An Early Grave (22 page)

CHAPTER 35

DI James Saunders of the Thames Valley Police, a bulky man in his forties with dark spiked hair and a navy blue sport’s anorak, appeared grateful for Callum’s positive identification of the victim.

‘Why were you calling with Miss Babb?’

Callum glanced briefly at Tara, who gave no indication of what to say.

‘I was visiting old friends from university in London and Charlotte was to be my last call on the way home to Liverpool.’

‘Any reason why someone would want to harm Charlotte?’

Saunders raised an eyebrow when Callum’s hesitation became a prolonged silence. Reluctantly, Tara decided the truth was the best option.

‘Actually, we do, Inspector.’

‘Perhaps you should explain, DI Grogan.’

‘Charlotte’s death is the latest in what we believe to be a series of murders all connected in that the victims were former students from Latimer College.’

Saunders folded his arms as if in readiness to hear a good yarn, but first he had a difficult question for Tara.

‘Latimer’s a bit off your patch, don’t you think?’

‘Callum, go wait in the car.’

Callum, head lowered, turned and slowly made his way across the street to the Focus.

‘Very obedient friend you have,’ said Saunders. ‘Do I take it that you have something to say that’s not for him to hear?’

Tara began her explanation of why she and Callum were together on a weekend trip to London. Saunders listened intently, although at times his face betrayed his amazement that this young woman was a detective inspector.

‘And is Dr Armour a suspect in these murders?’

‘There is a possibility that he is responsible for the murder of the young girl in Liverpool,’ Tara explained.

Saunders massaged his forehead with his left hand, while Tara squirmed in her own discomfort. The connections between the different strands of this case grew more implausible each time she tried to explain them. She couldn’t blame this detective for looking perplexed.

‘I really don’t know what to do with you two, Inspector. I don’t have time for your mess.’

‘I would appreciate it if we could be on our way. I’ve told you everything we know.’

Blowing air through his cheeks, Saunders cast his eyes about the street as forensic personnel carried out their duties around the house.

‘I’ll want a word with your boss before you go anywhere, Inspector. Seems an odd way to be carrying on, driving a murder suspect all over the country.’

She felt like a child standing before this more hardened officer. For the first time she realised how ridiculous her method of dealing with Callum Armour looked to another detective, and she wondered how it would seem now to Superintendent Tweedy.

DI Saunders left her on the pavement and went off to make contact with Merseyside Police.

Late afternoon, she checked her watch hoping they might still make it to Liverpool before nightfall. Callum sat in her car, staring at some point beyond the windscreen, while the house where Charlotte lay mutilated hummed with police and a SOCO team. Saunders hadn’t returned with any news of his speaking with Superintendent Tweedy. Tara’s unease grew, her mind frantic over what the two men might discuss. The last thing she wanted was to have Tweedy disturbed at home on a Sunday. She felt foolish and defeated at having involved another police force in her crazy investigation. She could tell that despite their discovery of the gruesome scene in Charlotte’s home that DI Saunders was a having a good laugh at her. She felt deserted of any credibility. It didn’t help when she got a call from Murray.

‘Is everything all right, Mam? I heard from Tweedy you’d come across a spot of bother?’

‘To put it mildly,’ she replied. ‘We stumbled upon a murder, a friend of Armour’s. Looks like his theories of multiple killings weren’t entirely daft.’

‘Any way he could have done it?’ A flippant question but she had to admit to having thought the same, if only briefly. Callum would have had to organise transport from the hotel at Heathrow in the middle of the night, either Friday or Saturday, drive to Oxford, kill his friend Charlotte and get back in time for breakfast. Possible, but not likely.

‘I don’t think that’s helpful, Alan,’ she replied. ‘It’s a big enough mess without adding another murder. Any word on the fingerprints?’

‘We have matching prints taken from the murder scene and from Armour’s house. We need to match those up with Armour himself when he returns.’

‘OK.’ She gave a long sigh of resignation. ‘But I will bring him in. I’ve got him this far; I can drive him back to St. Anne Street.’

‘Fair enough, but if you need my help give me a call.’

She leaned against her car waiting for Saunders to tell her they could be on their way. Thankfully the rain had stopped, although she was already soaked through. Standing in the street, however, was marginally better than sharing her car with a man who completely baffled her. She wished DI Saunders would hurry up and let them go.

Her phone sounded once again in her hand. Sick of that damned ring-tone, she really must change it. She gazed at the display, a number only, although it looked vaguely familiar.

‘Hello, Tara?’

‘Yes. Who’s calling?’

‘It’s Georgina here. Hoped to catch you sooner, but it’s been a hectic weekend. Country retreats are supposed to be relaxing, I thought. My husband organises a shooting party and I’m supposed to play hostess. Anyway, after having met you on Friday, I wanted a quiet word.’

She remembered giving her number to Georgina when she’d promised to arrange a meeting for them with her husband. Tara wondered if she should tell her about Charlotte.

‘How can I help you, Georgina?’

‘Callum, of course! I could tell that you both care for each other.’

‘You could?’

‘Difficult thing to disguise. The way you look at each other, waiting for the other to speak, seeking approval.’

Very observant, Tara thought, but rather too much interpretation.

‘We are not a couple, Georgina. I am helping him to find the truth about the death of his wife, his daughter and his friends. That’s all.’

‘Oh, I know you are a police officer, a detective inspector. Very impressive. It wasn’t difficult, a quick check on the internet and the price of one phone call. You could have told me the truth, you know.’

‘Is there something you wish to tell me, Georgina?’

‘I merely wanted to pass on a few things about my Belfast Boy.’

Tara pulled a contorted face, a prolonged wince at Georgina being aware of her background.

‘What sort of things?’

‘You do know that he was totally devoted to Tilly?’

‘Yes, I realise that.’

‘When she died Callum fell to pieces.’ Georgina really was stating what Tara had found to be obvious. She doubted if Georgina had ever seen Callum’s house in Treadwater and how he was living.

‘I appreciate you telling me, Georgina, but I know how Callum lives.’

‘He suffered a serious breakdown, Tara. Do you understand what I’m getting at?’

‘I guess you’re trying to tell me that his theory of how his friends have died is not to be believed?’ There was a pause at Georgina’s end.

‘A lot more than that. Callum was,
is
a clever man, but all rational thinking deserted him after Tilly and Emily died. He is not himself.’

‘Are you suggesting that Callum is responsible for these murders?’

‘Look, Tara, it may be one enormous and tragic coincidence. Callum is convinced that Tilly was murdered, and yet we both know her death was declared an accident. All I’m saying is that his frustration and despair over Tilly may have clouded his thinking. I’m just trying to warn you. Don’t let him waste your time. I’ve witnessed the pair of you together. You could help him in so many other ways.’

‘Thanks for the advice, Georgina. I will have to cut you short, I’m afraid. Callum and I called at your friend Charlotte’s this morning. Sorry to have to break the news to you in this way, but we found her dead. She’s been murdered.’

‘No!’ Tara heard a protracted cry followed by heavy sobbing.

‘I don’t know how this fits with what you have told me,’ Tara continued. ‘But I’m sure you can imagine that Callum is deeply shocked. I’ll let you have a word.’ She tapped on the car window, and Callum lowered it.

‘Georgina wants a word,’ she said brusquely, handing him the phone.

CHAPTER 36

Once DI Saunders let them go, Tara wasted no time in making for Liverpool. They had talked about visiting their old college to see if it might help with their investigation, but that was before they’d found Charlotte. All Tara wanted to do now was get her car up the M6 as fast as she could go, back to St. Anne Street Station. It was a toss-up as to which felt worse, this journey home from Oxford, or the one she’d taken after graduation, knowing then that her life was not going to work out as she’d hoped.

Callum was a wreck. Fortunately he dozed for much of the journey, and she was spared having to make conversation and having to stop herself from blurting the truth of what was about to befall him. She didn’t believe he was a killer, but Georgina’s call had unsettled her. She had a nagging ache in her tummy, like she was hungry but couldn’t face food; she was nervous without knowing what she was nervous about. If only she’d had the whole story from him at the outset. Instead he’d played this stupid trade-off, and she’d got the poor end of the deal. Tara thought that Callum would have mentioned his telephone conversation with Georgina, but afterwards he seemed to have shut down completely. If things didn’t go well for him with regard to Audra Bagdonas, the search for Kingsley and the attempt to solve the murders of the Latimer alumni would become a distant memory. If Callum had been lying to her all this time, she had no intention of giving his plight another thought.

She pulled into the services at Norton Canes and sent him to buy sandwiches. Reclining her seat, she lay back trying to think up the best explanations to appease Tweedy. None of them were pretty. From every angle she looked foolish. She realised though that what Tweedy respected most from his officers was honesty. Bizarre as it seemed, she would tell him the truth. Her careful planning of what to say was interrupted by calls from Kate then Aisling, then Kate and finally Aisling once again. Aisling always strived to have the last word, and she would not be outdone by Kate. The upshot of all four conversations was that Tara would resign from the Merseyside Police first thing on Monday morning. Kate and Aisling volunteered to find her something more suitable to do. Something dealing with life and happiness, instead of death and misery. Tara found it hard to disagree.

By seven-thirty they’d reached the outskirts of the city.

‘You all right?’ he asked her.

‘Just tired. Didn’t get much sleep these past few nights.’

She didn’t take the M57 heading for Netherton. Instead she drove towards the city centre, her destination being St. Anne Street.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I need to stop off at work before I take you home.’

She didn’t elaborate, and he made no further comment. Twenty minutes later she pulled up in her usual parking space at St. Anne Street Station.

‘You may as well come in. I could be a while.’ She climbed out, hoping he would follow. If he decided to stay put then Murray would have to come and fetch him. But as she walked towards the entrance she heard the car door close and, glancing behind, saw Callum on her tail. Her body trembled; she hated arrests in any situation, but one involving someone she cared for… What the hell was she thinking? Cared for? Murray would have to do it. If he wasn’t around she would find someone else. Clearly, Callum had no inkling of what was coming his way. He followed her through the station reception, up a flight of stairs, into her office. She saw Murray, thankfully, seated at his desk. He came over immediately. Tara nodded for him to speak, her voice unable to summon a greeting.

‘Dr Armour, sir, I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind?’

Callum looked at Tara for guidance as he’d done several times over the weekend. Tara stared him coldly in the face. She did at least owe him some dignity.

‘Bit late in the day,’ Callum replied.

‘Callum Armour, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Audra Bagdonas. You are not obliged to say anything…’

‘Tara, what’s going on? I haven’t done anything. Tell this idiot to leave me alone.’

‘Best if you do as DS Murray asks, Callum. No doubt we’ll talk tomorrow.’

Murray continued to list Callum’s rights, while Tara tried her best to zone it out by switching on her computer. Several things had occurred to her on the drive home.

‘Thanks a lot, Tara,’ Callum shouted. His voice sent a shiver through her spine, but she resisted the urge to reply, or to even glance in his direction.

‘This way, Dr Armour,’ said Murray indicating the door. ‘Let’s get you all signed in, and we can have a nice chat in the morning.’

‘Tara, for goodness sake! Look at me. I’ve done nothing wrong, and you know it.’ He shrugged off Murray and made for her desk. ‘Tara! You were supposed to be helping me.’

Frightened by his sudden lunge towards her, all she could manage was to stare at his angry face, and for a second she lost herself in the darkness of his eyes.

‘Please do as DS Murray asks, Callum.’

‘Back off, Armour,’ Murray shouted. He grabbed Callum’s right arm and jerked it upwards behind his back. Callum gasped with pain.

‘I didn’t do it, Tara, and you know it.’

Murray bungled him through the door.

‘Leave off me. I’m going home…’

‘Not tonight, sunshine.’

Their voices faded as they went down the stairs. When silence fell upon the office once more, Tara switched off her computer and went home.

*

Despite it being her own bed, she experienced another bad night’s sleep. It seemed like only five minutes had elapsed before she was back at her desk. Nothing on the screen registered with her as she sat supporting her chin in both hands. She felt rough. A dry mouth, chapped lips and an emptiness in her stomach that she’d done nothing to rectify. The coming day flashed before her eyes, none of it appealing. She would speak with Murray to thank him for his composed handling of an awkward situation. Then Tweedy. After that she might not have a job. She wondered if she could be done for incompetence. Detectives were supposed to solve problems, not add to the list. Scanning her computer screen, it seemed unlikely to yield any worthwhile answers. As Murray strode into the office she made a mental note to phone that nice policeman in Switzerland.

‘You look like death warmed up,’ he said.

‘You are just the sweetest talking man I’ve ever met. Have you spoken with Armour this morning? Is he all right?’

‘Yes, he’s fine. Playing the victim. Then he moved on to the same game as before.’

‘Which is?’

‘Says he’ll only speak to you.’

Murray pulled a chair from another desk and sat astride it with his arms leaning on the back.

‘How’s it looking?’ she asked.

‘For Armour? Or you?’

‘Armour first.’

‘This lad, Mark Crawley, insists that Armour went into the house with the girl. Once we cross-check his prints it’ll provide some corroboration.’

‘Did Crawley say why Callum went into the house?’

‘No. Apparently Armour held the girl by the arm, and they went in by the back door. He didn’t see him leave.’

‘What a mess.’

‘Tweedy will be looking for you this morning.’

‘We meet every Monday?’

‘You know what I mean, Tara. He called me at home yesterday. He was concerned for you.’

‘I suppose he was furious at having to vouch for one of his officers who got mixed up in a murder way off her patch. I could be out of his squad by the end of the day.’ Murray had no words of comfort to offer.

‘Might need your help later with this Armour bloke,’ he said. He headed back through the door, and she was left to worry alone. She didn’t think Murray would care in the slightest if she was thrown off Tweedy’s team. After all, she’d always got the feeling that he resented her. Younger than him, a detective inspector to his sergeant, her six years’ service to his fifteen. Her departure would provide a career opportunity for Alan Murray.

Harold Tweedy, as he was prone to do on a Monday morning, stood behind his desk. Today, however, only one member of his team sat before him. Tara said exactly what she’d planned to say. She gave Tweedy the absolute truth in chronological order as best as she could recall. She was surprised by his interest in the efforts she’d made to solve Callum Armour’s murder mystery. He asked for details on Tara finding Charlotte Babb and how she believed it affected her over-all thinking of the deaths of the former students from one Oxford college. His questions helped to relax her, somehow, and she no longer worried that he was about to ditch her from his team.

‘An unfortunate set of circumstances, Tara. I can’t see the matter going any further now that Dr Armour is under our care, so-to-speak. Your prime objective should be to clear up the case of Audra Bagdonas.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She recognised her boss’s language. A wonderfully polite way of noting that she’d messed up, that she had lost focus on her job, and that she should not run all over the country in a quest for justice for Callum Armour.

‘If you call in the others we can get our week up and running.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Late in the morning, Murray emerged from the interview room that played host to Callum, reporting that Armour persisted in his reluctance to answer questions. He’d also refused the offer of a legal-aid solicitor. Tara was adamant that she would not concede to his request to speak only to her. No more favours. Murray would be with her, and they would discuss only the murder of Audra Bagdonas.

She started the recorder and told Callum sternly that she wanted answers to her questions. He sat tight-lipped as if he were ready to resist force feeding, like a child refusing to eat his greens. Tara wasn’t put off by his indignation.

‘We have a witness who said you entered the house with Audra on the day before she was found dead. Have you any comment to make about that?’

‘What witness?’

‘Did you enter the house with Audra?’

She was quite content to tolerate his silence and wait for his answer. She kept the recorder running. He was no longer the man for whom, only two days ago, she had poured out her sympathy. Right now she must regard him potentially as a man capable of killing a seventeen-year-old girl. She watched him and waited. He stared through her, his eyes, as ever, washed out, stranded between fear and frustration. Tara met his stare with a coldness born of her disappointment in him.

‘She needed help,’ he said at last, his head bowed in defeat. Tara bit her lip. She’d preferred the silence to his answer.

‘I think we should bring in a solicitor, Callum, don’t you?’ This time she stopped the recorder.