Of course Libby saw it. I was her only real enemy so I was bound to be the focus of her attention. She bridled immediately. "You think you know it all, don't you?" she flashed.
"No," I murmured. "I was completely wrong about you. I thought you had more dignity than to go sniffing after other people's husbands."
"Oh, please!" she said scathingly. "Any sniffing that was done was done by Sam. He couldn't get unzipped quick enough when the opportunity arose. Or is that forgiven and forgotten because he's served twenty years of your downcast looks and injured pride?"
Sam stepped forward angrily but I shook my head at him. This was my fight and I'd waited a long time for it. "If you want a slanging match, Libby, then I'm happy to oblige ... Sam and Jock, too, I should imagine. But if you're as desperate to get away as you say then I suggest we sort these statements."
She hated her position of weakness, but she had the sense to force a smile. "All right. What do you want to know?"
"Which is correct? That you'd had a bath and were doing the laundry when Sam arrived? Or that you'd done the cooking and were watching television?"
She shook her head in convincing perplexity. "I honestly don't know," she said slowly. "It's so long ago I've forgotten most of the details. I just wrote down what I normally did at that time�cooking then catching the news�but if Sam's positive�?" She broke off to look at him. "Do you remember it that well?"
"Yes."
She was disconcerted by the bluntness of his answer. "I don't see how you can. It's not as if it was the only time you came to the house looking for sex."
"No," he agreed, "but it was the last time ... and I'd told you it was going to be the last time over the phone that afternoon. I said I wanted to talk to you about ending the affair without destroying everyone in the process. And I was furious when you draped yourself all over me the minute I came through the door, saying you'd had a bath in my honor and were washing sheets so you'd be able to replace our dirty ones on the bed before Jock came home. You can't have forgotten that, Libby. You told me I was frightening you because I said I'd do you some damage if you didn't take your hands off me immediately."
She gave a small laugh. "Oh, well ... if that's how you want to play it ... it's no skin off my nose. What does it matter what I was doing, anyway?" She shifted her gaze back to me. "We'll go with Sam's version. Does that make you happy?"
I nodded.
"Then you're a fool."
"Maybe." I crossed my arms and studied the point of my shoe, in no hurry to go on.
"Is that all there is?" she said indignantly. "Did you make me come all this way just so you could feel better about your husband's cheating?"
"Not quite," I said without rancor. "There's a major question mark over the time of Sam's arrival. He says 7:45, you say 6:30."
She frowned, as if trying to remember. "Okay, split the difference," she said helpfully. "Make it 7. Neither of us can be that precise after twenty years."
"Sam can," I countered mildly. "He's worked out his timing rather more accurately than you have ... and there's no way he could have reached you before a quarter to eight. If you calculate his walk from the office to the tube, the average time of the train journey, plus the walk from Richmond station to Graham Road, it's impossible for him to have done that trip in under an hour and a quarter. Which means 7:45 has to be the agreed time because he didn't leave work until 6:30."
Her hands moved impatiently in her lap. "How do you know that? Why should Sam's memory of the time he left his office be any better than mine of the time he arrived?"
"Because I'm not going by Sam's memory," I told her. "I was so suspicious of him after he and Jock made their statements that I checked with his office. I hoped I could get some proof that he was lying about the time he reached Graham Road because I knew the security guard clocked everyone out at the end of the day to make sure the building was empty before he locked up. I persuaded him to let me have a photocopy of the register for 14.11.78." I nodded toward the rucksack at my feet. "It's in there with 18:30 against Sam's name."
Her eyes dropped immediately to the bag but she didn't say anything.
"So we're agreed that 7:45 was the time Sam arrived?" I repeated.
She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "I can't see what difference it makes. All we did was talk."
"Yes, that's what you both say. Your version is that you talked for two and a half hours. His is that you talked for an hour."
She shrugged. "I didn't keep track."
"But you disagree over how the conversation went. Sam says he gave you an ultimatum�either the affair had to end or he'd come clean with me that night. You say it was you who delivered the ultimatum."
She cast a malicious glance in Sam's direction. "He can't say anything else," she said, "not if he wants you to believe I draped myself all over him when he came through the door."
I smiled slightly. "But that's the whole point, Libby. After the show you put on when he arrived, Sam expected you to be difficult ... but you weren't. You said you'd leave him alone ... no more hanging around outside his office ... no more demands on his time ... and the only quid pro quo was that he keep his mouth shut so that Jock wouldn't have an excuse to divorce you."
''Which suggests it was me who delivered the ultimatum, doesn't it?"
"If that were true, why was Sam so keen to accept it?"
Her eyes narrowed warily as she tried to see the point I was making. "What makes you think he was?"
I shrugged. "Because he couldn't sign up to your fabricated alibi quick enough. He was even happy to rope Jock into the lie if it meant he could distance himself from you. Not that your husband minded," I said with an ironic glance in Jock's direction, "because he didn't want his Tuesday evenings with Sharon made public. But why would Sam go along with it unless he had something to gain? There were any number of reasons he could have given for being in your house that night�none of which were remotely suspicious. Looking for Jock, being one."
"Why ask me?" she demanded. "Sam's the one who lied. All I did was tell the truth, which was that I'd been at home all evening, waiting for my husband. And I didn't have to pretend I was alone either because the police made that assumption themselves. It's not my responsibility if Sam decided to sign a statement saying he was at your place when he wasn't."
"Except he says you didn't give him any choice. According to him, you phoned him at his office the next morning to say the police were asking about people's movements the previous night because they were looking for anyone who'd seen Annie. You then told him you'd dug him out of a hole by saying he and Jock had been at our house from 7:45 and it was down to him to persuade Jock to support the story. You said I'd never suspect he'd been with you if it was your husband who gave him an alibi. And you were right, I didn't."
"This is Sam's version, presumably?" she murmured sarcastically.
"Yes."
She glanced at my rucksack again. "And there's no statement from an earwigging telephone operator to back it up?"
"No."
"Then you can believe what you like, and the police can believe what they like." she said indifferently. "Sam's always going to put his own gloss on it�he wouldn't be human if he didn't�but he's the one who lied and I'm the one who told the truth. And I'm damned if I'll let him put the blame for his perjury on to me."
I nodded as if I agreed with her. "Fair enough, but you'll need to be ready for police questions about who proposed what and when because Sam's revised statement says the ideas came from you�in particular his and Jock's alleged sighting of Annie at 7:45." I paused. "According to Sam, that was your suggestion. You told him the police wanted proof that she was staggering about in the road earlier in the evening, and if he gave it to them they'd call it an accident and the whole bloody mess would go away."
I was lying, of course�Sam had never denied that the reason he mentioned Annie was to get himself out of the hole he'd dug with me when he told me she was drunk�but L
ibby didn't have a monopoly on invention, and it was fascinating to see how rapidly her control deserted her when she was accused of something she hadn't done. In a horrible sort of way, she reminded me of Maureen as she hissed and spat her furious denials. We were all shits ... ganging up on her because we didn't like her ... making Sam out to be the victim ... trying to shove responsibility on to her...
"Why would I have suggested anything so bloody stupid?" she finished. "Supposing the police hadn't believed Sam and Jock? Supposing we'd all had to admit what we'd really been doing that night? Why would I tell him to say he'd seen Annie just before the one period in the whole evening when we both had a cast-iron alibi? It's ridiculous. They'd think we were in collusion to cast suspicion away from ourselves. I'd never saddle myself with anything so unnecessary."
I studied her for a moment. "But why would you even worry about collusion?" I asked curiously. "Surely all you knew when you phoned Sam the next morning was that Annie had died outside our house at 9:30? How does that make mention of her stupid and unnecessary?"
She sobered rapidly. "Sam told me you were saying it was murder."
"Not true," Sam countered fiercely. "I was so ashamed of leaving the poor woman in the gutter that I steered clear of the whole blasted subject. All you and I discussed that morning was how to avoid saying that I'd been with you."
She gave an angry smile. "Then maybe I'm talking with hindsight, but it's hardly the point at issue. You're accusing me of inventing an absurd lie when anyone who focused attention on themselves by saying they'd seen Annie that night was a fool ... particularly if they were trying to hide an affair. You may be that kind of fool, Sam, but I'm certainly not."
"That's very true," I said before Sam could fire off again. "I've always thought how clever you were to keep your story simple, claim absolute ignorance and offer no alibi at all. All you had to say was: I can't help you ... I was home alone from five o 'clock ... didn 't hear anything ... didn 't see anything ... didn't go anywhere. You could repeat that till you were blue in the face because there was no one to contradict you except Sam. And once you'd muzzled him, you were safe as houses, because if the police had caught you out in a lie, you'd have shrugged and said, you were only trying to keep the affair secret."
"I didn't need an alibi," she said.
"No," I agreed, "but only because no one saw you with Annie at 6:30. I presume you bumped into each other in the road, and she started calling you a 'dirty tart' again. But why the hell did you have to go out at all, Libby? What was it for? To buy some booze in the hopes of putting Sam in a better mood? Or maybe you needed it yourself because you were boiling mad about being given the elbow? Is that why you lost your temper with Annie so quickly? Because you were angry that Sam had made it clear he'd rather stay with his wife than play stud to a bored tart who hadn't got the gumption to get up off her backside and find an identity for herself that didn't involve exploiting men? Why couldn't you stay in your sordid little bed and weep for your own inadequacies instead of killing Annie because she dared to point them out to you?"
Caution smoothed the planes of her face turning it into a practiced mask. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "What's 6:30 got to do with anything?"
I took a printout of her e-mailed statement from my pocket. "It's the time you gave in here, so presumably it's important."
She made another dismissive gesture. "I've already said I'll go with Sam's version, not mine. Are you going to crucify me for making a mistake?"
"Your worst mistake was to have a bath and start washing your clothes," I said, "but I suppose you had her blood on you. The postmortem photographs prove you went for her like a madwoman."
"Oh, for God's sake!" she said wearily. "I assumed Sam and I were going to make love, so of course I had a bath. And it wasn't my clothes I was washing�it was sheets."
I tapped the e-mail. "Then why didn't you put that in here? Why pretend otherwise?"
She managed a creditable laugh. "Because I forgot. In any case, I wouldn't have let Sam in at all if I'd had anything to hide."
"You couldn't afford not to. He'd already told you over the phone that he was going to confess everything to me that evening if you didn't agree to end it."
"It was over anyway. Why should I care?"
I looked at Sam. "Because you were afraid he'd tell me Annie knew about the affair. He says she was always accosting you in the street calling you a 'dirty tart.'" I touched my toe to the rucksack. "There's a letter in here from Michael Percy, describing how you lashed out at her with your shopping bag and ended up on the ground, arse over tit. And you wouldn't want me adding you to the list of people with grudges against Annie." I finished, "not if you'd just left her for dead in her house."
"I never set foot in that tip," she said in a remarkably steady voice, "then, or at any other time."
"Oh, yes, you did," I told her. "You pushed in behind her as she unlocked her door because she'd had the bloody nerve to call you what you were�a cheap tart." I took the photograph of the brass artillery shell in Beth Slater's sitting room from my pocket. "Is this what you used?" I asked, showing it to her. "It's the first thing that would have come to hand because Annie kept it in her hallway. What did you do? Yank out the peacock feathers and bring it down on the back of her head with two hands so that she collapsed on her sitting-room floor? Then what? You lost your rag completely and beat her and kicked her until she lost consciousness? Do you dream about that, Libby? Do you wake up in a sweat every time you remember it?"
She stood up abruptly, sending her chair flying. "I don't have to listen to this," she said, reaching for her handbag.
Sam raised his head. "I'm afraid you do," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice, "because it won't go away, Libby. Not this time. No one's prepared to support your lies anymore."
She turned to look at him. "I haven't told any, Sam, or not deliberately anyway. You know that ... and so does Jock."
He watched her for a moment. "You primed Jock to tell me Sergeant Drury was getting his leg over in my house. Wasn't that a lie?"
She flicked a triumphant glance in my direction. "Of course it wasn't. Anyone with an ounce of sense could see what was going on. Your trouble is you're so full of guilt yourself, you assume everything this sanctimonious little bitch says must be true. But why should she be any more faithful than you were?"
There was a short silence before my husband answered. I felt his hand creep into mine, and I felt it tremble, but whether from hatred of Libby or hatred of himself I couldn't tell. "She believes in keeping her promises," he said simply. "Unlike you and me, Libby, who broke ours the minute it suited us."
My one-time friend flicked me another glance, this time full of loathing. "You're such a child, Sam," she said scathingly. "Don't you know by now how vindictive she is? She was always going to pay me back for stealing you ... even if it meant accusing me of murder..."
Official correspondence with the Metropolitan Police-
dated 1999
FROM THE OFFICE OF THE COMMISSIONER
METROPOLITAN POLICE
NEW SCOTLAND YARD
Mrs. M. Ranelagh
Leavenham Farm
Leavenham Nr
Dorchester
Dorset DT2 XXY
October 5, 1999
Dear Mrs. Ranelagh,
Re The death of Ann Butts, 30 Graham Road, Richmond�14.11.78
The commissioner has asked me to keep you informed on matters relating to the above. I can now confirm that a full series of interviews has been conducted, with the exception of Mr. Derek Slater, whose present whereabouts are unknown.
I can also confirm that the following charges have resulted from these interviews. Mr. Alan Slater�burglary at 30 Graham Road at or around 02:00 on 15.11.78. Mr. Alan Slater and Mr. Michael Percy�indecent assault and actual bodily harm of Miss Butts at or around 20:30 on 14.11.78. Mrs. Maureen Slater�obtaining money by deception from Smith Alder, Jewelers, Chiswick, between 06.06.79 and 10.11.79. In
addition, RSPCA officers are looking at the issue of animal cruelty, although as Miss Butts almost certainly contributed to the cats' distress and deaths by failing to report incidents and/or seek veterinary advice, a prosecution is unlikely.
The commissioner is aware that these charges may fall short of your expectations. However, he asks me to remind you that the burden of proof in criminal cases is an onerous one, which is not made easier with the passage of time. Indeed, the only reason any charges have been brought is because Mr. Alan Slater, Mr. Michael Percy and Mrs. Bridget Percy have cooperated fully with the investigators. No such cooperation has been forthcoming from Mrs. Maureen Slater, Mr. James Drury or Mrs. Libby Garth, all of whom vigorously deny the allegations made against them.
Mr. Drury refutes your allegation that he saw stolen articles in Mrs. Slater's house following Miss Butts's death. He also refutes any suggestion that he accepted a bribe from Mrs. Slater to "turn a blind eye." Without confirmation from Mrs. Slater that these allegations are true, there is no evidence that Mr. Drury was negligent in failing to treat Miss Butts's house as a "scene of crime." Mrs. Slater categorically denies that she ever suggested to you that Mr. Drury had accepted a bribe and further denies any collusion with him, either at the time of the original investigation or more recently.
Mrs. Slater also denies that she had any advance knowledge of the crimes her husband and son committed. She admits being told about the burglary afterward, but claims the articles were taken away by her husband and son and subsequently displayed in Mr. Alan Slater's house where you photographed them. She further denies being the woman who sold the rings in Chiswick. Nor is it likely that Mr. Alan Slater's assertion that it was his mother who "ordered" the burglary will stand up to cross examination as he was adjudged during a trial in 1980 to "be seeking to lay the blame for his worst excesses on his mother." This is a matter of public record, and Mrs. Slater has quoted it several times in her defense during interviews. Investigations continue into how she was able to afford the premises at 32 Graham Road. To date there is no evidence to disprove her statement that she won the money on the football pools as records are regularly destroyed.
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