Deathly Affair

by Leigh Russell

  ‘I’m a hundred per cent certain that we’ll find him,’ Geraldine fibbed, correcting herself. ‘What I was going to say was, it’s almost inevitable we’ll find him soon. He can’t be that clever or he wouldn’t have used the same noose on more than one of his victims. He’s clearly got some kind of emotional reason for using the same noose, because it’s not rational or sensible. Once we nail him for one, we’ll have him for all of them. We just have to keep going and we’ll get him. That’s all we can do.’

  Eileen sighed. ‘I wish I had your self-assurance. You should be sitting here, Geraldine, not me. You’ve got the mental resilience to see this through.’

  Geraldine was too startled to respond.

  ‘I know you’ve had your problems, but you’ve never let that stop you powering on through, doing your job. You’d make a better DCI than me. No, don’t, please.’ Eileen held up her hand as Geraldine began to remonstrate. ‘I’ve been watching you more closely than you may have realised, and I misjudged you. When you first arrived here, I found you – oh, I don’t know – distant, and I thought because you’d been demoted, you resented being a sergeant again, and that was making you difficult to work with. Ian thought the same for a while. But I see now that the colleague I mistook for an insolent subordinate was actually a strong-minded woman voicing an opinion. I should never have tried to silence you.’

  ‘You didn’t silence me,’ Geraldine retorted, although it was true that Eileen had undermined her confidence.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Eileen agreed, smiling. ‘So, Geraldine, where do we go from here?’

  ‘We keep going,’ Geraldine replied, and Eileen sighed.

  Geraldine returned to her desk.

  ‘You look cheerful,’ Ariadne greeted her.

  ‘You never really know what someone else is thinking or feeling,’ Geraldine replied.

  ‘OK,’ Ariadne said, with a faint smile. ‘Now I’m intrigued. What are you talking about?’

  ‘Nothing. That is, it’s too complicated to explain. Come on, let’s finish off here and go for a drink.’

  ‘I’m up for that. No point in letting all this get us down.’

  ‘No, we’ll get him, sooner or later. Wherever that demented scum is hiding, we’ll find him.’

  ‘I’ll certainly drink to that!’ Ariadne agreed, returning Geraldine’s smile.

  When she reached home, Geraldine mulled over what Eileen had told her. It had been uncomfortable hearing that Ian had been critical of her, because he had always been her most ardent supporter at work. For the first time she acknowledged that she had probably been unpleasantly surly when she had arrived in York. Facing a painful transition from detective inspector to detective sergeant, she had allowed herself to wallow in her personal feelings of disappointment instead of focusing on building relationships with her new colleagues. A detective who failed to work as a member of a team was simply not up to the job, and her lapse in focus had been unprofessional as well as immature. It could have been chance, but she suspected Eileen had held back from criticising her until she judged Geraldine was ready to accept the censure. Eileen may have erred in underestimating her sergeant, but Geraldine had been equally guilty of misjudging her senior officer.

  42

  Three men had been killed, which gave her a perfect opportunity, but she had to act quickly before the culprit was caught. Ann took to reading everything she could find in the papers, she watched the news and even kept the radio on all day while David was out. It was imperative she learned everything she could about the recent ‘Tramp Murders’, as one local paper was calling them. While she carried out her research, a plan was forming in her mind. If she could pull it off, not only would she avenge Mark’s death and be free of her hated husband, but she would avoid any possible risk of detection. It was a brilliant plan, in theory, but it was going to take some doing. She was not worried about the police finding her DNA on the body of her husband, but she would have to be extremely careful with certain elements of her plan.

  As soon as David left for the office on Monday morning, she set to work on her first task. Putting on her sunglasses and a reversible mac she had bought for the purpose, she left the house with a bulging rucksack slung over her shoulder. The weather was still mild so David would not miss his winter coat yet; by the time the cold weather came, he would no longer be needing a coat of any kind. She smiled to herself. It was a pity her husband would not be around to appreciate just how clever she was. On her way to the city centre she stopped in a deserted side street to turn her coat inside out and tie a silk scarf around her head. She had decided against driving or taking the bus into town, in case her trip was recorded along the way. Cameras were everywhere these days. But with her simple disguise, she was confident no one would be able to trace her journey afterwards even if they wanted to. In the meantime, a woman in a beige mac and navy scarf was hardly likely to attract attention.

  Reaching the minster, she sauntered around the city centre pretending to window shop. The streets were crowded with pedestrians, even on a Monday morning. Apart from local residents, groups of tourists clogged the Shambles and queued outside Betty’s Tea Shop. Ann did not mind. It was easy to feel anonymous in the crowds. But it did mean she would need to be discreet when she began, because she could not risk being seen or overheard. She was beginning to despair of ever finding what she was looking for when at last she spotted a likely target, an old tramp shuffling along Coney Street. He looked very frail, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Ann followed him to a quiet side street before approaching him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, forcing a smile.

  ‘Eh?’ The old man leered suspiciously at her. ‘What?’

  It was difficult to tell quite how old he was. His face was wan and gaunt beneath his beard and moustache, and his hands shook. In addition to that, he seemed hard of hearing, and every time someone else walked by she had to lower her voice, so it took a while to explain what she wanted.

  ‘You want my coat?’ he asked at last, scowling.

  ‘Yes, but please keep your voice down. We don’t want everyone to know, do we? Or they might all want this.’ She pulled David’s coat out of her rucksack. ‘Look at this. How would you like to swap your coat for this lovely warm one? You’ll be pleased with it in the winter. You don’t want to freeze to death, do you? It’s almost new. It – it belonged to my husband but he’s – he died and I want his coat to go to someone who needs it, someone who will appreciate it. ’

  For a second the old man hesitated, squinting his suspicion, before snatching at the coat she was holding. Surprised by the unexpectedly swift movement, she almost let go.

  ‘I need yours in exchange,’ she said, clinging to the sleeve of David’s coat. ‘It’s – it’s for a play. Amateur dramatics, you know? We’re putting on a play. It’s Waiting for Godot.’

  That last comment was inspired, but the tramp did not seem to be listening. He had probably never heard of the play she mentioned anyway.

  ‘You want my coat?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes, in exchange for this one.’

  For a moment she was afraid he was going to accept David’s coat and refuse to give her his own in return, but he was hardly going to run off with it. He was so shaky, he could barely walk. If necessary she could try to take it off him, but that would be difficult while he was still wearing it. No one passing by had taken any notice of her, but a tussle with the tramp was bound to attract attention.

  ‘Please,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t make this difficult.’

  Frowning, the old man shuffled out of his filthy coat and dropped it on the ground. Then he retreated with David’s coat over his arm. When he was out of reach, he stopped to slip his arms into the sleeves of his new coat. It hung loosely on his thin frame and the hem dragged on the ground.

  ‘It could have been made for you,’ Ann mumbled.

  Wit
h a smirk, the old man turned and scurried away, as though afraid she might change her mind. Trembling with success, Ann shoved her foul-smelling prize in her rucksack and hurried home to hide the old coat before anyone could see it. Her walk home seemed to take forever, but at last she was back in her bedroom where she stashed her rucksack inside a suitcase at the bottom of her wardrobe. With the first part of her plan accomplished, all that remained was to decide exactly how she was going to kill David.

  43

  ‘The bin’s full,’ Ann said.

  These days she was always complaining about something.

  ‘Do you really want me to empty it now?’ he asked. ‘It’s dark outside.’

  ‘Why don’t you just go and do it and then it’s done.’

  ‘I was about to go to bed.’

  ‘You know they come and collect the rubbish tomorrow. Are you really going to remember to do it in the morning before you leave for work?

  ‘Oh all right, all right. Stop nagging.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going, I’m going.’

  His wife was right, it was probably just as well to deal with it straight away. If he left the rubbish out the back and forgot to move it in the morning, he would never hear the end of it. Muttering under his breath, he went out through the kitchen door and dragged the first of the two bins along the narrow path that ran along the side of the house. Depositing that bin, he went back for the second one. As he was making his way along the narrow unlit path at the side of the house, he thought he heard a footstep. He stopped abruptly and listened but all was quiet.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  No one answered.

  ‘Is someone there?’

  He turned round and tried to peer through the darkness but he could not see any sign of movement. He carried on, feeling his way with the flat of his hand, the bricks on the side of the house rough against his palm. Still listening, he tried to walk without making a sound; his footsteps reached him like faint whispers. Around him everything looked black. He had almost reached the end of the house when he tripped. By twisting sideways and throwing himself towards the house, he managed to hit his shoulder on the wall and break his fall. He thought he heard someone panting as his head hit the stone path with a sickening thud. If his shoulder had not hit the wall first, he would probably have suffered a serious head injury. The thought made him shiver.

  For a few seconds he lay on the ground, trembling with shock. Before he could gather himself and try to stand up, he was aware of something winding around his neck and pulling tight. He tried to cry out for help but, gasping for breath, he could barely utter a sound. His last thought before he blacked out was that he must have got himself caught up in something when he fell.

  It was still dark when David regained consciousness. Hauling himself upright and leaning against the wall for support, he staggered back into the house. Ann was standing in the kitchen, fiddling with what looked like a dirty old coat.

  ‘What’s that?’ he croaked.

  She spun round, eyes wide, and screamed. ‘What – what happened to you?’ she asked at last, seeming to recover from her initial shock at seeing him. ‘You look dreadful. What happened out there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He tried to shake his head, and had to grab on to the worktop as the room spun around him.

  ‘Your head’s bleeding,’ she said.

  ‘I fell over.’

  ‘Sit down.’ She pushed a chair towards him. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  ‘I don’t want tea.’

  But she was already filling the kettle. Closing his eyes, he listened to her messing about with cups and spoons.

  ‘I put some cold water in it so it’s not too hot,’ she said a moment later. ‘And sugar.’

  ‘You know I don’t take sugar.’

  ‘Drink it. Sweet tea is good for shock.’ She paused. ‘Did you lock the back door when you came in?’

  It was typical of her to worry about the back door being secure when he had just tripped and nearly killed himself. After locking the door, she pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him.

  ‘Now, what happened out there? Did you trip or are you ill? Talk to me, David.’

  ‘Something tripped me up,’ he said. ‘And then I felt something round my neck...’

  ‘What do you mean: you felt something round your neck?’

  ‘It felt as though someone was trying to strangle me,’ he said.

  Ann laughed but she looked worried. ‘You’ve been listening to too many stories in the news,’ she said. ‘Weren’t those tramps supposed to have been strangled? Perhaps the killer saw you and thought you were a tramp.’

  She gave another nervous laugh.

  ‘This isn’t funny,’ he said. ‘I’m telling you, I think someone attacked me out there. We should call the police. Whoever it was might still be out there. And if they are, the police might catch whoever it is.’

  ‘Are you sure you saw someone?’

  ‘No, I didn’t see anyone.’

  ‘You probably got caught up in that ivy. I told you to get rid of it. It’s growing right across the path. You sit still and drink that tea. It’ll help you to relax.’

  His head was aching where he had hit it, but his thoughts were clearing. Ann was right. There was ivy growing up the wall along the side of the house. He could conceivably have caught himself in that when he tripped over, and somehow got entangled in a creeper. It was idiotic to suspect that someone had been lurking in the side passage, waiting to attack him.

  ‘Come on, drink up,’ she said. ‘You’ll feel better for it.’

  Too tired to argue with her, he took a gulp.

  ‘This tea tastes a bit funny.’

  She gave a worried smile. ‘I put a drop of whisky in it to help you relax.’

  He was not sure that was a good idea but she was so insistent he drank it all, although it tasted strangely bitter and nothing like tea, or whisky.

  ‘Would you like another cup?’

  He shook his head which did not hurt quite so badly as before, although he felt dizzy now. ‘You’re right, it must have been the ivy,’ he said.

  He allowed her to persuade him to stay indoors and go to bed. She even promised to put the other bin out herself in the morning.

  ‘I think you’ve had enough of those bins for one night,’ she said. ‘And in future you’d better put them out the front while it’s still light. Either that, or we need to get a light fitted along the side passage. It’s no wonder you fell over, really. It’s an accident waiting to happen along there.’

  ‘You’re right. I could have really hurt myself. I was lucky to get away with just a bump on the head.’

  She nodded. ‘You’re right. It could have been a lot worse. You were lucky.’ She hesitated. ‘You look grey. Are you feeling all right?’

  He frowned. He was not too sure. What with the shock, and the knock on his head, and the whisky, he was feeling quite befuddled.

  ‘I think we ought to get you to the hospital so they can have a look at it,’ she went on. ‘Come on, let’s get you in the car. Here, you can put this on.’

  She held out the old coat he had noticed earlier. It looked filthy.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘It’s an old coat I came across in the loft.’

  ‘In the loft? What was it doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know. If it’s not yours the people who lived here before us must have left it there. I was going to throw it out.’

  ‘Well, it’s not mine.’

  ‘You might as well put it on for now. It’s cold outside, and you don’t want to ruin a decent coat by bleeding on it.’

  He frowned, but he really was feeling very drowsy. Too weak to resist, he allowed her to push his arms into the sleeves.

  ‘It smells funny,’ he objected.


  ‘That’s because you had a knock on the head,’ she replied. ‘Come on, we need to get you to the hospital.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, but when he tried to stand up he would have fallen over if she had not been there to support him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘you’re a wonderful wife. You know that, don’t you?’

  She did not answer.

  44

  The sun had barely risen and it was raining and chilly when Geraldine arrived at the scene. Ian was already there.

  ‘Why are we always turfed out of bed?’ he grumbled. ‘Can’t people ever be killed at a more sociable time of day?’

  Geraldine had already been up for a couple of hours, working, but she did not have the energy to answer. In any case, Ian’s question had been rhetorical. Obviously, people were more likely to be murdered at a time when there were not many people around to see what was happening. The sight they had been summoned to witness in that bleak dreary landscape was depressing. Only the day before, Eileen had been bemoaning the fact that two more people had been killed since the investigation opened, and now they were staring at a fourth body, this one abandoned on the grass verge along the Tadcaster Road, presumably dumped there overnight after he had been strangled. Like Mark, this man was wearing a dirty old coat over a smart set of clothes.

  ‘Oh Jesus, not another one,’ a scene of crime officer muttered as he jumped down from the forensic van. ‘Where’s the tent? It’s starting to piss it down. We can’t have him lying there like that with God knows what vital evidence being washed away.’

  ‘We’re expecting it any minute.’

  The road had been closed, and the team were setting up. A few moments later the forensic tent arrived and was erected with impressive speed and efficiency. Even so, the ground around the body was sodden and the body itself had been affected, and no doubt contaminated, by the rain.

  Geraldine watched the SOCOs working in silence for a while.

  ‘You‘re shivering,’ Ian said to her suddenly, with a solicitous glance. ‘Are you all right?’