The Truth About Murder

by Chris Collett

  ‘And you don’t have any idea who it could have been?’

  ‘None at all. A bit before that, we’d had some problems with a nasty little group of thugs who used to hang around the flats hurling verbal abuse at people on a fairly regular basis, but the police didn’t seem to think there was a connection, and shouting names at someone is a long way from strangling them.’ Not so different from what I’d said to Stefan Greaves. ‘Jodie used to chat to people online sometimes, so I did wonder if it could have been someone she’d met that way, but I know she was really careful not to give away too many details about herself. I mean, we all do it, don’t we? Anyway, your guys took her computer and said they didn’t find any clues on it.’

  ‘Did you report the harassment?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh yes, on several occasions.’

  I couldn’t think of any more questions.

  ‘Well, thank you for your time, Tracy, and if you should think of anything else, please get in touch.’ I gave her my card and she lifted it to look at, squinting against the light. I wondered if I should offer her some paracetamol.

  When I got back to the station, I tried to find the records of the reported harassment, but drew a blank with both the women’s names and addresses. There was something at the heart of this that was frustrating me at every turn. And as Denny wasn’t around to explain it, I’d have to try his partner — his other partner. I’d maybe take some mug shots around to Tracy Carrick, too, and see if the faces rang any bells.

  * * *

  That evening when I got home, as luck had it, Sonia was chatting to her mum on her laptop.

  ‘Hello, Michael!’ she called out, her enlarged face bobbing around on the screen.

  ‘Hello, Meg,’ I said. I decided to go for it. ‘How would you like some guests this weekend?’

  Sonia swivelled round, a questioning look on her face.

  ‘That would be super!’ Meg exclaimed, as I’d known she would. ‘You’re always welcome. What time shall we expect you?’

  ‘How about Saturday lunchtime?’

  ‘Lovely!’

  Leaving Sonia to plan the weekend with her mum, I went to get showered and changed.

  ‘That came a bit out of the blue,’ Sonia observed later, with a wry smile. ‘What do you want?’

  I put my arms round her. ‘Nothing I can’t have anyway.’

  ‘Well, it’s a nice surprise,’ she said. ‘I can get her a decent birthday present to take up with us now.’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  It was years since I’d been to a proper party and even driving over to Joss and Guy’s place on Saturday evening with Cate at my side, I couldn’t help feeling a little apprehensive.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ she said, reading my thoughts. ‘I can guarantee it will be a very middle class affair and everyone will be terribly polite and politically correct.’

  ‘So any personal remarks will be discreet and behind my back,’ I added. ‘I don’t know which is worse.’

  We drew up a little way down the street from a well-lit, Edwardian villa.

  ‘There’s no pleasing some people,’ she said. She slid her hand along my thigh and up between my legs, cupping a hand over my crotch and gently squeezing. ‘Although I’ll do my best later.’

  I leant in for a kiss. ‘Can’t we just skip the party?’

  ‘No! We are going to be sociable.’

  And sociable I was. It wasn’t even too bad and, despite the noise, I managed to hold reasonably intelligible conversations with at least three people. After a while, though, the strain began to take its toll and I retreated to the kitchen, where I wrestled for several minutes to get the top off a beer bottle. When it finally flew off, some of it spattered over a pile of junk mail and flyers that had been cast aside on the windowsill. I got a bit of kitchen towel and dabbed at them, and in doing so managed to knock the whole lot onto the floor. As I was picking them up, I couldn’t help but notice the recipient’s name on one of the envelopes: Mrs J. Leonard. I looked up for Cate to confirm it, but she was nowhere to be seen. The man himself, however, was heading — if a little unsteadily — my way.

  ‘Cheers!’ He held his beer bottle up to mine.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ I said. ‘It’s quite a party.’ He frowned slightly, working out what I had said.

  ‘Glad you’re enjoying it,’ he responded eventually. ‘Stefan, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t know your surname was Leonard,’ I said, casually. ‘Are you the same Mr Leonard who runs the neonatal department at the hospital?’ I asked him, barely able to believe my luck.

  He flashed me a bleary-eyed smile. ‘For my sins. And let’s be honest, there are plenty of those.’

  ‘So, you must have known Rita Todd,’ I tried to keep it light.

  The smile faltered, and for a split-second I think he hoped he might have misheard me, before it became obvious that he hadn’t.

  ‘Yes, of course, Rita worked in our department for a number of years. It was a tragic loss . . . a shock to us all.’ He hesitated, deciding whether to pursue it or to let it drop. ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘Not really. I didn’t get the chance. Her daughter thought she was being treated unfairly at work, possibly even forced out, so she approached my law firm for representation. I didn’t know at the time that Rita had already been suspended.’ I paused, in the hope that he might deny it, or protest Rita’s innocence, but he just nodded a brief acknowledgement. ‘Could I ask you a few questions?’ I tried to make it sound casual. ‘I’d be interested in getting another perspective.’

  He blinked a couple of times. ‘Surely now that Rita’s . . .’ He raised the bottle again. ‘Your services won’t be needed.’

  ‘That’s true. This would be purely in an unofficial capacity. Call it curiosity. I promised Andrea I would try and find out as much as I can, and this seems just a great opportunity. I’d like to understand more about what was going on.’

  Perhaps if he’d been sober, he would have put up more of a fight, but instead he just sighed.

  ‘All right, but not here, eh? Come with me.’

  He was going to make me work for it. Pushing through the noisy throng in the hallway he started up the stairs, and I clomped up three flights behind him until we emerged into an office created in an elegant loft conversion, with dormer windows overlooking rooftops towards the town centre. The many bookshelves were crammed, and what little wall space remained was crowded with family photographs and what might be considered tasteful modern artwork. An ornate soap-stone chess set was set up beside the desk, a game in progress.

  ‘An online game, “Chesschallenger dot com”,’ said Leonard, even though I hadn’t asked. ‘Do you play?’

  I gave the slightest nod. ‘The same site. What’s your username?’

  ‘The Doctor. Hardly original. So, Rita.’

  ‘I understand you and she were good friends at one time,’ I said, lightly.

  ‘We were work colleagues, but yes, we got on all right.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘Rita could be fun.’

  ‘But you had a falling out?’

  ‘Who told you that?’ He waved his beer bottle. ‘Oh, what does it matter? Rita had worked at the hospital for years and she was set in her ways. She didn’t like the changes we’d introduced to the department, because basically it meant a dilution of responsibilities. And there were some . . . professional differences of opinion about the line we took with supporting parents. Happens all the time. And if one’s mind isn’t one hundred per cent on the job, mistakes are made. Rita allowed her personal experience to cloud her judgement when she should have left her private beliefs at home. We’re treating very ill and vulnerable babies, so it’s inevitable that some of them don’t make it. Often you realise that for some of them, it’s the best thing.’ He held my gaze for just a beat too long.

  ‘Did Rita think you were selling your patients short?’

  ‘Rita was naïve. She got too emotionally involved with the patients and their famil
ies.’ He broke off, a rant brewing. ‘And she could be stubborn. She didn’t have a sense of the broader picture, nor did she have to satisfy the demands of people higher up the rankings. Money is tight and the impact is felt everywhere. Whole wards have been closed, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Is that why you picked on her?’

  ‘Is that what she told you?’

  I recalled what Ellen Campbell had told us.

  ‘You didn’t like what was happening any more than she did, did you?’

  ‘Sometimes? No. But we’re all accountable to someone.’

  ‘And you answer to hospital management.’

  ‘Along with the ethics committee. I don’t know how familiar you are with the health services, but the committee wields a great deal of power. A devil on each shoulder, you might say.’

  ‘What kind of power?’

  ‘The power that agrees or cuts budgets, renews contracts, approves salaries and research. And our chair has very firm ideas about the way we run things. Likes a tight ship. So, we do as we’re told.’ He gave a little mock salute.

  ‘Even when it means your staff are so exhausted, they start to make mistakes?’

  ‘Hm, is that what Rita told you happened?’ His eyes narrowed, almost as if he suddenly realised what we were talking about. ‘Listen matey, take it from me, you don’t have a clue, you really don’t . . .’ He swayed slightly and for a moment I thought he was going to pass out, but he roused himself again.

  ‘Is he here?’ I asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The chair of the ethics committee?’ I became aware of footsteps on the stairs.

  This time he laughed. ‘Are you serious? She wouldn’t mix socially with the likes of me. And frankly, I wouldn’t want her to. Oh, no. Margot Warren-Byrne plays in a much higher league than with mere mortals like me.’

  The footsteps got louder and Joss appeared.

  ‘What are you two doing hiding away up here?’ she said, feigning disapproval. ‘Someone said they’d seen you climbing the stairs.’ She studied me, weighing me up. ‘I just can’t keep him away.’

  ‘Stefan wanted to see the conversion, darling,’ Leonard said smoothly, ‘And our splendid view. He’s thinking of getting one, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh. In a ground-floor flat? That would be unusual.’ Joss had been talking to Cate. She glanced coolly between us, gauging the atmosphere. ‘Well, whatever you’ve found to talk about, it all looks far too serious for a birthday party. Come on darling, we’re waiting for you to cut the cake.’

  After we’d all sung and gorged on too-sweet sponge cake, I went to find Cate.

  ‘Right, I’ve done my bit,’ I said. ‘Can we go?’

  I don’t know if she read or understood the tension in my face, but she didn’t demur.

  When we got back to her flat, Cate and I couldn’t wait to get our hands on each other. Tonight, of course, we were restricted by clothing. It’s one of the times when I really curse my useless muscles, but Cate was very patient and finally it was done. It was going pretty well until the rocking of the bed jolted the lamp off the bedside table with a crash, and I went into total spasm. By the time I could relax again, I’d completely lost my rhythm, and my erection. I swore and rolled off her, my limbs still twitching.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said, stroking my face. ‘We’ve got all night.’

  I looked across at her. ‘What have I done to deserve you?’

  She smiled, then tucked herself in beside me. ‘You could get something done, you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’re developing a procedure to repair the damaged neurons. I mean, it’s still in the experimental stage, but in cases like yours they’ve seen amazing results already.’

  Cases like yours? It was like a slap to the face. I like you a lot, but would you mind having invasive surgery so that you conform to my standards? Up till now there had been no hint that she had any issues with who I was. How wrong could I have been?

  I somehow managed to swallow back my anger. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’ve kind of got used to being the way I am.’

  ‘Of course.’ She leaned up and kissed me. I kissed her back, but felt oddly detached.

  Chapter Thirty

  The journey up to Blackburn went pretty smoothly, the motorways relatively clear for a Saturday morning.

  ‘There’s something I need to do this afternoon,’ I said to Sonia.

  ‘Ah, so now we get to it,’ Sonia smiled. ‘I should have known there’d be an ulterior motive for spending the weekend with my parents.’

  I grinned. ‘It won’t take long, I promise, and it is important.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. Is it work?’

  ‘Sort of. It’s a bit unofficial, though.’

  She gave me a sideways look. ‘It’s not going to get you into any trouble, is it?’

  ‘No, I’m just doing a favour for someone.’

  I’ve never really understood the adversarial position some men adopt with their in-laws. Although I probably wasn’t their ideal choice of son-in-law, Sonia’s mum and dad had always made me feel welcome and today was no exception. We got there in time for lunch and, as usual, Meg had provided enough food to feed us along with the brood of kids we didn’t yet have.

  ‘Got to build you up,’ she smiled at me. ‘Sonia says you’re trying for a baby.’

  I caught Sonia’s eye. Oh great, so no pressure there then.

  ‘How’s work?’ Keith asked, smoothly changing the subject. ‘It must have been a shock, what happened to your colleague.’

  ‘It was. I’m still taking it in, really, but we’re getting on with things. Life has to go on and all that.’

  ‘It’s an ill wind indeed if nothing positive comes out of it,’ Sonia said. ‘Mick’s been given responsibility for overseeing a VIP visit.’

  ‘Who’s that then?’ asked Meg.

  ‘He’s such a VIP I haven’t been told yet. It’s all a big secret.’

  ‘Security, I suppose.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You must have had some thoughts,’ Keith said.

  ‘I think it’s probably a politician,’ I hedged. ‘But honestly, beyond that . . .’ I shrugged. It was all speculation. Secretly, I’d wondered if it could go up as far as the PM, but it seemed improbable, and I’d look pretty stupid if I was wrong.

  * * *

  After lunch, Sonia and her mum embarked on the usual trip to the local retail park (which just happened to include a mother and baby store). I tried to ignore this when I gave them a lift before going on, Sonia told her parents, to look up an old friend who I’d recently found out had moved to the area. The ‘old friend’ part was pushing it a bit, but deflected any awkward questions.

  Kevin Booth’s farm was in a remote corner of the Forest of Bowland, which occupied the blank space between Blackpool on the one side and the Yorkshire Dales on the other. Even from Sonia’s parents’, it took me about an hour to drive out there and I was apprehensive about what sort of reception I’d get. Knowing what I did about Kevin Booth, it seemed a good idea to pick up a bottle, which I did at the supermarket on the way out of Blackburn. After that I headed away from the tourist trail, where sweeping fields were broken up by dry stone walls and the occasional clump of trees. As the satnav took me nearer to my destination, the roads got progressively smaller, until I was clattering along a single-lane cinder track across exposed moorland. I rattled over cattle grids as the wind strengthened. I could feel the car juddering with each gust. The track delivered me to a greystone farm with assorted outbuildings, but not to Kevin Booth. Instead, the young woman who emerged from the house directed me back to a neighbouring field. Kevin Booth hadn’t actually taken up farming — or if he had, it was as a casual labourer — and his home was a caravan in the corner of a sheep pasture that was open to the elements, protected only by a wooden fence that ran around three of its edges, creating a small enclosure. I left
the car by the fence, which was leaning in the strong winds. One corner panel was hanging loose and flapping noisily.

  I stopped beside a five-bar gate and, climbing the adjacent stile, walked the last few yards across uneven, rutted terrain, through grass that brushed my calves. He’d seen me coming and the caravan door swung open before I’d even knocked. I couldn’t help wondering what Booth’s sanitary arrangements were, but judging from his appearance they must have been adequate. Of average height, slim and pale, he was neatly groomed, his hair clipped short to disguise male pattern baldness, and he had a neat goatee. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt that were clean and pressed. He still looked every inch a copper, albeit one that was in need of a good meal and a good woman. I almost wished I’d brought him a food parcel.

  ‘Kevin Booth?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘I’m Mick Fraser, a police constable down in Charnford.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Suddenly, Booth was wary.

  I pressed on. ‘Up until he died a couple of weeks ago, I partnered Denny Sutton.’

  Booth squinted at me, making sense of what I’d said, suspicion routed by disbelief.

  ‘Denny’s dead? You’re kidding me. How?’

  ‘Killed in the line.’

  At that moment, a raw gust of wind made me lurch and rattled the door on its hinges. Booth held it back to let me through.

  ‘You’d better come in.’

  The inside of the caravan was ordered and clean, to an obsessive degree, and reminded me of my first experience of a traveller van. Booth gestured me to the living area, a couple of built-in couches at one end. It was well insulated, too. Despite the buffeting of the wind outside it was warm and snug inside, the heat coming mainly from a three-bar electric heater.

  ‘So what happened?’ Booth asked, when we’d sat down on the benches at right angles to each other. I described the incident with Archer, the emotions returning unbidden as I talked. Booth shook his head in disbelief. ‘Liam Archer. I knew that would come back to bite us. He was an accident waiting to happen — should have been taken off the streets years ago. Liam was never the same after he lost his drinking pals.’