A Shred of Evidence

by Jill McGown

  “How could it miss? ‘Beautiful, independent woman with brown eyes, smashing legs, logical mind and a dislike of unreasoning arguments, seeks volatile bald male chauvinist with thickening waist and inflated ego, for flaming rows and occasional patronizing lectures.’ ”

  She nodded. “But luck did play a part,” she said. “It was pure luck that it was right next to ‘Lover of language, poetry, books and films seeks unromantic woman with little or no knowledge of the arts, shaky grasp of grammar and morbid fear of commitment, with a view to possible marriage.’ ” She smiled again, then looked worried. “Have we really got nothing in common?” she asked.

  “We’ve got this,” he said, rolling over, kissing her.

  “Sex?”

  “No! Though I’m not complaining,” he added hurriedly, lest she went off the idea. “No, I meant us—you and me, together. Whatever we happen to be doing. For a great deal of the time we’re not having sex.”

  “We can’t have ourselves in common,” she objected.

  “Yes, we can. We go together. We … complement one another. Interlock.”

  She looked a little dubious. “Like pieces of a jigsaw?” she said.

  He shrugged. “If you’re into tired old clichés, yes,” he said.

  She poked him in the ribs. “You just made sure I said it and not you,” she said.

  “Naturally,” he said, smiling. “But we are like pieces of a jigsaw. We’re just different shapes, that’s all. We still fit together.”

  She pulled a face. “Do you have to do that?” she said.

  He grinned.

  “Anyway, I’m a piece of earth and you’re a piece of sky,” she said.

  He liked that. He smiled. “Maybe,” he said. “But they do meet, remember. They meet on the horizon.”

  “The horizon,” Judy reminded him, “is an optical illusion.”

  Lloyd shook his head. “I’ll bet even your fantasies are grittily realistic,” he said.

  “What fantasies?” she said, putting her arms round him. “I don’t need fantasies.”

  And she kissed him then, a kiss not calculated to ensure a good night’s sleep, until she stopped kissing him, rather as though she had forgotten what she was doing.

  Lloyd drew back to see her looking thoughtful.

  “Speaking of fantasies,” she said.

  He groaned. “I know of no other woman who could be making love, utter these words, and be talking about work,” he said. “But you are. I know you are.”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  He couldn’t remember ever having had so many apologies from Judy in one night. “All right,” he sighed. “What?”

  “I didn’t just see Natalie on the bus,” she said slowly. “I sort of fantasized about being her mother.”

  Lloyd was beginning to feel he really had never known Judy at all. “Do you regret not having had children?” he asked.

  “No,” she said firmly.

  “Right,” he said, relieved that he had not been wrong, and that this was going to be about work, not about starting a family. “Carry on, Inspector.”

  “But I was just … wondering, when I saw her. What it would be like to be her mother. So I was watching her. Listening to her. Seeing how she behaved with her friends—and without them, when she was on her own.”

  “And you don’t think she wrote that letter,” he said.

  “No,” said Judy. “The girl I saw on the bus seemed too … I don’t know. Too adult. That’s a very adolescent letter, in between the sexy bits.”

  Lloyd nodded.

  “And that means that it’s very important to find out who did write it,” she said. “Because if she was there, whoever she is, waiting for Cochrane, while all that was going on …”

  “Then she almost certainly saw something,” said Lloyd. “But why wouldn’t she have come forward?”

  “From that letter, I’d say she’s very immature,” said Judy. “And if she did see anything, then I think she’s probably very frightened. Too frightened to tell anyone.” She looked serious. “And that’s dangerous,” she said.

  Hannah hadn’t even tried to sleep. Colin had been taken away by the police, that’s what Kim’s mother had said.

  They couldn’t possibly think that Colin had done it—he hadn’t even been there. She had waited and waited, but he hadn’t come.

  It was Kim’s fault. She’d told them about Natalie going with a teacher, and Julie wouldn’t have been able to wait to tell them those stupid rumours about Colin that seemed to have got round like wildfire. But they couldn’t arrest him because of that. There had to be something else.

  She knew what that was. She had known all along; that was why she had tried to stop Kim telling the police anything that would make them suspect Colin. She lay awake, her heart heavy with the knowledge that her letter saying she would meet him had probably caused all of this. They must have found it and thought it was from Natalie, because she was there.

  It was her fault. Colin was suspected of murder, and it was her fault. She would have to tell them it wasn’t Colin. She would have to do something. Tell them about the letters.

  She could tell them what she’d seen. But the fear that gripped her as soon as she even thought about that made her almost faint. She couldn’t. She couldn’t.

  She had to do something. Colin hadn’t been there—she had to make them understand that. Natalie hadn’t written that letter. Her eyes widened as she thought of a way. She could do it. She could. But she would have to go to school, and that filled her with just as much dread as going to the police. Murray would see her.

  She could go to Colin’s house. Yes. Yes, she could go to his house. Early. Before he left for school. Oh, but he might see her, and she didn’t want that. Really early, then, before he was even up. But what if he was still with the police? What if he never got it? He would. He would get it—they couldn’t keep him there for ever—he hadn’t done anything wrong.

  She slipped out of bed and switched on the computer. If they believed the other letter they would believe this one, and it would prove that Colin hadn’t even been there.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nothing new had come in overnight; after the morning briefing, the squad dispersed on various duties, leaving Judy, Tom and Lloyd in the murder room.

  Poor Lloyd, thought Judy. She must have petrified him last night, but she had had to deal with an overwrought pathologist, a distraught mother, a garage mechanic, hostile colleagues and a post-mortem all before just being alone with him, which had in itself brought her emotions dangerously close to the surface. The sudden, frightening thought that she might have taken him for granted for too long had just been one emotional jolt too many. Now that she was herself again, she couldn’t really recapture that dreadful feeling; just the effect it had had on her. She felt more than a little silly, if truth be told, and grateful to Lloyd for behaving as though it had never happened.

  “I think Natalie got tired of waiting for Cochrane and let someone else have a legover,” Tom said. “Cochrane caught her at it and lost his rag—finished her off when he saw the damage he’d done.”

  Lloyd looked at him over his specs as he read the night duty’s reports. “You have such a poetic touch,” he said.

  “He did it, guv,” said Tom. “If he washes his own clothes, I’m Groucho Marx. And I smelt that deodorant.”

  Lloyd took off his glasses. “It makes sense,” he said. “But I don’t want us concentrating on Cochrane to the exclusion of all else, because all this is purely circumstantial.”

  Oh, get him, thought Judy. He had built up more fool-proof circumstantial cases than anyone she knew. Except, of course, that he didn’t actually believe in them. He wanted them to be picked over and the bones extracted, because the flesh was pure invention, and he knew it.

  Tom simply believed that he was right, and Lloyd was determined not to encourage that.

  “Until we get forensic or eye-witness evidence to the contrary, I think we have to as
sume that what we have been told by Mrs. Cochrane is true,” Lloyd went on.

  “But, sir—”

  “Don’t make the facts fit your theory, Tom. Keep an open mind. We should get the reports on the physical evidence at the scene today—let’s not speculate.”

  But oh, God, he could be so irritating, thought Judy, watching Tom’s reaction with a smile.

  Tom was due at the forensic lab; he had turned to go, but he turned back again, deciding to put up a fight. “He was having an affair with her, sir. The letters say so. She arranges to meet him on the Green. He can’t account for twenty minutes of that so-called run, and his wife just happens to see her alive before Sherlock the bloodhound conveniently finds her dead? Come on, guv—even if I hadn’t smelt his deodorant, it’s got to be worth looking into.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t worth looking into. Of course it is. But I’m sure the inspector will tell you what’s wrong with your theory.” He smiled at Judy. “You have the floor,” he said.

  Judy looked at Tom, and smiled sympathetically. Lloyd in his wise and wonderful mood was perhaps the most irritating thing that could happen to a person first thing in the morning. It happened to her a lot more than it happened to Tom.

  “The twenty minutes unaccounted for is your best bet from that lot, Tom,” she said.

  “What’s wrong with the rest of it?” he asked.

  “Well, I don’t believe that the letters are from Natalie, so I’d give you an argument there—and you haven’t proved that they are, yet. And while Cochrane can’t prove he was running, he’s not obliged to. You have to prove that he wasn’t, and you haven’t done that yet either.” She smiled. “Where were you on Tuesday evening?” she asked.

  “Here, doing that stuff for the CPS,” he said gloomily.

  “Did anybody see you?”

  “No,” said Tom. “I was here alone—but my wife didn’t happen to see the victim alive, and my dog didn’t find her dead.”

  “No,” Judy agreed. “But if they had, would that automatically make you a suspect?”

  “I wasn’t getting passionate love letters from the victim,” said Tom.

  “Perhaps neither was Cochrane,” she said. “And wasn’t Mrs. Cochrane’s call logged at ten twenty-five?”

  “Yes,” said Tom.

  “So all in five minutes, despite the fact that he’d just come in covered in blood and told her he’s an adulterer and a murderer, they work out this elaborate alibi between them? And then she ad libs?”

  “She didn’t know the neighbours had seen him.”

  “He did—I think he might have mentioned it. And what sort of alibi would it have been, anyway?”

  “Well—like you said, they didn’t have much time to organize it.”

  “That they didn’t. Even if she called us from their own phone, she would still have had to get to the Green—which is a ten-minute walk away—by the time the patrol car got there in answer to her call, and it was a fast response, as I remember.”

  “Well, it could just—” Tom began.

  “And the neighbours saw his car coming from the other direction,” she added. “Down Larch Avenue, from the school. Their statement is available to investigating officers, if they care to look at the case-files now and then.”

  Lloyd grinned. “That’s my girl,” he said. “Theory demolisher to the gentry, Tom—you didn’t stand a chance. And the fact is that there is no evidence that Cochrane was having an affair with Natalia, and there is no evidence that he killed her, therefore I don’t want you concentrating on him until there is, all right?”

  “Guv,” sighed Tom, and left.

  “Was that discouraging enough?” Judy asked.

  “It should have done the trick,” said Lloyd.

  “No new thoughts from you?”

  “No,” he said. “Inspired guesses come from information received, and we have so far received very little real information at all.”

  But it should start coming in today, thought Judy, now that all the appeals and enquiries would be sinking in, getting round. Now that the lab would have completed its work on Natalie’s clothes and all the rest of it.

  It didn’t seem possible that no one had seen anything, particularly if Tom was right and a third party had been involved. The boy, or whatever, must have run away. Didn’t anyone see that?

  “I don’t suppose you’ve come up with an answer to the little puzzle, have you?” Lloyd asked.

  “The shoes?” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine why they were left down there, unless …” She hesitated before she said what she could imagine, because she didn’t want to. “Unless he was going to keep them, and changed his mind,” she said quietly.

  Lloyd sighed. “That means you still think there’s a possibility of other victims,” he said. “That we’ve got a potential serial killer who was thinking of starting a collection.”

  She nodded. “If Freddie’s right about how it might have happened, then it sounds psychopathic to me,” she said.

  “If Freddie’s right,” said Lloyd. “But theories, as you’ve just demonstrated, always come to grief.”

  Judy hoped so. “But I think Freddie’s right about the underwear,” she said. “If she had consented, we would be talking about a quickie, out in the open, remember, with someone else about—someone known to Natalie, someone who could get her into trouble if she caught her. She wasn’t likely to be peeling things off one by one.”

  “But that’s an assumption,” Lloyd said. “You’re always telling me that you can’t base logical thought on assumptions. Granted, it seems unlikely in the circumstances, but we don’t know that she didn’t. Let’s just regard that as another little puzzle for the moment, along with the shoes.” He paused. “And Cochrane’s missing twenty minutes,” he said. “And Mrs. Cochrane’s lack of interest in how her film ended.”

  “I can do that one,” said Judy. “She didn’t watch it.”

  Lloyd’s face fell. “Oh,” he said.

  “Her headmaster came and asked her to go in to work early next morning,” said Judy. “When he left, she remembered that the dog hadn’t been out.” She smiled. “Have I just jumped on a theory that hadn’t even been voiced?” she asked.

  Lloyd smiled too. “Not really,” he said. “It was just Finch’s insistence that she isn’t being entirely open with us. I thought perhaps she had something to hide. Of course, we only have her word for it that that was how she spent the evening.”

  “And the headmaster’s,” said Judy. “I spoke to him on the telephone yesterday evening. He confirmed that he called on Mrs. Cochrane at about ten past eight, and stayed for about an hour and a half, discussing the wording of a letter he was sending out to the parents.”

  “Why?” said Lloyd.

  Judy frowned. “I think it had something to do with the uniforms,” she said. “He’s a bit long-winded.”

  “No. I mean why did you seek confirmation?”

  “Because I know what Tom means. She was evasive about her husband teaching at Natalie’s school. It did take her too long to tell us that she’d seen Natalie alive. And she was really startled to discover that he hadn’t got home at ten,” she said. “Not just because he’s never late—it was more as though she knew that he must have been home by then.”

  Lloyd tipped his chair back. “You wondered if Tom’s first and second theories could be combined?” he said. “If Cochrane had killed Natalia earlier—say nine-thirty—gone home, told his wife … Then they would have had time to concoct an alibi.”

  “Well, I …”

  “But instead of staying in the house, Cochrane went to fetch his car from the school, in case its presence raised any awkward questions about his movements. The neighbours saw him bringing it back, and pop goes the alibi?” He nodded. “Not bad,” he said approvingly, letting the chair down.

  Sometimes she knew why living with him would be a mistake.

  “Cochrane would hardly be so eager to have a blood test, if that were the
case,” he said. “Would he?” He smiled magnanimously at her. “But I can see why you were pursuing it.”

  “I never said I thought any such—” Judy began indignantly.

  “Pity the headmaster had to spoil it, really,” Lloyd went on, blithely ignoring her. “But I don’t think Natalia wrote those letters,” he said.

  “You don’t think—” Judy gave up, mid-sentence. Lloyd was winding her up, and she wasn’t going to let him do it to her. “No,” she said. “Neither do I.”

  “Which brings us back to someone jumping out at her while Mrs. Cochrane was in the woods with Sherlock,” said Lloyd. “And I don’t care for that theory at all.”

  “But you did say there was a possibility of his doing it again, didn’t you?” Judy asked quickly. “When you spoke to the Courier?”

  “I said we had to bear it in mind, yes. And made all the right noises about women not putting themselves at risk.” He stood up as Sandwell arrived back from his refreshment break. “But I have every intention of getting him before he claps eyes on another solitary female,” he said grimly. “So let’s go to work and do that.”

  Hannah didn’t seem to have come back to school today, thought Kim, looking at the small group of people who always met up before going into school. Julie, Claire, a couple of others. No Hannah.

  And no Natalie. She wondered when the pain would go, when she would stop expecting to see her round the next corner, when it would stop hurting just to think of her. She had never been close to anyone else who had died suddenly, never mind like that, never mind so young.

  She and Natalie had had fallings out, and arguments, but they had always been together. Always in the same class, the same form. It was, she thought, a little bit like being widowed must be. Two-thirds of her life had had Natalie in it, and now she was gone.

  Only people didn’t think of it like that. Her mum knew, but other people didn’t, not really. They would ask her questions, because she was Natalie’s best friend, and they wanted to know what she had been like. They weren’t being deliberately insensitive; they just didn’t think.

  What had she been like? Much too daring for Kim, really, though Kim had tried hard to keep up. Natalie had always been the first to do anything. Trying to smoke, which neither of them had taken to, for instance. Drinking alcohol, which they did do sometimes, but not much. Natalie had even taken one of some capsules that the boys had got hold of when they were in the first year at secondary school, but Kim hadn’t done that. It turned out that they were cold capsules, so she hadn’t come to any harm. Kim had never told anyone that.