoever it was, they were hiding. It must be the police, come back to lock him up. His legs felt wobbly but he forced himself to clamber upstairs. By standing on a chair by his bedroom window, he was able to look down onto the front step. Cautiously he leaned forward, holding on to the window sill. Craning his neck he saw the top of the boy’s head. He leaped from the chair, knocking it over with a clatter. Leaving the chair, he raced downstairs, thrilled that the boy had come back to him, terrified he might reach the front door too late. If he let him disappear again, he would never forgive himself.

  He flung the door open, panting. The boy looked up at him with an anxious smile. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his cheeks flushed. He was soaking wet and had been crying. His lips quivered. Brian reached out and seized his arm, pulling him inside the house. Quickly he glanced over the boy’s shoulder, scanning the street outside. There was no one in sight, only empty cars. He closed the door and turned to the boy. First things first, he had to make sure the boy didn’t fall ill. It would be difficult explaining what he was doing there if he had to see a doctor.

  ‘You’re sopping wet. Go upstairs right now and have a hot shower. You can come down for supper in your new pyjamas. Bring your wet things down with you, and I’ll put them in the dryer.’