Behind Dead Eyes

by Howard Linskey

  ‘But Rebecca Holt wasn’t raped,’ Tom reminded Bell.

  ‘No,’ said Bell, ‘she was beaten to death by a madman,’ and he looked Tom directly in the eye.

  ‘Okay,’ said Tom, ‘let’s say it wasn’t you and it wasn’t a madman. Who else could it be?’

  ‘Her husband,’ said Bell without hesitation. ‘I’m serious. Who had the biggest motivation? If he found out about us …’

  ‘Perhaps,’ agreed Tom, ‘but why didn’t he kill you instead?’

  ‘I don’t know. Because I can fight back? Perhaps he didn’t fancy his chances against another man. Maybe he just couldn’t bear the thought of his property being handled by someone else so he had to destroy it.’

  ‘His property?’ repeated Tom. ‘It?’

  ‘That was the way he viewed her,’ said Bell.

  ‘She told you this?’

  ‘In so many words.’ And when Tom looked unconvinced Richard added, ‘She didn’t have to tell me explicitly but she mentioned things.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘He was jealous and possessive,’ said Richard.

  ‘Sounds like he had cause to be.’

  ‘Not from day one.’

  ‘So he drove her to it?’

  ‘He didn’t like her going out on her own. He didn’t want her to have friends at all. He’d complain if she dressed nice when she went somewhere without him or if she wore something too revealing when he was with her. He once told her all he wanted to do was keep her in a box. He thought that was a compliment.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Tom, ‘I’ll look into it.’

  ‘You’ll speak to her husband?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then be careful. Tell people you’re going to see him then make sure he knows you told them. I don’t want to read about you being washed up on the banks of the Tyne.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Freddie Holt is a very ruthless man who does not like to be crossed,’ said Bell. ‘He had some union problems once, a long time ago. He made them go away.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The old-fashioned way, using big guys with pickaxe handles.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Everybody knows it. I’m surprised you’ve not heard the stories.’

  ‘I’ve not,’ Tom admitted, ‘but I’ll check them out.’ And he thought for a moment. ‘If he’s the kind of man who sends men with pickaxe handles after his enemies, wouldn’t he do the same to you if he found out you were shagging his wife?’

  ‘I’ve thought about that. If he knew I was having sex with Rebecca behind his back he might have been tempted to break every bone in my body,’ said Bell, ‘but bones heal and this kind of punishment lasts a lifetime, quite literally.’

  ‘Are you actually saying he framed you?’

  ‘I’m saying it’s a possibility. I don’t know but it certainly suited him, didn’t it? He got rid of an unfaithful wife without having to pay her a penny in alimony and had his revenge against her lover at the same time. I’d say that was a bit of a result, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Assuming he didn’t love his wife,’ said Tom.

  ‘It wasn’t what I would call love,’ Bell assured him.

  ‘Explain the dead-letter drop to me,’ said Tom. ‘Why go to all that trouble?’

  ‘It might sound like a lot of trouble,’ said Bell, ‘but I couldn’t phone Rebecca at her house because I never knew when her husband would be around. There are only so many times you can say “Sorry, wrong number.” She didn’t own a mobile phone. Why would she need one? Rebecca was basically a housewife. She could hardly justify asking him for a mobile when she didn’t have any cause to use one, except to go behind his back with somebody. He would have suspected her straight away. He didn’t keep regular hours like normal guys. Sometimes he was away for days at a time or he’d show up suddenly without warning. We wondered if he did that just to test her. If she was at home when he came back then fine, but if she was out, she’d get the third degree; Where had she been and who was she with? If she was alone, which stores did she go to, if she was with friends who were they, if they went to lunch together what did everybody have? It used to drive her crazy, he was so controlling and he never trusted her.’

  ‘So you used your dead-letter drop to arrange meetings down Lonely Lane.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t arrange to meet her that day.’

  ‘Then why would she go there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Was she seeing someone else?’

  ‘God, no.’

  ‘You’re certain about that?’ Bell nodded. ‘And you definitely didn’t arrange a meeting for the day she was murdered?’

  ‘Positive. I wouldn’t forget a meeting with her. They took some setting up for one thing and …’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, they were memorable.’

  ‘Because of the sex?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bell answered defiantly, ‘but not just that. We had a connection.’

  ‘Did you love her?’

  ‘Rebecca?’

  Tom nodded. ‘It’s a legitimate question. I’m not just being nosey.’

  ‘I suppose I did.’

  ‘You suppose you did?’

  ‘I’m not sure I know what that word means. I’m not convinced I ever did. There were times when I was meeting Rebecca and I would be so excited I could actually feel my heart beating in my chest – but is that love or was it lust? Then afterwards I’d be driving away from her, feeling completely content except for wondering when I would be able to see her next. Is that love? Perhaps it is.’

  ‘And did she love you?’

  There was no hesitation this time. ‘Yes.’

  ‘She said so?’

  ‘She used the word.’

  ‘And did you use the word?’

  ‘Is this relevant?’

  ‘I don’t know yet – but I suspect I may have to ask you far more embarrassing questions than this before we are through, so why don’t you just answer?’

  ‘No, yes, in a way.’ And he sighed, ‘I used to routinely answer “Me too” or “So do I” and on occasion maybe “Love you too.” ’

  ‘But you’d say it quick, like you were making light of it?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he admitted.

  ‘Women notice that kind of thing,’ Tom told him.

  ‘I know,’ answered Bell, ‘I understand women, believe me. I just always associated the word love with something permanent and I didn’t see how we could ever be a permanent thing.’

  ‘Why not? I’m serious. If she loved you, she could have left her husband and you could have asked your wife for a divorce.’

  ‘You make it sound very simple.’

  ‘It could have been.’

  Bell shook his head. ‘What would we live off; fresh air? If I tried to divorce Annie I’d be out of a job like that,’ and he clicked his fingers. ‘If Rebecca left her old man he’d tangle her up with lawyers for years. He has money squirreled away all over the place, some in bank accounts in Jersey, property abroad, that kind of thing.’

  ‘You still could have done it though,’ Tom persisted, ‘made a clean break, started somewhere else, if you really wanted to.’

  ‘Yeah, well, perhaps we were just lazy then.’ His voice softened. ‘And I had the girls to think about.’

  ‘And how do you feel about them?’ asked Tom. ‘Your girls, I mean.’

  His reply was instant. ‘I love them more than life.’ Tom decided not to pursue Bell further on that.

  ‘Wasn’t it all a bit elaborate though?’ he asked instead. ‘Leaving messages for each other in a wall?’

  ‘I could hardly write letters to her or leave notes next to the frozen peas in her local supermarket.’

  ‘But you used to see her down the sports club?’

  ‘That’s how we met, but I was never really alone with her there. There’s always someone around. If a married woman is seen at the bar or on
a tennis court more than once with the same guy everybody just assumes they are screwing. They love a bit of gossip down there. They have money, they don’t work and they’re bored. They love to catch someone doing something they shouldn’t.’

  ‘What made you think of it?’

  ‘You can blame Annie for that. She bought me a spy novel for Christmas. The hero had to contact his agent in a hostile country, so they worked out a dead-letter drop. Basically you write a note then find a place to leave it but it has to be somewhere no one else is likely to stumble on by accident. There were loads of loose stones in the walls around the fields. I just had to mark one so Rebecca could find it. I got one of those tester pots and put a small splash of white paint on the stone then left my first note behind it when I put it back. It was easy.’

  ‘How did Rebecca know when to collect it?’

  ‘Up until that point we were trying to see each other every two or three days at the same time in the same place, but half the time it didn’t happen. If her husband was home or if Annie’s old man called a client meeting I couldn’t get out of, one of us would be left sitting there, so I promised I’d find a better way. Every morning on my way to work I’d pull over for a couple of minutes, scribble a note to Rebecca and leave it behind the stone in the wall. Sometimes it would say I could see her that day and what time, or at least I was able to tell her I couldn’t make it.

  ‘Rebecca would go out later that morning, pick up my message and leave one for me. I’d nip out in my lunch hour or on my way somewhere and pick up her reply. Sometimes it confirmed our appointment, sometimes she said she couldn’t do it, which was always disappointing but at least I would know and I wouldn’t waste my time hanging around waiting for her.’

  ‘Was that all you wrote? Just times to meet up?’

  ‘At first, but sometimes we would leave letters for each other. Rebecca started that.’

  ‘What was in the letters?’

  ‘Just, you know, how we felt about one another, how we wished we could be together and not trapped with other people. It was our way of keeping the flame burning when we couldn’t see each other.’

  ‘But you both destroyed these letters?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Except the one Rebecca left in the glove compartment,’ he reminded Bell. ‘Must have been stressful though, all that sneaking around.’

  ‘It was but you know what; it was exciting too. We were creeping round like a couple of teenagers whose parents didn’t approve of us being together. Like it was us against the world, you know. It was part of the game.’

  ‘I get it,’ Tom told him, ‘so what happened on the day she was murdered?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bell told him, ‘we weren’t meeting up that day. She wasn’t supposed to be there.’

  ‘That’s the bit I’m struggling to understand,’ Tom told him. ‘If you were saying she was killed by some passing maniac, that she was somehow in the wrong place at the wrong time and that you got there five minutes later then frankly even that would be pretty hard to swallow but it would be more believable than your story.’

  ‘It’s not a story, Tom,’ said Bell, ‘it’s the truth.’

  ‘Then what was she doing there if you didn’t arrange it? Did anybody else know about the dead-letter drop?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  Bell nodded. ‘I was very careful. There was never anyone around when I put the letter in the wall. No one else knew about it unless …’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Rebecca told them about it.’

  ‘And why would she?’

  ‘She wouldn’t,’ Bell said. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot. Even if for some inexplicable reason Rebecca wanted to tell a friend about it, if she felt the need to boast or confess or ask for advice, there would be no reason to reveal the exact location of our messages, would there?’

  ‘No,’ agreed Tom, ‘there wouldn’t, which leaves you with a problem and a big gap in your story. If this was the only way you communicated with one another, apart from the times you were physically together, then why did she go to your usual spot that day if you didn’t summon her?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bell admitted.

  ‘Could she have got the day or the time wrong?’

  ‘Maybe. I wish I knew, believe me. It has been eating me up for more than two years.’

  ‘Could someone have followed her and seen her leave a message there?’

  ‘It’s possible, I suppose, but I told her to be really careful, not to stop if she thought she was being followed or saw anyone else she knew. Even then the wall is set back away from the main road. You couldn’t just follow a car up that trail without being seen so I don’t understand how it could have happened.’

  ‘Then you have a very big hole in your story, because I don’t see how she could have been there that day if you didn’t arrange it.’

  ‘I know,’ Bell said and he placed his elbows on the table and put his hands up to his face in frustration. ‘I’ve driven myself half-crazy thinking about it.’

  ‘Then there’s your alibi,’ said Tom, ‘or lack of it. You told the court you went to see a former lover.’

  ‘I wouldn’t describe her as that.’

  ‘But you did have sex with her.’

  ‘She was a waitress at the sports club and it was only a two-time thing. Just a bit of fun, you know.’

  ‘And yet she summoned you to an urgent meeting and you dropped everything to go to her flat.’

  ‘She wrote to me at my office and told me she thought she was pregnant.’ Bell was exasperated. ‘Can you imagine how I felt when I got that note? She told me she had to see me. I was worried she was going to tell the whole world the baby was mine if I didn’t go.’

  ‘And when you called on her?’

  ‘She wasn’t there. She’d cleared out and the house was empty.’

  ‘She’d been gone a fortnight by then,’ said Tom, ‘off travelling the world, which rather blows a hole in your claim that she thought she was pregnant and desperate to see you that afternoon.’

  ‘I know,’ admitted Bell, ‘the police couldn’t trace her either, though I don’t think they really tried.’

  ‘How do you explain her letter?’

  ‘A prank from one of her friends or a cruel trick she played to shit me up because I wasn’t interested in seeing her again?’ Richard shook his head. ‘I don’t know what her motives were.’

  ‘You couldn’t produce the letter when the police asked you for it.’

  ‘I put it in the shredder,’ said Bell. ‘I could hardly keep it in my briefcase, could I? What if Annie found it?’

  ‘And the timing of this meeting roughly coincided with the time of Rebecca’s death.’

  ‘Within an hour or so.’ And he sighed. ‘I realise how it looks, believe me.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Tom. ‘It looks bad. It looks like you killed her.’

  ‘Why are you still here then,’ challenged Bell, ‘if you reckon I did it?’ He sat back in his chair and stared at the reporter.

  ‘I’m waiting for you to convince me otherwise,’ Tom told him. ‘Perhaps I want to believe you, maybe I feel there is something not quite right about this whole case. You could be telling the truth, and when I look at the evidence against you it all feels a bit convenient; a few small things that add up to not that much but it made the jury rule against you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Tom started counting the points off on his fingers while Bell listened to him, ‘One; they didn’t like you. They saw you as an arrogant womaniser. Two; you can’t reasonably explain why Rebecca was there on the day she died if you didn’t summon her. Three; the judge completely disregarded the notion that Rebecca could have been killed by a stranger. Four; you have no alibi but her husband and your wife do, which rules out two other people who might just have had cause to kill her, particularly the husband since we know the killer’s blows were so strong they coul
d only have been delivered by a man but alibis can be bought or concocted, particularly by wealthy businessmen.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Bell.

  ‘Though how the hell we can prove that, I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s the injustice that makes me so angry,’ said Bell. ‘I tell you, Tom, I have even contemplated killing a man in here, just so I could say I actually deserve the punishment I’ve been given. It’s not as if there aren’t a large number of suitable candidates. You wouldn’t believe the vermin in here. They would chill you.’

  Tom regarded Bell closely. He didn’t seem to realise that the words he had just uttered made him sound like a man capable of anything.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Isn’t the Metro fantastic,’ announced Helen as they emerged blinking into the light of a chilly but bright afternoon, ‘a couple of stops and we’re back in Jesmond. The trains are always half empty too.’

  ‘That’s because they’re all still in bed,’ Peter countered, ‘unless it’s collect-your-giro day.’

  Peter had been doing this more and more lately, believing every regional stereotype and cracking lame jokes about them; Scousers were thieves, Scots were alcoholics, Yorkshiremen never bought their round and Geordies were all unemployed. These were views he would have never have spouted at college but it was as if he had abandoned any notion of open-mindedness on the day they graduated.

  ‘We went to university with people from different parts of the country,’ she reminded him, ‘including the north-east.’

  ‘They don’t count,’ he’d told her with a glint in his eye. ‘They escaped and I bet none of them returned.’ Before adding, ‘No jobs to go back to.’

  ‘Most of the people up here have jobs, you know.’

  ‘If you say so,’ he said as if he was humouring her.

  ‘Not everybody gets the chance to work for their dad.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could prevent them. She could feel his whole body stiffen. A few steps later he let go of her hand, which signified the beginning of one of his sulks. She was supposed to apologise then. The withdrawal of the hand was a clear signal, which Helen chose to ignore. He didn’t say another word until they were back at her flat.