by Vicary, Tim
‘What do you mean, all?’ David’s eyes met his, then slithered away.
‘You didn’t feel tempted to watch her undressing? Have sex with her, perhaps?’
‘No. I was cooking a meal.’
‘I see. So she just got into the bath on her own. Taking off her clothes in the living room where people could see her from the city wall?’
‘What?’ David smirked. ‘Only a perv like you could think of that. You should get out more, copper.’
‘And before you went out shopping, Shelley was in the bath, is that right?’
‘Yeah, I suppose, yeah.’ David flexed his right hand so that the joints cracked.
‘Did you say anything to her?’
‘Say anything? Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Did you shout at her perhaps?’
‘No, of course I didn’t. Why would I?’
‘Well, did you tell her you were going out? Leaving her alone for a bit?’
‘Oh.’ He frowned. ‘Yeah, well I did, yes.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I dunno, something like ... I’m going out for a mo, Shelley, down to the shop. Something like that.’
‘And did she reply?’
‘I don’t remember. Yeah, I think she said ‘okay’, something like that. ‘Don’t be long’, maybe. You know, if only I’d come back sooner ...’ There was a sudden catch in his voice. He rubbed his wrist across his eyes, as though brushing away a tear..
‘She might have lived?’ Terry wondered how genuine the sentiment was, or whether it was all an act. David had glanced at the tape machine several times in the last few minutes, as if to be certain it was recording his performance. Now he nodded earnestly.
‘Yeah. I might have rung earlier. Those paramedics, they might have saved her.’
‘All right, so you stood outside the bathroom door and told her you were going shopping.’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t go into the bathroom?’
‘No. For Christ’s sake, what is this?’
Terry smiled gently. If David’s story was going to break down, it was likely to happen in the next few minutes. He felt the adrenalin surge in his throat.
‘Where was the knife at that moment, David?’
‘I believe your wife’s gone home, sir,’ Tracy said quietly.
‘But ... what about Shelley? Shelley’s body ... I want to see her.’
‘She’s at the hospital, sir. Your wife’s already been there.’
‘Yes ... yes of course. Oh my God, I’m sorry, I ... I don’t know what to do.’
‘I think you should phone Kathryn, Andrew. She’ll need you now. More than anyone.’ The young black woman, Carole, leaned forward from the sofa and took his hands. Andrew Walters gripped them fervently, looking into her eyes for comfort, then pressed one of them to his cheek. How grotesque, Tracy thought. Of course the girl was right, but to receive - to need - such advice now, at such a moment from a girl who was clearly his mistress ... how much did the man’s poor wife know about what had been going on here? As if she didn’t have enough to cope with already.
‘Yes. Yes, you’re right.’ He looked up at Tracy. ‘What time did she leave? Do you think she’ll be at home by now?’
‘I don’t know where you live, sir.’
‘Out towards Wetherby. Oh, of course, she’s got a mobile, I’ll try that first.’ With an effort he dragged a phone from his pocket, switched it on, and dialled. As he sat there, shattered, staring unseeing out of the picture window at the lake and the trees and a group of students cheerfully feeding the ducks, Tracy’s eyes met Carole’s. The question in her mind - does his wife know you’re here? - must have been written on her face, because the young woman shook her head softly and put her finger to her lips. As she did so her lover began to speak.
‘Kath? There’s a policewoman here, I’ve just heard ... it’s true then, you saw her ... oh ... oh my God ... no, of course she wouldn’t ... what was he doing there? She said they’d broken up, didn’t she, last weekend? ... I know, I know ... you don’t think he ... Jesus Christ, Kath, did you tell the police that? What did they say? ... look, there’s one of them here, I’ll ask.’
He turned to Tracy. ‘She thinks she was murdered. By her boyfriend, David.’
‘Yes, sir, I know, she told me. We’re keeping an open mind at the moment.’
‘But - he was the only one with her, she says!’
‘Yes, sir, so it seems. We’ll investigate every possibility, of course.’
‘My God!’ Dazed, Andrew Walters turned back to the phone. ‘They say they’re investigating. Yes, I know ... where are you now? ... And Jane’s with you? ... yes, I’ll be there. But Kath, I want to see her first. I’ve got to. I’ll come straight home after that ... no, I was working. Just me and the policewoman. Kath, I’ll be home as soon as I can.’
He put the phone down, and buried his face in his hands. After half a minute he looked up, his face white with shock. ‘I’ve got to see my daughter at the hospital, I’ll get my car.’
He got unsteadily to his feet. Tracy put a hand on his arm. ‘I’ll drive you, sir, if you don’t mind. You’re in shock.’
‘What? No, I’m fine. Anyway, I’ve got to get home.’
Swiftly, Carole Williams got to her feet, blocking his way to the door. ‘She’s right, Andrew, really she is. You’re in no fit state. I can drive if you like but it might be wiser to go with this police woman. Kathryn doesn’t need any more distress now, does she, love?’
Andrew Walters gazed at her like a thirsty man at a mirage, shaking his head slightly as though he couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. ‘No ... I mean, yes, okay, you’re right, of course you are.’ She put her arms around him and he returned the embrace, hugging her tightly.
‘I’ll be in touch.’
Tracy stepped outside while they made their farewells.
‘Knife? What the hell are you talking about, knife?’
‘This knife.’ Terry took the knife in its evidence bag from his pocket and put it on the table. ‘I found it on the floor of your bathroom this afternoon. Do you recognize it?’ He watched keenly for David’s reaction.
‘It ... I dunno, I might do, maybe.’
‘It’s your kitchen knife, isn’t it? The one you were using to cut up the vegetables?’
‘It could be, yeah. It looks like it.’
‘It’s also probably the knife that was used to cut Shelley’s wrists, since it was found on the floor beside the bath. Does that seem likely to you, David?’
‘Well, if that’s where it was found, yeah.’
‘But earlier, you were using it in your kitchen.’
‘So?’
‘So that’s why I ask you where the knife was when you spoke to Shelley before going out, David, do you see? We need to know how it got from the kitchen into the bathroom.’
‘Well, I don’t know, do I? How should I know?’
‘It wasn’t in your hand when you spoke to her?’
‘No. No, it was in the kitchen, of course.’
‘And you didn’t take it into the bathroom? You didn’t leave it there, by accident?’
‘No, of course not. I didn’t go in the bathroom. I told you.’
Their eyes met, and Terry waited. This was a moment, Terry judged, when an innocent man might challenge him to say what he thought. David met his eyes and said nothing.
‘Okay, David, that’s clear. So then you went out, to this corner shop, to buy flowers and olive oil. Did you speak to anyone there?’
‘Yeah, this Indian guy, the one who owns the shop.’
‘He’s seen you before, has he? Does he know you?’
‘Yes, sure, I go in there most days.’
‘Did you talk to him about anything. Something he might remember?’
‘Yeah, football, I think, he’s keen on that. You know, Leeds beating Arsenal yesterday. He has a season ticket for Elland Road.’
‘Did you talk about anythi
ng else?’
‘Yeah, well, I think he asked about the flowers. You know, why did I want them. Shit ...’ He rubbed his wrist across his eyes again. ‘I’m sorry, man, I ... I told him they were for a celebration, you know. Shelley coming back to me and all. Not a bloody funeral, Christ.’
‘So he’s likely to remember that?’
‘Yeah, yeah, he liked Shelley, had a thing about her. Said I was lucky, he wished he could find a bird like her. Not now he can’t.’
‘How long did this conversation take?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t wear a bloody stopwatch, do I? Couple of minutes, maybe.’
‘Did you meet anyone else on the way back?’
‘No. Just came straight back.’
‘So you were away for how long, would you say? I know it’s hard, son. I just want a rough idea.’
‘Ten minutes. Quarter of an hour maybe.’
‘And when you came back to the flat, what did you do then? Take me through it step by step.’
David took a deep breath, as though to steel himself for what was to come. ‘I unlocked the door, came in, put the olive oil in the kitchen I think. Then I put the flowers in a vase on the table in the living room. Then - you know there was a terrible noise in the flat because of those bells ...’
‘What bells?’
‘In the Minster, you know, they were ringing for some service, it’s hellish, you can’t hear yourself think. Anyhow I called out to Shelley that I was back, but she probably didn’t hear me because of the bells, so I opened the bathroom door, and there she was ...’
He paused and rubbed his eyes, and again Terry wondered, is this genuine or staged? But he, too, had to show sympathy, in case this tape was played back later in court.
‘Mr Kidd, I know it’s hard, but can you tell me exactly how Shelley looked when you found her?’
‘Well, she looked dead, didn’t she? Covered in blood. So I rang 999. And then, when I was talking to this woman, she moved, so I knew she wasn’t dead, and I ...’
‘She moved?’ Terry hadn’t known this. It shocked him.
‘Yeah. That’s how I knew she was still alive. I think ... I think she saw me.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘Well, I tried to help her, of course. It’s all ...’ He shook his head. ‘It’s hard to remember.’
‘You must have been shocked.’
‘Shocked? Yeah. Course I was.’ David’s eyes had gone blank, seeing nothing in the room, staring inwards at the vision in his mind. The performance certainly looked genuine, and yet Terry was not sure. It could also be the intensity of imagination, visualising his story for the first time. Had this boy been shocked by his discovery, as he claimed? Or had he caused it?
‘Was her head under water when you first saw her?’
‘Yeah, I think ... I don’t remember exactly, it was all on one side, you know, floppy. Yes; one eye was under water, I remember that, so I went and lifted her head, I did that, and I tried to get her out of the bath altogether but I couldn’t because she was all so slippery and heavy. It was horrible, I couldn’t do it, so ... you know, there was blood all over me, there still is, I’ve never seen anything like that, I didn’t know what to do, it makes you feel ill ...’
‘So what did you do, in the end?’
‘Well, the lady on the phone, she told me to try to stop the bleeding, so I went and got a plaster from the cupboard in the kitchen, but it didn’t do any good, I couldn’t get it to stick on and it was too small anyway and there was blood everywhere, you know it’s so slippery and I felt ill ... and then the paramedics came and took over. But they couldn’t save her either, could they? So it’s no good blaming me. They’ve had all that training but they couldn’t save her. It was all too late.’
He seemed genuinely moved now. But the memory of a dead body was not a thing that most people could recall with equanimity. Even murderers could weep for their victims. Terry had seen it done.
‘All right, Mr Kidd, just one more question. This knife. When you went into the bathroom did you see it there on the floor?’
‘What? I don’t know, I can’t remember. I mean, if it was there, I must have I suppose, but I was looking at Shelley, wasn’t I, not the knife.’
‘But did you pick it up or touch it in any way?’
‘Pick it up? No, why should I?’
‘You might have wanted to move it, put it somewhere else.’
‘No. No, I don’t think I did that. I don’t remember doing anything with it.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure. What would I want with the knife? For Christ’s sake, I was trying to save Shelley, wasn’t I? Not kill her.’
‘Yes.’ Silence fell, and Terry watched the young man wordlessly, while the tape revolved quietly in the recorder. He was lying, Terry felt sure of it. But there was no proof, and his story seemed plausible. So unless he admitted his guilt, Terry and his team would have to prove it. They would have to examine all the evidence carefully - see what fingerprints were on the knife, what could be deduced from the clothes and other items in the flat. A lot would rely on the post mortem, and the information Tracy might get from the girl’s parents. And then there was the question of David’s alibi. Had anyone seen him in the local shop that night? If so, how long had he been there? And had he seemed distressed, anxious, hyperactive - or quite normal and calm?
For tonight, Terry had gone far enough.
‘All right, David, I understand how difficult all this has been, and I appreciate your help. What I’m going to do now, is take your fingerprints for elimination purposes. While we’re doing that PC Newbolt here will write up your statement neatly and you can read it through and sign it if you agree with what he says, okay? If you don’t agree with something we can change it. We’ll give you a copy of the tape. That’s it. Interview ended at ...’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Ten thirty seven. After you’ve signed the statement I’ll ring the SOCO team to see if they’ve finished with your flat. If so, you can go home and get some rest and we’ll take it from there.’
And I can see my children, he thought.
9. Country House
IN OTHER circumstances, Tracy would have enjoyed driving out to the country on such a pleasant evening. Andrew Walters lived ten or fifteen miles northwest of York, along the banks of the river Nidd, and as Tracy’s Clio hummed along comfortably the sun fell steadily towards the horizon in front of them.
Most of her attention, though, was on Professor Walters, slumped in the seat beside her. Emerging from the hospital after having seen his daughter, the man looked close to collapse. In other circumstances, she would have suggested that his friend come along to give moral support, but the young black woman, Carole Westerham, had made it quite clear that her presence would make things worse, a point which concerned Andrew Walters too.
‘I ... suppose you’ve guessed that my wife doesn’t know about Carole. I mean, she knows we work together, that’s all, nothing more. If you don’t mind I’d rather you didn’t say ...’
‘Of course, sir, it’s none of my business. Anyway there’s no need.’
‘I appreciate that. After all, this is bad enough as it is. Oh, God. Shelley, we let you down.’ He covered his face with his hands, and Tracy drove with one eye on the road, passing him a box of tissues which she happened to have handy. His sobs were painful, coughing, almost violent, but when she suggested pulling into a layby he just waved her angrily on. ‘Don’t stop. Just get on, will you. The sooner we’re home the better.’
Towards Wetherby they came onto a long Roman road with the sun low ahead of them, a vast golden orange ball above the misty grey and green of the fields and trees. Below them, to their right, a river meandered slowly through a valley where cows and horses grazed. In places, reflected sunlight blazed off the water like liquid fire.
‘Slow down. Next turning on the right. It’s just a farm track.’
They turned onto the bumpy, potholed road, and Tracy saw
a house half a mile down the slope in front of them with the river beyond it. It was a traditional stone built Yorkshire farmhouse with stables and outbuildings, and horses and sheep grazing together in a paddock. ‘You live in a lovely place, sir,’ she ventured.
‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘We only came here for the girls, really. So they could have ponies and a decent country life. They loved it, once. Now look what’s happened.’
‘Girls?’ Tracy pulled up on a gravelled area near the front door. ‘You have another daughter, then, sir?’
‘Yes, Miranda. Shelley’s older sister. She’s in America. She’ll have to be told, too, won’t she?’
Inside, the house had been well, even luxuriously decorated. There was thick, expensive wallpaper in the hall, recessed lights, and modern wooden floors. A woman appeared at the end of the hall, facing them. Tracy recognized her as Jane Miller, the nurse from the hospital.
‘Oh, Andrew,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. So very very sorry.’
Stepping forward, she gave Andrew a hug which he endured, Tracy thought, rather awkwardly. She followed them into the farm kitchen, a spacious room with an Aga , a wooden table in the centre, and a window looking out through the garden to the paddock and the river beyond. Kathryn Walters stood beside the table, still in her blue tracksuit, unconsciously shredding a tissue with her fingers. Her face was red and blotchy, her eyes wide and empty, as though long since drained of tears.
Andrew Walters walked up to her and enfolded her in his arms. And for a while they stood like that, the bereaved parents embracing in the centre of the room. Only not quite embracing, Tracy thought; he was holding her, stroking her back, and she had her arms round him too, but not really tight, not really clinging onto him as much as might have been expected. And when he stepped back, his wife still stood there, quite pale and still as though she hadn’t moved at all.
Andrew waved a hand at Tracy. ‘This policewoman brought me. She said it wasn’t safe for me to drive. Quite right, probably.’
Kathryn nodded, then moved, as if in a trance, towards the Aga. ‘It’s a long way. You’d like some tea, perhaps?’
‘No, it’s all right, Mrs Walters ...’
