So, Martin had been telling the truth. Nothing had happened between them. I now feel even worse about how I’ve treated him.
‘Hotter isn’t her real name though,’ adds Fin. ‘The family name is Hötzinger. It’s German and her great-granddad was a Nazi guard at Flossenbürg, that’s a small town not far from the Czech border. After the war, the family fled across Europe and called themselves Höter. Only when they ended up in the UK in the seventies did it become Hotter, courtesy of what looks like a misspelling by immigration officials.’
‘You know, on any other day, I might find that interesting.’
‘Just trying to lighten the mood.’
‘Thanks.’ He raises a smile from me. ‘Was there anything else on Martin?’
There’s an edgy gap in our conversation, before he replies, ‘You both bank with Barclays, right? A shared account, and he has a business account for his art. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, yes, it is.’ I’m wondering where he’s going with this.
‘Are you aware that he has another account with another bank?’
I wrack my fuddled brain. ‘No. No, I’m not.’
‘Well, he does. It’s in only his name and every month he pays around a thousand pounds in cash into it.’
‘Only cash?’ I ask, suspiciously.
‘Only cash.’
My head spins. Cash is the currency of criminals, of secrets, of people not wanting their activities to be traced. I thought I knew Martin. Believed him to be an open book. Now it seems chapters of his life have been written in invisible ink.
‘Interestingly,’ continues Fin, ‘it’s a Swiss account and there’s only ever one outward transaction. It’s made every month and it’s also for about a thousand pounds, thirteen hundred Swiss Francs.’
‘So, he’s laundering the cash?’ I ask, horrified by the thought.
‘Or he could simply be avoiding tax. Selling art for cash and squirrelling it into another account.’
I’m struggling to make sense of this. ‘But it’s a small amount of money, Fin. A grand. That’s not the work of a major fraudster, or drug dealer. Is it?’
The pause is too long for me to be comfortable. ‘Is it, Fin?’
‘It might not be the only account,’ he finally says. ‘Getting information out of the Swiss is notoriously difficult. Until we find the name behind the number, and we can be sure there are no more accounts, then I suggest you don’t jump to assumptions.’
‘Yeah, sure, I won’t do that,’ I say sarcastically. ‘Hard cash, secret UK accounts and a numbered Swiss account – why on earth would I go jumping to assumptions?’
The door to the interview room opens and Terry walks back in with Detective Inspector Parker in tow. ‘I have to go, Fin. Please try to get to the bottom of this. I have enough to worry about.’
61
Annie
I set the tape rolling and remind my bigamist interviewee and her solicitor that she is still under caution. She looks confused. Distracted. Maybe the severity of the situation she’s in has finally dawned on her.
‘As you contacted us under the name Sarah Johnson, and this interview began under the name, I’m going to continue to use it, if that’s okay with you?’
‘It is. That’s fine.’
‘Okay, Sarah, I’d like to focus now on Ashley Crewe and the events that led up to his murder.’
She nods and looks away, her gaze trailing up the wall and into some distant thought.
‘Please tell me, in your own words, how and why you and Danny Smith came to a situation where you took this young man’s life.’
She finally fixes her eyes on me. ‘I’m not saying this as an excuse, but Ashley Crewe was not a nice person.’ She lets out a sigh. ‘He was the class bully. The whole school bully. Crewe and his cronies made life hell for me and many others. Until Danny came along.’
‘Go on.’
‘Danny arrived at Lawndale when he was fifteen. Ashley and his mates started picking on him almost straight away. One day, they did it when the teacher was out of the room and Danny stood up to them. He knocked Ash clean over a desk and battered him unconscious. Once Crewe came out of hospital, he gave Danny a wide berth after that. But not me.’
I read between the lines. ‘He assaulted you to get back at Danny?’
‘He raped me.’
Rape. Suddenly, I have a motive. Until now, a little bit of me feared Charlie might have been right and that this was all a wild goose chase. But not any longer.
Sarah looks up and I see a quarter-century of pain in her eyes as she forces herself to continue. ‘About a month after the fight between Danny and Ashley, I was on my own, leaving the girls’ toilets near the gym block. Crewe was coming the other way. The corridor was empty, except for us. When I saw him glance over his shoulder, I knew he meant trouble. I turned and ran. Got as far as the end doors before he grabbed me. He just snatched me up, with an arm around my waist and a hand over my mouth.’
She stops and I see her shudder as the memory comes back. ‘I still remember the smell and taste of cigarettes on his fingers,’ she says in a soft, strained voice. ‘He dragged me into the gym – and – and – then – he raped me.’
As cruel as it seems, I have to remain sceptical, have to push her to be as precise as possible in her statement. ‘You’re saying this happened in broad daylight, during school time? How was that possible?’
‘I don’t know. I never thought about it.’ She shrugs coldly, ‘He just did. Boys like Ashley Crewe don’t think of consequences, they just do what they want.’ Her eyes harden, then she leans closer to me. ‘Because I’m a self-confessed liar, do you think I am making this up?’
‘No. I’m just looking for details, to get a complete picture. That’s my job.’
‘Details,’ she says angrily. ‘I’ll give you details. This bastard held me by the throat with his left hand and he punched me in the face. While I was crying, he covered my mouth and told me he knew what I wanted – and said he was going to give it to me – give it to me good.’
I feel for her, but must stay impassive.
‘This animal,’ she adds venomously, ‘he put both his hands around my neck and lifted me up so I was on my toes, choking. And while I was like that, terrified, literally wetting myself because I was so frightened, he said, “You’re getting this because of what that cunt of a boyfriend did to me. And if you tell him, or anyone else, I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill him as well.”’
She has to spread her hands on the table to stop them shaking.
Her lawyer pours her a glass of water.
Sarah mouths a thank you and her hands are still trembling when she picks up the glass.
‘Would you like to stop? I can see this is traumatic for you.’
She shakes her head and takes another drink of water.
Again, I wait, until I’m absolutely sure she isn’t too stressed to continue, then I ask, ‘After the rape, Sarah, what did Crewe do?’
‘He just left me there.’ Her face goes blank. ‘I turned on my side and I cried. Wept until I had sobbed out the pain and my brain told me I had to get myself together. I rubbed his semen off my legs with my skirt and re-dressed. I wiped my face with the sleeves of my school jumper. Tried to look normal. But I knew normal was already a long way from how I’d ever be again.’
She stops and takes another sip of water, then adds, ‘I couldn’t face seeing other kids and teachers, so I went out of a fire exit onto the fields. I ran away. Ran as fast as I could. And I didn’t stop until I was out of breath and my lungs were on fire.’
‘Where did you run to, Sarah?’
‘There’s a park a couple of miles from Lawndale. Not a big one with swings and roundabouts, but a memorial one, where old people sit and remember. I went there. Sat on a bench at the back beneath some trees. It was weathered grey with broken slats and so was always avoided by pensioners. I sat there and decided what to do.’
‘Which was what?�
�
‘I knew there was a petrol station nearby, so I went there and told them I’d been knocked over by a cyclist and asked to use their toilet. The old man behind the till was really nice. He gave me the key to the washroom. I must have been in there half an hour cleaning myself up and crying. When I came out, he bought me tea from a vending machine and gave me some chocolate, a big bar of Galaxy. He told me the sweetness would help take the shock away. And it did. But only for a minute.’
‘Did you tell anyone about the attack?’
‘I’m sure you know I did.’
‘For the sake of the tape, Sarah, you’re going to have to say it for me.’
She nods. ‘I didn’t tell any teachers. I didn’t want them knowing, or other girls pointing at me. I told Danny.’
‘And how did he react?’
‘He wanted to go and find him there and then. Said he wanted to beat him to death. But I stopped him.’
‘Why?’
‘I said Crewe would expect that. I told Danny he should wait. Wait and behave as though I hadn’t told him anything. Then, when we’d thought things through and Crewe had thought he’d got away with it, then, and only then, he should kill him.’
I almost wish Sarah Johnson hadn’t said that.
Certainly not in the way she did.
Until then, there had only been a possible case of manslaughter against her. The rape would have been a hugely mitigating factor when it came to sentencing. But this admission, well, it showed premeditation. And coupled with the fact that she hadn’t reported the rape, then it landed her in deeper water and invited a prosecution for murder and a much harsher sentence.
‘You know what I’m going to ask you now, don’t you, Sarah?’
She closes her eyes.
When she opens them, I see pain all over her face. ‘You want me to tell you exactly how we killed him, don’t you?’
62
Sarah/Paula
DI Parker changes the sound recording tapes. She reminds Terry and me that I’m still under caution and asks that I continue my account of events on the day of the murder.
‘It was about six weeks after the rape, just before a school holiday,’ I tell her, ‘Danny came to me and said today was the day he was going to even things out.’
‘To kill Ashley Crewe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please, go on.’
‘Danny said he’d agreed to buy some drugs off him. Crewe was coming to the children’s home late that night, because Danny had given him some money up front and said there were other kids who wanted stuff as well. He told me I had to act normal, go to bed as usual, and then he’d come to me when it had been done.’
Parker raises a hand, ‘Before you go on, Sarah, I need you to tell me, this plan that you are outlining, was it something you had previously discussed with Danny?’
‘No. No, he had come up with it. To be honest, in the first few weeks after the attack I’d become more depressed than angry. What I wanted more than anything was to get away from the school, the area, anything that made me think of what Crewe had done to me.’
The detective makes notes and then almost methodically asks me, ‘What did Danny tell you to do after he outlined this plan?’
‘He said I had to leave the back door in the kitchen unlocked so he could bring Ashley there around midnight, then I was to go to bed as normal. I was to make sure other girls saw me in the dorm and he told me to pretend to be ill, so I kept getting up to go to the loo or to get a drink.’
‘And how did events unfold that night?’
‘I did everything Danny told me to. Just after midnight, I heard a double flush of the toilet. I forgot to say, that was the signal for me to go downstairs. The other girls were asleep so I slipped out easily. Danny was at the foot of the stairs and as I approached him, I saw blood on his top and on his hands. I felt all wobbly and asked him, “Have you done it?” He smiled and said, “Come and see.” He took me by the hand and I remember I was shaking because it was wet and warm with blood as he led me to the kitchen. And – and that’s – that’s where – I saw Crewe.’
‘Saw him how, Sarah?’
‘He was on the floor. Drenched in blood. A big pool of it – around his head and down the side of him.’
‘I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but we need to be exact. What was he wearing and how was he lying?’
‘Away from me. He was on his side, facing away from me. His knees bent up towards his chest.’
‘And his clothes?’
‘He was wearing a green military-style jacket. He always had it on. And jeans. Blue, I think. And boots, Doc Martens, all the hard lads had them at the time.’
‘Did you see the weapon, Sarah?’
‘Yes. It was a knife. And it was lying next to Ashley, nearest to me when I walked in. It was one of those razor-sharp things that workmen use – a something knife—’
‘Stanley knife?’
‘Yes, that’s it.’
Suddenly, the memories are too much. I cover my mouth for fear of being sick.
Terry puts a comforting hand on my arm. ‘You can stop whenever you wish,’ he tells me.
‘Absolutely,’ says the police officer. ‘This is your interview, Sarah. We can have another break if you want.’
I take a deep breath. ‘No, I want to finish it, please. I want all this off my chest. Over and done with.’
‘Then take your time,’ says DI Parker sympathetically.
‘Danny went to get some sheets and washing bags from the laundry room and he wrapped the body up. He couldn’t move him on his own, so I had to help drag Ashley outside into the rear yard. He’d got a van, a little white one, that he’d nicked and hot-wired so we lifted the body into the back of that. Then we went and cleaned up the mess in the kitchen.’
‘What with?’
‘The kitchen was one of those big ones with a grid in the floor, so you could pour water on it and mop it down. That’s what we did.’
‘And the body?’
‘We moved it. I went with Danny in the van. We drove out into the Derbyshire Peaks and buried it in a forest.’
‘Do you know where?’
‘I do. I’ll never forget where. I see it in nightmares.’
‘Can you show us, Sarah? Are you up to that?’
‘It’s why I came.’
‘Before we go, tell me one more thing. Why confess now to a crime that’s stayed undetected for more than twenty years?’
I let out a long sigh. ‘It’s just that now is the right time. The first time I’ve had the courage to do it.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Well, my marriage has been dead for more than a decade, but Danny would never let me leave him. Every time I asked to split up or divorce, he told me I should understand that he’d never let that happen. He said he had risked his own life and taken the life of someone else for me and that meant we had to stay together “until death do us part”. He even threatened to go to the police and confess if I ever did leave him.’
‘But he wouldn’t have, would he? He’d have known he’d be arrested as well.’
‘He said that didn’t matter. That if I walked out, his life would be over anyway. I suppose all this is why I secretly married Martin. I knew I couldn’t leave Danny, but I needed to have Martin in my life to stay sane. He’d proposed several times and I think if I hadn’t finally agreed to it then he would have left me.’
‘And is Martin standing by you, now?’
I pin on my brave face. ‘No. No, he’s not. He’s told me it’s over.’
For the first time, I notice the DI is looking at me as though I am another woman, and not just a suspect. She seems to be trying to understand me, rather than just assemble the evidence.
‘I have to ask, Sarah. How did you manage to stop both men finding out about each other?’
‘It wasn’t easy,’ I say with a sad smile. ‘I kept what I call Lie Boxes.’
‘Lie Boxes?’
&nbs
p; ‘Hidden physical and digital places, where I’d store information and things relating to each man and each marriage. Records of places we’d been together, people we’d met, restaurants we’d eaten in, films and shows we’d seen and what each husband had liked and disliked.’
I see a degree of amazement, or maybe it is disgust, register in her eyes, before she asks, ‘And social media? We live in a digital age – how did you get away with your friends and family, your husbands’ friends and family not seeing or reading about you?’
‘I don’t have close friends, or any form of family.’ I shrug at the thought of how cold and isolated I just sounded, then I add, ‘I have no Facebook or Twitter profiles and make a point of never having my photograph taken. I put it down to being self-conscious and camera-shy.’
‘But really, you were just covering your tracks, taking steps to avoid your bigamy being discovered?’
‘I was, yes.’
‘What about when you married Martin? Weren’t there photographs then?’
I smile at the memory. ‘I fixed the Italian photographer and insisted he shot on film, so there were no digital prints. Martin’s parents were our only guests and neither of them use their phones for anything other than making or receiving calls. Martin is a technophobe, so he has no online identity save his website. And Danny, well, Danny has been drunk the last ten years, so photos and online postings haven’t been high up his list of priorities.’
‘And finances?’ pushes the inspector. ‘Did you set up false bank accounts in your bigamist relationship?’
I realise she has slipped the question in. Realise that my answer could result in an extra charge of fraud, to go with the count of bigamy. ‘Yes, I did,’ I reply, unhesitatingly. ‘I established false personal accounts in my bigamous marital name and false business accounts in the name of Sarah Johnson, to collect monies as a sole trading business consultant. All taxes have, however, been paid.’
The inspector makes notes. No doubt to pass on to the Inland Revenue. I think about disclosing Martin’s secret account, his cash payments into a numbered Swiss account. The police would probably find out everything there is to know, quicker than Fin.
Dead and Gone Page 18
