The Alibi

by Jamie Raven

  ‘Yet instead he called her bluff.’

  ‘Well, that was the position just before she ended it with me. Even so she still believed she could persuade him to cough up. In fact she was so convinced her plan was a good one that she said she was going to target someone else with the same blackmail threat.’

  The two detectives shared a look and Redwood said, ‘Did she tell you who it was?’

  Jones shook his head. ‘I didn’t bother to ask. But I assumed it must be someone else she knew who has a bunch of secrets.’

  22

  Ethan Cain

  Cain and Redwood questioned Jones for another twenty minutes. But he continued to insist that he didn’t know who else had been targeted for blackmail by Megan Fuller.

  ‘I can only repeat what she told me,’ he said. ‘And I believed her. She really thought she was onto a good little earner.’

  Jones was told he would have to stay at the nick until his alibi had been checked out. Frobisher objected, but Jones waved a hand and said he didn’t mind.

  Back in the incident room Redwood called the team together to brief them. Before speaking he removed his jacket and loosened his tie. There was sweat under his armpits and Cain could tell he was feeling the pressure.

  ‘According to Megan’s former boyfriend Danny Shapiro may not be the only person she was threatening to expose in her fantasy book,’ Redwood said, his voice high and clipped. ‘That means whoever it was also had a motive for wanting to see her dead. So we need to identify this person. The trouble is we don’t have a name and we don’t know if it’s a man or a woman.’

  He told a couple of detectives to go to the Flying Dutchman pub in Tooting to establish whether or not Jones’s alibi was kosher. Another was assigned the task of overseeing the search of his flat once the warrant had been activated.

  ‘And let’s chase his phone records,’ he said. ‘I want a list of all his calls and messages.’

  Cain knew it was a long shot, but it got everyone excited because they needed a break in the case. About thirty-six hours had passed since Megan had been murdered and they were struggling.

  They had knocked on every door and questioned every witness and passer-by within a half-mile radius of Ramsden Road. They’d drawn a blank on CCTV footage and now the two main suspects had produced alibis.

  It wasn’t the best start to a murder investigation.

  After the briefing, Cain went to his desk where he remembered he’d left his mobile phone. He noticed he had two missed calls from Beth. She had left a message asking him to ring her back and he guessed she wanted to know who they were questioning.

  Sam Jones’s name hadn’t yet been released and the media were screaming for information. But he had no intention of phoning Beth back from the office. There were too many people around.

  Besides, there was a cardboard box next to his desk containing some of Megan Fuller’s personal effects. The Exhibits Team had logged them all and now he wanted to go through the things.

  His lungs were calling out for nicotine as he sat down. There was no time to go outside for a smoke, which was how he usually tried to combat pressure when it started building up inside him, so he slipped a piece of gum into his mouth.

  The fact that he was in a difficult position was stressing him out. Soon Danny would call up asking where they were with the investigation. He’d then demand that steps be taken to ensure that his alibi held firm and that any other incriminating evidence be destroyed or discredited. He’d done it before and Cain had sorted things out for him. But this time it wouldn’t be so easy. Any attempt to shift the investigation away from Danny, or to cover up evidence, was going to be monumentally risky.

  He saw Redwood approaching him so he picked up the cardboard box and started placing items from it on his desk.

  ‘I’m going back to Ramsden Road,’ Redwood said when he reached him. ‘The residents have organised a meeting in the church hall and they want us to update them on progress. I’ll use it to appeal for more information. Meanwhile, the post-mortem on Megan is scheduled for two o’clock. I’d like you to attend.’

  ‘I’ll go as soon as I’ve finished sifting through this lot,’ Cain said.

  Redwood started to turn away, but then stopped and leaned forward, resting a hand on Cain’s desk.

  ‘Is everything okay, Ethan?’ he asked.

  Cain swallowed. ‘Of course, guv. Why wouldn’t it be?’

  Redwood moved his shoulders. ‘I’m getting the impression that you’re not fully engaged with the case. I wondered if you’ve got something on your mind that’s a distraction.’

  ‘I can’t think what’s given you that idea, sir.’

  ‘Well, for starters you left it to me to ask all the questions in the interview with Shapiro. You actually appeared to be ill at ease. Like you would rather have been somewhere else.’

  Cain felt his throat dry up and a chill spread across his body.

  ‘I can assure you I wasn’t, guv,’ he said. ‘You were asking all the relevant questions so I just thought I would leave you to it.’

  Redwood rolled out his bottom lip as he thought about it.

  ‘I will admit to being a bit under the weather,’ Cain got in quickly. ‘I’ve felt tired and lethargic for a few days. Maybe that’s what you’ve picked up on.’

  Redwood removed his hand from the desk and stood up straight.

  ‘Well, that’s okay then. I’m relieved it’s nothing more serious. But are you sure you don’t need to take time off?’

  Cain nodded. ‘I’m sure. I’m actually feeling much better than I did yesterday.’

  ‘Good. The last thing I want is to lose any of my top people.’

  Redwood looked at his watch and said, ‘I’d better make tracks. Don’t forget to go along to the PM.’

  ‘I won’t, guv.’

  As Redwood walked away, Cain slumped back in the chair, his nerves as taut as violin strings.

  He was furious with himself for having made it obvious that he’d been uneasy during the interview with Shapiro. How could he have been so stupid?

  It was more than a little disconcerting that Redwood had seen fit to raise it. He just had to hope that the man did not progress from being merely curious to suspicious.

  Cain turned his attention back to the stuff on his desk, which included personal letters, a Samsung tablet, a bunch of small diaries, several photo albums, a scrapbook of newspaper cuttings charting Megan’s career, and a leather business-card wallet.

  Cain wasn’t sure how useful any of it would be, but sometimes a victim’s belongings threw up a nugget of information that propelled a case forward.

  In any investigation it was all about clues and evidence and piecing together the threads. So far they weren’t having much success. They could point the finger at any number of individuals, but proving they did it was another matter.

  There were three photo albums. One was devoted to family and childhood pictures and featured Megan’s father and late mother. Another chronicled Megan and Danny’s life together as a married couple, and the third was filled with wedding photos.

  Cain had seen some of the wedding pics before because they’d appeared in newspapers and magazines. It was at a time when Danny never shied away from publicity. They were a glamorous couple and they were smiling happily in all the photos. Danny’s father, Callum, appeared in a few of the group pictures, but he wasn’t smiling. In fact he looked positively miserable.

  He sifted through the personal letters next. There were a couple of dozen, but they were mostly to and from her agent and various BBC producers and were of little interest.

  Next up were her diaries. These went back ten years, but were mostly filled with appointments and birthday reminders. Megan hadn’t been one to record her observations on life or what she did each day. Over the last year the entries had petered out as her work dried up, along with invitations to celebrity events.

  But something did catch Cain’s eye. After her marriage broke up t
hree years ago it seemed that Megan started having regular appointments with a psychiatrist named Drew Bellamy. Cain made a note of his name but then found his business card among those in the leather wallet. He had an office in Kensington and his private mobile number was scrawled on the back of the card.

  Cain rang it, but there was no answer so he left a message. He then rang the office number and a recorded voice told him that Mr Bellamy would be in the office again on Monday morning.

  The fact that Megan was seeing a shrink wasn’t so unusual in itself, but it was possible she’d told the guy something that would be relevant to the investigation. Perhaps she had even revealed to him the identities of her other blackmail victims. And since she was dead there was no reason he shouldn’t be able to disclose the details of those monthly sessions.

  Cain put everything back into the cardboard box except for Bellamy’s card, which he dropped into his pocket, and tapped a reminder into his phone to chase Bellamy up.

  Then he got up and set off for the mortuary.

  23

  Beth Chambers

  By late afternoon I was restless. Rosie had lost interest in playing with me and wanted to do her own thing. And my mother had withdrawn into herself, jolted by what she had revealed to me about Tony’s murder. She’d hardly moved from the sofa all day, just watching TV between naps.

  But I hadn’t been able to relax. My mind was a riot of conflicting thoughts and emotions, and I was tearing my hair out trying to rumble who the police were questioning in connection with Megan’s murder.

  Ethan hadn’t yet returned my call, and the Scotland Yard press office was keeping a lid on the name for now. My other Met contacts were either saying they didn’t know or weren’t even answering their phones.

  That was how it went sometimes. The police decided to keep schtum about someone they had in custody because they didn’t want the media to descend on their home or approach their family. Knowing that didn’t make me feel any less frustrated now. I needed to do something other than stomp around the house with my head buried in my iPad.

  It was still chucking it down outside so a leisurely walk wasn’t an option. And I couldn’t concentrate on the television.

  It was four o’clock when my mother finally perked up and announced that she was going to make Rosie’s dinner.

  ‘Then afterwards we can watch a movie together,’ she told her.

  Rosie stopped playing with her doll’s house and beamed a smile at her.

  ‘I want to watch Shrek, Nanny,’ she said. ‘Please can I watch Shrek?’

  My mother laughed. ‘Of course you can, sweetie. You’ve been a really good girl today.’

  I followed Mum into the kitchen and asked her if she was all right.

  ‘I am now,’ she said. ‘I’ve just been feeling a little shell-shocked and sorry for myself. What about you? Are you all right or are you really upset after what I told you?’

  ‘You’ve given me a lot to think about,’ I said. ‘But that’s okay. I’m just a bit hyper right now.’

  ‘And bored by the look of it. Beth, if there’s something you feel you need to do then just go and do it.’

  ‘But it’s Sunday. And I said I wouldn’t work today.’

  ‘Well, in the circumstances I really won’t mind if you feel the need to pop out for a bit.’

  ‘What about Rosie?’

  My mother grinned and glanced over at my daughter.

  ‘To be honest I don’t think she’ll even notice that you’re gone.’

  It didn’t take me long to get ready. I slapped on some foundation, a touch of eyeshadow, and a swipe of pinkish lipstick. I brushed my hair and let it hang loose, then put on a light sweater and jeans. Over the top I slipped on a shiny black raincoat.

  Mum and Rosie were already into Shrek by the time I left the house and climbed into a taxi that I’d booked through the paper’s account. I’d never owned a car because in London there was really no point. It was too easy to get around using cabs or public transport.

  I told the driver where to go and felt the familiar buzz of excitement that came from not knowing what would happen when I got there.

  A few minutes into the journey my mobile rang, and I snatched it out of my bag. Ethan’s name showed up in the caller ID.

  ‘I’m returning your call,’ he said. ‘Sorry it’s taken so long.’

  ‘I was beginning to think you were blanking me.’

  ‘I was busy at the station. I don’t want anyone to know you’re calling me there.’

  ‘Sorry about that. There are a few things I need to tell you and one thing I’d like you to tell me.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘You want to know who we’ve hauled in for questioning.’

  ‘Right in one, and if you give me a name I’ll say lots of nice things about you to your daughter.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Then I’ll just tell her the truth about her dad and I’m sure you don’t want that.’

  He chuckled. ‘Do you always have to act as though you’re the most unscrupulous hack in London?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said. ‘I have a fearsome reputation to maintain. Now I’m in a hurry so are you going to cough up or what?’

  He sighed heavily into the phone. ‘It’s Sam Jones, Megan’s ex-boyfriend. But he claims he didn’t do it and we’re in the process of checking out his alibi. He says he was at a pub with friends.’

  ‘Is that where you’re going now – to the pub to check it?’

  ‘No. I’m just leaving the mortuary. I had the pleasure of attending the PM on Megan.’

  ‘Anything suspicious come out of it?’

  ‘Nothing at all. She died as a result of the knife wound to the throat. No drugs in her system and no signs of sexual assault. And there was no skin from an assailant under her fingernails.’

  ‘Anything I can use to move the story along, apart from the boyfriend?’

  ‘Not right now. So what is it you want to tell me?’

  I started with Danny Shapiro’s alibi and expected him to be surprised when I told him that Tamara Roth used to go out with Danny’s father Callum.

  ‘We already know that,’ he said. ‘He volunteered the information himself during the interview and said he’d known her for years.’

  ‘But surely it casts doubt over what he’s told you.’

  ‘Not at all. They say they were together when Megan was murdered. We have no evidence to suggest they’re lying. The fact that she had a fling with Shapiro senior isn’t really relevant.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Forget it, Beth. It’s nothing to get excited about. Now what else do you want to tell me?’

  I told him what my mother had said about Tony’s murder. He listened without interrupting, then said, ‘Well, if you’re hoping the Met will reopen the case based on rumours that were circulating years ago you’re going to be disappointed. It may or may not be true, but without any new evidence nothing will happen, especially since the bastard is inside anyway.’

  It was more or less what I had expected him to say.

  ‘That’s why I’m thinking of reviving the story with a feature in The Post,’ I said. ‘I can mention the rumours and maybe it will generate a fresh wave of interest.’

  ‘That’s a crazy idea. It’ll just piss a lot of people off, including Callum and his son.’

  ‘So what? If he did kill Tony then he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.’

  ‘It’s a big fucking if, Beth. And even if it could be proved nothing much will come of it. The guy’s already doing life.’

  He was telling me something I didn’t want to hear so I changed the subject and told him about Frankie Bishop calling the house.

  ‘How can you be sure it was him?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, come on, Ethan. Who else would it have been?’

  ‘Okay. I’ll grant you that. It sounds like something he’d do.’

  ‘You make it seem as though it’s not a big deal.’
>
  ‘In all honesty I can’t imagine he’d be stupid enough to take it any further. Danny Shapiro wouldn’t let him. It’d be more trouble for them than it’s worth.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ I said. ‘But if I hear from him again I’m going to make an official complaint.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t have to,’ he said. ‘And anyway I told you I’ll ensure that he’s made aware that we’re across it.’

  I thanked him again before hanging up, but for some reason I wasn’t convinced he was going to do anything about Frankie Bishop.

  I was still fifteen minutes away from Tamara’s home in Vauxhall and I used the time to phone The Post’s newsroom and tell them that it was Megan’s ex-boyfriend who was being questioned about her murder.

  They said they would update the online pages straight away, and this cheered me up because it meant we were still ahead of the competition on the story.

  24

  Beth Chambers

  The rain had stopped by the time I got to Tamara’s house in Vauxhall. But there was no break in the clouds which hung dark and heavy above the city.

  It was an unassuming terraced property with an ivy-covered façade and a tiny front garden facing the park.

  I got the cabbie to wait until I knew if it had been a wasted journey. If Tamara refused to talk to me then I was planning to go straight home. But if I could get her to do a short interview it would be yet another mini exclusive for The Post.

  It took her a long time to respond to the bell and I thought she might not be home. When she finally did answer the door I was ready with a big, bright smile.

  ‘Hi there,’ I said. ‘You must be Miss Roth.’

  She smiled back. ‘That’s right. How can I help you?’

  She was casually dressed in a white cotton blouse and short grey skirt, and she held a mug of something in one hand.

  ‘My name’s Bethany Chambers,’ I said. ‘I’m a journalist with The Post and I wondered if I could have a quick word about Danny Shapiro.’

  Her eyes narrowed and she instinctively took a step back.