Knife Edge

by Fergus McNeill

  She opened the door and got out, smoothing down her clothes. Should she take the case out of the car now? No, not yet. Sarah would wonder what was going on if she turned up on the doorstep with a suitcase, and she didn’t want a barrage of questions before she even got inside. She would drop it off as she was leaving.

  Locking the car, she made her way towards the house. Sarah had painted the little iron gate in a dark shade of green, and there were new curtains hanging in the front-room window that she wasn’t sure about …

  … but this wasn’t her home any more.

  She took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  After a moment, she heard quick footsteps and the door opened.

  ‘Hi, sis!’ Sarah was everything she wasn’t – confident, curvaceous and blonde, taking her looks from their mother. Kim’s colouring was more like her father’s – perhaps that’s why she’d been his favourite, and why her mother had grown so distant after he left.

  ‘Hiya,’ Kim smiled.

  ‘Come in,’ Sarah beamed, looking past her into the street. ‘Is Rob not with you?’

  ‘No, it’s just me.’

  ‘Well, come on through. I was just going to open a bottle of wine.’

  They walked down the narrow hallway and into the kitchen. Kim dumped her handbag on the counter, just as she used to, and looked around. It was as if she’d never been away.

  If only.

  She sank into her old chair with a sigh and looked across at her sister, who was taking a couple of glasses from the dishwasher. How was she going to tell her?

  Sarah straightened up and came over, setting the glasses and a bottle down on the table.

  ‘So,’ she smiled as she sat down and started opening the wine. ‘What brings you back here? Everything all right?’

  Kim stared at her.

  Just say it!

  ‘It’s Rob,’ she began. Her hands felt clammy and she looked down at the table. ‘I’ve … left him.’

  ‘Oh, babe! I’m sorry.’ Sarah was immediately on her feet, sweeping round the side of the table to put her arms around her. ‘You poor thing.’

  They hugged for a moment, and Kim felt her eyes filling with tears. She should have done this a long time ago.

  Sarah gave her a last little squeeze, then moved back to her chair again.

  ‘Oh Kim,’ she said, reaching a hand across the table to console her sister. ‘Is it serious?’

  Is it serious?

  Kim wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘Yes,’ she managed, her voice trembling. ‘It’s really bad.’

  It was so difficult. She wanted to open the floodgates, blurt out everything, but suddenly she was afraid – afraid of involving Sarah, and afraid of what Sarah might think of her if she did.

  She gave her sister a brave little smile before the tears rose once more.

  Sarah waited for a moment, then gently pressed her hand.

  ‘Was he cheating?’ she asked.

  Kim raised her head to nod, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. That was true as well: he had cheated on her, at least in the beginning. But that was only half the story.

  ‘Cheating, lying … everything’s a lie,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Poor babe.’ Sarah looked at her for a moment, then poured two glasses of wine and slid one over. ‘You think you know someone …’ She tailed off and shook her head sadly.

  They sat there quietly together until Kim dried her eyes and lifted her drink, summoning the courage to tell her sister the rest of it. She just needed a moment to compose herself.

  ‘Now I don’t want you to worry,’ Sarah said suddenly. ‘You can stay here as long as you want. The back bedroom’s got some of Simon’s stuff in it, but I’ll make him clear some space for you and we can get you settled—’

  ‘No.’ Kim shook her head and managed a faint smile. ‘I’ll be all right, really.’

  It was the shock on Sarah’s face that caught her attention, as though she’d been completely wrong-footed.

  Not used to her little sister saying no.

  ‘I’ve booked myself into a B & B,’ she explained.

  ‘A B & B?’ Sarah stared at her, her expression somewhere between confused and offended. ‘What d’you want to do that for? What’s wrong with staying here?’

  Kim picked up her wine glass. It looked like one from the set she’d bought when they first moved in.

  ‘I just think I need to be on my own for a while,’ she said softly. ‘Take some time to get my head together. You understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ As always, Sarah recovered quickly and she was smiling as she reached for the wine bottle. ‘But you know you’re always welcome here.’

  ‘I do know,’ Kim said with a grateful smile. The house was still in her name, but Sarah meant well. ‘And I appreciate it.’

  ‘Well, any time you change your mind.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve got a case in the back of the car.’ Kim hesitated and looked enquiringly at her sister. ‘Would you mind if I left it here for a little while?’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll get Simon to stick it upstairs when he gets home.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kim sat back in her chair, relieved to have got this far. But there was so much more she needed to say.

  Sarah had drained her glass and was pouring another.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said in that tone of voice she used when she’d made up her mind about something, ‘you might not think so now, but it’s probably for the best.’ She thought to herself, then added, ‘Don’t get me wrong, Rob was charming, but I was always a little bit wary of him.’

  Kim looked up.

  ‘Why’s that?’ she asked.

  Sarah met her eyes for a moment, then looked away.

  ‘Oh, just little things,’ she replied. ‘There were a couple of times I’m sure I caught him looking at me …’

  One of her hands had strayed up to absently toy with a button at the front of her blouse.

  Kim stared at her coldly. Was Sarah just a little bit pleased about that?

  Suddenly she felt a lot less sure of things between them. Perhaps Sarah wasn’t the person she should be talking to.

  39

  Wednesday, 13 August

  Harland leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. He yawned, then stretched out a hand and switched off the monitor, grateful as the harsh glare died. Pushing his seat backwards, he eased himself wearily to his feet and picked up his jacket. Then, walking around the desk, he stepped out into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Mendel and Josh were standing outside the kitchen and he stifled another yawn as he walked over to them.

  ‘We boring you?’ Mendel asked gravely.

  ‘Not yet,’ Harland grinned. ‘I was going to pop into the White Lion. You can bore me over a pint if you like.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Josh smiled.

  Mendel nodded. ‘Always got time for a pint.’

  They walked downstairs, said goodnight to Francis, who was stuck with desk duty, and made their way outside into the cool evening air. Harland fumbled in his pockets, drawing out his cigarettes and lighter.

  ‘How did you find working with Bristol CID, sir?’ Josh asked as they came to the pavement.

  Harland shot him a wry smile, leaning forward and cupping his hands around the flame as he lit up.

  ‘Just like working here,’ he replied. ‘Same dog, different bit of string.’

  ‘Hey,’ Mendel warned him. ‘Ask if you want to borrow my catchphrases.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Harland smiled. He followed the others out onto the pavement and turned down the hill towards the main road.

  Behind them, a car door slammed shut.

  Harland turned to see a woman with long dark hair who hesitated as he looked at her, then ran down the slope towards him.

  ‘Detective Harland?’

  ‘Yes?’ The face was familiar but it took him a moment to place her. ‘Kim?’

  Dressed
in jeans and a short tailored jacket, she stopped a few feet away from him. Mendel and Josh had turned around to see what was going on.

  ‘We spoke on the phone, about my boyfriend …’ She broke off, struggling, steeling herself. ‘You said before that I could call you,’ she finished helplessly.

  Harland took a long drag on his cigarette and studied her – nervous posture, eyes beginning to glisten with tears, tremble in her voice.

  Genuine.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said softly. ‘What can I do for you?’

  She stared at him for a moment, as though about to speak, but her face fell as she looked past him to the others. She turned back to him in mute desperation.

  Harland glanced at Mendel.

  ‘On you go.’ He tilted his head down the road. ‘I’ll catch you up.’

  Mendel frowned at Kim for a moment, then shot a meaningful look at Harland.

  ‘See you down there,’ he muttered. ‘Come on, Josh.’

  The two of them turned away and walked on down the hill.

  Harland returned his attention to Kim.

  ‘Now,’ he said, in as kindly a tone as he could muster. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Rob.’

  ‘Robert Naysmith?’ Harland asked. ‘The man you live with?’

  ‘Lived with,’ she corrected.

  ‘OK …’

  ‘I’m sure he’s killed someone,’ she stammered. ‘I don’t have any proper proof, but I’m sure of it and I really need you to … do something.’

  Harland looked at her, then glanced back towards the station house.

  ‘Do you want to come inside and talk about it?’

  She followed his look, then nodded nervously.

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I can’t cope with this any more.’ She put the back of her hand to her mouth, composing herself for a moment. ‘I didn’t know who else to go to.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Harland turned and walked slowly back towards the building, Kim following him nervously. ‘I’ll take you in and we’ll get you a cup of tea. Then someone can take your statement—’

  ‘Can’t you take the statement?’ Kim stopped and looked at him with a pleading expression. ‘The other officers didn’t believe me last time. Please, I’d rather tell you.’

  Harland stole a quick glance at his watch and sighed to himself. The pub would have to wait. Mendel might grumble, but it wouldn’t be fair of him to simply dump this woman on the next shift. Besides, there was something about her …

  ‘All right.’ He took a last drag on his cigarette and threw the butt aside.’ We’ll have a talk and see where we go from there. Fair enough?’

  She gave a brief little nod and followed him to the door.

  Even in the cramped confines of the interview room, she looked small – a forlorn figure who sat across the table from him, her large eyes hunting round anxiously.

  ‘So.’ He opened his notebook, then leaned forward slightly so that she would focus on him rather than on what he was writing. ‘Let’s continue. You’d been living with Rob for a while, and you felt he had some sort of secret …?’

  He tailed off gently, leading her into what he hoped would be a safe starting point.

  Kim stared down at the table for a long time, then began to speak in a soft voice.

  ‘I asked him once … asked him if he was keeping something from me. At first I thought it was another woman, but he told me it wasn’t and this time I really knew he was telling the truth.’

  It was almost as though she was talking to herself, reliving a moment, once more searching her partner’s face in her mind for any trace of deception, and finding none.

  ‘But I was sure there was something else, something that he was holding back.’ She swallowed, her eyes darting up nervously as she once again became aware of where she was. ‘So I kept on at him.’

  ‘And what did he say?’ Harland asked quietly.

  ‘He said there was something, but when I asked him if he would tell me … he just said not yet.’ She frowned, as though upset with herself for allowing that admission to pass unchallenged.

  Harland sat back and gazed at her thoughtfully. She had a delicate, vulnerable beauty that he found oddly compelling.

  ‘What did you think it was?’ A slightly off-centre question, to see how she reacted, to make sure it wasn’t all rehearsed.

  ‘Money, I suppose.’ She answered without thinking, her eyes gazing into the distance before focusing on Harland, as though noticing him again. ‘At the time I thought maybe he had done something dodgy at work.’

  ‘What do you mean? Like fraud?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘Kickbacks or something illegal … Back then I never imagined it would be anything so serious.’

  Harland paused for a moment, watching her twirling a strand of hair around a slender finger.

  ‘But later he told you it was something other than kickbacks …?’ he prompted her.

  Kim nodded slowly.

  ‘We were away for a few days,’ she murmured. ‘And he seemed sort of different. Preoccupied.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It was as though he needed me to know something, so in the end I asked what the matter was. But he just stood there, watching me …’ She bit her lip, eyes downcast behind long, dark lashes. ‘So I started asking him different questions. Had he done something bad? Had he hurt someone?’

  Harland leaned forward, nodding at her to continue, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘He was staring at me in a really odd way, and I started to get frightened.’ She faltered and looked up, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. ‘So I asked him if he had … killed someone, because I really needed him to tell me that he hadn’t.’

  ‘But he didn’t deny it.’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’ She sniffed, as though determined to push through to the end of her recollection. ‘He’s never denied it.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  Kim bowed her head.

  ‘I cried. I shouted at him. And he just stood there and took it all.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call the police? Or just walk out?’

  Her head came up quickly and she gave him an agonised stare. But there were no words – she could only shake her head.

  ‘It’s OK.’ Harland could sense that cracks were beginning to appear in her resolve, and knew he had to keep her talking before she froze up on him.

  ‘When did you first hear about Severn Beach?’ he asked.

  She seemed relieved to move on from the previous question, leaning forward a little, reaching up to place her small hands on the table.

  ‘He took me there,’ she said after a moment. ‘We’d been in Bristol, and he suggested going for a walk. Then he drove us out to Severn Beach.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘We walked along that path – you know the one that runs along the top of the sea wall?’

  ‘I know it,’ Harland nodded.

  ‘Well, we were there when he started to talk about how it felt.’ She frowned. ‘I’d asked him, you see – back when he first told me – asked him what it was like. And now he was explaining it, about the sense of power, about being totally in control …’

  Harland could see her concentrating, working to replay the scene in her mind. Whether her partner was involved or not, she was certainly telling the truth.

  ‘Go on …’

  She closed her eyes for a moment, reciting softly.

  ‘“Imagine how it would feel, walking along this beach in the first light of dawn, rain clouds rolling in, with that sort of power flowing through you …” It was something like that.’

  Harland frowned.

  First light of dawn? Rain clouds? He thought back to the weekend when they’d found the body on the beach. How did Naysmith know what Vicky Sutherland’s last morning had been like?

  ‘Did he say anything about the victim?’ he asked.

  Kim looked at him, then nodded.

>   ‘I did sort of push him about who it was, but I said “Who was he?”’ She lowered her eyes again, reliving it all once more. ‘Rob just smiled and asked me why I thought it was a “he”.’

  They sat in the interview room for almost an hour. Apart from the conversations with Kim, there was little to link this Robert Naysmith to the murders from the previous year. He seemed to have no particular connection to Severn Beach or Oxford, or to any of the locations they’d flagged before the investigation was taken away from them. There was no motive. Nothing.

  It was true that his work took him all over the country, and allowed him to keep his own hours. But as Harland sat there gently coaxing the words from this frightened woman to build up a picture of Naysmith, he began to see a clever man, a controlling man, a careful man. Someone who wouldn’t make mistakes.

  Someone like their killer.

  It was a pity about Kim. She really was very attractive, even in the midst of her tears, and it had taken some courage for her to come back to him. He wished he could help her more, but Blake’s instructions had been absolutely clear: the case was now with the Met, and there was to be no further action without the Superintendent’s express permission. Right now, the best thing he could do for her was to let her go home.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked her, closing his notebook.

  She nodded mutely, one small hand nervously touching her lips as her eyes glistened with tears once more.

  It was so unfair. But he’d have to give it to the Met – they would interview Naysmith and check him out.

  Tired now, he pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

  ‘We’ll look into this,’ he assured her. ‘It’s tied in with an investigation that another division are running, but you’ve got my number, so you can call me if you think of anything else, or if you want to know how things are going.’

  He wanted to come across as confident but in his own ears the words sounded lame.

  She moved towards the door, then turned to him.

  ‘You believe me, don’t you?’

  He thought of all the polite things he usually said, the carefully non-committal phrases, but her large eyes begged for the truth.