The detective replied with a shrug, as though the answer was obvious.
‘You swapped it for the rough sleeper’s old one.’
‘I did what?’
Outwardly sneering at the questions, Ann was secretly terrified, wondering how the police had found out about David’s coat. What else did they know about her movements? The lawyer who was supposed to be defending her sat quietly beside her. He did not even appear to be listening. Trying to sound contemptuous, and not too vehement, Ann denied any knowledge of the coat they were talking about. As she spoke, she tried to interpret the detectives’ expressions but they remained inscrutable. It was like a game of poker. She would have to keep to the truth as closely as possible. Somehow they had found David’s coat and traced it back to him, probably through his DNA. She had to think carefully.
‘David did lose his coat,’ she ventured. ‘A few weeks before he died. He left it in the park, and when he went back it had gone. Are you saying some tramp found it?’ She shivered. ‘I don’t think I want it back now. Tell him he can keep it.’
The tramp must have told them what happened. There was no other way they could have found out. Recalling what the lawyer had said earlier, she resolved to stick to the story she had just told. If it turned out to be her word against that of a homeless person in court, she was confident a jury would believe her. As the lawyer said, she would be credible in court. Reassuring herself of that, she felt unassailable. As long as she held her nerve, she would survive this ordeal and walk away a free woman. It was just as well she had had the foresight to get rid of the rucksack which had been in contact with both David’s coat and the one she had exchanged it for. She had even chucked her own coat away, in case the tramp had touched it. A horrible thought struck her. She could not remember what she had done with the scarf she had been wearing when she had met the tramp. But it was only a scarf. In any case, the police would never be able to prove she was guilty of murdering Mark, because that never happened. She would never have hurt Mark.
But when she was alone in her cell that night, she remembered how Mark had claimed a pair of knickers she had found in his bed had belonged to his sister. For the first time, she acknowledged the possibility that the police were right about Mark two-timing her. All at once, unwelcome thoughts began to crowd in on her. Mark had never wanted her to leave her husband, on the pretext that he had not wanted to wreck her marriage. Now she wondered whether she had been kidding herself that he was being thoughtful, when he had said he was concerned about the effect on Aimee if her parents were to divorce. Perhaps he had not encouraged her to leave David because he had never wanted anything more from her than sex once a week. She had no idea what he had got up to the rest of the week, or who else he had been seeing. She had wanted to end her marriage and move in with Mark as soon as Aimee left home. He had never once said anything to suggest he was looking forward to that happening.
‘Let’s wait and see,’ was all he had been prepared to concede.
The lawyer seemed certain the police would not have said Mark was seeing other women without evidence to back up their claim. She had been an idiot to be taken in by him. And now the police thought she had killed him, because they could not believe she had been stupid enough to trust his lies. When she learned Mark had been killed, she had honestly thought her life could not get any worse. Now it had. She was locked up, accused of murder, and Mark had never loved her. All she could do was continue to insist she had loved Mark. Luckily, when the police had found her phone, she had not tried to stick to her original claim that he had merely been her guitar teacher. In admitting the truth about their relationship, she had avoided being caught out sticking to an obvious lie. Now she just had to sit this out.
She told herself the police would not be able to find any evidence of her committing a murder of which she was innocent, and eventually they would have to let her go. In the meantime, she just had to keep on protesting her innocence. She wondered whether she ought to try and find a better lawyer, even if she had to pay for it. But it hardly seemed necessary because the police would not be able to make their trumped-up accusation stick, and she could not face a prison sentence for having a love affair, however misguided it had turned out to be.
And all the time, the police had arrested her for the wrong murder. If her situation had not been so terrifying, it would have been laughable. It was reassuring to know she was not the only stupid kid on the block.
54
With Ann arrested for killing Mark, one murder case was solved.
‘That’s one out of the four,’ Eileen said. ‘It’s not good enough but it’s better than nothing. At least it’s got the Powers that Be off our backs for a while.’
Geraldine was not sure why Eileen got so worked up about her senior officers’ opinions of her work.
‘We’re all doing our best, you included,’ she said. ‘I don’t see what they can possibly have to gripe about.’
‘What about her husband?’ Ian asked. ‘Who killed him?’
They had all agreed to focus their efforts on Mark and David’s murders for the time being. Hopefully, whoever had killed the two seemingly random tramps would be revealed, once they had found the killer or killers who appeared to have selected particular individuals for reasons more personal than their lifestyles.
Eileen had assumed David had been mistaken for a rough sleeper by the Tramp Killer with the awkward gait, but Geraldine was not convinced. Malcolm might not be a particularly credible witness, but he had seemed certain a woman had given him David’s coat. It proved nothing that the coat bore traces of DNA from both David and Ann, but nor did that evidence disprove anything. Just as Ann’s apparently innocent reason for phoning Mark was not proof she had not killed him, so her contact with David’s coat did not clear her name in connection with his death.
The next morning Geraldine went to the breakfast club and showed Malcolm a photo of Ann.
‘Malcolm, look at this and think very carefully. Was this the woman who gave you a new coat?’
Malcolm screwed up his eyes and shook his head. ‘It could have been. I told you, I didn’t see her face clearly. She was wearing a scarf.’
‘Yes, you said. Can you describe the scarf?’
He frowned. ‘It was a scarf.’
‘What colour was it?’ Geraldine asked patiently.
Prising information out of Malcolm was like getting blood out of the proverbial stone.
He shrugged. ‘It could have been black. It was dark.’
‘And what else was she wearing?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember.’
‘But it could have been the woman in this photo?’
‘I suppose so. Her or another woman.’
It was frustrating and pointless. She returned to the police station where the technical team had traced the two other women whose numbers appeared most frequently on Mark’s phone records. One was a thirty-year-old mother of a pupil at the school where he worked, the other a twenty-seven-year-old wife of an English teacher from his school. Both had called Mark’s mobile regularly, and a little investigation revealed they were both attractive, blond, and married. The two women lived in York, so Geraldine went to question them, first going to see the mother of the pupil at Mark’s school. The woman Geraldine wanted to see came to the door herself, and Geraldine recognised her from her profile picture on Facebook.
‘Melanie Jones?’
‘Yes.’
A man’s voice called from inside the house. ‘Who is it, Mel?’
Geraldine held up her identity card. ‘I’m here to ask you about your relationship with Mark Routledge.’
Melanie’s smile faded. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
She spoke softly, and her anxious glance over her shoulder was enough to confirm that she knew exactly who Geraldine meant.
‘You were having an
affair with him?’
‘What are you talking about? Look, can we have this conversation another time? Only my husband’s here and –’
Reluctant to alienate Melanie, Geraldine reached a quick decision.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘If it’s easier, you can come to the police station and we can talk there.’
‘Who is it?’ the man’s voice repeated.
‘Come back in half an hour. He’ll be out then,’ the woman mumbled hurriedly. ‘No one,’ she added, shouting over her shoulder.
She nodded fiercely at Geraldine and shut the door. Geraldine went back to her car and glanced at her watch. There was barely time to go and see the other woman on her list and come back within thirty minutes, so she decided to stay where she was and wait. Sitting in her car, she watched the house with one eye on the time and, after about twenty minutes, Melanie’s front door opened and a man emerged, climbed into a car that was on the drive, and drove off. Geraldine hurried back and this time Melanie opened the door straight away. She had evidently been waiting for Geraldine’s return.
‘What’s this about?’
‘You were in a relationship with Mark Routledge?’
Melanie nodded. ‘Yes. What of it?’ Her defiant tone fizzled out. ‘You won’t tell my husband, will you? I heard what happened, so it’s not as if I’m going to be seeing him again, is it?’ She gazed at Geraldine with tears in her eyes. ‘Mark was a good man. You have to find out who did this to him. I know we screwed around a bit but he was a decent man. It was just a bit of fun.’
‘We’re doing our best to find his killer. That’s where we’re hoping you might be able to help us.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll help you if I can, but what can I do?’
‘Tell me about your relationship.’
‘I was seeing Mark, on and off, for nearly a year. It started one Christmas. We used to meet in his flat so there was no risk that anyone would see us. I didn’t want my husband to find out. But I’ve no idea what happened to him. I mean, I know he was murdered by someone who thought he was homeless, but I don’t understand how that can have happened. He had a flat, and a job, and it wasn’t as if he was desperately short of money.’
‘Did he ever mention anyone who might have held a grudge against him? An ex-girlfriend, perhaps, or the husband of one of the women he was sleeping with?’
Melanie stared at her in surprise. ‘One of the women he was sleeping with?’ she repeated. ‘You make it sound as though he was sleeping with more than one woman at a time.’
‘He was,’ Geraldine said.
Melanie frowned and shook her head.
‘Didn’t you know?’ Geraldine asked lightly, hoping the information would persuade Melanie to speak more freely. ‘Oh well, don’t shoot the messenger.’
‘What did you say you wanted?’ Melanie asked coldly. ‘Only my husband will be back soon and I’d like you gone when he gets here.’
‘I just want to know whether Mark ever mentioned anything to you about having an enemy, or a stalker, or anything like that? Or perhaps he confided in you,’ she went on quickly, realising her plan had misfired.
Melanie shook her head slowly and solemnly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He never did.’ Her voice softened and she gazed at Geraldine earnestly. ‘You will catch whoever did this, won’t you? I know he was a bit of a player, but he wasn’t a bad person.’ She sighed. ‘It was stupid, I know, but we were just having fun.’
‘We’ll find out who did it,’ Geraldine promised, and Melanie gave her a genuine smile.
Geraldine was not sure how they were going to manage it, but she knew those had to be more than empty words.
55
The other woman who had been in regular contact with Mark was called Kelly. Her husband worked at the school, and her eleven-year-old son had recently started taking guitar lessons. Subsequently, according to the phone messages, he had taken to having private lessons at Mark’s flat, although knowing what they did about him, they quickly realised that some of these after-school ‘guitar lessons’ were a different kind of assignation altogether. It was not difficult to read between the lines of messages like, ‘Enjoyed the lesson today’, and ‘Can’t wait for the next lesson’. There was never any mention of times and dates, just expressions of appreciation for the ‘lessons’.
Kelly lived with her son in a terraced house in The Crescent, near Holgate Road, along with her second husband, Charlie. Geraldine found the house and rang the bell. She was not sure whether the bell worked, so she was rapping on the door with her knuckles when the door opened. A young woman frowned at her, looking harassed.
‘Are you Kelly Harris?’
‘Yes. What do you want?’ the woman replied, ‘only my husband’ll be home soon and wanting his tea.’
She brushed her hair back off her face and Geraldine saw a row of small dark red blotches on the inside of her wrist. Someone had grabbed her arm with enough force to bruise the skin. Without betraying that she had noticed the signs of aggression, Geraldine held up her identity card.
‘What’s he gone and done now?’ Kelly asked.
She frowned, but her eyes did not look worried. If anything, they seemed to darken, while her shoulders straightened and her head lifted.
‘Don’t tell me the school called the police. He’s only eleven! And he wasn’t the one who started it. You should talk to the other kid’s mother.’
‘This has got nothing to do with your son,’ Geraldine assured her.
Almost imperceptibly, Kelly’s shoulders slumped again, and she assumed an interested expression that was obviously fake.
‘What do you want then? Only I’m kind of busy. If it’s not about my boy, what is it?’
‘I’m here to question you about Mark Routledge.’
The telltale shoulders jerked and this time her eyebrows shot up as well.
‘Who’s that? Mark who?’
‘You know very well who I’m talking about,’ Geraldine replied quietly.
Kelly bit her lip and did not answer for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone by that name.’
‘Your number came up on Mark Routledge’s phone records. Do you really want us to question your son about his “guitar lessons”?’
‘I lost my phone,’ Kelly said, panicking.
‘I just want you to answer a few questions and then I’ll be on my way. There’s really no need to involve anyone else if you don’t want to.’
The shoulders visibly relaxed as Kelly nodded.
‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘But make it quick, please. He’ll be home any time now and – and he doesn’t know about Mark.’ She shook her head. ‘Poor Mark. When I saw about it on the telly, I couldn’t believe it. What a terrible thing to happen. Who would do that?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’
Kelly nodded. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Did Mark ever mention anything to you that might help us in our enquiries?’
‘Like what?’
‘Did he have any enemies that he talked about? Anyone who might have had a grudge against him?’
Kelly shook her head. ‘He did say he thought he was being stalked,’ she said. ‘But he didn’t know who it was. I thought he was imagining it. I’d told him about –’ she broke off in confusion.
‘About what? What did you tell him about, Kelly?’
‘Nothing. It’s just that – well, Charlie can be a bit of a lunatic.’ She forced a laugh. ‘You know how crazy men can be.’
Geraldine restrained herself from glancing at Kelly’s wrist, but she thought she understood what Kelly meant.
‘I just told Mark we had to be careful, that’s all. I was afraid of what Charlie might do if he found out. And then, not long after that, Mark told me he thought he was being stalked.’ She shook her head. �
��I put the wind up him all right. But that’s all it was. He just got the jitters for no real reason. I mean, nothing happened.’
Geraldine did not point out that murder was hardly ‘nothing’.
‘Charlie’s not a bad guy, but he gets funny ideas.’
‘What kind of ideas?’
‘He’s crazy possessive, you know. If I so much as look at another man he gets mad.’
Perhaps because he discovered you were screwing someone else, Geraldine thought, but she kept that thought to herself.
‘Was he ever violent towards you?’
‘Who? Mark? Don’t be daft,’ Kelly replied, deliberately misunderstanding the question.
But Geraldine thought her shoulders tensed.
‘Not Mark, Charlie. Is he ever violent towards you or does he ever show signs of –’
Before Geraldine could finish her sentence, Kelly’s eyes flicked past Geraldine’s shoulder and her expression hardened.
‘No,’ she said, very loudly, ‘I just told you we’re not interested.’
Looking round, Geraldine saw a man striding down the path towards her. He was about thirty, heavy set, with dark hair, and as he walked his left arm swung to compensate for his slight limp. Geraldine took a step back from the door.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you.’
‘Who are you?’ the man asked politely.
‘She was trying to sell –’
He turned to Kelly with a scowl. ‘Did I ask you? How can we help you?’
‘I’m here doing a survey for the council,’ Geraldine answered quickly. ‘But I won’t take up any more of your time. I can see you’re busy.’
She passed the man and hurried away, concealing her excitement. She intended to take up a lot more of his time, far more than he could possibly imagine, and most of it would be behind bars. Standing by her car, she called the police station for immediate backup, aware that if she attempted to tackle Charlie alone, there was a risk Kelly might pitch in and help him to get away. But she had not reckoned on Kelly telling Charlie who she really was. Before she had finished speaking on her phone, she heard screaming from inside the house. Afraid that Kelly was injured, Geraldine summoned urgent medical backup as she ran towards the house. She glanced around but there was no sign of any vehicles approaching. Then, in the distance, she heard sirens and a moment later the first police car swept into view at the far end of the road, siren blaring and lights flashing.
Deathly Affair Page 24
