Love Sex Work Murder
Page 6
By the time Nick walked through the doors of CountrySafe, almost an hour late, with a pounding head, bloodshot eyes, he had an absolute determination this time not to bump into Gail Timson for avery long time.
Did You Mean It?
SUBJECT: Hello 23-10-2009 11:34:59
FROM: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
TO: Nick Hale NHAL003C
Hi Nick,
How are you today? I hope you enjoyed yourself yesterday evening.
Gail.
Gail Timson
Product Merchandising
SUBJECT: Good Afternoon! 23-10-2009 12:06:23
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
Hi Gail,
Yes, had a good time thanks. Felt pretty rough earlier (“nightcap” when I got in didn’t help!) but not too bad now. How about you?
Nick.
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
SUBJECT: Re: Good Afternoon! 23-10-2009 12:09:38
FROM: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
TO: Nick Hale NHAL003C
I’m fine thanks, Nick. Do you remember what you said on the way home?
Gail Timson
Product Merchandising
SUBJECT: Memories 23-10-2009 14:16:02
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
Gail,
Well I remember some things. Did you have anything in particular in mind?!
N.
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
SUBJECT: Particular 23-10-2009 14:42:19
FROM: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
TO: Nick Hale NHAL003C
N,
You offered to take me for a drive in your Porsche, but it doesn’t matter if you didn’t really mean it!
G.
Gail Timson
Product Merchandising
SUBJECT: Porsche 23-10-2009 14:44:57
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
G,
Yes, I can remember that bit! Sure, no problem; that’d be nice.
N.
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
SUBJECT: Re: Porsche 23-10-2009 14:53:16
FROM: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
TO: Nick Hale NHAL003C
Hi Nick,
Well, if you are sure… Where would you like to take me?
G.
Gail Timson
Product Merchandising
SUBJECT: Re: Porsche 23-10-2009 15:02:11
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
Dunno. Could take a long lunch and go for some food at a pub out in the country?
N.
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
SUBJECT: Or … 23-10-2009 15:02:48
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
… could even do an evening sometime, if you like.
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
SUBJECT: Evening 23-10-2009 15:06:34
FROM: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
TO: Nick Hale NHAL003C
Nick,
Whatever’s easiest for you, but yes, evening would be nice. I could do next Tuesday if that’s any good to you.
Gail.
Gail Timson
Product Merchandising
SUBJECT: Tues 23-10-2009 15:08:07
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
G.
Yep, Tuesday’s fine by me. Where would you want to meet - could come here if you like, or maybe meet at a pub. What d’you think?
N.
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
SUBJECT: Re: Tues 23-10-2009 15:11:02
FROM: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
TO: Nick Hale NHAL003C
I’ll have my car, so can meet at a pub if you like. Do you know the Six Bells on the main road through Arlesworth? I could meet there if that’s any good to you.
Gail Timson
Product Merchandising
SUBJECT: Bells 23-10-2009 15:13:09
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
Six Bells sounds good me. What time, say about 7:30?
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
SUBJECT: OK 23-10-2009 15:14:13
FROM: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
TO: Nick Hale NHAL003C
7:30 will be fine. I’ll wait in the car park ... I’ll be in my blue Fiesta.
Gail Timson
Product Merchandising
SUBJECT: Re: OK 23-10-2009 15:18:26
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
OK then, 7:30 it is. See y’there! Looking forward to it already.
Did you notice the timestamp on your last note, by the way? It was 15 14 13. Wouldn’t be able to do that if you tried!
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
SUBJECT: Looking 23-10-2009 15:20:53
FROM: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
TO: Nick Hale NHAL003C
Me too. Let me know if it’s a problem though, or if you can’t make it for any reason.
Yes, funny that with the time, but no, I hadn’t noticed it!
Gail Timson
Product Merchandising
SUBJECT: No Problem 23-10-2009 15:24:18
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
…I’ll be there. Haven’t used the car for ages; I’d better make sure it still starts!
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
SUBJECT: Weekend 23-10-2009 16:36:14
FROM: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
TO: Nick Hale NHAL003C
Nick,
I’m off home now. Have a nice weekend, and try not to drink too much!
Gail.
Gail Timson
Product Merchandising
SUBJECT: You Too! 23-10-2009 16:39:54
FROM: Nick Hale NHAL003C
TO: Gail Timson GTIM001Q
Have a good one yourself, and I’ll try to follow your advice. Goodnight. X
Nick Hale
Project Manager – Systems Development
Gail’s Arrest
A loud knocking on the bedroom door awoke Gail at nine o’clock in the morning.
“Mum, are you awake?” It was Catherine.
“Yes, yes … just getting up,” Gail replied semi-consciously, and untruthfully.
“Are you OK? … I was going to take Ben into town to do some shopping, do you want to come?”
“No, no, you go ahead, love. I’ve got plenty to do here.”
“OK, if you’re sure. Did you want anything from the shops?”
“No … thanks. Will you be back for lunch?”
“Probably, but don’t worry if I’m not. Steven’s gone to Jo’s; he went last night… I’ll see you later… Bye!”
Catherine ran noisily down the stairs and Gail turned over to look at her alarm clock. She was surprised at how late it was. She had been asleep for a long time, although she didn’t feel particularly refreshed. In fact she felt drained and had butterflies in her stomach, the way she felt sometimes if she’d been having bad dreams during the night. Maybe that was what it was, or maybe it was just down to the real life nightmare that was her waking world.
She rolled onto her back and waited for Catherine to leave the house. That was quite some time as she was downstairs banging and crashing around for ages, and intermittently talking to someone – probably Ben … or possibly the cat.
Then she went.
“Bye, mum!” And the front door was slammed shut.
Gail got up straight away, took off the black dress that she’d fallen asleep in, and pa
cked it away in a carrier bag ready to be dry-cleaned. Then, after a quick shower, she put on her clothes for the day: a faded pair of Levi 501s and a pale yellow T-shirt. She checked her appearance in the mirror. The Levis were a very good fit for a mother of two who was just a day short of her fortieth birthday.
Downstairs she was pleasantly surprised to find much of the clearing up had been done, although there was still a large pile of dirty cooking and eating utensils in the kitchen waiting to be washed up.
Gail rarely ate anything at all for breakfast, but a day and a half without food had left even her rather hungry. After a brief look around the cupboards she settled on a bowl of (two) Weetabix to remedy the hunger situation, and she consumed them quickly at the kitchen table. She then made herself a cup of coffee and went through to the front room to sit in her usual place on the sofa and contemplate what to do with the rest of the day.
The house was in silence for the first time in ages, and Gail was pleased to be able to enjoy it. She had been dreading the next day for a long time – years probably – but after the fortnight that she had just had, a mere birthday could no longer hold any real fears. She still felt numb, but it was not the debilitating numbness of the day before; she still felt the painful sadness, but she wouldn’t be driven to tears. She sat back deep in the leather sofa and sipped at her coffee, thinking, but not of anything in particular. Her gaze fell on the shelf in her bay window that was adorned with football trophies, probably twenty of them. They wouldn’t be there much longer. She drank her coffee more quickly, and once she’d tipped back her head to empty the last drop from her mug she sprang straight to her feet. The last day of her thirties was not going to be wasted sitting around doing nothing; she would find something constructive to do with it. The football trophies could be one task to tackle, but she chose instead to start with the washing up. And that wasn’t a bad place to start, because it wasn’t in truth a chore that she ever much minded carrying out. There was something satisfying about turning a thing so unpleasant-looking as a chaotic scrap-strewn pile of feeding debris into a set of pristine ordered stacks of warm, clean crockery. It was a job where progress was easy to gauge too: as the debris pile shrank away, so the clean one grew correspondingly. She would never have admitted it, but to Gail washing up could sometimes verge on being a pleasurable activity.
She switched on her old transistor radio that had been perched in the same place on the kitchen window ledge since some time before Catherine was born. It was, as ever, tuned into Radio One, and Gail found herself first humming and then even singing along to songs as she worked. Little pangs of guilt told her that she shouldn’t be showing signs of enjoying herself yet, but she managed to ride on through those with a “life’s too short” argument. In fact, more than that, she felt inspired, once those crocs were all nicely ordered, to return to the front room to hunt through her CD collection.
There were lots of CDs, and lots of memories associated with them. She brushed by many, not allowing her mind to dwell on those that were Barry’s or those that he had bought for her. It took her some time to trawl through the lot, but once she had done so she had drawn out three albums to treat to a rare airing. They were all loud offerings: Iron Maiden’sNumber of the Beast, Def Leppard’sHysteria, and Guns ‘n’ Roses’Appetite for Destruction. Guns ‘n’ Roses became the first to get dusted off and, after a glance through the track listing,Paradise City became her first selection. She cranked up the volume and stood in the middle of the floor.
She started by miming the words during the first verse whilst swaying with the music, before bursting into song in time for the chorus, which she belted out with gusto, head back, and arms aloft. Then she thrust herself into a head shaking frenzy the likes of which her neck hadn’t suffered since, well, since before Catherine was probably even conceived. By the time the track was over she was in need of a rest and so she moved on to the mellowerSweet Child O’Mine.
She loved the way the song’s high-pitch guitar intro launched into its deliciously infectious opening vocal. Axl Rose and Gail Timson were soon singing along in harmony and Gail was back in 1987. They romped through the first verse, then cranked up the volume for the chorus, and then kept it up through verse two. After that she felt that the song tailed off a bit really, but it didn’t stop her singing, and when the chorus came up for a second time she and Axl were practically screaming together …. And then the doorbell went. Panic! Gail leapt at the CD player and pressed the power button, bringing Axl’s voice to a sudden and unceremonious halt. She felt guilty and silly, and knew that she had gone red with embarrassment. She took a deep breath and waited a few seconds to compose herself. It was probably the neighbours complaining about the noise; she had thought that they were out because the house had seemed quiet and their car wasn’t in the drive. Rehearsing her apologetic lines she went through into the hallway, and then instinctively paused before the oval wall mirror to check her hair.
The Timson home had started life as a council house, and its front door was a remnant of that time: it was basically a thick slab of painted plywood with a large frosted glass panel running down the middle. And that gave the occupant a silhouetted view of any caller. This limited preview revealed to Gail a large figure in dark clothing, probably the postman. Relieved that it wasn’t the neighbours complaining after all, she flung open the door with a sunny smile across her face … only to be greeted by a stern-looking man who was not the postman.
He introduced himself as Detective Inspector Graham Humphries. He was tall, just a little overweight, and in his early fifties. A neat moustache, mainly grey, but laced with retreating sandy-coloured strands, matched tufts of similarly coloured wiry hair that remained around the sides of his otherwise bald head. He wore a big brown overcoat, and looked to some degree like a used car dealer. There was however a certain kindness about his big face and green eyes. Gail felt that she was in the presence of a good old-fashioned proper copper, who probably subscribed to the “firm but fair” stereotype.
Behind Detective Inspector Humphries was a familiar face: DC Jane Harrison, who had been assigned as Gail’s “family liaison officer” to help her and her family through the trauma of Barry’s murder.
Gail’s smile had evaporated.
“Do you mind if we come in?” asked DI Humphries.
Gail showed the two police officers into her front room and they sat down. They both declined her offer of a cup of tea. DI Humphries was sitting in Gail’s usual space and so she sat at the other end of the small sofa. DC Harrison was sitting in a chair with an “Oh you poor dear thing” look on her face.
DI Humphries had a presence about him, an air of authority, and a strong measured voice to go with it. He had a reassuring effect. He asked Gail how she was getting on, and how the funeral day had gone. He seemed genuinely sympathetic and concerned, and chatted for some minutes, helping to put her at ease. But this was never going to be a social visit, and when the platitudes dried up he looked her straight in the eye and, although his manner was unaltered, there was a tangible mood change in the room.
“Gail, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. We are here to arrest you on suspicion of your husband’s murder.”
He then recited the police caution. Gail had heard it a thousand times on TV. She knew that anything she said might be used in evidence. But she didn’t expect anybody to ever say those words to her in real life.
After a lengthy pin-drop-quiet pause Gail asked softly “What happens next?”
The kindly Mr Humphries took a slow intake of breath and asked in his firm but fair way. “Would you mind accompanying us to the police station?”
Plunged back into the stunned numbness that she had previously escaped, Gail replied on autopilot, “No, no, not at all.”
DC Harrison accompanied her upstairs where she briefly applied a small amount of make-up, put on a dark blue denim jacket, and threw her purse into a neat little black handbag.
When they went downstairs two more
policemen were in her front room. Gail gave them a set of keys, at DI Humphries’ request, and then he and DC Harrison accompanied her to their car. Gail hurriedly got into the back seat, not pausing to look around and see if any of the neighbours were watching. They moved off and once again she found herself watching the world slide by through a car window with a sense of foreboding weighing heavy in her heart.
The car headed out of Norling, the opposite direction to Norling police station. “Where are we going?” asked Gail, weakly.
Detective Inspector Humphries turned around and cleared his throat. “We are going to Hanforth police station. That’s where our team is based … the Murder Investigation Team.”
Gail didn’t answer that: She couldn’t.
At the station the officers continued to be polite but businesslike. She handed over her personal possessions. They led her into an interview room. It was not a cell, but all the same it gave her a terrible feeling of being in captivity. She was offered the services of a solicitor, but declined. She didn’t see that there was any point.