Disordered Minds

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Disordered Minds Page 38

by Minette Walters


  Roy glared at Wyatt. "I told you. She's stitching me up."

  "It's a reasonable inference," the sergeant said. "If Grace knew you were in her garden when Cill left, then you certainly had a motive."

  Roy arched forward, stabbing his cigarette at the other man. "I've told you a thousand times, she couldn't have done so. There was no way she could have seen us. Even Lou's saying we were hiding behind the shed."

  "Perhaps Louise told her you were waiting," said George.

  "Oh sure!" he said scathingly. "And you think Cill would have come out if she knew her rapists were planning to jump her." He took a pensive drag on his cigarette. "We'd have been mad to go near Grace after the grilling we had on the Monday morning. All we could think about was putting distance between ourselves and anyone who'd known Cill. If we'd seen Howard, we'd have run a mile in case he guessed what we'd done." He paused, remembering. "We were scared out of our wits the cops had only let us go to follow us back to the body. We were a mess for months ... shat bricks every time we saw bulldozers on the waste ground."

  "Then why lie about Howard attacking Colley with a knife?" she asked reasonably. "It was so easily disproved, and it makes everything else you say suspect."

  "Because I was sick to the back teeth of you and that damned author bleating on about Howard's innocence. I knew he was guilty ... everyone knew he was guilty. About the only thing Lou's said that's true is that he was a pervert. He was always creeping around the kids in Colliton Way."

  "That's tantamount to saying all perverts are murderers, Roy. On that basis, Louise's father could have murdered Grace."

  He shrugged. "She'd go for it if there was a shred of evidence to support it. He didn't think twice about destroying her. She hates him with a passion."

  George nodded. "She certainly flew that kite when she talked to Andrew Spicer."

  Roy showed a reluctant interest. "When did she talk to him?"

  "Nearly three months ago."

  That surprised him. "She never told me."

  "It was also the first time she mentioned seeing blood on Grace's window on the Tuesday," George said. "It suited us, of course, because it pointed toward Howard's innocence ... but it didn't suit you or your friends. Jonathan believes she started trying to set you up from the minute he arrived on the scene."

  Roy frowned. "She told Sasha Spencer it was Howard. I heard her. She even gave chapter and verse on how he did it ... by sneaking out when his mother was drunk. That was the truth. It's this garbage about getting us into the house that's the lie."

  "She only named Howard to give the impression that she was frightened of you." George watched a frown draw his heavy eyebrows together. "She wanted the police involved. It's probably why she stole Jonathan's wallet and passport. She's a sexy woman and she's bored with playing nurse to a mental cripple." She pulled a face. "To be honest, I don't think she cares who gets dragged into the net, just so long as she can walk away and start again. She doesn't have your loyalties ... or your conscience."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Has she ever expressed remorse for delivering Cill into your hands?"

  He squeezed the glowing end out of his cigarette and dropped it into the ashtray. "We don't talk about it."

  "What did you say at the time? How did you explain the fact that Cill was still missing?"

  He thought back. "I said she'd run away from us when we left the alleyway."

  "And Louise believed you?" "I didn't ask."

  DS Wyatt leaned forward. "When did you speak to her?"

  "On the Monday afternoon. She called from a pay phone on her way home from school wanting to know if the police had questioned us about the rape. I said they had and they'd let us go."

  "What else?"

  "I told her to keep her mouth shut about Saturday night, otherwise the police'd know we'd been lying about the rape."

  "Did you threaten her?" Roy nodded. "What with?"

  "I said we'd tell the cops it was her idea."

  "The rape, or abducting Cill from Grace's house?"

  "Both. It was Lou delivered the poor kid to us each time." He stared bleakly at the wall behind Wyatt's head. "I don't know why we went along with it now, except we knew Howard liked her. It was him we were really after." He shook himself suddenly as if to rid himself of phantoms. "It was Lou's big mouth that was the problem. I told her we'd have her if she made it any worse for us."

  "Are we talking about the lunchtime conversation on the Saturday or the Monday afternoon one?"

  "Saturday. She'd already dropped us in it by describing us."

  "Is that when she said Cill was at Grace's?"

  He nodded.

  "And?" asked Wyatt.

  "She came up with the idea of giving Cill a scare. Problem solved if she didn't name us."

  "What about Grace?" put in George. "She must have known about the rape, and almost certainly knew, or could guess, that you were responsible. Why didn't you think it was necessary to give her a scare as well?"

  Roy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "We weren't that bloody thick. If Cill denied it was us, then it didn't matter what Grace said."

  "Did you consider the idea at all?" Wyatt asked mildly.

  Roy hesitated. "I'm not answering that," he said then, jerking his chin at George. "I'll have my words twisted if I do."

  "Fair enough. Let me put it another way. Did Louise suggest for the Saturday night what she's now claiming happened on the Monday-that she engineered entry for you, Micky and Colley in order to scare Grace into keeping quiet?"

  A tic started working violently at the side of Roy's mouth. "I'm not answering that either."

  "Grace couldn't have died on the Saturday," George told him, "otherwise Cill's fingerprints would have been found." She saw incomprehension in his eyes. "No one's saying you killed Grace on the Saturday," she explained. "All we're asking is if Louise suggested you go into the house with her." He didn't answer.

  "Should we take that as a yes?" Wyatt asked. "Presumably you'd be denying it if she hadn't?"

  Roy gave a terse nod. "We didn't go in, though."

  "Because you didn't want Grace to see you?" Another nod.

  "But you didn't have a problem if she saw Louise?"

  He shrugged. "It was her idea. She'd have talked her way out of it. We didn't have much of a say except to be waiting in the alley at the back by eight-thirty."

  "But all this was before Cill died," Wyatt pointed out. "How did Louise react on the Monday when you said you'd take her down with you if she ever talked about the events of Saturday night."

  "She got uppity and we had a row. I told her not to ring again. I was scared witless the police were going to find out we knew each other."

  "What was the relationship between you?" George asked. "Was she keen on you?"

  "Must have been," he said. "She was always on the phone, wanting to talk to me. I didn't feel the same way about her-not then-she was nothing to look at in those days. More of a joke, really."

  "So you dumped her?" said Wyatt.

  Roy shrugged. "It was for her sake as well as ours. She'd been acting pretty damn crazy since the rape-kept accusing us of fancying Cill. It was driving Micky round the bend, and he was never too stable at the best of times." He paused. "I'm not saying it's fair, but we all blamed her for what happened. If she hadn't told us where Cill was, we'd never have done it."

  "Weren't you worried she'd take revenge?" Wyatt asked. "She was disturbed enough."

  Roy shook his head. "She couldn't-not without getting herself into trouble."

  "Until Grace was murdered," said George. "She was the only other person who knew Louise was involved." There was a short silence.

  "Whoever killed Mrs. Jefferies had red hair," said DS Wyatt. "It was someone she was willing to open her door to ... and someone who was deeply disturbed."

  Roy flicked a wary glance between the two of them.

  "Louise was in a dangerously unstable mood after that weekend," George s
aid. "Far more unstable than Howard, for example, who was looking for a job and was given one by Jannerway's Dairy. She was being blamed at school for provoking the fight that led indirectly to Cill running away ... being accused by the Trevelyans of telling lies. She hated her father for what he was doing to her, hated you for abandoning her, and most certainly hated Cill. By the Wednesday, a doctor was prescribing tranquilizers to control her panic attacks."

  "How could she have done it? She was a skinny little kid."

  "Who was wielding a carving knife against a woman who tried to escape upstairs. She was slashing at her legs as she went after her."

  Roy ground his fists into his eyes. "What was the point? Lou didn't know Cill was dead. The kid could have returned the next day, and the heat would have been off."

  George shook her head. "She wouldn't have been thinking as rationally as that, but are you sure she didn't know Cill was dead ... or at least guess? If she was watching while you walked away up Bladen Street, she'd have known Cill didn't run away when you left the alley. Perhaps you said something on the Monday that allowed her to put two and two together?"

  He stared at her. "Are you saying she did it after she spoke to me?"

  "We think Tuesday's more likely. If she was ostracized for a second day at school-which she was-then it's probable her resentments spilled over in the evening. Everyone was blaming her. Her mother was furious because Jean Trevelyan had screamed at her in the street, and her father was angry because David Trevelyan was souring the atmosphere at work. She may even have gone to Grace's for sympathy and lost her temper when she didn't get it."

  Wyatt offered him another cigarette. "You described her as 'uppity,' " he prompted. "What did she say?"

  Roy dredged his memory. "I know she kept on about me fancying Cill, because that's what got me riled," he said. "The kid was already dead but she wouldn't let it drop. Lou was obsessed with her even then. Did I think Cill was prettier? Did I think Cill was sexier? I told her I'd kill her if she didn't shut up." He fell into a morose, brooding silence.

  "She gives a great deal of detail in her statement," said Wyatt. "She claims it all came from Micky Hopkinson shortly before he died but it's very accurate for a story that was told her fifteen years after the event. She knew about the handkerchief ... Cill's hands being tied ... Micky holding a knife to her back ... Cill crying the whole way to the waste ground ... burial in one of the test pits ... you getting rid of your clothes in a dustbin on the other side of town."

  Roy lowered his head into his hands. "She'd have to've followed us to know all that for herself ... and she didn't. I'm not thick, Mr. Wyatt. Do you think I wouldn't've caught her out by now? Do you think I'd've let her call the shots all these years if there was a chance she'd murdered Grace?"

  "Did she have Micky or Colley's number?"

  He hesitated. "She might have had Colley's. Micky's family didn't have a phone."

  "Would she have called Colley?"

  "Maybe ... but it's not something you can prove. He's forgotten the whole thing now."

  "When did you next see her?" asked George.

  "After she and Micky hooked up. I recognized her immediately. She'd changed everything else, but she couldn't change her eyes."

  "Was she calling herself Priscilla?"

  "Not then. She was Daisy at that point. She changed to Priscilla about three years after she married Micky."

  "Did she explain why she chose it?"

  He stirred the dirt in the ashtray with the end of his cigarette. "She liked it better than Daisy or Louise." He pondered for a moment. "Actually, I think she said Micky liked Priscilla better than Daisy or Louise, and she probably meant it that way, too. She never believed any of us liked her for who she was ... you could say Colley proved it by forgetting Louise completely."

  "Did she ever mention Grace's murder or Howard's conviction?" Wyatt asked.

  "Only since George came on the scene and started asking questions."

  "What did she say?"

  "That if George ferreted around too much she'd find out about Cill."

  "Anything else?" "She was worried about DNA evidence."

  "In what connection?" asked George. "Cill's murder or Grace's?"

  Roy eyed her for a moment. "Grace's," he said slowly. "She read Dr. Hughes's book where he mentioned that if some of the physical evidence had been kept, it would clear Howard. She was frightened that if that happened, the police would reopen the case and almost certainly look at Cill's disappearance again-" he paused-"and that would put her, Colley and me in the firing line because we were all questioned at the time."

  "What was your answer to that?"

  He didn't speak for a moment, and George could almost hear his brain working. "That you'd already told me the physical evidence had been destroyed and there wasn't much chance of anyone else being put in the frame."

  George frowned at him. "I never said that, Roy. Even the police don't know if the evidence still exists. Fred Lovatt's looked through the archives and he hasn't found anything ... but I live in hope. The Black Museum in London still has bits of evidence from the Ripper murders."

  Roy's mouth twisted into a cynical smile. "She was acting paranoid. I wanted her out of the pub before she drew attention to herself. Bloody joke, eh? I wouldn't be here if I'd kept my stupid mouth shut."

  Wyatt exchanged a questioning glance with George. "Two hours later she stole Jonathan's wallet and passport," George said. "That's the only reason we became interested in Cill Trevelyan." She pulled a wry expression at Roy's dawning disillusionment. "I did say she didn't have your loyalties, Roy, and perhaps, after all, we should blame her father for it. If he hadn't made her the whipping boy for his frustrations, and forced her to lie about it, she wouldn't have learned how easy-or pleasurable-it was to see someone else punished for hers."

  From: [email protected]

  Sent: Tues. 7/29/03 15:23

  To: [email protected]

  Subject: Louise

  Dear Robert and Eileen,

  I'm writing to you without Billy's knowledge because he's forbidden me and the girls to talk to you, but someone has to say something before this awful situation gets any worse. You can't be so stupid that you'd go on lying for Louise when she's lining up Eileen as Grace's murderer if Roy Trent can wriggle out of it. Maybe you think you owe her something because of Robert's abuse. Maybe you think that by giving her an alibi, you're helping her. You're not. You're just accusing YOURSELVES. I'm guessing you're sticking to a story you invented years ago, but all you're doing is digging a bigger and bigger hole for yourselves because the police haven't told you what Louise has been saying.

  Billy KNOWS that Eileen went to work on the Monday and Tuesday afternoons as usual, which means she COULDN'T have got home until after Robert clocked on at Brackham & Wright's. It wasn't until the Wednesday, when Louise started her fainting fits, that she gave up work. Robert, you know this too, so why are you lying about it? The police keep asking Billy the same questions over and over again. What time did his mother come home on the Tuesday? Was Louise there? Did his mother go out again later?

  Eileen's already under suspicion because she said she collected Louise from school on the Monday afternoon and kept her at home for the rest of the day. That's contradicting Louise's OWN story about phoning Trent from a call box after school, then helping him and his friends gain access to Grace that evening. Because of that, they're now questioning whether Eileen collected Louise on the Tuesday. If you've been lying to protect the family, then you're MAD. At the moment, Eileen's next in the firing line. If you're guilty of Grace's murder, Eileen, then I have no sympathy for you, but if you're NOT, then you must tell the truth.

  The worst I think you might have done is cover for Louise afterward. I'd know if either of my girls had done something bad. I bet she came home in a state on the Tuesday, long after you'd got back from work, probably in something of Grace's because she'd left hers on the bathroom floor. I expect she
lied and said Grace was already dead when she got there. So what did you do? Go back for the clothes? Was it you who wiped the taps? It's the sort of thing you'd think of. I wonder why you didn't clean the bath as well, but maybe the blood and hair didn't show when it was wet. You must have been very frightened, of course, so perhaps you felt too sick to do the job properly. Was it you who vandalized the house to make it look like a burglary?

  I'm not surprised you were shaking when the police came door to door. I bet you couldn't believe your luck when the police didn't find any fingerprints. I wonder if it was you who picked up the bloodstained gloves and carried them away to a bin. You probably hoped Louise wouldn't have been clever enough to wear them, so you left them where they could be found in case they proved someone else was responsible.

  I don't know what I would have done in your shoes, Eileen, but I hope I'd have had the courage-and sense-to do the right thing. You didn't solve anything for her, or for yourselves, by closing your mind to her guilt. I'm sure the whole idea of it was unbearable, particularly because you KNEW that only a very disturbed person could have murdered Grace in that way. Perhaps you even understood why Louise was disturbed-or at least guessed-so you share some of her guilt. Robert carries the most blame, though, because he treated her like a plaything that could be discarded when he got bored.

  Then Howard confessed and you were able to persuade yourself that Louise had been telling the truth. Poor little bloke. He didn't have a mother who was prepared to cover and lie for him. Wynne just made his situation worse by saying he cut himself because he thought he was ugly. Billy's been having dreams about Cill. Well, I've been having them about Howard Stamp. I can't get out of my mind that, in his whole life, no one except his gran and Cill was ever kind to him. But, when he needed them-when he was at his most lonely-they weren't there.

 

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