Fatal Act

by Leigh Russell

  ‘I’ve got powers of my own,’ Zak went on. He knew he had drunk too much, but he didn’t care. ‘They don’t know what I’m capable of. No one does.’

  He must have been talking too loudly, because a waiter came over.

  ‘Is everything all right sir?’

  Darius dismissed him with a wave of his hand but the mood had been broken. By the time the waiter had gone, Zak had recovered his self possession.

  ‘You were telling me about your father,’ Darius prompted him.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening to him. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. You know he’s been accused of murdering his girlfriend?’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘No, no, I don’t want to talk about him any more. I’d rather hear about my mother.’ He was feeling slightly dizzy.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘I just want to know what she was like. And don’t say she was an angel. I want to know more than that.’

  Zak tried to concentrate on what his uncle was saying about his sister: how good-natured she had been, the kind of woman who would do anything for anyone, as well as being beautiful.

  ‘But what was she like?’ Zak insisted. He had a feeling he was repeating himself, but he was too tipsy to care. ‘My father never talks about her. He just says what’s past is past and should stay there. You keep going on and on about how saintly she was. But what was she really like? Tell me the truth. You know, I don’t even know what she looked like. He didn’t keep anything that belonged to her.’

  Darius looked surprised.

  ‘You’ve never seen a photo of your own mother? That’s shocking. Wait. I’ll show you – you’ll see, you look just like her.’

  He took out his wallet and rummaged inside it.

  ‘Here.’

  He held out a small picture. Zak stared into the eyes of his dead mother, two dimensional, slightly faded, but still his mother. He had a few facial features in common with his father, but his resemblance to his mother was striking. They had the same large dark eyes and olive complexion, the same small straight nose and thin lips. He would have liked to see a picture of her smiling, but that was the only photograph Darius had.

  ‘She looks sad,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not surprised, married to my father. But he’ll get his comeuppance one day, and serve him bloody well right. You’ll see.’

  Darius put the photograph down next to Zak’s plate. ‘You can keep it.’

  The room spun as Zak shook his head. ‘What would I want that for?’

  His uncle looked surprised. ‘I thought you’d like to keep it.’

  ‘I only wondered if I look like her, that’s all.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘It’s difficult enough keeping track of one parent. I don’t need another one.’

  With a cold smile, Darius replaced the photograph in his wallet.

  Chapter 42

  IT WAS ONLY HALF past four but Geraldine didn’t feel like going back to sleep. She lay in bed, musing over what they had learned. There wasn’t much to go on, but what they had discovered was puzzling. A tall person had been seen following Bethany on to the bridge. Although the team had studied the tape for an hour after the time Bethany was killed, there was no sign of anyone, tall or otherwise, leaving the bridge. The person who had apparently been following Bethany had simply disappeared, just like the driver of the van. Suddenly Geraldine sat up, wide awake. The police constable who had been first on the scene of Anna’s crash had sent a journalist packing, a tall woman with blonde hair. Geraldine wondered who she was, and whether she could have been the same tall person they had sighted following Bethany.

  Arriving at the station she shared her idea with Sam. The sergeant didn’t share Geraldine’s interest in the two tall people who had been sighted immediately before and after the two murders.

  ‘Lots of people are tall,’ Sam said, ‘it doesn’t mean anything. We don’t even know if there really were any such people there at all –’

  ‘You saw the CCTV of someone following Bethany.’

  ‘We don’t know for sure she was being followed. It could’ve been a random pedestrian. What makes you think the person behind her on the pavement had anything to do with Bethany’s death?’

  ‘If they weren’t implicated, they might at least have seen something. What happened to that pedestrian? People can’t just vanish.’

  It wouldn’t take long to speak to the police constable who had been first on the scene of Anna’s car accident. Questioning Marco might prove more time consuming, so Geraldine decided to see the constable first. He was easy enough to trace. Making sense of his testimony proved more of a challenge. He was in his late fifties, solidly built and square-faced, the picture of an honest copper. But he scratched his head in perplexity when Geraldine explained what she wanted.

  ‘Yes, I was first on the scene,’ he admitted. ‘It was a bad business, a very bad business. The victim was an actress off Down and Out, wasn’t she? My wife watches that programme, never misses. She was very cut up about the whole thing. It’s a very sad affair. Such a young woman.’

  ‘We’re interested in tracing the journalist who was at the scene when you arrived.’

  To begin with the constable didn’t know what Geraldine was talking about.

  ‘You reported seeing a journalist when you arrived. You said she had heard the crash and went to investigate. We caught a glimpse of her on the CCTV footage, hurrying out of Ashland Place on to Paddington Street, but after that we lost her. She was wearing a long coat, and we could see she had blonde hair but her face was hidden under a hood so there’s no way we can identify her.’

  Once Geraldine had jogged his memory, the constable’s attitude altered and he bustled away to check his notebook. When he returned, he was apologetic. He had no record of the woman’s name or what paper she had worked for. He could only confirm that she had been tall and he had sent her packing as soon as he saw her.

  ‘We can’t have reporters nosing around crime scenes, flashing cameras and trampling on the ground,’ he said fussily.

  ‘Could the reporter have been a man?’

  ‘Well, she had long hair, but now you come to mention it she was unusually tall, and broad shouldered.’ He screwed up his eyes then shook his head in regret. ‘I can’t recall her face at all, I’m afraid. I was distracted by the accident. Sorry, but I was there on my own and there was a lot to do.’

  When they reached the college they found Marco chatting to a girl with white blonde hair and black rimmed eyes. Perched on a stool, he turned when Geraldine called his name and put his pint down with a belligerent expression.

  ‘What do you want now?’ he growled.

  ‘We need to ask you a few questions about Bethany,’ Geraldine said quietly.

  Marco glanced back at the girl who appeared to be studying a script, putting on a show of not listening.

  ‘It would be best if you came along to the station with us.’

  Marco raised his glass. ‘Do you mind if I finish my pint? Money doesn’t grow on trees for some of us.’

  Geraldine put a couple of quid on the table.

  ‘Let’s go, Marco. This won’t take long,’ she added although she had no idea whether that was true.

  Marco didn’t ask for a solicitor. He slouched sullenly in his chair like a sulky teenager, arms folded, head down, while Geraldine spoke.

  ‘Where were you on Friday evening?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Just answer the question, Marco. You know perfectly well what this is about. Where were you on Friday evening?’

  He didn’t answer straight away. Geraldine repeated the question.

  ‘All right. Give me a chance. I’m thinking. I was going home.’

  ‘Were you alone?’

  ‘Me and half of London out on the streets in Camden.’

  ‘How were you travelling?’

  ‘I was on foot. I like to walk back to Camden. It’s not far. And it saves the train
fare.’

  ‘Was anyone else with you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not on the way, but I met a few other students in the Kings Head in Camden Road on my way home. You can check with them.’

  ‘We will.’ Geraldine took the names of the other students. ‘What time did you meet them?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘So you were out walking the streets, two or three miles away from where your girlfriend was killed –’

  Marco interrupted her irritably.

  ‘You keep calling her my girlfriend but she isn’t – she wasn’t. Not any more.’

  ‘She dumped you?’

  Geraldine wasn’t sure if he turned red with anger or embarrassment.

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ he muttered.

  ‘What was it like? I’m trying to understand.’

  ‘It was mutual. But we’d have got back together. We always did.’

  ‘She’d left you before?’

  ‘I told you, it wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Only this time it was different,’ Geraldine continued, ignoring his interruption. ‘This time she was serious about leaving you because she was seeing someone else, and you lost your temper with her.’

  Marco scowled. ‘I can see exactly what you’re trying to do and believe me it’s not going to work. God, you’re transparent. You think you can provoke me into breaking down and confessing to something I didn’t do? I’ve just lost someone I cared deeply about and that’s all you have to say to me?’ He stood up. ‘I’d like to go now.’

  Sam was convinced Marco was lying.

  ‘He was her boyfriend, he was crazy about her, she dropped him for someone else – an older, successful man – and he lost it. Disguised as a woman, in a blonde wig, he followed her and there you have it, a crime of passion by a jealous ex-boyfriend. He would have had access to wigs and women’s clothes, and he doesn’t have an alibi!’ she ended triumphantly.

  Reg was inclined to agree but Geraldine wasn’t sure.

  ‘I know his alibi is a bit vague –’

  ‘A bit vague?’ Sam echoed. ‘I’d say it was non-existent.’

  Sam had been checking up on Marco’s movements on Friday evening.

  ‘He was seen in the college bar but he left by himself at about eight. He arrived at the pub in Camden at half past ten. There’s at least an hour unaccounted for, if he did walk, and he could have taken a cab.’ Her face fell as she realised what was coming. ‘Oh God here we go, we need to check more bloody CCTV. I’ll get the visual images identification and detection office on it.’

  ‘Check his Oyster card and the CCTV at all the stations in walking distance of Holborn, and any buses that might have dropped him off in the area,’ Geraldine said, ‘and check all the London taxi drivers.’

  ‘I’ll need more officers.’

  ‘Whatever you need to do a thorough job.’

  Sam nodded. ‘Leave it with me. We’ll nail him.’

  ‘If it was him,’ Geraldine said.

  She was thinking about Anna, and how this case looked more complicated than a simple crime of passion.

  Chapter 43

  MEGAN DIDN’T LIKE going back to the flat by herself. It wasn’t just the nagging worry about who Dirk might be with when she wasn’t there to keep watch. She felt uneasy travelling in London by herself. Having grown up in a small village a half hour’s bus ride from Norwich, she had found that while life in the metropolis was exciting, it could also be disturbing. When she was out on her own after dark the atmosphere felt positively menacing. She had heard terrible stories of women being mugged and worse. Dirk always laughed at her fears, assuring her nothing was going to happen. But since two girls she knew had been murdered on the streets, she had found it harder than ever to go home alone. This evening Dirk had gone out with the other lads in the cast. At least, that was what he had told her. If he was telling her the truth he would be back late, probably very drunk. If it was a lie, he might not come home at all that night.

  The streets were well lit as she walked to Russell Square, from where she took the Piccadilly line eight stops to Wood Green. From the station it was only a five minute walk to the safety of her flat. The newsagents kiosk at the station was still open, as was the McDonald’s takeaway restaurant by the cinema. She walked quickly past the closed metal shutters of the next few shops. Ignoring a few youths loitering at the bus stop, she hurried on. She glanced behind her as she turned off, past the pub on the corner. There was a constant stream of cars passing on the main road, plus the takeaway food shops were always open, however late it was when she went home. If there was any trouble on the street she could run into one of them, or into the pub, for help.

  Leaving the main road, she walked quickly along a side street towards the turning where she lived. This was the creepiest part of her journey. Away from the bustle of the station and the main road she felt uneasy, vulnerable to attack. She tried to imagine Dirk was walking beside her. He would laugh at her for being afraid. ‘Nothing’s going to happen,’ he would say, ‘it’s perfectly safe here.’ But the pretence didn’t help. If he had been with her, she wouldn’t have been nervous. Anna and Bethany must have thought they were safe, out on the streets of London at night, all alone.

  As though in response to her fears, she heard footsteps behind her. She didn’t dare turn and look back. Instead she scurried on, walking as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run. She didn’t want to let on she knew she was being followed. Displaying her fear might provoke her pursuer into launching an attack straight away. If she could reach her front door while he was still a reasonable distance behind her, she would be able to dash inside before he could get to her. It was her only hope.

  Her heart was pounding vigorously, blood pumping through her brain, pulsating inside her ears and behind her eyes. Gasping for breath, she stumbled on. Her legs ached but she didn’t dare slow down. With all her strength she willed herself to keep moving, knowing that if she faltered now, her pursuer might pounce. She didn’t care about losing her phone which had very little credit on it, or about her purse which was almost empty. Her credit card could be cancelled, her college swipe card blocked. None of those things mattered. But this would be no ordinary mugging. Because although no one had admitted as much in public, the truth was that a psychopath was targeting girls from her college.

  The principal was busy playing down the connection between recent murders and the college, claiming it was an unfortunate coincidence two of his recent graduates had been killed in little more than a week. In a way his reaction was understandable. At the same time, it was recklessly irresponsible. He should have been taking steps to ensure the safety of his female students. It would be logistically difficult to protect them all as they lived in different areas of London, but they could at least have been warned against going out alone after dark. Dirk wouldn’t have been able to leave her to make her way home by herself if the college staff had advised all the students to be extra vigilant until the killer was caught, and not to travel on their own.

  She was close enough to her flat to see chipped black paint on the front door. Stumbling up the front path, she thrust her key in the lock. To her relief the key didn’t stick and the door opened. As she turned to close it, she looked out into the street. There was no one there. She hoped desperately that whoever had been following her had packed it in and gone away. The thought that he might be prowling around outside the flat, looking for a way in, made her feel sick with fear. After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled out her phone and called Dirk. There was no answer. Hearing his carefree voicemail message didn’t make her feel any better. Although it was early, she went straight to bed with a mug of cocoa and her script. She hoped rehearsing her lines would take her mind off her Dirk, but she couldn’t help wondering where he was.

  Lying in bed, propped up against his pillow, she smelt traces of his sweat mingled with the familiar scent of his deodorant and struggled not to torment herself by speculating where
he was spending the night. Eventually she slipped into an uneasy doze. She wasn’t sure what woke her from an incoherent nightmare where footsteps echoed along deserted streets while Dirk stood laughing at her. The script was lying on the bed in front of her where it had fallen out of her hand. Half asleep, she heard footsteps shuffling around in the next room. There was someone else in the flat.

  Chapter 44

  SAM WENT TO SET up the CCTV checks and Geraldine returned to her office. As she sat trawling through statements by Dirk, Megan, Marco, and all the other people associated with the drama school, Nick came in. He sat down at his desk but she knew he was looking at her. It was unnerving. She did her best to ignore him, gazing doggedly at her screen without acknowledging his presence.

  ‘Always busy,’ he remarked at last. ‘You really need to make some time to relax, get away from the pressure for a few hours. You’re not doing yourself any good carrying on like that. Get a life, for goodness sake.’

  ‘I’m not sure what I do with my life outside work is any of your business.’

  Once again she had retorted sharply when he was only being friendly.

  ‘Look, Geraldine, I’m not being inquisitive about your private like, if that’s what you think. We’re colleagues and I don’t think we want to confuse our roles here. We might be on a case together soon, and it’s best to keep work and private lives separate.’