‘Carol was round. She brought a fish pie,’ his mother smiled up at him as he went into the living room. Propped up against cushions she looked comfortable enough. ‘It'll need to go in the oven for about forty minutes.’
‘OK, mum.’
‘Don't forget to heat the oven first.’
‘I know what to do.’ His mother smiled sadly at him. ‘Fish pie sounds nice,’ he lied, trying to sound cheerful. ‘How was Carol?’ His mother was always in a good mood after seeing her sister, Carol, one of her few visitors apart from the carers sent by the council. They were all kind and considerate, but strangers nonetheless. They hadn't known his mother when she'd still been able to walk. ‘Did she take you out?’
‘Yes, we went for a little turn in the park.’
‘That's nice, mum.’
‘How was your day?’
‘It was fine. I'll go and put the oven on then, shall I?’
As he went into the kitchen, Vernon looked out of the window and saw a silhouette on the pavement across the road. As Vernon watched, the figure turned slowly and vanished into the darkness.
PART 3
‘Do not fear death so much, but rather the inadequate life.’
Bertolt Brecht
27
MARRIAGE
Kathryn Gordon was adamant that they must do their best to force a confession from Matthew Kirby.
‘Everything points to him,’ she said. Geraldine's irritation was growing, not only because no one seemed to be listening to her doubts about Matthew Kirby's guilt, but even more because she had nothing to support her opinion, other than her intuition.
‘He seemed pretty shocked at discovering she had been tied up,’ she insisted. ‘And he wanted to know if his wife had been raped.’
‘If he killed her, he's hardly going to be giving the impression that he knew all about the manner of her death,’ Peterson pointed out.
Geraldine frowned. It was true that, statistically, the murdered woman's husband was the most likely suspect. True, too, that his alibi was dodgy. His mistress's corroboration was hardly reliable. The rest of the team were in agreement about him, Geraldine alone insisting he was innocent. She wondered if she should reconsider. It was only Matthew Kirby's reaction to his wife's body that had convinced her he couldn't have murdered his wife, but perhaps she was relying too much on her gut feeling. Used to trusting her instincts about people, she felt a sudden wave of self doubt. She could be terribly wrong about Matthew Kirby.
Geraldine had to admit Matthew Kirby looked guilty as he sat down at the interview table. he was dishevelled and his eyes were swollen from lack of sleep as he slumped in a chair, unable to meet her gaze. His bottom lip trembled and he fiddled with the cuff on his left sleeve.
‘This won't take long, will it?’ he asked once the formalities were over. ‘Only I'm worried about my boy –’ his voice cracked.
‘What about your daughter, Mr Kirby?’ Peterson asked, leaning forward in his chair.
‘And Lucy as well, of course. I was about to say –’
‘Your daughter's had a few things of her own to say, Mr Kirby.’ Peterson's voice held a quiet threat.
‘My daughter's been… very upset… since her mother died… What… what has she been saying about me?’
The sergeant leaned back. ‘We'll ask the questions, Mr Kirby.’
‘I think –’ Matthew turned to Geraldine. ‘Look, do I need a lawyer? Am I being accused of… anything?’ He waited but she didn't answer. ‘Do you think I killed my wife?’
‘Your daughter seems to think so,’ Peterson answered.
Matthew Kirby's face fell into his hands and his shoulders shook. Peterson leaned forward but Geraldine shook her head. ‘For the tape, the suspect is distressed. Would you like a moment to pull yourself together, Mr Kirby, before we continue?’
Matthew raised his head and turned aside, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. ‘No. I'm all right. It's just that Lucy's – well, she hates me. It all started long before her mother's death, before we moved from York. And it's not just the usual teenage father-daughter thing, it's worse than that. It's because she found out about Charlotte. She's never forgiven me. And now this… I do wonder what's going to happen to her. She seems so angry, all the time. Wouldn't you be worried about her, if she was your daughter?’
Geraldine thought about Lucy, reproachful and sullen. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. Peterson glanced round at her, and she hesitated. Caught out in a moment of sympathy for the suspect she realised that she still didn't believe Matthew Kirby was capable of killing his wife. She sat back and allowed her sergeant to question him.
‘Lucy knows about your affair,’ Peterson launched in. ‘But that's not our concern. What's worrying us is her accusation that you are responsible for your wife's death.’
‘I accept I'm at least partly to blame for the breakdown in my marriage. But not my wife's death. Come on, Sergeant, do you really think I'd kill her? It's a crazy idea. We'd been married for nearly sixteen years.’
‘A marriage you wanted to end.’
‘Yes, I've not made any secret of the fact that I wanted a divorce. I've been wanting a divorce for a long time. I was waiting until my children were old enough to be more independent and then I was going to leave Abigail, with or without her agreement. I fell in love with her, I married her, our marriage broke down, I met someone else. That's it. It's not a happy story, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. Relationships end all the time. It doesn't mean I killed her. Jesus,’ his voice rose in indignation, ‘if I was that desperate to leave, don't you think I'd have packed a case and walked out by now? But I stayed, because of the children. I love my children, and I wouldn't do anything that might harm them. Do you really think I would deprive them of their mother?’ He paused before continuing in a more measured tone. ‘Maybe I didn't love Abigail any more. Maybe I never really loved her. I don't know. But I know I wouldn't kill anyone. I couldn't. Why would I want to kill her when I could have left her at any time?’
Peterson stared at Matthew Kirby. ‘You're a wealthy man now, Matthew. How much is it you stand to inherit from your wife? More than enough to pay off your debts, I'd say.’
‘Oh please, Sergeant. That's ridiculous.’
Peterson went over Matthew Kirby's finances, then his movements on the previous Saturday and Matthew confirmed that after he had given his children lunch he had gone to visit Charlotte.
‘Did you go straight there?’
‘Yes.’
‘What time did you arrive?’
‘I can't remember exactly. I didn't look at my watch and make a note of the time, but I must have left home about one and it's only half an hour's drive.’
‘Did you stay with Charlotte overnight?’
‘No. I'm always home at nights. Because of the children.’ He gave a helpless grimace. ‘I didn't want them to know I was seeing someone else.’
‘You've kept this from them for five years?’
‘I thought I had. Is there anything remarkable in that? Plenty of couples carry on clandestine affairs for years. I'm not saying it's something I'm proud of, but it happens all the time.’
‘Was your wife in the habit of staying out all night?’
‘No.’
‘But you didn't report her missing when she didn't come home on Saturday night, did you? You didn't even telephone the school to find out if she was there. Because you knew where she was, didn't you?’
Matthew shook his head. ‘I must have got home around midnight, at a guess. Late, anyway. I assumed Abigail was in bed. When I got up on Sunday morning, there was no sign of her and I thought she'd gone out. She was always working, even in the school holidays.’
‘Let's be clear on this. When you came home, you thought your wife was in bed. You didn't notice –’
Matthew interrupted the sergeant. ‘We've had separate bedrooms since – since she found out about Charlotte.’
‘Whose idea was it to sleep separately?’
The DCI was frustrated, but seemed hardly surprised, at the outcome of the interview with Matthew Kirby. ‘He's got his story together,’ Peterson concluded.
‘I still don't think he did it, ma'am,’ Geraldine added. ‘Apart from anything else, his story's too vague. If he'd planned to kill his wife, surely he would have thought up a better alibi.’
‘Perhaps it wasn't planned,’ Peterson said. ‘I don't trust him.’
Kathryn Gordon waved her hands in the air dismissively. ‘What any of us think of the man is beside the point. As a husband with a clear motive, he remains a likely suspect. What we need now is hard evidence.’
28
TRUST
Matthew wasn't comfortable about lying to his sister but, as a single woman, Evie had no idea what a trial his marriage to Abigail had been and she tended to take the moral high ground, devoted as she was to the church and its teachings. So Matthew was in no hurry to tell her about Charlotte. Nearly ten years older than him, Evie had always stood by him when he was in trouble, but he knew she would lecture him interminably once she learned about his infidelity although he knew that, even if he kept quiet, Lucy was bound to blurt it out sooner or later.
‘Adultery is a sin, Matthew,’ Evie would tell him in hushed tones, adopting an expression of anger, or, more likely, sorrow. ‘I will pray for your soul.’
He couldn't deal with her disappointment just yet, not with everything else that was going on, so he took the easy way out. ‘I'm worried about work,’ he told her. That much was true, anyway. ‘I've hardly been in the office all week. I know it's Saturday, but I really should go in and check on a few things.’
‘Of course you must go if you need to.’ Evie turned to Ben. ‘Your father has a very responsible job, and he's a conscientious man. I hope you follow his example.’
Over her shoulder, Matthew pulled a face at Ben who grinned. It was a relief to see the boy smiling again. Evie was good for him, feeding him and fussing over him like she did. It was a pity Lucy remained so hostile, rejecting all Evie's approaches and barely speaking to Matthew.
‘I'll see you later then,’ he said, relieved and ashamed to be leaving the house.
There wasn't much traffic and he was soon ringing Charlotte's bell, his guilt swept away in the anticipation of seeing her again. Nothing would ever convince him he was wrong to have fallen for her. How could it be a sin, when he had no choice, no control over his feelings?
Charlotte fell into his arms but didn't respond to his kiss. Matthew could feel her trembling and when he pulled away he saw she was in tears.
‘What is it? What's up?’ She shook her head, sobbing and hiccupping like a child. Matthew held her close and whispered soothing nonsense. ‘Don't cry. It'll be all right. I'll take care of everything. No one's going to hurt you.’ He didn't know what else to say. Her distress made him feel helpless. Even when Abigail had refused him a divorce, Charlotte had only been coldly angry. She had never given way like this.
At last she pulled herself together sufficiently to stop crying and drew back from his embrace. ‘I'm sorry,’ she snuffled. ‘It's just all so awful. I can't bear it.’ She began to cry again.
‘What is it?’ he asked, a touch of impatience in his voice. He softened it with an effort. He was the one who had lost his wife of sixteen years, after all. If anything, Charlotte should be offering to comfort him, if not discreetly rejoicing that they could finally be together. He had no idea what this emotional outburst was all about. ‘What's wrong, my love?’
‘I can't bear this waiting,’ she wailed.
‘Waiting?’
‘Until they find out who did it – who killed her.’
‘Does it matter?’ She raised her eyes to meet his and frowned, at the same time withdrawing from his embrace. ‘I mean, it doesn't make any difference to us, does it?’ Matthew added. He could sense he had put his foot in it, but wasn't sure how. ‘We love each other and now there's nothing to stop us being together. That's all that matters. We'll wait a few weeks – a few months – and then I'll introduce you to the children.’ The thought of Lucy made him pause.
‘Don't you want to know who killed your wife? Don't you want the police to find out who did it?’
‘Of course, but I want to be with you more.’ He took a step towards her but she stood rigid, staring at him.
‘What if they don't find out who did it? What if they get the wrong person? It happens, Matthew. Miscarriages of justice. You read about it in the papers all the time. What if they think it was you? Don't they always suspect the husband? What if they arrest you – for murder?’
‘Now you're being silly, Charlotte. You're overreacting and you know it. It's all been a terrible shock, but that's no reason to start panicking. Of course they won't suspect me. Why would they? I was with the children and then I came straight here on Saturday. When was I supposed to have – done it – done that?’ Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to speak of Abigail's murder. ‘In any case, they've already given me a grilling and they let me go.’
‘The police were here again yesterday, questioning me. They asked me what time you arrived here last Saturday and I said – I said – I said I couldn't remember. I said I didn't know.’
Matthew gazed at her lovely face, now pale with terror, and understood why she was frightened. He took an involuntary step away from her. There was a certain irony in the way the woman he loved had destroyed his alibi. He could almost hear Evie's voice: ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery… Whoever does so destroys himself.’ And as if that wasn't bad enough, his own daughter had accused him of murdering Abigail. ‘The sins of the fathers’ and all that. He couldn't remember the rest of it although it had been drummed down his throat often enough when he was a child.
They had agreed to chat at ten that night and Zoe was already online when Lucy logged on at five to ten.
‘Hi Zoe. You waiting for me?’ Lucy waited a moment but Zoe didn't reply. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yeah. You?’
‘Yeah.’
There was another pause. ‘What's going on? Are you OK?’ Zoe asked at last.
‘No. Not OK.’ Tears began streaming down Lucy's face as she typed. ‘I'm stuck in this bloody house. Have to get away. It's not safe for me here!!!’
‘What's happened?’
‘Can't tell you.’
‘What are you going to do?’
Lucy glanced at her wardrobe. Her rucksack was packed. ‘I'm leaving. Maybe tonight!!’
‘OMG! Where are you going?’
‘Don't care. I have to get away.’
‘Come and stay at mine.’
Lucy stared at the screen for a second then she wiped her eyes and carried on typing. ‘Are you sure? What about your parents?’
‘They won't mind. They're cool.’ Lucy thought about it. ‘Are you still there, Lucy?’
‘Yeah. I'm here. I have to think about it.’
‘What's to think about?’ Lucy didn't answer. ‘Well, what do you say?’
‘Dunno.’
‘It'll be fun. I've got a huge room. It's the attic. No one comes up here! I'll put a mattress on the floor. Or you can have my bed.’ Lucy's fingers were poised on the keys but she hesitated and Zoe sent another message. ‘We can have a midnight feast!! and I'll get in some magazines and stuff. Bring your make-up!’
Lucy grinned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't say it otherwise. Where do you live? Maybe me and my dad can come and get you.’
‘I'm near Faversham. How do I find you?’
‘No worries. Faversham's not that far. I'll get my dad to bring me over. We'll pick you up.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘No worries.’
‘
Hadn't you better ask him first?’
‘I'll ask him. It'll be fine.’
‘Don't tell him I'm running away from home!’
‘As if!’
Lucy didn't want to give Zoe her address. ‘You can't pick me up from here. Your dad mustn't know where I live! What if he finds out I've done a runner and tells my dad!!’
‘Where shall we meet you then?’
‘Can you pick me up at the station?’
‘No. Someone might see! And there's cameras. If your dad tells the police you've run away, the police might hunt you down!!!’
‘Good thinking. How about the corner of Belvedere Road and Western Lane?’
‘OK.’
‘Memorise it and delete the names.’
There was a pause. ‘Got it.’
‘Don't write it down whatever you do.’
‘Don't worry. No one comes in here. Ever. Trust me.’
‘I do.’
‘We'll need a password so we know it's you.’
‘How about fugitive!’
‘What's that?’
‘I think it means someone who's run away.’
‘Nice one.’
‘Ask your dad soon!’
‘No worries.’
‘And let me know!’
‘Chat soon.’ Zoe logged off.
Zoe was the only person who was genuinely interested in Lucy now, and when they met Lucy was going to tell her all about how her mother had died. It would be a relief to talk to someone she could trust. She sat at her desk thinking about her new friend who had offered her a lifeline and crossed her fingers, hoping Zoe wouldn't let her down. Since her mother's death, Lucy had grown to depend on Zoe more and more.
‘I'm lucky to have a friend like you!’ she typed before logging off. The message would be waiting for Zoe next time she went online.
29
ALARM
The investigation seemed to be grinding to a halt. Kathryn Gordon gazed round, waiting for silence. Once, the officers present would all have stopped talking the moment the DCI entered the room, but she seemed somehow to have lost her authority. Two of the young constables continued whispering together for a few minutes after the briefing began. Geraldine threw them an irritated glance, catching the eye of one of them, and they fell silent.
Dead End Page 13
