by SP Edwards
‘You won’t catch me out like that inspector. One poorly phrased comment and I’ll be splashed over the local papers: ‘Army hating murder suspect’. No, I don’t have a problem with soldiers. What they do is incredibly brave, and they deserve respect. But it’s pointless to pretend that they aren’t mostly a bit dim, especially the ones who go in when they’re seventeen. I mean, show me an intelligent person who sees footage of desert warfare and thinks, ‘I’ll have a piece of that’.
Thomas sounded like he was auditioning for a television panel show. Every word he spoke sounded like it was for some external audience. Like he was playing to a room that only he could see.
‘Did you ever voice your concerns to Anna?’ Marr asked. Thomas just smiled again. The smile reminded Marr of a text Lizzie had sent him once.
‘It’s like playing chess with a pigeon; no matter what you say or do, the pigeon is still going to knock all the pieces over, shit on the board and walk around like it’s won.’
Thomas was definitely the pigeon.
‘I think I probably got drunk and said something once,’ he continued ‘But there was little point me wagering some kind of sustained campaign against him. For starters, every idiot knows that the worst possible way to try and split a couple up is to attack the boyfriend: it’s an invitation to protect him. Secondly, this was Anna. She was stubborn and knew what she wanted: and like it or not, she wanted Greg. Her mind simply wasn’t for changing.’
Marr nodded, agreeing the point. Marr didn’t doubt that had anyone attacked Gregor, Anna probably would have defended him.
What perplexed Marr was how someone like Thomas – who whatever else he might have been, obviously had some brains – could struggle to understand why a girl would fall in love with Gregor Stanic. A hard-working, well-off, in-shape tough guy who was obviously dedicated to his wife.
But then men like Thomas, in Marr’s experience, could be pretty selective about where they aimed that all-knowing ‘perception’. Sure, you could learn to be perceptive; to analyse people and situations with a bit more depth. But what would you see if that gaze turned inwards?
‘What about Caroline Marcus?’
‘What about her?’
‘You were friends with Anna, and she was friends with Caroline. I assume that you knew her, too?’
‘A bit, but I didn’t see her that much. We were definitely only surface friends. Caroline was fine, don’t misunderstand me, but we never would have gotten on at a deeper level.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, Caroline – and I don’t mean to sound too cold here – Caroline was just a bit of a drama queen. She seemed to crave hysterics. It seemed like whenever I met her she was in the throes of some kind of crisis, whether it was work, or home, or boys. I don’t know, some people just don’t seem like they’re alive unless they’re making a fuss. It was all first world problems, too.’
‘Anna’s parents seemed to think that she had depression.’
Thomas’ lip curled.
‘Well, she might have been prescribed medication for it.’
‘But?’
‘I got the sense that if Caroline could just take the identity crisis that would come with realising she was just as boring and mundane as the rest of the human race, she’d probably be OK. She had that raging insecurity that comes from a fear of mediocrity.’
‘The trouble with people like that is they don’t realise that it’s much nicer to be around someone who’s boring and OK with it than someone who’s constantly crying out for attention because they’re scared to look in the mirror. Caroline wasn’t depressed, inspector, not really: she was just in denial.’
‘Anna didn’t seem to think so.’
‘Well, maybe not, but Anna was her father’s daughter. She might have been a ballbreaker at times, but Anna cared about people. And Caroline was always ready to lap up any sympathy going.’
‘Do you think Caroline could have killed Anna?’
Thomas barked a laugh. Like almost everything that came out of his mouth, it sounded put on; deliberate. A show.
‘No, I don’t think Caroline would have killed Anna. Anna was her audience: where would she have been without her? Anna was always, always ready to deal with Caroline’s little problems. Even in the lead up to the wedding Caroline had been texting her about boy trouble, and Anna had been doing her best to sort it.
I bumped into Caroline at The Castle pub a few nights ago, actually. Last Tuesday I think it was. Going on and on about life, her troubles. You’d think with the wedding she’d be able to put her own issues aside, wouldn’t you? But no, she just went on and on and on. Maybe it’s lucky the wedding didn’t go ahead: it saved everyone the ignominy of Caroline answering a phone call from her on/off man halfway through the ceremony.’
Marr sighed. Talking to Thomas was draining. It was like talking to a teenager: that combination of arrogance and a lack of self-awareness, and the ability argue both points at the same time just to ensure he sounded smart.
‘Who do you think murdered Anna, Thomas?’
Thomas shrugged.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t a clue. It could have been Caroline, I suppose: maybe she went nuts and decided she couldn’t bear sharing the attention, even for Anna’s wedding day. Maybe the caveman was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and thought Anna was a Jihadi soldier. Who knows?’
The bait was obvious, and Marr ignored it. Thomas was a man who liked to get reactions, meaning that he wasn’t worthy of one.
‘And you Thomas, where were you…’
‘Here, Inspector. I was here doing the night-shift. You can ask Beth at reception.’
He smiled an unpleasant smile, one that Marr was happy – just this once – to return.
‘And when was that?’ he asked.
‘Last night.’ Said Thomas, as if it was obvious. Marr said nothing, enjoying as the smile slid off Thomas’s face. His eyes narrowed, and he understood.
‘I see. Anna wasn’t murdered last night, then?’
‘No’ said Marr, knowing immediately that Thomas definitely didn’t have an alibi at work, and that he probably didn’t have one anywhere else either.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Thomas has got nothing, No alibi, no witnesses as to where he was.’ Marr said, calling Brooke from the car on his way back home.
‘Neither does anyone else’ Brooke barked back, ’the fiancée, the parents, the best friend. Christ, why don’t these people get out more? Bloody TV, that’s what it is: digital subscriptions are killing off our social lives.’
‘Maybe that’s true, sir. We should issue a press statement: Superintendant blames murder rates on BBC iPlayer.’
‘iWhat? Don’t tempt me, Steve. Honestly, my lad lives on his iPad. I’d chuck it out but the little bugger’s got this thing installed which means he can go and find it if I do. It’s like living with a fourteen year old wizard. Has anything come out of the house-to-house?’
‘No, nothing. Did the doctor tell you it was a stabbing?’
‘Halfway through a rant about the mud on his wheels, yes. If marrying cars becomes legal, he’ll first down the aisle. Anna’s fiancée’s a soldier, isn’t he?’
‘Ex-soldier.’
‘Well then, I’d say that puts him nicely near the top of our list of suspects.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Brooke laughed.
‘Well, I’m happy to be proven wrong, but the doc seemed to think this was quite a sophisticated kill, which means a sophisticated killer. It’s down to you to prove otherwise.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Marr got home, the smell of gravy was ready to meet him.
‘Casserole?’ he said, walking through the kitchen door.
‘No, Lizzie,’ his wife corrected him, ‘You could at least have learned my name before you knocked me up.’
Marr shrugged.
‘Well, I knock up so many women…’
‘I suppose at thirty seconds a
shag, you can squeeze a lot of them into a day.’
She kissed him on the cheek before retrieving the casserole from the oven. Marr devoured it hungrily, Lizzie watching him consume the bowl with an expression that was half pity and half respect at the speed.
‘I saw the doctor today’ she said.
‘Any bad news?’ he replied, smiling. Lizzie rolled her eyes.
‘Don’t be such a detective. No, everything’s fine, but they’ve said it’s medically important that I ask you whether you actually want this baby.’
Marr raised his eyebrows.
‘That doesn’t sound like medical advice.’
Lizzie shrugged.
‘No, it’s not, there was no non-awkward way of me just asking you.’
‘Fair enough,’ Marr replied, ‘Tell the doctor I didn’t know he cared so much.’
‘Well?’
Marr reached out for Lizzie’s hand, and pulled her to him.
‘What do you think about it?’ he asked.
‘You can’t use delay tactics on me, mister. You already know what I think, I’ve sent a text round to about twenty people.’
‘So does it matter what I say?’
‘Yes, of course it does. I could always trip down the stairs, tell everyone that you pushed me and that you’re a monster.’
Marr snorted into his bowl.
‘You’re sick, you know. I don’t think someone with your sense of humour should even be allowed near children.’
‘I’m a teacher.’
‘Yes, and haven’t grades fallen since they took you on…’
Lizzie slapped him with the tea towel.
‘Shut up. And tell me what you think: really.’
Marr sighed and took Lizzie’s hand.
‘Yes, I was shocked: I don’t think that’s optional unless you’re planning. Don’t you remember when Paul found out Jane was pregnant?’
Lizzie laughed.
‘He really was messed up, he looked like he’d sat on an iced toilet seat. But you’re not…well, toilet seat scared are you?’
‘No, I’m not. Look, I love you.’
‘I should fucking well hope so…’
‘…and I think you’re going to be a brilliant mum. And I think I’m going to be a horrible dad, and I think between us we’ll raise something resembling a passable human being.’
Lizzie reached over and kissed him on the cheek.
‘You’re a funny guy.’
‘Well, I try. Can’t knock ‘em up if you don’t knock ‘em dead first.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Across town, Becky and Sam were still working.
‘DI Marr already left?’ Sam asked.
Becky nodded.
‘Yeah, he’s on a six o’ clock start tomorrow.’
‘So am I; and yet, here I am.’
‘Slave to the cause, ma’am.’
‘Very true. Did you get any luck from house to house?’
‘None at all. We’ve put out a request for information from any drivers working near Hendon House that morning, but we’ve had nothing back. The driver of that drinks firm – the one Brian the Barman knew – didn’t see anything.’
Sam looked thoughtful.
‘I think DI Marr suspects Thomas Coulthard. No alibi, and to quote the great inspector, one creepy prick.’
Becky nodded.
‘Well, it would make sense. A long-time loser who just can’t stick the friend zone anymore. He wouldn’t be the first. I don’t know; I feel more like Caroline Marcus has something to do with it. Though I don’t necessarily think she was actually the killer. What about Stanic?’
Sam shrugged.
‘No motive. DI Marr isn’t convinced either.’
‘What about Anna’s work?’ Becky asked. Sam let out a laugh.
‘They were really devastated to lose her, sorry for her family, and very grateful we let them know so they could hire a replacement.’
‘Christ. Just shows where being tied to a desk will get you, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s why I never went near a proper job: no loyalty anymore. The force for me.’
‘There’s just as much bullshit here as anywhere else.’
‘True, but at least there’s some good in it. Christ, imagine spending fifty hours a week on something like adverts.’
‘Everyone’s got to work’ Sam shrugged. ‘Though I guess you could probably question the logic of people in sales earning less than nurses, or mid-wives.’
‘As DI Marr will find out, soon enough.’
Sam looked thoughtful.
‘I suppose he will.’
‘How’re you feeling about it?’
‘Amused; in a way. I mean, it’s not like I even want a family, last of all with him. It’s Lizzie, though…well, I feel bad for her.’
Becky raised her eyebrows.
‘Well…as bad as you can feel, anyway,’ Sam added, conceding the point. ‘Whatever he’s done…she’s the mum-to-be. Not that Lizzie can’t take of herself, but still. As far as she knows, she’s got a young family. Husband, kid on the way…’
‘I don’t think Lizzie’s that old fashioned.’
‘Well no, maybe not, but it’d be nice for her to have the option.’
‘She still does. Even if she found out, it’s her choice what happens after that. And she’s tough.’
Sam nodded.
‘Tough as nails. Well, I suppose in a way it doesn’t really matter. I don’t think he’ll tell her.’
‘You don’t?’
‘No. Steve’s not an idiot. If he thinks he can get away with it, he’ll try to. Why rock the boat: I mean, what has he really got to gain by telling Lizzie?’
‘He won’t be lying to his wife if he does.’
Sam laughed.
‘He’s already been lying to his wife. For nearly a year. That’s never going away: it’s a stain he can’t clean off. So why bother? His kid-to-be will probably be better off not knowing, maybe he thinks Lizzie would be, too. Hell, maybe he’d be right.’
‘You could tell her yourself. It might be better off coming from you.’
‘Better off for me, maybe. She’d hate me, but that ship’s sailed anyway. All it would do is make him look even more spineless. Christ, Steve, the bitch who ruined my marriage has more guts than you.’
‘You didn’t ruin her marriage. It’s his affair, not yours.’
Sam smiled.
‘That’s not how these things go down, and you know it. I’m not betraying anyone, no, but it doesn’t stop me being the home-wrecker.’
‘So what do you actually want?’
‘More progressive views on gender? I don’t know. However far we’ve come, it feels like some things just won’t ever change. God forbid men actually get the blame sometimes.’
Becky shrugged, but Sam continued.
‘I mean, if Alex had an affair, would you be able to just take him back, just like that? To pass the buck along in order to make the marriage work, or at least to give it a try?’
‘Well, I suppose so. Not that there would be much to save: who really needs a husband with his eyes gouged out?’
Sam nodded, faux respectfully.
‘You’re a sensitive soul, DS Alexander. I suppose I’m only patronising Lizzie anyway: I’m sure she’ll have no problems dealing with the fallout.’
‘Even less so if she doesn’t find out.’
Sam sighed.
‘I don’t know; I’m happy to let him suffer. No more than he deserves. But I don’t know…ruining a family is something else.’
Becky smiled, reached across the desk to rest her hand on Sam’s.
‘If the family’s strong enough, it can be put back together,’ she said. ‘And if it can’t, it wasn’t you who ruined it, Ma’am. I like the boss, I won’t pretend I don’t, but anything bad that happens to him now is entirely his doing. I think he knows it, too.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Besides, look at Gregor Stanic; Michelle and
John Markham. That’s a ruined family. There are some things that you just can’t come back from. I don’t think a fling is one of them.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Caroline’s hands shook as she typed out the search term into Google.
Heaven and hell.
Images flooded the page. Flames. Darkness. Faces twisted up in suffering.
She sighed.
Caroline had never believed in any of it, even when she was very young. She’d sung hymns at school, and like most of her classmates hadn’t believed a word.
Even as a girl, she’d been unable to reconcile the messages of love and mercy with the suffering.
It had seemed impossible to reconcile it with the suffering, the pain in the world. Earlier that week, TVs and social media had been flooded with the news of pilot, slowly burned to death by the terrorist group. Caroline hadn’t known what was worse: that the video existed, or that hundreds of thousands of people had been happy to watch it. Whatever they told themselves, it amounted to the same thing: people gawping at a public execution, just as they did back in the middle ages.
Anna had died alone. Died in the mud, in the dark. No-one to hold her and tell her it was all going to be OK. No-one to whisper in her ear and tell her that she was loved. That people cared.
The sorts of things, in other words, that Anna had always said to her. Whenever an attack came, or when Caroline was at her lowest, it was always Anna who’d pick up the phone. Anna, who’d answer the ringing of her own mobile, whatever time of day it was.
‘What’s up chick?’ she’d say.
And then she’d just listen.
No matter how stupid Caroline felt, no matter if it was something that she knew wasn’t something to get worried about. Some nights Anna would come over, and they’d just sit down and watch stupid, trashy TV. Caroline would cry on her shoulder, and Anna would say the right things, the things that would help Caroline feel like life was worth it.
Even when Anna was at work and unable to take a call, she’d send texts. Nothing too deep: quotes from TV shows, jokes she’d read in a magazine, photos of some hot guy from the papers: anything that would help to take Caroline’s mind off the day to day.
