by R. J. Parker
The wine on the passenger seat was an excuse. She couldn’t fool herself about that. And last night Elliot had showed her tenderness that he hadn’t for some time. She took her foot off the accelerator. What are you thinking? This is stupid. Turn around, go back home.
A car behind her beeped as it decelerated to avoid hitting her.
‘Sorry.’ She mouthed in her mirror and held up her hand. She picked up speed again. OK, the decision has been made. Leah decided she would drive past the house and check the deer had been removed by the police first. Then she’d turn around and decide if she was going to drop the wine off.
If she did, that was all she would do.
But as the spherical light came into view, she could see there was a row of five cars parked in front of the open gates. Three of them were police patrol vehicles.
Leah slowed right down and the car behind her beeped again. She put her foot down. What was going on in there?
By the time she’d collected herself she realised she hadn’t looked out for the deer. After the sharp bend she indicated right, and the other car surged past her. This was the stretch of road where she’d had the near miss with the motorbike. She turned in the yard of the pig farm and headed back.
Rounding the bend again, she scanned the edge of the wall for signs of the deer. It was still there and from the new position of its body it looked like other cars might have struck it since. Why hadn’t the police removed it? Perhaps they’d only just turned up. But surely all those cars weren’t necessary.
Leah felt a low tremor of dread. She glanced in her rear-view. No traffic behind her. Slowing the car, she peered through the open gates. Two uniformed officers were standing in the gravel courtyard. The yellow front door was wide open, but she couldn’t see what was going on in the gloom beyond.
She had to stop. Find out exactly what had happened between now and when she’d left the house eight hours before.
Leah pulled the Vauxhall over, parked in front of the other cars and got out to talk to the officers.
Chapter Nine
As she approached the gates one of the officers was just stretching a piece of yellow striped crime scene tape across it. ‘Excuse me…’
The officer frowned. He looked to be no older than late teens, particularly because of the cluster of acne on his cheeks and chin.
‘What’s happening here?’
He didn’t reply but turned in the direction of the other older officer, who strutted straight-legged and noisily across the gravel. Leah put him in his late twenties, and he had the squat physique of a rugby player.
‘You shouldn’t be stopping here.’ The older officer shot at glance at where her blue Vauxhall was parked.
‘Can you tell me what’s happened?’
‘This is a crime scene. Please get back in your vehicle.’
‘I’m a neighbour.’
The older officer’s expression was set stern. ‘Your car is a hazard. Move it, please.’
‘Has something happened to the owner?’
He waved her away with a black-gloved hand. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘I was in this house late last night. Tell me what’s happened.’
The hostility left the older officer’s expression. ‘OK. Just wait there one moment. Last night?’
She nodded.
‘You’re a friend of the owner?’
‘Not really. My car hit a deer and I used their phone…’
The officer stepped away to have a conversation on his radio.
The younger officer regarded her vacantly.
‘Yes. Just pulled up here. OK. I’ll let her know.’ The older officer moved back to the tape. ‘DI Byrne is coming down to speak with you now.’
Leah nodded, already dreading being told the reason for so many officers being on the scene. She remembered the bottle of red wine she’d left on the passenger seat.
Cars hissed by and she felt the fine spray of last night’s rain against the back of her legs. She squinted past the two sentries to the open door of the house. The beige umbrella she’d borrowed was still leaning against the left-hand side of the doorway. The dark blue car was still parked in the driveway but the silver one wasn’t.
Less than a minute later a tall, slender woman with red hair shorn tight to her head walked out of the house and picked her way across the courtyard in a pair of short black heels. Her legs were clad in grey denim and she clutched her green parka to her as the wind picked up. She made eye contact with Leah long before she reached her, intently gauging her as she approached the gates.
‘I’m DI Helen Byrne.’ She didn’t extend her hand.
‘Leah Talbot.’
The wind rippled the yellow tape between them.
‘You live close by?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you visited this property last night?’
‘Yes.’ Leah detected a vague Irish accent and already felt intimidated by the woman’s pale blue gaze. ‘I didn’t intend to. My car hit a deer just down there.’ She pointed to where the animal still lay. ‘I knocked on this door because it was the closest and used their telephone.’
‘Your car was badly damaged?’
‘It had to be towed.’
Byrne’s eyes darted. ‘What time was this?’
‘Between eleven and twelve.’
Byrne blinked, as she absorbed that.
‘Can you tell me what’s happened?’
Byrne sucked on her lip. ‘The owner of the property has been murdered.’
Leah felt her stomach drop. A lorry rumbled by loudly behind her and seemed to take a long time to pass.
‘And they were fine when you left?’
‘I borrowed an umbrella while I waited for the pickup. That’s it there.’ Leah pointed, stunned.
But Byrne didn’t turn to look at it, maintaining eye contact with Leah. ‘So you were picked up soon after?’
‘Yes. By the AA.’
‘But you live close by.’
‘I know but my car needed to be towed because the wheel arch was crushed.’ Sounded like she was a suspect. Her circulation surged. ‘The AA guy dropped me off. Phone and ask.’
‘OK. We can do that. You went home immediately afterwards?’
‘Yes.’
‘Somebody waiting for you there?’
‘Yes. My husband.’ She hadn’t called Elliot that for a while. ‘At least, he came in a little after me.’
Byrne nodded gently, her eyes narrowed. ‘How long after?’
Leah couldn’t believe what she was suddenly in the middle of. ‘Can I get off the road?’
DI Byrne didn’t step back. ‘In a moment. Just try to remember the last thing she said to you before you left.’
Another heavy vehicle trundled by but Leah knew she hadn’t misheard. ‘Who?’
Impatience registered on Byrne’s face. ‘Alice Booth. The woman who lived here.’
Chapter Ten
Nine hours earlier
Blood flowed from Tate’s blue surgically gloved hands and swirled down the plughole of Alice Booth’s en suite sink. She lay on the bed behind him, her overfed dog, Sheila, trying to climb up to the mattress to see her but failing to raise itself on its stumpy legs.
Alice had been dead for around forty minutes and he wanted to make sure he left only her body for discovery. The water ran pink then clear and he dried his rubber-clad hands in the fluffy marine towel beside the sink. Tate walked back into the bedroom and, even though she was propped up on the pillows, it appeared Alice was staring straight at him out of a red mask. There was no hint of life in her dull gaze, however.
He whistled sharply. ‘Come on, Sheila. Away from there.’
The dog obeyed and lolloped over to where he was standing.
‘Nothing else to see here now. Come on.’ He led the animal to the door. He would lock it shut behind him. There would be no vestige of dignity if the basset hound did manage to get to her wounds.
Three firm k
nocks on the front door.
He froze. ‘Stay,’ he cautioned Sheila and then padded lightly over to the window. He couldn’t turn off the light; that would attract the caller’s attention. Instead he peeked through the plantation blind into the courtyard below. There was a woman standing there.
He ducked back again. As far as he knew, Alice Booth had no friends. Perhaps it was a neighbour. There were no properties nearby though.
She knocked again.
He took another look. Longer this time. The woman turned to survey the courtyard. She seemed nervous. Why was she calling this late? But as she shifted back her profile was familiar to him. He caught his breath. It seemed too much of a coincidence. Forley was a small village though.
He could so easily wait for her to leave. Give her the five minutes it would take him to finish cleaning up and probably find her gone when he slipped out. Instead, however, he slipped off his left glove as he hurried to the bedroom door.
Sheila obediently followed him and he pulled the handle with his gloved right hand and made sure it was firmly shut. He checked himself in the full-length mirror on the landing. No blood spatters on his face or clothes. Then he headed down the stairs to the hall and used his gloved hand to unlock it. He swung it wide and as it opened inwards, deftly slipping off the remaining glove and tucking both into his back pocket.
He waited while the woman explained why she was on Alice Booth’s doorstep. It was immediately clear she didn’t recognise him.
Tate invited her in to use the phone. He couldn’t make her walk all the way back to Forley, and he knew there was nowhere else nearby. Again, he considered it would have been easy to leave her outside but knew she was Leah Talbot before she gave her name.
He told her his was Martin Tate. It was the name he’d used for the past seven months.
She’d killed something that night. Not in a calculated fashion as he had but she had blood all over her hand.
He told her she could clean herself in the downstairs bathroom and waited for her outside. He picked up the phone. Had to remember to clean that before he left.
As he listened to the water flow, he considered how he’d been washing blood from his fingers only moments before. Where was the dog? He looked around for it. Had it followed him downstairs?
Leah Talbot came out of the bathroom but looked very pale. He pretended to be finishing a call to the police. Now he didn’t have to go through the performance of speaking to a dead line.
He waited patiently as she left a message for her husband. How ridiculous that Elliot was so unreachable on Valentine’s night. There was clearly something wrong at home. He offered her a seat but she seemed nervous. It was understandable but when Sheila came down the stairs that seemed to reassure her. Perfect timing, pooch.
She almost passed out but he caught her. Touched Leah Talbot for the first time. Felt the solidity of her radius and ulna and the warmth of the flesh around them through the sleeve of her black jumper. Tate escorted her to the kitchen where Alice Booth’s dinner was sitting on the breakfast bar. He was just considering how she would react if Leah realised it was stone cold. He had just told her he was in the middle of dinner. But that became academic when she fainted.
He regarded Leah lying on her side at his feet, pocketed Alice Booth’s phone handset and then slipped his gloves back on. He was about to lift her but paused, pulled out a stool from the kitchen bar and seated himself. He took a few minutes to take in her oblivious expression. She’d had a real ordeal by the sound of it. She frowned but there was no further reaction.
Tate fished her phone out of her bag and plugged it in to charge. Ten minutes later, he replaced it, scooped her up and carried her into Alice’s lounge, delicately settling her into one of the armchairs before putting her handbag on the coffee table.
He brushed her damp hair from her face and then gently kissed her on the lips.
Her lips felt cold but tasted of whatever berry chapstick she was wearing. He could detect another aroma around her – the gamey scent of the animal she’d killed. He lifted her hands and examined them. They were warm and pristine now but her sleeve felt damp.
Tate dropped into the armchair opposite and scrutinised Leah Talbot but her head lolled forward and her chin dropped to her chest. He stood, took her face in his hands and repositioned it carefully against the headrest. He resisted kissing her a second time and chided himself for his first infraction. He wouldn’t take advantage again.
He took out the phone handset and sat down and it was fortunate he did because at that moment she started to come round. He quickly removed the gloves and slipped them into his front pocket. When she awoke properly, he reassured her and then went into the kitchen.
He’d already gone through Alice Booth’s purse on the dresser. He slipped on one glove and used his clad hand to open it again. He found her AA card and called them using her membership number. While he did so he opened and closed some cupboards and found a few bottles of booze. He located a glass and poured Leah a brandy. He pocketed the glove and took the drink into the lounge.
Clean the phone, clean the glass.
The brandy went to her head. Small wonder. She had plenty of adrenaline to zip it around her. She almost fell again and something happened. Something he really hadn’t expected. They kissed, only a few minutes after he’d tasted her mouth for the first time. She clearly needed to be comforted after her ordeal, but it made her suddenly nervous of him.
And now she wanted to leave. He’d overstepped the mark and he didn’t want to make the situation any more uncomfortable for her. He offered the umbrella. Told her she could drop it back to him to test her reaction.
She rejected it but as she marched away he wondered if she wanted to come back. Even though he would be far from Alice Booth’s house when she did.
He watched her umbrella cross the courtyard in the pouring rain to the gates and closed the front door. Then he went back upstairs and turned out the light in Alice’s room. He watched Leah through the plantation blinds. She was standing outside the open gates talking to the driver.
He would come back later. Finish cleaning up. But now he headed downstairs to his own car. Once Leah Talbot had been taken to the scene of her accident further down the road, he would follow the breakdown truck to wherever it took her.
She’d already told him which road she lived in and even at which number. But now she could show him exactly where.
Chapter Eleven
‘Is this your car?’ DI Byrne ducked under the crime scene tape and gestured towards the vehicle.
Leah nodded.
‘The one you were in last night?’ Byrne squinted as she examined it.
‘No. I told you, mine had to be towed. This is my husband’s.’
‘Let’s get in. We’ll take a statement from you right away about this Martin Tate, while everything’s still fresh in your head.’
Leah walked unsteadily along the thin grass verge to the car, extending her arms for balance as another heavy vehicle wafted noisily by. Was Martin Tate a relative of the woman who had been murdered? She recalled the photos on the dresser in the lounge. She hadn’t seen his face in any of them. Had she really spent half an hour with the man who had killed her?
She opened the driver’s door and got in. DI Byrne was shouting back at somebody coming out of the gates. Leah pulled the door closed, the din of the road muffled so her own thoughts could roar.
The kiss. That was all she was remembering now. The heat of his mouth and how she’d wanted to remain against it. How could the man who had been so kind to her be a killer? He’d called the police. And the breakdown people. There had to be an explanation. He couldn’t have murdered somebody. If he had, why would he have opened the door to her?
But if it wasn’t his house, why his presence so late? He’d acted the whole time as if it were his home. He hadn’t mentioned anyone else living there. There had been no sign of a woman. Maybe DI Byrne had got her facts wrong.
But the
re was obviously a body. A woman. Leah shuddered. Had she really been dead the whole time Leah had been there? She recalled passing out and waking in the lounge. What had happened during that time? Leah remembered the brandy he gave her. Had it been drugged? If she hadn’t insisted on leaving would she have passed out and become another victim? But she’d been fine when she’d got home. Shaken but certainly not able to sleep until a good few hours after Elliot had gone to bed and her phone had finished charging.
The passenger door abruptly opened, letting in the noise of the road again. DI Byrne picked up the bottle of wine that was resting in the seat and dropped into it.
Leah turned as the rear passenger door opened too. A blonde-bearded plain-clothes officer wearing a black Superdry rain jacket slid along the seat.
‘This is Sergeant Fitch.’ Byrne cast her eyes to the back seat. ‘He’s going to take your statement.’ She examined the wine label momentarily, rested it carefully on its side on the dash and pulled her door closed.
Fitch did the same as Leah turned to take him in properly. He looked to be in his thirties and his fair hair had receded leaving only a tuft on his forehead. He nodded at Leah but said nothing. Leaning back, he pulled a tablet out of his pocket.
‘Are you OK?’ Byrne squinted at her, but the expression was devoid of concern.
Leah could already feel blood surging through her cheeks. ‘I’m fine … just … shocked, I suppose.’
‘Not as shocked as Ms Booth’s cleaner.’ The detective’s Irish accent seemed suddenly strident.
‘Did she find her?’
Byrne nodded, rubbed her eyes. ‘Early this morning. Alice Booth was supposed to be going on holiday. Red-eye flight. Cleaner had the key and didn’t expect to find her in.’
‘Where was she found?’
Byrne ignored Leah’s question and turned to Fitch. ‘Ready?’
