Falling into Crime

by Penny Grubb

  ‘Uh huh?’

  She heard his desperation in a detached way, heard him promise her information, frantic to hold her. She heard herself say yes to a meeting, but knew it was only to get him off the line. He knew it too. She clicked off the phone to the sounds of him trying to pin her down to a time.

  Clumping footsteps sounded. China clinked on the tiled surface of the low table. The tang of coffee snaked around her.

  ‘Here.’ Pat’s voice was curt. ‘Drink that. Tell me about it later.’

  Before Annie could stammer out a word of thanks Pat had hobbled back to the bedroom.

  She, Annie, had killed him. She knew it. He couldn’t stand the humiliation of her having broken him. Yet she still didn’t understand. His story had been confused but hadn’t had that much of a lie in it. She couldn’t begin to get inside his mind. She thought of the others – Heather Becke, Doris Kitson, the colonel, Tina Hain, the three girls. Reading them was a piece of cake; emotion lay naked on their faces. But Tremlow was a closed book.

  One hour. Jennifer wouldn’t be off duty for another hour. She cupped both hands round the hot drink warming herself against a sudden chill.

  Her phone lay on the table top. Must remember to charge it later. Would she really go to meet Maz? Thoughts paraded as she grabbed at anything to keep Scott’s call out of the forefront of her mind. Did Maz have anything for her or would she walk into a trap and find herself surrounded by grinning faces crowing over her stupidity? But he was no killer, just an amateur car thief, a boy who wanted to impress and who’d found the perfect foils in Mally, Laura and Kay.

  The next sixty minutes crawled by.

  Jennifer answered on the third ring. ‘Oh, Annie … Hello?’

  The surprised tone told her Scott hadn’t been in touch and she wasn’t expecting a call. It seemed presumptuous to expect Jennifer to meet her, to talk police business, without Scott having paved the way.

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to come out for a coffee. It’s not often we’re both off-duty at the same time.’ She tried to keep her tone bright, as though the suggestion was the most normal thing in the world.

  ‘That’s a kind thought, Annie, uh … Actually, I’d planned on … Still, I suppose … Yes, why not? Thanks.’

  Well might Jennifer sound surprised. The request was without precedent. And she mustn’t make Jennifer feel ambushed once they were together, so she added, ‘Sad about poor Charles Tremlow, isn’t it?’

  ‘The guy from Milesthorpe? Why, what’s happened?’

  Annie’s heart dropped like a rock in still water. Not only had Scott not been in touch, Jennifer didn’t even know about it. Their meeting became an unnecessary waste of time. She cast about for a way to rescind the invitation Jennifer hadn’t wanted to accept, and couldn’t find one.

  Annie sat in Starbucks near the station hugging a cup of coffee not half so fierce as Pat’s brew. Jennifer arrived ten minutes later. It was the first time since Terry Martin’s funeral Annie had seen her in civvies. She wore her hair loose, straggling over the shoulders of a flowery blouse. The untidiness and fussy material sat awkwardly with Jennifer’s stately form; the ill-matched skirt at just the length to suggest dowdiness rather than make the most of her long legs. But for all her awkward manner Annie could see Jennifer was comfortable in her own skin. Maybe that was the clue to Scott’s comment about ‘women like Jen’.

  ‘I made enquiries about Charles Tremlow,’ Jennifer opened. ‘Isn’t it awful? Have you any idea why he did it?’

  I know why he did it. ‘Uh … no. Let me get you a drink. Coffee?’

  When she sat down again, Annie asked, ‘Where did they find him?’

  ‘In his car on the cliff road outside Milesthorpe. I wonder what drove him to that?’

  Annie swallowed hard. It was me. I did it. ‘Is it definite that it’s suicide?’

  ‘Oh yes, I think so. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered. You hear of these things. Odd sorts of deaths that turn out to be accidents.’ Annie felt compelled to press the point, to find a way out of the guilt.

  Jennifer gave her a hard look. ‘Not in this case. Hosepipe from the exhaust. There’ll have to be a post-mortem and everything. Why are you so keen it shouldn’t be suicide?’

  Because if it is, I did it. ‘I just hate to think of anyone in that much despair, and he didn’t seem like someone who’d do that.’

  ‘What do people who do that seem like? You never know with people. There’s so much hidden beneath the surface.’

  So much hidden … The phrase sent a chill down Annie’s spine. ‘But could he have been killed by whoever killed the woman in the building on the cliff?’

  That hard look again. ‘No. No, definitely not.’

  ‘How can you be so certain?’

  ‘I can’t say much but we know what happened there … We know who did it. We need to confirm it, that’s all.’

  ‘But there’s been no fuss. There’s a killer loose.’

  ‘No, there isn’t,’ said Jennifer. ‘The person responsible is dead. Look, you mustn’t say anything, not yet. It’s just that there’s been a problem getting a definite ID. Trying to trace family, all that …’

  The words stopped Annie for a moment. It was a long time since she’d given the dead woman any thought in terms of her being a person with family. There might be parents, children, a husband. What did you say to people? Your daughter … your wife … her body lay hidden for weeks … when we found her she was half rotted.

  She sat up suddenly. What did Jennifer mean, the killer was already dead? ‘But Jennifer, you can’t mean Terry Martin did it? He couldn’t have. He–’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything else, Annie!’ Jennifer’s words cut through with enough authority to silence her.

  There was an awkward pause, then a phone rang. They both reached for their bags but it was Jennifer’s handset that flashed an incoming call.

  Annie chewed on what Jennifer had let slip. Terry Martin? No, it couldn’t have been. Terry Martin chased shadows. He didn’t strangle women. The answer was in her head. She needed time to calm down and think it through rationally. She and Pat would suss it out between them when she got back.

  Annie became aware that Jennifer’s gaze was on her as she finished her call. She looked up into a steady stare that stood the hairs on her arms to attention.

  ‘One of my colleagues said he’d keep me posted on any news.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They’ve found a note. Charles Tremlow left a note.’

  Emotion flooded Annie. Culpability, like shrapnel, flew out from the words Tremlow had left behind. ‘What did he say?’ It was a whisper.

  ‘Said he couldn’t live with it.’

  Why was Jennifer’s voice so flat and calm? Why didn’t she come right out and accuse Annie of pushing an old man over the edge?

  ‘Terry Martin,’ Jennifer said. ‘Tremlow’s confessed to killing Terry Martin.’

  Chapter 19

  Annie watched herself twist the key in the lock of the apartment, click down the handle and push open the door. Stunned disbelief fought guilty relief for dominance. If it was true that Tremlow had killed Terry Martin then his suicide wasn’t her fault.

  Pat, in the middle of an enormous yawn, looked up as she entered and further distorted her face by way of greeting. She let the full extravagance of the yawn take its course then said, ‘OK, let’s have it. What did lover boy want? Storm in a teacup or something important?’ Before Annie could answer, Pat shot her a piercing look and added, ‘It doesn’t look like quite the calamity it was this morning.’

  Pat was right, the guilt had lifted. It didn’t feel half so bad. ‘In one way, it’s worse.’

  Annie gave Pat a brief summary of events, ending with the call Jennifer had received. ‘He killed Terry Martin,’ she finished. ‘He confessed to it in his suicide note.’

  Pat’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Christ, there’s a turn up. What did the note say exactly?’


  ‘I don’t know. Jennifer didn’t say.’

  ‘So there was something in your theory, after all.’

  Not much, thought Annie. She hadn’t come close to guessing Tremlow’s secret. The killer he’d protected was himself. She’d majored on mystery men on the scaffolding tower.

  ‘I mean it, Annie,’ Pat said. ‘Something got at you; told you it wasn’t as straightforward as it looked. You’ve got the right instinct. Don’t discount it.’

  Annie looked up through the window out across the estuary, a panorama on a world that bustled on unmoved by Tremlow’s death; unaware he’d ever lived.

  ‘The Martins’ll have to be told,’ she said.

  Pat nodded.

  ‘But told what exactly, and when and who by? Should I go out there now before the police get there?’

  ‘You could, but I’d advise you to wait, see if you can find out more. They’ll want to know how it happened, what the note said. If the police get there first, it won’t do any harm.’

  Pat hadn’t told her what to do, she’d advised her. This was her case now; her decisions to make. She thought she’d already had that authority and now recognized she hadn’t been ready. The weight sat heavy on her shoulders, but didn’t crush her. ‘They’ll have to reopen the enquiry into Terry’s death, won’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, might disrupt your social life a bit, but it shouldn’t be too resource-hungry with the killer off the books.’

  Annie acknowledged the comment with a small curl of her lip. ‘It was my fault Tremlow died, you know. If I hadn’t pushed him the way I did, he wouldn’t have done it.’

  ‘Don’t get hung up on if-onlys, Annie. They never brought anyone back to life. What was that about the first murder, about that killer being dead too? They can’t have meant Terry Martin did it, can they?’

  ‘That was my first thought, but I know exactly who it was. Terry knew too. It was Edward Balham, the missing farmer. I don’t know how they know it’s him, or how they know he’s dead, but I’m sure that’s who Jennifer meant.’

  ‘Yes, I think you’re right. That copper saw something on the film the first time we ran it for him. Maybe Balham’s been on their books for a while. And who knows what they found when they searched the site. Balham probably topped himself too.’

  ‘Why the secrecy?’

  ‘I suppose they want to identify the poor cow they found up there. And Balham could have thrown himself off the cliff. It can take time for a body to wash ashore.’

  ‘That’s why there was no big murder enquiry then. They knew right from the start the killer was dead.’ She wished Scott would trust her with this sort of stuff. After all, she hadn’t broken any of his confidences.

  ‘Poor buggers. They’ve not only got Tremlow on their hands, they’ve an unidentified murder victim, a family to trace and another missing body. And not one of them young or glamorous enough to attract extra resources. It always makes me glad to be this side of the line when things like this happen.’

  Me too, thought Annie. Not that beggars could be choosers in her own position, but at least she had the perception of choice. Scott and Jennifer had to do anything and everything they were ordered to do.

  Memory walked her back along the paths and pastures of Milesthorpe, from the track behind the houses where the remnants of a sea breeze reached a couple of miles inland, to the fierce gale at the top of the crumbling clay cliff. Tremlow had chosen to die up there just a spit from the first murder scene. Did Tremlow know what Balham had done? Had Terry Martin gone round there to confront him? It was all conjecture.

  ‘Before I go out to see the Martins,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see if I can get a look at Tremlow’s suicide note.’

  ‘You’re going to try sweet-talking the faithful plod?’

  ‘I know he was involved when Tremlow was found, and unless anything else has happened, he should be off duty this afternoon.’

  ‘You want me out of the way, do you?’

  ‘No no. We’ll go out.’ Annie held up her hand. She hadn’t meant that at all. She’d thought vaguely in terms of another walk by the river.

  Pat looked up to a corner of the room, gaze unfocused, then said, ‘I need to have a word with Babs about Orchard Park; that flat number you gave me. I’ll give her a ring. She can take me round to her place. He’s more likely to come up with the goods if you’re on your own.’ She paused before ending on a speculative note. ‘You might have seen the last of the Earle case when Babs and I have done. Now get on the phone and get lover boy round.’

  Annie wanted to say, don’t solve it without me. I want to be in on the end of it, but it was Pat’s decision. She could only hope to get the full story later. She clicked out a text to Scott.

  Can u come 2 flat when u finish? Q to ask u.

  While she interrogated Scott about Tremlow, Pat would get together with Barbara over that address at the top of the block. She remembered Maz’s words. …when Sleeman’s mate legged her down the stairs … and how Vince had brought news about the job being cancelled. Between them she and Pat had re-ignited it behind his back. Annie had a feeling it was coming full circle and about to join up with Vince again.

  By the afternoon, the apartment was warm, comfortable and empty. Annie tried to quieten a flutter in her stomach. If Scott didn’t want to talk about Tremlow, she would have to finesse the information out of him, and wasn’t sure she could.

  When the door buzzer sounded, she took in several deep, measured breaths and didn’t hurry to let him in.

  ‘Hi, thanks for coming. Sit down. What d’you want to drink? Tea? Coffee?’

  He settled for a soft drink. ‘It’s been a hot day. It’s not pleasant dealing with a body in this heat.’ He sat back in the chair and looked around the room. ‘Nice place this. I didn’t really notice before.’

  ‘It wasn’t the sort of visit where you take note of the fittings.’

  ‘What was it you wanted to ask me?’

  ‘It’s about Charles Tremlow. I’m going to have to talk to Terry Martin’s parents. I want to be a position to answer their questions if I can, so really I just wanted to know what he’d said.’

  ‘In the note, you mean?’ Scott shrugged. ‘He didn’t give us much really.’

  Annie caught him in a brief glance towards his jacket where it lay over the back of the settee. Her mind raced over possible scenarios that could have brought him here with the note still in his possession. Maybe his partner dropped him off but left him with the evidence to deliver later. He’d taken time out to pick up his own car on the way but not stopped for long enough to change out of anything but the more overt elements of his uniform. At any rate she hoped those were uniform trousers. She didn’t want him to have quite such bad taste in clothes. She waited for him to elaborate, but he just said, ‘Did you get in touch with Jen?’

  ‘Yes, we had coffee, but she didn’t know about it till I told her. So how did it happen? Did Terry confront Tremlow about the body on the cliff?’

  Terry Martin head to head with Charles Tremlow? It was hard to see Tremlow coming out best in a fight against anyone, although Terry had been very drunk. Annie saw Scott shrug as he weighed up what he should and shouldn’t say. It annoyed her. Hadn’t she been open with him about the things she’d found?

  ‘We only have the note. It was short. It wasn’t an essay.’

  ‘What did it say exactly?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  Annie fought to hold on to a relaxed smile. Couldn’t tell her! She would see about that. She led the conversation away from the note.

  ‘So it was the car exhaust thing, was it? Why did he go up on to the cliff?’

  ‘Less chance of anyone finding him in time, I suppose. Poor old sod. He was a bit of a prat but harmless.’

  Annie laughed her disbelief. ‘Harmless? I thought he’d confessed to a pretty gruesome murder.’

  ‘He did, but the way he told it, it could have been an accident. He just hit out. Didn’t realize what he
’d done.’

  So the note had given some detail. She wondered if she could spin the conversation enough to tease the morsels from him bit by bit. She tried to picture what he described. ‘I can’t imagine a punch from Tremlow laying out a rabbit, let alone a full grown person.’

  ‘No, he hit out with a stick. He said where he’d hidden it and it looks like it’s for real. There’s congealed blood on it. It’s in the lab now.’

  ‘Where had he stashed it?’

  He was silent for a moment. Weighing up whether or not he’s allowed to tell me, Annie thought angrily, but held on to her smile. Maybe the smile did the trick. Maybe the information came under the doesn’t-matter-who-knows category.

  ‘In his loft,’ he told her.

  ‘But–’ Annie stopped. She’d been about to blurt out that it couldn’t have been. She’d stood beneath that loft access. ‘Uh … When did he put it there?’

  ‘Who knows? Same night I suppose.’

  She remembered the trapdoor. It hadn’t been touched in months. The image was clear in her mind. ‘I don’t think he could have done.’ She gave him a summary of how they’d called round; how she’d searched the house. ‘Not exactly searched,’ she amended. ‘I was just checking he was OK. The loft access caught my eye. I remember noticing it hadn’t been opened in ages.’

  ‘I don’t know that we’ve a reported sighting after that. You might have been the last person to see him.’

  ‘But we didn’t see him.’

  Scott’s face relaxed into a smile. ‘We’ve really not looked into it yet beyond a brief chat with a couple of neighbours.’

  Annie smiled back. She didn’t suppose resources would stretch too far for Tremlow, not with an unidentified murder victim and Balham still not found, dead or alive.

  ‘The loft thing’s useful,’ he went on. ‘He didn’t say when he’d stashed it.’