Evil Impulse

by Leigh Russell

  Geraldine hesitated. ‘I can’t imagine he killed two women,’ she said.

  ‘Based on what?’ Eileen asked.

  ‘I can’t give you anything specific. You asked me for my impression of him,’ Geraldine reminded her. ‘That’s my impression.’

  ‘Let’s look into him, search his house,’ Eileen said. ‘If he did do it, there could well be some trace of the victims there.’

  In the absence of any evidence pointing to Harry being guilty, under normal circumstances a request for a search warrant would have been refused. Given that this was a double murder investigation, Eileen obtained an emergency warrant and a search team was sent to Harry’s house to hunt for proof of his guilt. Keen to take her mind off her personal problems, Geraldine went along to observe and assist. It was beginning to drizzle as she arrived, and she hurried along the street to the house, pulling her collar up against the chill wind. She was interested to see how Harry reacted to this intrusion into his home. He and his wife were standing outside the house, remonstrating with a uniformed officer.

  ‘But you can’t lock us out of our own house,’ Harry’s wife was protesting.

  Harry stood at her side, scowling, his hands thrust in the pockets of his trousers. Several neighbours were watching from their own doorways.

  ‘We’re living in a police state, mate,’ one of them called out as Geraldine arrived. ‘This is just the beginning.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mrs Mellor asked, catching sight of Geraldine and darting forward to grab her by the arm. ‘This isn’t on. My Harry hasn’t done anything. All he did was get his jacket stolen. He didn’t mean to leave it unattended. It was only for a moment. It’s not fair to persecute us like this, in front of all our neighbours.’

  Geraldine asked the Mellors quietly if they would prefer to go in the house.

  ‘As long as you leave us alone to get on with our search,’ she said, ‘you don’t have to wait out here.’

  She led them to the front door and spoke to the constable standing there.

  ‘Mike, this isn’t a crime scene.’

  ‘Not yet,’ the constable replied stolidly.

  ‘There’s no reason why these people should be kept waiting outside in the rain,’ Geraldine continued. ‘They’ve undertaken not to interfere with the search, and I’ll keep an eye on them.’

  The constable nodded and stood aside to allow Geraldine to lead Harry and his wife back into their house. They all sat in the front room, and Geraldine explained that the search would not take long.

  ‘It will be over soon,’ she assured them. ‘And then you can return to normal. I’m sorry for the disruption, but we’re investigating a serious crime and we have to leave no stone unturned. You are not the only people whose property is currently being searched,’ she added untruthfully.

  If she could gain the Mellors’ trust, there was a chance they might relax with her and become more talkative, and she suspected Harry knew more about his missing jacket than he had yet admitted. His wife was still flushed with indignation, while Harry sat, fidgeting wretchedly with the buttons on his shirt, staring at the floor. He looked ungainly, slouched on the sofa beside his dainty wife.

  ‘Harry, is there something you haven’t told us?’ she asked gently. ‘If there is, then now’s the time to come clean. The longer you leave it the worse it will be.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Harry’s wife replied for him quickly. ‘My Harry isn’t a liar. Why is he being treated like a criminal? You’ve all made up your minds he’s guilty before he’s even been tried. And what’s he supposed to have done, anyway? Surely all these police can’t really be here about one old jacket? It wasn’t even new. Haven’t you got more serious crimes to worry about? You’re just persecuting him because he’s an easy target. He won’t be bullied into confessing to something he didn’t do.’ She turned to her husband and patted his hand. ‘Don’t worry, whatever story they come up with, they won’t have any evidence.’

  ‘Harry’s not on trial,’ Geraldine replied gently. ‘We’re investigating a double murder and we think Harry might be able to help us.’

  Harry and his wife both looked shocked, but the latter continued with her tirade, more vigorously than ever. ‘Well I know my husband, and he had nothing to do with any murders, or any other crime for that matter. He can’t help you, so you can leave him alone.’

  Geraldine turned to the wretched man sitting at his wife’s side. ‘Harry,’ she said gently. ‘What are you not telling us about your missing jacket?’

  Harry hung his head, and his large hands hung loosely between his legs. He heaved a deep sigh.

  ‘It wasn’t on my bike,’ he mumbled.

  ‘What are you saying?’ his wife interrupted him. ‘Harry, don’t say another word. Whatever you say, they’ll twist it, and if you admit you lied once, they’ll distrust everything you say and you won’t be able to defend yourself.’

  ‘We only want the truth,’ Geraldine said. ‘Harry, if you’re innocent of any serious crime, as I’m sure you are, then you have nothing to be afraid of. Just tell me what happened to your jacket. It could be really important for us to know when and where it was taken. We believe whoever took your jacket could be involved in a very serious crime.’

  ‘Harry, don’t say another word,’ Mrs Mellor interposed.

  He glanced miserably at his wife and shook his head. ‘I have to tell them what happened. God help me, I have to tell the truth. I can’t bear this, Peggy. It’s driving me crazy. You heard the woman. They’re investigating a murder. How can I keep quiet?’

  Mrs Mellor turned to Geraldine in desperation. ‘My Harry’s not a liar,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong. If he didn’t tell it exactly right, it’s only because he was frightened.’

  ‘I understand. Now, Harry, suppose we go from the beginning. What really happened to your jacket?’

  ‘It was like this,’ he replied. ‘That jacket wasn’t on my bike. I never had it there when I went out that morning but I said it was on my bike because I wanted them to think it had been stolen.’

  ‘Who is “them”?’ Geraldine asked. ‘It would help if you could be as clear as possible with what you’re telling me. Who did you want to believe it was stolen?’

  ‘My manager at work. I thought if I told them it had been stolen they wouldn’t think it was my fault.’

  ‘So what did happen to it?’ Geraldine asked.

  It was like pulling teeth, extracting any information from Harry.

  He sighed. ‘I lost it.’

  ‘Where did you last have it?’

  Harry shrugged.

  ‘Please, Harry, it’s very important you tell me where you last had it.’

  She wondered whether to explain that once the police knew where Harry had left his jacket, they might be able to find an image of whoever had taken it, and actually see an image of the killer. She could scarcely conceal her excitement, even though she knew it was probably misplaced. The chances of the killer being caught on film, seizing the jacket and gazing straight at the camera to give a clear and identifiable image of his face, were so remote as to be virtually impossible.

  Her hopes were further dashed when Harry said he didn’t know.

  ‘How can you not know?’ she asked, doing her best to control her impatience.

  ‘It was on the back of my bike, like I told you, and it fell off somewhere, I don’t know where. It must have happened as I was cycling along. I mean, it was there when I left home, and I’m pretty sure it was still there when I stopped at the newsagent’s. I mean, I would have noticed if it wasn’t there when I got back on my bike. But when I got to work, it had gone. It must have fallen off. Trouble is, I didn’t dare tell the boss I’d lost it, so I said it had been stolen. What else was I supposed to do? Not that it helped me much,’ he added morosely.

  Assuming Harry’
s convoluted account was accurate, the jacket had fallen off the back of his bike somewhere between the newsagent’s and the refuse collection depot where he worked, a distance of about three miles.

  48

  As soon as Geraldine arrived back at the police station, and before she had a chance to speak to Eileen about Harry’s revised story, the waitress from Angie’s café rang her. Even talking face to face Klara was difficult to understand, and it was almost impossible to hold a conversation with her over the phone. All Geraldine could make out was that she was saying something about her murdered colleague.

  ‘Are you talking about Angie?’ Geraldine asked.

  ‘Angie, Angie, yes I talk Angie,’ Klara replied, sounding almost hysterical as she repeated her garbled message.

  ‘Where are you?’ Geraldine asked. ‘Can you come and see me at the police station, or shall I come to you?’

  As she put the question, she hoped that Klara would agree to come to the police station because she was not sure she would be able to understand her if Klara gave an address. So she was initially relieved when Klara said she would come and speak to her at the police station.

  Having concluded the conversation, Geraldine went to find Eileen so they could discuss Harry’s revised statement. After listening to Geraldine’s update, Eileen immediately authorised her to set up a check on any surveillance cameras they could track down in the streets between the newsagent’s where Harry had last seen his jacket, and his place of work. The detective chief inspector gave no obvious outward sign that she shared Geraldine’s cautious excitement, but her eyes brightened. From having no new leads at all, suddenly there seemed to be two more possible lines of enquiry. Eileen gave Geraldine an approving nod before she turned her attention back to her screen, and Geraldine went to arrange the surveillance check.

  ‘We seem to spend an awful lot of time arranging teams of visual identification image detection officers to watch hours and hours of CCTV footage,’ Ariadne grumbled when Geraldine brought her up to speed. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but they always turn out to be a waste of time.’

  ‘I don’t know how they do it,’ Geraldine replied. ‘It would drive me nuts if I had to spend all day just staring at a film captured on a security camera. Give me real people to question any day.’

  ‘I think I’d struggle to stay awake if I had to do what they do. It can be hours before anything happens. Most of the time it’s like watching paint dry.’

  ‘Well, it’s just as well some people are happy to do it,’ Geraldine said.

  After that she busied herself recording Harry’s statement and writing up her decision log while she waited for Klara. After an hour, she began to suspect that Klara was not going to turn up. She rang her mobile, but there was no answer. Kicking herself for not driving straight to wherever Klara had called from, she phoned her again, but still Klara did not pick up.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Ariadne asked.

  ‘I think I’ve just lost a potential witness,’ Geraldine said. ‘Klara, the waitress who worked with Angie, called me and wanted to talk. I asked her to come here because I really struggle to understand her over the phone. But she’s not turned up.’

  As she was speaking, the message came that a woman had arrived asking to speak to Geraldine. She leapt to her feet and heard Ariadne wish her luck as she hurried from the room. Geraldine was too old and experienced a detective to allow herself to hold out much hope that this meeting might actually lead to an arrest, but she almost ran along the corridor in her eagerness to hear what Klara had to say.

  ‘I sorry, I sorry,’ Klara began, and burst into tears. ‘I not know what happens,’ she said when she had controlled her sobbing enough to speak. ‘I not know is murder. I think she fall in river and drown. I think is accident. I see in paper is murder. My husband show me. “This is girl you work with,” he says to me. Yes, Angie, it is murder.’ Covering her face with a large white handkerchief, she broke down in tears again. ‘Is horrible. I know her. Who kill her? I must know, please. And he must be with punishment.’

  Gently Geraldine explained that the police were working hard to find out who had committed this terrible atrocity.

  ‘But you know who kill her? You know?’ Klara insisted.

  ‘I’m afraid not. We will find out, but we don’t know yet. Now, if there’s anything you can tell us, anything at all, that might help us to find the killer, please tell me.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know, I know,’ Klara replied, an earnest expression on her childlike face. ‘I know.’

  Geraldine waited. Klara did not say anything else, but sat, sniffling quietly into her handkerchief.

  ‘What do you want to tell me?’ Geraldine prompted her after a moment. ‘Why did you come here?’

  Klara nodded her head. ‘Bad man,’ she said at last, making a visible effort to pull herself together. ‘Bad man kill her.’

  Geraldine stifled a sigh. If that was all Klara had to say, it was hardly going to advance the investigation.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, as calmly as she could, ‘I think we can all agree that the man who killed Angie was a bad man. A very, very bad man.’

  ‘He come to café many days,’ Klara went on. ‘Every day he ask where is she. He come to café and he look for Angie.’

  Geraldine snapped to attention, her weariness gone in an instant.

  ‘A man was looking for Angie?’ she asked, when Klara didn’t continue.

  Klara nodded. ‘Many times.’

  ‘Who was? Who was looking for Angie?’ she asked, no longer making any attempt to hide her impatience.

  ‘Bad man,’ Klara repeated. ‘He come in café. He come to kill her.’

  ‘What makes you think this customer killed Angie?’

  ‘I not think. I know. I tell my husband. He say “Go to police, Klara, you must go to police”. So I here.’

  ‘And this man, the one you say killed Angie, who was he?’

  ‘I tell you, he come in café. He come many times to see Angie and she tell me he give her creeps. She tell me she not want serve this man at table. He bad man. Yes, she afraid him. She see him, she run in back.’

  ‘Did you ever see this man who was frightening her?’

  ‘Yes, I tell you, he come many time in café. He say he like Angie very much. So she afraid. She say he want give her money. When he in café she go in kitchen. She run. She not come out.’ She smiled sadly at the memory. ‘She not come out when he there. He not see her. This important to her. So I help. I give man tea. Angie not go to him, never. I help her. My poor friend, Angie.’

  Klara’s description of the man in the café was not very helpful, but by working with her, an e-fit officer managed to produce an image that satisfied her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding at the face staring back at her from the screen, ‘He him. He him.’

  Armed with the e-fit image, Geraldine returned to the café to quiz the manager there about Klara’s ‘bad man’. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. The manager gazed at the picture of a bald middle-aged man with a sharp nose, piercing dark eyes, and fleshy jowls.

  ‘Do you recognise this man?’

  The manager hesitated. ‘Possibly. It’s difficult to be certain from a sketch like this.’

  ‘If it is the man you think it might be, what can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Only that he’s been in here a few times,’ the manager replied uncertainly. ‘I can’t be sure though, and I can’t tell you anything about him, other than that he’s an occasional customer here. I can’t say when he was last here.’ He looked up at Geraldine with a stricken expression. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help to you. Is this about Angie?’

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Geraldine replied. ‘But we’d like to talk to him.’ She handed the man her card. ‘If he comes in here again, please will you call me urgently? Never mind what else you might be doi
ng, please call me the minute you see him.’

  He nodded, and she left, hoping she would hear from him before long. A middle-aged man stalking Angie and offering her money had to be a likely suspect. Eileen smiled grimly when Geraldine told her everything the manager of the café had said.

  ‘If he didn’t exactly corroborate what Klara told me, at least he didn’t contradict it. And Klara seemed convinced that this customer was stalking Angie and that she was frightened of him.’

  ‘Well done,’ Eileen said, her square face set in a determined expression. ‘Let’s hope we get somewhere with this new lead.’

  Geraldine had been working with Eileen for long enough to know that she was feeling positive about the outcome of the investigation. She hoped the detective chief inspector’s optimism was justified, and Klara’s ‘bad man’ would not turn out to be another dead end.

  49

  The priority now was to hunt for the suspect Klara had brought to their attention. They had only her vague description, and her word that the e-fit image of her ‘bad man’ was accurate. In charge of organising the search, Ian came to Geraldine to ask whether Klara had mentioned anything else that might possibly help them in their search. Geraldine had to restrain herself from snapping at him that if there had been anything else, she would have reported it already.

  ‘Yes, Ian,’ she replied instead, with exaggerated meekness. ‘Thank you for that helpful suggestion. As if we don’t all know what to do.’

  Immediately she regretted her muttered outburst. Ian looked puzzled, and she looked away, waiting for him to remind her that he was her senior officer and she should address him with respect. But he turned on his heel without a word and stalked away. At the desk opposite Geraldine’s, Ariadne kept her head down and her eyes on her screen. Either she had not heard Geraldine’s crotchety retort or she was wisely ignoring it, as Ian had. Dejected, Geraldine tried to focus on her work. Every aspect of her personal life was a disaster, from losing contact with her sister to her own rejection of Ian. And the investigation did not seem to be faring much better. All they had were vague statements from two witnesses, one unreliable, the other barely intelligible, and an e-fit image that might or might not resemble someone who might not bear any relation to the case, even if they managed to find him.