Suspicion Points

by Joanna Stephen-Ward

  When Leslie came back with our drinks, I asked, ‘I’ve heard about your book and how good it is. Do you write full time?’

  ‘I had a job when I wrote this one, but I’ve left now. I’m working on my second one already. But my advance is tiny so I have to get another job until I can make enough money to write full time.’

  ‘Where did you work?’

  ‘For the NHS.’

  Hell, I thought. ‘A pharmacist?’ I asked as casually as I could.

  He shook his head. ‘A clerk. I used to be a teacher. That’s how I know Phoebe – we worked at the same school and left for the same reasons – out of control children and some were aggressive too – no support or back-up from the head or the board of governors. She found a job at the hospital and when a vacancy came up she told me about it. I applied and got it.’

  For the rest of the night I wondered how to handle this new development.

  When Vanessa went to the toilet he said, ‘You don’t approve of me, do you?’

  ‘We have to talk,’ I said. ‘About Elaine Dunn.’

  ‘Oh. I see. You’re investigating the fire at Bridget’s house?’

  ‘Yes. I’m not judging you, but we need to talk. Did you punch Elaine Dunn?’

  ‘Yes. Do you want to arrest me?’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’

  ‘But you quite rightly don’t want a violent man going out with your cousin.’

  ‘I don’t think you are violent – not under normal circumstances,’ I said, remembering what Phoebe had told us about Bridget and Elaine trying to provoke her into hitting one of them.

  ‘Thank you.’ He sipped his beer. ‘I was wrong to loose my temper, but . . . no I’m not going to make excuses. I was wrong. I’ll tell Vanessa and let her make the decision.’

  ‘I have heard that you were provoked,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘She humiliated me in front of everyone.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  Leslie took a deep breath. ‘That I was a pathetic specimen of a man, who failed at everything I did and how on earth had I become a teacher when I was so thick and slow. What pushed me too far was when she asked if I’d had a sex change that went wrong.’

  I winced. Leslie was thin with fine features and a thick head of hair, but there was nothing effeminate about him. ‘She wanted you to hit her so she had the excuse to sack you.’

  ‘I know.’ His smile was grim. ‘But I don’t think she wanted me to punch her as hard as I did.’

  I saw Vanessa coming toward us and changed the subject.

  The next night I was about to get into bed when someone pounded on the door. I ran downstairs. It was Vanessa.

  ‘How dare you!’ she spluttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Leslie. You’ve ruined everything.’

  Vanessa and I had had childhood quarrels, but never since we’d grown up, so her fury shocked me.

  ‘Vanessa, I – ’

  ‘Don’t make excuses.’

  I laughed, which increased her fury.

  ‘Have you forgotten you might have actually killed a man?’

  I pulled her inside and shut the door. ‘Sh. And have you forgotten what they were going to do to you? Leslie Hooper thumped a woman so hard he knocked out some of her front teeth and broke her jaw. ’

  ‘He was provoked.’

  ‘I know. But his life wasn’t in danger.’

  ‘It was a culmination of things. Elaine was always picking on him.’ She paced the room. ‘Look, it’s his ambition to be a writer. The previous day his agent had told him that she didn’t think they’d be able to find a publisher. He was already upset and Elaine berating him in front of everyone else and then saying he looked as if he’d had a sex change that hadn’t worked, made him flip. Can’t you understand?’

  ‘Yes. Just listen to me. Elaine Dunn is demanding that we find him and arrest him. I have no intention of doing so. I think it’s at the bottom of Sharon’s list of priorities, but I’m not going to tell her that I know where he lives. We’ve got a murder to solve. So, what’s all this about?’

  ‘He feels threatened.’

  ‘Not by me.’

  ‘His mother told him the police were looking for him.’

  I didn’t tell Vanessa that his mother had told Sharon and me that she didn’t know where he was.

  ‘I knew there was something wrong last night. You were really off with him.’

  ‘I wasn’t. I was a bit shocked. Now what did he say? Why are you so angry?’

  She sat on the sofa. ‘He said it’s best if we stop going out together.’

  I sat opposite her. ‘Vanessa, what you need to do is talk to him.’

  I wondered if she would tell him that she and I had once taken on six rapists and beaten them insensible. Would she tell him that I didn’t know if I had killed one? Suddenly his violent act provoked by a deeply unpleasant woman seemed mild compared to what Vanessa and I had done.

  ‘If he’s been sacked from the hospital, what’s he doing for money?’

  ‘He’s got three interviews. He’s desperate to get something before Elaine comes back, because he’s given Margaret’s name for a reference.’

  Vanessa went home, still angry with me, but she had agreed to talk to Leslie. I told her if she needed me to be there I would.

  Then I had a terrible thought. Had Leslie Hooper set fire to Bridget’s house? Sharon and I had never considered him a serious suspect. But neither of us had known what Elaine had said to him. He seemed a sensitive man. If he had murdered a baby his conscience would have tormented him.

  I went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. I went into the kitchen and made a mug of coca. It worked, but I woke up at four in the morning, feeling fully awake. I went into my study and switched on the computer. I decided to go with one suspect at a time. Because Elaine was the newest I thought about her carefully. I re-read her e-mails in the order that she had sent them. They were dull in places and full of irrelevant details, but I was looking for clues, so I read every sentence instead of scanning them as I had done previously. That’s when I saw it – the paragraph about Phoebe in the second e-mail.

  Bridget had no idea that Phoebe lived in the house next door before she moved in. When they were friends Phoebe and her husband had lived in a smaller house. Phoebe ignored Bridget when they became neighbours and she must have poisoned the other neighbour’s minds against Bridget too. It’s not as if she’d lived there very long herself, but she behaved as if she’d been born there.

  I cursed myself. I was a stickler for believing seemingly irrelevant statements could sometimes be vital clues, but I had missed this one because most of Elaine’s e-mail was a self-important, boring ramble. But that was no excuse. It was now five in the morning. I showered, dressed and made breakfast. At seven o’clock I rang Sharon and said I couldn’t come in till later. She demanded to know why. I wouldn’t tell her. Understandably she was furious. I ended the call and drove to Farrier Way.

  Phoebe came to the front door in her dressing gown. She looked at me in terror and burst into tears.

  Stuart came to the door. He was also in his dressing gown. ‘What the hell is going on now? What do you want?’

  ‘I need to ask you something.’

  He put his arm around Phoebe. ‘We’ve told you all we know.’

  I smiled. ‘I’m looking into something else. Any information you have could help solve this case today.’

  Stuart grudgingly let me inside. We went into the kitchen.

  ‘I was just making coffee,’ he said. ‘Do you want some?’

  ‘No thanks. How long have you lived here?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ asked Stuart. ‘What’s it got to do with anything?’

  ‘It might have a great deal to do with this case,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m investigating a new line of enquiry.’

  ‘Four years,’ said Phoebe.

  ‘When did you become president of the writers’ group?’

  ‘In t
wo thousand and three – five years ago. I don’t understand what – ’

  ‘I want to ask you about George – ’

  ‘George?’

  ‘George Wilson – at your writers’ group.’

  She looked astonished. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ve got something on him. What is it?’

  ‘I haven’t got anything on him. I don’t like him – ’

  ‘He hates you. Why?’

  She looked bewildered. ‘How did you know? I don’t understand what this is about. George doesn’t know Bridget. She’s never been to the writers’ group.’

  ‘Tell me why you charge him more than you charge other members at the meetings.’

  She shook her head. ‘I didn’t report him. How did you find out? Has something happened too him?’

  ‘Like what?’

  She looked concerned. ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘As far as I know. What did you think may have happened to him?’

  ‘He’s unhappy.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  She nodded. ‘He’s divorced. His ex-wife is Italian. She took their baby daughter to Italy about seven years ago. She says George can see her anytime, but he hasn’t got much money. He’s unemployed. He’s unstable. He tries things, but they never work out. I thought he might have taken an overdose or something.’

  Suddenly I knew what had happened. ‘When he was the treasurer did he steal money from the writers’ group?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Phoebe. ‘It went on for years. There was a great president who left five years ago. The group was large and had some published authors. No one noticed George was helping himself to the money.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘People wrote their names, and what they were reading, in the register and left their money on the table. When I became president I sometimes had difficulty reading names and titles, so I sat at the table and wrote in the register myself. I wanted to compile annual anthologies of short stories and poetry written by members. I got quotes from printers and kept a total of what money we should have had. A year later at the AGM George’s treasurer’s report fell way below what I knew we should have. I asked him about it, and he blustered and said that maybe people forgot to pay sometimes.

  ‘I knew it was impossible, because I was taking the money and giving out the change. He said that it happened when I was on holiday and the vice-president had taken the meetings. We’re talking about over a thousand pounds, so I knew he was lying. Finally he broke down and told me all his problems. I told him he’d have to pay it all back and that if he didn’t I’d go to the police. He resigned as treasurer and I made it look as if it was voluntary. At an emergency general meeting Margaret was elected as the new treasurer.’

  ‘Did she know he’d stolen money?’

  ‘No. I told her that George had borrowed money for an emergency and was paying it back.’

  ‘Has George ever been to this house?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Does he know your address?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘Have you ever invited him to this house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never? Are you sure?’

  I saw Stuart looking at me as if I were crazy.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Phoebe. ‘Once. Just before I found out he’d been stealing. Then I told him not to come.’

  ‘So he must know your address?’

  ‘Yes. I’d forgotten.’

  I stood up. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Has he stolen money from somewhere else?’ asked Stuart. ‘Is that what this is about?’

  ‘I can’t say anything at the moment.’ Although I was sure George was too shattered to make another attempt on Phoebe’s life, I took the precaution of saying, ‘Please be careful,’ before running out of their house and jumping into my car.

  When I parked in front of George’s house I tried to ring Vanessa, but her phone went to messages. Praying George would be at home I rang his doorbell. He came to the door with his mobile phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He recognized me and gestured for me to follow him upstairs. Inside his flat, which was almost as untidy as Olivia’s had been, he paced up and down with the phone. He was in a shabby towelling dressing gown.

  The only things he said were, ‘Yes, no, okay, that’s right, that’ll do.’ He repeated them about six times.

  I remembered what Olivia had said. As well as being a bad writer, George was a bad actor. It was obvious that no one was on the other end of the phone.

  The flat was hazy with cigarette smoke that made my eyes sting. George could have saved a lot of money if he had given up smoking, but he had chosen to steal from the writers’ group instead.

  Finally he ended the call. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘My agent’s just checking on an article I’ve written for a magazine. You’re Monster’s boyfriend, aren’t you? Nice to see you.’

  ‘George,’ I said. ‘I’m a police officer. I’m – ’

  His colour changed from white to grey. ‘She promised she wouldn’t say anything to anyone. Okay I’m late with payments, but I’ve been ill – I had to spend a few days in hospital – you can check their records. It was my heart. I had a mild heart attack. I have to be careful. I’ll pay it all back . . . I’m trying. She knows I’ve got money problems.’

  ‘I take it you are referring to Phoebe,’ I said.

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘I’m not here about the money. I’m part of the team investigating the death of Phoebe’s neighbours. A toddler and his father. The houses in Farrier Way are numbered consecutively. Someone who saw number one in the dark would think the next house was number three where Phoebe and Stuart live. But it’s not. It’s number two.’

  George sank onto the sofa and put his head in his hands. ‘Oh, God.’ His shoulders shook.

  ‘You made a mistake, didn’t you?’ I said quietly. ‘You knew Phoebe’s address, but had never been to her house.’ To make sure that George had intended to kill Phoebe and not just burn her house down, I said, ‘She wasn’t at home that night. She was at a party to celebrate the publication of her book. Did you know?’

  He shook his head. ‘No one tells me anything and she makes sure I’m never invited anywhere.’

  ‘So you intended to kill Stuart too?’

  ‘Yes. He’s just as cold and unforgiving as she is. They don’t know or care what it’s like to have money problems. They don’t know what it’s like to be divorced. They don’t understand how it feels not to see the child you love because she’s been taken to another country.’

  When George took his hands away from his face and looked at me, I realized he was seriously ill. His blue lips indicated he was about to have another heart attack.

  ‘Have you got any aspirin?’ I asked as calmly as I could.

  He nodded.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Bathroom,’ he mumbled.

  I raced into his bathroom, which stank of mildew. Damp towels and clothes were on the floor. I yanked open a cupboard, found the aspirins, tipped one into my hand and went back into the lounge. He was clutching his left arm.

  ‘Take this,’ I said holding out my hand.

  He shook his head. ‘Let me die.’

  I grabbed his head, held his nose and when he opened his mouth I forced the aspirin under his tongue. Even though he spat some of it out, gradually his breathing eased and his lips returned to a more normal colour. He still looked ill, and I knew I had to get a signed confession out of him as quickly as I could. His computer was on a desk in the corner. Its screensaver of exotic fish was on. I moved the mouse and sat down. Keeping my eyes on George I typed a confession. When I finished I read it to him.

  ‘Is that correct?’

  ‘You haven’t put she was blackmailing me.’

  ‘She wasn’t blackmailing you. She told you that unless you paid the money back she would go to the police. That’s not blackmail.’ I printed it out and looked for a pen. I couldn’t see one. ‘
Where’s your pen?’

  ‘Don’t know. Don’t care.’

  Plunging my hands into my pocket I searched for a pen.

  George laughed weakly. ‘A dying man, a confession and a pen. It’s no good unless I sign it, is it?’

  ‘It is under certain circumstances. And I’ve been recording this conversation,’ I lied. ‘A signature just makes things easier.’ I threw things that were on his desk onto the floor, then searched his drawers and finally found a pen. ‘Please sign this, George. Innocent people, who have nothing to do with this crime, are under suspicion. Lots of them. I’ll phone an ambulance as soon as you sign this.’

  ‘Then I won’t sign it. I’ll only sign it if you say you won’t call an ambulance.’

  ‘Okay. I won’t call an ambulance.’ Praying he wouldn’t tear it up I handed it to him.

  His hand shook, but his signature and the date were clear. I folded it, put it in the pocket of my jacket, took out my mobile phone and called an ambulance.

  George looked appalled. ‘You promised you wouldn’t.’

  ‘No, I didn’t promise, I said I wouldn’t, but I lied. They’re on their way.’

  George closed his eyes and lay on the sofa. ‘I want to die,’ he gasped.

  ‘I understand. I would too.’

  Now the case was solved I was in no hurry to return to the station. As soon as the ambulance left with George, I went home and typed out a summary of how I’d solved the case. I also typed a letter of resignation. Then I drove to Farrier Way.

  Stuart opened the door and scowled. ‘What is it now?’

  ‘I’ve got some news. You can relax. You are no longer suspects.’

  He let me in and called for Phoebe who came running up the stairs from the basement.

  ‘George Wilson set fire to the house next door,’ I told them.

  ‘But he didn’t know Bridget,’ said Phoebe. ‘Or did he?’

  ‘No. But he knew you.’

  16

  SHARON

  Robert’s absence forced me to tell Superintendent Venning that he was being uncooperative. If I hadn’t been summoned into his office I would have dealt with Robert myself, but Mrs Bradley had made a formal complaint against us. She had also written to the papers, and two reporters wanted a statement about the harassment allegations she had made. Hoping Robert would show up with a plausible excuse, I listed all our suspects and their motives.