Despite her impatience to see him again, she was glad to have time alone to consider the ramifications of their night together. In different circumstances she would definitely have wanted to see him again, but a relationship with a colleague was risky. For a start, it was bound to give rise to gossip, and anyway it might not last. That could be difficult. On balance, she decided it would be best to tell him she thought it had been fun the one time, but it was best left there. Only her pride made her hope he would be disappointed. Other than that, the whole thing really was best forgotten about. Yet it wasn’t easy to forget his touch, or the movement of his body with hers.
Resolutely she turned her attention to her work, determined not to waste any more time thinking about him. Her sergeant, Sam, had dismissed him as a condescending liar. Geraldine had seen how tender he could be. The last thing she wanted to do was romanticise him, but she had been on her own for a long time. She was pretty much decided to give him a chance, if he was genuinely interested in her. She wasn’t put off by his silence. She had hardly expected a bouquet of red roses on her desk. A text would have been nice. But she expected he was feeling as confused as she was, the morning after.
She was still going round in circles in her mind when there was a knock at the door. Max entered to tell her one of Dave’s workmates had turned up at the station claiming to have information about the murder. Welcoming the distraction, she invited Max to tell her more.
‘It’s all in my report.’
‘Yes, but I’d like to hear it from you.’
Max shrugged. ‘He’s a black guy, called Will Henry. He’s about thirty and nervous as hell. He kept twisting his hands in his lap and he was sweating the whole time I was with him. Said he’d never been in a police station before. I’m not sure I believed him.’
‘What did he want?’
‘It took a while to get that out of him,’ Max replied.
Geraldine hoped the sergeant wasn’t going to spin it out like the witness had. She nodded and leaned forward, urging him to continue. All at once the words tumbled out in a monotone and she had to ask him to slow down as he read out what he had transcribed of the witness’s account. Will had reported seeing Dave and one of his workmates, Greg, arguing. Apparently Dave had taken a swipe at the other man, swearing at him.
‘He refused to repeat the words Dave used. He just said it was foul language.’
Greg swore back and soon they were both hurling insults. Finally, Greg threatened Dave.
‘What did he say exactly?’ Geraldine asked. ‘Did the witness remember?’
‘I’m coming to that. It’s all in my report. Greg said, “I’ll get you,” and then he said, “You ain’t seen the last of this.” And then the foreman came along and Greg and Dave scarpered. Will was the other side of a pallet the whole time, watching through the slats. They had no idea he was there. He said he’d been afraid to show himself in case the other two turned on him. They were both pumped up. They thought no one had seen them fighting, but he was there the whole time, watching and waiting for a chance to escape. It’s possible Greg decided to finish it.’
Geraldine frowned. ‘When did this encounter take place?’
‘That’s just the point. It was on Friday, the day before Dave was killed, at about eleven in the morning. Looks like we’ve found our killer.’
His smugness implied that he felt responsible for solving the case. Geraldine was more cautious. She had been distracted by false leads before, especially ones she herself had stumbled upon. She wanted to know what the two men had been fighting about.
Max shook his head. ‘I asked him that but he said he didn’t know, it could have been anything. But that’s hardly the point. And he wanted his identity kept quiet. I had to promise him anonymity before he’d say anything.’
‘Is he still here?’
Max shook his head. ‘He was nervous as hell and itching to leave.’
Greg Hawkins wasn’t working that weekend. He was easy to trace and Geraldine was soon driving to Hackney where he lived with his girlfriend, Stacey, and her three children in a square grey building in a grey street unrelieved by any trace of vegetation. His block of flats was a replica of the blocks either side of it, exactly the same as those across the road. She crossed the narrow front yard and took the lift up to the fifth floor. No one answered the bell, which didn’t appear to be working. When she knocked loudly a woman opened the door on the chain. Scrawny and pale-faced, she glared at Geraldine. Over her shoulder, Geraldine could see a small hallway cluttered with children’s toys and shoes.
It was no surprise when Stacey refused to say anything, other than that Greg wasn’t in and she didn’t know where he was. Once Geraldine had reassured her that the police were questioning all of Dave’s workmates, her sullenness turned to open hostility.
‘Oh yeah? What’s a bleeding inspector doing, asking questions of everyone that knew the poor bugger? It’s the constables do that. What kind of fucking idiot do you think I am?’
‘You don’t want to believe everything they show you on the television. That’s not how we do things in a murder investigation,’ Geraldine lied. ‘You might as well tell me where I can find him or we’ll have to keep coming back. Wasting police time is an offence, you know.’
‘Everything’s a bloody offence to you lot,’ the woman grumbled. ‘I told you I don’t know where he is. And if I did know, you’re the last person I’d tell.’
She went to close the door but Geraldine stepped forward and put her foot against the door.
‘Oy, piss off out of it!’
Before she left Geraldine wanted to take the opportunity to question Stacey about the previous Saturday.
‘Greg was here all afternoon. He went out about eight.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I’m fucking sure. I was working till seven. He’s here with the kids every Saturday.’
Geraldine tried to wheedle more information out of her without asking outright if Greg was violent but Stacey refused to answer any questions about her boyfriend. Kicking Geraldine’s foot viciously out of the doorway, she shut her out.
An old woman was peering out of the flat next door. ‘You after Greg? Is he in trouble then? You from the council?’
‘Do you know where he is?’
The neighbour told her to try the pub across the street. ‘Only don’t tell him I told you,’ she added quickly. ‘I don’t get involved with them.’ With a frightened expression, she slammed her door.
19
A musty smell hit her as she entered the pub. From the stained red patterned carpet to the grimy walls and chipped paintwork, the place was badly in need of renovation. Only convenience could attract customers. A dour-faced barman was staring at a newspaper on the counter. In the background a crackly sound track of seventies hits was barely audible. A few old men were sitting at tables gloomily nursing pint glasses. No one looked at her as she crossed the room. When she reached the bar the landlord looked up from his paper with a curt nod.
‘I’m looking for Greg Hawkins.’
When he didn’t respond, she repeated her statement more loudly. This time he raised his whiskery eyebrows and jerked his bald head towards a corner of the room where a man was sitting by himself.
‘Thank you.’
Without buying a drink she joined Greg. He squinted up at her, scowling. Close up he looked younger than she had thought at first, no more than thirty. His bottom lip was split and his left eye was almost closed, bruised and inflamed.
‘Greg?’
‘From the social are you?’
‘I’m a detective.’
She held up her warrant card and an air of muted hostility seemed to permeate the room. The chair rocked slightly on the uneven floor as she sat down opposite Greg.
‘Tell me about Dave.’
‘He was all right,’ he mumbled into his pint.
‘Did you get on well?’
‘He was a mate.’
Geraldine leaned
forward and spoke softly.
‘We have a witness who tells us you and Dave had a disagreement the day before he was murdered.’
‘What? I never…’ He broke off, catching sight of her expression. ‘Yeah, well, it was his fault.’
‘What were you fighting about?’
‘It was nothing.’
He dropped his eyes, but not before she had seen the flare of anger in them.
‘Tell me about Dave,’ she repeated. ‘You know he’s dead, Greg. This isn’t going to go away. We’re investigating his murder and that means we’re speaking to everyone who knew him. You’ll have to give us some answers sooner or later, so you might as well start co-operating or you can see how it’s going to look. Now, let’s try again. What were you fighting about?’
Greg sat with hunched shoulders. With his head hung forward, she could see the pale surface of his balding pate beneath his greasy comb over. At last he appeared to reach a decision. He sat upright, and faced her squarely.
‘All right, I’ll tell you what. We did have a bit of a scrap, I won’t deny it. But he had it coming. It was all his fault.’
He took another swig of his beer, set his glass carefully on the table, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and began a rambling account of how Dave had lied about some money.
‘He owed me. He knew it and I knew it. And he lied, trying to wriggle his way out of it. He kept fobbing me off. It was obvious he never intended to pay me back, and I ran out of patience. I’m telling you, he had it coming.’
‘What did he have coming?’
Greg’s overhanging brow lowered into a scowl. ‘Look, he had my dosh, right. I told him I needed it back, but he just kept giving me excuse after bloody excuse. I told him if he didn’t get me my money I’d make him sorry. I meant it too. So I had a bit of a go at him. So what? I wanted my money. He owed me. Now he’s dead I’m well and truly screwed. No one’s going to pay me back now, are they? I called on his wife and the bloody cow said he never borrowed anything from me, and that’s a bloody lie.’ He leaned forward suddenly. ‘He owes me a hundred quid, all told, and you’ve got to get it back for me. You’re the law, aren’t you? I lent him that money, fair and square, out of the goodness of my heart, because I thought he was a mate. It’s mine, that money. That’s the law, isn’t it? I should be paid interest and all.’
Max was convinced Greg had killed Dave.
‘Sounds like we have our suspect. He must have gone after his money and lost his temper when Dave didn’t pay him back. Where was he last Saturday afternoon?’
‘He told me he was at home with the children while his girlfriend was at work. She confirmed his alibi.’
‘No independent witnesses then.’
‘Now hold on.’ Geraldine appreciated the young sergeant’s enthusiasm, but he was jumping to conclusions. ‘I don’t think he did it. He was genuinely upset about it. Actually, he was angry because Dave owed him a hundred quid that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get back now.’
Somehow Geraldine wasn’t surprised that Reg agreed with Max. When she raised a note of caution, her senior officer raised his eyebrows sceptically.
‘He could have been deliberately throwing you off the scent when he complained about never getting his money back. It looks pretty clear cut. Dave refused to pay back the money he owed him. Greg lost his temper. It was a vicious attack. We can’t take his posturing seriously. We know he attacked Dave the day before the murder. We have a witness to that.’
On the face of it what Reg was saying made sense, but Geraldine wasn’t convinced that Greg was guilty of murder. It was a stretch from being annoyed about his money to violently attacking Dave with a garden spade. When she remonstrated, Reg shook his head.
‘The chances are Greg’s our killer. We know he was violent.’
‘If the witness is credible.’
‘At any rate he was angry enough to start a fight with Dave, and then the next day, Dave was assaulted and killed. It’s too much of a coincidence to ignore. Let’s bring him in, Geraldine. Let’s not pussyfoot around any longer. We need to get him behind bars, and the sooner the better, before someone else gets hurt. Or worse.’
On the point of protesting, Geraldine stayed silent. She despised herself for lacking the gumption to stick to her guns for fear of antagonising her senior officer. But she could offer no proof of Greg’s innocence. Her opinion wasn’t enough. Reg might quite reasonably deride it as mere ‘feminine intuition’, or worse. She needed evidence, and so far she had none. For all their efforts she was convinced they had the wrong man. Even if it meant working alone, she was determined to put that right.
20
Every time Caroline left the house she was scared of bumping into Brian, but she couldn’t stay indoors indefinitely. Apart from anything else, it wasn’t good for Ed and Matthew to be cooped up all the time. Life had to go on for them. Bored after a whole week at home when all their friends were at school, they had both agreed to go back to school on Monday. Caroline had been dithering about whether to take them to football practice as usual on Saturday. At the last minute, she decided it would be good for them. Matthew was reluctant, but he didn’t want to be left out.
It was a crisp day, overcast with an invigorating breeze. She felt uncomfortable stepping out of the house and enjoying the fresh air, as though she was somehow being disloyal to her husband’s memory. She glanced up and down the street but there was no sign of Brian. No cars were driving past and the pavements were deserted. She hurried the twins into the back seat and drove off round the block to the park. Hearing the excitement in the boys’ voices as they neared the ground, she felt reassured that she had made the right decision. The twins fell quiet as they arrived, and were subdued leaving the car, but before long they were busy kicking balls around. There was no need for any of the boys to speak beyond calling out for the ball to be passed, cheering raucously, and bandying muttered insults. It was an appropriate reintroduction into the society of their peers.
A few parents were scattered around the periphery of the makeshift pitch, where the grass wasn’t so muddy. Most of them drifted over to express their condolences before moving away again along the sideline. The air was fresh with the scent of new mown grass, and a few birds flittered overhead, black against the bright lightness of the sky. A group of mothers sat huddled on the bench, gossiping, while others stood as close to the play as they could, shouting encouragement or criticism to their sons. One father, notorious for his zeal, clapped his gloved hands in an accompanying rhythm as he shouted out.
‘Come on, Zak!’
A few women sniggered.
‘Listen to him.’
‘Thinks he’s at bloody Arsenal.’
He carried on yelling, impervious to their catty remarks. The boys finished their training exercises and were divided into teams. A few stood at the side observing, waiting their turn to play. The loudmouthed father watched, alert, to make sure his son was selected. Normally, Caroline would have joined the chattering mothers. Today she walked away from the pitch, alienated from the eager supporters and the gossiping spectators alike. She felt a little awkward, and hoped the other parents would appreciate she was only there because it had seemed best for the twins to return to some sort of normality. She wasn’t ready to socialise.
The fresh air seemed to crystallise her thoughts. As soon as she had dropped the boys at school on Monday morning, she would go to the police and tell them everything she knew. What she had said to Brian was true. She would never have told him where to find Dave if she had suspected his intentions. It was insane. Armed with nothing more than an address, no one in their right mind would kill a complete stranger. He was a psychopath. Moral considerations aside, someone might have seen her and Brian together. She had to go to the police and exonerate herself, before they caught up with her.
The more she mulled over the situation, the less responsible she felt for what had transpired. ‘You can’t foresee insanity,’ she muttered to a non-
existent audience, rehearsing her interview with the police. But whichever way she imagined the conversation, it didn’t go well.
‘Why did you come up with this plan to have your husband killed in your shed?’
‘That’s not what happened. He was only going there to make Dave jealous.’
‘Jealous?’
‘Yes. He was going to make out he fancied me. It was just a bit of fun. How was I to know he was a psychopath?’
Even to her own ears the truth sounded ludicrous. No one in their right mind would believe her. She wouldn’t, if she hadn’t encountered Brian herself. She would have given anything to be able to walk away and forget all about her involvement in her husband’s death. It should never have happened. She needed someone to advise her, and wondered whether she ought to hire a lawyer. The loudmouthed father watching the game was a solicitor. He had stopped shouting encouragement to his son and was now yelling out instructions.
‘Don’t pass, keep the ball! It’s your shot. Your goal. Go on, you can do it!’
Geraldine turned and watched. The boy missed. She walked away. Hearing a quiet disturbance in the shrubbery that ran alongside the pitch, she peered through the heavy foliage and glimpsed a hooded figure moving away from her. Pushing between the densely packed bushes she discovered a narrow track. She stared around in panic, but the figure had vanished.
21
As they set off for the grimy block of flats where Greg lived, Max reminded Geraldine she had found him in the pub sporting a split lip, an injury sustained in a fight he had instigated.
‘He might resist,’ he warned her as they climbed into the car. ‘He obviously likes to use his fists. But don’t worry. I can handle it.’ He grinned as he put his foot down.
Killer Plan Page 8
