Cold Sacrifice (25 page)

‘Gotcha,’ he muttered as he threw up in the gutter.

He looked up and saw Eddy grinning at his discomfort.

‘I wouldn’t feel too cheerful if I were you,’ Ian growled. ‘You’re in real trouble, Eddy. Assaulting a police officer –’

‘It was self-defence,’ Eddy protested. ‘I thought you were an intruder. No, fuck it, you
were
an intruder. What the fuck were you doing, breaking into my house like that? Fucking pigs.’

‘It’s a flat,’ Ian retorted, ‘it’s not yours, and I didn’t break in. I was invited.’

He nodded to the uniformed officers.

‘Take him away.’

Complaining loudly about wrongful arrest and police brutality, Eddy was dragged into the car.

A
LTHOUGH HE WAS TIRED
and his elbow ached where he had fallen on it, Ian was keen to question Eddy. Rob was at his desk in the Incident Room in Herne Bay. He took one look at Ian and offered to take over. Ian shook his head, insisting he was absolutely fine. His stomach no longer hurt, which was a relief.

‘You don’t look fine,’ Rob said, staring pointedly at Ian’s muddy clothes and the scratches on his face. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

‘I fell through a hedge backwards,’ Ian replied solemnly. ‘Let me question him, sir.’

Eddy had given them the run around, but now Ian had regained control of the situation he wasn’t going to forego the pleasure of watching him squirm. He had a feeling of excitement that he hadn’t experienced on first meeting Henry, even though Martha’s husband was the more likely suspect. Other than the knife they knew of no connection between Eddy and the victim who had been stabbed, yet Ian had a feeling Eddy was somehow implicated in her death.

Eddy was slumped in a chair. Beads of sweat glistened on his wide forehead. His face looked almost sickly, while his dark eyes shone with furtive desperation. He had spent two years in the nick for aggravated burglary when he was a youngster. Such an experience could scar a man permanently. It would certainly explain why he was looking so stressed at the prospect of being apprehended again. Ian barely managed to hide his satisfaction as he opened the interview.

‘We just want to ask you a few questions.’

Eddy glowered at him.

Ian didn’t reveal straight away that he had discovered the identity of the man Eddy had mentioned. A few questions around the station had quickly disclosed that Duffy was the name of a local drug dealer.

‘He isn’t one of your quiet “go away, I’m stoned” dealers,’ the drug squad officer had explained. ‘Some of them just want to pursue their illegal activities discreetly. Not Duffy. He’s as vicious a piece of work as you’ll find anywhere, and tricky with it. We’ve never managed to nail him though God knows we’ve tried. Don’t be shy about muscling in on our patch, mate. If you can get anything on Duffy, you go for it. Do us all a favour. Go for the jugular.’

Ian recalled how Eddy’s voice had trembled when he had spoken about Duffy. He clearly wasn’t someone Eddy wanted to cross.

Ian stared closely at Eddy as he started questioning him.

‘Why did you run?’

‘Huh?’

‘Why did you run away from me this afternoon? Come on, Eddy, you know perfectly well what I’m talking about.’

Eddy said he had mistaken Ian for an intruder. It wasn’t an unreasonable claim, considering he had been attacked in his own home by a stranger. It was hardly an indication of a guilty conscience. Ian listened with growing impatience as Eddy refused to admit he had given Ben a weapon to hide.

‘Now why would I do that to the poor kid?’ he protested. ‘The boy’s like a son to me. He’s only twelve,’ he added, reminding Ian, man to man, that they were discussing a child. ‘Kids make stuff up all the time. You don’t want to go taking it seriously, for fuck’s sake.’

Eddy’s implication was clear. Ben’s word couldn’t be trusted.

‘He says you asked him to look after a knife for him,’ Ian said quietly. ‘Do you deny it?’

‘Course I bloody deny it. I never carried a knife in me life. Don’t hold with them. I’m a pacifist.’

Ian slapped a photograph of the knife on the table between them.

‘You gave it to him because you needed to hide it. You thought it would be safe with him. You couldn’t afford to let the police get hold of this knife.’

Ian’s suggestion that he had trusted something important to Ben seemed to surprise Eddy more than the accusation itself.

‘You think I’d trust him?’ he spluttered indignantly, dropping any pretence of affection for Ben. ‘I wouldn’t trust that little sod if my life depended on it. The lies he tells his mother about me would make your jaw drop. She never believes a word he says, and you’re a fool if you listen to him. What’s the big deal anyway? It’s not illegal to own a knife.’

‘But it
is
illegal to use a knife as an offensive weapon. A woman was killed on Friday, with a knife just like this one –’

‘Now you look here,’ Eddy interrupted.

All at once he seemed so jumpy, he could hardly sit still. He began to slag Ben off, going all out to discredit the boy who had accused him of owning a murder weapon. It was hard to determine which of the two was the worse liar. Eddy was a fool if he believed Ian hadn’t seen his record. Nevertheless, he winced when Ian opened a folder and read out the list of his previous convictions. Three of the charges involved carrying knives, and he had twice been convicted of GBH.

‘That last one was never proved,’ Eddy exclaimed, with pointless bluster.

Ian had made his point, not only catching Eddy out in a lie, but establishing a history of threatening behaviour involving knives.

‘It was just bluff,’ Eddy muttered, still determined to defend himself against the odds.

‘Until now.’

‘No, I’m telling you, that’s a lie. Jesus, just because I was carrying a blade when I was a kid, doesn’t mean I’m going to be running around with one now. But I get your game. Someone’s been stabbed here in Herne Bay and I’ve got form. So you decide I must be guilty. As if I’m the only person in Herne Bay to have walked around with a blade when I was a kid. I’m telling you, I never knifed no one. And that ain’t mine.’

He pointed at the photograph.

Eddy folded his arms and pressed his lips together, as if to signal he had said everything he was going to say on the subject.

‘Where were you the Friday before last, at about nine in the evening?’

‘Why?’

Ian tapped the picture of the knife.

‘A woman was stabbed in Herne Bay on that Friday evening with this knife. Now answer the question. Where were you on the Friday before last between eight and ten in the evening?’

‘In the pub,’ Eddy replied promptly.

‘Which pub?’

‘Do you know, I can’t remember the name.’

All at once Eddy seemed to be enjoying himself. He leaned back in his chair with a nonchalant smile.

‘You’ll need a witness who can vouch for you for the whole evening, from around eight until midnight.’

Eddy laughed.

‘Someone stabbed your woman for four hours? Well, that rules me out. I wouldn’t have the stamina.’

‘This is a murder enquiry,’ Ian snapped, irritated by Eddy’s frivolous tone.

‘Well why don’t you get on with it, then, and stop wasting time.’

‘Was anyone with you at the pub?’

‘Well, as it happens, I went out for a quiet drink, all by myself.’

Ian had an uneasy feeling Eddy was toying with him.

‘I can’t remember the exact time I got there, but the landlord will tell you. Ask him. He’ll tell you. I was there all evening.’

‘And let me guess, you’ve forgotten his name too,’

‘If I ever knew it. But I have just remembered the name of the pub. It’s the King’s Head.’

‘The King’s Head,’ Ian repeated. ‘There are a lot of pubs with that name.’

‘I can’t help that, can I? I don’t name the bleeding pubs.’

‘So where is this particular King’s Head you’re talking about?’

‘Newcastle’

‘Newcastle?’ Ian repeated with sudden misgiving.

‘Yes, I was up there visiting my old mother. I’m a good son.’ He grinned. ‘Now can I go?’

‘Wait here.’

It didn’t take long to check out Eddy’s story. For a start, his car was picked up on CCTV en route to Newcastle. Then the pub was traced. A local constable was despatched to question the landlord. Ian was bitterly disappointed to learn that the publican recalled seeing Eddy the previous weekend. He wasn’t sure about the time, but confirmed Eddy had been drinking alone in the bar on both Friday and Saturday evenings. He recalled Eddy trying unsuccessfully to pick up a local tart who had lost interest when she discovered he was broke. The encounter had turned out luckily for Eddy in the end because the landlord remembered his face. Nursing his sore elbow, Ian watched him go.

R
OB WAS AS DISAPPOINTED
as Ian. Even when they weren’t sure they had the right suspect, the hope that he might be guilty kept them motivated. Now they had to accept that the weapon they had sent off for examination might not have been used to kill Martha after all. The lab had confirmed there were traces of human blood on the blade. The blood group matched Martha’s, but that was by no means conclusive. Getting on for half the population shared that blood group. It would take more than that to prove the knife had been used in the fatal stabbing.

‘Bugger,’ Rob said. ‘Now look, why don’t you get home to your wife? Nothing’s going to change overnight. Go home and start again tomorrow.’

Ian shook his head. The prospect of starting out all over again was depressing, just when they had thought they were getting somewhere. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go home and forget about the investigation. Instead, he decided to go back to the club in Margate and see if he could find out more about Henry’s connection with the young prostitute.

The stocky doorman responded to Ian’s greeting with dour monosyllables. ‘Have you seen this man?’

The other man barely glanced at the mug shot of Henry before turning away with an incoherent grunt. Ian leaned forward to hear more clearly.

‘What did you say?’

The bouncer shrugged. Realising the other man wasn’t going to give anything away, Ian dropped his amiable facade.

‘If it turns out you’ve been withholding information, you’ll be in serious trouble.’

The bouncer ignored him.

‘Is this worth risking a prison sentence over?’

For the first time the bouncer turned to face Ian full on as he responded with a question of his own, while his colour rose until his cheeks were flushed.

‘Is that a threat?’ he asked softly.

The bouncer was clearly used to fending off awkward customers. Ian abandoned any effort to worm information out of him. Instead he went inside, breathing in the sweet stale smells of perfume, tobacco, alcohol and sweat. He didn’t recognise the woman in the entrance hall but she seemed to know exactly who he was.

‘You again, Inspector.’

He didn’t correct her. The decision could already have been made. He might be an inspector, without yet knowing it.

‘Don’t you people ever give up?’ she went on.

‘Don’t you people ever stop giving up?’ he retorted.

The place irritated him, from the defiant bouncer, to the stale odours of the place, and the insolence of the girls who worked there. He was too tired to cope with their contempt.

‘You’re not the first one who can’t keep away,’ the woman added with a sly grin. ‘Some of our girls don’t mind what you do for a living.’

Ian had heard enough.

‘I’m not here to see your slappers displaying themselves. I’m a married man.’

He was afraid the young woman would despise his pompous words, but she lowered her eyes and was silent.

‘I want to see Jimmy Randall.’

Without meeting his eye again, she led him to the office. Muffled music and cheering were audible as she tapped on the door.

The manager looked up and grimaced.

‘What do you want now?’ he asked, shifting awkwardly in his chair.

His bloated face grew red. Ian went straight to the point, asking how far back the CCTV film in the entrance hall went.

‘What CCTV? What are you talking about?’

‘Your security cameras in the entrance hall. I need to see the footage, as far back as it goes.’

‘You are joking.’

Jimmy did his best to convince Ian that it simply wasn’t possible to view the film but Ian insisted. He had to resort to threats before the manager finally caved in.

‘Go on then, take the whole bloody lot. Take the cameras. Take the bloody furniture. Take everything. You want the shirt off my back?’

‘I’m afraid it’s not my size. I’ll just take the film. For now.’

Having sorted out access to the security cameras, Ian set about asking the staff and the performers whether they recognised Henry, and how often they had seen him visit the club. It was quickly apparent he was wasting his time. If anyone had seen Henry at the club they weren’t admitting to it.

‘We know he was in contact with Della. It’s important we discover how they met.’

The manager shrugged.

‘That’s nothing to do with me. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a club to run.’

Ian made arrangements to download the CCTV footage to enable a team back at the station to start checking customers who had entered and left the club over the past week, looking for visits from Henry. If they could establish that he had frequented the club, they might discover a pressing reason for his wanting to kill his wife.

Henry might have been having an affair, perhaps with Della. It was possible he had killed his wife in order to be with his mistress. Then, if Della had rejected him after he killed his wife, he might have had a motive for murdering her too. In order to turn this hazy speculation in to a genuine lead, they had to find evidence that Henry had been seeing Della. The club was as good a place as any to look for indications that they had known one another for a while. But although Ian quizzed all the girls who had known Della, apparently none of them had seen Henry in the club or anywhere else.

He tried asking them about Della herself, hoping to discover she had been seeing a man they didn’t know by name.