Killer Plan

by Leigh Russell

  ‘You must have known your husband was unfaithful.’

  Eve stared straight at her, unblinking. ‘Was he? That’s an extremely nasty rumour to go spreading around about a man who can’t answer for himself.’

  ‘It’s more than a rumour. How did it make you feel?’

  ‘Your opinion of my husband is of no interest to me. It’s not your place to spread gossip and lies. I don’t want to hear it. For the purposes of your elimination process, I didn’t kill my husband in a jealous rage. Why would I have done? He wasn’t unfaithful. We were happily married. I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill that other man; in fact, I’m sorry to disappoint you if you’ve got it into your head that I’m a serial killer, but I haven’t killed anyone. Now, get out of my house.’

  Geraldine wanted to ask her why she had lied about Nick staying out the night before he was killed, but there was no point. She could only challenge Eve by admitting how she herself knew Nick hadn’t been home that night. Even if she established Nick’s whereabouts, Eve would claim ignorance. She could easily say she had fallen asleep and not realised he hadn’t been home that night. Or she might accuse Geraldine of lying, and complain about her. Geraldine turned to a different line of enquiry.

  ‘A ten-year-old boy has disappeared.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but it has nothing to do with me. I’d like you to leave.’

  There was no reason for Geraldine to stay. If Eve was innocent as she claimed, then she would be quite within her rights to report Geraldine for inappropriate conduct, knowing that Reg would listen sympathetically to her. She could dress it up as harassment or something. But Geraldine couldn’t shake off the suspicion that Eve was guilty of killing Nick. Her alibi gave it away. That, and the fact that she lied about Nick’s infidelity. She had to have known about it. But Geraldine couldn’t accuse Eve of lying without admitting her own relations with Nick. She wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk. Not for the first time, she bitterly regretted the night she had spent with Nick.

  71

  Geraldine wasn’t on duty on Sunday but she drove to the office to discuss her theory with Reg, judging it better to approach him face to face. He wasn’t in a good mood. Nevertheless, she broached the subject of her suspicions concerning Eve Williams. Reg listened without interrupting, a strained expression on his face.

  ‘You think she’s guilty because she has an alibi?’ he repeated, a quizzical frown on his face.

  ‘I checked her alibi. It doesn’t stack up.’

  ‘Well, alibis aren’t always watertight. Plenty of innocent people don’t have alibis at all. A dodgy alibi means nothing. It’s certainly not evidence of guilt.’

  ‘Eve’s visits to her aunt were often infrequent, but she went there five times in three weeks, and two of her visits were at the times Dave and Nick were murdered. It can’t be coincidence…’

  ‘Well, it can be, and it clearly is. Coincidences are not as rare as you might think.’

  ‘Plus we know she lies.’

  ‘Indeed?’ He raised his eyebrows.

  Ignoring the menace in his tone, Geraldine ploughed on. ‘Eve insists Nick was faithful to her.’

  ‘And for all we know he was.’

  ‘He wasn’t.’

  ‘You mustn’t believe all the tittle tattle you hear around the station.’

  Geraldine bit her lip.

  ‘You do realise what you’re accusing her of?’ he asked.

  ‘I realise I’m suggesting that Nick’s wife may have killed two men, including Nick.’

  Her voice wobbled at the end of the statement. Reg looked at her thoughtfully. She thought he was about to say something, but he appeared to think better of it.

  ‘You really think she climbed out of the window of the home where her aunt is living, drove all the way to Finchley, and West Hampstead, on two separate occasions, killed two men, on two occasions, and drove back to her aunt’s home, all without anyone seeing her?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. When stated so baldly, the idea sounded unlikely. ‘All I’m saying is that it’s feasible. Not only would it have been physically possible, but she went to the home on both evenings, providing herself with an alibi for the times of both murders, although she hadn’t previously visited her aunt that often.’

  Reg frowned. ‘Well, I can see why you might find that suggestive,’ he conceded.

  Expecting strident opposition to her suggestion, Geraldine was relieved.

  ‘We need to proceed carefully,’ he warned her. ‘Officers higher up the chain than me knew Nick, and would have known his wife too. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’

  Geraldine suppressed a flicker of unease, wondering whether Reg was actually giving any credence to her theory. He might be putting on a show of taking her seriously when he was really only concerned to keep her quiet. She waited for him to tell her to leave it to him, but he didn’t.

  ‘Look into it if you must, Geraldine, but be discreet. And don’t mention it to anyone else, least of all to Eve herself.’

  Geraldine nodded. Her head was spinning. She decided it might be best not to admit that she had already as good as accused Eve to her face of murdering Nick. What she really needed was a break from the investigation. It was so hard to tell whether her suspicion of Eve was based on professional instinct, or personal resentment.

  Leaving the police station, she set off on the drive to Kent, to visit her sister. Every few weeks, Celia liked to make a Sunday roast with all the trimmings. It made for a pleasant family get together. Geraldine couldn’t always make it, but she tried to go there once in a while.

  ‘I know you’re busy,’ Celia complained, prompting Geraldine to promise to take her niece out for the day as soon as she could.

  ‘No, let’s make it a weekend.’

  Geraldine responded with her own stock response to Celia’s habitual grouse. ‘I promise I’ll take her out for the day as soon as this investigation’s finished. No, let’s make it a weekend. I’ll take her to the coast. She’d like that. Somewhere nice. Bournemouth or Brighton or somewhere.’

  Celia grinned, caught up in Geraldine’s transient excitement. A weekend at the seaside with her niece would be fun, and Chloe would certainly remember it.

  ‘You promise?’ Celia repeated.

  ‘I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  ‘Don’t say that, please,’ Celia pleaded, with a mock shudder.

  Geraldine laughed. She was forever reassuring her sister that being a detective inspector was nowhere near as dangerous as it appeared on detective series on the television.

  ‘Are you going to stay a detective all your life? Can’t you at least tell them you need more time off?’

  Geraldine squirmed. ‘It doesn’t work like that. If I’m on a case, I have to be there. I have no choice.’

  She didn’t add that more often than not it was her own decision to work overtime. When someone had been murdered, investigating their unlawful death took priority for Geraldine over every other possible consideration.

  ‘If there’s someone walking around who’s committed a murder, they have to be arrested and locked up. It’s not just a question of justice, retribution and all that, but we have to protect everyone else. Otherwise the streets wouldn’t be safe for anyone. Killers would rule society.’

  ‘As opposed to politicians? How can you tell the difference?’

  They both laughed.

  ‘It’s my job to catch killers, not politicians,’ Geraldine insisted firmly, but she was smiling.

  Celia took her for a stroll around the garden while Chloe was on the phone to a friend.

  ‘All we’ve done is talk about me,’ Geraldine said. ‘What about you? How are you feeling?’

  ‘Excited, scared, and sick!’

  ‘But everything’s all right?’

  ‘Everything’s fine. We want to call the baby after mum, if it’s a girl.’

&nbs
p; Geraldine smiled. Celia was so predictable. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea.’

  ‘Oh good. Only I didn’t want to use mum’s name without checking you were OK with it.’

  ‘Of course I am. It was nice of you to ask, but this is your child we’re talking about. Anyway, I’m fine with whatever you want to do.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Geraldine smiled. ‘Don’t start going all weepy on me just because you’re pregnant.’

  Celia laughed, her eyes shimmering with tears.

  ‘I said don’t,’ Geraldine repeated with mock severity.

  Admiring Celia’s swelling belly, she wondered what she would have done if she had fallen pregnant after her one night with Nick. She shook her head as though to bat the thought away.

  ‘What about you?’ Celia asked. ‘How are you, I mean really?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine.’ Another lie.

  Before Celia could respond, Chloe came running out of the house. ‘Mum! Mum! Stephanie says I can go to her house after school tomorrow.’ She ran up and flung her arms around her mother. ‘Please let me go.’

  Without warning, Geraldine thought of Ed. She felt as though she had been hit in the guts.

  72

  Brian had been gone for ages and ages. Ed didn’t understand why he had stayed away for so long. He guessed Brian was punishing him for wanting to go home. It reminded him of how his father used to send him to his room when he misbehaved, except that there had been a light in his room, and he could play on his Xbox to pass the time. Not only that, he could have opened the door and gone out onto the landing at any time, if he had dared. He might have ended up in even worse trouble with his father, but at least his father had never locked him in his room. Thinking about his father made him want to cry. It was even worse when he thought about his brother. He missed Matt more than anything. They had never been separated before. He felt as though he had lost a part of himself. He couldn’t help missing his mother as well. The thought of her made him want to cry all over again, but he managed to restrain himself.

  He had cried so much lately, his head hurt and his eyes were sore. If he cried any more he was afraid he would damage his eyes. He might already have gone blind. He switched the torch on and turned it off again almost straight away. If the battery failed, he would be completely helpless. There was nothing to see down there anyway, just the bed and the stairs, and the foul bucket that made the place stink worse than the toilets at school. The smell made him feel sick. His mother always nagged him and Matt to wash their hands after going to the toilet. For once, he wished he could.

  He lay perfectly still on his bunk, thinking. His supply of food was nearly all gone, so Brian would have to come back soon. Brian might be mean, but he wouldn’t leave him there to starve. He had taken him to the seaside, and was protecting him from bad people who had killed his father. Brian was his friend. Yet he had locked him in the cellar. That was a very mean thing to do. It was very confusing. One thing was certain, it was horrible being shut up in the dark. He couldn’t stay there much longer. It would drive him nuts. Rather than stay locked up in the dark he was prepared to take his chances out on the street. He would just have to hope his enemies didn’t find him before he found his way home to his mother. Meanwhile, he had to think of an escape plan.

  Switching on the torch he climbed cautiously up the stairs and examined the door. It had no handle, and no keyhole. Gripping the torch in his left hand, he placed his right hand flat against the smooth surface of the door. He pushed gently at first, then with sudden force. The door didn’t budge. He put the torch down very carefully at his feet and gave the door a shove with the heels of both hands. Still it didn’t move. He tried again and again. He was crying now. With sudden rage he kicked the door with one foot and only managed to jar his ankle painfully. Next he tried putting his shoulder against the door and pushing. Although he knew it was futile, he had to try everything. The door didn’t even quiver.

  Even though he hadn’t expected the door to open, he was bitterly disappointed. He was no more trapped than he had been a moment before, but he had been clinging to a desperate optimism. Now even that glimmer of hope had gone. The cellar was like a cupboard. Once the door was shut, it couldn’t be opened from the inside. He might as well be locked in a prison cell. But two could play at that game. Slowly a plan began to take shape in his mind. The next time Brian opened the door, Ed would be waiting for him at the top of the stairs. He would trip Brian and send him hurtling down the steps. As he fell, Ed would dash out and slam the door behind him, leaving Brian in the cellar. See how he liked being locked up in the dark. It would serve him right. After that all Ed had to do was find a phone and call 999. It was so simple. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before.

  By the light of the torch he studied the narrow area in which he was confined. There were some empty wooden crates stacked in one corner. Next to them was the stinking bucket, and beside that some boxes of cereal Brian had left for him. To begin with Ed had enjoyed scoffing handfuls of dry coco pops and sugar puffs, but after a while their sweetness made him feel sick. The rolls Brian had left him were too stale to bite into, and he had finished the store of cheese and apples. There were several large bottles of lemonade left, but he was sick of drinking it. He had to force himself to swallow the sugary liquid.

  His watch said ten o’clock, but he didn’t know if it was ten in the morning or ten in the evening. He felt as though he had been there all his life. All he could do was cling to his plan. There was nothing else he could do. Reluctantly he switched off the torch and settled down to wait.

  73

  At first Caroline had resisted the suggestion that they film a reconstruction of Ed’s last known movements. No one in Morrisons could recall whether Ed had arrived at the shop on the day he disappeared, and one of the CCTV cameras in the shop wasn’t working, so that was inconclusive. Reg was keen to broadcast an image of him walking along The Ridgeway, crossing at the lights, going into the local Morrisons, and returning home again. With an identical twin, it would be easy to recreate the scene. Reg did his best to convince Caroline this was the best way of seeking to establish Ed’s whereabouts. She was reluctant to go along with the suggestion, which would see Matthew retracing his brother’s last known footsteps. At last she caved in. If filming Matthew might help rescue Ed, they had to go ahead.

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ Geraldine told Matthew. He stared at her, white-faced. ‘We can find another boy who looks like Ed.’

  ‘I’m the only one who looks like him.’

  ‘Of course you are, but we can find another boy who looks similar, if you don’t want to do this.’

  ‘If it helps get Ed back, then I want to do it,’ he insisted, his face rigid with determination.

  During the filming Geraldine watched Caroline tremble as her son appeared around the corner. Matthew’s face was unnaturally pale in the bright lights. He looked very small and very frightened. Holding himself upright, he marched like an automaton, his arms swinging stiffly. His eyes swept across the spectators, pausing only when he saw his mother, who let out a low moan. As he marched past, one of her hands jerked forward in an involuntary movement. It wasn’t clear which of her sons she was reaching out for. As soon as the filming finished, she bent over, as though doubled up in physical pain. Matthew went and stood beside her, scuffing the ground with the toe of one shoe. After a moment, he reached out and patted her awkwardly on the arm.

  ‘You can stop crying now, mum,’ he said. ‘We’ve done it, so they’ll bring Ed home soon.’

  The broadcast provoked a flurry of phone calls. More people claimed to remember seeing Ed on the day he disappeared than could possibly have been on that street that day. Several callers claimed to have seen the boy being bundled into cars of different makes and colours, but no one had thought to record the registration number. There were conflicting descriptions of men and women allegedly dragging the boy off the street. After a few hours the calls t
ailed off. They had resulted in no useful leads.

  Geraldine wasn’t sure what to do next. The investigation seemed to have reached an impasse. They were sitting around waiting for further results from forensic tests of fibres and fabrics, analysis of scenes of crimes and reports on CCTV. Hours and hours of film had been closely scrutinised. Rob’s blue van had been sighted driving along Ballards Lane, close to where Caroline and Brian lived, but not all the traffic cameras were working, so they could only establish its presence in the area. It couldn’t be placed at any specific address at the time Rob was killed.

  ‘What’s the use of all these fucking cameras when they don’t bloody work,’ Reg fumed.

  Halfway through the morning Reg summoned Geraldine to his office where he warned her off questioning Eve again.

  ‘You upset her,’ he said heavily, gesturing to Geraldine to take a seat. ‘Keep away from her from now on. Unless you come up with some real evidence, you have to drop this. She’s threatening to make a formal complaint against you for harassment. She doesn’t need this right now, Geraldine, and nor do you, and frankly, nor do I.’

  Geraldine couldn’t argue with him. He was right. She didn’t have any evidence to substantiate her suspicions of Eve. With no other leads, Geraldine took Max with her to speak to Caroline. After that they were going to question Rob’s father again to see if he could shed any light on the connection between his son and the twins. The missing boy was the priority right now.

  Caroline didn’t look surprised to see Geraldine and her sergeant again so soon. She didn’t recognise Robert Wright’s name.

  ‘He’s been murdered, and we think he may have known one or both of your sons.’

  Caroline shook her head, her expression blank.

  ‘We discovered a few flecks of your son’s dandruff on Robert Wright’s body suggesting they were in the same room at some point. That doesn’t mean your son was in contact with the dead man after his death, of course,’ she added untruthfully. ‘Are you sure you don’t know Robert Wright? That’s Wright with a W.’