Blood Lines

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘So, tell me, you let yourself in with the key, didn’t you? You have a key to her flat.’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Mills said, almost indignantly. ‘Auntie Betty would never give anyone a key. She was a very private person. She wouldn’t have liked anyone to be able to go there when she wasn’t in.’

  ‘But you were – her nephew. Very close to her. Probably the person she loved most in the world.’

  ‘She still didn’t give me a key.’

  ‘So how did you get in, then? According to her tenants, she never answered the door at night.’

  ‘No, that’s right. If I wanted to visit her at night I always rang her from the nearest telephone box and said I was on my way, so she knew it was me.’

  Slider nodded. ‘And that’s what you did tonight?’

  ‘No! I didn’t go there tonight.’ Oh he was good, very good. Slider looked at the man he had once known so well, and his conviction faltered. Surely a man could not be so psychotic without something showing? ‘I didn’t kill her,’ Mills said. He sounded bewildered now. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here, boss, but you’ve got to believe me. I loved her. I wouldn’t hurt her. And I was home all evening. I never left my flat.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Watching telly.’

  ‘What programme?’ Mills hesitated and Slider hardened. ‘Come on, what programme?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember,’ Mills cried in a panicky voice. ‘I dozed off while I was watching. Some investigation programme – Panorama or something. About computers. I dozed off and when I woke up it was a film. I didn’t fancy it so I turned it off.’

  ‘Look, Steve, why don’t you tell me about it?’ Slider asked. ‘We know it was you. You were seen going to the house. She wouldn’t have opened the door to someone she didn’t know. She was killed by someone she offered tea to, someone she trusted enough to turn her back on.’

  He shook his head slowly, like an animal in pain. ‘Why would I kill her? Tell me that. Why on earth would I do such a thing?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Slider said wearily. ‘I wish I did. I hoped you might be able to tell me.’

  ‘I don’t understand any of this. Ever since I came back, everything’s been weird. You’ve got to help me, guv. They want to stick this on me. And the other business, at the Centre. But you know I didn’t do it. You know I didn’t.’

  ‘I wish I did.’ Slider closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Just imagine you did set out from your place tonight to walk to your aunt’s house. Which way would you go? Describe your route.’

  ‘I turn right out of the house, round the corner into Abdale Road,’ Mills said, rather surprised, ‘down Ellerslie Road, across into Halsbury, and then right into Ormiston Grove.’

  ‘You wouldn’t walk along Uxbridge Road, then, at any point?’

  ‘Well, no,’ Mills said, ‘because she lives nearer the other end, the Dunraven Road end. There’d be no need to touch Uxbridge Road. It’d be a longer way round.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Slider said. ‘I just wanted to be sure.’

  ‘I’m holding you personally responsible for this, Slider. It was on your recommendation that I didn’t act earlier. You were so sure your former colleague was innocent – and now look what’s happened.’

  ‘I’m not absolutely sure it was him,’ Slider said hesitantly, and against his will.

  Honeyman’s eyes bulged. ‘Not sure? He was seen going into the house. What more do you want?’

  ‘Being seen at the house doesn’t mean he was the murderer, sir.’

  ‘Then why does he deny it? If he was there for an innocent purpose, he’d say so.’ Honeyman shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Slider, I know how hard this is for you – a colleague, and particularly a close colleague from many years ago. I can see you’re genuinely confused, and I would be the same. It’s hard for all of us when one of our own goes astray. But that’s the more reason to have no mercy. If he did kill his aunt, he’s a very dangerous man. It was a frenzied attack, you know.’

  ‘He seems genuinely to believe what he says, sir—’

  ‘But that only makes it worse,’ Honeyman interrupted heatedly. ‘If he killed without remembering it, he might be subject to psychotic episodes. He could kill again. We can’t take the risk. Can’t you see the headlines, if we let him go and he struck again?’

  ‘Sir, if we charge him, it’ll be all over the papers, and he’ll never live it down. He may be innocent. All we’ve got is one witness who admits herself she only caught a glimpse of a man passing. Can’t we wait until we’ve got something more? He’s not trying to run away. He’s co-operating. He’s given intimate samples.’

  ‘For God’s sake, man, I’ve already given you time to clear him of one murder, and now I’ve got another on my hands. Do you want a bloodbath, is that what you want?’

  ‘His flat’s been searched – not a drop of blood anywhere, nothing on his clothes. And nobody saw him leave his house or re-enter it this evening.’

  ‘Negative evidence is no evidence,’ Honeyman said impatiently. ‘I agree with you we haven’t got a case against him yet, but the witness identification is enough to charge him. It’s up to you to get the rest. Someone will have seen him at some point on the double journey. The bag will turn up, the knife, the stained clothing. Until then, we can’t take any chances.’ He looked at Slider’s mute and puzzled defiance. ‘You’ve been up all night,’ he said quite kindly. ‘You’d better go home. Things will look clearer when you’ve had something to eat. Get a couple of hours’ rest, have a hot bath and a change of clothes. It’s going to be a long day.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Slider said. ‘Thank you.’

  Nice advice from one to whom the length of the day would be voluntary. He was tired, but not ready for sleep. He had far too much to do, anyway.

  Tufty telephoned. ‘I’ve got some news for you, my old banana. Are you ready for this? I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but those last blood samples you sent – I think I’ve got a match for you.’

  That was the Jimenez knife sample, and Mills’s blood. Slider had been expecting no match – hoping for no match? He sat down heavily. ‘Tell me the worst.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t you want it to be the same? Well, not to worry. The sample from the knife wasn’t good enough for me to go the whole way. There was a variant in the lysate EAP of both samples which is fairly rare – only five and a half per cent of the population – but even that gives you a pretty big leeway.’

  ‘Five per cent?’

  ‘Well, old boy, Tufty said cheerfully, ‘statistics is what you make ’em. If you wanted the match, you could say only five per cent and call it a practical certainty. If you don’t want it to be the same you can point out that five per cent of the population still gives you going on two and a half million bods to play with.’

  ‘What I wanted,’ Slider said, ‘was certainty one way or the other.’

  ‘Ah! Well, you’ll have to talk to God about that.’

  ‘What about genetic fingerprinting?’

  ‘I’ve sent the samples off for you already. You should have a result in about a week. But as I said, the sample from the knife wasn’t too hot. Don’t pin your hopes on it.’

  Slider went down to see Mills again. Now he didn’t know what to think. ‘Have you got a cut on your left thigh?’ he asked.

  ‘A cut? No sir,’ Mills said, too weary now to be much surprised by any question. He surveyed Slider’s face. ‘Do you want to see?’ He stood up and lowered his pants.

  ‘All right,’ said Slider. ‘Cover up and sit down.’ When Mills had complied, Slider said, ‘I’ve just got a few more questions for you.’ He looked at him carefully for a long time, and Mills did not look away. Though tired, he seemed eager to answer anything that was asked him. Eager to explain. ‘How did you like Don Giovanni?’ Slider asked suddenly.

  ‘What, Mozart? It’s not one I know very well,’ Mills said, and seemed a little embarrassed at admitting
it. ‘I like the lighter stuff, really. Puccini – the Three Tenors – you know, something with good tunes. But I like some Mozart. I saw The Magic Flute once—’

  Slider interrupted. ‘I meant the production of Don Giovanni at Glyndebourne,’ he said.

  ‘I haven’t seen it,’ Mills said, looking puzzled.

  ‘You were there. You were seen.’

  ‘Sir, I’ve never been to Glyndebourne,’ he said. When Slider didn’t respond he went on, ‘I’ve always wanted to. But it’s one of those things you plan for when you’re retired, isn’t it, like going on the QE2. I mean, you’d have to be rich and idle.’ Slider went on looking at him thoughtfully, a slight frown between his brows. Eventually, Mills said, ‘Would you mind if I had a smoke, guv?’

  ‘No. Go ahead.’ He watched absently as Mills dragged his cigarettes towards him, extracted one and lit up. Then he asked in a neutral voice, ‘You’re left-handed, aren’t you, Mills?’

  ‘Yes, sir. You know I am. Well,’ looking down at his own hands, ‘I suppose I’m ambidextrous really, but I write with my left hand.’

  ‘You perform delicate tasks with which hand?’

  ‘My left, probably, for preference.’

  ‘What about tasks needing strength? Right or left?’

  Mills shrugged. ‘It could be either. It would depend how I was standing, I suppose.’

  ‘So you could, physically, cut someone’s throat holding the knife in your right hand?’

  Mills looked sick. ‘Sir, I swear to you—’

  ‘Answer me!’

  ‘Yes, I could,’ Mills said with deep reluctance. ‘But then,’ he added defiantly, ‘you could do it with your left hand.’

  ‘True,’ Slider said. ‘The question is, would I?’

  ‘No more than I would.’ Slider was silent. Mills studied his face and experienced a slight dawning of hope. ‘Sir? Have you thought of something?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Slider said quickly. He got up. ‘Mr Honeyman wants you charged with the murder of your aunt. Is there anything you want to tell me, anything at all? Think, man!’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Mills said despairingly. ‘I didn’t do it. I was in all evening. What more can I say?’

  Slider nodded briskly and turned away.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  On a Clear Day You Can See Fulham

  He went back with Atherton to his house for breakfast. Atherton had a gentrified Victorian workman’s cottage on the Kilburn/ Hampstead border, two up, two down, and a tiny garden about ten foot square at the back which generally smelled of privet and cats, but today, in the early morning, had that airy, ozony smell of young days that are going to grow up to be hot. Slider sat by the open window with Oedipus kneading bread on his knees and purring like a JCB. Somewhere outside a sparrow was doing its best to be a skylark, and from somewhere inside the heartbreaking perfumes of fresh coffee and frying tomatoes came wafting sweetly over him. Slider felt his mind ticking like the metal of a cooling car, and knew he was in danger of drifting off, but he had promises to keep, and miles to go before he slept, and miles to go before he slept …

  The phone had rung, Atherton had answered, and was now saying, ‘It’s for you,’ over his shoulder as he hurried back to his kitchen. Slider removed fourteen stone of cat from his knee and staggered over to the phone.

  ‘Slider.’

  ‘So where were you all night?’

  Oh shit, Joanna. He’d forgotten her. ‘I should have phoned you, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Well, I think you should.’

  ‘But they told you where I was?’

  ‘Nobody told me anything. They rang me to find out where you were. And of course, I didn’t know.’ Her tone was reasonable, but he couldn’t help knowing she was batey.

  ‘There was another murder last night—’

  ‘It’s a bit late to tell me that now. I was worried about you. For all I knew, you could have been dead in a ditch.’

  He groaned. ‘Why do wives always say things like that?’

  ‘I don’t know about wives. I’ve never been one,’ she said tautly.

  ‘Sorry. But you know how it is. Don’t make a big thing out of it.’

  ‘I’m not making a big thing out of it.’ Now she was really trying to be reasonable. Probably the wives taunt, though tactless, had struck home. ‘I just think you could have let me know at some point that you weren’t coming home, or asked someone else to let me know. What do you have all those minions for?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, you’re quite right. I just forgot. I had a lot to think about.’

  ‘So I understand.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Jo, it’s my job. I always thought you could cope with my job.’

  ‘I do. I am.’ A pause. ‘After all, you have to cope with my job.’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’

  ‘Only that I’ve got to go now, and I’d hoped to see you again before I leave. I won’t be back tonight.’

  ‘Oh, Christ. Glyndebourne. I’d forgotten. Why can’t you come home tonight?’

  ‘It isn’t worth it. There’s an orchestra call tonight, and a rehearsal tomorrow morning. By the time I got home it’d be time to leave again.’ That was not strictly true, but as if she heard him think that, she added, ‘Besides, you don’t even know if you’ll be home.’

  ‘I probably will be. Well, at some point.’

  ‘You might be back, or you might not,’ she corrected. ‘I’m not doing all that driving just to spend the evening alone.’

  ‘Who are you going to spend it with, then?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she said irritably. He hadn’t meant anything in particular by it, he’d just been being smart, but her reaction immediately made him think of the Old Flame.

  ‘Will he be there? This Andrew person?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. Yes, of course he will. He’s doing Traviata.’

  ‘The whole thing? So you’ll be seeing a lot of him.’

  ‘Not really. He sits behind me. Look, Bill, this is stupid, I’m not going on with this. I’ve got to go, anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow – if you’re home.’

  ‘All right.’ He didn’t want them to part on a sour note. ‘Drive carefully.’

  ‘In Sussex? You betcha. Good luck with your case, Inspector.’

  ‘Good luck with your rehearsal.’ He was going to add, ‘I love you,’ but she had put the phone down. He stared at the receiver for a moment, wondering what the hell had got into him recently, why he was feeling so peculiar and suspicious. But was it all him? She seemed tense and irritable. Maybe something was wrong, and he was picking up subliminal signals.

  Atherton came through with plates. ‘Sit,’ he said, putting them on the table. He cocked an eyebrow at his boss. ‘Trouble at t’mill?’

  Slider gave him a weak smile. ‘I wish you hadn’t told me about the Other Man. Now I keep wondering.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t told you, too. Honestly, Bill, the woman’s nuts about you. She has eyes for no-one else. I should know.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Slider asked indignantly of his retreating back.

  In a moment Atherton came back with the coffee. ‘It’s just first-night nerves, that’s all,’ he said. ‘It’s a big step – for both of you. It’ll take time to get used to it.’ He nudged the plate in front of Slider. ‘Eat. You’re tired, your sugar levels are down, and you’re not thinking straight.’

  ‘My sugar levels can’t have been down continuously since Sunday.’

  ‘No, that’s just hormones,’ Atherton smiled. ‘If I were you I should just relax and revel in it. Feeling jealous is a luxury commodity, you know. You have to have someone, and be in love with them, to feel jealousy. When you live hand to mouth like me, you’d be grateful for a bit of it.’

  ‘You do talk such bollocks,’ Slider said, sitting down, but he felt comforted all the same. And the food revived him, so that he felt the renewed sensation of blood flowing about him, and the thoughts began to bub
ble up in his mind, like coffee percolating.

  With the plates pushed back and the second cups before them, they went over the case notes, the photographs and the transcriptions.

  ‘We’ve got to keep a grip on this,’ Slider said. ‘Try to look at it logically. Mills looks like a good suspect for Miss Giles, because of the witness ID and because he was the closest person to her. He doesn’t look quite such a good suspect for Greatrex, because we can’t find that he ever knew him, but there was still the witness ID, and Palliser says he saw him down at Glyndebourne, which Mills denies.’

  ‘As he would.’

  ‘Indeed. But I think whoever killed Miss Giles also killed Roger Greatrex.’

  ‘Because the MO is similar?’ Atherton said.

  ‘And because of the timing. Why else should she be killed, if it wasn’t something to do with the investigation?’

  ‘Beats the hell out of me. But it’s a short walk if that’s where you’re going.’

  ‘Bear with me. Greatrex was killed. Laurence Jepp was killed by the same method. Both had a Bible tract card on or near them, though Greatrex was lapsed Jewish and Jepp was a lapsed atheist. The fingerprint from the card was similar to Mills’s, although as Mr Honeyman pointed out, fingerprinting is not an exact science. There was also a query attempted attack on Christa Jimenez. These three had in common that they all had to do with the Don G production at Glyndebourne. Tufty says the blood on the knife with which Jimenez attacked her intruder is not incompatible with Mills’s. And Mills has no satisfactory alibi for any of the three times in question.’

  ‘Nor had I, for that matter. That’s the trouble with living alone,’ said Atherton. ‘Did Mills have a cut on his leg?’

  ‘I looked—’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘—but I couldn’t see anything. But the Jimenez incident was almost a week ago, and we don’t know how deep the cut was. It could have healed in that time.’

  ‘Without a trace?’

  ‘It’s possible. We might know more when the genetic test comes back.’

  ‘But meanwhile we’ve got to get on with what we’ve got. Why would Mills kill or attack all those people?’