by David Carter
‘Do you want me to fetch her for you?’ she asked.
‘That would be great,’ said Walter, sitting at the modern desk. Jenny to one side of him, as she took out her notebook.
A couple of minutes later the manageress showed a pair of hairy black caterpillars into the room, Andrea Dennehey following immediately behind. The manageress made her excuses and left, as Jenny did the introductions.
‘What’s all this about?’ asked Andrea, still wary of police in any shape or form, after her last brush with the law.
‘Take a seat,’ said Walter, pointing to the chair before the desk. ‘Just a few questions, nothing to worry about.’
It was hard to take the eyes away from the lashes, or so Walter thought. Maybe it was because Karen had mentioned them, but by hell they caught the eye, and not all of it was good.
Andrea grinned and sat down and crossed her legs with a flourish, and smoothed down her short black skirt. Walter looked up and across the desk and tried not to see the ’pillars.
‘You’re Iain Donaldson’s fiancé, I understand?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. He said you might want a word with me.’
‘Did he now, and what would that be about?’
‘Presumably the baseball bat murder, everyone’s talking about it.’
‘Are they now?’
Andrea nodded and said, ‘So what do you want to know?’
‘You were with Iain on the night of the murder?’ said Walter, as Jenny chipped in with the date.
‘Yes, I was. All night.... you know, together, just the two of us.’
‘Quite,’ said Walter, ‘and you wouldn’t lie about that, would you?’
‘Course not. What do you take me for?’
‘You’re a member of the gym, I believe?’
‘Yep, gotta keep in shape, you know how it is, mind you,’ she said, looking at Walter’s ample figure, and she glanced at Jen and pulled a face and said, ‘I thought you lot had to keep in shape.’
Walter ignored the barb.
‘They tell me you are very strong?’
‘What? For a woman you mean?’
‘No, I mean as a human being.’
‘I am strong, I can whack Iain at arm wrestling, lots of fellas come to that, you want to try me?’
‘That won’t be necessary. What would you say if we found your fingerprints on the baseball bat?’
‘I’d say you were lying twats! Because that ain’t possible,’ and she thought about that for a second and then said, ‘Hold on a minute, is this what you are about? Trying to fit me up with that murder, ’cos you can’t find the real killer? What’s your game?’
‘We are not trying to fit anyone up. We just want to get at the truth. Iain, your Iain, was once the partner of the deceased, it’s standard procedure to look at all ex-partners, and their new partners.’
‘You mean me?’
‘Yes, in this instance, that’s you.’
‘Do you like my lashes or something?’
‘Pardon.’
‘It’s just you keep staring at them.’
‘Do I? My apologies if you think that.’
‘They’re not that expensive,’ and she glanced across at Jenny and back at Walter and said, ‘your young little friend here could do with some, if you don’t mind me saying. Improve her no end.’
‘Tell me about when you attacked two young women in the lavatory?’
‘Oh, here we go! They attacked me, is the truth of it. You know all about that. It went to court and I was punished, wrongly in my opinion, but there we are, end of.’
‘Have you ever attacked anyone else?’
‘I have not!’
‘Have you ever been in Belinda Cooper’s house?’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Iain has.’
‘Of course he bloody well has, and it ain’t the only thing he’s been in, in that house, if you get my meaning,’ and she smirked at the two coppers in turn.
‘Were you upset with Belinda Cooper?’
‘No, not really. Why should I be? He dumped her, and then found me, lucky him, and quite right too, for she was messing around with other men, lots of them if truth be told. You should be looking at that greasy bouffant-haired solicitor of a dick for one. Belinda was a bit of a stuck up cow, that’s all, so I gathered, from what Iain told me, but I never met her.’
‘What else did Iain tell you?’
‘Nothing special, just odd things here and there that painted a picture of a frustrated woman who’d never found happiness.’
‘And you’ve found happiness?’
‘I have. Iain and I are good. We’re going to make a real go of it.’
‘Do you know anything about Belinda Cooper’s other menfriends?’
‘No, not by name, though Iain said that one of them turned out to be gay, and that really freaked her out, but it would, wouldn’t it?’ And she turned and pulled a face and addressed that question to Jenny.
Jenny glanced at Walter and remained silent, and noted things down.
‘On the night of the murder did Iain leave the house at any point? Think very carefully before you answer, for an untruthful reply could bring you serious trouble.’
‘He never left the apartment. Not once. We were too busy creating the eight-limbed beast.’
Walter grimaced and continued.
‘Could he have nipped out when you fell asleep?’
‘Nope, not possible.’
‘And why would that be?’
‘Because I’d tied him to the bed. Anything else you want to know?’
‘No,’ said Walter. ‘Thanks for your help. You can go now.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And another thing, if it had been just you and me when I had that other nonsense, it would never have gone to court.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because I am sure we could have sorted things out between us. Know what I mean.... Walter. Ta-rah,’ and she stood up and grinned, and flashed her lashes, and left the room in a swirl of expensive gratis perfume.
‘Jeez, give me strength,’ said Walter. ‘What did you make of that?’
‘She’s a tramp,’ said Jenny. ‘Imagines all men are overwhelmingly attracted to her. Can’t see what a hard-faced bitch she really is. Thick as a plank, if you ask me.’
Walter pulled a face, never one to be surprised by the outspokenness of the women on the team, and that was cool.
‘But a murdering bitch, you think?’
‘I think she’s capable of it, but I don’t think she did it.’
‘My sentiments exactly, come on, let’s get back to the office. Ronald Speight awaits.’
‘Lovely,’ she said, grinning.
Thirty
The interview with Ronald Speight got underway at 12.25pm. He was furious at being dragged out of work. He was a draughtsman, though not qualified, though he didn’t advertise that little fact, got by as an assistant, but harboured a grudge against the fully qualified university educated wallahs, who he hated with a passion, many of whom were younger than him, and paid far more. He moaned he could lose his job because of Darriteau and the bird, as he called them, and if he did, he was threatening to sue Cheshire Police, and Darriteau, personally.
Walter shrugged. Bluster and braggadocio deserved nothing more. Karen turned on the recorder and said, ‘Interview with Ronald Colin Speight, I am Detective Sergeant Karen Greenwood, also present is Inspector Walter Darriteau.’
Walter set the ball rolling.
‘We’ve invited you here to assist in our enquiries into the deaths of Eleanor Wright and Belinda Cooper.’
‘You didn’t invite me, you dragged me out of work against my wishes.’
‘Whatever the circumstances, we appreciate your cooperation.’
‘Get on with it, I haven’t got all day.’
‘In one of your emails to Belinda Cooper you said, and I quote, “I could strangle you”. What did you mean by that?’
‘Yeah, and I c
ould kill you for dragging me here, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to do it. Get my point?’
‘It was meant in jest?’ asked Karen.
‘Not exactly. It was meant as a rebuke, she was pissing me around, and I felt I needed to make a point.’
‘Despite extensive enquiries you are the only person we can trace who knew both dead women, and you had a motive for Belinda’s murder.’
‘Then you’re not looking hard enough.’
‘Your DNA is all over Bel’s house.’
‘No shit, Sherlock. I was there enough times.’
‘Yes, but not for a while, and DNA degrades over time.’
‘You’re clutching at straws, and not particularly strong ones at that, I know it because I wasn’t there when Bel was murdered, and I suspect you know it too, because you haven’t anything better. My guess is you’re under pressure to get a result, but you’re looking in the wrong place.’
‘Where should we be looking?’ asked Karen.
‘How the fuck would I know? Do you want me to do your job for you? I would if you paid me enough, and by hell I couldn’t do it any worse.’
‘Let’s talk about Ellie Wright,’ said Walter.
‘Talk about what you like.’
‘We believe you went there again, late that Friday night.’
‘I did not.’
‘We think she didn’t appreciate your return visit. Maybe she was busy, maybe she was tired, maybe she’d had enough, after a long and hard week.’
‘Didn’t happen.’
‘We think you argued, maybe you hit her, had a fight, you’re a big and powerful man, a man known for his temper, a man who routinely threatens women, and maybe you hit her and she fell over and banged her head. So you thought, the best thing you could do to cover your tracks was burn the place down. You’re a regular smoker, you had matches or a lighter to hand, and before you knew it there was a big fire, and you were running for your life.’
Speight pulled a face and shook his head. ‘Fairy tales.’
‘You have no alibi for that night, because you couldn’t possibly have an alibi, because you were there.’
‘Nope, you’re wrong.’
‘And would you know it, but you haven’t got an alibi for the night Belinda Cooper was murdered either.’
‘That’s what happens when you live alone, no one can say whether you were in, or out.’
‘You were angry at Ellie because she didn’t want to know, and you were even angrier at Belinda Cooper because you could see your idyllic way of life going down the tubes. One day you have a hot girlfriend on tap, the next, you were reduced to visiting prostitutes.’
‘I can get sex any time I want.’
‘Doesn’t look that way to us. You were quickly reduced to pay and display, or starve.’
‘I do all right.’
‘You are an angry man with a quick temper, a man who blatantly writes threatening messages late at night to vulnerable women living alone, and I quote again, “I could strangle you”, and lo and behold what happens, that same threatened lady is murdered in her own home.’
‘You’re firing blanks, Darriteau. Is that the best you’ve got, because you’ve got bugger all! Charge me or let me go.’
‘Is your wife back?’
‘Eh?’
‘You heard the Inspector.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Just answer the question.’
‘No, not yet, and don’t ask me where she is, for I have no idea.’
‘When she returns could you ask her to ring me?’ and Walter slipped his card cross the desk.
‘Will I fuck!’
‘Thanks for your help Mr Speight, that’s all for today.’
Speight sighed and looked surprised and said, ‘You mean I can go?’
Walter nodded. ‘For now. Unless there’s anything else you’d like to tell us.’
‘I’ve got bugger all to say to you two,’ and he kicked the chair back, muttering something about seeing his solicitor, and then he was gone.
‘That was a complete waste of time,’ said Karen.
‘You think?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘No, not entirely. Mrs West said we keep asking them questions until they trip themselves up.’
‘So?’
‘We have, and he didn’t, and that’s probably because he’s telling the truth. I don’t believe Speight’s the killer.’
‘So who do you think is?’
‘More and more likely it looks like the fifth man.’
They exchanged glances and Karen knew the question that was coming next. She pre-empted it.
‘I’m on the tech now.’
Walter nodded. ‘How’s Nicky getting on?’
‘He’s going through Bel’s finances. Nothing so far.’
‘Crack on with it, KG.’
‘Will do, Guv.’
Corla Revelation sat alone in her house. The radio was on, but it always was, because Corla liked to keep fresh with the up-to-date tracks. The set was permanently tuned to the pirate station, Dee Bee Cee, and there was a solid reason for that. The station was owned and run by young blokes who happened to be good friends of her two nieces. Many of the local families rarely listened to anything else.
DBC pumped out mainly non-stop music, not just current stuff, but classics going back to the sixties, but in between the sounds there was a surprisingly decent news round up. Just as pirate stations have always done, those news stories were blatantly cribbed from the BBC, ITN, and SKY, and the local radio stations too.
The catchy on-the-hour station signature tune came on, and Corla hummed along. The news would follow in a second, as it always did, and the lead story could only be the Chester baseball bat murder, for nothing like it had happened in the city for quite some time
There had been slight developments too. A little more information had been released. The deceased woman; named as thirty-six year old Belinda Cooper, resided not far from Corla, in a wide and pleasant street called Berryland Avenue. And there was more too. A twenty thousand pound reward had been put up by a local solicitor, one Gareth Williams, available to anyone who could provide information to bring the perpetrator to justice.
A radio station run by her nieces’ friends, a news item pinched from legit broadcasters, a murder in a house not so far away, and a decent reward now on offer, four facts that didn’t have a great deal to do with one another, but combined and sent through the airwaves, and out of Corla’s modern radio, and swishing through her dyed blonde hair, and down her ears, and into her brain, and suddenly everything became crystal clear.
She remembered it all. She remembered everything. She had seen the killer on the night of the murder, and could identify him too, if required. She’d always known she’d become involved in the case, and now she had. She opened her diary and spotted the direct number for Chester central police station, she’d used it several times before, and carefully dabbed in the number. A minute later, and the call found its way to DC Darren Gibbons.
Thirty-One
Walter and Karen came back from the interview room. Gibbons was talking on the phone. He stood up and waved and caught their attention. They heard him say, ‘Yes, someone will be with you in about twenty minutes. Yes. Don’t go out, we’re on our way now.’
‘What?’ said Walter.
‘Witness, Guv, says she saw the murderer coming out of Belinda’s house on the night of the murder.’
‘Fan-bloody-tastic! What’s her name?’
‘Bit of an unusual one. Corla Revelation, so she says.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘Warren Drive, number 20, not far from Bel’s house.’
‘Car, Guv?’ said Karen, not wanting to miss out on a thing.
Walter nodded. ‘I’ll be down in a sec,’ and he hurried across to Mrs West’s room and tapped on the open door, and held it open and peeped around the side, and brought Mrs West up to speed.
‘Let’s hope she’s not a time-waster,’ said Mrs West, staring at her crammed screen of multi-coloured spreadsheets.
‘We’re overdue a break, ma’am, this could be it.’
‘Hope so, my man, keep me posted.’
Karen grabbed a newish navy blue BMW, no police markings, as he liked them, though for once they weren’t interested in the car.
Karen said, ‘We have to drive down Berryland to get to Warren Drive,’ and ten minutes later they were doing precisely that. Outside Belinda’s house a solitary Community Support Officer stood guard, while on the verge were two large grey vans, lots of personnel in the house, working hard, beavering away, seeking vital intel. A couple of minutes later, and they pulled into Warren Drive, a very similar suburban road packed with well-heeled old houses, some detached, some semis, and all built between Victoria abandoning the throne in 1901, and Edward VIII desperately trying to clamber aboard in 1937.
Karen pulled the big car to a gentle halt outside number 20, a small 1920s detached house, not unlike Walter’s.
‘Here we go,’ she said, turning off the engine and getting out.
‘Please God don’t let this woman be a dreamer motivated by gold,’ muttered Walter, heaving himself out of the car, and into the cold November afternoon.
Karen opened the squeaking wrought iron front gate and went to the door and rang the bell.
Corla opened up immediately and nodded at them and said, ‘Come on in.’
They stood in the hallway and Walter said, ‘You live on your own?’
‘I do, and I suspect you do too.’
Karen suppressed a smile.
Walter said, ‘You have an unusual name. Corla Revelation.’
Corla smiled, not unattractively, and nodded and said, ‘I do, but it’s all my own. I had an old aunt named Corla, but no one knows where the Revelation part came from. My mother used to say one Revelation in the bible, and one Revelation in the town. We’d always laugh about that. Come on through, would you like some tea?’
Walter thought about that for a second. Was this a lonely lady desperate for company and attention, a woman with an eye on the reward, who would say anything to get it, or was she potentially a reliable witness with something serious to contribute? He gave her the benefit of the doubt.
