Cold Sacrifice (27 page)

Henry didn’t look worried. If anything, he looked faintly amused. Candy was puzzled. This wasn’t the reaction she had been expecting. He shook his head.

‘Look, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t kill my wife, and I don’t know anyone called Della.’

Candy took a step towards him.

‘Della was my flatmate. She’s the girl who gave you your alibi after you killed your wife. She was your second victim. But don’t think you can do the same to me, because –’

Without warning Henry lunged forward, seized her roughly by the throat and dragged her into the hall. He was unbelievably strong. Slamming her up against the wall, he kicked the front door closed behind them.

‘Shut up,’ he hissed. ‘You can’t go around throwing accusations at respectable people like that. Don’t be a fool. As if anyone would take a whore’s lies seriously.’

She felt his hot breath on her skin and felt sick with fear.

There was a faint noise from upstairs. She remembered the young man who was in the house with them. At the same time, she thought of Joey, at home by himself. Whatever happened, she had to get back to him.

‘If you don’t let me go, I’ll scream.’

Henry loosened his grip on her throat. As soon as she recovered her wind she took a deep breath and kneed him in the balls, hard. He cried out and doubled over. Resisting the temptation to make a run for it, she stood her ground. She hadn’t come all this way to leave with nothing.

‘Now you listen to me,’ she shrieked, buoyed up by terror. ‘I know what you did. I know you killed your wife and paid Della to give you an alibi. If you do what I want, I won’t go to the police. But you have to give me what I want.’

She named her price. Straightening up with a groan, he swore at her.

‘Twenty thousand pounds? You’re insane.’

‘It’s that or I go to the police.’

‘Oh, fuck off.’

Reckless with greed and dread, she knew she couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Already her legs were shaking so hard she was afraid she would collapse.

‘Don’t think I won’t do it.’

‘And where do you suppose I’m going to get hold of that kind of money?’

He hadn’t refused. He was willing to pay her all that money to buy her silence, and she would still go to the police. The man was an idiot.

‘That’s your problem. Sell your car. Sell your house if you have to. But if you don’t find me my money, you’ll be sorry. And don’t try to stop me, because I’m not dumb like Della. If anything happens to me, I’ve left a letter for the police with a friend, and it’ll drop you right in it,’ she lied. ‘Three murders. You’ll go down for a long time. I’ll be back here at the same time tomorrow and you’d better have my money, twenty thousand pounds in twenties, or you’ll be sorry.’

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and fled, slamming the front door behind her. She ran along the street not daring to look back.

T
HERE WAS NO LONGER
any doubt that the knife found on the young boy was the murder weapon they had been looking for. Rob was convinced they knew the identity of the killer as well.

‘It must have been Henry who killed her,’ he insisted. ‘Look what he stood to gain. His freedom from an unhappy marriage, and a fortune into the bargain. It must have been him. Now all we have to do is prove it.’

He gazed morosely at a photograph of the knife that was contaminated with Martha’s blood.

‘We know it can’t have been Eddy Baldock who killed her, more’s the pity. He’s a nasty little swine, and vicious with it. This is just his kind of job, but the bastard’s gone and got an alibi.’

He thumped his left palm with his right fist in annoyance. It was certainly infuriating. When they had discovered the murder weapon belonged to a violent man with form for GBH, they had all allowed themselves to hope the case was as good as wrapped up.

Ian shared Rob’s disappointment, but there was no point wasting energy on regrets. Eddy might be a vicious thug, but he had a cast-iron alibi for that Friday evening. He had been sitting in a pub over three hundred miles away, attempting to chat up another woman. It was impossible for him to have been in Kent when Martha was killed.

‘So,’ Rob said firmly. ‘We’re back to our original suspect, only now we have a murder weapon. What we have to do next is to find something that links the two.’

He looked at Ian who responded with a helpless shrug. If only life was that simple. It was all well and good for the detective inspector to demand evidence. Finding it was another matter.

‘Let’s get him in again and see what we can find out,’ Rob suggested.

They had already questioned Henry twice. In a way it seemed pointless to bring him back to the station for yet more questioning. But the suspect might crack if they could keep up the pressure on him – assuming he was actually guilty of stabbing his wife to death. Ian took Polly with him. She chattered as they drove along, going over and over what they knew about Henry until they drew up outside his large house.

‘Here we are again,’ she said, ‘I’m beginning to feel like I live here.’ She looked along the street appreciatively. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. These houses are massive.’

Ian thought about his own semi-detached house, located in an affluent area of Tunbridge Wells. He wondered where Polly lived, and nodded.

As they were walking up the path to the front door, Polly nudged Ian’s arm and pointed to a Mercedes parked on the drive. They stopped to take a closer look.

‘That’s a brand new S-Class Saloon Mercedes,’ he murmured. ‘What a beauty. That set someone back a few bob.’

‘It’s a nice set of wheels all right,’ Polly agreed. ‘Very nice.’

They exchanged a quick glance of understanding. Someone had been on a spending spree since their last visit, an impression that was confirmed when the front door opened. Henry looked different from when they had seen him three days earlier, younger and better turned out, in a new shirt and smart jacket, with expensive leather shoes gleaming on his feet.

He didn’t seem surprised to see them.

‘You again. What is it this time?’

He sounded resigned rather than angry. He must have thought he was off the hook as they had already questioned him and let him go.‘We found the murder weapon,’ Ian said simply.

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

‘We found the knife that was used to stab your wife.’

Henry’s eyes almost disappeared between narrowed lids, but the pupils remained fixed on Ian’s face.

‘So I take it you’ve found whoever did it then?’

‘Did it?’

‘You’ve found whoever killed my wife.’

‘We’re hoping you can help us with that.’

‘You are kidding, aren’t you? We’ve been through this. I’ve got nothing more to say to you. Believe me, I’d help you if I could.’

‘Good, because we just want to ask you a few more questions.’

‘I’ve got nothing more to say to you. I already told you everything I know about that night.’

‘Don’t you want to help us try to discover who did this?’

Once they had driven Henry to the police station in Herne Bay, he insisted on having a lawyer present before he would agree to answer any further questions. While they were waiting for the solicitor to arrive, Ian sent Polly to investigate Henry’s financial affairs. She came up with some interesting information. Henry had started behaving like a man who had just won the lottery. As well as the brand new Mercedes, he had run up a substantial debt on his credit card, buying expensive clothes and shoes, a large television, and new bedroom furniture. The death of his wife had made him a seriously wealthy man and he was clearly enjoying making inroads into his inheritance.

Once they were settled in an interview room, Ian went over Henry’s movements on the night his wife died.

‘I’ve already answered that question,’ was all he said, whatever Ian asked.

After a while, Ian changed his approach. He leaned back in his chair, gathered his papers together in a pile and adopted a conversational tone, as though the interview was over. Henry seemed to relax. The lawyer sat rigid, his expression impassive.

‘That’s a nice car you just bought,’ Ian remarked.

‘The Mercedes?’ Henry nodded complacently. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Who wouldn’t? To be fair,’ he added, ‘it
should
be a nice car, after what you spent on it.’

Henry shrugged, wary again.

‘I could hardly keep the Honda after what happened. And you don’t know the Mercedes is brand new –’

‘We know. Sixty thousand quid, wasn’t it?’

‘So what if it was? It’s my money, isn’t it?’

Ian smiled. ‘So it would appear, Mr Martin. It’s all yours now you’re wife’s dead, isn’t it? The house, the money, everything.’

Henry glanced at his solicitor.

‘It’s not illegal to buy a car, is it?’ he muttered. ‘Now I’d like to go home, if it’s all the same to you, sergeant. I’ve already told you, I’ve got nothing more to say to you.’

The lawyer gave a brisk nod.

‘Charge my client or let him go.’

J
OEY WAS OFTEN UP
before his mother. Whenever she had been working late the previous night, Candy struggled to wake up in the morning. In the days before Joey started school, she never used to get up before midday. Even now she sometimes overslept, and he would be late for his first lesson. She hated herself when that happened. Getting a proper education was important for his future. She couldn’t bear the thought of him ending up like her, struggling to survive from one day to the next. Her son was going to have a decent job when he grew up, and have his own house. She was dimly aware of him clattering around in the kitchen. By the time she dragged herself out of bed, he was tucking into a bowl of cornflakes, and wisps of smoke were rising from the toaster. Candy bent down and kissed the top of his tousled curly head.

‘I’m gonna be late for school if you don’t get a move on,’ he lisped.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll be ready.’

They raced out of the house hand in hand, heads down against the wind. Joey trotted cheerfully at her side. If she had been up any later, she would have sent him off by himself. Joey was a good kid. He didn’t mind the half-mile walk to school on his own, but she liked to see him safely into school and watch him run into the midst of a group of boys who milled around the playground shouting and cuffing one another. It cheered her up to see how they welcomed Joey into the group. As she turned away, she noticed a tall man in a hooded jacket standing on the opposite side of the road, watching the children. She might not have noticed him at all if he hadn’t caught her attention by turning his head away abruptly when she looked across the road in his direction. He didn’t move off, but stood perfectly still, waiting. There was something creepy about him. She hoped he wasn’t a pervy paedophile. But Joey was safely at school and that afternoon he was going home with his best friend, Tom. Although Joey had caused her nothing but trouble ever since he was born, she couldn’t imagine her life without him. She worried about him constantly.

As she hurried along the street it began to rain, a thin driving rain that seemed to have set in for a while. She cursed, because she had left her umbrella at home. It wasn’t long before the bottoms of her jeans were wet. She stepped in a puddle and water soaked through her trainer. Zipping her flimsy jacket right up to her chin she thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans, feeling the warm solidity of her hips through the fabric. She didn’t think anything more about the tall man she had seen outside the school until she went into her local newsagents on her way home to buy a bag of mini chocolates for Joey and a packet of cigarettes for herself. She almost bought a packet for Della, out of habit, but stopped herself just in time. It was weird to think that Della wouldn’t be there when she got back. They had only been living together for a few months but they had grown used to one another. Della used to play with Joey and he was going to miss her.

After paying, she turned to leave the shop. Behind a couple of women standing in the queue she saw a tall hooded figure. He was looking down so she couldn’t see his face. She had a feeling he was the same man who had been hanging around outside the school. Dismissing her disquiet, she marched out of the shop. Only after she was back on the chilly street did it strike her like a slap in the face that Henry might be following her. She walked faster, reminding herself that she had warned him about the trouble he would be in if anything happened to her. There was no way he would be careless enough of his own safety to risk harming her, unless he realised she had been lying about the letter she had written for the police. Glancing round fearfully, she caught sight of the man, his face hidden in shadows beneath his hood.

Losing all self-control, she dashed round the corner and through the entrance to her block. Not waiting for the lift, which was often out of order, she raced up the stairs to the first floor, slammed the door to her flat, dropped her shopping bags and pulled out her mobile, ready to phone the police. She was shaking, expecting to hear someone banging at the door at any moment, but all she could hear was the faint buzz of voices raised in an argument somewhere overhead. Going over to the window, she peered out. The street below was deserted. With a sigh of relief she kicked off her shoes. Della’s death had unnerved her, making her imagine dangers wherever she went. Emotionally drained, she lay down on her bed. She had only intended to rest for a few minutes but she must have fallen asleep because she was dimly aware of a dream about breaking glass. A faint noise disturbed her. She opened her eyes. A hooded face was leaning over her. The light was behind him so she couldn’t see his face, but she knew who it was. This wasn’t a nightmare. She was wide awake.

‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped, pulling herself back on her elbows, away from him. ‘How did you get in? What do you want?’

‘What did she say?’

‘What? Who? What are you talking about?’

She stared wildly round the room. There was nothing within reach that could help her. If her phone had been on the bed she could have slipped it under the covers to make an emergency call, but it was on the kitchen table. Her voice trembled uncontrollably as she asked what he wanted. But she already knew the answer. Knew what was going to happen. His black leather gloves curled around the edges of a pillow like gigantic spider legs.