Picture of Innocence

by Jill McGown

‘Good.’ He let go of her. ‘ Wipe your eyes, and listen carefully.’

  She listened carefully. She was good at that. She had listened carefully to Bernard as he had explained the simple job she had to do, and the enormous amount of money she would get for doing it. She had listened carefully to every warm-weather word that had been uttered in Bernard’s study ever since the day McQueen had walked in here with his offer. She had listened carefully to Curtis’s story about Mr Big, told to her in strictest confidence and in the hope of a quick shag as a result. She had listened carefully to Bernard’s threats as he had beaten her half to death, to Curtis’s horror when he had seen the faded results of that beating, to his offer to get rid of Bernard for her, to his plan for doing it. She had listened carefully to Curtis making Lloyd look stupid on that programme. But he wasn’t stupid. She had known then that it would all go wrong, and it had.

  ‘Have you got that?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Good girl.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘ You shouldn’t have to be doing any of this,’ he said. ‘But I thought they’d got me, I really did.’

  They had got him. It was just because he hadn’t done it right that he had got off, and she was supposed to trust him. Rachel tried to stop her lower lip from trembling as the tears came again. She had refused to cry when Bernard Bailey had been using her as a punchbag on what seemed like every other day; she had refused to scream with pain when he had been digging the heel of his shoe into her already swollen and bruised ribs, trying to make her do just that. Why cry now, when she was rid of him, and had done a deal with McQueen which at least kept the roof over her head?

  Because prison hadn’t been staring her in the face, that was why. She had begged Curtis not to leave on Sunday night; she had known it could never work. He had been too sure of himself, too cocky.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Curtis said apologetically. ‘ See if I’ve still got a job.’ He smiled, his face tired. ‘ I’m famous now, all right,’ he said.

  It had been all over the morning news, even the real news. Pictures of the farm, and of Curtis interviewing her and Bernard. And a voice saying ‘Charged: the man who reported on the stabbing to death of this Bartonshire farmer is accused of his murder.’ They liked it being one of their own, the ghouls.

  ‘Will they sack you?’ she asked.

  ‘Maybe. But I’m not being charged with anything after all, so … I don’t know.’ He smiled. ‘ It might even be good for ratings. The police jumped the gun – I can maybe make out Lloyd was out to get me because of Mr Big.’

  Oh, God. She didn’t want him trying to be clever, not with Chief Inspector Lloyd. She didn’t want an angry Lloyd on her back. He’d been angry when he came to arrest Curtis, and he’d be angrier still now. ‘ Don’t, Curtis,’ she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘Just let it be.’

  ‘Why? He did jump the gun.’

  ‘And you did stab Bernard!’ she sobbed. ‘Don’t push your luck, Curtis, please. It’s my luck too.’

  She allowed herself to be pecked on the cheek, and went with him to the door, watching him drive away. Then she went back into the sitting room, leaving the door open, sat down on the armchair, and cried. But the tears went when she heard the knock at the door; confident, official. A policeman’s knock. And she didn’t cry in front of them.

  She went to the open door to find Chief Inspector Lloyd and Inspector Hill. ‘You let him go,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lloyd. ‘May we come in, Mrs Bailey?’

  ‘Sure.’ She followed them in. ‘Take a seat,’ she said, and the inspector sat down, looking elegant and cool as she took out her notebook. He still stood, looking hot and bothered and a bit flushed. But he wasn’t angrier than ever. He wasn’t angry at all.

  ‘Mrs Bailey,’ he said. ‘I owe you an apology for the remark made by one of the officers yesterday afternoon. There was no excuse for his behaviour, or for mine in failing to reprimand him. I should have asked him to apologize to you in person, but I hope you can accept my apology from both of us.’

  Rachel smiled at the little speech. She hadn’t been wrong about him after all. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. Sit down. Can I get you somethin’?’ she asked. ‘Lemonade again?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Inspector Hill.

  Rachel looked at Lloyd again. ‘Lots of ice,’ she promised him, as she departed for the kitchen.

  This was like some sort of dream. They’d arrested Curtis, and Lloyd had behaved like a cop, ordering Curtis about, ordering her about, letting that bastard get away with saying he wouldn’t mind giving her one. Now Curtis was out, and they were here, Lloyd back to being polite and courteous and even apologetic. It didn’t make any sense.

  She returned with a tray of drinks, and the jug, which she left close to Lloyd. ‘Help yourself to more when you want it,’ she said, and sat down with her own drink, putting it on the coffee table when she realized her hands were shaking.

  ‘Curtis says I could’ve got done for murder just ’cos I rang Steve,’ she said.

  ‘It could have been regarded as aiding and abetting,’ said Lloyd. ‘As it is, there won’t be any charges. Not as far as the stabbing is concerned.’

  Rachel frowned. She still couldn’t quite work out why. ‘How come you’re not chargin’ us with nothin’?’

  ‘Because he didn’t die from what Mr Law did, and we can’t charge someone with maliciously wounding someone else who died before he could bring a complaint against anyone,’ said Inspector Hill.

  Rachel nodded. ‘But that don’t make what we did right.’

  ‘No,’ said Lloyd. ‘But in effect, it never happened at all as far as the law is concerned: He helped himself to more lemonade, and sat back. ‘Mrs Bailey, can I ask where you were at ten to eleven on Sunday night?’

  That wasn’t any of the questions Curtis had said they might ask. ‘You know where I was,’ said Rachel. ‘At the hotel.’

  ‘No,’ said Lloyd. ‘I know you were there at half past three on Monday morning, when you rang for room service. But I don’t know you were there late on Sunday evening. Did anyone see you there?’

  That was what Curtis had meant about her not having an alibi. ‘No,’ she said. ‘ We ate in the room, and then after Curtis left, I just stayed in the suite. Why do you want to know that?’

  ‘Because,’ said Lloyd, ‘Mrs Hutchins says that when she called here at ten to eleven on Sunday night, she saw your car driving away from the farm.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘Nicola said that?’

  Lloyd nodded.

  Rachel shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t say that. It’s not true.’

  ‘She seemed very certain.’

  What was going on? They must have frightened her somehow. ‘She said what you wanted to hear, that’s all,’ said Rachel. ‘She’s like that.’

  ‘We didn’t suggest it.’

  ‘But it’s not true. You don’t know her,’ Rachel said. ‘You go on at her enough, she’ll confess to killin’ him herself if she thinks it’ll make you stop. She won’t argue with no one.’

  ‘I think you might be underestimating her,’ said Lloyd.

  No. They didn’t know her. Maybe they hadn’t meant to frighten her, but they had, and she had said the first thing that came into her head to get rid of them.

  ‘You are denying that your car was here at ten-fifty on Sunday evening?’

  ‘Don’t know nothin’ ’bout where my car was,’ Rachel said. ‘But I wasn’t here.’

  Lloyd frowned. ‘You don’t know where your car was?’ he said.

  ‘Took it from me at the hotel. Parked it somewhere. Brought it back to me Monday mornin’. Don’t even know where the car park is.’

  Lloyd and Inspector Hill left, and Rachel felt the tears coming again. Curtis was right. They did suspect her all over again. But tears wouldn’t help, she told herself sternly. Nicola had said she had seen her car, and that was the important bit. That was wh
at really needed sorting out, and she wouldn’t do that if she sat here crying. She looked at the clock; it was half past twelve, so Nicola should be at home for lunch.

  And Rachel was going to find out why she had lied to the police.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Oh – you’d better come in,’ said Gus.

  Rachel followed him into the dining room. She’d never been in this room; when Gus had been working it had been a sort of storeroom, full of things belonging to the first Mrs Bailey. Gus and Nicola had always eaten in the kitchen before. Gus must have done it up since he’d nothing else to do.

  Gus sat down again at the table, and Nicola looked guilty.

  ‘Rachel,’ she said. ‘Er … would you like some lunch? I’m sure there’s enough for Rachel, isn’t there, Gus?’

  ‘Don’t want no lunch, thanks,’ said Rachel. ‘I want to know why you told Chief Inspector Lloyd you saw my car on Sunday night.’

  Gus stopped eating, and looked at Nicola, who had gone pink.

  ‘I had to, Rachel,’ she said. ‘ I’m really sorry, but I had no choice.’

  Rachel looked at Gus. ‘Don’t look like she told you ’bout seein’ my car,’ she said, and looked back at Nicola. ‘Just the police. Why, Nicola?’

  ‘I didn’t tell anyone about your car, honestly, I didn’t. Not until I absolutely had to. I swear, Rachel, I would never have said a word, but they think I did it!’ She shook her head slightly. ‘And I didn’t,’ she said. ‘I didn’t murder him.’

  Now Gus had gone pink.

  ‘Why do they think you did?’ asked Rachel slowly.

  ‘He died of a drugs overdose,’ she said.

  A drugs overdose. Bernard had died of a drugs overdose, and Nicola had told the police she had seen her car when she hadn’t. Nicola? Nicola had killed Bernard? She couldn’t believe that. What would make her suddenly do a thing like that? But it explained why she had been frightened enough to lie to the police about her. ‘So you said you saw my car to get you off the hook?’ she asked, her voice gentle.

  ‘Well … yes, I suppose. I couldn’t not tell them when they were accusing me of murder, could I? I know you said I should stand up for myself, but I couldn’t …’ She searched for words, then her shoulders went back. ‘I couldn’t,’ she said, decidedly. ‘I had to tell them. I’m sorry.’

  Rachel’s frown was growing deeper by the second. ‘But you didn’t see my car,’ she said. ‘Did you?’

  ‘I did. I thought he must have been hitting you, and you’d got away, driven off somewhere. At first I thought he must have gone after you. And then, when I found out next day that he’d been stabbed, I thought you must have gone back, picked up a knife and stabbed him. And I didn’t say anything, Rachel, not then. But I had to today. They think I murdered him. If that is what you did, maybe you should tell them. Because he didn’t die from the stabbing.’

  Rachel nodded slowly. ‘Right,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rachel.’

  ‘Don’t worry ’ bout it.’ She would worry enough for both of them, she was sure. ‘I’ll … I’ll let you get on with your lunch,’ she said, and turned to leave, catching sight of the photograph on the sideboard. She frowned. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’ Nicola followed Rachel’s gaze, and her face brightened again as she smiled. ‘That’s my mother,’ she said. ‘When she was about sixteen. We found it when Gus cleared this room out, so I had it framed. Haven’t you seen it before?’

  ‘No,’ said Rachel, absently, but her answer wasn’t entirely accurate. She had seen the photograph before. That very morning. On the table between the beds in Mike McQueen’s bedroom.

  ‘Money?’ said Mike, and shook his head. ‘No. His safe was open. I think I would have noticed if it had had cash in it. Why?’

  ‘It’s just that it seems to have gone missing,’ said Finch. ‘ It could have a bearing on Mr Bailey’s murder.’

  Mike frowned. ‘Surely you’ve got his murderer in custody? I understood from the news that you’d charged the TV reporter.’

  ‘Mr Law was released earlier today,’ said Finch. And the charge has been dropped.’

  Mike sat down. ‘Dropped?’

  ‘Yes, sir’

  ‘Why?’

  Finch looked back at him without speaking. The sun was glinting off his blond curls, making him look more like an angel than ever. Or Nemesis. Those death threats were still lurking somewhere in his computer’s brain, he knew they were. And now Finch was saying that Law wasn’t being charged with Bailey’s murder after all. Rachel Bailey might be his downfall yet.

  ‘Well, if he didn’t kill him, who the hell did? A burglar? With all his security?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. The money’s what my boss calls a little puzzle. He likes to have them cleared up. But if you didn’t see any money in his safe, you didn’t.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. And I didn’t steal it, either.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr McQueen. Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.’

  Mike got ready for his date with Rachel, and found her waiting at the gate of Bailey’s farm, which now stood permanently open. The vultures would be descending any minute now.

  She got into the car. ‘They let Curtis go,’ she said.

  ‘So I’ve just heard.’

  ‘Is that goin’ to make a difference to what we agreed?’

  ‘No,’ said Mike, letting in the clutch and driving off. ‘Not if you’re sensible about it.’ He glanced at her. ‘You can have as many men friends as you like,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want that young man hanging round you. He’s a television reporter, and I don’t want anything I might tell you being passed on to him. Pillow talk’s been more than one man’s downfall, and it’s not going to be mine. So get rid of him.’

  ‘All right.’

  One thing about Rachel Bailey, he thought. She knew which side her bread was buttered.

  Lloyd had spent the early part of the afternoon explaining to the ACC, who seemed to be in perfect health, that he had had a body with stab wounds, and someone who had confessed to stabbing the owner of said body when it still functioned, which he, simple soul that he was, had assumed meant that he had found the murderer. He wasn’t to know that people had been literally queueing up to murder the man. Though, God knew, if he had known, he’d have joined the queue. He hadn’t said that last bit out loud.

  It hadn’t been that bad an interview; he just hadn’t felt up to it, in his less than robust, hung-over condition. The ACC did understand that he had had no reason not to charge the man, and that he had not been motivated by a desire for revenge. But the papers wouldn’t. Even if individual reporters did accept that it had been a genuine mistake, they wouldn’t print that.

  He didn’t feel much like a trip to London, but one was called for, since he was being trusted to continue heading the enquiry, on the grounds that removing him from it would made it look as though … et cetera, et cetera. And the only way to get the whole nonsense off the news was to get it right the second time around.

  ‘We have to check out the whole business of the hotel,’ he said to Judy as he went into her office. ‘I want to see how it works. How its car park works. Whether she took that car out for any length of time. Law could be giving her an alibi for earlier in the evening. And maybe stabbing Bailey was some sort of heroic gesture to save her from herself.’

  Judy pulled a face.

  And then he landed himself in it by dropping his newspaper,’ said Lloyd, rather enjoying this surreal version. ‘So he has to tell her what he’s done and she has to start covering up for him instead of the other way round. Though it would have been a great deal simpler just to tell her to get rid of the newspaper, if you ask me, but then, I’m not a romantic telly-person with an overdeveloped sense of the dramatic’

  ‘No,’ said Judy. ‘ You’re a romantic policeman with an overdeveloped sense of the dramatic. Nicola Hutchins isn’t telling us the truth about what went on in that house on Sund
ay night.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t think she had the guts to kill her father?’

  ‘I know,’ said Judy. ‘ But she’s changed since I interviewed her before, Lloyd. And circumstances have changed, haven’t they? If she had given her father an overdose, and went to the farm on Monday morning expecting that to be what he’d died of, she would be pretty well thrown by discovering that he’d been stabbed, wouldn’t she? And she was. She really was. So I could have got an entirely wrong impression of her, and I think perhaps I did. Because this time round she didn’t seem at all thrown to discover that he’d died of a drugs overdose, did she?’

  Lloyd sat on her desk and thought about that. No, she hadn’t. And he’d read Judy’s notes from her original interview, and Nicola Hutchins’s apparent belief that her father had committed suicide had seemed very odd to him at the time. But they had to check out her story about Rachel. She might have seen her at the farm. They couldn’t just ignore it, especially in view of how much Rachel stood to gain, and the fact that her boyfriend had tried to kill him. And Judy would enjoy a trip to London, even if he didn’t.

  ‘And what about the sheep?’ said Judy.

  Ah, yes. The sheep. The phantom sheep. He believed her about that, too, but it was a bit difficult to maintain that belief in the absence of any sighting of this sheep by anyone at all. The Ghost Sheep of Harmston. He could write about it when he retired. In between people-watching as a security man.

  ‘Still,’ he said, sliding off her desk again. ‘ We still have no idea what her immediate motive could have been.’

  ‘Abused people don’t always need an immediate motive,’ said Judy. ‘Look at battered wives.’

  ‘I’d be a lot happier if we could think of one. Battered wives don’t usually make up complex stories about injured sheep and empty houses. And we do have to check out this hotel. I’m just nipping out for half an hour – be ready to go when I get back.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He walked out to his car as fast as he could, given that his head hurt with every step. He had had an idea.