Evil in Return (21 page)

‘Do you think he killed the girl?’

‘I honestly don’t know. My gut feel is that something went on between them, but if he did kill her, it was probably accidental. Whatever happened, unless he confesses, we’ve sweet FA to go on.’

‘What about the others?’

‘There’s no indication that they had anything to do with her death. And as far as the rest of it goes, what they did with the body, etcetera, etcetera, all three stories more or less match.’

‘You don’t think they rehearsed it?’

‘I’m sure they did, both at the time and since. But they weren’t expecting us this morning and they had no opportunity to discuss anything together once Sam and Nick got there. They were brought here in separate cars and kept apart once they arrived. The accounts were quite detailed, particularly Fleming’s and Wade’s. It would have been near impossible to get everything right.’

‘OK. What next?’

‘We need to recover the girl’s body. It’s our only means of finding out what really went on.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll call Clive right away. Assuming the body hasn’t already turned up at some point during the last eighteen years, we’ll have to drag the lake. But he’ll have to clear it first with Avon and Somerset. They may want to take charge of things at that end.’

‘How long will it take?’

She glanced at her watch. ‘If I can get hold of him now, hopefully we can get a search team over there tonight. Otherwise, it will have to be first thing tomorrow morning. What do you want to do with Alex Fleming and the others?’

‘For the moment, we’ve got no real grounds to hold them.’

‘But they’ve all potentially withheld evidence.’

‘Do you really want to pursue it? We have no proof yet that what happened at the lake had a direct bearing on the two murders.’

‘But the emails . . .’

‘Obviously, whoever sent them knew about what went on there, but they could be a red herring, sent either as a windup or to confuse. The killings could be about something else altogether.’

‘One of the three could have sent them.’

‘Yes. Or, as Fleming said, maybe someone else was watching.’

Narrowing her eyes, she gave him a sideways glance. ‘The key question is, if we’d known sooner, could we have saved Paul Khan?’

‘I don’t see how. I really don’t think we can blame them for that. As I said, we still don’t know why he and Logan are dead.’

She nodded as though she finally agreed. ‘Do you think any of them could have killed Logan and Khan?’

‘Yes. But again, there’s no clear motive.’

‘What about the girl? Maybe someone wanted to stop the truth coming out.’

‘I don’t think that’s enough, do you?’

She shrugged. ‘People have killed for a lot less, as you know. Have you checked their alibis?’

‘It’s being done as we speak. Fleming says he was at the restaurant the night Logan disappeared and didn’t leave until after midnight. The night Khan was murdered, he had a drink with a woman who lives on the canal near Logan’s boat. After that, according to him he went home, but there’s nobody who can corroborate his story. If more than one person’s involved in the killings, he can’t be ruled out. As for Wade, he says he was either at his chambers or at home. Black is the only one of the three who doesn’t seem to have any form of alibi for either of the murders.’

‘And if they didn’t do it, are they at risk, do you think?’

It was something that had been troubling him, but there was no easy answer. ‘Nobody’s asked for protection yet, but they’re not stupid. It must have crossed their minds that they might be in danger too. You’re not going to like it, but I think we should put them under surveillance.’

Steele shook her head. ‘You know what that costs.’

‘But there was hardly a gap between the two murders. If something else is going to happen, my gut feel is it’ll be soon. Can we really run that risk?’

‘Have any of them received emails?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then.’ She sat back in her chair and studied him for a moment. ‘Look, Mark. As you say yourself, we don’t know why any of this is happening. Until we find out more, I just can’t justify the expense.’

She was right, of course. To put twenty-four hour surveillance teams on three people would cost an arm and a leg and there was nothing concrete to warrant it. But his gut was telling him otherwise. The five men, two dead and three alive, were inextricably connected. The answer had to lie there, if only they knew where to look.

She was tapping her fingers lightly on the table and gave him an enigmatic smile. ‘I can see you’re not convinced.’

He folded his arms. ‘No. My worry is that by the time we have something tangible it will be too late. Another man will be dead and we might have been able to stop it happening. And there’s another thing. Maybe if we put a watch on the three, it will lead us to whoever is doing this.’

She stared into space for a moment, then sighed. ‘OK. Like you, the last thing I want is another murder. I’ll go and talk to Clive. It has to be his call. Of course I can’t promise anything, but you know how mindful of the press he is. They still don’t know that the two murders are officially linked. With the threat of another death, well . . . That may just focus his thoughts.’

25

Alex hadn’t gone more than a few metres out of the police station when he heard his name being called. He looked around and saw Tim running up to him.

‘How did it go?’ Tim asked, briefly clasping an arm around his shoulders. His face was red and his shirt was marked with sweat. Alex wondered if it was just the heat or if he had found the police interview an ordeal, although he couldn’t see Tim getting rattled by it. ‘I asked, how did it go?’ Tim repeated, when he didn’t answer.

Alex kept walking. ‘Fine.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘What we said.’

‘Which is?’

‘You know. You wrote the bloody script.’ Alex stopped at the pedestrian crossing. The light was red, the traffic streaming past, and he had no choice but to wait.

‘That’s not exactly fair, you know. We all agreed.’

‘Did we?’

‘Come on, now. You know we did. What’s up?’

He glanced at Tim. ‘What the fuck do you mean “what’s up”? Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Tim muttered, as several passers-by turned to stare at them. They probably thought he and Tim were having a lovers’ tiff.

‘I don’t care who hears,’ he said loudly, enjoying Tim’s embarrassment. ‘That’s the least of my worries. I’ve just been practically arrested for something I didn’t do nearly twenty years ago and now apparently I may also have killed Joe and Paul. Life’s just sweet.’ The pedestrian light turned green and he started out across the road as fast as he could, although he knew Tim wouldn’t let it go that easily.

‘Look, I’m not to blame for any of that,’ Tim said, catching him up and keeping pace as he turned down Kensington High Street.

‘No? You were the one who told me not to talk to them.’

‘I didn’t think there was any point.’

‘Apparently, in their eyes, that looks very suspicious. But don’t worry, I didn’t tell them it was your idea or that I stayed with you last night.’

‘You were the one who called at two in the morning saying you needed a bed for the night. I was only trying to help, as you know.’

‘Yeah, well, your helpfulness just has a habit of getting other people into trouble.’

‘Come on, Alex. You’re being a tad unfair. Shall we go and have a drink somewhere and talk about this?’

He shook his head. A drink? That was always Tim’s answer to every problem, as though it was a trivial matter that could be easily put to bed with a few kind words. He was struck by Tim’s lack of emotion, as though being grilled by the police, let alone the memories of that fateful night, hadn’t touched him in any way. By contrast, he felt shrivelled inside. He wondered now if he was the only one of the five to be so affected by what had happened, but then his connection with the girl had been on a different level. He knew things they didn’t . . .

Alex waved Tim away with his hand. ‘I don’t want a drink. I’m due at work and I’m way late as it is.’

‘Ring up and say you’re sick.’

‘Fuck off, Tim. They know I’m not. I had to call them from the station and tell them what was happening.’

‘Come on. Just a quick one so we can sort this out. It won’t take long.’

‘No. You may not rate it, but my job’s important to me and I can’t afford to lose it.’

‘OK, OK, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way, but you’re being over-sensitive, you know. We really ought to talk about what’s gone on.’

‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ He pushed himself faster, wishing that Tim would leave him alone, but he stayed right at his side.

‘Look,’ Tim said, trying to catch his eye. ‘I’m sure the police don’t seriously think you had anything to do with what happened to Joe and Paul. It’s just a line. They’re fishing. They tried it on me too. Naturally, I told them where to get off.’

‘It seems I don’t have a watertight alibi for the time of Paul’s death.’

‘I wouldn’t pay much attention to that. They have to ask the question, of course, but even if you don’t have an alibi, they really haven’t a leg to stand on. They have no proof you did anything wrong. It would never get anywhere near a court.’

‘That’s not the way it came across to me.’

‘They questioned me too, you know. It’s what they do. Luckily, my clerk at chambers can vouch for me there. The rest of the time I was at home and they can talk to Milly about that. All I can say is that if they really thought you were in the frame they wouldn’t be letting you go now.’

‘That’s very comforting,’ Alex said acidly, although the sarcasm was lost on Tim. A posse of gossiping women with pushchairs carved a path between them, briefly separating them, but Tim skipped around them and caught up with him again. ‘Believe me, Alex. I had no desire to make things difficult for you.’

Alex didn’t reply. Barely aware of where he was, he carried on walking, head down, trying to blot out Tim’s looming presence beside him. The pavement was busy with shoppers, and people on their way home from work. As they stopped again at another crossing, he caught the tail end of a conversation between two teenage girls next to him who were discussing some boy they both fancied. If only life was still so simple, he thought, although he wouldn’t be a teenager again for anything in the world. It had been a painful, awkward, self-conscious time for him, if not for the others, and what had happened at Ashleigh Grange was the nadir. It had shadowed the following years, marking him permanently. The dirty little secret was always there, locked away deep inside like a tumour.

‘Danny’s still at the station,’ Tim said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘They haven’t quite finished with him yet, but when they let him go I thought the three of us should get together and have a post mortem.’

He glared at Tim for a second. ‘That’s a bloody unfortunate choice of words in the circumstances.’

‘Yes, sorry. You know what I mean. I’ll go back in a minute and see how he’s doing. I just wanted to check you were OK.’

Tim’s voice was full of concern and Alex glanced away. ‘Well, I’m not OK. I don’t want to talk about what’s happened and I’d like you to leave me alone. I’ve got to go to work and I need to clear my head.’

Tim put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Alex. Look at me, will you?’

‘No.’

‘Please look at me. I’m not your enemy.’

He turned to face Tim. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘How long have you known me?’

‘Too long, maybe.’

‘Don’t be silly, you’re one of my oldest friends. I can see you’re really upset and it’s natural you want to lash out, but don’t take it out on me. None of us had anything to do with what happened to that poor girl. None of us is to blame either for what happened to Joe and Paul. I’m sorry I stopped you going to the police earlier, but I thought it was best we didn’t get embroiled. It was an honest mistake.’

Not trusting himself to speak, Alex stared down at his feet and shook his head.

‘But don’t worry,’ Tim continued, oblivious. ‘We’re not in some third world country. The police will sort it out.’

‘They think I killed that girl,’ Alex said quietly.

‘You know that’s ridiculous. You just need a good lawyer. The police will work it all out eventually, then life can get back to normal. You’ll see.’

Fighting back the tears, he met Tim’s gaze. Tim was looking at him indulgently, as though he was a little child having a tantrum. As far as Tim was concerned, the whole episode was long ago and buried. Maybe it hadn’t even affected him much at the time . . . As for the incident in the police station, it too could be quickly forgotten. Alex wanted to punch Tim, wipe the stupid, patronising expression off his face, but there was no point. Nothing he could say would ever make Tim understand. They were worlds apart. Always had been, if only he had had the sense to realise it.

‘Normal?’ he said to Tim. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just fuck off and leave me alone,’ he shouted, ignoring the looks from the people around him. He saw a break in the line of cars and ran across the road, zigzagging through the crowd of waiting pedestrians on the other side. Tim called out something after him, but the words were lost in the noise of the traffic. Although the sweat was pouring down him, Alex kept running until he had put a safe distance between them.

Maybe he was over-reacting, but the questioning had been so intense. He had never found himself in such a position before and he hoped he never would again. He thought of the detective with the black hair and Italian name who had interviewed him. They were trained at interrogation, but Alex had never imagined anything as probing or as morally damning. The process had stripped him bare as thoughts and images bubbled up from the deep: so many things unconsciously stored and now released, he hadn’t known what to make of them. For a moment, it had all seemed astonishingly clear again, but then he’d started to doubt himself. Like a magician conjuring visions out of the darkness, the detective had suggested things that hadn’t been there before, foul ideas that took root in Alex’s mind until he didn’t know what was true or false.

The detective had sat motionless in his chair, his head resting lightly on his fingers, watching him, questioning him. Had Alex really just left her there by the lake and gone off home to bed? So he thought she was dead? No? Just unconscious? Had he tried to revive her, given her the kiss of life, maybe? Why not? What did he think had happened to her? Had someone hurt her? No? Was he sure? Were there any bruises, swellings, marks, signs of abuse of any kind . . . Abuse. The word shot through him. Nobody could possibly know what he’d done. In his fever, had he failed to notice the obvious? He pictured her before him, saw shadows spread like spilled ink over her skin, flesh discoloured and swelling, as though invisible hands were squeezing and pushing. Her thighs? Fuck. He hadn’t looked at her thighs, or any other part of her. He hadn’t looked at her at all. In his head, he had been somewhere else entirely, imagining that she was someone else. How the hell could he explain that? Blood? There was no blood. Not that he remembered. No, he hadn’t touched her. No, he hadn’t had sex with her. Nobody had interfered with her. Whatever had happened, it had been an accident, for Christ’s sake.
An accident!

For a moment, he was back there again, with her in the water. It was like a dream, the vision swirling around him as if he was the only thing that was still. He saw the black canopy of branches, the shimmering blur of the moon, stars wheeling pinpoints of light in the sky. The dull thud of the music reached out across the lake and filled his head. A breeze had come up from nowhere and he shivered as he stepped out with her onto the shore. She was limp in his arms, her head lolling over his shoulder, her long, muddy hair clinging to his back. He felt the chill of her skin pressed against his, the dry grass prickle as he walked up the bank and laid her on the ground. He forgot the others out in the lake, wherever they were. Their voices in the distance dimmed to nothing. He was alone with her, just the two of them. He stretched her limbs out on the grass and gazed at her for a moment, wanting her, wishing that she would open her eyes and look at him. But she didn’t move. He knelt down and kissed her, then again, closer this time, feeling the clammy softness of her beneath him. Slowly, he ran his fingers over her skin, touching, caressing, exploring every part of her as though she was something new and strange. Still she didn’t move. The fever stole upon him. The music exploded in his head, the beat clear and sharp, pulsing through his veins. Even the moon was humming. Everything was Technicolor and he was on fire. He closed his eyes and pulled her to him. Then he was inside her and he lost himself. He was somewhere else and she was the little first year, giggling, teasing, egging him on, wanting him – not Paul. It was like never before, like nothing he had ever even imagined. But it was all over too quickly. He rolled onto his back and lay on the grass looking up at the stars. They were spinning like motes of brightly coloured dust in a shaft of sunlight. When he shut his eyes, he could still see them, a kaleidoscope of colour turning round and round. The girl was gone and he was on his own.

Later, when he finally made it back to his room, tossing and turning in his bed as he tried and failed to fall asleep, it seemed surreal. He told himself, maybe it hadn’t actually happened. Perhaps, fuelled by whatever crazy cocktail of stuff he had taken that night, he had been hallucinating. But a few hours later, in the washed-out early morning light, when he went back to the lake with Joe and the others and saw her spread-eagled on the ground, arms and legs at weird angles like something roughly discarded, the reality hit him. She was dead. What was even stranger, she looked nothing like the girl he remembered. Was it really her? It had to be. Christ, what had he done? Had he forced the last, dying breath from her with his madness? Or was she already dead when he found her? He didn’t know which was worse . . .

The ringing of his phone cut through the nightmare. He shook his head and blinked, aware once more that he was outside in the middle of a bright, busy street. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and saw Maggie Thomas’s name on the screen. He stared at it for a moment wondering what to do, then he ducked into a doorway and answered it.

Her voice was sweet and sunny, as though from another world. ‘The police have just been by,’ she said, after a brief greeting.

‘They asked if you were with me the other night. I said you were. I hope that’s OK.’

‘Thanks. They’re just checking my alibi.’ He spoke slowly and deliberately, finding it difficult to form the words.

‘Is everything alright?’

He took a deep breath. ‘No. No, it’s not.’

‘What’s happened? Is it about Joe? Is there any news?’

He hesitated. ‘It must sound really odd, but another friend of mine has been murdered.’

‘No,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry to hear that. Where are you?’

‘In Kensington. On my way to work.’

‘Are you OK? Silly me, of course you’re not.’

Leaning back against the wall, he squeezed his eyes tight shut. ‘I feel like shit. It’s all been too much.’

‘You sound bad. Would you like to come over? It might help to talk to a friendly ear.’