Cut Short (5 page)

7

Johnny

The flat Angela Waters had shared with her boyfriend was above a shabby parade of shops on the edge of a rundown estate. Dull white paint stained yellowy brown, like nicotine fingers, grimy shop frontages, litter blowing across the pavement: torn newspaper, food cartons, plastic bags like deflated balloons brought urban wildlife in the shape of foxes and rats scavenging the area. Yet the street possessed a vitality lacking in the more expensive areas of town; a community that screamed its commitment to life. However hard it might be, life was precious.

  Geraldine heard the sergeant's feet thud above her on the concrete staircase. It formed a dismal passageway between a derelict printer's and a flower shop from which a dark haired girl in a very short skirt stared curiously at them. The staircase stank. Geraldine reached the top and stepped on to a balcony that ran above the shop fronts. It was draughty and strangely quiet. Geraldine looked over the parapet on to the street where, far below, a group of boys in grey and brown hoods were kicking a can along the gutter. From her elevated viewpoint, she watched a diminutive old woman crawl along the pavement towards them. Geraldine tensed, but the youngsters were intent on their can.

  She knew she mustn't let her judgement be clouded by intuition, but Geraldine had misgivings about Johnny Drew even before she saw him. He made them wait too long and when he finally came to the door, his woebegone expression was too fixed. Although he displayed all the signs of the shocked bereaved, she was convinced he was playing a part. Following him along the gloomy hallway, Geraldine sized him up from behind, noting his narrow shoulders and torso, his body skinny beneath a tight fitting T-shirt. He led them into a back room that smelt of stale beer and cigarettes, where they sat on a worn sofa and chairs that didn't match. Restless eyes in a sharp face flitted over her and away in motion as rapid as the movements of a trapped fly.

  Frowning at her notebook, she struggled to keep up with Drew's pat answers. He had probably been rehearsing this scenario for hours. He must have known they'd be round. He spent his working week selling cars. Now he was selling his innocence. Geraldine hadn't believed his expressions of grief, but nor did she believe he had killed Angela Waters. Once again, she couldn't have said why, but something didn't feel right. His grief might seem insincere, but that didn't make him a murderer.

  Angela had allegedly complained that Johnny wasn't ready to settle down, but that was hardly a motive for murder. His alibi was more interesting. It wasn't watertight, not by a long chalk. He told them he'd been busy arranging test drives on the morning of the 26th September. Details of cars rolled off his tongue, but he couldn't give a satisfactory account of his movements between ten and ten thirty. He said he'd been in the forecourt chatting up a punter. It might be true, but he couldn't recall the customer's name. He thought it might have been a Mr Shah. He'd only met Angela's mother and brother once and admitted he hadn't liked them much. Angela had never mentioned a father. He didn't know if her father was alive, didn't even know if she had one. They'd never talked about their families.

  'Was she seeing anyone else?' Geraldine hazarded. Johnny actually snorted, oozing confidence. 'Arrogant bastard,' she thought.

  'Did she have any enemies? Can you think of anyone who might have hated her enough to want to do this to her?' Peterson asked.

  'Look,' Johnny burst out, anguish flaring suddenly in his eyes. 'I'm doing my best to get my head round all this. Not just losing my girl, as if that's not bad enough, but …' He dropped his head into his hands. His shoulders shook. This was no act. He wasn't that good. Geraldine gave him a moment.

  'I'm sorry, Mr Drew,' she resumed, 'but we're investigating a murder. If there's anything you can tell us, anything at all, we need to know. And your alibi …' She tailed off pointedly.

  'I'm not a fucking idiot,' he snapped, raising bloodshot eyes to meet her gaze directly. 'If I'd wanted to do her in – which I didn't so don't go getting the idea that I did – but if I had, don't you think I would've sorted out a story? Do you think I'm an idiot as well as a murderer? I can't remember what I was doing at ten o'clock on Wednesday morning. I was probably having a smoke. If there was an appointment at ten it would've been in the book. But I
was
at work. I never left the place that morning, I'm sure of that. And I didn't kill Ange. What the hell do you people think? That I'm some kind of perv that gets his rocks off killing girls? It wasn't me, but someone killed her. And what are you lot doing? Are you out there looking for the sick bastard? No, you're in here, harassing the one person who cared for her. I looked after Angie. She was just a kid, that's all. How am I going to manage now?' It could have been a cry from the heart, or a calculated bid for sympathy. Either way, they weren't going to get any more out of him.

  'Is there anything else you can think of that might help us?' He shook his head. 'Thank you, Mr Drew. We'll be in touch.'

  'Damn right you will. I want to know who the fucking bastard is who did this to my girl. And if I ever get my hands on him, you'll have something on me all right.'

  As they reached the bottom of the concrete staircase and emerged, blinking, into the sunlight, the dark-haired girl from the flower shop darted past them up the stairs. Geraldine watched the top of her head as it bobbed along the balcony and stopped outside Johnny Drew's door.

  'I wonder what he does with all his money,' she muttered. 'He can't spend it all on this dump.' John Drew was dodgy, but Geraldine didn't believe he'd murdered Angela Waters. He hadn't felt comfortable expressing his grief, but he'd shown no signs of remorse, and although she wouldn't admit it out loud, he didn't fit the mental image she was forming of the killer. Intuition was useless without evidence, but Johnny Drew felt wrong. As far as Geraldine was concerned, the identity of the killer remained a mystery.

8

Chips

Jim was frightened. He didn't know why. People stared at him or pretended he was invisible. A woman turned her head away as she passed him. She knew what he was thinking. Women could do that.

  'I done nothing to be ashamed of,' he muttered crossly.

  'I know you do your best,' Miss Elsie said. He smiled because she'd come back.

  'Miss Elsie!' He called softly, in case anyone was listening. A man glared at him and he walked more quickly.

  'Don't panic,' Miss Elsie said. He fumbled in his pocket for the key to his room and threw it down a dark glistening drain. That was clever because now they'd never find out where he lived. Then he frowned. It meant he couldn't go home. That was a shame because he liked his room. He had a picture of Miss Elsie there, hidden in a box on top of the wardrobe.

  'Put your thinking cap on,' Miss Elsie said, but that wasn't fair. He was hungry. He couldn't think when he was hungry.

  'Is that all you got?' the girl asked when he held out a twenty pound note. She was stupid. Twenty pounds was a lot of money. He was only buying chips.

  'I want chips please,' he repeated. He spoke as clearly as he could and thrust his twenty-pound note at her again. The girl scowled as she took it.

  'I give you coins,' she complained, handing over his chips. The girl turned to the till. Jim saw a black ponytail dangling below her cap. The chips warmed his hands as he stared at her hair, swinging. If he lunged forward he'd be able to reach it. The sight of her hair made him forget about her funny voice. He grinned. 'What you laughing at?' the girl asked, spinning round suddenly to face him. He could tell she was cross. Their fingers touched as she held out his change. Her skin felt greasy and he nearly dropped his chips in fright. He turned and ran. 'Hey! You forget change!' the girl shouted half-heartedly.

  He kept running. He ran until his legs ached. When he stopped, winded, he was round the corner from the park. The chips were cold but he ate them greedily, sitting on the doorstep of an empty house. When he'd finished eating he felt thirsty. He needed a drink and somewhere to sleep. He glanced around. No one could see him sitting there, concealed behind an overgrown hedge. Drawing his knees up to his chin he wrapped his arms round his legs and began rocking gently backwards and forwards.

  'Clever boy,' Miss Elsie said and he laughed softly to himself. They'd never find her, hidden under the leaves. And they'd never find him.

9

Honda

DI Carter and his sergeant DS Black pulled into the forecourt of the Honda showroom on the Hinckley Roundabout.

  'Nice,' Black said, looking around.

  'Come on,' Carter answered. 'We're not here to look at cars.'

  'Shame. Not that I'd go for a Honda, but even so. There's something about a brand new car, isn't there? They're so shiny and …' He paused, searching for the right word.

  'Expensive?' Carter suggested. 'Come on, let's get on with it.' They entered a plush powder blue and white show room where an attractive girl behind a white desk smiled up at them brightly. Everything in the showroom was gleaming.

  'Can I help you?' she asked. 'A salesmen will be with you in a moment if you'd like to test drive one of the cars.' They smiled back, taking out their warrant cards. A young man approached them as she examined their credentials, his suit stylishly cut, teamed with an expensive looking red tie. He threw them the same professional smile that the girl had given.

  'Marcus Morrissey,' he introduced himself. 'Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. We're short staffed this morning. Can I help you?'

  'Yes,' Carter replied, turning so the salesman could see his ID card. 'We'd like to ask you a few questions about a colleague of yours, John Drew.'

  'I'm afraid he's not here,' Morrissey said breezily.

  'There was a phone call for him earlier on,' the receptionist added. 'He said he had to go. He wouldn't say why, but he looked pretty shaken.'

  'Is Johnny in some sort of trouble?' Peter Morrissey asked.

  'I'm afraid there's been a death,' Carter told them.

  'Oh dear,' the girl said automatically. Her eyes fell.

  Black stepped up to the desk. 'Were you working here yesterday morning?' he asked. She nodded, suddenly serious. 'And you, sir?' Marcus Morrissey confirmed that he'd been there every morning that week.

  'Who else was here in the showroom on Wednesday morning?'

  'Just us and the boss, Robert Lakeland.' He told them Robert Lakeland was away. He wouldn't be back until after the weekend. The receptionist thought he might be at home on Sunday and gave them her boss's address and telephone number.

  'Should you be giving that out?' Morrissey hissed at her.

  'Shut up, Marcus, it's the police.'

  'Do you know where Mr Lakeland's gone?'

  'Yes. He's gone to a meeting at Head Office in Swindon. He often goes and stays over. He's got a sister or someone he visits out that way,' Morrissey told them.

  'His mother,' the receptionist corrected him. 'Robert goes to Swindon for a meeting every month. His mother lives there. He stays with her Thursday and Friday night, spends Saturday with his mother, and drives back down on Sunday. I think he goes to see his mother every weekend, actually.'

  'And what about Mrs Lakeland?'

  'She lives somewhere near Swindon. That's why he goes there.'

  'His wife, I mean.'

  'Oh, he's not married,' the receptionist said.

  His colleagues confirmed that John Drew had been at work the previous morning. He had no test drives in the book, and they definitely remembered him being 'around' but when pressed, neither of them could positively swear he'd been there all morning.

  'Is it possible he might have slipped away for an hour or so? Left the showroom completely?' Carter asked the girl.

  She hesitated. 'I didn't see him leave,' she replied.

  'But it's possible?'

  'I wouldn't have thought so, but I suppose he could have done.' She sounded doubtful.

  Morrissey was equally vague. 'I was out myself,' he explained. 'I think you'll find I had a couple of test drives yesterday morning.' Black checked. Morrissey had one test drive booked for ten o'clock.

  'How long were you away from the showroom?' Morrissey reckoned he'd been gone for about twenty minutes. He'd spent some time chatting to a customer. He thought it unlikely John Drew could have left the showroom for about an hour without anyone noticing his absence.

  'I just can't promise, hand on heart, he didn't go out. I never saw him leave and I never saw him come back in. But I was very busy.'

  'What about CCTV?'

  Morrissey shook his head. 'The CCTV just covers the forecourt. It's only staff cars at the back.'

  'One final question, Mr Morrissey,' Carter said. 'Did you know Angela Waters?'

  'Doesn't ring a bell. Should I know her?'

  'Mr Drew's girlfriend.'

  'Oh Angie. Johnny's girl. Yes, he's mentioned her but I've never met her. Is this something to do with her then? She in some sort of trouble?' The two policemen exchanged a glance before Black explained the reason for their visit. Marcus Morrissey whistled. 'Jesus. So that's why Johnny's not in today. Do you think he did it?'

  'We're just carrying out routine enquiries, Mr Morrissey. Is there any particular reason why you think John Drew might be responsible?'

  Morrissey looked taken aback. 'Good lord no. It's just that you're here, asking questions. I thought, perhaps … Well, nothing. Just that you're here, that's all,' he mumbled in confusion.

  'This is a routine visit, Mr Morrissey.' Carter handed each of them a card and asked them to be sure to contact him if they remembered anything about John Drew's movements the previous morning. He thanked them for their assistance and the two detectives left.