She
Page 15
‘Might be tough, Miss,’ said Cole. ‘Seeing as how she doesn’t seem to exist.’
* * *
The bench, concluded Dr. Banham, as she waited patiently for Munro to return, was about as comfortable as a church pew. Dictaphone in hand, she listened back over her interview while the duty officer on the front desk flicked apathetically through a copy of The Racing Post.
‘Jackie,’ said Munro, as he greeted her warmly. ‘You didnae have to wait. Will we go upstairs?’
‘Thanks, no, I’m a bit pushed for time now.’
‘Okay, so, how was it? What do you think?’
‘Well, interesting, to say the least,’ said Banham. ‘I think he’ll make a good case study once the trial’s out of the way. Students could learn a lot from this one.’
‘Is that so?’ said Munro. ‘And that would be, why? A split personality? Psychotic tendencies, perhaps?’
‘I’m afraid not, James. Look, I don’t know where you are with your investigation but if you do find him guilty, I really can’t see his defence claiming diminished responsibility, or coercion, even.’
‘Really?’ said Munro. ‘Why not?’
‘No grounds,’ said Banham. ‘As far as I’m concerned, he’s as sane as sixpence, James. Sane as sixpence.’
West sat motionless as Delgado, head on hands, gazed at her across the table in the interview room.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘You really are quite attractive. Maybe we could…’
She stabbed the red button on the interview recorder as the door opened and a uniformed constable entered the room, followed by a stern-looking Munro.
‘Marcos Delgado,’ he said, standing, hands clasped behind his back. ‘I am arresting you for the murders of Jason Chan and…’
‘What?’ said Delgado, rising to his feet. ‘You can’t be serious, I’ve already told you, I had nothing…’
‘...and Hannah Lawson. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say, may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
‘I told you,’ said Delgado, as the constable cuffed his hands behind his back and led him away. ‘I had nothing to do with Jason Chan…’
‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, but…’
Munro, leaning against the window frame, stared pensively out across the green, oblivious to the unnecessarily loud tinkling of a spoon in a teacup as West summoned up a brew.
‘Penny for them?’ she said, softly, handing him a cup.
Munro smiled, warmed by the unexpected gesture.
‘Oh, nothing important,’ he said. ‘This and that, anything and everything. Lawson, Delgado. Home.’
‘Home? You mean home, home? Scotland?’
‘Aye. I think it’s time. You know, I’m not one to say this often, Charlie,’ said Munro, raising his mug. ‘But I could murder a drink, and I don’t mean this.’
‘Ooh, you’re not kidding,’ said West. ‘Large vodka and tonic, tastes better when you’ve earned it. Tell you what, it’s on me. Come on.’
‘Come on?’ said Munro. ‘Charlie, are you not keen on tying up the loose ends?’
‘Loose ends?’
‘For a start, we still cannae say, conclusively, who killed Jason Chan.’
‘But Delgado’s admitted he was there,’ said West. ‘Just a matter of time before he tells us what we already know. And anyway, he’s virtually confessed to murdering Lawson, so we’ve got him, haven’t we?’
‘We have but, but why? He was head over heels in love with her, why kill her?’
‘He told us why,’ said West. ‘He got carried away, love makes you do stupid things.’
‘Maybe,’ said Munro. ‘But we still don’t know who she is, do we? I’m telling you, if we cannae get a match off her DNA, we’re scuppered. I don’t like loose ends, Charlie. They’re like bootlaces. They can trip you up.’
West stared into her teacup and sighed.
‘So, we’ve still got some work to do, eh? Probably too early for a drink, anyway.’
Delgado, locked in a holding cell, had made himself at home, lying, as he was, flat on his back with his legs crossed and his arms folded behind his head.
‘Hello,’ he said, cheerfully, sitting up as Munro and West arrived. ‘How’s tricks?’
Munro turned to West, frowned, and focused his attention on Delgado.
‘Do you have a screw loose?’ he said, incredulously.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You, you’ve just been charged on two counts of murder and you’re lying there like you’re on a mini break in Torremolinos.’
‘I know,’ said Delgado, grinning. ‘Bonkers, isn’t it? But what else can I do? I’ve made my bed, and now…’
Munro looked at West who was doing her utmost to suppress a smile.
‘I’m having doubts about Jackie Banham,’ he mumbled. ‘Are you sure you’re not on medication?’
‘Quite sure,’ said Delgado.
‘And you’re still refusing a lawyer? Do you realise what that means?’
‘I do. Look, I’m guilty, I’m not going to plead otherwise, a lawyer would be a horrendous waste of taxpayers’ money, in fact, you could save a small fortune by doing away with the hearing too and just locking me up. Spell inside sounds quite inviting, no distractions, food and board, plenty of time to concentrate on my paintings. Got a lot of stuff I want to put down.’
‘Good grief,’ said Munro, confounded by Delgado’s disposition. ‘You know, I can honestly say, in all my years on the force, I have never, never, met anyone like you.’
‘That’s a very nice compliment, thank you,’ said Delgado.
‘Are you comfortable, Marcos?’ said West, allowing the smile to creep across her face. ‘Do you need anything?’
‘Very kind, but no. I’m fine, thanks.’
‘I hate to say this,’ said Munro, with a sigh, ‘but I can’t help but think you’re a fundamentally decent chap. It’s a shame you won’t see daylight for the foreseeable.’
‘You’re embarrassing me, now, Inspector, in front of the lovely Sergeant, too.’
‘One last thing.’
‘Name it.’
‘I need you to satisfy my curiosity here,’ said Munro. ‘I need to know why. You loved her, you were infatuated with her. Why did you kill her?’
Delgado hesitated as searched for the right words, his hand clasped together beneath his chin, as though he were praying.
‘It was a heat of the moment thing,’ he said. ‘No malice aforethought, no cunning plan, not even a hint of retribution. It was totally impulsive, but not in a bad way. It’s what she wanted. I know now, of course, it could have been avoided, if I’d been stronger, if I’d put my foot down, but I guess we just got, I got, carried away.’
‘Go on.’
‘She liked, pain. She got a kick out of it. She liked me to use the scalpel on her, where it wouldn’t show. We were getting, shall we say, intimate, and she cut me, along my back. The blade was that sharp, I barely felt it. Then she begged me to do the same to her so, willingly, I obliged. Then, she turned over and pointed to her neck. I refused. I said it was too dangerous, but she insisted, she wrapped her legs around my back and wouldn’t let go. Eventually, I caved in. I made a couple of small cuts, token cuts, very superficial, low down, so she could hide them, but it wasn’t enough. She kept egging me on, ‘deeper’ she said. Then she grabbed my hand and drew the blade across her neck. Before I knew what was happening, there was blood everywhere, down my hands, all over the pillow and the sheets, and yet, all the time, she was groaning, if you don’t mind me saying so, Sergeant, with pleasure. Smiling and groaning. Then, then she just, slipped away. Sounds bizarre, but it was very peaceful. Like she’d drifted off to sleep.’
CHAPTER 19
SPRATT HALL ROAD, WANSTEAD. 11:28am
Save for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock, not a sound could be heard. Mun
ro, indulging himself with his favourite past-time, contemplated the green below whilst West, cradling her coffee, perused the benefits of a detox weekend on the Holy Isle. Her cup, unfortunately, left her hands rather abruptly as Sergeant Cole barged through the door, shattering the peace and causing Munro to spin in his chair.
‘Guv, Miss,’ he said excitedly, waving a large envelope. ‘Hot of the press, from the lab. The stuff on Lawson, I mean Annabel.’
‘I’ll take it,’ said West, pointing to the floor. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, Sergeant. There’s a cloth on the side.’
Munro leaned back in his chair and waited patiently as West read through the pages, raising her eyebrows as she hit the salient points. Her jaw dropped as she reached the last page and turned to face Munro.
‘Catching flies?’ he said. ‘Slowly, now, Charlie. One point at a time. Let’s have it.’
West took a deep breath as Sergeant Cole looked on.
‘You were right,’ she said. ‘The DNA on the scalpel, the one we took from Delgado’s place, it matches Hannah Lawson.’
‘Good,’ said Munro. ‘Positive proof, which supports his confession. Guilty as charged. That only leaves one loose end. How about it, Charlie? Are they going to send me home a happy man?’
West flicked back to the final page in the envelope.
‘Well, yes and no,’ she said. ‘They have actually found a match to her DNA on the system, bad news is, it’s no-one called Hannah Lawson…’
‘Dear, dear.’
‘Or Annabel Parkes.’
‘Well?’
‘It’s Aileen…’
‘Aileen?’ said Munro, leaping to his feet. ‘Why, that’s the lassie the real Annabel Parkes mentioned, the one peddling dope at the university.’
‘Yup, and I’m surprised you’ve not heard of her, she’s from your neck of the woods.’
‘Of course,’ said Munro. ‘How silly of me, after all, there’s only two Aileens in the whole of Scotland and one of those is in Inverness.’
‘Really? Sorry,’ said West, ‘being silly, aren’t I? Anyway, she went to school in Stranraer, left when her father died and did an apprenticeship with a butcher on Hanover Street before moving south. You’ll like this, apparently her father was shot dead in his car. Never found the…’
‘I need a name, Charlie!’ yelled Munro. ‘For heaven’s sake, I need a name.’
‘Alright, alright, it’s… McAdam. Aileen McAdam.’
Munro slumped back in his chair and blew a hefty sigh.
‘Well, well, well,’ he said quietly. ‘They were right along. The past does come back to haunt you. Never even knew he had a daughter.’
‘What?’ said West. ‘Who? I don’t get it, what are you…shit! That’s him, isn’t it? Her dad, he’s the one who torched your house, he killed your...’
‘He did, that, Charlie. He did, that.’
‘Bloody hell, hold on, that picture of you, the old paper clipping in the wardrobe, she didn’t have that because she knew you were on to her, she had it because you were next on the list. You were the ‘special thing’ she was…’
‘Aye, I’d say so,’ said Munro. ‘Och, and I do so hate to disappoint.’
CHAPTER 20
OSPRINGE HOUSE, WOOTTON STREET, SE1. 9:17am
If one regarded funerals as morbid affairs attended by distant relatives stricken with grief, coupled with copious amounts of wailing and saddled with tears, as opposed to a joyous celebration of the dearly departed, then the weather could not have been more appropriate. Thick, low cloud, as dark as Hades and rumbling with the threat of an imminent deluge, rolled overhead. Samantha Baker, still in two minds about attending, regarded such an occasion as neither. To her, seeing a casket lowered into a mechanically dug hole and subsequently covered with sodden earth, was nothing more than a precursor to the inevitable gathering at the family home, which meant free food, free drinks and, no doubt, an assortment of single men wearing sharp, well-tailored suits.
She finished her coffee, stubbed out her cigarette and turned her attention to the mirror. Black, as well as being regarded as the most suitable form of attire when bidding farewell to those who had given up the mortal coil, was also, coincidentally, the mainstay of her wardrobe. The was nothing in the rule book that said one couldn’t look fashionable as well as suitably morose. She gazed at her reflection and pursed her lips as she awarded herself a narcissistic seal of approval. She was, she told herself, smoking hot. The black turtle-neck sweater set off her bottle-blonde bob, the black skinny jeans accentuated her lithe legs and the black, leather bomber added a degree of youthful, street-cred. The only item of clothing that might have been deemed somewhat incongruous, particularly amongst the older generation, was her choice footwear. White, and perhaps, a tad too casual. She didn’t care, her Converse boots were the most comfortable things she’d ever worn, moreover, they were achingly cool.
She checked her watch as the rain began to rattle the windows and decided the trip would be worth the effort. She opened the door and shuddered, dropping her keys as a crack of thunder exploded almost overhead. Waterloo station was but a hop and a skip away, her trusty hat would save her from a drenching.
She smiled as she bent to pick them up, cursing herself for feeling momentarily sentimental. It was a gift from Harry, the key fob. He’d given it to her on his return from Skyros. Not much, so far as gifts go, but it was better than the predictable bottle of Metaxa, Ouzo or virgin olive oil. It was ‘special’. ‘Hardly anyone has them here,’ he’d said. ‘unless you’re Greek or Turkish, so it’s quite unique, almost original, in a way. It’s called a Mati.’
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20