Imperfect Killing

by Luke Delaney

  ‘Yeah. Not too far from here, in Kennington.’

  ‘Good,’ Sean told him. ‘Let’s go pay her a visit.’

  ‘Why the sister?’ Benton asked. ‘Why not the mum and dad?’

  ‘Because sisters talk,’ Sean explained, thinking of his own two sisters and the secrets they still shared. ‘Sisters tell each other things – things that no one else ever knows.’

  ***

  Sean rang the doorbell of the modest terraced house in Kennington, southeast London – another once-poor area that was rapidly becoming gentrified for those who could afford the property prices. Lucy Horne’s home was one of an increasing number of small modern houses that seemed to be sprouting up on every previously unused plot of land. When no one had answered after about twenty seconds Sean rang again. This time he sensed movement inside – someone approaching the front door. It was opened slightly by a woman in her mid-thirties who strongly resembled the victim, albeit not as polished – more casual, but no less attractive despite the reddening of her eyes that he assumed had been caused by crying. Sean noticed she was spooked enough to use the door chain – usually something only elderly ladies did.

  ‘Can I help you? the woman asked, eyeing them suspiciously as she scanned the street behind them.

  ‘Are you Lucy Horne?’ Sean asked.

  ‘I am,’ she replied. ‘Who’s asking?

  Sean and Benton simultaneously showed her their warrant cards. ‘DS Sean Corrigan and DC Zack Benton,’ Sean introduced them. ‘We’re part of the team investigating what happened to your sister,’ he said as tactfully as he could. ‘I know this is a difficult time, but we need to ask you some questions.’

  Still she would only peer through the small gap in the door. ‘I spoke to the police yesterday, at my parents’ house.’

  ‘I understand,’ Sean assured her, ‘but we know a little more now – something you may be able to help us with.’

  ‘Of course,’ she relented, slipped the chain off and opened the door fully. ‘Come in, please.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sean told her as they stepped inside. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’

  As soon as they were inside she closed and secured the front door, almost as if she was expecting someone to try and break in. Sean wrongly assumed she had some fear she was next on the killer’s list. ‘Sorry about being so wary,’ she apologized. ‘I keep expecting the press to turn up, wanting to know about Sue – just like they did at my parents’ house. God those people are vermin.’

  ‘They’ve not been here yet?’ Sean asked.

  ‘No,’ she replied as she led them towards the kitchen. Sean could hear the sound of cartoons coming from a television in the adjoining room, mixed with that of young voices. The children Benton had mentioned. ‘Up until yesterday they didn’t know I existed, which was just how Sue and I always tried to keep it. Some paparazzi made it their life’s work to try and get something titillating on her, but they never could. They would have liked nothing more than to shatter her cleaner than clean image. It’s one of the reasons she never married I suppose. It would have been another route the media could have taken into her private life. Can I get you a drink or something?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Sean told her, while Benton just shook his head.

  ‘Did you and your sister see a lot of each other?’

  ‘I probably saw her more than anybody outside of her work, but it was always in private. If we went out for a meal it would be somewhere hidden away that we trusted – that sort of thing. Mostly we’d just have dinner here, but now they’ve seen me at our parents’ it’s only a matter of time I suppose.’

  ‘You were there yesterday,’ Sean asked, ‘once you were told about your sister?’

  ‘I wasn’t told,’ she replied, opening the fridge and staring aimlessly inside. ‘I heard it on the radio when I was taking the kids to school. I dropped them off and went straight to my parents. Other police officers were already there … and so were the press. I stayed with them as long as I could, but I had to get back for the kids. I don’t want them to know what’s happened – not yet. We’re just trying to pretend everything’s normal,’ she whispered.

  ‘We?’ Sean asked.

  ‘My husband and I,’ she answered, shaking her head as she continued to stare into the fridge. ‘I don’t have anything for the kids’ bloody tea.’

  Benton stepped forward, gently closed the fridge door and guided her to a chair by the kitchen table. ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ he said. ‘Make you a cup of tea.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she wiped the tears away with the tips of her fingers.

  ‘I know this is tough,’ Sean tried to be empathetic, ‘but I have some questions that I believe only you can answer.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘I’m just a little shocked still – that’s all.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Sean reassured her. ‘Just take your time.’ He gave her a few seconds before starting his questions. ‘In your most recent meetings with Sue, did she seem bothered in any way – agitated? Afraid?’

  ‘I don’t know what was going on,’ she admitted, ‘but she wasn’t her normal self.’

  ‘How so?’ Sean asked, a familiar feeling of excitement returning to his stomach.

  ‘She told me how she’d had to report a fan for harassment,’ she explained, ‘and had even had to take out a restraining order.’

  Sean felt the excitement begin to fade. ‘And?’ he encouraged her, expecting the same answer about Thurlby everyone else had given him.

  ‘She seemed disappointed at having reported him.’

  ‘Disappointed?’ Sean asked, his eyes narrowing in thought.

  ‘She didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push her, but I got the feeling it hadn’t been her idea.’

  ‘Then whose was it?’ Sean pushed.

  ‘She didn’t say and she didn’t want to talk about it so I dropped it.’

  ‘Any idea who would have wanted her to report him?’

  ‘No,’ she insisted. ‘But perhaps I’m wrong, maybe she did report him because she decided she needed to, it’s just …’

  ‘Go on,’ Sean cajoled her.

  ‘She’d mentioned him before – the over-keen fan, but she’d never said he frightened her. She even used to call him her number one fan, although I suppose you can never be entirely sure with obsessive people. Maybe … for some reason he turned on her. She mentioned he seemed to have some sort of mental health issues. Perhaps they were more serious than she thought.’

  ‘Or perhaps someone else was concerned for her on her behalf?’ Sean suggested. ‘Saw the danger in him even if she didn’t. Maybe someone she was having a relationship with?’

  ‘Sue didn’t have relationships,’ she insisted. ‘She had male friends from time to time, but nothing serious.’

  ‘Could one of them encouraged her to report the fan?’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘Sue wouldn’t have taken advice like that from a casual … partner.’

  ‘Then maybe she was in a more serious relationship?’ he suggested.

  ‘I’m sure she would have told me,’ she argued.

  ‘Okay,’ Sean slowed down, thinking through everything he’d learnt to date. ‘Did she ever saying anything to you about being afraid of the over-zealous fan?’

  ‘No,’ she answered.

  ‘In the days leading up to her reporting him for harassment did she ever specify anything he’d done that had concerned her?’

  ‘No,’ she repeated.

  ‘Would she have?’

  ‘Yes,’ she assured him.

  ‘But she didn’t?’

  ‘No. No she didn’t.’

  ‘Then it would appear her reason for reporting him wasn’t one of fear. It was something else.’

  ‘Like what?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sean admitted. ‘At least not yet.’

  ***

  By the time Sean arrived home to the small two-bedroomed flat in Blackheath
he shared with Kate – his wife of two months now – it was already getting late. He opened the communal door and climbed two flights of stairs to reach his own front door, the collection of DVDs he carried in a hastily commandeered plastic bag clattering against each other as he stepped into the flat. A flat in Blackheath they could barely afford had been Kate’s idea. He’d have been happier with a more spacious terraced house in Catford, but Kate’s hatred of what she considered to be outer London had soon put a stop to that. He made his way to the kitchen where he found her waiting for him, sitting at the kitchen table looking suspiciously pensive and pleased with herself at the same time. He noticed she was nursing a mug of tea as opposed to a glass of wine.

  ‘You’re quite late,’ she told him, standing and kissing him on the lips before sitting back down.

  ‘Yeah sorry,’ he apologized. ‘First few days of a murder investigation are always … difficult.’

  ‘I thought you had your man?’ she queried.

  ‘Maybe,’ he answered. ‘Maybe not.’

  She pulled a face and looked at the plastic bag gripped in his hand. ‘What’s in the bag?’ she asked.

  ‘DVDs,’ he admitted.

  ‘Planning a big night in watching films?’ she teased him.

  ‘Not exactly,’ he explained. ‘It’s work.’

  ‘Work?’ she questioned.

  ‘They’re shows the victim presented.’

  ‘And you need watch them why?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘I suppose I just wanted to see her alive. Maybe something will catch my eye.’

  ‘You mean like a suspect?’ He just shrugged again. ‘It’s a shame,’ she continued more seriously. ‘She seemed really nice. I liked some of her shows.’

  ‘Feel free to join me,’ he told her, setting the bag down on the table in front of her.

  ‘I’d better not,’ she told him, the slight nervous smile returning to her face. ‘I need my rest – in fact I’ll be needing a bit more rest than usual in the months to come.’

  ‘Oh?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing in expectant anticipation – darting from her face to the suspicious mug of tea in her hand.

  ‘Sean,’ she began the announcement. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  He felt the colour drain from his face, his legs suddenly feeling like they wouldn’t be able to support his weight much longer. He swallowed hard and dry. ‘How pregnant?’ he managed to ask.

  Kate’s eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘You can’t be a little bit pregnant, Sean.’

  He shook his head clear. ‘Sorry. I meant how long?’

  ‘Maybe six weeks.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said involuntarily. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘You should know,’ she told him with a slight laugh. ‘You were there too, remember?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he told her again, taking a seat at the table. ‘Do you want to tell anyone yet?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, taking hold of his slightly shaky hand. ‘I want to wait until after the twelve-week scan – when we know everything is going okay.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered, cocking her head to one side. ‘Superstitious I suppose.’

  ‘Okay,’ he agreed. ‘We won’t tell anyone.’

  She leaned a little closer to him. ‘This is what you want – isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course,’ he assured her, finally managing a smile. ‘I just wasn’t expecting it so soon is all. I’m a bit shocked. But of course it’s what I want.’ They smiled at each other in silence for a while. ‘I don’t suppose we have any champagne about the place?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she told him, ‘and even if we did I wouldn’t be able to have a glass.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he remembered as other more practical thoughts began to pop into his head. ‘What about your work?’

  ‘I’ll have to take maternity leave.’

  ‘Will you still get paid?’

  ‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘I’ll still get paid – for a while anyway – and then we’ll have to get childcare.’

  ‘Sounds expensive,’ he frowned.

  ‘Or you could take a career break and look after it. I can see you as a stay-at-home dad – hanging around with the other mums from our antenatal group, changing nappies and drinking lattes.’ She couldn’t help but laugh at the look of terror on his face.

  ‘Ha, ha,’ he told her without a trace of a smile. ‘You’re funny.’

  ‘Might be good for you,’ she suggested, getting to her feet. ‘Well that’s me done. I’m off to bed. I’ll leave you with your DVDs, Daddy Daycare.’

  ‘It’ll never happen,’ he warned her as she headed towards the bedroom. ‘I won’t be too long,’ he lied. She waved over her shoulder without turning back and disappeared through the doorway into the darkness. ‘Jesus Christ,’ Sean whispered, shaking his head. ‘Now what are we supposed to do?’ He jumped to his feet and poured himself a generous measure of bourbon, then grabbed the bag of DVDs and headed to their small living room. Turning off all the lights but for one small lamp, he switched on the TV and slid a random disc into the machine, glad for the chance to immerse himself in something other than thoughts of impending fatherhood and all the fears it represented for him.. He collapsed into his chair, the bourbon in one hand and the DVD remote in the other, permanently pointed at the TV so he could pause and un-pause whenever he needed to.

  The first show was one of the victim’s property programmes – finding people on tight budgets houses they could ill afford. If Sean had been watching the show for entertainment he’d have been so bored he’d soon have fallen asleep, but he was looking for other things.

  The more he watched the more he was struck by Sue Evans’ natural beauty – her laugh and smile unwitting lures for her killer. But what sort of killer? A deranged fan like Thurlby? A random psychopath who was watching her from afar? A criminal who’d taken serious offence to one of her consumer affairs programmes, or something else? He fast-forwarded through the rest of the show, occasionally pausing to check out the male halves of the couples she was trying to help, but he saw nothing other than smiling props just happy to be on the television. He watched the next tape and the next, and increasingly he saw something in her eyes: a cold steeliness of determination. She may have only been the presenter, but these shows were clearly hers. He doubted she suffered fools gladly. He kneeled in front of the TV and pulled the DVD out, tossing it onto the ‘watched’ pile before searching in the plastic bag for a different type of show – one in which she wasn’t the only presenter. He found one of the DVDs with recordings of the consumer affairs programme and slid it into the machine before returning to his chair.

  He watched Evans alongside her male co-presenter, a handsome man in his late thirties who gave his name as Oscar Stokes. Sean remembered seeing him on this and various other shows, although he seemed be less ever-present these days, or maybe Sean just had less and less time for watching TV. The two presenters seemed to operate smoothly and professionally together, although there didn’t appear to be any chemistry between then. Sean guessed correctly he was watching an early show – Sue Evans and Oscar Stokes not yet entirely familiar and relaxed with each other. He fast-forwarded the tape, occasionally pausing to check out the various workmen and rogue traders who’d been exposed, but none of them interested him – small-time conmen just trying to survive the exposure on national TV and reinvent themselves someplace else.

  Again he crouched in front of the TV and searched through the bag until he found a DVD containing later episodes of the show. He remained crouched where he was as he watched the screen with both presenters smiling down at him. But now they seemed different – warmer to each other – as if they’d become friends. Maybe even more than just friends? The more he watched the more he noticed the occasional flick of her hair – not often, but more than he’d seen in previous episodes – and his broad and genuine smile when he spoke to her. Even the occasional resting of hands on the other’s fore
arm or tapping of each other’s knee if they were sitting. Sean quickly ejected the disc and searched for an even more recent one. He loaded it into the player and began to watch, not even feeling the pins and needles that spread through his legs. He expected to see more of the same, but suddenly the presenters seemed more distant than ever from each other. The smiles and platitudes were still there, but the warmth had gone – replaced by a sense of tension that he knew few people would have been able to see other than himself. And as the show progressed he noticed that Stokes appeared less than Evans did. Their previous on-screen equality seemed to be diminishing.

  Once more he ejected the disc and searched for the most recent he could find, almost fumbling it in his hurry to load the player. Seconds later he was watching yet another episode of the consumer affairs show, only now Stokes was nowhere to be seen, while Evans looked comfortable and relaxed. ‘So where the hell have you gone and why?’ he asked the room before swapping the DVD for the previous one, forwarding it to a scene with Evans and Stokes standing side by side, his finger hovering over the pause button until the perfect moment arrived and he froze the screen. Evans still wore her fake smile, but her eyes betrayed something he recognized only too well – fear. In that brief moment Stokes’ smile had deserted him as his eyes flicked towards the victim and Sean saw something else he recognized – hatred and jealousy. ‘What happened?’ he whispered to himself. ‘What happened between you two?’

  He reached for his mobile phone to call Featherstone before stopping himself. What did he really have? An exchange of looks between two co-presenters. The weakest of hearsay evidence from the victim’s sister. It was enough to paint a picture in his mind of what may have happened, but he also knew nearly all of his colleagues, including Featherstone, would think he was bordering on insanity. They had their prime suspect: a man who’d followed the victim home, who dressed in combat clothes, carried a knife, liked the feel of a handgun and had mental health problems, while all he had was a glance from on his television screen. His attempt to derail what appeared to be a straightforward case would not be appreciated unless he could get the one thing he knew he was lacking. Evidence. Irrefutable evidence.