A Narrow Return

by Faith Martin

  Phil felt himself tense, then forced himself to nod casually.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you can’t recall any incident or trouble concerning Peter McRae?’

  ‘No. Like I said before, he was a pretty average student. His sister Jenny got into several scrapes, but they were all after her mother died. The whole thing obviously affected her pretty badly. Well, I mean, it would, wouldn’t it? It’s a bad age to lose your mother under any circumstances, but to something like that … well.’ He trailed off and shrugged helplessly.

  Hillary nodded. ‘You see, sir, during our inquiries, we’ve come across some evidence that suggests that Peter was having some kind of trouble here,’ she indicated the buildings behind her, ‘and that his mother was in the process or sorting it out. Naturally, we’re interested in any kind of conflict surrounding a murder victim.’

  Phil shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t recall anything about that – I told the other two as much. If there was trouble, it never came to my notice. Perhaps you should ask one of the admin staff to check the records of the meetings around that time?’ he asked, eager to appear co-operative. The last thing he needed was the cops sniffing around his personal life.

  ‘We already have, sir,’ Hillary said. ‘It’s a good suggestion, but unfortunately, they can only tell us that nothing was made official.’

  She was picking up an odd vibe from the man strolling casually alongside them, and she glanced quickly behind her at Jimmy, who caught her gaze and gave a quick nod.

  So he was picking up on it too.

  Perhaps it was the way in which Phil Cleeves was striving to be so helpful. Perhaps it was the very casual way he was behaving. But she would have been willing to bet anything that behind his calm exterior, the man was sweating buckets.

  ‘But if Anne McRae had come here to, say, talk to a teacher about it, it might not have made the minutes of any particular meeting. If it was off the record, so to speak,’ Hillary carried on. ‘So you can see our problem.’

  ‘Oh yes. But like I said, I can’t help. Perhaps if you tracked down some of the other teachers who were around then, they could shed some more light on it?’

  Hillary nodded. ‘We might have to do that, sir,’ she said. But she doubted she’d bother. Because whatever it was that was worrying Phil Cleeves, the thought that they might talk to his contemporaries didn’t phase him one bit. Which meant that whatever it was he was trying to hide, none of his fellow workers at the time knew of it.

  Of course, he might be trying to hint that if there had been trouble, Anne McRae hadn’t been on to him about it, but she might have taken it to one of the others. But if that was the case, why not come right out and say so? He was obviously anxious to get rid of them, and casting suspicion elsewhere was a tried and true tactic.

  But, in reality, had Anne McRae only talked to him?

  ‘Did you meet Anne McRae, sir?’ she asked smoothly.

  Phil shrugged. ‘Like I told the other two who came, I might have done, but I honestly don’t remember it if I did.’

  Hillary nodded. ‘You’d have been, what, in your early thirties when Mrs McRae was murdered?’

  Phil looked momentarily startled. ‘What? Yes, I must have been. Hell, where does time go?’

  ‘I know, sir. It flies, doesn’t it. Mrs McRae was a very beautiful woman, sir. Even from just the photographs I have of her in her dossier, I could tell she must have had men eating out of her hand,’ Hillary continued casually. ‘Blonde, green-eyed, and from what I’ve been able to learn of her character from talking to those who knew her, she was confident and friendly.’

  Behind her, Jimmy picked up his ears. So that was it. The guv’nor had Cleeves picked out as another potential lover of the murder victim.

  ‘She sounds memorable,’ Phil Cleeves agreed with a slight smile. ‘But it was twenty years ago now, and there have been literally hundreds of PTA meetings since I started my career. Like I said, if I met the lady, I certainly don’t remember it.’

  If the teacher had any inkling what Hillary was hinting at, he’d chosen to pretend he hadn’t.

  ‘So you never became friendly with her?’

  ‘No! I just said.’

  ‘And you never visited her home?’

  ‘What? No, never.’ Phil looked at Hillary as if she was starting to lose her marbles.

  ‘The original investigation found some evidence of DNA at the crime scene that hasn’t been accounted for, as yet,’ Hillary said smoothly. ‘We’re currently trying to eliminate as many people from our inquiries as possible. Would you be willing to give a DNA sample, Mr Cleeves?’

  Phil Cleeves felt the relief sweep through him. So that was all they were after!

  ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ he said with a genuine smile. ‘Do you want blood or something else? I’m not really good with needles, but if it’ll help—’

  ‘Oh no, sir, a simple cotton wool swab inside the cheek will do it. Jimmy, you were going to take some more samples later on, weren’t you? Do you have the kit in the car ready?’

  ‘Yes, guv,’ Jimmy said. He had indeed arranged to go and take some samples from the Burgess couple later on that evening. ‘You want me to get it?’

  ‘If Mr Cleeves has no objection to doing it right here and now?’ She let her voice rise in query, and glanced at the man beside her.

  Phil Cleeves clearly didn’t have any objections.

  Ten minutes later, and with the geography teacher’s DNA neatly packaged and labelled in a little plastic tube resting in a kit in the boot, the two of them made their way back to HQ.

  ‘So you think he and the vic were lovers, guv?’ Jimmy asked, pulling up at a set of red traffic lights.

  Hillary grunted. ‘I did when we started off. A good-looking teacher would have been right up Anne’s street, I reckon. And when Sam confirmed that he was good-looking, I thought we might be on to a winner. Now I’m not at all sure.’

  Jimmy sighed, watched an old lady cross the road in front of them, and put the car back into first and set off again. ‘He was certainly antsy about something, guv,’ he said stubbornly.

  ‘Oh yes. He was like a cat on hot bricks all right,’ Hillary agreed. ‘But did you notice the way he practically slumped with relief when we asked him for a DNA sample?’

  ‘Yeah. Odd that, it’s usually the other way around,’ Jimmy acknowledged, feeling a little deflated. ‘They start to get tense when you ask them about providing a sample, not the other way around.’

  ‘Hmm. Which tells us what?’

  ‘That he’s got nothing to fear from any DNA we found on the vic’s body.’

  ‘And he flat out denied being in the house,’ Hillary said. ‘And you know what? About that, I tend to believe him. But something else had him worried. I could practically smell it on him.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘You think he’s got form?’

  ‘Possibly. But he’s a teacher, and surely they’re vetted pretty thoroughly nowadays. Even so.’

  ‘Want me to spent a couple of hours doing a background check on him, guv? I’m not meeting the Burgesses for a while yet, not until after the hubby’s finished his rounds. I can dig around, see if I catch a whiff of anything interesting.’

  Hillary nodded. ‘Yeah. Good idea. Something tells me we’re not finished with Mr Cleeves just yet.’

  Tom Warrington was on the late shift, and up in his bedroom in his parent’s neat little semi, he lay out his uniform on the bed. He’d just had a shower and a shave, and was dabbing on some expensive cologne, a Christmas present from some doddering old aunt.

  He liked to look good, though. It was important to be considerate to your lover. He owed it to Hillary to be smart and presentable. After all, he didn’t want the others to snigger at her behind her back because he had BO or something hideous like that.

  He cupped his hands over his mouth and breathed hard. Hmm, no smell, but he’d brush his teeth anyway. He did this straight away, and then, once
dressed, hesitated and glanced at his wardrobe. He looked down at his watch, and nodded. His father wouldn’t be in from work for hours yet and his mother had gone shopping.

  It was safe enough.

  He reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a large, steel padlocked box. He undid the combination from memory – the numbers to it weren’t written down anywhere – and then he sat back down on the bed, his heart pounding in anticipation.

  His souvenirs. He did so love to gloat over them.

  He hefted the box onto his lap and opened it up. Inside, were three folders. They weren’t quite the official missing persons reports, only bits and pieces of them that he’d managed to Xerox on the sly, but even so, they were like gold dust to him.

  He reached for a silky green scarf, the kind with long tasselled ends, and ran it through his fingers. Judy’s. Silly little Judy’s. If only she’d had a few more brains, things might have worked out very differently.

  He sighed, put the scarf to one side, and reached in further. He brought out a pen. A pretty black and gold affair, with the personalized initials on it.

  M.J.V.

  Ah, Meg Varney. Now Meg’s problems hadn’t been lack of brains, so much as lack of taste. Fancy turning him down, after all that he’d tried to do for her!

  ‘Ungrateful bitch,’ he muttered, but put the pen lovingly, almost tenderly, down beside the scarf.

  The final memento was a twisted silver bangle. She’d always fancied herself as a bit of a gypsy, had Gillian. Silly really, she’d been so solidly middle class.

  He sighed, and put his treasures back, and carefully locked them away.

  With a bit of luck, he wouldn’t need them any more. Not now he’d finally found the right one at last.

  Of course, he’d thought each and every one of the others had been the right one too, at some point. But he’d learned from his mistakes.

  Hillary was older than he was, and a copper too to boot. That’s where he’d always gone wrong before. Choosing young girls with no experience. And none of them knew what it was like to be a copper – the pressure or the glory. But Hillary was different. She’d understand him, and be glad of a younger lover. She’d treat him right.

  The box stowed away, he checked that he looked smart and neat in the mirror, then went downstairs and on in to work.

  With a bit of luck, he might catch a glimpse of her at HQ. Now that he was in admin for a spell, he could always start inventing little errands that would take him down into Hades. And what a daft nickname that was for the CRT offices. Hades – it meant Hell. Ironic really, since it housed the only angel in the place.

  His Hillary was already lighting up the gloom down there. All the station house was buzzing with how well she was doing on her first case.

  Even Steven Crayle seemed to be unbending towards her a bit. It was well known that he hadn’t been as pleased as he should have been to have her on his team, the stupid wanker. But even the gormless Crayle couldn’t help but be impressed by her, now that he’d had a chance to get to know her a bit better.

  Tom Warrington didn’t like Superintendent Crayle much. He was too good looking. He always dressed well too. He was, in fact, very much the sort of man that Tom wanted to be.

  And he didn’t like him being so close to Hillary. Being her boss might give him an unfair advantage.

  But he’d keep an eye out. And if it looked as if Crayle was trying to encroach on what was his – well, Tom would have to find a way to sort him out, that was all.

  Hillary and Jimmy arrived back just as the afternoon to midnight shift was coming in.

  She nodded at a couple of uniforms hanging around the lobby, awaiting their assignments, and carried on talking to Jimmy as they walked briskly by.

  ‘Since Handley’s in our debt, see if he really does have a fast track at the labs like he says he has, and see how quickly he can get some results back on the DNA samples,’ Hillary said. ‘The sooner we can rule out the Burgess pair and Cleeves, the better.’

  ‘Right, guv.’

  Tom Warrington loved the sound of her voice. It was beautiful and yet full of command at the same time. From the cover of his surrounding work mates, he watched her carefully as she walked by. The old geezer they’d assigned to her looked to be all right. He was an ex-sergeant, so he should know the ropes at least.

  He continued to watch her until she was out of sight, but was careful not to make eye contact. Hillary wouldn’t want everyone at the station to know they were together. She had her reputation to uphold, after all.

  But he felt his heart warm with pride at the brisk, professional way that she conducted herself. He wondered who she had in her sights with the DNA comparisons, but didn’t doubt that soon the whole station would be buzzing with the news that she’d caught Anne McRae’s killer.

  He simply couldn’t see his Hillary failing.

  When Jimmy left to meet the Burgesses, he noticed that Hillary was still at her desk, and checking out an address in the updated file. He glanced at his watch – it was nearly 5.30.

  ‘You off then, guv?’ he asked from the open door of her stationery cupboard.

  ‘In a bit, Jimmy. You clocking overtime for this?’

  ‘Nah, guv, didn’t think I’d bother.’

  Hillary grinned. ‘Nothing better to do with your time, huh?’

  ‘Look who’s talking. You don’t look like you’re heading for home any time soon, either.’

  ‘No. I thought I’d have a word with Peter McRae’s best friend, Brian Gill. The one he was with on the afternoon his mum died. And after work’s always the best time to catch someone in. He still lives locally. Woodstock in fact.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘Best to always let one of us know where you are, guv,’ he said quietly.

  Hillary nodded. She didn’t need to tell him that she could take care of herself – that wasn’t what this was about. And he was right, of course. It was always best to have someone at work know where you were. You never knew when it might come in very handy. And she was glad Jimmy had her back. Sam was too young and green to know what was what just yet. Besides, as today showed, he wouldn’t always be in the office or on the job.

  ‘OK,’ she agreed easily.

  Jimmy nodded and they walked out together in companionable silence, parting in the car park to go to their separate ways.

  Hillary approached Puff and felt a distinct sense of homecoming. Cruising the canals and writing the book had been a nice break, but it was undoubtedly nice to get back to normal.

  Well, as near to normal as her life seemed to get, anyway.

  Brian Gill lived in a new-build house on the outskirts of the historic town of Woodstock, about as far away from the famous Blenheim Palace and grounds as it was possible to get and still be in the same town.

  According to the updated file, he was married, with two kids. It was his wife who answered the door. From inside the house, Hillary could hear the half-hearted bickering that usually accompanied bored offspring.

  Hillary held out her ID.

  ‘Mrs Gill?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s nothing to worry about. I was hoping to have a quick word with your husband.’

  ‘Brian? What’s he done?’ Mrs Gill was a large-boned woman who hadn’t quite shed the fat acquired with giving birth to two children, but she had beautiful and very long dark brown hair and bright blue eyes.

  ‘Nothing at all, Mrs Gill. I’m just hoping he can help me out with one or two questions. Is he in?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s in the study. Come on through.’

  The ‘study’ was actually the space under stairs, into which a tiny desk had been squashed, with a home computer on top of it. Sitting on an ergonomically designed swivel chair placed in front of it, a fat man with a bald patch that looked very much like a monk’s tonsure, turned and glanced at them in surprise.

  ‘Brian, it’s the police for you.’

  Brian Gill blinked at Hillary, then back to his wife. ‘What?’<
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  ‘Nothing to be alarmed about, Mr Gill,’ Hillary said. ‘I’m Hillary Greene, and we’ve re-opened the Anne McRae murder inquiry.’ She didn’t bother to explain about the case never having been closed. It was simpler just to say that they were re-opening it.

  ‘Oh, right, that. Hell, that must be twenty years ago now. D’you remember me telling you about it, love?’ he said to his still suspiciously hovering wife.

  ‘Is this about that old school friend you told me about? Someone killed his mum?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Hillary confirmed, then paused, as from the kitchen came the sound of raised voices.

  ‘Those kids, honestly,’ their mother said ominously, and stomped off towards the sounds of battle.

  Brian Gill grinned somewhat sheepishly. ‘Sharon’ll sort them out. I’m afraid she’s the disciplinarian in the family. They walk all over me.’ He got up and indicated to the left with one out flung arm. ‘Please, Mrs Greene, come and have a seat.’

  Hillary froze momentarily. Mrs Greene?

  Mrs Greene?

  Then she realized that her ID no longer said Detective Inspector, and she forced her legs to move.

  Opposite the ‘study’ was a small lounge, where a settee and two matching armchairs flanked a fake fireplace. Brian Gill chose one of the chairs, she the other.

  ‘So, what can I tell you?’ Brian Gill asked curiously. ‘I went over that afternoon with the police at the time. I remember my mum insisting she sit in on the interview. Made me squirm, I can tell you. It was a DI Squires who talked to me, I remember him well. Nice man.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hillary agreed. ‘Perhaps you can tell me what you remember of that day?’

  ‘Well not much really. I remember I was watching Blue Peter when Peter showed up, because I was trying to get a badge. I was a bit of a dull kid, I suppose. Mind you, I never did win the badge, but you don’t want to hear about that. Sorry, yeah, right. The programme was about half-way through when Peter got there, and we watched the telly, then listened to some music, I think. I had some comics I’d read, that Peter wanted to borrow, and then he left to go home. I heard later what had happened. My dad told me. Got me to sit on the bed, all serious like – I was scared stiff. I couldn’t think what I’d done wrong, you know? But then he told me he had some bad news about Peter’s family. I just couldn’t believe Peter’s mum was dead. I mean, you don’t think it can happen to you or a kid you know, do you. Not murder, I mean.’