‘When did you blacken your face?’ The DCI changed tack, slightly.
‘As a matter of fact, I always keep some camouflage in the glove compartment. Throwback to the SAS days. It only took two seconds.’
‘And the knife? Do you keep that in the glove compartment too?’
‘Not usually. I’d been using it earlier in the day to cut some rope and it just happened to be in the car. I took it in case I needed it for self-defence. In case he had a weapon.’
‘So, you saw this mystery man, driving slowly past your former wife’s house? Would you like to tell us what you were doing in her street?’
‘I like to keep an eye on her. I just like to check she’s ok, so sometimes I drive through there.’
‘You’ve been divorced for, how long?’ asked DCI Mayne, consulting her notes. ‘Ah, yes, about eight years? Have you been keeping an eye on your former wife all that time?’
‘I knew you wouldn’t understand,’ he said, spreading his hands, palms up, and shrugging. ‘Take it or leave it, it’s all the same to me.’ Harrison sat back in his chair and once again folded his arms.
‘Can you describe the car this man was driving?’ interjected DC Jones.
‘Dark blue BMW; new.’ he said confidently.
‘And the registration number?’
‘I only got part of it... JB18,’ Harrison said. ‘When I saw him get out of his car, I was suspicious. It was dark in the Dene and I lost sight of him, so I stayed on the track til I got to Carol’s house. I had to check he wasn’t planning to harm her.’
‘What did this man look like? Can you describe him?’
‘I never saw his face. He was about the same build and height as me. Dressed in black.’
‘What made you think he was planning to harm your ex-wife?’
‘A gut feeling. I’m sure I saw his car in her street once before, but it didn’t register until I saw it again, driving past. He was peering into her windows.’
‘Go on. You blacked up, grabbed a knife and followed this man into the Dene. What happened next?’
‘When I reached the back of the house, it was in darkness, but I could see him. He was inside the house, silhouetted against the front windows. I panicked. I had to stop him from getting to her, so I climbed over the fence and broke into the house by the side door.’
‘Didn’t you stop to wonder how he had got in? Was there any sign of a break-in?’
‘It crossed my mind, but I was in a bit of a panic. Needed to get in there quickly. Then I got collared by you lot.’
‘And you expect us to believe your story?’ asked DCI Mayne.
‘You can believe what you like,’ he said. ‘It’s a matter of complete indifference to me. All I know is, there’s someone out there who wants to harm Carol. I hope you find the bastard before I do.’ He spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, and clearly didn’t care whether or not he was believed.
‘There was no-one there, but you. This mystery man hadn’t broken in and was nowhere to be seen. Not even a footprint. Do you see how it looks to us?’
‘I said you wouldn’t believe me,’ he repeated, crossing his arms again.
The DCI got to her feet. ‘You’ll be going before the magistrates this morning and we’ll be asking for you to be remanded in custody. That’s all for now.’
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Early the next morning, Gayle arrived just as we were finishing breakfast. It was raining heavily; strong gusts of wind driving the rain horizontally. It was drumming against the kitchen window, fat drops chasing each other, in rivulets, down the glass. She came in, wiping her face, looking miserable and dishevelled.
‘What’s happening now, Gayle? What did he have to say?’ I asked her, as soon as she walked into the kitchen. ‘I can’t believe it was Saul who attacked me. Surely I would know... if it was him... I would have recognised his voice. Heavens, I was married to the man for more than a decade.’
‘Hold on, Carol. Whoa...’ Gayle said putting her hand out, palm towards me. ‘Just let me get my wet jacket off. God, I’m glad to be inside.’ She removed her navy parka, which was dripping all over the floor. Fiona took it from her and put it in the warm utility room, to dry off a bit. ‘There’s no evidence to say that Saul had anything to do with Barbados. We need to keep an open mind at this stage. The Barbados crew are to interview him again, later today. It’s their job to look for the evidence. As for last night, Saul claims he was following someone whose car he’d seen driving slowly past your house. Says he was trying to protect you. That he saw someone in the dining room and thought it was the intruder.’
‘Really..? Do you believe him? It sounds bizarre, but not unlike him.’
‘The fact is, he broke into your house. His face was blacked up and he was carrying a knife. This all suggests pre-meditation. We’ll check out his story as far as possible, but he’s now been charged with Aggravated Burglary and will be going before the magistrates later today. We want him remanded in custody.’
‘Oh, I just don’t know what to believe.’
‘If Saul is telling the truth, then that means the attacker’s still out there?’ Fiona said in small voice.
‘Yes, if he’s telling the truth,’ agreed Gayle. ‘So, we intend to leave the security arrangements in place; the panic alarms, etc. And we’ll still have someone call by to check the security lights each day until this is resolved. You’ll need to be vigilant, both of you. If you’re worried about anything or see anything suspicious, or think you’re being followed, you must get in touch without delay.’
‘So you really don’t think Saul’s the predator?’ I asked.
‘We don’t know at this stage. We can’t jump to conclusions. We need evidence before we can link him with Barbados. Believe me, the Barbados police will be looking at him even more closely after this.’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
After Gayle left, I felt restless and unsettled. I needed to be busy, to do something other than go mad, thinking everything through and getting nowhere. The weather was foul and a walk was out of the question, so I suggested to Fiona that we tackle the job we’d been putting off; sorting out Peter’s things. She readily agreed and I realised she, too, needed something to do.
‘Just suppose. What if it turns out that Saul is the person who attacked you? How would you feel?’ Fiona asked, placing a tee-shirt on the pile for the charity shop.
‘Well, after last night, I’m beginning to think anything’s possible. I mean, carrying a bloody machete...’
‘And getting blacked up and breaking into your house. What do you think would’ve happened if the police hadn’t been here?’
‘I don’t know. I just don’t bloody know. Stop asking me. I just don’t know what the fuck the truth is any more.’ I dropped my head into my hands.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put any more pressure on you. I just want you to be prepared. The facts all seem to be pointing to him.’ Fiona looked contrite.
‘I won’t believe it til the police prove otherwise,’ I said with more conviction than I felt. In truth, my mind was in turmoil.
Dealing with Peter’s things was proving a slow and emotional task. Most of his good clothing was to go to charity, a few things to be kept. Whenever a particular sweater or jacket reminded one of us of the last time we saw Peter wearing it, the reminiscences, and the tears, came thick and fast. Even after all this time, faint traces of his aftershave could be detected on some of his shirts and sweaters.
Sitting on the floor, surrounded by heaps of Peter’s clothes, Fiona started chatting about what life was like, at home, before her parents’ split.
‘It was such a relief to me when Dad told me they were splitting up. I mean, I loved them both, but I could see how they were tearing each other apart. And, hell, life’s too short. They’d just gone in different directions. Mum lived for her horses, never happier than when she was in the saddle. Dad was much more of a social animal, as you know. Mum no longe
r wanted to go out anywhere with him, and was always in jodhpurs. Quite honestly, she often smelled of horseshit,’ she laughed. ‘Still does.’
‘Really?’ I asked, amused, folding a soft blue cashmere sweater for the charity shop pile.
‘It’s ironic that Dad’s success meant that mum could afford to indulge her passion. Which in turn widened the gulf between them.’
She picked up a multi-striped Ted Baker scarf and put it to her face, inhaling deeply. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I can still smell Dad on this.’ The tears spilled over, silver trails running down her cheeks and dampening the scarf.
‘Oh sweetheart, is this too much for you?’ I said, hugging her. ‘I can finish off, if you like.’
‘No, we’ll do it together,’ she sniffed and wiped the tears away with her fingers. ‘I’m fine, really.’ She managed a tremulous smile.
A bit later, when I was folding one of Peter’s jackets, it felt heavy. I checked the pockets and found an old mobile phone.
‘Look what I’ve found,’ I said, holding it aloft. ‘We’ll have to see what’s on this.’ I tried to switch it on, but was disappointed to find the battery was flat. Of course it was. ‘I’ll put it on charge and we’ll look later, once it has enough power. Shouldn’t take long.’ I went through to my bedroom, where I found a lead that fitted. I was intrigued about what it might contain. Maybe some photographs, so far unseen? I felt the old familiar pang of longing for Peter. What I wouldn’t give to see him just one more time; to hold him, to feel his arms around me.
‘Right,’ I said briskly, pulling myself together and going back into the dressing room, ‘We’re nearly finished here. Another half hour should just about do it. And then we’ll look at the phone.’
Later, over a glass of prosecco, we sat side by side on the settee in the sitting room, excited to find out what was on Peter’s mobile. What a trip down memory lane. The hundreds of photographs we found kept us engrossed for the next hour, evoking smiles, laughter and a few more poignant tears. We came across one that Peter had taken of the hiking group.
‘Who do you think that is?’ I asked Fiona, pointing to one of the team. He was standing at the end of a line up, next to Peter. ‘It looks just like one of my tenants, but it can’t be.’
‘I don’t know who it is,’ she said, frowning at the screen, and chewing a nail. ‘Apart from my dad, the only other members I know are Pauline’s husband, whatsisname. And Tim, of course. I know a lot of them were at the funeral, but I can’t remember all the faces.’
‘Hmm... I thought I knew all the team...’
That night, I had an uneasy feeling and couldn’t get to sleep. I got up, retrieved the phone and studied the photograph again. It looked so like my tenant, Dan Smithson. Surely, it couldn’t be. Peter would have mentioned if one of my tenants had joined the group. But, of course, as they’d never met each other, Peter wouldn’t have known it was my tenant, unless James told him. Could James have joined the group, unaware that my husband was a member? Quite possibly. Why did I feel so unsettled?
I must have drifted off because I woke suddenly, at around four in the morning, trying to clarify my thoughts. What if... what if Dan Smithson was my attacker? What if he’d joined the group to get close to Peter? What if Peter’s death wasn’t an accident? What if he’d killed him and was now coming after me? My mind was working overtime and I was breathing hard, fighting panic. Calm down I told myself. This is just middle of the night thinking. How could I make sense of this? Tim, I suddenly thought. Tim will know. I decided to ring him first thing in the morning.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
‘Thanks for coming, Tim,’ I said. Now that he was here, I realised in the cold light of day, how ridiculous I was going to sound.
‘How are things Dusty?’ he asked, smiling warmly and giving me a peck on the cheek. As always, he looked immaculate, in a dark blue suit, white shirt and multi-coloured striped tie.
First, I brought him up to date with all the recent events since I last saw him. From the discovery of the bugging devices and cameras, the possibility of a predatory stalker, to Saul breaking in. He was incredulous.
‘My God. The whole situation is enough to drive you out of your mind. Cameras? In your own home? And Saul? Do you think it was him who attacked you in Barbados?’
‘Before last night, I would have categorically said ‘no’. Now, I just don’t know. The Barbados police are interviewing him again, today. I’m tired of trying to make sense of things. But there’s something I want you to help me with, Tim.’
‘Oh yes?’ he looked at me, eyebrows raised.
I told him about finding the phone in Peter’s pocket and coming across pictures of the hiking group. I showed him the photograph with the man I was concerned about, and pointed him out.
‘Look, the man there, next to Peter.’ The man I was pointing out was well-built, about forty, wearing a black woollen hat and dark blue jacket. ‘Who is he? I thought I knew all the group members, but I don’t remember seeing this guy before.’
Tim took the phone from me and peered at the screen. ‘That’s Terry Archer. He joined the group about two years ago. Nice chap, got on well with everyone; lived in Hexham. Why do you ask?’
I hesitated, ‘Well… I’m almost sure that photograph is of one of my tenants. But that’s not his name; it’s Dan Smithson. And he lives in South Shields, not Hexham.’
‘Wouldn’t Peter have known if he was one of your tenants?’ Tim said, clearly wondering where I was coming from. He handed the phone back to me.
‘No, Peter never met him. I manage the properties myself. Peter never got involved.’
Tim frowned, looking puzzled. ‘Dusty, I’m not sure what you’re suggesting? How can it possibly be your tenant? The photograph’s a bit fuzzy. Isn’t it more likely there’s just a resemblance?’
Realising how foolish I sounded, I said ‘You’re probably right, Tim. I’m no doubt just being paranoid. But as soon as I saw that photograph I felt sure it was Dan Smithson. I’m really on edge just now, imagining all sorts of things.’
‘Not surprisingly,’ said Tim.
‘Look, I’ll be honest with you. My mind is going into overdrive. I couldn’t sleep last night. What if... what if that IS a photograph of Dan Smithson? What if... he joined the group using a different name? To get rid of Peter?’
‘What? Come on, Carol, I really don’t think...’
‘Hear me out, Tim.’ I persisted. ‘What if he’s my attacker? He gets Peter out of the way to get to me? Then he seizes his chance and follows me to Barbados?’
‘This is preposterous. All you’ve got is a fuzzy photograph and all of a sudden, the guy’s a murderer and a stalker?’
‘Just bear with me for a minute. Is this Terry Archer still a member of the group?’
‘No. He left the area about six months ago. I think he said he was moving to London.’
‘Well Dan Smithson is still a tenant in South Shields. He rents one of my flats in Marine Park in South Shields.’
‘Have you discussed any of this with Gayle?’
‘Not yet, but I don’t think there’s much point. There’s no evidence. The police wouldn’t act on a fuzzy photo, with nothing else but my hunch. I was hoping... hoping you might go to see Dan Smithson, just to check? After all, you know Terry Archer personally, so you’re the best person to check if they’re one and the same person.’
‘Dusty, I have to say I think you’re being paranoid. It’s hardly surprising, with all you’re going through. But I think you need to keep a sense of proportion.’ Disappointment must have been written all over my face.
Tim put his hand up, ‘Please don’t look like that. To put your mind at rest, I’ll call there on some pretext or other and speak with your tenant. Just to check that he and Terry Archer are not the same person. I think you’re mad, but I don’t want you to be worrying unnecessarily. You’ve got enough on your plate.’
I was surprised,
but pleased ‘Oh Tim, thank you.’ I hugged him. ‘I’m so grateful. I’m sorry in advance if I’m wasting your time. If it’s any consolation, Fiona thinks I’m crackers, too.’
Fiona came in just then, and after she and Tim had mutually agreed that I was losing my marbles, we spent the next hour or so bringing Tim up to date with everything. We went into more depth about the events of two nights ago. He didn’t seem to be able to make any more sense of it than we could.
Later, after Tim left, Fiona told me she thought it was kind of him to indulge me.
‘I think Tim’s got the hots for you, Carol.’ I threw the tea-towel at her. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much,’ she laughed.
‘It’s nothing like that, Fi. He’s just such a nice man.’
CHAPTER FIFTY
DCI Louis Brown, together with DI James Phillips, listened to Patsy Mayne’s summary of the search of Saul Harrison’s house. They were meeting in her office at Newcastle Central Police Station, prior to their second interview with Saul Harrison.
‘The search revealed an unlicensed shotgun, hidden in the back of a wardrobe, together with a small stock of ammunition and camouflage materials,’ the DCI told him. ‘But, we thought you might be interested in these,’ she said, handing over an evidence bag of documents. ‘There’s a recently-renewed passport, and a British Airways return ticket to Barbados’. She pointed at the bag. ‘Departure date of twenty-sixth of November. Not quite sure what it means,’ she shrugged. ‘The tickets are unused.’
‘Thanks, Patsy,’ the DCI said, taking the evidence bag. ‘Appreciate all your help. We’ll see what explanation he has for this lot.’
After Harrison confirmed once again that he had declined legal representation, the DCI began questioning him. Without preamble, he got down to business. ‘So, you were planning a trip to Barbados, Saul?’
‘Found the ticket, have you?’ Harrison said, studiously examining his fingernails.
‘A ticket to co-incide with when your former wife would be there. Why didn’t you use it?’
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