by Jill McGown
‘How?’
Newby frowned. ‘I closed it,’ he said. ‘The usual way – what do you mean, how?’
‘What’s the usual way?’
Newby thought. ‘I – I just pushed it, and it slammed.’
‘Has anyone had occasion to open it since?’
‘Not to my knowledge,’ said Newby pointedly.
‘Thank you.’
Lloyd had a theory to work on. One that he had abandoned on seeing Newby’s suit; one that had come right back into the reckoning.
‘I was frightened that Caroline might have called someone,’ Newby went on, having left a suitable interval to be sure that Lloyd had finished his detour. ‘I was frightened people would come looking. I crawled away until I could stand up. And when I did I saw Sam go to his car, so I went to the flat, and lay on the bed. I was trying to get my clothes off when you came in with Sam.’
Lloyd turned to look at him. ‘So you were Caroline Knight’s Peeping Tom all along,’ he said.
Newby closed his eyes, and nodded.
‘Well, that solves that little mystery, doesn’t it?’ Lloyd shook his head. ‘Mrs Knight may wish to take the matter further, of course, but I have more important things to do than waste time on you. You can go.’
Lloyd wondered what Mrs Knight would do. She could, he supposed, lose him his job. Sam Waters had said that Newby had been making a nuisance of himself with Mrs Knight; perhaps they should have put two and two together. He felt sorry for the man, but then he wasn’t the one on whom he had been spying. And Mrs Knight would have to be told. ‘Mr Newby,’ he said. ‘You’re free to go.’
Newby didn’t move.
‘Mr Newby,’ said Judy. ‘I’ll see if I can arrange a lift back to the school for you.’
‘I don’t want to go back there.’
‘You can’t stay here.’
Newby looked up at Judy. ‘I’m not like that,’ he said. ‘Truly, I’m not like that.’
Judy looked a little nonplussed. Clearly, something was required of her. She smiled a little. ‘Try not to make a habit of it, then,’ she said.
Newby stood up, stiffly and painfully. ‘I would like a lift back,’ he said. ‘If it’s possible.’
Judy went to find out; Lloyd looked at Newby, who stared down at his feet.
‘I couldn’t . . .’ Newby shook his head. ‘I couldn’t tell you.’
‘You had to tell me in the end,’ said Lloyd.
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry I wasted your time,’ he said.
‘Do you think your arrival in the Barn scared them off?’
Newby shrugged.
Something had, thought Lloyd. So who was with her? He still thought that Waters, fresh from his rejection by Caroline, might well have taken advantage of finding himself alone with Diana Hamlyn. The kerb-crawling had only been mentioned in case they found some evidence of a sexual encounter on his clothing. Another word with Waters was indicated.
‘If you could come with me,’ Judy said, coming back, ‘I’ll show you where you can wait. It might be a little while, but there aren’t any buses, and it’s cheaper than a taxi.’
Lloyd went back to the office, and gave some more thought to his theory. Sam had been with her, and something, someone had scared them off. Not Newby – he would have seen them. Someone before Newby. Someone who became enraged at what he discovered. There was the usual objection. How could he have got hold of the golf-club? But as he doodled he realised something.
He looked up when Judy came back in. ‘So,’ he said, smiling. ‘The hunt is back on for your golf-club, isn’t it?’
Judy nodded. ‘We’ve done the immediate area,’ she said. ‘And all the usual places – the bins, and so on. We can move on to the school building proper, if you think that’s likely.’
Lloyd agreed that they should, as the phone rang and he was summoned to Chief Superintendent Allison’s office. It didn’t sound as though it was going to be too friendly an encounter.
Lloyd knocked, and went in. He was not invited to sit down, as Allison carried on writing something for some moments.
‘I,’ he said, still writing, not looking up, ‘have just been on the receiving end of what was called “a word to the wise”.’
Lloyd arranged a look of polite interest on his face, just in case Allison bothered to look at him.
‘I don’t know about you,’ Allison went on, putting down his pen, ‘but I feel apprehensive when conversations start with those words.’ He clasped his hands, making a steeple with his forefingers, and looked at Lloyd for the first time.
Lloyd kept his face expressionless, and just had to hope that it didn’t come out as mutinous. He was clearly not being invited to speak until he was asked a question. Which, if he had got Allison’s measure, would be coming up any minute.
‘Samuel Cody Waters,’ he said. ‘How many times has he been seen during this inquiry?’
Lloyd pursed his lips. ‘Oh – twice, three times . . . I’m not entirely certain, sir. But Sergeant Hill will—’
‘Don’t bother the sergeant,’ said Allison. ‘If you’ve lost count, I don’t wonder that he’s beginning to feel like a marked man.’
‘He was very unco-operative,’ said Lloyd.
‘That’s not against the law, Chief Inspector.’
Lloyd gave a brittle smile. ‘You’re the second person who’s told me that today, sir,’ he said. ‘I am aware of that. But a lack of cooperation does tend to draw out our enquiries.’
‘Lack of co-operation,’ repeated Allison. ‘That’s not quite what I’ve been told. Is it true that Mr Waters offered us both the sets of clothes that he wore that night for forensic examination?’
‘Yes,’ said Lloyd wearily.
‘Did he come to the station voluntarily to make a statement concerning his movements that night?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then I fail to see where this lack of co-operation comes into it. What did you want him to do? Write a thank-you letter?’ He tapped the tips of his forefingers together as he spoke.
‘The statement that he made was—’ Lloyd began.
‘Was what? False?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Lloyd.
‘Did it contain any falsehoods?’
‘No, but—’
‘But what?’
Christ. If he’d let him finish a sentence, he might find out but what. ‘But he was using us!’ he said firmly. ‘Sir.’
‘Using us? Oh – you mean because Cawston had stolen his pen? Well, yes – that would never do. Involving the police in bringing a thief to book? Whatever next?’
‘Sir, I’m sure you know what—’
‘Have you at any time during this inquiry found any evidence – circumstantial or tangible – to link Mr Waters with this murder?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Have you found any evidence that he has committed any offence of any sort?’
‘No,’ said Lloyd.
‘Then it’s hardly surprising that he resents being treated like a criminal.’
‘He has been treated with—’
‘With discourtesy and disrespect. Those were his words, Chief Inspector. Are they accurate?’
‘He has been treated with as much courtesy and respect as he has shown towards us,’ said Lloyd.
‘Look, Lloyd. The papers have got on to this. Apart from the obvious circulation value of Mrs Hamlyn’s activities, it appears that Waters himself is something of a celebrity in the art world.’
‘He used to be,’ agreed Lloyd. ‘I’d have thought he would have welcomed the publicity.’
‘Well, he doesn’t! And neither do I. I’ve got telephone calls stacked up from papers wanting to know if we suspect Waters. Do we?’
‘No, sir.’
Allison’s eyebrows shot up.
‘But I do think that he was involved,’ said Lloyd.
‘Think?’ repeated Allison. ‘This isn’t a cops-and-robbers television show, Chief Inspector. Leave your hunches at hom
e. And unless and until you have some justifiable reason to believe that Mr Waters can cast any light on the incident at the school on Friday night neither you nor any other officer is to question him on the matter again. Is that understood?’
‘Sir.’
‘Now – Sergeant Hill. I want a word with her. And I want you present.’
Allison sent for Judy, and Lloyd waited for her knock, feeling more apprehensive for her than he had for himself.
‘Come!’ said Allison.
Judy came in, and stood, hands behind her back, while Allison busied himself once again with something on his desk. But at least he looked at her when he spoke to her.
‘Sergeant Hill,’ he said. ‘You are in charge of the inquiry into the thefts at this school, I believe?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Are we still holding property belonging to Mr Waters?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Judy said. ‘It was one of the stolen items recovered by PC—’
Allison raised a hand, stopping her going into the detail that she was clearly about to give him. ‘Is it the case that all the other items have been returned to their owners?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Why hasn’t Mr Waters’s pen been returned?’
Lloyd stepped forward a little. ‘I thought it might have some connection with the murder investigation, sir.’ He didn’t dare look at Judy. ‘I asked the sergeant to hold on to it,’ he lied.
Allison nodded, and turned back to Judy.
‘But, acting on information given to you by Mr Waters, you apprehended the thief. At which point you knew that the pen could be of no further use in the investigation. Mr Waters, along with others, agreed not to prosecute. Why hasn’t Mr Waters’s pen been returned to him?’
So much for his gallantry. He had got himself into trouble for being a male chauvinist pig, and all for nothing.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t got round to it, sir.’
‘You will get round to it now. Today.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Rain was suddenly thrown against the window, as the evening grew dark and blustery.
‘And a point for both of you,’ he said. ‘Mr Waters also alleges that an investigating officer used obscene language to him. I understand that he declined to name the officer concerned, but I have been asked to draw the matter to your attention. As far as I am concerned, I strongly disapprove of unofficial complaints, and I do not want to know who it was, even if you find out.’
He stood up. ‘What I do want’, he said, ‘is for the future conduct of this inquiry to be free of any such petty nonsense as this business with the pen, or the least hint of personal scores being settled. And I want that damn golf-club found!’
They were excused; back in the office, Judy took out her notebook, and began writing in it.
Lloyd sat down, disgruntled. ‘Who the hell does Waters know?’ he asked.
‘It’s all in the handshake, or so I’m told,’ said Judy, still writing.
‘Waters is a Freemason?’ said Lloyd incredulously.
‘According to Bob Sandwell, who knows everything,’ said Judy. ‘And so – according to Bob – is the deputy chief constable.’
‘Wouldn’t you just know?’ muttered Lloyd.
‘I’ve got some better news,’ she said. ‘At least, I think it is.’
‘Oh?’
‘I asked Mary Alexander if I could share with her until the transfer.’
Mary lived in the block of flats behind Lloyd’s block. He smiled. ‘Well, you would be nice and handy,’ he said. ‘But if you’re not going to Barton you can’t be sure it’ll be in June. She might not want a lodger indefinitely.’
Judy smiled. ‘You are in an optimistic mood today,’ she said. ‘I haven’t finished. She said yes of course I could, but how would anyone know which flat I actually lived in? I can use her address and, if anyone asks, she’ll say I live there.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind a phantom lodger for as long as it takes.’
Lloyd sat back, his hands behind his head, and looked at her. ‘So this is it?’ he said. ‘You’ve moved in? For keeps?’
‘You try getting rid of me.’
Lloyd smiled.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘You heard what the man said. I’d better get the sensitive flower’s pen back to him.’ She opened the door, and looked back at him. ‘How polite do I have to be?’ she asked.
‘A bit more polite than you were the last time, by the sound of it,’ Lloyd said, picking up his coat. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Lloyd tried out his theory on the way to the school. ‘Changing your clothes isn’t all that easy when everyone’s in formal dress,’ he said. ‘People would notice.’
He could feel the pull of the wind on the exposed country road, and slowed down, despite his instinctive desire to drive faster to get away from it.
‘If it was someone who returned to the dance, he must have,’ said Judy.
Here we go, thought Lloyd, as he launched his theory. ‘Or been noticeably wet,’ he said.
‘Like Treadwell?’ she suggested. ‘He never did tell me why he didn’t phone Mrs Knight back,’ she said, raising her voice slightly as the rain battered the car.
Lloyd was relieved; his theory might not get the bad reception he had expected. ‘I’ve been wondering about him,’ he said.
‘He went looking for her,’ Judy said. ‘And got soaked to the skin. And he was gone from the table for quarter of an hour.’
Lloyd nodded. He had been thinking about it for some time; it made sense of Hamlyn’s statement, and his suicide note.
‘But where did he come by the golf-club?’ Judy asked, right on cue.
‘Ah.’ He let his foot press slightly on the accelerator. ‘He’s one of the few people who could have come by it,’ he said. ‘He found it in the first place.’
‘Last December,’ objected Judy, like his straight man. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Who says it was last December?’ asked Lloyd.
‘That’s when it was stolen,’ she said.
‘Who says?’ he repeated.
There was a little silence. ‘Treadwell,’ she said.
The journey back had been worse even than being arrested in the first place. Back to face Caroline finding out what a pathetic mess he was. Back to face dismissal and everyone knowing what a pathetic mess he was. Including Sam.
He had been relieved that Sam wasn’t there, and had gone into his room, shutting the door, wishing he had a lock. He had closed the curtains on the dark evening, on the school, on everything, and now he lay on the bed, wishing he could just die. Hamlyn had had the right idea.
He closed his eyes, trying to block out his thoughts, but he couldn’t. He had been accused of murder because he couldn’t bring himself to tell them that he had watched Caroline through a gap in the curtains. His stick had snapped because it had a crack, and it had a crack because he had smashed it down on the table the day he arrived. He had smashed it on the table because of what he had become; because all he could do was look up women’s skirts and down their blouses. Because of what he had become, he had watched Caroline through a gap in the curtains. A wicked, vicious circle from which he could never, never escape.
He didn’t open his eyes when he heard his door-handle turn. Sam, he presumed. Caroline must have told him; he would be here to give him the benefit of his opinion. But he couldn’t say anything worse than Philip was already thinking.
‘They told me.’ Caroline’s voice.
Oh, God. Caroline. He kept his eyes closed. Make her go away. Please, make her go away. But she didn’t.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
‘They thought I’d raped Diana,’ he said. He opened his eyes. ‘I suppose I should take it as a kind of compliment.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Philip! Stop feeling so sorry for yourself!’ She closed the door, and came towards the bed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you.’
‘Wha
t?’ he said.
‘I was ill, too – but I did something about it, for God’s sake!’
‘You pulled yourself together? Well, bully for you, Caroline.’
‘Yes! And so could you, if you weren’t just lying there thinking what a terrible thing happened to you, as though nothing terrible ever happened to anyone else!’
‘It doesn’t hurt when I lie on my back,’ he said, offended.
‘And if you’re going to watch me undress . . .’
Philip’s eyes widened as, arms crossed, she seized her sweatshirt.
‘. . . then watch me. Don’t peep through windows to do it.’ She angrily pulled the sweatshirt over her head.
It landed on the bed; Philip picked it up, absently folding it neatly.
‘All right, you were badly hurt,’ she said, kicking off her shoes, unzipping her jeans. ‘Maybe you’ll always be in pain – so what? You’re alive, Philip – Andrew isn’t.’
He laid the shirt down on the table beside the bed.
‘You can walk – some people can’t even move!’ She stepped out of the jeans, kicking them away. ‘Can’t feed themselves – can’t even talk. There’s nothing wrong with you except what’s going on in your head.’ She peeled off her tights. ‘If you want to spend the rest of your life the way you are, then don’t do it round me – go and have fantasies about someone else.’
The Marks & Spencer bra and pants were discarded impatiently, and she looked at him. ‘It hurts you to undress?’ she said. ‘Right. I’ll do it.’
And she did; quickly, efficiently, irritably, like a nurse who was already late going off duty, except that she got on to the bed with him which, as far as he could recall, the nurses had refrained from doing.
She lay beside him, her head resting on her hand, not touching him, not speaking. Just looking at him. For the first time, he looked into her eyes; they were beautiful, and he had never seen them before. Then she bent her head, and her mouth was on his. She pressed close to him as they kissed, moving against him, awakening sensations that he had almost forgotten. She drew away, and he reached out to her, touching her face, her neck, her shoulders.
‘And if you’re not in pain when you lie like that,’ she said, smiling down at him, ‘then lie like that.’
She was real. His tongue had found an unsuspected gap where a tooth should have been; she had a vaccination scar on her arm. He caressed full, slightly heavy breasts, and his fingertips found the occasional blemish as they moved down the small of her back to a bottom no firmer than it should be. He could see a little broken vein at the top of her thigh.
