A Shred of Evidence

by Jill McGown

  Kim frowned. “Who?” she said.

  “Mr. Murray,” she said.

  No, he wasn’t. He was nice. Kim shrugged.

  “Haven’t you noticed?” said the girl.

  “No,” said Kim.

  “He looks at you funny,” she said.

  “At me?” said Kim, astonished.

  “No! At everyone.”

  “Does he?” said Kim, disbelieving.

  “Well,” she said, “he was looking at me when he came in here. And Marian—she said he looked at her, too. And Debs says he stared at her in assembly this morning.”

  Kim sighed. This was bound to happen, she supposed, after something like this. They’d think men were following them home next. “Maybe he just fancies girls with long hair,” she said. “I’ve not noticed him looking at me funny.”

  Poor Mr. Murray.

  She hadn’t told Colin where she was.

  She had done this before; come here to think, when staying in the house had seemed impossible. The last time had been when she had found that letter.

  Erica felt the tears coming again, the tears that she had cried all night, and had controlled only once she was up by a considerable effort of will.

  She shouldn’t be doing this to him, not really. The police suspected him of murder, and he hadn’t killed the girl. Just had an affair with her. And now she had disappeared without telling him where she was. The police might think that he’d done away with her too.

  No. No, that was nonsense. They didn’t start accusing you of having done away with your wife just because she had gone out without telling you. But Colin would be worried. Half of her wanted him to be, but the other half knew it wasn’t fair to add to his problems, even if they were of his own making. The police must have found out that he’d been seeing Natalie, she thought, otherwise why would Sergeant Finch have been asking all those questions? Why would be have taken his running things away? It wasn’t anything she had said, even if Colin thought it was.

  Anyway, she wasn’t going to stay away, not like last time. She had just needed somewhere to go, somewhere quiet to think. She wouldn’t leave Colin wondering where she was. It wasn’t fair, leaving him alone like that this morning, really.

  But she had been alone, she thought, blowing her nose. She had been alone all summer while he must have been seeing that girl, every time he went to athletics meetings. Taking her with him, as likely as not. She had known there must be someone.

  She had known really, ever since the letter she had found at the end of last term, the one that said all those things about what they had done together …

  Had she been checking up on him when she had taken the dog to the Green? She didn’t know. She didn’t honestly know. But it didn’t take a genius to work out what had happened. Colin had heard Sherry bark, looked up and seen her, then had just taken off as fast as he could. He wanted her to face him with it so that he could try to convince her that she was mistaken.

  She wasn’t. She wasn’t, and she wasn’t going to give him the chance to deny it. He couldn’t deny it if he wasn’t even supposed to know it had happened.

  She stood up. She would go home now. Colin would have gone to work.

  “Colin Cochrane works here, doesn’t he?” asked Tom, settling himself down with a coffee in the staff room, which was occupied by a sole female, pretty and plump.

  “Yes” was the short, and, Tom felt, would-be dismissive reply.

  He wondered a bit about that. There was nothing the police had done to indicate that Cochrane was a suspect, unless he’d told them himself that they had removed his tracksuit and trainers for examination, which seemed a little unlikely. Not the sort of thing Cocky Colin Cochrane wanted to get into the papers, Tom was sure, however innocent he may prove to be.

  So why the hostility? It was there, quite definitely. Perhaps she just didn’t care for total strangers joining her on a free period that she had thought she would be spending in peace.

  “Tom Finch,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m a DS with Stansfield CID. We’re here about—”

  “I know why you’re here,” she said.

  Tom nodded. “The headmaster said I could get a cup of coffee in here,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me being here. But it’s thirsty work, interviewing.”

  “I fail to see what Mr. Cochrane has to do with your enquiry,” she said.

  “Oh, it was just that I met him last night,” said Tom. “It was his wife’s dog that—” He broke off. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being a bit insensitive. Did you know Natalie?”

  “She was in my biology class,” she said, softening slightly. “I didn’t know her particularly well, but obviously it’s been a terrible shock. I’m Mrs. Kane, by the way,” she added.

  “I’m sure you don’t need me rabbiting on about Colin Cochrane,” said Tom, picking up his mug, making as if to leave. “I just—you know. I’ve only seen him on the telly before.”

  “Please. Stay, if you want. It’s not your fault this terrible thing’s happened. I thought you’d been listening to school gossip, which is absolute nonsense. What did you want with Colin?”

  Gossip? Tom hadn’t heard any gossip, but the staff did seem to like Cochrane. Mrs. Kane obviously did, so he wouldn’t get told any rumours about him by her. He’d try the kids. A much better bet.

  “It must be funny, working with him,” he said, apparently quite uninterested in gossip.

  “Funny?” said Mrs. Kane.

  “Well, with him being famous, and all that. If I was him, I’d have packed all this in by now.”

  Mrs. Kane’s eyebrows rose. “Some people are dedicated to what they do,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Tom. “I suppose they are. The thing is, I’ve got a son—he’s six.” He delved into the wallet in which he really did keep a photograph of his children. “That’s him,” he said. “He’s really good at sport—better than you’d expect a kid that age to be. A lot better. I don’t know how young you should start them and I thought Colin might … I didn’t really get much chance to talk to him last night.”

  She sighed. “Any other day I would have said that you could catch him at lunch,” she said. “He lunches with me as a rule. But I think he may go home to see how his wife is.”

  Tom nodded. “Of course,” he said. “She was very shaken up.” He thought for a moment. “He doesn’t have lunch with his wife, then?” he asked. “She works here too, doesn’t she?”

  Mrs. Kane smiled. “No scandal, I’m afraid,” she said. “Erica prefers to bring sandwiches. The teachers are expected to eat with the pupils if they stay in school for lunch.”

  “Oh.” Tom smiled. “That’s what I call dedication,” he said. “No wonder Mrs. Cochrane prefers sandwiches.”

  Mrs. Kane smiled back. “Lunch can be a bit trying,” she said. “But Colin would be pleased to talk to you about your son, I know. It’s just I think he probably won’t be there today.”

  “He was saying last night that he’s moving up to long-distance running,” Tom said, with a hint of pride at his inside knowledge of the great man.

  “Yes, so I believe.”

  “Doesn’t always work, does it? If you’re used to middle-distance.”

  Mrs. Kane smiled. “Oh, Colin will try to see to it that it works,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone so determined. So disciplined.”

  Tom looked earnestly at Mrs. Kane. “How often does he do that run that he was doing last night?” he asked, awe-struck.

  “Three or four times a week at least.”

  Tom’s eyes widened. “That same run?” he asked. He outlined Colin Cochrane’s run, only to have Mrs. Kane join in with the last few stages.

  “He might not go as far out as that each time,” she said. “It depends how long a run he’s doing. He sets himself a time, you see, and the round trip must be completed in the time he’s set. I told you—he won’t give up once he’s got hold of something. But I don’t think he’s being very sensible.”<
br />
  “Do you think he’s overdoing it?”

  “He … he’s a bit obsessive about it, I think,” she said. “But then, he’s like that about everything. He’s one of these people who can’t just have an interest in something. He becomes hooked on it.”

  Tom finished his coffee. “Well … let’s hope he makes it,” he said, getting up and going to the door. “It would be a shame to see him retire from running altogether.”

  “I think he should,” said Mrs. Kane. “He’s not getting any younger.” She looked up at Tom. “He comes in here some mornings worn out,” she said. “I don’t honestly know why he’s doing it at all, but he does it too much too often, if you ask me.”

  Tom couldn’t but agree that he’d done it once too often now.

  Hannah strained to hear what the doctor was saying to her mother. She had been ill all night; her mother had found her being sick and had called the doctor first thing.

  “I think it’s just the shock, Mrs. Lewis,” he was saying.

  It wasn’t shock. It was fear. It was not being able to close her eyes without seeing Murray standing there holding Natalie’s shoes.

  “This is a very mild tranquillizer, just to help her get some sleep,” he said. “Just one now, and one this evening if you think she needs it.”

  Hannah began to cry at the mention of the word school. Silent tears, cried into her pillow. She couldn’t go to school; as long as she was here, she was safe. He didn’t know who she was, she was sure of that.

  “Once she’s had a sleep, and feels more relaxed, try and get her out into the fresh air,” said the doctor. “It can do her more good than I can. And try to make sure that she does go back to school soon. Tomorrow, maybe, or the next day. She’ll feel better when she’s talked about it to her friends.”

  No. No. They’d make her go back. But she couldn’t stay away for ever.

  Oh, God, what was she going to do?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lloyd was at the council depot when Judy arrived. Plan in hand, he was pacing out the distance between where Natalie Ouspensky had been found by Sherlock, and where she had been seen by Mrs. Cochrane. Where Sherlock had found the shoes, where her killer might have parked his car.

  “Why would he leave her shoes here?” he asked, by way of greeting.

  Judy still had no answer to that; she told him Freddie’s findings on the body.

  “Mm,” said Lloyd when she’d finished. “What are your thoughts?” he asked.

  Judy shrugged. “I haven’t really formulated any,” she said, and looked round.

  The Green looked different in the bright, warm sunlight. Last night the building had been black and sinister; today it was a council depot. The adventure playground had been traps for the unwary; today it was an arrangement of tyres and pipes and nets and ropes, perfectly obvious, perfectly innocent. The grass was quite long, and covered with clover and buttercups; the trees that ringed it were green and welcoming, not secret and shifting.

  But her notion of how it had been last night was coloured by the fact that it was where a body had been discovered; she tried to imagine it before then, before it had any ominous connotations. Moonlit. Quiet. A balmy evening, solitude.

  “She told Mrs. Cochrane to mind her own business,” said Lloyd. “And walked up there.” He strolled up towards the adventure playground, Judy following.

  “Let’s say she was here with someone,” he said. “What happened next?”

  Judy looked at him. “Freddie seems to think that she was just standing here talking to someone who suddenly cracked her head against the pipe, then raped and strangled her, not necessarily in that order,” she said.

  Lloyd’s eyes grew wide. “Freddie thinks that?” he said. “He must have been a great deal more forthcoming than usual.”

  He wasn’t half, thought Judy. Aloud, she said that he hadn’t really been himself. “He’s been given an ultimatum by Mrs. Freddie,” she said. “It’s murder victims or her.”

  Lloyd smiled. “And Freddie has, of course, chosen murder victims,” he said.

  “He hasn’t told her yet, but yes, he has. I don’t think he’s too cut up about it.” She looked sternly at Lloyd. “That wasn’t a pun,” she said.

  “Has he made a pass at you yet?” he asked with a smile.

  Judy sighed. “Why don’t you just get out your crystal ball, tell us who killed that little girl and save us all a lot of time and money?” she asked.

  Lloyd grinned. “It doesn’t work that way,” he said.

  “It was a very oblique pass, and he apologized for it this morning,” she said. “And I’m beginning to think I should take him up on it. At least he can’t read minds.”

  “It’s the Welsh wizardry,” said Lloyd, melodramatically. “You can have no secrets from me.”

  That was probably true, and something she preferred not to think about. “Well, anyway,” she said briskly, “that’s his theory, and if he’s right, then what happened next was an unprovoked attack, probably by a psycho.”

  “Well, since he’s obviously not going to say it this time, I’d better,” said Lloyd. “Theories always come to grief. And I’m going on the assumption, for the moment, that she knew her attacker.”

  Judy nodded. “I thought that last night,” she said. “But I’m not so sure now.”

  Lloyd shook his head. “She didn’t just stand there and talk to a total stranger,” he said. “Not here. Not at night. It’s too lonely. Too exposed. She was with someone she knew and trusted.”

  “Being with someone she knew and trusted doesn’t rule out his being a psycho,” Judy said.

  “I know,” said Lloyd. “But let’s assume consent, just for argument’s sake.”

  If the girl had consented to sex, then they would have wanted privacy, thought Judy. Mrs. Cochrane was around, and they would presumably have wanted to keep out of sight. There wasn’t a lot of choice, really. She looked at the pipe; that was where she had been found, where she had died. But it was hardly somewhere one would go from choice.

  “What do you think about in there?” she asked Lloyd, pointing over to it.

  “What do I think about it?” he asked, puzzled.

  “For somewhere to have sex,” said Judy.

  “Sure, if you want,” he said. “But I’d just as soon wait until we get home.”

  She hit him.

  “That’s a sackable offence,” he said.

  “Sorry, sir. But does it strike you as somewhere a girl like Natalie would agree to have sex?”

  He shrugged. “It would keep them dry if it started to rain, it’s hidden from view, it wouldn’t be any more uncomfortable than anywhere else. Why not? And what is a ‘girl like Natalie’? I think she might have been a bit hard to control, from what her mother said.”

  Perhaps. But Judy just couldn’t see Natalie agreeing to it; her background, her mother, her whole way of life seemed to argue against it. Natalie would like her creature comforts, Judy was certain. “I take it you don’t agree with Freddie,” she said.

  Lloyd shook his head. “Whoever it was beat her unconscious and strangled her. I don’t think that any intermediate or subsequent sexual assault would be non-violent in those circumstances.”

  Judy felt a little dubious about that. “It depends what sort of psycho you’ve got,” she argued. “Perhaps he just wanted her acquiescent.”

  “Perhaps,” said Lloyd. “But let’s say they were together. Why would it become violent?”

  He sat down near the middle of the see-saw, leaning on it and letting go, letting it rock up and down as he thought.

  “The attack has to have taken several minutes,” he said. “Which means that any preceding activity can’t have taken very long. Perhaps she said something disparaging about his technique.”

  Judy snorted. “If everyone whose girlfriend was less than complimentary about—” she began.

  “I know, I know,” he said, interrupting her. “We’d be knee-deep in corpses. But she presumab
ly did or said something to provoke him.”

  “But did she?” said Judy. “You’d expect there to have been shouting if he had got so angry with her that he did her that much damage. But no one heard anything at all.”

  Freddie could be right. Judy was no keener than Lloyd on the idea, but he could be right. Whoever she was with just … did it. Wanted her unable to resist.

  “How did you get on with Natalie’s mother?” she asked, not wanting to entertain Freddie’s theory right now. The physical evidence didn’t really suggest rape to her, either. And if Natalie had consented, then provoked him to violence, Judy wanted to know a lot more about her.

  Lloyd rocked up and down on the see-saw. “She started off saying that Natalia didn’t go with boys,” he said. “I had to tell her about her being on the pill so that she would give that up. Then she said that she had had a few boyfriends, but nothing serious.”

  Ah. Judy began to rethink Natalie. If her mother hadn’t wanted to admit to boyfriends, then presumably she didn’t think that Natalie had been settling for a goodnight kiss on the front porch. But that didn’t immediately bring you to having it off with someone in a surplus storm drain.

  “She had been wondering if Natalia had met someone special,” Lloyd went on. “Because she had been out a lot over the past six months. She has no idea who, though.”

  Judy frowned. “Why keep him a secret,” she said, “if she didn’t do that with the others? Someone Mother wouldn’t approve of?”

  “Black?” suggested Lloyd. “Asian? Only I didn’t get the impression that that sort of thing would bother Mrs. O. unduly.” He thought for a moment. “Someone a lot older than her?”

  “Married?” said Judy.

  “Married seems quite likely,” said Lloyd, pushing himself off the see-saw. “And perhaps it gives us a motive, if she was threatening to tell his wife, or whatever. And there’s the car … Much more likely, if it was a married man.”

  Judy had been having to accommodate the idea of a married man having an assignation with Natalie in that pipe, and that had seemed less likely than ever. But the car—yes. She was with him in the car, and they had a row.