by SP Edwards
Michelle nodded along as her husband talked. Her eyes were shining, but Marr didn’t get the impression she was about to burst into tears. It was sorrow, and it would continue to come and go, probably for the rest of her life.
Marr remembered a vague quote Lizzie had mentioned to him: it was from some poem, though he couldn’t remember which one.
The sorrow of remembering in present pain past happiness.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Only Marr and Becky remained in the office that evening. Marr checked his watch: half past six. He’d told Lizzie that he’d be home by seven at the latest.
Exhaling deeply, he stood up.
‘Cup of tea?’ he asked.
Becky looked up from her paperwork, and smiled.
‘Brilliant plan.’
A few minutes later, they were both sat with their feet up on nearby chairs, chewing over the case and the evidence, or lack of it.
‘Stanic didn’t do it?’ Becky asked.
Marr shook his head.
‘I just don’t see it. He might have been a lady’s man when he was younger, but I don’t think he’s a killer. He loved Anna. What sort of jack the lad leaves the army to become an accountant if it’s not to settle down?’
Becky rolled her eyes.
‘You should do a course in gender studies,’ she said.
‘You should do a course in gender studies, sir.’ Marr replied. Becky found a spare paper clip on the desk and threw it at him.
‘What about Caroline Marcus?’ she asked, once she was satisfied a return throw wasn’t coming.
Marr thought about it. What about Caroline Marcus?
‘I don’t know yet,’ he said, picking up a pen and twirling it between his fingers, ‘Only Sam’s spoken to her. ‘Something a bit off’ was all she said. But then the poor woman had just lost her best friend. Who the hell wouldn’t be a bit off?’
‘You could talk to her yourself.’ Becky suggested
Marr shrugged.
‘I could, but it’s not like I don’t trust Sam’s judgement. Also, I don’t want to step on her toes.’
Becky nodded, slowly. Then, not taking her eyes from his, she said:
‘Congratulations, by the way.’
Marr must have looked puzzled, because Becky immediately qualified the statement:
‘The baby: congratulations’
‘Oh, thanks’ he replied.
‘Big news, you must be excited.’
Marr nodded.
‘Yeah. Nervous more than excited. Ten years as a cop ought to be enough preparation for loud annoying things that wreck your sleeping habits, though.’
Becky smiled.
‘How’s Lizzie?’ she said. Marr had never got used to Becky calling his wife by her first name. He didn’t quite know where it had come from: Lizzie and Becky had talked a few times before, but he never got the impression they were close.
‘She’s OK. The opposite of me, really: excited more than nervous. Hang on…who told you about the baby?’
Becky looked at him.
‘Sam.’
‘Oh’ replied Marr, pursing his lips in thought.
Sam knew.
And he hadn’t told her.
‘Lizzie and Sam were friends, remember.’ Becky said, reading his expression. ‘Maybe less so these days, but back when you first arrived…’
Becky’s voice trailed off.
Marr looked at her for a moment, and she returned his gaze.
She knew. Marr could just tell; she knew.
Shit.
‘Becky…’ he began, but she cut him off.
‘Look, boss, what you do and what Sam does and what your wife does….it’s none of my business.’
‘But as you work for me, and for Sam…’
‘It’s even less of my business. Honestly, sir: I could have done without knowing at all. I promise, I didn’t go around asking.’
‘How much did Sam tell you?’
‘How much is there to know?’
Marr said nothing. What had Sam told Becky?
More to the point, how had Sam told her? Marr had been around enough domestic violence cases to know that the innocent could easily end up looking guilty, and vice versa.
He wasn’t innocent, of course, but neither was Sam.
Becky sighed.
‘Sam’s not a schoolgirl, sir. No gossips, no ‘did he say anything about me’. She just told me that you’d slept together a few times, and that it had been good, and that Lizzie had sent a text round to virtually everyone she knew announcing that she was pregnant.’
Marr couldn’t help but smile. Yes, that was his wife. Nothing but enthusiasm and passion and love and God he was an idiot sometimes.
‘Yeah, that’s her.’ He said simply.
Becky seemed to relax.
‘Your wife, and Sam, and a baby on the way. You’re a lucky man, and you don’t need me to tell you that you won’t be able to keep all those plates spinning. Sam’s not going to freak out, but at the same time I can’t see her being happy playing second fiddle. Sam doesn’t like losing.’
Marr nodded, and looked up at the clock. Five to seven.
‘I suppose I’d better get off. Got a wife to look after, and a kid now. Christ. Anyway, thanks Becky, it’s been nice talking about it to someone. In a strange way I’m glad you know.’
‘I’m not’ Becky muttered, once Marr was out of the room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Marr’s mobile rang as he was on the way home. It was Yovanovitch again.
‘I can confirm that Anna Markham was killed by the stab wound.’ The doctor said, by way of a hello. ‘There was some bruising around the throat, but I don’t think it was enough to indicate anything more than choking her unconscious. The wound itself, as we discussed earlier, was worryingly accurate. Anna would have bled out, and quickly. I’m assuming, given the lack of blood at the murder scene, that he threw her body into the lake immediately and she happened to wash up on the bank during the night.’
‘Christ. That’s a way to go.’
‘Well, quite. A chirpy evening to you.’
The doctor hung up.
This killing was more vicious than Marr had thought. Choking Anna out first, then one stabbing motion.
It was the control that surprised him. One wound. If the killer didn’t know what they were doing, why not stab Anna ten times just to make sure?
Something about it made Marr uncomfortable, and it wasn’t just the fact that out of all their suspects, Gregor Stanic was the one most likely to know how to handle a knife.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Across town, Anna’s windower was trying to remain calm. Even as Caroline Marcus paced the room in front of him, throwing glances in his direction as if she expected him to get up and join her.
There was little point. Stanic had long ago learned that stressing about anything was pointless. All it did was raise your blood pressure, and it was no substitute for taking action.
The problem, of course, was that right now he didn’t know what action to take.
The cop who’d come to see him didn’t think he’d killed Anna. That was good. Well, it was better than good given that Stanic was probably the number one suspect.
None of those facts, though, were going to help calm Caroline down.
Gregor sighed.
Only a firm hand would get results here.
He stood, and gently pulled Caroline down onto the sofa next to him.
‘Caz…’ he said, putting his hands on hers, ‘Try to calm down. This isn’t helping us, is it?’
Caroline took a deep breath in.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I suppose it’s not’.
Then, she put her head in her hands, and let out a noise that was half-sigh, half sob.
‘What did the cop say to you?’ Stanic asked, ‘The one who told you about Anna?’.
‘Not much’ said Caroline, brushing a tear from her cheek. ‘She just asked about us, and about you. I told the t
ruth; that you loved Anna.’
‘And Tom?’
Caroline nodded.
‘I said that if anyone was the killer, it was probably going to be him.’
Stanic nodded, and smiled at her.
‘Good girl,’ he said, ‘You’ve done the right thing. And remember; you’ve not lied. Nothing you’ve said has been a lie. You don’t have to feel guilty.’
Caroline said nothing for a moment, then spoke.
‘It still felt wrong. I mean, they’re trying to help find who killed Anna, aren’t they? We should be helping them. We should tell them.’
Stanic shook his head.
‘There’s no point. If they’re half-decent detectives, they’ll find out soon enough.’
‘We should tell them everything…’
‘No!’ Stanic snapped suddenly, ‘We do NOT need to tell them anymore than we already have. There’s no point, Caz. No fucking point.’
Caroline said nothing, but her lip was trembling.
‘Oh come on’ said Stanic, all the frustration beginning to pour out of him, ‘Those crocodile tears aren’t going to help us, are they?’
Slowly, Caroline shook her head.
‘That’s it, girl,’ Greg said, pulling her to him and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. ‘Think of Anna’s parents. Think of Tom. It’s better this way.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Thomas Coulthard worked at a large insurance firm in the centre of town. The office was near Colchester Station, and only five minutes around the corner from where Anna and Greg had lived.. The building had been around as long as Marr could remember, and it looked exactly like you’d imagine an insurance firm’s to look: drab brick, with tinted windows designed to stop staff looking out as much as to stop snoopers looking in.
Coulthard’s firm was based on the top floor, so Marr decided to forgo the stairs. Stepping out of the lift, he was greeted with a white and lime-green reception area. The receptionist, named ‘Dezzie’ according to her name badge, looked up from her computer and smiled a welcome at him.
‘Here for the induction day?’ she asked him.
Marr held out his ID.
‘Not quite. I’m looking for Thomas Coulthard.’
Dezzie was all apologies, and pointed Marr towards a separate office on the far side of the open plan floor.
‘Sorry again,’ she said as he made his way towards it.
‘Don’t worry, I’d never have got the job anyway’ he replied, receiving another smile in return. She was cute, Dezzie; short bob cut blonde hair, black glasses, nice smile.
Fuck only knows what ‘Dezzie’ was meant to be short for, though.
The office was busy enough. Some of the staff were talking into their headsets, others were twiddling their thumbs. There certainly weren’t a lot of smiles to go around, though. In the ten seconds it took him to reach the back office, Marr decided he was glad he didn’t work in a place like this.
He knocked on the door. It felt light: temporary.
‘Come in’ came a voice from inside.
Marr entered, and found himself in a front-runner for the world’s busiest private off. Not in terms of things – of which there were still a lot – but in terms of the amount of posters, keepsakes and plaques that adorned the wall. The wall paint – which was the same lime green as the receptions – was mercifully mostly hidden. The posters varied from movies – Marr recognised an artistic print based around Fight Club and the original movie poster from Reservoir Dogs – to music. There were a few LPs in jewel frames, too. One looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it: a laughing face, and solid white lettering.
They locked up a man for trying to rule the world. The fools, they locked up the wrong man.
On the desk was a set of dictionaries next to a Macbook Pro, as well as the main black desktop PC that seemed to be company standard.
Thomas Coulthard was sat behind the desk, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug. He was overweight but not massively so, maybe a stone or two over the healthy side. What remained of his hair was in a dark ring around his skull, not shaved but not long either. He reminded Marr of a middle aged librarian, though if he’d gone to school with Anna he was obviously younger than he looked.
‘Can I help?’ He asked, not standing.
Marr held out his ID. Thomas smiled, not moving his body at all. Marr was immediately reminded of a reptile. Thomas wasn’t wearing an unpleasant expression, but he wasn’t outright smiling either. Marr knew he had Thomas’ attention, but couldn’t have told you what the man was thinking.
‘In that case, I would guess it’s probably me who can help you. How can I be of service, inspector?’
‘Anna Markham, you knew her?’
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
‘Knew?’ he said.
Marr cursed himself silently.
‘She’s dead’ he said, deciding that there was little point trying to regain the lost ground.
Thomas said nothing for a moment. He put the mug down and joined his hands together, pointing the fingers up to his chin, his expression one of a disappointed headmaster.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I liked Anna.’
‘How long had you known her?’ Marr asked. No offer of a seat was forthcoming, but he took one anyway.
‘Probably fifteen years…it might even be longer’ Thomas said, thoughtfully. ‘We met in the last couple of years of primary school.’
‘And you’d been friends ever since?’
Thomas nodded.
‘We’ve lost touch a couple of times, I suppose, but we always came back to each other.’
‘Would you say that you made more of an effort to keep the friendship going? Or vice versa?’
‘No; it was six of one, half a dozen of the other. That’s one of the nice things about having such a long term friendship, isn’t it? No matter how long you spend apart, you can always pick right back up where you started.’
‘Did you ever have feelings for Anna?’
Thomas smiled.
‘Once, when I was young.’
Marr recognised a quote when it was being made, but he couldn’t place it.
‘And you got over it? It must have been tough if you were friends. Some friendships don’t recover from something like that: it can make things awkward.’
Thomas shrugged.
‘As I said, we had a couple of periods where we lost touch. That was one of those times, if you must know. We didn’t see each other much for a couple of years. But, we regained touch, and it became easier.’
‘Just like that?’
‘I said easier, not easy. It took time. I won’t pretend I was over the moon to be turned down, but like anything else in life, I learned to live with it and KBO, as Churchill would say.’
‘KBO?’
‘Keep buggering on.’
Marr smiled.
‘Can you think of anyone that might have had a grudge against Anna? Anyone who might have wanted her dead?’
Thomas rumpled his brow.
‘No, not really. I mean, she was an ambitious professional. God knows how blood-thirsty it got at her place: contracts to be won, commission gained and lost. Maybe she stole a contract from under someone else’s nose and they bumped her off.’
‘You don’t seem too concerned that one of your oldest friends was murdered.’
Lifting his cup back up to his lips, Thomas seemed to mull the point over.
‘Well, maybe you’re right’ he said, eventually. ‘I’ve always found it easier to be flippant. Lots of people do. My sense of humour was always a bit dark, even when I was younger.’
‘Did Anna ever talk about work?’
‘No, not really; she liked to talk about nonsense when we spent time together. I’m not entirely sure she enjoyed her job that much, but I think it paid quite well and she was obviously good at it. Anna always had an aptitude for anything that involved being social.’
‘What was she like as a child?’
‘Tough
. Twenty years ago, you’d probably use the term ballbreaker. She was tough. She knew what she wanted, and most of the time she’d get it.’
‘Did you think she was spoilt?’
Thomas laughed.
‘Oh god, no. No, John and Michelle were loving parents, but they didn’t have any money when Anna was young. John’s earned his money in the last ten years or so. I always got the impression he was a little bit of a drifter, but then hit forty and realised he had no money for his retirement. Ten years later, he sold a business and retired. He should write a book: ‘How I changed my life in ten years’ or something. I’d buy it.’
‘Where do you think Anna got her toughness from?’
‘Who knows? I used to think it might have been Michelle, but then I saw her sobbing her eyes out to a TV show about puppies. The truth is, I think Anna was just born tough. The first day I met her, she strolled right over to me and said ‘I want that book’. Needless to say she got it, along with a lifetime friendships. What a waste…’
All the things Thomas was saying, Marr would expect someone who’d just lost a loved one to say. But the tone…it wasn’t quite right. Thomas sounded like he was reading lines from a play: he was an actor who hadn’t yet mastered the text.
‘What did you think of Anna’s fiancée?’ Marr asked, receiving a barked laugh in response.
‘Ah yes, the caveman. Well, I won’t mince words: I don’t think she could have made a worse choice.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, I presume you’ve met Greg by now?’
Marr nodded.
‘He seemed like a nice enough guy.’
Thomas smiled.
‘Did you actually think that, or did you just think he was a bit dim?’
‘I’m assuming you thought the latter.’
Thomas sighed
‘Greg’s clearly a decent looking guy – but I just thought he was too basic for Anna. She was beautiful, clever, sophisticated…I thought she probably could have done better than a former soldier.’
‘What’s wrong with a soldier?’ Marr asked, and Thomas smiled and wagged his finger.
