Killer Plan

by Leigh Russell

  ‘How was I to know the bloke had been murdered? This man comes in to say his son’s gone missing for the weekend, but a grown man going off for the weekend is hardly a reason to go raising the alarm, is it? I told him, there’s plenty of blokes go off for a few days, especially at the weekend. There’s nothing suspicious about it.’

  ‘Why did he come in to report him missing? It seems a bit of an overreaction. Robert Wright was a grown man.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, but his father said he was upset about him disappearing like that, on account of his wife, Rob’s mother.’

  ‘What about his wife?’

  He explained what the dead man’s father had told him. ‘OK, so his wife’s sick, and his son shouldn’t have gone off without telling them where he was, but there was nothing to suggest a crime had been committed. I wish I hadn’t now, but I told his father to go home and not worry about it. I said I was sure he’d turn up. And now this. How was I to know the bloke had been murdered?’

  Geraldine gave him a reassuring smile. ‘You did nothing wrong. Like you said, you weren’t to know something had happened to him. Now, where’s the father’s details? And has he been informed?’

  Learning that the dead man’s father had not yet been told about the murder, Geraldine decided to deliver the news herself. Before setting off, she conducted a brief investigation into the victim’s background. Apart from a natural curiosity about a possible connection between Rob and Dave’s sons, knowing a little about the dead man might help her to deal sensitively with his father. A bricklayer by trade, Rob was currently unemployed. The van in which his body had been discovered belonged to him. Besides the body, there were several cans of white paint, a bag of old sponges, and two large plastic buckets in the back of the van. She suspected the dead man had been moonlighting, doing odd jobs for cash. Whatever his activities while alive, he had never had any dealings with the police during his lifetime.

  Before she had time to check his father’s details, the desk sergeant called her. Rob’s father had returned to the station demanding to know what the police were doing to find his son.

  ‘He’s not happy,’ the sergeant warned her.

  ‘I’ll come over there straight away.’

  She hurried down to the interview room where the sergeant had put Joe. He was sitting on a chair, gazing listlessly at the floor. He was thin, his bowed shoulders narrow inside a black jacket, his grey hair lank and greasy. Geraldine greeted him softly. When she introduced herself, Joe looked up at once. His eyes were bloodshot. Just in time, Geraldine remembered that Joe wasn’t upset about his son’s murder, but about his wife’s illness. He hadn’t yet heard that his son was dead.

  ‘Joe,’ she said gently, ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’

  ‘Is it my wife? I knew this would happen. She’s dying, and he isn’t even here. Where is he?’ His face twitched in agitation. ‘Is she dead yet? I need to get there.’

  ‘This isn’t about your wife.’

  ‘Not about my wife? What then?’

  ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news about your son.’

  ‘Rob? Where is he? I’d rather he had the balls to come and tell me himself if he can’t take it. It’s not easy. It would be typical of him to bugger off…’

  ‘Your son’s not gone anywhere.’

  ‘What do you mean? Where is he then?’

  ‘Joe, I’m really sorry to tell you your son’s dead.’

  A shocked silence followed her announcement. Geraldine sighed, but there was nothing for it but to press on.

  ‘I’m afraid your son’s dead,’ she repeated.

  This time Joe shook his head. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘That’s not right. It’s not him. It’s my wife. She’s the one…’ His voice tailed off and he stared at Geraldine with growing trepidation.

  Viewing the dead didn’t upset Geraldine unduly. They were past pain and misery. The people left behind were the ones who disturbed her, the ones whose torment would never end, as long as they lived. She spoke as gently as she could.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s true, Joe. Your son’s dead. He didn’t abandon you and his mother. He hasn’t been to the hospital because he’s dead.’ She paused before adding helplessly, ‘I’m sure he’d be here for you if he could.’

  Joe seemed to gather himself together. His shoulders lowered slightly and he raised his head to look Geraldine in the eye. His voice remained steady as he asked what had happened. Geraldine hesitated to spell it out. Joe was already so vulnerable.

  ‘We’re investigating the circumstances of your son’s death…’

  ‘Investigating? What do you mean, investigating? Was he – is he – what happened? Tell me.’

  Geraldine took a deep breath. ‘Your son was discovered in the back of his van yesterday evening. He was dead.’

  ‘Oh my God, this is so sudden. Was it his heart? I had no idea he was sick. He never said anything about it.’

  This was the worst part of the job. Geraldine cleared her throat. There was no way to soften the words.

  ‘We have reason to believe your son may have been murdered.’

  The words were out. For a split second she was almost relieved that she had said it. Then Joe covered his face with his hands and let out a muffled howl. Geraldine waited. After a few seconds, he looked up at Geraldine with tormented eyes.

  ‘What am I going to tell my wife?’

  58

  There wasn’t a great deal of point in Geraldine going to inspect the van in which the body had been found, but she went along to the police vehicle pound all the same to look at a filthy blue van, scuffed and scratched in a few places. The interior was dirty. A dark stain indicated where the dead man’s bloody head had been dragged across the floor. Apart from that, the van was empty. Two large plastic buckets and a grubby sponge had been taken away for examination. She studied photos of the number plates which had been altered with duct tape. Someone had been keen to disguise the identity of the van, which was registered to Robert Wright. The vehicle was taxed and insured. Everything about it was legal, apart from the murdered body of its owner in the back.

  ‘It looks like he might have been a handyman,’ a scene of crime officer commented. ‘We found scratch marks and a few hard splinters that could have come from a ladder, but that’s only speculation. It’s the buckets and the cans of paint that gave us the idea, really. There’s no evidence to substantiate it.’

  Geraldine went to the local police station in Finchley Road to speak to the constable who had discovered the body in the back of the van. He was a young officer, barely out of training, who had been on patrol in the area. Bright-eyed, he was pumped about his recent discovery.‘Tell me exactly what you saw in the van.’

  The constable looked surprised. ‘There are lots of photos.’

  ‘I know. I’ve seen them. But I want to hear from you, because you were there. You did see inside the van, didn’t you?’

  He grinned at that, glowing with self-importance. ‘Oh yes, I was the first one there. I went right up and had a good look.’

  Geraldine was slightly dismayed by his enthusiasm. A man had lost his life. It was not a subject for self-congratulation.

  ‘Tell me what you saw,’ she repeated.

  She spent some time interrogating the young constable, but he could add nothing to what she already knew.

  Her next visit was to Caroline. As she drove there, she tried to picture the two boys, one of whose DNA had been found on the dead man. It could have been DNA from both of them. Seeing them when she had met their mother for the first time, she had paid little attention to the two boys, and couldn’t remember much about them. It had never even crossed her mind that one – or both – of them might be implicated in murder.

  Caroline looked dazed, but her eyes flickered with recognition when she saw Geraldine. She made an involuntary movement to close the door.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. Seeming to think better of her reaction, she added, ‘have you f
ound out who did it yet?’

  Geraldine shook her head. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Now’s not convenient.’

  Under the circumstances, it seemed a slightly strange response.

  ‘Shall I come back later?’

  ‘No. Say whatever it is you’ve come here to say, and then leave us alone.’

  ‘Mrs Robinson, Caroline, we’re doing our best to find out who’s responsible for the death of your husband.’

  Geraldine had the impression the widow’s expression relaxed slightly. On a hunch, she asked if Caroline’s two sons were home. Immediately the other woman’s mouth tensed. The door she was holding onto inched towards closing. There was something Caroline wasn’t telling the police about her sons. Geraldine took the plunge.

  ‘I’d like to have a word with both your sons. It won’t take a moment, but there’s something they might be able to help us with. You can stay with them the whole time.’

  ‘No, you can’t see them. They’re upstairs in bed.’

  Geraldine was sure she was lying.

  ‘Leave them alone,’ Caroline went on with ferocious urgency. ‘This has nothing to do with my boys. They’ve been through enough.’

  Without any attempt to explain or excuse herself, she slammed the door shut. Geraldine couldn’t be sure, but this struck her as more than a mother being protective towards her children. There was something wrong. She rang the bell again, but Caroline didn’t come to the door.

  ‘Of course there’s something wrong,’ Reg responded when she shared her concerns with him. ‘The woman’s husband’s been murdered, and we don’t know who did it.’

  ‘I just think it was more than that. She was scared about my speaking to her kids.’

  Instead of jumping down her throat for speculating without any evidence, Reg looked at her thoughtfully.

  ‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ he said.

  With a rush of relief, Geraldine realised that she had passed some kind of unspoken test with her detective chief inspector. He was beginning to trust her judgement and listen to her impressions, ideas that he might quite reasonably have continued to dismiss as mere hunches. Gazing at a faint crack in the plaster on the ceiling, she considered how to word her concern.

  ‘I’m thinking there’s something going on that we don’t know about.’ She paused, aware that she sounded daft, but Reg didn’t leap in to complain she was stating the obvious. ‘Dave’s widow didn’t want me to speak to her sons, and we know their DNA was found on the body in the van. I just think we need to look into it. Is it possible…’ She hesitated to say it.

  ‘Is it possible a ten-year-old boy is implicated in two murders, including the death of his own father?’ Reg finished her sentence. ‘And the mother is covering up?’

  Geraldine thought about her niece, not much younger than the twin boys who had lost their father, and frowned. She had believed nothing could possibly distract her from Nick’s death, but this changed her mind. The evidence pointed to one or both of Dave’s sons being involved in at least one murder.

  ‘Where do we go from here?’

  Reg sighed. ‘I’ve been thinking about it and it seems to me it’s time to bring Caroline Robinson in and see what she has to say.’

  Geraldine nodded. This was going to be difficult.

  59

  Matthew was upstairs playing on his old Xbox, when he thought he heard the doorbell. Dropping the game, he ran out of his room, eager to see if Ed had returned. It was boring at home without his brother. As he reached the stairs, he heard a stranger’s voice. His mother had her back to the stairs and couldn’t see him. The caller’s head was hidden behind the door frame. He couldn’t see her, so he guessed she couldn’t see him, but he heard her say she was a police detective. Cautiously he lowered himself onto the top step, hoping to hear news of his brother. Neither of the women downstairs realised he was there, eavesdropping on their conversation. They were talking about Ed. He leaned forward, listening intently. His mother never told him anything. Anyway, he had a right to listen if they were discussing his twin.

  The detective said she had come there to speak to him and his brother. His mother answered angrily. Saying nothing about Ed staying with a friend, she told the caller that both twins were at home in bed. Shocked, Matthew rose silently to his feet and stole back up the stairs to his room, wondering what was going on, and why his mother had lied about his brother. She would never have got away with it if his father had been there. Since his father’s death, everything had become confusing. All he could be sure about was that his mother knew more than she was telling him. But what did she know? He stood at his bedroom door, straining to hear what the two women were saying, but all he could hear was a muffled murmur. Soon after, the front door slammed.

  The next morning his mother barely spoke to him. That was fine with Matthew. She had been acting weirdly ever since Ed had disappeared. Ever since his dad had been killed, in fact. He made a half-hearted effort to complain again.

  ‘How come I have to go to school and Ed doesn’t?’ he whined. ‘It’s not fair.’

  ‘Nothing’s fair,’ she replied tersely.

  ‘Where is he anyway?’

  ‘Come on, it’s time to go.’

  ‘I haven’t had breakfast.’

  ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘But I’m hungry.’

  ‘Get your shoes on now.’

  He grabbed a couple of slices of bread and munched miserably as they walked.

  His mother didn’t remonstrate when he deliberately scuffed his heels on the pavement. Only when the school gate was in sight did she stop and look at him.

  ‘Remember, you’re not to tell anyone where Ed is.’

  ‘How can I tell anyone where he is when I don’t know? You won’t tell me.’

  ‘He’s with a friend,’ she replied vaguely, gazing around as though she was afraid someone might overhear their conversation.

  ‘When’s he coming home?’

  ‘Soon.’

  He remembered she had told a policewoman that he and Ed were both at home in bed.

  ‘I don’t believe you. You’re a liar.’

  She didn’t answer, although he was standing right next to her.

  ‘Go on, you’ll be late,’ was all she said.

  ‘Who bloody cares?’

  She didn’t scold him for his bad language. She wasn’t even listening. She didn’t listen to anything he said. All she cared about was making sure Ed was off having a good time while he had to go to school by himself. He glared at her but she didn’t react. He might just as well not exist for all the notice she took of him. Scowling, he spun round and raced towards school. At least he’d get lunch there.

  His day didn’t improve. Natty was being a dick, flicking bits of chewed paper at him. One of them hit Matthew in the eye and Natty sniggered. Matthew flipped. He leaped from his chair, which fell over with a clatter.

  ‘Ow!’ the girl sitting next to him shrieked. She pretended the chair had hit her leg, when it hadn’t even touched her. Drama queen. Typical stupid girl. Matthew flung himself at Natty, pummelling him. Other kids started yelling out and laughing. Above the racket he dimly heard Miss shout that she was calling the headmistress. Meanwhile, Natty covered his face with his hands and backed off, crying. Satisfied, Matthew allowed a couple of the other boys to pull him away. They held on to his arms, while the rest of the class chanted, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ They didn’t shut up until the deputy head walked in.

  Mr Dowling marched Matthew and Natty straight to his office. Natty was still crying. One of his eyes was half closed and puffy.

  Aware that he was in trouble, Matthew went on the attack. ‘He started it.’

  ‘I didn’t do nothing!’

  ‘You were flicking bits of paper at me.’ He turned to the deputy head. ‘Ask anyone.’

  Mr Dowling assured them that he would conduct a thorough investigation into their disgraceful conduct. Natty was sent to the school nurse to ha
ve his swollen eye seen to, leaving Matthew to face a boring lecture about appropriate behaviour in class, and proportionate response to provocation.

  ‘What is your mother going to say about your disruptive and aggressive behaviour?’

  There was a lot more along those lines. Matthew just shrugged. The days when he would have given a toss about upsetting his mother were over. She didn’t care about him. It worked both ways.

  Miss Threadgold asked to see Matthew at lunch break.

  ‘What’s your mother going to say?’ she asked, gazing mournfully at him.

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Don’t you think she’s got enough to worry about right now?’

  ‘It’s all her fault.’

  ‘No, Matthew. You have to take responsibility for your own actions,’ she replied, and started on another lecture about treating other pupils with respect and all the rest of the stuff the teachers liked to rabbit on about. He just shrugged. Why should he care about other people? No one showed any respect for his feelings.

  ‘She’s a stupid bitch,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t care about me.’

  He was disappointed when the teacher didn’t lose her rag with him. Instead she just looked sad and spoke very gently, as if he was some kind of retard.

  ‘That’s no way to talk about your mother. She must be finding it hard too, without your dad. I know it’s difficult for you, and you’ve been very brave, but you can’t go around fighting other boys. That’ll only get you into trouble, and it’s not going to make you feel any better, is it? If you want to talk to someone, I can arrange that.’

  All at once he couldn’t control himself any longer. It was such a long time since his mother had been kind to him. He wanted to shout that he never wanted to talk to anyone ever again, but instead he broke down in tears. Miss handed him a tissue, and he blew his nose loudly. He should have felt stupid, but he didn’t care any more.

  ‘It’s only natural for you to miss your father. It would be strange if you didn’t. It’s painful, and it’s hard, to lose someone you love. I really think it might help if you talked to someone about how you’re feeling about what happened to your father.’