A Time to Kill (P&R14)
Page 6
Xena pulled a face at him, turned and indicated the lack of anywhere to sit behind her with her hand.
‘Sorry,’ he said, and went to find a seat for her.
‘Very kind,’ she said, when he came back and placed a chair behind her. She sat down. ‘Carry on, Giselle.’
‘I walked round the back of the car. He passed me a plastic restraint and told me to put it on Robbie’s wrists otherwise he’d kill him there and then. I had no choice. I knelt down and put the restraint on.’
‘Then what?’
‘He told me to take my panties off, but Robbie had already taken them off – they were in the car. He told me to get them and pass them to him, so I did. When I turned back with my panties, Robbie had a thing around his neck . . .’
‘A piece of wire with handles on each end?’ Stick said.
‘Yes . . . You’ve seen Robbie, haven’t you?’
‘Keep going, Giselle,’ Xena urged her.
‘The man said that I could live, but only if I killed Robbie. I said I wouldn’t do it, but he said that if I didn’t he’d kill both of us. Robbie said I had to do it . . . poor Robbie. What could I do? The man told me to cross my arms, grab the handles and pull . . . I was crying, and screaming that I couldn’t do it, but he made me . . . the dirty bastard made me kill Robbie . . . he made me . . . and now I wish I’d died with Robbie. How can I live with what I did?’
Xena held Giselle’s hand. ‘You did what anyone would have done. What happened next?’
‘He was behind me, and while I was pulling with all my strength on the wire, he lifted up my skirt . . . I thought he was going to rape me, but he didn’t. I could feel his thing touching my flesh . . .’
They waited for her to continue.
‘He was pulling his own wire . . .’
Xena glanced at Stick. ‘Masturbating?’
‘Yes. And when Robbie was dead and fell forward onto the ground, the man came . . .’ She burst into tears again.
Staff Nurse Parish came up. ‘It’s about time, Inspector.’
‘Five more minutes, and I won’t arrest you?’
‘Three, and I won’t report you?’
‘Done.’
Stick passed Giselle more tissues. ‘Then what happened?’
‘He told me to run. I ran into the darkness. I don’t know where. I didn’t care. I was crying, and I remember thinking that I just wanted to die. What had I done? I should have said no, but a part of me wanted to live. And because I wanted to live, Robbie had to die. My life is over now. How can I ever live with what I did?’
‘You had no choice, Giselle,’ Stick said.
‘Yes, I did. I should have died with Robbie.’
Staff Nurse Parish returned. ‘Okay, Inspector. I think Giselle needs to rest now.’
Xena stood up to leave.
Stick went to put the chairs back from where he’d got them from.
‘Leave them, numpty. Chair distribution is not part of your job description.’ She turned to Staff Nurse Parish. ‘Where are her clothes?’
‘In the bottom of the bedside cabinet.’
‘Go down to the car and get a large evidence bag from the boot,’ she directed at Stick.
‘Me?’
‘You could call for back-up and ask them to bring a bag with them, or what about ringing your pal Heffernan and . . .’
‘I’ll go, shall I?’
‘Hey, why didn’t I think of that?’
Stick wandered out of the ward.
‘I’m surprised he puts up with you,’ Staff Nurse Parish said.
‘He puts up with me, because he knows I’m worth it. What’s your excuse?’
‘Nice talking to you, Inspector.’
‘I wish I could say likewise.’
Stick eventually returned with the evidence bag.
‘Did you stop off for a happy meal?’
‘I was going to get you one, but I didn’t think you were in the right frame of mind.’ He put on plastic gloves, bent down and scooped Giselle’s clothes off the bottom shelf of the bedside cabinet, slid them into the evidence bag and sealed it.
While he was writing the details on the label Xena said, ‘Are her panties in there?’
‘Can’t see them?’
‘Fuck!’
‘What?’
‘He’s going to do it again.’
‘I don’t know how . . .’
‘They’re a keepsake. We won’t find any semen on her clothing. He masturbated into her panties, and then took them with him. They’re a reminder of what he did. He’ll touch them, sniff them and use them to masturbate into over and over again.’
‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s going to kill again.’
‘Of course it does. It was the best sex he’d ever had. If it was the best sex you’d ever had, would you want to do it again?’
‘We’re not talking about me.’
‘Come on, numpty. We have work to do.’
Chapter Five
The building supervisor – Wilhelm Tomasic – had his own apartment on the ground floor. She knocked on his door and waited, but it seemed that nobody was in.
She was just about to leave when a man in a dark-blue pair of coveralls came up behind her.
‘Yes?’
‘Oh!’ She took a step back and pressed her hand to her chest. ‘You frightened the life out of me.’
‘And yet you remain standing outside my door.’ He had shoulder-length dishevelled black hair, dark staring eyes and a goatee beard. When he spoke, he had an East-European accent, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as if it were free-floating in a tub of water.
‘I’m looking for the building supervisor.’
‘You have found him. I am Willie Tomasic – who are you?’
‘My name is Jerry Kowalski. I work for a firm of solicitors called Baxter, Kowalski & Associates. One of your residents has employed us to look into the smell permeating her apartment.’
‘Who is that?’
‘I’m afraid I’m bound by client confidentiality.’
He shrugged. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, and began to walk off.
‘Excuse me.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’d like to arrange for a specialist to come in and investigate our client’s claim that a smell in the apartment is making her life unbearable.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Don’t you have to speak to the owner first?’
‘He will say no.’
‘I’d like to speak to the owner.’
‘No. He has left me in charge. I speak on behalf of the owner.’
‘Then, you leave me no alternative, but to take you to court.’
‘I will show you.’
‘Me?’
‘You are here now. Do you want to see?’
‘I wouldn’t know what I was looking at.’
‘I thought you were smelling, not looking?’
He was right. It didn’t really need a specialist to find a smell. Anyone with a nose could find a smell. All she had to do was open every door, stick her head – and nose – inside and sniff.
‘You’ll show me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Everywhere?’
‘Of course.’
‘All right.’
He set off along the corridor towards the rear of the building. ‘Follow me.’
She followed him, but she wasn’t sure she had made the right decision. Yes, she wanted to find out whether there was a smell or not, but she was on her own. Maybe she should call Charlie or Ray to let them know where she was.
‘Down here,’ Tomasic said, unlocking a metal door with a key on a chain. ‘Be careful, the light could be better.’
He disappeared into the darkness.
She began to follow him through the doorway, but as soon as she took that first step down she knew she couldn’t go any further. She was chained up in the cellar of the cottage again. Rose Needle
was standing over her with a stick to beat her. She could smell her own filth. All the feelings of claustrophobia, panic, fear and self-loathing came flooding back. She staggered backwards, fell on her backside and began to sob uncontrollably.
Willie came back up the stairs. ‘Are you not following?’
‘I can’t come down there.’
‘Then you will not smell.’
‘I’ll send someone else – a specialist.’
‘No.’
Unladylike, she scrambled back to her feet. ‘Then I will obtain a court order and force you to let a specialist come in and take readings.’
He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. ‘I shall speak to the owner – Mr Voss. Come back tomorrow at two o’clock, and I will tell you what he has said.’
‘Two o’clock?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe I should speak to Mr Voss?’
‘No – you come back tomorrow at two o’clock.’
‘You can tell him that one way or another I’ll get a specialist to inspect the building.’
‘Tomorrow – we will see what Mr Voss says then.’
‘All right. I’ll come back at two o’clock tomorrow.’
He jerked his head, went back into the dark stairwell and pulled the door closed behind him.
She heard the key turn in the lock, and knew for certain that if she ever descended into a cellar again, she would never come out alive.
***
Jimmy Landers worked at the local shoe repair shop on High Road in Broxbourne, which as luck would have it was closed on Wednesdays.
Number 15 Faircroft in Spitalbrook was a one-bedroom flat above a florists called: Thistle Do Nicely.
Richards banged on the door for the third time. ‘Doesn’t look as though there’s anybody in.’
‘Give it one more go – you need all the practice you can get.’
‘I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that.’
‘A wise decision.’
She raised her hand, and was just about to start pounding on the wood again when it opened.
A good-looking man in his mid-twenties was standing there wrapped in a sheet like an Egyptian mummy, but he had conveniently forgotten to cover his hairy chest and rippled abdomen. ‘I’m going to call the police if you keep banging on my door.’
Richards smiled and showed him her warrant card. ‘You’re in luck – we came as soon as we heard.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Well, first we’d like to come in. Second, we’d like you to put some clothes on. And third, we want to talk to you about Catrina Golding.’
‘Why are the police involved in our domestic?’
‘We’ll tell you inside.’
‘Come in then.’ He gathered up the sheet so that he wouldn’t trip on it, and started up the stairs. ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess, it’s the cleaner’s day off. If you can find a space, take a pew.’ He disappeared into the bedroom.
‘I think I’ll stand up,’ Richards said.
Parish surveyed the small living room. It had a small kitchen opposite the door that had been sectioned off by the judicious use of a worktop and cupboards. There was a two-seater sofa turned diagonally facing the corner of the room to the left of the door. In the corner stood a fifty-two inch television screen with an Xbox 360 S controller attached to it, and an array of games scattered about.
Beer bottles, cans, crisp packets and pizza boxes littered the floor by the window overlooking the street.
‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ Richards said, when Landers came back into the room.
He’d put on a pair of jogging bottoms and a tank top. ‘It’s a pit stop until Catrina and me get married.’
‘You’d better sit down,’ she said.
‘Do you want a beer?’
‘No thanks.’
‘I think I’ll have one – dog of the hair. It’ll set me up for tonight.’ He went to the fridge, helped himself to a can of Grolsch, opened it and took a long swallow. ‘Okay, what’s the police got to do with me and Catrina . . . It’s her mother, isn’t it? She’s called you.’
‘If you sit down and shut up, I might be able to tell you why we’re here.’
He pushed a pile of clothes on the floor and sat on the sofa. ‘Go on then.’
‘I’m sorry to have to inform you that Catrina Golding is dead.’
He half-laughed. ‘Yeah, right. Is this one of those stupid-o-grams?’
‘No. We think she was murdered on Saturday. Where . . . ?’
‘Murdered?’ He looked at Richards, and then at Parish. ‘Murdered?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me it’s a joke.’
‘It’s not a joke, Mr Landers.’
Tears welled in his eyes. ‘What about the baby?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, I don’t believe you. We were just having a difference of opinion . . . Oh God! I wanted her to get rid of the baby, but she didn’t want to. I was beginning to like the idea of being a father though. I was going to call her at the weekend . . . Murdered? I don’t understand.’
‘Can you tell us where you were last Saturday afternoon?’
‘You don’t think . . . ?’
Parish spoke for the first time. ‘We don’t think anything, Jimmy. What we have to do is eliminate people from our enquiries, and then we move on.’
‘I was at the shop until six-thirty.’
‘And someone can verify that?’
‘Paul Ducard – he’s the manager. We were both there, and then we went for a pint after we’d locked up.’
‘When was the last time you saw Catrina?’
‘Last Wednesday. I walked out. We kept arguing about the same old thing – the baby. Both of us are – were – on low wages, and I didn’t think we could afford to have a baby. It wasn’t that I didn’t want one, or that I didn’t love Catrina, but you don’t have a baby unless you can afford to keep it, do you?’
‘And you haven’t seen her since?’
‘No. We both needed to cool off. As I said, I was going to call her this weekend. I thought she would come round to the idea of getting rid of the baby, but it was me who was changing. She would have liked that . . . Murdered? You mean . . . ? How was she murdered?’
‘Someone entered her apartment and strangled her.’
‘Strangled her! Why?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Catrina was beautiful, and I loved her. That’s it though, isn’t it? People always have to destroy what’s beautiful. Why? Why do they have to do that?’
‘I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Jimmy,’ Richards said. ‘Did you know a Donald Dewesbury?’
Jimmy stared at her with his bloodshot eyes and shook his head. ‘No.’
‘We haven’t had chance to verify this yet, but we’ve been informed by a neighbour that Catrina was seeing Mr Dewesbury.’
‘Seeing him? What does that mean?’
‘She was seeing someone else.’
‘No . . . we were in love. It’s that nosy cow next door, isn’t it? Spreading filthy lies about Catrina.’
‘You know nothing about a Mr Dewsbury then?’
‘No, and I wouldn’t believe a word that bitch tells you. She’s a lesbian, you know. Made a pass at Catrina, but Catrina told her where to go. If you’re looking for someone with a reason to kill Catrina, you should eliminate her from your enquiries.’
‘We will,’ Richards said. ‘Are you on the internet?’
‘No. I’ve got my 360, that’s all I need.’
‘What about Catrina?’
‘Yeah, she was always on it. Even when I was at the apartment. I’d be watching the television, and she’d be talking to people on the internet.’
‘People! Did she ever tell you who these people were?’
‘No. She was a bit secretive about what she did on there. I let her get on with it.’
‘I don’t understand why you didn’t live together.’
‘I’m afraid that’s something we’ll have to check, Jimmy. Could you come to Hoddesdon Police Station tomorrow morning? We’d like you to make a statement and – with your permission – a doctor will take a DNA sample by running a swab around your mouth.’
‘Yes. I’ll ring Paul, and tell him I won’t be in tomorrow morning.’
‘Is there anything else that you can tell us about Catrina, which might help us identify her killer?’
‘I don’t think so. Just as long as you don’t think I did it. I wouldn’t kill anybody, and I definitely wouldn’t have killed Catrina when she was carrying my baby . . . if it was mine.’
‘Thanks for being honest with us, Jimmy,’ Richards said. ‘We’ll let ourselves out.’
‘Is that it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What about Catrina?’
‘Her body is in the morgue at the hospital. I suggest you speak to Mr and Mrs Golding about the funeral.’
‘Yeah . . . Yeah, I’ll do that. And you’ll tell me whether the baby was mine, won’t you?’
‘We won’t, but I’m sure you’ll be notified.’ She passed him a card. ‘Please call me if you think of anything else that might be relevant.’
Jimmy stared at the card. ‘Yeah . . .’
‘Good job, Detective,’ Parish said as they made their way down the wooden stairs.
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re nearly there.’
‘Nearly where?’
‘Nearly at the detective terminus.’
‘I’ve passed all my exams and completed my portfolio – I thought I already was at the terminus.’
‘Yes . . . and no.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re thinking that the terminus is the end – it’s not the end. It’s only the beginning.’
‘Terminus means the end.’
‘And the beginning. Think of a bus station.’
‘Okay.’
‘The bus terminates at the station, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s what I’m saying.’