He was making up the story as he went along. Ben wasn’t the only one who could be inventive. Suddenly she was transformed into a solicitous mother, flapping about Ben and who was going to look after him.
‘I can’t go nowhere. I need to give my boy his tea.’
‘Don’t worry about Ben,’ he reassured her. ‘We’re taking care of him.’
The woman was genuinely frightened now and began squawking about her son. Polly stepped forward and took her firmly by the arm.
‘Come along, this won’t take long. My colleague is going to be busy for a while, and you’re coming with me to look at a few pictures. There’s a car on its way from the local station which will be here any minute.’
‘What are you on about? What pictures? What car?’
‘Come along, and we’ll have a nice cup of tea.’
‘I don’t want no tea, not from you.’
But she accompanied Polly out of the house, moaning and complaining. Half way down the path, she darted away from the constable with surprising agility, and ran into the arms of a stout uniformed officer who had just arrived at the gate. Swearing foully, she was hustled into the waiting vehicle. Before Polly closed the door on her, Ian was reassured to see that the constable had taken a mobile phone out of the angry woman’s grasp. There was an unmarked police car outside the back entrance to the block of flats and a second one was in position near the front gate. Now all they had to do was wait for Eddy to return home.
To pass the time, Ian conducted a quick survey of the flat. He started by looking in the kitchen. Mould was growing on the wall above a grimy sink which had once been white. Rotting food lay in the bottom of the sink, impossible to identify, and there was a putrid stench which Ian suspected came from a blocked drain. But on the draining board clean plates and cutlery had been neatly stacked, apparently washed in that filthy sink. The oven and hob were encrusted with burned food detritus, and the greasy floor was speckled with crumbs of food. A patch of dried custard or egg yolk made a bright splash of yellow on the one chipped white worktop. Ian hesitated to search the room and went instead into the main bedroom where clothes littered the dirty carpet, soiled underwear and muddy shoes lying together in disarray. He wanted to call the station and ask if Ben’s mother had been persuaded to give them any information about when Eddy would come back but he couldn’t risk making a sound. Eddy might return at any moment, and he didn’t want to alert him to a police presence inside or outside the flat. They couldn’t afford to lose a potential suspect.
Ian decided against rummaging through the bedroom looking for tell-tale evidence. The nature of the wound meant the killer would have been heavily sprayed with Martha’s blood in the course of the attack. Nevertheless, finding bloodstained clothing in itself would be of no help until the blood had been identified as belonging to the victim. By himself, Ian could prove nothing, and the flat would be thoroughly searched once they had Eddy securely in custody. In the meantime, he didn’t want to do anything to arouse Eddy’s suspicion when he entered the flat. He was known to be a violent man. Ian wanted to apprehend him as quickly and simply as possible. He went into the sitting room and perched on the wooden arm of a grubby upholstered armchair to wait, listening for the sound of a key in the lock.
47
AS LONG AS HE had kept busy, Ian had been fine. Now he was nervous of moving in case Eddy came in and heard him. If the flat hadn’t been on the ground floor he wouldn’t have been so bothered. As it was, Eddy could escape through the window in any one of the rooms, if his suspicions were aroused. There was nothing Ian could do but wait in absolute silence and gathering darkness for Eddy to return. He was exhausted. Only the arm of the chair digging into his backside stopped him drifting off. He kept checking his watch, forcing his eyes to stay open. Time crawled by until he must have dozed off. He woke with a start to discover that he needn’t have worried about Eddy entering the flat unnoticed. There was an unnecessary racket from a key rattling in the lock. Eddy yelled out his girlfriend’s name before slamming the front door so forcefully that the walls trembled. Ian held his breath, waiting to hear what he would do next.
‘Natalie!’ Eddy shouted once more. ‘Where the fuck are you? I’m here.’
He sounded impatient, as though he expected to be greeted as soon as he arrived. Still hollering, he went into the kitchen.
Ian tensed when he heard Eddy open and close a cupboard door. There would be sharp knives in the kitchen, and glassware. Eddy was likely to react aggressively towards an intruder. Ian hardly dared breathe in case he was overheard. Too late he regretted his rash decision to wait alone in the flat instead of outside in a patrol car. Silently he rose to his feet and stole across the room to stand behind the open door. Peering round it, he saw Eddy emerge from the kitchen. Ian pulled back without being seen, just before Eddy entered the room. He was clutching a bottle of beer in one hand. Without making a sound, Ian drew in a deep gulp of air and pounced. Seizing Eddy’s arm, he twisted it up behind his back. The bottle fell to the floor as Eddy bellowed in pain and surprise.
‘Fuck off. I’ll bloody kill you,’ he groaned. ‘I’ll have the law on you.’
‘Whose law is that, Eddy?’
‘Fuck off. What do you want? I ain’t got it, if that’s what you’re thinking. I know what you’re after.’
Ian didn’t answer.
‘Well, you can piss off because I ain’t got it any more. Duffy took it, so you can just get lost. Go ask Duffy.’
Ian didn’t know what Eddy was talking about, but was reassured to learn he hadn’t been mistaken for a random intruder.
‘Duffy hasn’t got it,’ he replied in an even tone, giving Eddy’s arm a vicious jerk as he spoke. ‘The police took it.’
‘What?’
Eddy stiffened. He stopped wriggling and stood completely still. Stupid with exhaustion, Ian relaxed his hold for an instant. That was all Eddy needed. With a sudden surge of energy he shoved Ian backwards, knocking his head against the edge of the door. Momentarily stunned, Ian let go of his arm. With a sideways lunge at Ian’s guts, Eddy spun round and darted out of the room while Ian doubled over, gasping. He staggered after Eddy who raced into the bedroom and flung open a window. Ian threw himself forward too late to stop the other man leaping out. Ian scrambled after him, landing awkwardly in a bank of brambles beneath the window. There was no time to stop and examine his injuries. Although the bushes had scratched his face and hands, they had broken his fall. Apart from jarring his elbow, he didn’t think he was hurt.
Frantically he looked around but couldn’t see anything in the moonless night. As he fumbled for his torch there was a low rustling in the bushes nearby. Shining his light in the direction of the sound, he caught a glimpse of Eddy’s squat frame hurrying away. They were at the back of the property, in a strip of garden bordered on three sides by high fences. Eddy was running towards a path that led round to the front of the building. In pursuit, Ian punched the keys on his phone to alert the officers who were waiting in the street.
‘He’s on his way,’ he panted as he ran.
He was too winded to say more. He could only hope his colleagues would spot Eddy in time. In the beam from his torch, Ian followed a narrow grassy path along the side of the flats to the road, cursing himself for being unable to run any faster. But although Eddy was strong his bulk slowed him down, so that despite being winded Ian almost caught up with his target by the time they reached the pavement.
Ian’s guts were aching. Just when he thought he couldn’t run any further, a patrol car screeched to a halt and two officers jumped out. Eddy tried to barge past them but he stood no chance. Only when he stopped running did Ian realise that he was in agony where Eddy had punched him in the stomach. He sank to the ground, groaning, overcome with nausea.
‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘Just cuff him,’ Ian gasped, ‘before he can do any more damage.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Leaning back against the car, Ia
n heard Eddy shouting abuse at the officer who was restraining him.
‘Gotcha,’ he muttered as he threw up in the gutter.
He looked up and saw Eddy grinning at his discomfort.
‘I wouldn’t feel too cheerful if I were you,’ Ian growled. ‘You’re in real trouble, Eddy. Assaulting a police officer –’
‘It was self-defence,’ Eddy protested. ‘I thought you were an intruder. No, fuck it, you were an intruder. What the fuck were you doing, breaking into my house like that? Fucking pigs.’
‘It’s a flat,’ Ian retorted, ‘it’s not yours, and I didn’t break in. I was invited.’
He nodded to the uniformed officers.
‘Take him away.’
Complaining loudly about wrongful arrest and police brutality, Eddy was dragged into the car.
48
ALTHOUGH HE WAS TIRED and his elbow ached where he had fallen on it, Ian was keen to question Eddy. Rob was at his desk in the Incident Room in Herne Bay. He took one look at Ian and offered to take over. Ian shook his head, insisting he was absolutely fine. His stomach no longer hurt, which was a relief.
‘You don’t look fine,’ Rob said, staring pointedly at Ian’s muddy clothes and the scratches on his face. ‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘I fell through a hedge backwards,’ Ian replied solemnly. ‘Let me question him, sir.’
Eddy had given them the run around, but now Ian had regained control of the situation he wasn’t going to forego the pleasure of watching him squirm. He had a feeling of excitement that he hadn’t experienced on first meeting Henry, even though Martha’s husband was the more likely suspect. Other than the knife they knew of no connection between Eddy and the victim who had been stabbed, yet Ian had a feeling Eddy was somehow implicated in her death.
Eddy was slumped in a chair. Beads of sweat glistened on his wide forehead. His face looked almost sickly, while his dark eyes shone with furtive desperation. He had spent two years in the nick for aggravated burglary when he was a youngster. Such an experience could scar a man permanently. It would certainly explain why he was looking so stressed at the prospect of being apprehended again. Ian barely managed to hide his satisfaction as he opened the interview.
‘We just want to ask you a few questions.’
Eddy glowered at him.
Ian didn’t reveal straight away that he had discovered the identity of the man Eddy had mentioned. A few questions around the station had quickly disclosed that Duffy was the name of a local drug dealer.
‘He isn’t one of your quiet “go away, I’m stoned” dealers,’ the drug squad officer had explained. ‘Some of them just want to pursue their illegal activities discreetly. Not Duffy. He’s as vicious a piece of work as you’ll find anywhere, and tricky with it. We’ve never managed to nail him though God knows we’ve tried. Don’t be shy about muscling in on our patch, mate. If you can get anything on Duffy, you go for it. Do us all a favour. Go for the jugular.’
Ian recalled how Eddy’s voice had trembled when he had spoken about Duffy. He clearly wasn’t someone Eddy wanted to cross.
Ian stared closely at Eddy as he started questioning him.
‘Why did you run?’
‘Huh?’
‘Why did you run away from me this afternoon? Come on, Eddy, you know perfectly well what I’m talking about.’
Eddy said he had mistaken Ian for an intruder. It wasn’t an unreasonable claim, considering he had been attacked in his own home by a stranger. It was hardly an indication of a guilty conscience. Ian listened with growing impatience as Eddy refused to admit he had given Ben a weapon to hide.
‘Now why would I do that to the poor kid?’ he protested. ‘The boy’s like a son to me. He’s only twelve,’ he added, reminding Ian, man to man, that they were discussing a child. ‘Kids make stuff up all the time. You don’t want to go taking it seriously, for fuck’s sake.’
Eddy’s implication was clear. Ben’s word couldn’t be trusted.
‘He says you asked him to look after a knife for him,’ Ian said quietly. ‘Do you deny it?’
‘Course I bloody deny it. I never carried a knife in me life. Don’t hold with them. I’m a pacifist.’
Ian slapped a photograph of the knife on the table between them.
‘You gave it to him because you needed to hide it. You thought it would be safe with him. You couldn’t afford to let the police get hold of this knife.’
Ian’s suggestion that he had trusted something important to Ben seemed to surprise Eddy more than the accusation itself.
‘You think I’d trust him?’ he spluttered indignantly, dropping any pretence of affection for Ben. ‘I wouldn’t trust that little sod if my life depended on it. The lies he tells his mother about me would make your jaw drop. She never believes a word he says, and you’re a fool if you listen to him. What’s the big deal anyway? It’s not illegal to own a knife.’
‘But it is illegal to use a knife as an offensive weapon. A woman was killed on Friday, with a knife just like this one –’
‘Now you look here,’ Eddy interrupted.
All at once he seemed so jumpy, he could hardly sit still. He began to slag Ben off, going all out to discredit the boy who had accused him of owning a murder weapon. It was hard to determine which of the two was the worse liar. Eddy was a fool if he believed Ian hadn’t seen his record. Nevertheless, he winced when Ian opened a folder and read out the list of his previous convictions. Three of the charges involved carrying knives, and he had twice been convicted of GBH.
‘That last one was never proved,’ Eddy exclaimed, with pointless bluster.
Ian had made his point, not only catching Eddy out in a lie, but establishing a history of threatening behaviour involving knives.
‘It was just bluff,’ Eddy muttered, still determined to defend himself against the odds.
‘Until now.’
‘No, I’m telling you, that’s a lie. Jesus, just because I was carrying a blade when I was a kid, doesn’t mean I’m going to be running around with one now. But I get your game. Someone’s been stabbed here in Herne Bay and I’ve got form. So you decide I must be guilty. As if I’m the only person in Herne Bay to have walked around with a blade when I was a kid. I’m telling you, I never knifed no one. And that ain’t mine.’
He pointed at the photograph.
Eddy folded his arms and pressed his lips together, as if to signal he had said everything he was going to say on the subject.
‘Where were you the Friday before last, at about nine in the evening?’
‘Why?’
Ian tapped the picture of the knife.
‘A woman was stabbed in Herne Bay on that Friday evening with this knife. Now answer the question. Where were you on the Friday before last between eight and ten in the evening?’
‘In the pub,’ Eddy replied promptly.
‘Which pub?’
‘Do you know, I can’t remember the name.’
All at once Eddy seemed to be enjoying himself. He leaned back in his chair with a nonchalant smile.
‘You’ll need a witness who can vouch for you for the whole evening, from around eight until midnight.’
Eddy laughed.
‘Someone stabbed your woman for four hours? Well, that rules me out. I wouldn’t have the stamina.’
‘This is a murder enquiry,’ Ian snapped, irritated by Eddy’s frivolous tone.
‘Well why don’t you get on with it, then, and stop wasting time.’
‘Was anyone with you at the pub?’
‘Well, as it happens, I went out for a quiet drink, all by myself.’
Ian had an uneasy feeling Eddy was toying with him.
‘I can’t remember the exact time I got there, but the landlord will tell you. Ask him. He’ll tell you. I was there all evening.’
‘And let me guess, you’ve forgotten his name too,’
‘If I ever knew it. But I have just remembered the name of the pub. It’s the King’s Head.’
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‘The King’s Head,’ Ian repeated. ‘There are a lot of pubs with that name.’
‘I can’t help that, can I? I don’t name the bleeding pubs.’
‘So where is this particular King’s Head you’re talking about?’
‘Newcastle’
‘Newcastle?’ Ian repeated with sudden misgiving.
‘Yes, I was up there visiting my old mother. I’m a good son.’ He grinned. ‘Now can I go?’
‘Wait here.’
It didn’t take long to check out Eddy’s story. For a start, his car was picked up on CCTV en route to Newcastle. Then the pub was traced. A local constable was despatched to question the landlord. Ian was bitterly disappointed to learn that the publican recalled seeing Eddy the previous weekend. He wasn’t sure about the time, but confirmed Eddy had been drinking alone in the bar on both Friday and Saturday evenings. He recalled Eddy trying unsuccessfully to pick up a local tart who had lost interest when she discovered he was broke. The encounter had turned out luckily for Eddy in the end because the landlord remembered his face. Nursing his sore elbow, Ian watched him go.
49
ROB WAS AS DISAPPOINTED as Ian. Even when they weren’t sure they had the right suspect, the hope that he might be guilty kept them motivated. Now they had to accept that the weapon they had sent off for examination might not have been used to kill Martha after all. The lab had confirmed there were traces of human blood on the blade. The blood group matched Martha’s, but that was by no means conclusive. Getting on for half the population shared that blood group. It would take more than that to prove the knife had been used in the fatal stabbing.
‘Bugger,’ Rob said. ‘Now look, why don’t you get home to your wife? Nothing’s going to change overnight. Go home and start again tomorrow.’
Cold Sacrifice Page 20