Desperate Measures (12 page)

Back in the incident room, Janine was trying to work out a narrative that fit the evidence to date using Richard as her sounding board. ‘Halliwell and Aaron Matthews were known to each other, Halliwell was his GP. We know Halliwell was stealing drugs and we also know Matthews’ gun killed him. Add in Matthews’ history...’

‘A drug deal gone sour?’ Richard said.

‘It’s a possibility,’ Janine said. ‘And our Dr Halliwell is not exactly the upstanding pillar of the community we thought he was.’

‘Boss. I’ve got the Range Rover, Monday.’

Lisa had been scrolling through CCTV footage of traffic on the high street for Monday and Tuesday evening looking for the Range Rover.

She lined up the footage and played it for them to watch it driving down the high street from the west and then turning off out of view, towards the surgery.

‘Ten to six,’ Lisa said. ‘That’s the only one that matches Dr Gupta’s description, and the time’s right.’

‘Tenner says it’s a knock-off job,’ Shap said, ‘the gang will have used it to run a recce, done the job, then torched it.’

‘The job being to steal Halliwell’s briefcase and the diamorphine?’ Janine said. ‘I don’t know. Yes, the doctor is stealing drugs but the overall amount is chicken feed, a gang dealing in drugs is going to want a much bigger consignment.’

‘Maybe we are back to a splinter group,’ Richard said, ‘youngsters flexing their muscles.’

‘Or Aaron Matthews is a junkie and somehow finds out he can rip off his family doctor for the goods,’ Shap said.

‘How would he find out,’ Janine said, ‘we’ve only just stumbled on it. It’s obviously been the good doctor’s secret for a considerable time.’

Lisa shrugged, ‘I wouldn’t have said Matthews was a junkie.’

‘Tell by looking, can you?’ Shap said.

‘Nothing to show that at his flat, no obvious physical signs,’ Lisa said.

‘And Tuesday?’ Janine said, gesturing to the screen.

‘Nothing,’ Lisa said, ‘this vehicle wasn’t in the area anywhere close to the time of the shooting – not on the tapes and it would have had to pass this camera to reach the surgery.’

Janine sighed, finding the car in the vicinity on the Monday but not on the Tuesday was disappointing.

‘Can we get the plate?’ Richard nodded at the frozen image of the Range Rover.

Lisa wound the tape until the vehicle could be seen from the front and zoomed in. ‘Check it for registered keeper.’

‘It’ll be a knock off,’ Shap repeated.

Lisa accessed the database and typed in the registration number. The screen loaded with the registered owner details.

‘Neil Langan?’ Richard said.

Janine felt a kick in her chest. ‘Langan? We’ve a Dawn Langan. Practice nurse.’

‘Same address?’ Janine asked.

Shap checked Dawn’s details. ‘Yes.’

‘What was Mr Langan doing lurking outside his wife’s place of work on Monday?’ Janine said.

‘Well, he wasn’t giving her a lift home,’ Richard said.

‘Butchers said Dawn was a bit off with him,’ Shap told them, ‘hiding something? She must be sweating cobs.’

Janine rang Butchers at the surgery and explained the situation. Tasked him with speaking to Dawn Langan and establishing her husband’s whereabouts.

‘Dawn, can I have a word?’ Butchers said. ‘It’s actually Neil I hoped to talk to. Is he at home?’

‘No,’ she froze.

‘At work?’

‘No.’

Butchers waited. Dawn’s eyes flicked all over the place.

‘Is that usual?’ Butchers said, ‘Him being off the radar?’

She looked like she’d break, trembling, her chin wobbling, ponytail shivering.

‘Where is he, Dawn?’ Butchers said gently.

‘I don’t know where he is,’ she blurted out, ‘he’s not been into the sorting office. And his phone’s off.’

‘Was he at home in the early hours of Tuesday morning?’ Butchers said, thinking about the attack on Halliwell’s car.

Dawn looked away, as if she daren’t meet Butchers eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered.

‘What about Tuesday evening, around six thirty?’

She didn’t answer. Butchers could hear her breath, jerky and uneven.

‘And you didn’t think to tell us?’ Butchers said.
Missing at the time of the murder
. ‘Why’s that then?’ He picked up his phone.

‘Because this is nothing to do with him,’ she said vehemently, ‘even if he found out about us, he’d never hurt anybody. Neil is not a murderer. No way.’

‘Whoah!’ Butchers said, ‘Stop right there.’
Found out about us?
‘Who’s ‘us’?
              Dawn Langan burst into tears. It was a good five minutes before Butchers could get any sense out of her. And when he did the whole picture changed.

They were searching for Neil Langan: using the automatic number plate recognition system to look for sightings of his car, following procedures to get access to his phone records, and liaising with his bank so they could track him when he used his cards.

‘So,’ Shap marvelled, ‘Dawn Langan and Don Halliwell, playing doctors and nurses.’

‘And when Neil Langan finds out...’ Janine said.

‘He smashes up Halliwell’s car...’ Shap said.

‘And then shoots him,’ Richard said.

It was a strong motive and Janine knew that jealousy was a very powerful emotion. Being betrayed, cuckolded, dumped, drove people to kill. A minority to be sure – otherwise the murder rate would be phenomenal. She remembered her own sense of shock when she caught Pete cheating, the numbness giving way to a mix of cold fury and deep sadness. That Pete could risk it all, their marriage, their life as a family, daily contact with his children, for the thrill of sex. Janine was hurt even more when Pete chose Tina and left Janine, who was expecting their fourth child, on her own.

She had fantasized about hurting him, humiliating him, called down all sorts of catastrophes and punishments but that was all they were.

So, had Neil Langan, a postman married to the practice nurse, a man with no criminal record, been driven to act with such brutality? Violence against property was a very different matter than violence against the person. What had he thought? That if he shot Halliwell, put him out of action, that he might be able to win back his errant wife? Hardly. Janine imagined that if Langan had killed Halliwell it would’ve been done in a blur of hatred and rage, with no thought of the far-reaching consequences of his actions.

‘He just happens to carry a handgun in his postie’s bag?’ Janine said. ‘He goes from a clean sheet to criminal damage and murder in twenty four hours?’

‘He’s there on the Monday, casing the joint, planning it,’ Shap said.

‘Then why bother with smashing up the car, if you’re going to kill someone anyway…’ Janine said.

‘Maybe the car was the initial plan and then he’s still mad with jealousy so he ups the ante,’ Shap said.

‘Why the wait?’ Janine said. ‘The car was smashed up in the early hours then he waits all day until the surgery is closing to make his move on Halliwell. What’s that about?’

‘Perhaps that’s the only time he can get Halliwell on his own,’ said Richard.

‘We don’t have the Range Rover in the area on the Tuesday evening,’ Janine said.

Shap shrugged. ‘Went on foot, less easy to trace him.’

Lisa called out, ‘Boss, Langan used his card on Tuesday at a Travel Inn at Chester services.’

‘He’ll be long gone, now,’ Shap said.

‘No, he used the same card at the ATM there last night,’ Lisa said.

‘Go on, then,’ Janine told them, ‘what you waiting for?’

Butchers was trying to establish whether Halliwell had actually been to visit Roy Gant or if that was another cover story for this funny business with the drugs.

Gant lived in a small terrace with mullioned windows, double glazed so they looked odd, too fussy for the property, Butchers thought.

Butchers knocked and introduced himself. He apologized for the intrusion and explained the reason for his call.

Roy Gant grunted and nodded he should go on. He was dishevelled, Butchers saw, probably still dazed from his wife’s death.

‘Mr Gant, did Dr Halliwell visit you on Tuesday afternoon?’

‘Yes, that’s right. He had to do the cause of death certificate, for Peggy. Then he was calling home, he said, before afternoon surgery.’

This was news to Butchers.

‘What time was he here?’ Butchers said.

‘About two o’clock,’ Gant said.
‘How long was he here?’

‘About ten, fifteen minutes. Just filling out the certificate,’ Gant’s voice caught. Butchers nodded, a little uneasy at the man’s raw grief.

There was nothing about Dr Halliwell calling to his own home in his schedule for the Tuesday but maybe something like that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Dr Halliwell was in charge of the practice after all. If he fancied nipping home for a bite to eat or forty winks he’d not have to answer to anyone.

Butchers thanked Mr. Gant and back in his car he jotted down the new timeline.

1.30 pm, Chemist’s – collecting drugs for Marjorie Keysham

2.00 pm Roy Gant’s

2.20 Home

What if Halliwell was an addict? Maybe he popped home to use the drugs? The notion struck Butchers like a stroke of genius for all of ten seconds. It wouldn’t work, would it? They would have checked at the post mortem.

Lisa and Shap enquired at the Travel Inn reception for Neil Langan and the receptionist pointed them towards the lounge bar.

‘It could be a domestic after all,’ Lisa said. And if it was, if Neil Langan had killed Halliwell in a crime of passion, then Lisa would be off the hook for messing up the Matthews arrest.

Shap just rolled his eyes, like she was baying for the moon.

Neil Langan was slumped in a corner booth, eyes shut, empty glasses in front of him.

‘Neil Langan?’ Shap said.

Langan startled awake, eyes bleary. ‘What?’

‘DS Shap and DC Goodall.’ Shap made the introductions.

Neil Langan stretched his neck, as though he’d a crick in it. ‘I wondered how long you’d be,’ he said. ‘I thought she should know that’s all.’ He gave a shrug.

‘Back up a bit, sir,’ Lisa said. ‘You were outside the surgery where your wife works on Monday night?’
              ‘Yes,’ Neil Langan said, ‘I wanted to see with my own eyes. I’d rung the Monday before to ask Dawn something, but the surgery was closed.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘She wasn’t at a late-night clinic every Monday like she told me; she was shagging Don Halliwell.’ He leaned forward and lifted a glass, whisky, Lisa guessed, and drained it. ‘I waited this time,’ Langan went on, ‘and I followed them to the hotel. Then I got hammered and I rang Mrs Halliwell and I told her all about them. Then I sank a few more – pints and chasers.’ He waved the glass. ‘And I went round there in the middle of the night and I rammed his car. Bastard.’

No attempt to mislead them or deny any of it.

‘Where were you on Tuesday, afternoon and evening?’ Lisa said.

‘Here,’ Neil Langan said, ‘well, that table over there, I think.’ He flapped a hand. ‘Or that one.’

‘Can anyone confirm that?’ Shap said.

‘Ask the staff,’ Neil Langan said. ‘I’m their big spender, this week.’ He waved at the bartender who gave a small shake of the head and busied himself stocking up the bottles behind, clearly weary of Langan, Lisa thought. She walked over to him and asked how long Langan had been in residence.

‘Too long,’ the man said.

‘Do you know when he arrived?’

‘He was in here as soon as we opened on Tuesday morning,’ he said, ‘drowning his sorrows.’

‘Did he leave the premises any time on Tuesday?’

‘No. Still here when I clocked off at seven,’ the man said.

There was no way Neil Langan could have returned to Manchester and shot the doctor.

Lisa went back across to the booth and got there in time to hear Langan protesting, ‘I don’t know what you’re wasting time with me for – it’s Norma Halliwell you want to be talking to. I tell her what’s going on, that her husband is shagging my wife, and next thing...’ He mimed someone shooting a gun, made a
pow
sound like a kid might. ‘I’d no idea she’d take it like that, shoot her own husband. That’s who you should be talking to.’ He stared at the empty glass in his hand, held it up to the light as if there might be more booze hiding somewhere inside it. ‘You should be talking to her. I spill the beans and she goes mental. Norma Halliwell. Unbelievable.’

Janine and Richard were on their way to the Halliwell house. Janine was trying to accommodate the new theory, relinquish Langan as a suspect given his watertight alibi and focus on Norma Halliwell. ‘She might have motive but how on earth would she get hold of a gun? She’s a piano teacher - her clientele aren’t likely to be toting small arms about,’ Janine said.

‘Hit man?’ Richard said.

‘I can’t see it, though I have been known to be wrong.’

‘Steady on,’ Richard said.

She cut her eyes at him. ‘A doctor’s wife, in her sixties. Can you see her hanging round dodgy pubs in search of a contract killer? Not in a million years. She only learned about the affair on Monday night. And how did she get to the surgery and back? Halliwell had her car, his was wrecked.’

‘Taxi?’ Richard said.

‘So how do we handle it?’ Richard said as Janine drew the car into the kerb outside the house.

‘We can’t put the gun in her hand,’ Janine said, ‘but she’s clearly been keeping things from us. Not a dicky bird about Langan’s phone call. So let’s push her a bit, see what we get, eh?’

Norma Halliwell took her time to answer the door and seemed unsurprised to find them there.

‘We’d like a few minutes of your time,’ Janine explained, ‘to try and clarify some points that have come to light.’

Norma gave a nod and they went with her into the front room again.

She sat in an armchair, her manner distracted, absent, picking at the piping on the chair.

‘Neil Langan rang you on Monday evening,’ Janine said.

Norma glanced at Janine then lowered her eyes.

‘He told you that Don was having a relationship with his wife, Dawn Langan,’ Janine said. ‘That must have been quite a shock?’

‘Not really,’ Norma said, ‘I thought there was someone.’

‘Did you talk to Don about it?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘You failed to mention it to us,’ Richard said.

Norma shook her head, ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

‘Has it happened before?’ Janine said.

‘Probably,’ Norma sounded tired. ‘I don’t ask.’

‘You must have suspected that Neil Langan was behind the damage to the car.’ There was an edge of disbelief in Richard’s tone, ‘possibly involved in your husband’s death, and you still said nothing.’

Norma let her hands fall into her lap. ‘When they told me he was dead, I just couldn’t think,’ she said. Then something occurred to her and she straightened up, frowning, and said, ‘Mr Langan – he didn’t do it, did he? Surely not?’ Sounding innocent herself, Janine thought, or was she outwitting them?

‘No,’ Richard said.
              ‘Is there anything else you haven’t told us about, Mrs Halliwell?’ Janine said.

‘No.’

‘Where were you between six and seven on Tuesday evening?’

Norma Halliwell stared at her, pain lancing through her eyes, then gave a hollow laugh, incredulous. ‘Here. I was teaching.’

‘We could verify that?’ Richard said.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘When did you last see your husband?’ Janine said.

‘When he left for work on Tuesday,’ Norma said.

Wearily Norma Halliwell provided them with the two phone numbers for the pupils who had come for lessons on Tuesday evening, one at six and one at half past.

Out in the car, Richard made the calls and got confirmation from the parents involved.