51
Linda reported that she had questioned Ann who had persisted in denying that David had gone out on Tuesday evenings. It was a stupid lie because obviously the police would be able to establish the truth if they looked into the matter, but Ann had evidently not thought this through and had not expected them to check. If Aimee had not mentioned it, they might never have suspected David had gone out on Tuesday evenings. Now they were faced with a lie, either from Aimee or Ann. As a rebellious teenager, Aimee was perhaps not the most reliable of sources, so Geraldine began with her. Aimee was at home, probably happy to take the opportunity to avoid school, so Geraldine went straight there. Ann insisted on being present, along with Linda. The small living room felt crowded.
‘Aimee,’ Geraldine began gently, ‘I’m so sorry about what happened to your father.’
Fidgeting with her fingers, Aimee grunted without looking up. Her hair looked greasy, and there were pouches beneath her eyes, either from crying or from lack of sleep, or perhaps both. Geraldine hated having to question her. She glanced at Ann who was leaning forward in her chair, an anxious expression on her delicate face. In these circumstances, any mother would be worried about her daughter’s state of mind, but Geraldine wondered whether Ann was more worried about her own lies being exposed. Dismissing that thought, she focused on Aimee.
‘Aimee, we’re doing everything we can to find out who did this terrible thing, and you may be able to help us. I’d like to ask you a question.’
‘Can’t you leave her alone?’ Ann burst out. ‘Can’t you see she’s upset enough already?’
‘Just one question,’ Geraldine said.
‘What?’ Aimee demanded gruffly. ‘What’s the question?’
‘You told Linda your father had a regular squash game. We’d like to know who he played with.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Right, that’s enough,’ Ann interrupted as Geraldine was about to press on. ‘Aimee, you can go to your room now.’
Aimee glared at her mother, but she did not move.
‘He played on Tuesdays, didn’t he?’ Geraldine asked, although she already knew the answer. ‘We’ve confirmed that with the sports club and spoken to his regular partner, but we wondered whether he might have played with anyone else.’
Out of the corner of her eye Geraldine was aware of Aimee shrugging, but she was more interested in watching Ann’s response to what she had said. Ann sat motionless, and her face remained completely blank.
‘Thank you, Aimee, you can go now,’ Geraldine said.
Realising what was about to happen, Linda stood up. ‘Come on, Aimee,’ she said, ‘let’s go and put the kettle on and then we can watch some TV.’
Once Linda and Aimee had left the room, Geraldine closed the door.
‘Ann, I’d like you to accompany me to the police station so you can answer a few more questions,’ she said. ‘This is just routine,’ she added, although they both knew that was not true.
‘You can ask me whatever it is you want to know here,’ Ann replied. She spoke calmly, but her eyes betrayed her alarm.
‘Why did you tell us your husband was at home with you every evening?’
‘Oh that,’ Ann raised her eyebrows dismissively. ‘I was confused. And I didn’t think his squash game was important. It was just squash.’
‘You told us he was here with you every evening,’ Geraldine repeated.
‘Yes, well, I forgot he went out sometimes.’
‘You were here on your own every Tuesday, and you forgot he wasn’t in?’
‘Well, that’s because I wasn’t here without him. I went out as well.’
This was becoming even more interesting than Geraldine had expected.
‘Every Tuesday?’
‘Yes. We agreed we’d both go to our classes on the same night.’
So far the story made sense, and David was no longer able to confirm or refute anything Ann said.
‘Did you go to the sports club as well?’
‘No.’
‘Where were you?’
‘I was having guitar lessons.’
Geraldine glanced around. She did not recall seeing a guitar in the house, and said so.
‘No,’ Ann agreed. ‘But I was going to get one. That is, David promised to get me one for my birthday.’ She dropped her head in her hands and began to sob.
‘Ann,’ Geraldine said gently, ‘is there something you’re not telling me?’
Ann raised a tear stained face. ‘No,’ she replied, with a faint frown. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Very well, who was your guitar teacher?’
‘His name was Mark.’ Noting the past tense, Geraldine knew at once who Ann meant. Ann gazed at Geraldine in consternation before adding, ‘He was murdered as well. I saw it in the paper.’
Geraldine nodded. She knew who Mark was.
‘Where did you meet him?’ she asked.
‘I bumped into him by chance at a school concert, and we got chatting. He told me he was a music teacher and I asked if he ever taught adults and he said he did, so he agreed to try and teach me and, well, I wasn’t very good, but I did enjoy learning. That’s why I wanted to get a guitar, so I could practise at home. Mark said it was no good only being able to play once a week. David wanted to wait and see how I got on. He thought it might be a five-minute wonder, you know. But I wanted to carry on and so he was going to get me a guitar.’
Tears leaked from her eyes again at the memory. Geraldine kept quiet, but her suspicions were rekindled. Ann’s story made sense, but Geraldine did not believe her. Thoughtfully she returned to Fulford Road.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked Ariadne.
‘We’re trying to identify all the women who went to Mark’s flat.’
‘One of them might turn out to be Ann Rawson,’ Geraldine replied.
Eileen had followed Geraldine into the room and asked her to repeat her remark.
‘Ann just told me she was having guitar lessons with Mark Routledge.’
‘Guitar lessons?’
Geraldine shrugged. ‘That’s what she said. There might have been more to it than that, considering Ann’s age and looks, and how much older than her David was. Perhaps it was clever of her to have admitted she went to Mark’s flat. She might have realised there was a risk we would find out she was going there. But Mark’s dead, so if she’s lying about their relationship, it’s going to be difficult to prove, isn’t it?’
‘Why would she be lying?’ Eileen asked.
‘Well, it’s odd that she knew both victims who were disguised in a clumsy attempt to make them look like victims of the Tramp Killer. You don’t really think that could be a coincidence, do you?’
52
A search warrant was issued urgently and later that evening a team arrived at Ann’s house. Geraldine was already there. She rang the bell and they waited. After a few moments, Geraldine rang again, and knocked loudly. At last Ann opened the door a fraction and peered out.
‘Who is it?’ she called out.
‘We’d like to take a look around inside,’ Geraldine said, pushing the door open.
‘What for?’ Ann stood still, blocking the doorway. ‘I’ve already told Linda, we want to be left alone.’
‘I’m afraid that’s really not possible under the circumstances. We’re looking for anything that might help us discover who killed your husband. Surely you want to help us in any way you can?’
‘Yes, of course I want to help, but you’re not going to find anything here.’
Ann still had not moved from the doorway.
‘Please, stand aside,’ Geraldine insisted quietly. ‘You’re not going to help us if you try to obstruct us in carrying out our work.’
She took a step forward and placed one foot over the threshold.
‘I
refuse to give you permission to enter this house,’ Ann said, her voice rising in agitation. ‘You have no right to force your way in here after we’ve asked to be left alone to grieve in peace.’
‘I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter. We have a warrant to search the premises,’ Geraldine replied. ‘Now, we’d like you and Aimee to accompany us to the police station while we take a look around here. It will really be easier for everyone if you give us your full co-operation, and this needn’t take long.’
‘No! Get out of my house! Get out!’
Just then Linda came down the stairs followed by Aimee, who was crying.
‘I don’t want to go,’ Aimee was sobbing. ‘I want to stay here. I don’t want to go.’
‘It won’t be for long,’ Linda reassured her. ‘You’ll be home again soon.’
‘Come along now,’ Geraldine said as a group of officers joined her on the path. ‘We’ll drive you to the police station and you can wait there while the team do their job.’
Scowling, Ann fetched her bag and coat and followed Geraldine to a waiting police car while Aimee drove to the police station with Linda in a second car, leaving the search team to hunt for anything that might assist the investigation.
At the police station Ann and Aimee were invited to sit in a quiet room where they were offered tea and biscuits. Aimee continued to be sullen and unresponsive, while Ann grew increasingly agitated. After about an hour, Ann’s neighbour arrived to take Aimee home with her and she left, willingly enough.
‘What’s going on?’ Ann cried out. ‘You can’t take my daughter away like that.’
‘Don’t worry,’ her neighbour replied. ‘We’re going to have supper and watch TV. Aimee’ll be fine.’
‘I don’t understand. Why have you sent her away?’
‘She’ll be perfectly safe with your neighbour,’ Geraldine said, ‘and we didn’t want to keep her here any longer than was necessary. This is no place for a teenager.’
‘But what about me? Why am I still here?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t release you just yet,’ Geraldine told her.
‘Why not? You can’t keep me here. This is outrageous! I’m still in shock over my husband’s death and now you’re detaining me against my will. I want to go home.’
‘We’d like to interview you now. You have the right to a lawyer.’
‘What?’
Ann listened, her face a mask of horror, as Ian arrested her for the murder of Mark Routledge.
‘Mark?’ Ann repeated. ‘Mark? You think I killed Mark? That’s insane!’
Screeching in protest she was led to a cell to await the arrival of a duty solicitor. Fortunately someone was available to come to the police station almost straight away, so they could resume without too much delay. But this time Ian and Geraldine addressed Ann across the table in a formal interview room with a tape running.
‘The search team found a phone at your house,’ Ian said to Ann, ignoring her muttered protests.
‘It’s not mine,’ Ann replied quickly. ‘My phone’s in my bag.’ But her face betrayed her unease.
‘The phone records show texts to Mark Routledge’s number, almost on a daily basis,’ Ian went on, glancing at a document he was holding. ‘There were also calls, sometimes several in one day.’
‘Mark Routledge? Are you talking about my guitar teacher?’
‘Yes, Mark Routledge, your “guitar teacher”,’ Geraldine confirmed, stressing the last two words as though she was being sarcastic. ‘There have been a lot of calls to him, and none to anyone else. Not even one.’ She turned to the lawyer. ‘Perhaps your client would like to clarify what that means?’
‘It means,’ Ann said, ‘that I had to call my guitar teacher to confirm the times of my lessons.’
‘So you bought this phone specifically to stay in contact with your guitar teacher?’ Ian said. ‘Can you tell us why you were so keen to keep your relationship with him a secret?’
‘No, no, I wasn’t. It wasn’t a secret. That’s not true. You’re making this sound like something it wasn’t. You can’t put words in my mouth like that. Mark was my guitar teacher. I didn’t phone him every day. Why would I?’
‘That’s exactly what we’ve been wondering,’ Geraldine said. ‘Why on earth would you want to text him every day? And so far we’ve only been able to come up with one conclusion. You were having an affair with Mark, weren’t you?’ It was not a question. ‘We know it’s your phone, because it was found concealed at the bottom of your wardrobe, and your fingerprints are all over it.’
For a few minutes Ann continued to deny knowing anything about the phone, but finally she broke down. ‘Yes, yes, all right, it’s my phone and I used it to call Mark. If you’ve got my phone, you know that anyway, so why are you asking me? We were having an affair! There! I’ve said it. Are you satisfied now? We loved each other. It’s not a crime to fall in love. And yes, I kept the relationship a secret because I didn’t want my husband to find out. I was afraid of upsetting him if he discovered I was seeing someone else.’
‘You were in love with Mark, but then you became jealous and so you killed him,’ Ian suggested.
‘No, no, I wasn’t jealous. Why would I be? You’ve got this all wrong. David was the one who was jealous. He was a monster.’ She was crying now. ‘I would never have hurt Mark. I loved him. It was David. It was David.’
‘When you discovered Mark was seeing other women you became jealous and so you killed him,’ Geraldine said.
‘What do you mean? What are you talking about? Mark wasn’t seeing other women. He loved me. Me!’
‘Oh yes, there were other women. Several of them, in fact.’
‘No! That’s a lie!’
‘It’s true, Ann.’
‘No, no. It’s not true. It can’t be.’ Ann was trembling. ‘I loved Mark. I loved him! And he loved me. There weren’t any other women in his life, only me. He loved me. I know he did, and this is all lies. Lies! Mark loved me!’
‘Did you kill Mark?’ Ian asked.
‘No, no. I keep telling you, I loved him. I loved him!’
Watching her, Geraldine could believe her capable of a crime of passion. But that did not mean she had murdered her lover. They still needed proof.
53
Peering out from little pouches of flab, the lawyer’s beady eyes seemed to bore through her skull. Ann was not sure she wanted him defending her, but there he was, solid and unmoving, and she did not know who else to call. She sat on her bunk facing him across the tiny cell, trembling, and struggling to believe what had just happened. Her daughter had been taken away from her, and now she was locked in a police cell, reliant on a tubby stranger to clear her name. She was not sure she had much confidence in the lawyer. He did not seem to believe a word she said, any more than the police had.
‘You have to tell me the truth,’ he said.
Strutting around her cramped cell, he pointed a plump finger at her.
She glared back at him. Fat, sweaty, and middle-aged, he was probably the most unhealthy-looking man she had ever met, and certainly the most unattractive.
‘I’ve told you everything there is to tell,’ she replied, ‘and I told it all to the police as well. I admitted I was having an affair with Mark. We were in love.’ Trying not to cry, she put one hand to her lips. ‘I still love him,’ she mumbled, stifling another sob.
The lawyer nodded. ‘Good,’ he muttered.‘That’s good.’
‘What’s good about the man I loved being dead?’ she cried out.
‘I meant that what you’re saying is good. A jury may well believe you,’ he explained, tilting his head on one side. ‘What you’re saying is very credible. That’s important.’
‘What are you talking about? Of course what I’m saying is credible, because I’m telling you the truth. Listen, you have to get me o
ut of here. I can’t stay here, and I can’t go to court accused of killing Mark. It’s – it’s impossible. I told you, I loved him. Why would I want to kill him?’
‘The police are convinced he was seeing other women and you were driven to attack him in a jealous rage.’
‘That’s poppycock and they can’t possibly prove it, because, as I keep telling you, it’s not true!’
‘Oh, I think they’ll be able to prove he was promiscuous, or they wouldn’t be so confident in their claim. They have all sorts of ways of tracking down any other women he was seeing. I suspect there were a few, but they only need one of them to appear in court to build a case for saying you were jealous.’
‘He wasn’t promiscuous. That’s a terrible thing to say. Stop saying that about him. You didn’t know him. I’m telling you, there were no other women. Mark wasn’t seeing anyone else. He loved me.’ She paused, aware that she was beginning to sound hysterical. ‘Listen,’ she went on in a more reasonable tone, ‘Mark wasn’t seeing anyone else, and the point is, you have to get me out of here. That’s why you’re here, so do your job and stop repeating those filthy lies the police have told you about Mark because I’m your client and I’m telling you none of it is true.’
Back in the interview room, the police kept going on and on at her about the other women Mark had been sleeping with. At last they realised she was never going to believe their lies about him and they changed their tack, asking her about the coat she had exchanged with the old tramp. She was shocked to discover they knew about that, but she hid her surprise well, aware that she was fighting for her freedom.
‘We know you gave David’s expensive coat to a rough sleeper,’ the dark-haired sergeant said.
Ann pretended to look puzzled. ‘Why would I give a perfectly good coat away to a homeless person?’
Deathly Affair Page 23
