Common Murder

by Val McDermid

  Lindsay looked around. Slowly the camp was regaining its normal appearance. Where work was still going on, there seemed to be plenty of helpers. She made her way to Jane’s bender, fortunately undamaged, and found the doctor bandaging the arm of a woman injured by a whiplashing branch in the attack on her bender.

  “Hi, Lindsay,” Jane had said without pausing in her work. “Not too much damage, thank God. A few bruises and cuts, but nothing major.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  Jane shook her head. “Thanks, but everything’s under control.”

  Feeling slightly guilty, but not wanting to leave Cara alone for too long, Lindsay returned to the van. She made up the double berth where Jane had shown her Deborah normally slept.

  But sleep eluded Lindsay. When she finally dropped off, it was to fall prey to confusing and painful dreams.

  Cara woke early, and was fretful while Lindsay struggled with the unfamiliar intricacies of the van to provide them both with showers and breakfast. Luckily, the night’s rain had washed away all traces of the pigs’ blood. Of course, the keys of the van were with Deborah’s possessions at the police station, so they had to drive into town in Lindsay’s car.

  Fordham Magistrates Court occupied a large and elegant Georgian town house in a quiet cul-de-sac off the main street. Inside, the building was considerably less distinguished. The beautifully proportioned entrance hall had been partitioned to provide a waiting room and offices and comfortless plastic chairs abounded where Chippendale furniture might once have stood. The paintwork was grubby and chipped and there was a pervasive odor of stale bodies and cigarette smoke. Lindsay felt Cara’s grip tighten as they encountered the usual odd mixture of people found in magistrates’ courts. Uniformed policemen bustled from room to room, up and down stairs. A couple of court ushers in robes like Hammer Horror vampires stood gossiping by the WRVS tea stand from which a middle-aged woman dispensed gray coffee and orange tea. The other extras in this scene were the defeated-looking victims of the legal process, several of them in whispering huddles with their spry and well-dressed solicitors.

  For once, Lindsay felt out of her element in a court. She put it down to the unfamiliar presence of a four-year-old on the end of her arm, and approached the ushers. They directed her to the café upstairs where she had arranged to meet Judith. The solicitor was already sitting at a table, dressed for business in a black pinstripe suit and an oyster gray shirt. She fetched coffee for Lindsay and orange juice for Cara, then said, “I’d quite like it if you were in court throughout, Lindsay. How do you think Cara will cope if we ask a friendly policeman to keep an eye on her? Or has she already acquired the peace women’s distrust of them?”

  Lindsay shrugged. “Best to ask Cara.” She turned to her and said, “We’re supposed to go into court now, but I don’t think you’re allowed in. How would it be if we were to ask a policeman to sit and talk to you while we’re away?”

  “Are you going to get my mummy?” asked Cara.

  “In a little while.”

  “Okay, then. But you won’t be long, will you, Lindsay?”

  “No, promise.”

  They walked downstairs to the corridor outside the courtroom and Judith went in search of help. She returned quickly with a young policewoman who introduced herself to Cara.

  “My name’s Barbara,” she said. “I’m going to sit with you till Mummy gets back. Is that all right?”

  “I suppose so,” said Cara grudgingly. “Do you know any good stories?”

  As Lindsay and Judith entered the courtroom, they heard Cara ask one of her best questions. “My mummy says the police are there to help us. So why did the police take my mummy away?”

  The courtroom itself was scarcely altered from the house’s heyday. The parquet floor was highly polished, the paintwork gleaming white. Behind a table on a raised dais at one end of the room sat the three magistrates. The chairwoman, aged about forty-five, had hair so heavily lacquered that it might have been molded in fiberglass and her mouth, too, was set in a hard line. She was flanked by two men. One was in his late fifties, with the healthy, weatherbeaten look of a keen sailor. The other, in his middle thirties, with dark brown hair neatly cut and styled, could have been a young business executive in his spotless shirt and dark suit. His face was slightly puffy round the eyes and jowls and he wore an air of dissatisfaction with the world.

  The court wound up its summary hearing of a drunk and disorderly with a swift £40 fine and moved on to Deborah’s case.

  Lindsay sat down on a hard wooden chair at the back of the room as Deborah was led in looking tired and disheveled. Her jeans and shirt looked slept in, and her hair needed washing. Lindsay reflected, not for the first time, how the law’s delays inevitably made the person in police custody look like a tramp.

  Deborah’s eyes flicked round the courtroom as a uniformed inspector read out the charges. When she saw Lindsay she flashed a smile of relief before turning back to the magistrates and answering the court clerk’s inquiry about her plea to the breach of the peace charge. “Guilty,” she said in a clear, sarcastic voice. To the next charge, she replied equally clearly, “Not guilty.”

  It was all over in ten minutes. Deborah was fined £50 plus £15 costs on the breach charge, and remanded on bail to the Crown Court for jury trial on the assault charge. The bail had been set at £2,500, with the conditions that Deborah reported daily to the police station at Fordham, did not go within 200 yards of the Crabtree home, and made no approach to Mr. Crabtree. Then, the formalities took over. Lindsay wrote a check she fervently hoped would never have to be cashed which Judith took to the payments office. Lindsay returned to Cara, who greeted her predictably with, “Where’s my mummy? You said you’d get her for me.”

  Lindsay picked up the child and hugged her. “She’s just coming, I promise.” Before she could put Cara down, the child called, “Mummy!” and struggled out of Lindsay’s arms. Cara hurtled down the corridor and into the arms of Deborah who was walking toward them with Judith. Eventually, Deborah disentangled herself from Cara and came over to Lindsay. Wordlessly, they hugged each other.

  Lindsay felt the old electricity surge through her, and pulled back from the embrace. She held Deborah at arms’ length. “Hi,” she said.

  Deborah smiled. “I didn’t plan a reunion like this,” she said ruefully.

  “We’ll do the champagne and roses some other time,” Lindsay replied.

  “Champagne and roses? My God, you’ve come up in the world. It used to be a half of bitter and a packet of hedgehog-flavored crisps!”

  They laughed as Judith, who had been keeping a discreet distance, approached and said, “Thanks for all your help, Lindsay. Now you’ll just have to pray Deborah doesn’t jump bail!”

  “No chance,” said Deborah. “I wouldn’t dare. Lindsay’s motto used to be ‘don’t mess with the messer,’ and I don’t expect that’s changed.”

  Lindsay smiled. “I’ve got even tougher,” she said. “Come on, I’ll drop you off at the camp on my way back to London.”

  They said goodbye to Judith and headed for the car park. Deborah said nonchalantly to Lindsay. “You can’t stay, then?”

  Lindsay shook her head. “Sorry. There’s nothing I’d rather do, but I’ve got to get back to London. I’m on the night shift tonight.”

  “You’ll come back soon, though, won’t you, Lin?”

  Lindsay nodded. “Of course. Anyway, I’m not going just yet. I expect I can fit in a quick cup of coffee back at the van.”

  They pushed through the doors of the courthouse and nearly crashed into two men standing immediately outside. The taller of the two had curly graying hair but his obvious good looks were ruined by a swollen and bruised nose and dark smudges beneath his eyes. He looked astonished to see Deborah, then said viciously, “So you’re breaking your bail conditions already, Miss Patterson. I could have you arrested for this, you know. And you wouldn’t get bail a second time.”

  Furious, Lindsay
pushed forward as Deborah picked up her daughter protectively. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded angrily.

  “Ask your friend,” he sneered. “I’m not a vindictive man,” he added. “I won’t report you to the police this time. When the Crown Court sentences you to prison, that will be enough to satisfy me.”

  He shouldered his way between them, followed by the other man, who had the grace to look embarrassed.

  Deborah stared after him. “In case you hadn’t guessed,” she said, “that was Rupert Crabtree.”

  Lindsay nodded. “I figured as much.”

  “One of these days,” Deborah growled, “someone is going to put a stop to that bastard.”

  3

  The alarm clock went off at a quarter to six. Lindsay rolled on to her side, grunting, “Drop dead, you bastard,” at the voice-activated alarm Cordelia had bought her to replace the Mickey Mouse job she’d had since university. She curled into a ball and considered going back to sleep. The early Saturday morning start to her weekend at the peace camp that had seemed such a good idea the night before now felt very unappealing.

  But as she hovered on the verge of dozing off, she was twitched into sudden wakefulness as Cordelia’s finger ends lightly traced a wavy line up her side. Cordelia snuggled into her and kissed the nape of her neck gently. Lindsay murmured her pleasure, and the kisses quickly turned into nibbles. Lindsay felt her flesh go to goose pimples; thoroughly aroused she twisted round and kissed her lover fiercely. Cordelia pulled away and said innocently, “I thought you had trouble waking up in the morning?”

  “If they could find an alarm clock that did what you do to me, there would be no problem,” Lindsay growled softly as she started to stroke Cordelia’s nipples. Her right hand moved tentatively between Cordelia’s legs.

  Cordelia clamped her thighs together, pinning Lindsay’s hand in place. “I’ve started so I’ll finish,” she murmured, moving her own fingers unerringly to the warm, wet center of Lindsay’s pleasure.

  The feeling of relaxation that flooded through Lindsay afterward was shattered by the alarm clock again. “Oh God,” she groaned. “Is that the time?”

  “What’s your hurry?” Cordelia asked softly.

  “I promised I’d be at Brownlow really early. There’s a big action planned for today,” Lindsay replied sleepily.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, is that all you think about these days,” Cordelia complained, pulling away from Lindsay. “I’m going for a bloody shower.” She bounced out of bed before Lindsay could stop her.

  “I wasn’t finished with you,” Lindsay called after her plaintively.

  “I’ll wait till your mind’s on what you’re doing, if it’s all the same to you,” came the reply.

  It was just after seven when Lindsay parked alongside the scruffy plastic benders. She had tried to make her peace with Cordelia, but it had been fruitless. Now Cordelia was on her way to spend the weekend with her parents, and Lindsay was keeping the promise she’d made to Deborah three weeks before. She parked her MG between a small but powerful Japanese motor bike and a 2CV plastered with anti-nuclear stickers. If they ever stopped making 2CVs, she mused, the anti-nuclear sticker makers would go out of business. She cut her engine and sat in silence for a moment.

  It was a cool and misty March morning, and Lindsay marveled at the quiet stillness that surrounded the encampment. The only sign of life was a thin trickle of smoke coming from the far side of the rough circle of branches and plastic. She got out of the car and strolled over to Deborah’s van. The curtains were drawn, but when Lindsay tried the door, she found it unlocked. In the gloom, she made out Deborah’s sleeping figure. Lindsay moved inside gingerly and crouched beside her. She kissed her ear gently and nearly fell over as Deborah instantly woke, eyes wide, starting up from the bed. “Jesus, you gave me a shock,” she exploded softly.

  “A pleasant one, I hope.”

  “I can’t think of a nicer one,” said Deborah, sitting up. She pulled Lindsay close and hugged her. “Put the kettle on, there’s a love,” she said, climbing out of bed. She disappeared into the shower and toilet cubicle in the corner of the van, leaving Lindsay to deal with the gas rings.

  Lindsay thought gratefully how easy it was to be with Deborah. There was never any fuss, never any pressure. It was always the same since they had first been together. They slipped so easily into a comfortable routine, as if the time between their meetings had been a matter of hours rather than months or weeks. Lindsay always felt at home with Deborah, whether it was in a Fordham courtroom or a camper van.

  Deborah reappeared, washed and dressed, toweling her wavy brown shoulder-length hair vigorously. She threw the towel aside and settled down with a mug of coffee. She glanced at Lindsay, her blue eyes sparkling wickedly.

  “You picked the right weekend to be here,” she remarked.

  Lindsay leaned back in her seat. “Why so?” she asked, “Jane told me it was just a routine blockade of the main gate.”

  “We’re going in. Through the wire. We think it should be possible to get to the bunkers if we go in between gates three and four. The security’s not that wonderful over there. I suppose any five-mile perimeter has to have its weak spots. The only exposed bit is the ten yards between the edge of the wood and the fence. So there will be a diversion at the main gate to keep them occupied while the others get through the wire. And it just so happens that there’s a Channel 4 film crew coming down anyway today to do a documentary.” Deborah grinned broadly and winked complicity at Lindsay.

  “Good planning, Debs. But aren’t you taking a hell of a risk with the assault case already hanging over you? Surely they’ll bang you up right away if they pick you up inside the fence?”

  “That’s exactly why we’ve decided that I’m not going in. I’m a very small part of the diversion. Which is why it’s good that you’re here. Left to my own devices, I’d probably find myself carried along with the flow. Before I knew it, I’d be back in clink again.” Deborah smiled ruefully. “So, since I presume you’re also in the business of keeping a low profile, we’ll have to be each other’s minder. Okay?”

  Lindsay lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before she replied. “Okay. I’d love to go along with the raiding party to do an ‘I’ piece, but given my bosses’ views on peace women, I guess that’s right out of the question.”

  “You can help me sing,” said Deborah. She leaned across the table to Lindsay, grasped her hand tightly, and kissed her. “My, but it’s good to be with you, sister,” she said softly.

  Before Lindsay could reply, Cara’s dark blonde head and flushed cheeks suddenly appeared through the curtains. As soon as she realized who was there, she scrambled down the ladder to hurl herself on Lindsay, hugging her fiercely before turning to Deborah. “You didn’t tell me Lindsay was coming,” she reproached her.

  “I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure myself and I didn’t want both of us to be disappointed if she couldn’t make it. Okay?”

  The child nodded. “What are we having for breakfast? Have you brought bacon and eggs like you promised last time?”

  “I managed to smuggle them past the vegetarian checkpoint on the way in,” Lindsay joked. “I know you’re like me, Cara, you love the things that everybody tells you are bad for you.”

  “You really are a reprobate, aren’t you,” Deborah said, amused. “I know you like taking the piss out of all the vegetarian nonsmokers, but don’t forget that a lot of us are veggies from necessity as much as choice. I love the occasional fry-up, but beans are a hell of a lot cheaper than bacon. Not everyone has the same sense of humor about it as I do.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Lindsay groaned. “Cordelia never stops telling me how people like me who love red meat are causing the distortion of world agriculture. Sometimes I feel personally responsible for every starving kid in the world.”

  Impatient with the conversation, Cara interrupted. “Can we have breakfast, then?”

  By the time th
ey had eaten the bacon, eggs, sausages, and mushrooms that Lindsay had brought, the camp had come to life again. Women were ferrying water from the standpipe by the road in big plastic jerry cans while others cooked, repaired benders, or simply sat and talked. It was a cold, dry day with the sun struggling fitfully through a haze. Lindsay went off to see Jane and found her sitting on a crate, writing in a large exercise book. She looked tired and drawn.

  “Hi, Doc. Everything fine with you?”

  Jane shrugged. “So so. I think I’m getting too close to all this now. I’m getting so wrapped up in the logistics of the camp I’m forgetting why I’m here. I think I’m going to have to get away for a few days to put it back into perspective.”

  “There’s always a bed at our place if you need a break.” Jane nodded as Lindsay went on, “Debs says you can fill me in with the details of today’s invasion plan.”

  Jane outlined the intended arrangements. Nicky was leading a raiding party of a dozen women armed with bolt-cutters. They would be waiting in the woods for a signal from the lookout post that the diversion at the main gate was attracting enough attention from camp security to allow them to reach the fence and cut through the wire. What followed their entry into the base would be a matter for their own judgment but it was hoped that they’d make it to the missile silos. The diversion was timed for noon, the main attraction for fifteen minutes later.

  “You should keep out of the front line,” she concluded. “Help Deborah with the singing. Keep an eye on her too. We don’t want her to get arrested again. It would be just like her to get carried away and do something out of order. I imagine that a few of the local coppers know perfectly well who she is and wouldn’t mind the chance to pick her up and give her a hard time. Crabtree is pretty buddy-buddy with the local police hierarchy according to Judith. Understandably enough, I suppose. So do us all a favor unless you desperately want to take on Cara full-time—keep the lid on Deborah.”

  By late morning there was an air of suppressed excitement around the camp. The television crew had arrived and were shooting some interviews and stock background shots around the benders. It wasn’t hard for Lindsay to suppress her journalistic instincts and avoid them. She was, after all, off duty, and since the Clarion had no Sunday edition, she felt no guilt about ignoring the story. She noticed Jane and a couple of other longstanding peace campers having a discreet word with the crew, which had included a couple of unmistakable gestures toward the long bunkers that dominated the skyline.