Angela's Dead

by Lou Peters

  Marie re-commenced her findings, but this time with a little less confidence injecting her narrative. ‘We were in luck sir,’ she said. Any trace of a smile had disappeared with the inspector’s harsh words, leaving her eyes unreadable. ‘A waitress, Brygida Jasinski, she’s of Polish extraction, sir...’

  Walters raised an eyebrow; biting back the retort that had sprung to his lips, allowing Travis to continue uninterrupted.

  ‘...was working in Rainbow Café. It’s one of the establishments which surround the square of land, where the market’s held. Fortunately, the Polish girl had been watching out of the window at the time of the incident. She saw an old lady standing on her own. She was looking towards the direction of the café. The waitress felt sorry for her because she looked lonely. She said there were so many people milling around that for a moment she lost sight of her.’

  ‘And,’ Walters jumped in, ‘I’m hoping there’s more to come.’

  ‘Yes sir, there is.’ Travis was not amused, what a miserable old git. ‘Apparently there’d been a sudden break in the crowds. And the waitress had seen the old woman’s face light up, as though she’d recognised someone. She’d lifted her arm in greeting, or to attract his, or her attention, and the waitress thought the old lady had been waiting for that person’s arrival. It’d made her feel better that the woman wasn’t on her own.’ Marie didn’t know why she’d added that. Although she was only repeating what the girl had said, she was sure Walters wasn’t at all interested if the waitress had felt better or not. Stick to the facts, Travis. The inspector’s rebuke stuck in her head. ‘The next thing the waitress witnessed was the woman stumbling backwards, as if she’d been violently pushed.’

  ‘And, she’s sure about that?’

  ‘That’s what she said, sir. The old lady landed on the floor, dropping her shopping bag. The next thing a man rushed over to help her to her feet, from somewhere behind. The crowds closed in again and Miss Jasinski told me she hadn’t been able to see much more. She’d wanted to go and help herself, but her boss had shouted for her to get back to what she was supposed to be doing.’

  ‘Did the witness see who’d pushed the woman?’

  ‘Afraid not, sir.’

  ‘Not a bloody lot of use, then.’

  ‘The café has a large awning over the front entrance, partially extending to the sides. The only vantage point she had was directly out of the front windows and door. She saw the old lady fall as a gap appeared in the crowds surging past the front of the café, but not unfortunately the person who did the pushing. It could have been anyone, man, woman or child.’

  ‘So we’re back to square one. We know Ruth was pushed, but not by whom.’

  ‘Seems that way, sir.’

  ‘And the woman is sure, that it couldn’t have been the man who went to her aid, who’d pushed her?’

  ‘I think so sir.’

  ‘You think so Travis.’ Leaning back in his chair Walters let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘I hope to God you’re not going to tell me, you didn’t pose the question to her?’

  ‘No sir, I didn’t. I just took it for granted the way the woman was retelling what had occurred the man had been the one to go to the old lady’s assistance.’

  At least Travis hadn’t lied to cover her omission. ‘Let me give you a good piece of advice constable. Never under any circumstances in the future, take anything for granted, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘What about a description of the man who went to the old lady’s assistance? You did ask that question, I trust?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ I’m not a complete fucking idiot, she thought. ‘And it tallies to the description we have of Richard Johnson, sir.’ The policewoman was still internally fuming. The man bearing Johnson’s description had come from a direction behind the woman, so how could it have been him that pushed her from the front. Cooper was always banging on about how Walters was a fair and reasonable bloke. He was talking out of his arse as well.

  ‘This waitress must have had good eyesight, how old is she?’

  ‘Late teens, early twenties I would think, sir.’

  ‘And in your opinion, Constable Travis, do you think she’s a reliable witness, or some airhead?’

  ‘I believed her, sir. Can’t see what reason she’d have to lie and it backs up Mrs. Harrison’s statement.’

  ‘Mm.’ Walters murmured thoughtfully. He wondered how the uniformed officer could have had knowledge of such information. But then he thought of Cooper. ‘I have to ask the question PC Travis, why was the waitress standing looking out of the window at the old lady in the first place? Hadn’t she got better things to do with her time?’

  ‘She’d told me she was feeling homesick, sir. All her family remained in Poland. The guy she’d come over with, had recently dumped her and she was just staring out of the window, while the café was having a quiet spell.’

  ‘A quiet spell, what’s one of those – anything further to add?’

  ‘No sir.’ Travis was thinking of plenty of things she would like to add, but kept her mouth firmly shut.

  ‘Then you may as well go and start writing up your notes, constable. Or lend a hand in the control room. I expect the phones are going non-stop after the appeal.’

  ‘Yes sir, thank you sir,’ Travis said in a subdued voice. She was disappointed and angry that things hadn’t gone quite as she’d imagined. She didn’t have a hope in hell of getting into the CID if the bloke in charge had taken a dislike to her, curmudgeonly old sod.

  Travis had got as far as the door when Walters called. ‘Oh and Travis well done, I thought you were going to tell me you had nothing to report. How many premises did you have to visit before you struck lucky?’

  ‘All of them sir, Rainbow Café was the last one.’

  Behind the counter of Rainbow Café, Brygida Jasinski’s brow was puckered in perplexity. She wondered if she should have mentioned to the policewoman that she’d spotted her Uncle Drugi in the crowds, well half uncle really. She handed the guy she was serving his change. Wiping the counter down with a damp cloth she contemplated what Drugi had been doing, hanging around the stalls. Up to no good as usual, she suspected. The man had a drug habit she knew. He’d fingered her for money before. It wouldn’t be too long before he was on the cadge again, now he knew where to find her. If she’d told the police about him, would they have taken him off the streets for possession? She doubted it. Drugi was sure to find out it was her who’d rated on him and come after her. Teach her a lesson she’d never forget. It was that terrifying thought that made up her mind. Even if she didn’t tell the police, if she couldn’t give him what he needed the next time he sought her out, he may turn nasty. God alone knew what he was capable of. Once January arrived and she had her next pay cheque, she’d make sure she was on the plane back to Brzeziny.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Friday Afternoon 11 December 2009

  ‘Come in detective sergeant,’ Rachel was weary and it was reflected in her voice. She held the rear door of the cottage open for the officers to step into the kitchen, both having the necessity to duck their heads beneath the low lintel as they entered.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon, it’s only been a few hours. I don’t suppose you have any news for me?’ She asked, but was not hopeful.

  ‘No sorry, on both counts.’

  The detective smiled at her before introducing his uniformed colleague. ‘This is Police Constable Mellors.’

  She took the outstretched hand in hers. It felt cold within her grasp. The constable, unlike the sergeant, hadn’t been wearing police issue leather gloves. He had a kindly face and if she’d had to guess, would have said he was a family man. He probably had grown up daughters of his own. To assuage her curiosity she thought to pose that question to him. However, the detective sergeant was speaking to her again in his resonant, rather reassuring voice and Rachel found herself relaxing in their company.

  ‘Is your friend still sta
ying with you?’

  ‘Jackie? Yes, she’s gone off to town to do some shopping. We’re rather low on provisions, so she’s gone to stock up. She should be back soon. Would you like a coffee or a cup of tea? Kettle’s just boiled.’ She spoke to them as if she was addressing members of the ladies guild, calling on a social visit.

  ‘Tea would be great.’

  ‘And for you, Constable Mellors?’

  ‘A cup of tea, if it’s not too much trouble, Miss.’

  Jackie had insisted she’d gone back to bed, as soon as the CID men had left earlier that morning. ‘You look all in,’ she’d said, concerned.

  Rachel hadn’t expected to doze off, but was surprised to see a couple of hours had elapsed when she’d again opened her eyes. At least she was getting some sleep, even if it was in small parcels. She still felt a bit spaced out, as if she’d got jet lag, but felt a lot more like her old self than previously.

  ‘Help yourselves to sugar.’ Rachel placed the bowl onto the table, alongside the steaming mugs.

  The policemen were already seated at the table, and she joined them, sitting on the opposing side. The odds were less even this time, two against one. ‘Now, how can I help you?’

  ‘Do you know if Mr. Johnson took his passport with him?’

  It wasn’t a question Rachel had been expecting, although, she didn’t know why it should’ve come as any surprise. The only real surprise was why the question hadn’t been asked at the sergeant’s first visit. Nevertheless, Rachel felt her cheeks grow red and she responded a little too quickly, ‘I’ve no idea...’ Adding, ‘why, do you think Richard may have left the country?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ Cooper shrugged, ‘it maybe a possibility, that’s all. Perhaps you could check and let us know.’

  Rachel nodded; grateful the policemen hadn’t picked up on the blatant lie she’d just told. Or maybe they had. She supposed it was of little consequence to them. The officers already convinced of his guilt, clearly suspected that Richard was on the run. The next logical step would be for him to disappear abroad. Rachel had an idea all the routes out of the country were being monitored, passenger lists checked, in case the man had managed to sneak beneath whatever barriers the police had laid in place. Why was Richard’s passport missing? Why was Richard missing? If she was so certain he hadn’t committed the crime, then why had he disappeared? Her mind raced with these questions. Hopefully, on the surface she was appearing calm and together.

  ‘Is that why you’re here, detective sergeant? Surely a phone call would have been sufficient?’

  ‘We wondered, would it be alright if we had a look around outside? Check out the garage and the outbuildings.’

  ‘Outside, inside, it’s not a problem. I know you don’t believe me, but Richard hasn’t killed anyone. If you can find anything that will help you to bring him back to me, you’re welcome to look anywhere you like. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get my coat and come outside with you. I could do with some fresh air.’

  The weather had turned noticeably milder. Gone were the clear blue skies of the past week. A thick blanket of grey cloud obscured the sun, giving the afternoon a dismal feel. As the trio stepped out onto the concrete path, Rachel could feel the first drops of rain on her face. The droplets, carried in the wind whipping up in sudden gusts from out of nowhere. The search commenced in the garage. Or rather in the excuse, that was the garage. In situ when she and Richard had arrived it was obviously a homemade job. Nothing more than rusting metal sheets, attached to a lopsided frame. With a couple of makeshift doors, that failed to align correctly. Gaining access wasn’t straightforward. The wooden doors had to be lifted up on their hinges to prevent them scraping the ground. Constable Mellors did the honours. A groan escaped from his lips, as he lifted and dragged one door and then the other. Rachel’s little Peugeot, parked last in the space, was encountered first as the doors were opened.

  There was an overwhelming smell of damp earth inside of the garage, which was hardly surprising. The base of the shack was basically flattened soil, with tufts of greenery interspersed here and there, where light had pierced the roofing, allowing growth. Rachel’s car hadn’t been cleaned for weeks. The boot and rear doors of the vehicle were splattered with dark streaks. A mixture of dried brown mud and rock salt crystals, churned up from the lanes surface. No doubt the front of the car would be in the same unloved condition.

  As expected from the construction of the place, there was no electricity laid on inside. The three fumbled about in the windowless area. Even though the doors to the rear of the trio were open wide, it was difficult to see inside the gloomy interior. The distant mumble of the River Rase, churning the waters in a constant drone at the bottom of the garden, was barely audible from inside of the makeshift building. Rachel opened the unlocked boot of her car and retrieved the torch she kept in there for emergencies. Along with the spare wheel and the necessary tools in case she ever had a flat tyre. Richard had shown her how to change the wheel, should the need arise. However, she hoped it never would. Rachel wouldn’t trust herself to be able to tighten the wheel nuts adequately enough, preferring to wait until a passing motorist stopped to lend her a hand, as she’d explained to Richard.

  ‘That’s all very well Rache, but what happens if it’s the dead of night and there are no other drivers on the road? And you need to be careful. You don’t know who might stop on the pretence of coming to your assistance.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t be out on my own at that time of the night, would I?’ Rachel had argued. ‘And no one’s likely to pounce on you in the middle of the day.’

  Richard had sighed, ‘sometimes my darling, you can be rather naive.’ He’d smiled, ‘at least you now know what you have to do, just in case.’

  Rachel handed the light to the constable standing behind her. He was looking into the boot space over her shoulder. What did he expect to find in there, Richard’s body? She shuddered at the thought. The Transit flat bed was parked in front of her car. The doors to the cab again were unlocked. Mellors flashed the torch around illuminating the keys in the ignition. But there was little else of interest for the policemen in there besides a dirty pair of gardening gloves and mud encrusted boots lying in the passenger side foot well. Taking the torch from his colleague, the sergeant gingerly reached into the cab. He opened the glove compartment. Rachel wondered what it was he hoped to find. Whatever it was, it didn’t appear to be in there for he snapped the opening shut without removing any of the contents. Apart from the vehicles there was little else inside of the garage, with the exception of a couple of empty rust encrusted oil drums, remnants from the previous owner’s occupancy and yet to be disposed of.

  ‘What’s in the drums?’

  ‘Nothing, they’re empty.’ It seemed the detective sergeant didn’t trust her word, for he moved one of them with his foot. Seemingly satisfied with the drums lack of resistance, he turned away.

  ‘Seen enough?’ Rachel ventured.

  ‘Yes thanks,’ the detective sergeant smiled down at her. ‘Perhaps we could look in the other outbuildings?’ he suggested.

  ‘Be my guest,’ Rachel said. The man was well over six foot. Richard was six foot one and the detective was taller than him by a good few inches. The rain was falling more consistently now, and they made a dash further down the garden to reach the twin brick buildings. The sound of the river heightened. There was a heavy chain and padlock on one of the building’s doors and the detective sergeant looked at her enquiringly. ‘It contains Richard’s work equipment. The usual gardening stuff, lawnmowers, rotovators, hedge trimmers etcetera. Only in this case they’re heavy duty, top of the range items and rather expensive. Hence the padlocks,’ she explained. ‘The keys are in the house. I’ll get them for you later. Perhaps we can do this one first?’ Rachel pushed open the recently painted, green wooden door into Richard’s workshop. Amazingly, this building being of a stronger construction was connected to the electricity supply. Rachel switched on the overhead lig
ht. Glad to be out of the rain, she watched the huge spots splattering like burst water balloons onto the concrete surrounding the building. Richard was an organiser and even though the couple had only been at the cottage a short time, he’d managed to erect shelving around the inside walls. Neatly stacked against the brickwork were varying sized tins containing an assortment of items, screws, nails, nuts and bolts, rawl plugs and washers. Things collected over many years and rarely used. On another shelf were tins of paint, bottles of white spirit, sanding sheets together with an electric sander. A sturdy, wooden work top had been fixed along one side of the building on metal struts. A large vice was screwed to its thick surface.

  ‘Looked like your boyfriend meant business,’ the detective nodded. ‘I’m impressed.’

  Rachel picked up on the man’s use of the past tense. It didn’t inspire her with confidence.

  ‘Yes, Richard’s got big plans for the cottage, just as well the state the property’s in at the moment.’ The policeman turned away from her. Cooper and Mellors continued to scour the walls and the work surfaces. Rachel noticed for the first time that both men were wearing skin coloured gloves. She left them to trawl through the multitude of items hanging or stacked in the space. Leaning against the workbench, Rachel recalled the last time she’d seen Richard. It had been here, in this box of a building. She breathed in the air hoping to receive some sense of his past occupancy. But there was nothing. No tell tale waft of aftershave or other familiar smell. He’d stood against the bench Rachel was touching, hammering nails into a square of wood. ‘A bird house,’ he’d said. It was funny how she could remember that now. She looked around in vain for the finished article. Maybe it was already hanging on a tree. She hoped to God, Richard wasn’t. Rachel dispelled the distressing thought, trying to remember Richard’s wide smile, but all she could see was the man patting his finger against his nose when she’d asked him where he was going. ‘That would be telling,’ he’d said.