He leaned back in his chair, exhausted by his momentary anger.
‘Inspector, I think you should leave,’ the nurse said firmly. ‘Come along, please.’
As soon as they left the conservatory, Geraldine put the question. ‘I’m sorry, but this is a murder investigation. I have to ask. Was he definitely here on Monday evening? He couldn’t have slipped out unnoticed?’
‘Inspector, he can’t get out of his chair unaided,’ the nurse replied. ‘He certainly couldn’t walk out of the building on his own two feet. He’s far too weak.’
‘I hate to press you on this, but there’s no possibility he could be stronger than he appears, is there?’
The nurse turned to her. ‘Inspector, Cameron’s dying. Can I make it any plainer? I told you, he can’t stand up by himself.’
‘Well, I hope you understand I had to be sure. I’m just doing my job, thinking about another man who’s died. It’s very peaceful here,’ she added as she said goodbye to the nurse. ‘No one would suspect they were all dying.’
‘We’re all waiting for death in our own way,’ the nurse replied gently.
49
‘We’ve got an interesting development,’ a constable called out to Geraldine when she returned to the police station, thoroughly dispirited.
Going over to see what he had found, she recognised the name straight away. Stacey Rawlings, Greg’s girlfriend, had been accused by two boyfriends of causing them actual bodily harm.
‘She’s a nasty piece of work,’ the constable said. ‘You met her, didn’t you? Vicious little cow according to this report. Look at that photo. Poor bastard. He should have restrained her.’
Geraldine nodded, remembering the girl’s hostility. Although Stacey was a skinny little woman, Geraldine wasn’t surprised to discover that she was inclined to be violent. It suggested an interpretation of Greg’s injuries they had not previously considered.
‘So it looks as though he’s the victim of a violent partner,’ she told Max, who raised his eyebrows.
‘A man who lets himself get beaten up by a woman has to have a few screws loose,’ he said. ‘I mean, surely he could overpower her if he wanted to?’
‘There’s nothing to suggest he’s a violent man. Quite the opposite, I’d say. And a man who puts up with being assaulted by his girlfriend is hardly likely to go and physically attack another man, is he?’
‘Unless he takes his aggression out on other people because he can’t, or won’t, take it out on her.’
It was possible, but Geraldine was convinced her earlier suspicion had been justified. The man they had in custody for the murder of Dave Robinson was innocent.
Reg looked up and smiled grimly when he saw her at his door.
‘Ah, Geraldine. About time. I was about to call on you and ask you how you got on. You went to see the man Nick put away – Cameron Drew, was it? I’ve checked with the prison governor and he’s been out for nearly a year. That’s more than enough time to track down the man who put him away and…’
‘According to his medical records, Cameron Drew couldn’t possibly have done it.’
‘What do you mean, his medical records?’
‘He’s terminally ill. He can barely walk. There’s no way he could have done it.’
‘I see.’
Geraldine hesitated.
‘Yes? What is it?’
‘Well, there is something else, sir.’
Reg raised his eyebrows at her. She still sometimes fell into her former habit of calling senior officers ‘Sir’, although it was all first name terms on the Met.
‘It’s to do with the Robinson case.’
‘Oh yes? I thought we had that one tied up.’
‘Yes, we all thought that, but I’m not sure we’ve got the right man.’
‘Greg Hawkins?’
‘Yes, sir – Reg. I don’t think he did it.’
Reg gave one of his exaggerated sighs. ‘Well, are you going to find the man who did it then, Geraldine?’ he added, his tone unexpectedly gentle. ‘If you’d rather not work on Nick’s case, that’s perfectly all right. It can be difficult…’
‘No, it’s not that at all. I don’t want to be taken off that case. I want to work on it, really I do. I need to, for myself as much as for Nick.’
‘Good. I’d like to think I’ve still got my best officer on it.’
His compliment took her by surprise. She hoped her feelings didn’t show on her face. She found Reg patronising, and had always believed he looked down on her both as a woman and as an officer used to working in the Home Counties. Meanwhile Reg carried on, apparently unaware of her reaction.
‘OK then, so what’s the problem with Greg Hawkins? He was in an argument with the victim the day before his murder, wasn’t he? I know it doesn’t place him at the scene, but we have a witness, and his injuries bear out the statement.’
‘Well, we thought so, but there’s a problem.’
‘Go on.’
‘First of all, the witness retracted. He said he did see them quarrelling, but the fight wasn’t a physical one. He saw the victim throw a punch at the suspect who didn’t respond but backed away. He issued verbal threats to the victim, but that’s all we have. Greg didn’t explicitly threaten violence. He just said, “This isn’t over.” That’s all.’
‘What about Greg’s injuries? Even if the witness didn’t see them fighting, we all saw his face. He’d been in a fight all right.’
‘I think he might not have received those injuries in a fight. His girlfriend’s been had up twice for ABH after she assaulted two previous boyfriends.’
‘Oh shit.’
‘Even if he did it, we’ll never make it stick, not with what we’ve got.’
Reg shook his head. ‘No, you’re right. Let him go for now. But warn him not to go anywhere. And for Christ’s sake, let’s get some real evidence and put Dave Robinson’s killer away for good next time.’
Reg had told her to find Dave Robinson’s killer, and she was determined to do just that. It was a good way of distracting herself from thinking about Nick. There was nothing she could do to help the investigation into his death. Teams of uniformed officers were out questioning possible witnesses. An entire forensic laboratory had been assigned to the case. All Geraldine could do for now was wait. In the meantime, she was going to review all the statements connected to Dave Robinson’s death.
It was too late to release Greg that night. First thing in the morning she would send him on his way. After that she would contact social services as a matter of urgency and alert them to the situation. Greg was at risk, and Stacey desperately needed help. The likelihood was that Greg would strenuously deny Stacey’s violent abuse. The social worker sent to investigate would be too overworked to pursue the case. Making her report as forcefully as she could, Geraldine was aware that she would be powerless to influence what happened. There was a tragic inevitability about the course of events in Stacey’s household. Yet with even a slim chance that her report might make a difference, she would persist. Without Geraldine’s intervention, there was no chance for Greg and Stacey. With it, they might be offered the support they needed. Geraldine had to do whatever she could to trigger the process.
She worked late into the night, but made no headway with the investigation into Dave’s murder. Every time she looked up from her files, she saw Nick’s desk and his empty chair. Soon someone else would come and sit there. That would be hard enough. It would be unbearable if Nick was replaced before his killer was caught.
50
The cell stank of stale sweat and shit. There was one window that showed a tiny square of grey sky. She glanced up at the ceiling, whitewashed and bare apart from a small painted cross showing the signs of the compass so Muslims could face east when they prayed. Other than that one symbol, the cell was bare. Greg was so worked up he didn’t pause to listen to what Geraldine was saying. Red-faced, hot and sweaty, he jumped up and began haranguing her as soon as the door to his cell sw
ung open.
‘I’ve been banged up here for a week, all for having a row with some poor sod who’s gone and got himself killed, as though it’s my fault someone clocked the bastard. Dave had it coming all right, but I never so much as touched the bloke, never laid a finger on him, and now I’m locked up. It’s a bloody disgrace. Trying to make something out of this. So what? If every bloke with a black eye got banged up for murder, there’d be precious few people left out on the streets.’
Geraldine waited until he paused for breath before telling him quietly that he was free to go. Without giving him a chance to respond, she continued.
‘If you’re experiencing problems with physical abuse at home, we can arrange for social services to help you. Greg, listen to me, you don’t need to live with abuse. Everyone has the right to feel safe. Please, for the children’s sake as well as Stacey’s, and yours, let us contact social services on your behalf.’
She had already begun her report, but it would be processed more effectively with his co-operation. Working without his consent, she could do less to help him. Geraldine entered the cell and invited him to be seated.
‘What? On this thing?’ He kicked the bed angrily.
‘Sit down,’ she repeated firmly.
He did as he was told.
‘Greg, there are people who can help you.’
‘Like you, you mean? Locking me up without any good reason.’
‘I’m suggesting you go to the social services for help.’
‘What the fuck are you on about?’ he blustered. ‘Like fuck I’d go to the social services. Bloody interfering load of bastards they are, interfering in things what don’t concern them. Look,’ he went on in a more reasonable tone, ‘no one understands Stacey like I do. The poor cow doesn’t need strangers breathing down her neck issuing bloody injunctions and fuck knows what else. It’s all been tried before and none of it helps. Those social workers don’t know fuck all. They come in, all blithering and blathering and it don’t make a blind bit of difference. In the end they bugger off and good riddance, leaving me to pick up the pieces. They drive her over the edge. We’re better off without their sort of help.’
Gazing at his eye, still swollen and bruised, she tried again.
‘What about your eye?’
He raised a hand in an involuntary movement, wincing as he touched the reddened skin.
‘Stacey hit you, didn’t she? You told me that yourself.’
‘I tripped,’ he mumbled. ‘It was an accident.’
If he insisted he had walked into a wall, there was nothing she or anyone else could do to help him.
‘I fell over and banged my head on a wall, I tell you. Why the fuck won’t anyone believe me? What do you think happened?’
‘Greg, there are people who can help you.’
‘All lying bastards, the lot of you. Being paid to lock up poor innocent blokes. You’re all in it. Find some poor bloke, fit him up, and throw away the key. Another box ticked. Another crime solved. As long as you hit your bloody targets, you don’t give a toss who’s on the receiving end. You’re only interested in making sure your trumped cases stick. I wish I had killed the poor bastard. At least I’d be behind bars for a reason. You’re all lying bastards, the whole bloody lot of you.’
It was impossible trying to reason with him. Even the suggestion that Stacey’s children might be in danger didn’t persuade him to accept help. Geraldine accompanied him to the custody sergeant to collect his belongings before escorting him to the exit. All she could do was file a report and hope Greg thought better of his hostility when a social worker paid him a visit. Realistically, she wasn’t optimistic, but there was nothing more she could do to help him.
‘Why would anyone stay with a partner who abuses them?’ she asked Max when she joined him later in the canteen.
He shrugged. ‘Love?’ he suggested. ‘Masochism? Force of habit? People who grow up as victims of violent parents often choose violent partners.’
She was amused by his eagerness to answer her rhetorical question.
‘Statistics in this area aren’t very reliable,’ he continued, ‘because we only know about violence that goes on behind closed doors if it’s reported. And even then it’s usually one person’s word against another’s.’
‘There would be physical evidence to back up an accusation.’
‘What about mental and emotional abuse? There doesn’t have to be physical violence. We studied this at uni,’ Max said, with the assurance of a man who knew what he was talking about.
‘The confidence of youth,’ Geraldine thought. She wondered if her superior officers had found her equally presumptuous at his age. For all his brashness, she quite liked Max. He was certainly keen and bright. She was inclined to agree with Reg’s opinion. With a few years’ experience Max was going to shape up into a first-rate detective.
Geraldine thought it best to inform Caroline face to face that they had released the man arrested for her husband’s murder.
‘What do you mean, you let him go? What about Dave?’ She sounded angry.
‘New evidence came to light that confirmed the suspect was innocent.’
‘Innocent? Who’s innocent?’
She backtracked when Geraldine asked her what she meant by that.
‘Oh, nothing. I didn’t mean anything. I’m just disappointed, that’s all. So the bastard who did for my Dave is still out there somewhere,’ she added bitterly.
‘We’re doing everything we can to find him,’ Geraldine assured her. ‘We’re following several leads and hope to resolve things soon. But these things take time,’ she added illogically. ‘We have to ask you to be patient.’
Without another word, Caroline slammed the door in Geraldine’s face.
51
‘What are you doing?’ Ed repeated as he took a few steps forwards.
‘Stay where you are. Don’t come any closer.’
It was too late to hide the body.
‘Why? What’s wrong with that man? Did he fall off his ladder? Why did he fall off his ladder?’
‘I think he was ill and it made him dizzy, so he fell off.’
‘He was very silly to go up that ladder if he was feeling dizzy,’ Ed said solemnly. ‘It’s a very long ladder. He’s a very silly man.’
Brian shrugged. ‘Silly’ was a childish word to use in the circumstances.
‘Yes, he is silly,’ he agreed.
Brian turned back to the body, grabbed it beneath both shoulders, and pulled. The figure shifted slightly.
‘Are you trying to make him get up?’
‘No. I’m trying to move him.’
‘Why doesn’t he wake up? Is he dead?’
Brian sat back on his heels and squinted up at Ed, wondering what might be going through his ten-year-old mind at such a time.
‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘He’s dead. He was a bad man.’
‘Serves him right then.’
Silently Brian heaved a sigh of relief at his matter-of-fact tone. He had been afraid the boy would become hysterical, or insist on summoning the police.
‘Anyway,’ Ed went on, ‘we had a dead man in our garden. He was in our shed. Only our dead man was my dad and…’ His lips wobbled and tears welled up in his eyes, but he forced himself to carry on speaking. ‘Our dead man was my dad, and he wasn’t bad.’
Brian scrambled to his feet and ran over to him.
‘Don’t cry,’ he muttered, putting his arms awkwardly round the boy and patting him on the back. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe here with me. I’m going to look after you. Everything’s going to be all right. You’ll see.’
With a jerk Ed pulled away.
‘What are we going to do with him?’ he asked curiously, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
‘Who?’
‘Him. The dead man. What are we going to do with him? Are we going to bury him here? I could dig a really really big hole to bury him in.’ He paused uncertainly. ‘If you want me to.’
Brian could have laughed out loud. The boy was priceless. Together they were going to bury the body, and no one else would ever find out what had happened in their garden that day. It would be their secret. All Brian had to do was think of a way of persuading Ed to keep silent about it, but that wouldn’t be difficult. He’d think of something. On reflection, he wondered if it was such a good idea to bury the body in the garden. It would take some time, and they might be seen. They weren’t overlooked at the back, but the houses on either side could see down right into their back garden. He glanced up at the windows of the house next door.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said. ‘Let’s hide him in the bushes for now, and then we can think about what we’re going to do with him.’
‘OK.’
The body seemed impossibly heavy and cumbersome. Brian held him under his arms, and Ed clutched his ankles. It was a strenuous task, but between them they succeeded in dragging the dead man across the patio to the flower bed. It was even more difficult to manoeuvre him onto the earth. At the edge of the paved area, they knelt down side by side and rolled him over and over down onto the earth. He lay on the ground, tolerably well concealed beneath a bank of camellias.
‘We could put leaves on his face,’ Ed suggested. ‘Then the foxes won’t find him.’
Brian gave a taut smile. It wasn’t foxes he was worried about. But he didn’t want the boy to be traumatised by the sight of the man’s face half chewed away by wild animals. It might give him nightmares.
‘Covering him up with leaves is a very clever idea,’ he agreed.
As soon as it was dark, they would drag him to the car and dispose of him, somewhere he would never be found. Meanwhile, he let Ed gather up a clump of leaves and drop them on the dead man’s face. Brian crouched down and spread them out evenly. The leaves were cold and damp and mushy. Touching them with his bare hands made him shudder.
Killer Plan Page 19
