Chapter 20
In Helen’s dining room, she checked the computer she had left running overnight as she sipped her tea. A search for Malcolm Walters was working on the problem from the other end, a bit of a chance, but Walters’s internet footprint might yield the clue they needed.
But the data the search had turned up was surprising; nothing on Malcolm Walters dated back more than twenty-three years, around the time that Martin Hill disappeared. Surely that was too much of a coincidence.
“Hey, I think I know why we can’t find Martin Hill. Malcolm Walters is Martin Hill. You were right; he changed his name.”
“Show me,” Helen mumbled around the last bit of her toast as she entered the room.
“Okay, yesterday I did a number of searches on Martin Hill and there’s nothing after he sold his house in 1991.”
“Right.” Helen sucked on her fingers.
“Last night, I thought I’d try it from another direction. So, I did a search on Malcolm Walters—”
“Why Malcolm Walters?”
“That stuff about the missing logbook, and having his old car crushed—it just seemed a bit too convenient, so I thought it was worth checking. There’s nothing before 1991. No birth certificate, marriage certificate, nothing.”
“Have you got Martin Hill’s DVLA photograph?” Helen asked.
“Not here; it’s on my desk over the road.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” Helen said, her hand snaked around Kate’s waist as she kissed her neck. Pulling away, Helen asked, “Does Malc have a gun licence?”
“I’ll check.” She hastily closed her laptop.
Helen turned off her car engine and sat looking at the stone farmhouse in front of them. It was hard to believe that the person they had been looking for had been right under their noses the whole time. The DVLA photographs confirmed it. Helen definitely felt that she was losing her grip, professionally. Looking across at Kate, she thought maybe personally too. Kate would be leaving before she knew it, and then what? Helen didn’t do long distance; she’d tried it once before and didn’t like it. It only took a couple of months for it all to fall apart. Was that how it would be this time? She knew the longer it went on the harder it would be when Kate’s secondment was over, but there was something between them, something she hadn’t felt for a woman in a long time. How could she just walk away from that?
“Ready, Guv?” Kate enquired, concern evident in her voice.
Helen glanced in the rear-view mirror, spotting the front of the marked police car parked just around the corner. She wondered what was going through the man’s head right at this moment. She knew he would have spotted their car as it made its way along the exposed country road. Apart from his property, the road was a dead end. Was he the type to be loading up a shotgun to take them all out, or would he end it all before they got the chance to arrest him? Or, as she hoped, was he going to come quietly?
“Yeah,” Helen replied, more sounding more confident than she felt. Watching Kate make a grab for her door handle, she reached across, placed a hand on Kate’s arm, and said, “Can we be a little careful with this? Just because he doesn’t have a licence doesn’t mean he won’t be armed.”
Kate turned to look at her. “You know me, Guv. Careful is my middle name.”
But Kate’s quip had fallen on deaf ears. Helen frowned. She needed this to go well, and not just for Kate’s safety. She liked a case to be trussed up like a turkey with all the questions answered, even if it was just to justify her own curiosity. Kate must have read the tension on her face as her tone changed considerably.
“I promise I’ll be careful.”
Relieved, Helen felt the pressure in her head reduce a notch or two. “Maybe I should do the talking, just to make sure.”
No doubt this was exactly why interdepartmental relationships were frowned upon, to say the least. It worried her how much Kate put herself out there to be hurt. She wasn’t cautious enough. It surprised her a little, considering she usually worked in inner-city London, where you tended to get streetwise pretty quickly, just as Helen had in Manchester.
“Spoilsport,” Kate threw over her shoulder as she exited the car.
“Your body will thank me,” Helen said to the grin on Kate’s face.
Helen shot Kate a deliberately sideways look at the lack of a doorbell. Amused by the snubbed look on Kate’s face, she mumbled, “Unlucky” before knocking on the wooden door in a rhythmic tune, as if to make up for it.
There was immediate movement beyond the door, heavy footsteps headed in their direction.
Malcolm Walters opened the door wide. Helen noticed there was no look of shock or fear in his eyes. Dressed in black jeans and a grey shirt, he looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days, the way old people do. Heavy bags bulged under his eyes. She prayed Kate would keep her word as she focused her attention on the large mug in Walters’s hand, knowing Kate would like to make a grab for Walters, slapping the cuffs on him, before even introducing herself.
“Morning, Malc,” Helen said, keeping her tone even. She noticed a slow smile of relief cross Walters’s face as he stepped back into his house, leaving the door wide open. Helen quickly stepped forward to enter the house, thus preventing any kind of standoff.
Kate was swiftly on her heels. Their path was cut short as they all bunched up in a tiny oblong-shaped kitchen. Helen looked back round through the doorway through which she had just entered, trying to get an idea of the layout of the house. She nodded for Kate to check the other downstairs rooms. Walters lived alone as far as they knew.
Malcolm Walters took a seat at the small square wooden table pushed up against a wall, which took up a third of the small kitchen.
“I’ve been expecting you for the last few days. I knew you’d find me.”
Helen leant back against the short row of kitchen units that lined the long wall opposite the table. “Why didn’t you hand yourself in, or run?” she questioned calmly.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kate return, shaking her head. There was no one else here. Kate remained standing awkwardly in the doorway. There was no room for her to stand comfortably in the room without crowding them. She noticed Kate nod towards the wood-panelled back door behind Walters, no doubt worried he’d try and escape. Spotting the handcuffs in Kate’s hands, she shook her head, hoping she got the message. The fear of another knife attack had left her a little jumpy; Helen had seen it in her eyes at the Whiting house.
“And go where?” Walters finally answered. “There’s nothing for me now, hasn’t been for over twenty years. I just wanted a little time to sort things out.” He placed his now-empty mug on the table in front of him.
“Where’s the car? The silver Prius?” Helen clarified.
“In the garage out back. I was going to burn it out, but I couldn’t see any point.”
“Can you stand up for me please, Malc?” Helen straightened up, preparing for her speech. She thought for a moment that she should let Kate do the honours, but something inside her told Helen that this would be her last big case. Figuring there would be many more on Kate’s horizon, she continued. “Malcolm Walters, also known as Martin Hill, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be used in evidence.”
Helen pulled her cuffs from her pocket, slipping them onto Walters’s limp wrists.
Taking her cue from Helen, Kate pulled out her phone. She asked the person on the other end to search the garage.
“Take a seat,” Helen said, stepping back.
Malcolm Walters let his cuffs clank on the stripped wooden table top as he struggled to clasp his hands together in front of him. He sat quiet for a moment before speaking.
“I felt a sense of relief for the first time in yea
rs that night. It was finally over.”
Helen felt Kate’s gaze on her again. Giving her the briefest of nods encouraged her further into the room. Kate pulled her notebook from her jacket pocket to record whatever Walters had to say.
Helen looked back down at him. She didn’t want him to spill it here; she wanted him to say it all on tape. She needed to get him back to the station as soon as possible, but she also didn’t want him to clam up.
“What made you wait so long?”
Walters toyed with the mug in front of him. “Believe it or not, I didn’t realise it was him until a few months ago.” Walters looked up at Helen as she took his mug from the table, placing it in the sink behind her. “I couldn’t believe it. I mean, what are the odds? Both of us washing up in the same town.”
Helen knew exactly how he felt, like a piece of driftwood on an abandoned beach. Warner certainly hadn’t been high on her list of places to live and work; necessity had brought her here. As hard as it was to think about, she knew that responsibility would be over soon; it was out of her hands. After Julia’s departure, would she really want to stay in a town where everyone knew everyone else’s business? It had provided her with a more sedate, warm environment when she needed it, but what about in a few months? She could see her life drifting away from her if she stayed in Warner.
Davies’s footfalls heading in their direction broke the silence that had fallen between the three of them.
“Guv!” he called, poking his head through the doorway.
Kate moved to one side, allowing Helen to pass her by.
Davies spoke in a quiet voice, unaware that Walters had already all but confessed. “We found the Prius covered up in the garage. The front end’s all smashed up.”
Helen nodded. “Okay, call the crime scene techs to collect it and process the house.”
She walked back into the kitchen and looked at him. “Let’s get you to the station.”
Helen walked along the corridor. Kate was waiting outside the interview room, and as she walked over, Kate drained the last dregs of her drink.
“He’s refused a solicitor,” Kate told her. “Said he just wants to make a statement.” She threw her empty can in the bin next to the vending machine.
“Clear his conscience, more like.” Helen reached for the door handle. Kate was right behind her.
In the interview room, Walters was sitting facing the door, and Helen stood there for a moment before taking her seat. Unlike Curtis Whiting, Malcolm Walters looked calm; resigned to his fate. He’d obviously had plenty of time to accept, and maybe even justify his actions, at least to himself.
Kate sat quietly, checking her notes as Helen introduced everyone, noting the fact that Malcolm had refused a solicitor, reminding him that he could change his mind about that at any time during this interview.
Malcolm Walters’s response was to fix his lips in a straight line, nothing more.
“Malcolm, we need to establish your identity. Can you tell me your real name and why you changed it?”
“I changed my name from Martin Hill when I moved away from Glazebrook in May 1991. I wanted to set up a new life, make a fresh start.”
Helen noticed that Malcolm’s shifty eye contact with her. She wondered if it was from shame for what he’d done.
“I still couldn’t escape my past. I loved Karen. I loved her so much. I didn’t know she was…” Walters’s lips trembled as he covered his mouth with his left hand.
Was what? Having an affair? Pregnant? Suicidal?
“Your wife, Karen Hill, was having an affair with a co-worker at the Sandwell biscuit factory?” Helen clarified.
“Yes.” Walters’s words were garbled behind his hand as he wiped at his nose. He lowered his head making a visible effort to gain control of his emotions.
Helen waited a few beats, then asked, “How did you find out about the affair?”
“I saw a note he’d left for her. He’d slipped it under her desk blotter, but part of it was sticking out.” Tears started to bunch up in Walters’s eyes. “It said how happy he was that she was pregnant; he couldn’t wait to be a father. I didn’t even know she was pregnant then. We’d been trying for a while, but we hadn’t…”
A lump formed in her throat. She looked away. Walters tried once again to harness his emotions.
“When did you find out she was pregnant?” Helen asked in a small voice.
“She told me later when she didn’t have a choice, I guess. I wish—I wish she hadn’t… Because she…”
Helen focused on her paperwork as Malcolm Walters roughly wiped at his eyes. Normally she was capable of keeping her emotions in check during interviews, but lately she was struggling to keep them under wraps. Hardening her thoughts, she focused on the fact that she would never get to shoot the breeze with Sandy anymore because of what Walters had done that night.
“It’s a terrible feeling when you realise you’re not enough to make someone want to live, that they think they would be better off dead.”
Helen swallowed hard. The room was silent except for Walters’s continued sniffle. She risked a sideways look at Kate, who fiddled with her pen, her gaze locked on the table.
“She stepped in front of a train a month after Tommy Sandwell disappeared.” Walters’s voice had become unevenly pitched.
Helen waited for his breathing to regulate before moving on. “Can we talk about the night Tommy Sandwell died?”
Walters nodded, seeming relieved at the change of subject. “It was a Tuesday night. Late. I was on my way home after dropping a fare off on Spencer Street.”
Helen mentally pictured a map of the area, noting the proximity of Spencer Street to Rutland Lane, just around the corner. “Take me through the events of that night,” she said more firmly.
“I saw him stumbling as he crossed the road in front of me. All I could think about was what he’d taken away from me. Everything he’d destroyed. Me. Karen. The baby. That could have been my baby. I wouldn’t have—I could have—she didn’t even need to tell me it wasn’t mine. We could have been happy if not for him. But no. He had to have what was mine. He had to take it—take her—and it destroyed us. Destroyed her. My beautiful, beautiful Karen.” He wiped at the tears in his eyes, but he didn’t stop. “So I saw him, and knew who he was, and I just couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t stop seeing everything he’d taken. So, I just put my foot down.”
That explains the lack of skid marks on the road.
Helen wanted to confirm the road name, but let him continue. “How did you know it was Tommy Sandwell?”
“I’d seen him knocking around the town for years, but like most people, you don’t really look too hard at tramps.” He laughed, the empty hollow sound of someone with no hope. “We’re all too scared of catching something, I guess.”
Helen waited patiently for him to continue, refusing to comment on Sandy’s social status.
“I heard him arguing with another guy a couple of months ago. I already knew he was called Sandy, but this other guy called him Tommy. The more I looked, the more I thought it was him.” He half smiled for a split second. “He still had that bandy-legged walk.”
Helen tried to recall any memories of Sandy’s walk. Nothing came to her.
“When I saw him right in front of me, I couldn’t stop myself.” He covered his mouth with his hand, stifling his words. “After—after—afterwards, I put him in the boot and drove around. I had no idea. I just—I just didn’t know what to do with him. Then I remembered the house on Morley Lane. I’d passed it a few times driving round. I knew it was empty.”
“What did you do after that?” Kate queried.
“I got roaring drunk. Whisky. Lots of it. Then I—” he sighed heavily. “Then I drove around some more. Stupid, I know, but I’d already done the worst I could do, so what else did it matter? I drove out onto the old quarr
y road.” He chuckled bitterly. “Hit a deer or something. At least I think it was. Bloody thing had run off before I could see.”
“And the new car?” Helen asked.
Walters let out a breath.
“I thought getting another car the same colour was a good idea. Thought it would buy me some time. Thought someone might notice if I stopped working altogether.”
“I need you to write all this down in a detailed statement,” Helen said.
Walters nodded. “Then can I go to my cell?”
Helen walked out of her office, a warmth spreading through her at the sight of Kate still hunched over her desk. The empty office allowed her to be more vocal.
“Hey, leave that till tomorrow. You’ve got thirty minutes until you’re officially late for dinner.”
Kate looked up from her paperwork. “So, what did Walters need to sort out so badly?”
“He wanted to make sure the sale of his estate went to a children’s charity.”
Chapter 21
Helen glanced up at the clock on the wall. “You’re late!” she yelled from the kitchen at the sound of her front door closing.
“Sorry. I stopped off to get a bottle of wine.”
Helen was grateful she’d had time to shower and change before Kate’s arrival. She’d wanted to wash away the day’s events. Interviewing Walters had been difficult, but thankfully Sandy’s case looked pretty simple now that they had all the pieces. She felt more relaxed in her domestic environment. Washing up the last of the breakfast crockery, she dried her hands on the tea towel. At the sound of Kate’s footsteps, she pushed behind her ear some stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail.
“You smell good,” Kate whispered in between kisses to the side of Helen’s neck.
“I thought you were going to say the pizza smells good.”
“That, too, of course.”
She took the freshly cut pizza to the table in the adjoining room. As she took the seat opposite Kate, she noted the dark circles under her eyes, her deflated disposition. She tried to focus on her food. Was Kate tiring of her already?
Payback Page 20
