by H. Y. Hanna
I shrugged. “She could just be telling the truth, couldn’t she?”
“Yes, she could… but what I find interesting is that she was so vague about the actual route of her walk, and yet she was adamant that she wasn’t near Magdalen Bridge.”
“What’s so strange about that? I mean, it’s easier to know for certain that you weren’t somewhere. It’s like, you might not be sure which is your favourite cake but you know for sure you don’t like carrot cake.”
“Perhaps…” Devlin conceded. “But I’ve had a lot of experience interviewing people now and I can tell you something: Miriam Hopkins was lying about where she went that morning.”
I shifted uncomfortably. The thought of Miriam being dishonest made me uneasy. But I knew that Devlin was a shrewd detective and I trusted his instincts. If he said Miriam was lying, then he was probably right.
“She’s not your only suspect though, is she?” I said. “I mean, what about Tanya? Maybe she’s trying to make Miriam the scapegoat.”
Devlin raised his eyebrows. “You think the girl did it herself?”
“Well, she would have been in the best position to do it—she was standing right next to the victim.”
“Yes, but that would have been a bit of a stupid thing to do, wouldn’t it? Stab your boyfriend in public in broad daylight? Surely, if she wanted to get rid of him, there were other more discreet ways she could have done it?”
“Yes, but you weren’t there that morning—you don’t know what it was like, Devlin. You say ‘in public’ but actually it would have been the easiest thing to stab someone in that crowd. We were all jammed together like sardines and the whole street was crammed head-to-head with people. We were standing so close together that you couldn’t see where people’s hands were or anything—all you could see was a sea of heads in front of you, behind you, and around you. And everyone was jostling and shuffling and moving around. So if someone stabbed you from behind, then turned and slipped away through the crowd, nobody would even notice until it was too late.”
I paused and thought for a moment, then added, “And besides, it might actually be very clever on Tanya’s part. Sort of like… a double bluff? Like, she would know that that’s how the police would think—that they would discount her as a serious suspect because no one would believe that she would take a risk in public like that. And then it would also give her the best chance of creating a public scene—all the screaming down by the river. Everyone would see how upset she was and, again, nobody would think that she was likely to kill her boyfriend and then cause a scene like that, to draw attention to herself… when, in fact, she was essentially making everyone in the crowd her alibi. I think there’s a lot more going on beneath that cool manner and pretty face than you do, and it’s just the sort of convoluted plan that Tanya Koskov would be clever enough to come up with.”
Devlin looked at me speculatively. “You sound like you know her very well and yet you haven’t even spoken to her.”
I flushed and looked down. “Well, actually… I… I have.”
“What do you mean?”
Reluctantly, I told him about my “chance meeting” with Tanya and Mikhail that afternoon.
Devlin looked annoyed. “What did you think you were doing, questioning her like that?”
“I wasn’t questioning her—I was just making conversation,” I said. “Besides, I promised Dora—” I broke off.
Devlin’s brows drew together. “Promised Dora what?”
“I said I’d… I’d find out a bit more about the case.”
“You mean you promised to help her friend clear her name.”
I flushed. Devlin had always been too sharp for his own good.
“Gemma.” His voice was stern. “This is a real murder investigation. It’s no place for amateurs.”
“I’m not such an amateur anymore!” I said indignantly, thinking back to Dora’s praise and echoing it unconsciously. “In those last murder cases I was involved with, I uncovered things that the police never even would have thought of.”
Devlin made an impatient gesture. “You might have got lucky once or twice, Gemma, but that’s not the same as doing serious detective work. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that your snooping in the past almost got you very badly hurt, even nearly killed.”
“Well, there’s no danger to me here. I mean, this is nothing to do with me personally and—”
“There’s always danger when there’s a murderer on the loose,” Devlin said grimly. “Don’t forget, this person has killed someone in cold blood once already and managed to do it in broad daylight, in a crowd full of people. This is not a simple domestic murder we’re talking about. This is a ruthless person who knows exactly what he’s doing.”
Something in the way Devlin said that made me look at him sharply. “What do you mean, ‘knows exactly what he’s doing’?”
Devlin hesitated, as if debating whether to tell me, then sighed and said, “I spoke to Jo Ling this afternoon after she sent me the post-mortem report. She mentioned something very interesting: Charlie Foxton was killed by a stab wound in his lower back, but that’s actually not an easy way to kill someone. You have to know exactly where to stab, to aim for the liver and spleen, and the inferior vena cava—the major artery running down your lower back—in order to cause enough damage to kill quickly. So the murderer is someone who is very familiar with human anatomy.”
“You mean like a doctor?”
Devlin nodded.
“What about a medical student?” I asked.
Devlin gave me a look of grudging admiration. “You’re very quick. Yes, a medical student would have the knowledge to do it. And before you ask me, yes, Tanya Koskov is studying Medicine at Oxford. I checked with her tutors: all medical students dissect a corpse in their first year, so they would all have a very detailed knowledge of human anatomy. But…” He leaned forwards. “By that token, Miriam Hopkins would be just as much in the frame. She used to be a hospital nurse in her younger days before she started working as a scout, so she would also have an excellent working knowledge of human anatomy and know exactly where to stab to inflict a fatal injury.”
I digested this in silence, then said, “What about the roommate? Damian—?”
“Damian Heath. Yes, he finally came back to his college room last night. We had a constable stationed there. I spoke to him this morning: he claims that Tanya Koskov told him the wrong time to meet—on purpose!—and that’s why he was late on May morning.”
“Wait… I thought he shared a room with Charlie, so wouldn’t he have got up with his friend?”
“Charlie spent the night in Tanya’s room. It seems she had a fancy dress party there the night before—it’s common for students to have big parties on the eve of May Day, you know that—and Charlie had had quite a lot to drink, so he decided to just crash in Tanya’s room instead of going back to his own room. Damian went back, however, and so he was alone in the boys’ place on May morning. He says that as he was leaving the party the night before, Tanya told him to meet her and Charlie at the front gate at 5:30 a.m. to walk to the bridge together—but when he got there, they were nowhere to be seen. He hung around for ten minutes, waiting, then when they didn’t show up, he decided that they must have started without him—so he hurried off after them. Of course, by then, it was so late and the High Street was so crowded that he didn’t manage to push his way close enough to the bridge and the tower. He had to wait until the singing was over before he could make his way there.”
“And he arrived to find that his friend had been murdered,” I said. “So why did he run off?”
“He says he lost his head. He just wanted to get away from the crowds and everything.”
I frowned, thinking back over what Devlin had just told me. “But… why would Tanya Koskov tell him the wrong time to meet?”
Devlin’s blue eyes met mine. “Damian says it was so she could get Charlie alone…”
I took a sharp intake of brea
th. “So he suspects Tanya too? Do you believe him?”
“I don’t believe anyone yet,” said Devlin evenly. “Right now, it just seems to be a big game of ‘he said—she said’. We need solid evidence if we’re to have any chance of uncovering the truth.”
CHAPTER NINE
We had a simple meal of mushroom risotto accompanied by a glass of red wine, and afterwards washed up in the kitchen together. Devlin seemed to be in a playful mood, teasing me and coming up behind me to slide an arm around my waist and steal a kiss as I stood at the sink. There was a lovely cosy domestic atmosphere and it felt just like it used to when I had been living here. I felt ashamed of my earlier suspicions and chided myself for my silly paranoia.
But when I flopped down on the living room couch and said, reaching for the TV remote, “I wonder if there are any good movies on…”—Devlin made a grimace.
He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Better not get too comfy, Gemma—I’ve got a really early start tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, okay.” I gave him a loaded smile. “I don’t mind an early night. I’ve got my overnight bag with me. I’ll just go and get it from the car—”
I started to get up from the couch but Devlin put out a hand to stop me.
“No, actually, Gemma…” He paused awkwardly. “That’s probably not such a good idea. As I said, I’ve got to get up really early—”
“Don’t worry, you won’t disturb me. You know what I’m like in the mornings. You practically need to dig me out of bed.” I laughed.
Devlin looked uncomfortable, his blue eyes not meeting mine. “Yes… but you probably don’t sleep as well here as back in your own bed. Besides, you’d have to get up even earlier than usual to go back to your place to drop off Muesli and change for work. And especially after waking up so early for May morning yesterday and then having to work in the tearoom… you’re probably knackered. It’ll be good for you to stay at your own place where you can relax and catch up on sleep properly. In any case, I… I probably won’t be very good company anyway. I’m so tired—I think I’m just going to crash.”
I stared at him as it suddenly dawned on me that Devlin didn’t want me to stay the night. I felt a chill of doubt. Why didn’t he want me here? True, we were both tired and probably a bit sleep-deprived—and we both had a long day of work ahead of us tomorrow—but that never stopped him wanting me to spend the night before.
“Okay…” I said slowly. “I suppose you’re right. I need to drop the car back at my parents’ house anyway and pick up my bike, which I left there. It’ll be a lot easier to do that tomorrow morning on my way out of Oxford from my cottage.”
“Yes,” said Devlin, looking relieved. “And you’ve got Muesli too.”
He was right. I knew there were good practical reasons for me not staying the night. And yet…
I tried not to think about it. Instead, I collected my things and got ready to leave. Muesli, however, was not pleased to be disturbed from her comfy position on the couch. She was lying on her back, with her little front paws tucked against her chest and her belly exposed. Her eyes were shut, her chin tilted up, and she looked the picture of relaxed contentment. I saw Devlin wince slightly as he reached over and gently touched her head to wake her.
“Mmm…meorrw?” She stirred sleepily and opened one green eye to look at us.
“Come on, Muesli, time to go home…” Devlin said.
“Meorrw!” Muesli sat up and yawned, looking peeved.
Devlin reached gently to pick her up but she gave an irritated chirrup and jumped off the couch, trotting away. She hopped up on the entertainment unit and climbed onto the top shelf, turning around and presenting her bum to us.
Devlin looked embarrassed, and I had to admit I was secretly pleased that Muesli was giving him a hard time. At least she was getting a bit of payback for me! I stood back and hid a smile as I watched Devlin try to explain to Muesli why she couldn’t spend the night curled up in her favourite position on his couch.
“Muesli, come down now… come on, sweetie,” Devlin pleaded.
The little cat ignored him.
Devlin tried to reach for her but she was too high up.
“Muesli! Come down here!” said Devlin, trying to sound stern and commanding.
Hardened criminals had cringed at that tone of voice from Detective Inspector Devlin O’Connor, but my little cat just twitched the fur on her back, like flicking away an annoying fly, and didn’t even turn her head around to look at him.
Devlin heaved an exasperated sigh, then grabbed one of the dining chairs and climbed up to get her. I thought Muesli might wait until he was almost level with her before jumping nimbly to the next shelf—it was just the kind of devious thing she enjoyed doing—but Devlin’s reflexes were too quick for her. He caught her, squirming, just as she tried to dart away, and brought her back down.
“Meorrw!” she cried petulantly as she was lowered gently into the cat carrier.
“Sorry, sweetie,” said Devlin, putting a finger through the bars of the carrier and trying to scratch her chin.
Muesli sniffed and turned her face away, flattening her ears against her head. She was not forgiving him that easily.
Devlin looked embarrassed again and stood back, clearing his throat. “Uh… well, drive back carefully, Gemma… and sleep well.”
I said nothing as I picked up the cat carrier and marched to the front door. Devlin followed me out to the car and gave me a quick kiss before I got in. As I drove away, I thought about that kiss. I couldn’t remember the last time Devlin had given me a proper kiss—one that made the world spin and my toes curl. That peck on the lips had been just like everything else Devlin had done lately: quick, hurried, and preoccupied—like his mind was somewhere else.
Or… I thought uncomfortably, his mind was with someone else.
***
“It’s all a pack of lies!”
I stared at Dora in astonishment. I had just walked into the tearoom kitchen the next morning and found her pummelling a slab of dough on the wooden table with so much force that I was surprised the table hadn’t cracked.
“What’s the matter?” I said.
She gave me an angry look. “Those village gossips! Nothing better to do with their time than tell nasty stories about other people! How dare they say that about Miriam! They don’t know anything about her and yet they’re spreading such malicious rumours—”
“What are they saying?”
“They’re saying that Miriam killed Charlie Foxton for money.”
“What? But that makes no sense—why would she gain any money from his death?”
Dora looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well, apparently Charlie left her some money in his will. Quite a lot of money.”
“Oh.” I was surprised. “That’s a bit… unusual, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “Well, it was his money to do what he likes with. He was over eighteen. And he saw Miriam as a second mother, I think. He knew that she wasn’t well-off so he wanted to make sure that she was provided for. I think it’s a beautiful sentiment—there’s no need to put an ugly slant on it!”
“No, no, of course not,” I said hastily. “But you have to admit, it does give her a motive to murder him, especially as Miriam was in financial difficulties, wasn’t she? I mean, she sounded quite desperate that evening when I saw her… and with her son asking for money… and her mother needing to be in a special nursing home…” I gave Dora a sideways look. “Having a sudden windfall now would mean that Miriam could move her mother into that private home which specialises in care for patients with dementia, right?”
“Yes,” Dora admitted. “And the nursing home that Miriam’s mum is currently in has said that they can’t keep her there anymore. That was the reason they called her in on Friday evening. The Matron said Miriam had to find another place for her mother.” She scowled. “But that doesn’t mean Miriam would murder Charlie just to get the money!”
“Dora…” I cleare
d my throat. “Er… are you absolutely sure that Miriam is telling you the truth about everything?”
“Of course I’m sure!” she snapped. “Miriam wouldn’t lie to me!”
“Well, it’s just that… I spoke to Devlin about the case last night and he told me that he had questioned Miriam about her movements on May morning.”
“So?” Dora looked at me belligerently. “Miriam said she wasn’t anywhere near Magdalen Bridge.”
“Yes, except that Devlin is sure she was lying.”
“Based on what?”
“Well… based on his instincts and experience as a detective, I guess.”
“His instincts are wrong!” Dora snapped. “I know Miriam. She has been my friend for over twenty years now and you couldn’t find a more decent, honest, kind woman than Miriam Hopkins. To think that she has to be dragged through this now because of some unfortunate coincidences—”
“But that’s just it, Dora,” I protested. “There seem to be too many coincidences. I mean, it’s her barbecue skewer that was used as the murder weapon. And now it seems that she has a very strong motive… and she can’t really explain why she left her home so early on May morning or prove where she went.”
“She went for a walk. That’s not a crime, is it?” snapped Dora.
“No, but, you must admit, it does make things look very suspicious. You can’t blame the police for treating her as a suspect,” I said gently.
Dora set her mouth in a mutinous line. “I don’t care what it looks like—I know Miriam can’t have murdered anyone. Especially not the boy that she was fond of and practically treated like a second son.” She picked up the rolling pin and waved it threateningly. “It’s ludicrous to even think that she could harm him!”
“Okay, okay…” I held up my hands in a placating fashion. “I’m just trying to see things from every angle here. We can only help Miriam if we know what she’s up against.”
Dora’s face softened and she looked contrite. “I’m sorry, Gemma—it was unfair of me to take it out on you. But you’ve got to believe me: Miriam is innocent! And with everyone against her now, you’re the only one who can help her. You’ve got to find the real killer and help to clear her name!”