Angela's Dead

by Lou Peters

  ‘Okay Rachel, don’t answer anymore questions, until we get a few answers of our own.’

  The inspector gave Jackie a look as if she might have been something nasty he’d inadvertently stepped into, and that he’d like to scrape off the bottom of his shoe. However, he failed to respond in any other way. The detective turned his face towards Rachel. She met his gaze. His eyes were startlingly blue, intense, unblinking and unnerving.

  ‘If you really want to know Miss Smith the true reason we’re here is because we’re in the process of investigating the brutal murder of Mrs. Montgomery. We’ve an eye witness statement to the affect that a man fitting the description of your boyfriend, Richard Johnson, visited the deceased in her home the day of her murder and as such may be the last person who saw her alive. As you can imagine, we’re as keen to find Mr. Johnson, as you are.’ He spoke the words without inflexion accentuating the seriousness of what he had to say, his eyes never wavering.

  ‘What...? When...? In Chester? That’s crazy, it’s just not possible... your witness must be lying, or mistaken. Richard Johnson and I have been living here for the past month. So detective inspector it couldn’t have been him that had seen in Chester.’ Rachel spoke the words with certain satisfaction. She took pleasure from thwarting the detective’s theory, putting an end to the nonsense he was spouting. Any momentary pleasure Rachel had felt was of a short duration. Her aching head was trying to process what the detective had been intimating, but more importantly, why. This was the very last thing she’d expected to hear. She thought the policemen had come to tell her Richard was dead, but involved in a woman’s murder. It didn’t make sense. Obviously it was a case of mistaken identity. It didn’t however, stop her heart hammering hard in her chest at these strange turn of events. Perhaps Rachel had, after all, ingested some kind of mind bending drug and this was all a bad dream. She would wake up in a moment to find Jackie and the policemen gone, replaced by Richard casually preparing lunch, smiling his crooked smile as he diced onions. However, her pain was to continue.

  No. Not in Chester, Miss Smith. Mrs. Montgomery had lived in that area until two years ago, before she relocated, like you and Mr Johnson, to Rasburgh village. It was in her home, in this locality. Less than a mile from where we are now seated. That she was brutally assaulted and died from her injuries, Wednesday the ninth of December two thousand and nine. The last day you claim you saw Richard Johnson at approximately nine thirty that same morning. After Mr. Johnson had advised you, according to the statement you gave to the police constable last evening, he had something he had to do and would discuss it with you later.’

  It was obvious the inspector was up to date with the details Rachel had given.

  ‘Are you still going to tell me Miss Smith, you didn’t know Ruth Montgomery, or that your boyfriend planned to visit her that day? Even though he’d admitted he was going to discuss it with you later.’

  She wasn’t sure where the detective inspector was going with this. Was he trying to implicate her in the woman’s death, as some sort of accomplice? ‘No, I’ve told you, I’ve never heard of the woman and I’m sure Richard didn’t know her either. It can’t be right, you must be mistaken. Richard would never raise his hand against a woman.’ She turned to her best friend sitting alongside her. ‘Tell them Jackie. Explain to them what Richard was like.’

  At that moment Jackie was being unusually reticent. Understandably, her friend was as shocked as she was to hear these astounding conjectures. Her silence, however, was only adding speculation as to Richard’s guilt.

  ‘Jackie.’ She pleaded, not understanding why she was holding back.

  Finally Jackie broke her silence, ‘yes Rachel... Miss Smith’s right, Richard Johnson wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  ‘We’re not talking about a fly here, Miss ...’

  ‘Riley,’ Jackie repeated her surname, scowling at the inspector as she did so.

  ‘Miss Riley,’ he repeated after her. He once again turned his focus on to Rachel, his blue eyes daring her to lie. ‘Has Mr. Johnson ever threatened you Miss Smith, or shown any tendency towards violence?’

  ‘No of course not, I’ve just told you. Richard’s a kind, gentle man… The sort of man it’s impossible to argue with.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d agree with that. I’d told her it wasn’t normal never to argue,’ Jackie butted in, this time without a trace of hesitation.

  ‘Thanks Jack, so nice to have your support’.

  ‘Sorry, only telling it like it is.’ She had the grace to look shamefaced, but she wasn’t forgiven as easily as all that.

  ‘Can you be a little more expansive? When you say it’s impossible to argue with Mr. Johnson what exactly do you mean?’ The blonde haired giant spoke for the first time. A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his wide mouth, making Rachel more willing to respond to him, rather than to his sour faced colleague.

  ‘I’m not sure… it’s just, he’s a reasonable guy, laid back, you know. He can always see the other side and compromise.’

  Walters thought the man sounded too good to be true. He wondered if pushed too far, whether Johnson would snap and lash out uncontrollably. And was that what could have happened in the case of Mrs. Montgomery?

  ‘Can I ask you; have you’ve ever been to the outdoor market at Boynton?’ The words were spoken in the same gentle, encouraging tone.

  ‘Yes, detective sergeant, a couple of times.’

  ‘And were you there on Tuesday morning?’

  ‘Yes I was; the place was packed.’

  ‘Was Mr. Johnson with you?’ The inspector interjected, putting Rachel on her guard all over again.

  ‘Why?’ Rachel hesitated to answer. Not sure if she would be incriminating Richard with her response.

  ‘Just answer the detective inspector’s question Miss,’ Cooper quietly urged.

  With reluctance Rachel admitted he had. ‘Okay so we went to the market together, so what. It’s no big deal. With us both out of work at the moment, until Mr. Johnson can get his landscape business up and running, we’ve done everything together since moving here.’

  ‘Well, that’s not entirely true, is it Miss Smith, how about Wednesday morning?’

  ‘I’m telling you it couldn’t have been Richard who killed that woman, it just couldn’t. It’s crazy to even consider the possibility.’ Why was nobody listening to what she was saying? She couldn’t take much more of this. Not knowing where Richard was or what might have happened to him. Now she’d learnt he was wanted in connection with a murder inquiry. It was all too surreal. If what these men were suggesting was correct, then for the last two years she’d shared her bed with a murderer and that was the most unbelievable thing of all. Rachel refused to believe it.

  ‘Would anyone like a coffee?’ Jackie chirped in, attempting to end the deadlock that seemed to have descended around the table.

  Nobody responded.

  ‘Okay, I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ she said, despite the indifference to her request. The leg of her chair scraped noisily against the red floor tiles, as she hauled herself to her feet. The sound, at that moment, seemed to intensify the silence in the room.

  Rachel mulled things over in her tired and confused mind, trying to infuse some clarity. Could Richard have been having an affair with someone in the area? The true reason why he’d needed so desperately to buy the cottage. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, as she continued wondering where this chain of thought would eventually lead her. A married woman perhaps, whom Richard couldn’t bear to be apart from and Rachel had been a mere addition. Someone he had brought along to act as a smokescreen. Jealousy like a physical pain gnawed away at her insides. It didn’t make sense, and that was what she was trying to do, make some sense of it. Richard was a considerate and unassuming man. So was Doctor Crippen, and look what he got up to. The small voice inside of her head once again chirruped unhelpfully. Maybe the husband had found out about the secret affair, killed his wife in a rage and was now trying to
frame Richard. Or maybe he’d found them together and murdered them both. Seemed more likely of the two scenarios, but why hadn’t they found Richards body at the scene? Common sense intervened. When would Richard have had the time for this long distance love affair? He and Rachel had been almost inseparable since the day the two had met. There had been none of the little tell-tale signs. No niggling doubts, or hurriedly finished telephone conversations as soon as Rachel had entered the room. No week-ends away without her, and no wrong numbers when she’d been the one to pick up the phone. Rachel felt nauseous. She just wanted to go to bed, bury her aching head under the duvet never to surface again. The sound of the inspector’s voice roused her from her contemplations.

  ‘I understand this must be distressing for you, Miss Smith, but as you can imagine we do need to be able to move forward quickly with our enquiries and it’s necessary you respond truthfully to our questions. Bearing that in mind, I would like you to think carefully over the events of Tuesday morning while you and Mr. Johnson were in Boynton. Can you recall Mr. Johnson interacting with anyone, other than yourself that day?’

  ‘No I can’t.’ Rachel said flatly. ‘Not unless you call putting coins into a Salvation Army collection tin, or ordering a meal at the Fox and Grapes, as interacting.’

  ‘How about that woman you’d told me about, in the market?’ Jackie had resumed her seat at the table, as if making a point, a steaming mug of coffee for one grasped in her fist.

  Rachel noticed the men steal a quick glance at one another.

  ‘What woman would that be?’ The detective inspector asked almost nonchalantly, as though this titbit of news was of no real interest to him.

  However Rachel wasn’t fooled, although it wouldn’t be of much interest to the inspector because the woman in the market had been old and white haired. Not a vibrant sex goddess. She’d thought she’d just talked herself out of that scenario. But a fragment of doubt remained, probably due to issues she had of her own self worth and nothing to do with Richard.

  ‘Oh, it was nothing. I’d almost forgotten the incident, until my friend here, just reminded me.’ She gave Jackie a glare, her meaning clear. Thanks for complicating things, pal. ‘Some old woman fell over in the market that was all. To be honest, I’m hardly surprised the amount of people that were there, pushing and shoving. I was only glad the kids hadn’t broken up from school yet. Otherwise, it would have been bedlam... Richard went to her assistance. He picked up the woman’s bag, made sure she was alright.’

  ‘What did they talk about?’

  It seemed a strange question. But everything about that morning since the arrival of the two men had been strange. ‘It was hardly a conversation. I don’t know what was said, I was out of earshot.’

  ‘You, didn’t go to the woman’s assistance?’

  ‘No. I stood a few feet away, waiting for Richard. There were other people fussing around her, so I left them to it.’

  ‘How long was Mr. Johnson talking to the woman? And was their conversation animated that you could see?’

  Seconds ago Rachel had told them it wasn’t a conversation, as such, but what difference did that make. The policemen weren’t about to listen to her opinion. They only wanted to put their own slant on things. ‘I suppose they talked for a couple of minutes, not much more, and it was the normal, are you okay sort of thing.’

  ‘How could you tell what was said, when you’ve already told us you weren’t near enough to hear?’

  ‘This is getting ridiculous. Because, I’ve got eyes in my head, okay...? Why? Why can this miniscule incident be of the slightest importance to you? Wouldn’t you be better occupied trying to find my boyfriend, so that you can cross him off your list of suspects?’ Rachel’s comment was scathing, having had just about enough of these two, grim and grinning faces, in one form, or the other, looming at her. Firing questions at her over her own kitchen table, totally ignorant of her own concerns. After the event, after you’ve let off steam, you wonder why you try to trivialise things, when you have no idea what the consequences will be. Sometimes, you’re doomed just by opening your mouth.

  ‘Because, Miss Smith. That old woman in the market place was Ruth Montgomery.’

  Of course she was. That’s what the detectives had been leading up to all along. The policemen couldn’t have just come out and said so upon their arrival. No, that would have been too straightforward. The officers had to play the game by their rules. Act out the charade. Have Rachel say emphatically, that Richard did not know and had never met the woman, only for them to prove her a liar.

  However, Rachel had to admit she was relieved Richard hadn’t been having sexual relations with someone else. Not that deep down she’d really though he had. Rachel had been a slow starter and when the couple had finally consummated their love, he’d been her first. Most of her peers had lost their virginity while still at the comp. Or not long after, but Rachel had never allowed herself to get into that situation. At the back of her mind she’d always been concerned about what her dad would’ve thought had he still been around. His untimely death had really fucked her up. There had never been any pressure with Richard; being older he’d been patient with her. Waited, until the time had been right, only then had he eased her gently into her own journey of self discovery. If the man had betrayed her, it would’ve been huge. Rachel would’ve never have been able to forgive him, or herself, for putting all of her trust in him. Under Richard’s gentle hands, Rachel had opened up like a flower to the sun, his green fingers working their magic on her as if she’d been one of his tender young seedlings. And this was the man the police officers were trying to convince her had brutally murdered an old lady. It hadn’t happened.

  But then the facts stared her in the face, twisting the knife in her gut. Rachel mentally ticked them off in her mind, as though they were items on a shopping list. Richard was missing. The old woman he’d helped on Tuesday was murdered the following day. He’d been preoccupied since the couple had returned from Boynton and before, if she was truthful with herself. Rachel had noticed the man’s preoccupation, while the two had been having lunch in the pub. And finally, a witness had seen Richard enter Ruth Montgomery’s house on the day she’d died. What was it all about? How was she going to make any sense of it? And another thing, Richard’s passport was missing, but she wasn’t about to reveal that piece of information to the police. Or, to Jackie come to that.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Late Friday Morning 11 December 2009

  Walters had successfully managed to avoid Superintendant Bowden-Smythe over the past nineteen hours. Mainly thanks to Bradley Purvis’s eye witness report claiming his prior attention. Also, a chance encounter at the police station and the putting of two and two together by Cooper had led them away from the station as they’d followed up other channels of enquiry. Therefore Walters had been prevented from presenting the written report to the “super” in the time scale originally requested. As it turned out, if Walters had followed instructions, it would have been a complete waste of his time. Superintendent Bowden-Smythe and his wife were somewhere in air space, around thirty six thousand feet above the earth heading for Amsterdam to catch a connecting flight to Thailand. Three weeks in the land of smiles, in celebration of the couple’s silver wedding anniversary. The unexpected good news hit him as he walked into the station. Passing through into the empty corridor Walters had raised his eyes heavenwards, his hands clasped before him in prayer. ‘Thank you God. Thank you so very much.’ Dropping his hands he carried on towards his office. ‘The old bastard kept that quiet,’ he grumbled to himself as he walked. ‘Making me sweat for nothing, he wouldn’t even have been around to read the damn report had I had the time, or motivation, to produce it.’ He was fuming. Walters considered that maybe it was a good idea to stop talking to himself. If overheard, people would think he’d gone totally off the rails. His sympathies firmly lay with Pamela Bowden Smythe, a rather placid little woman. Walters couldn’t imagine how anyone could’v
e put up with that miserable old sod for the last twenty five years. The woman deserved a medal, never mind a bloody holiday.

  As a precaution against receiving an ear bashing from the superintendent, Walters had switched off his mobile the previous evening. Fumbling in his jacket pocket he switched it back on. To his relief he’d had no new messages or texts overnight. He slipped the neat black oblong back into his pocket. Walters couldn’t quite believe his good luck with the case so far and hoped it would continue. He realised in the scheme of things, they were no nearer to solving the case. No clue as to the possible motive for the murder. When Bradley Purvis had been confronted with Johnson’s photograph there had been not a second’s hesitation in pronouncing the man as the same person he’d seen on Mrs. Montgomery’s doorstep the day of her murder. It was of paramount importance they apprehend Johnson as soon as possible and bring him in for questioning. In an ideal world Walters would have the case solved and tied up in a pretty blue ribbon before Bowden bloody Smythe returned. Walters didn’t need his every move monitored and double checked. He knew the “super” had lost confidence in him, thought he was heading for a breakdown, had said as much on more than one occasion. But Walters would show him. Show all the doubters, he was still up to the job.

  Walters had a gut feeling that Johnson may have returned to more familiar territory. At any rate he was certain the man would have already left the area. If he was the perpetrator, why hang around to be caught? It was possible the missing man could have headed across the country to the south east, to become one of thousands. Lost in the anonymous crowded Christmas streets of London, but Walters didn’t think so. He would consult with Cooper but he’d already decided the next step in the investigation would be to visit the North West. Walters needed to act on the list of contact details which Richard Johnson’s girlfriend, had with great reluctance handed over to the officers when they’d visited her at River Cottage. Interview those people who had commissioned Johnson to do work. Walters hoped to build up a more rounded image of the man they were looking for. Ascertain what the real Johnson was like and not the mushy image Rachel Smith had served up to the detectives like a steaming plate of dog crap. Perhaps trace the young squaddie who for a time had worked with Johnson, and get his opinion of the man. There was nothing like speaking to a past employee to get a truthful response on the employer. In the meantime, the search for Johnson would continue here, despite his and Cooper’s absence.