No Place to Die (12 page)

She pushed open the door. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

‘Yes, Jane. Have a seat,’ he said, turning his back on her and opening his blinds. It was raining. Rivulets coursed down the windows, obscuring Lewisham High Street and the buildings on the other side of the street. ‘I’ve spoken to Sue Leech,’ he said. Jane remained silent. ‘I have a stack of cold-case reviews, so I won’t have time to get to Bromley and back. I’ve told Sue you’ll call to confirm, but that you will go over and update her.’

‘Of course. No problem, sir,’ she said.

‘The three cases you’re winding up are still under my direct supervision, so I will need to know when they are finished.’

‘I should have all three done by the end of next week at the latest, sir.’

‘Good. You’ll need full resources on the Hungerford case.’ He looked over his shoulder at his computer screen. ‘Roger has agreed to having another six members of the team, but will increase that to eight, depending on the outcome of the morning briefing on Monday.’

‘Right,’ she said, not wanting to contradict him.

‘This lot is going to keep me pretty busy,’ he said, gesturing at a messy pile of files on the edge of his desk. ‘You will report directly to Roger on the Hungerford and Leech cases.’

Jane didn’t know what to say. She wanted to walk straight into Roger’s office and recant everything. This wasn’t what she wanted.

‘Did you hear me, Jane?’ Lockyer said.

‘Yes, sir. Of course, but I’ll keep you informed. I know I’m going to need your help.’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She sounded pathetic, her tone whiney, like a child.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Roger will keep me up to date, I’m sure.’

Jane swallowed hard, holding back the tears that wanted to come. If she had kept her mouth shut, talked to Lockyer directly, this wouldn’t have happened. He didn’t need her regrets or tears. He needed her loyalty and support.

‘That’s all,’ he said.

She stood and backed out of the office. She walked over to her desk, numbed by the experience.

‘Jane?’

She looked up. Penny was standing by her desk, waiting for her. ‘Yes, Pen. What’s up?’ she said, without enthusiasm.

‘Your mother called. She wants to know what time you’ll be home. And I’ve got a lead on the boyfriend.’

‘Mort?’ she asked.

‘No. Lebowski,’ Penny said, looking down at a notepad she was holding. ‘He’s a lecturer at Maggie’s uni, teaches psychology. We’ve had two calls on the inquiry number naming him.’

Jane raised her eyebrows. ‘What do we know about him?’ she asked, already thinking ten steps ahead. She was pretty sure that sleeping with a student was a sackable offence for a tutor. And therein lies a motive, she thought.

27th April – Sunday

Jane put her Peugeot in gear, turned to check the road behind her and backed out of the driveway. There wasn’t a lot of traffic on the road. If her luck was in, it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to get to Sue’s house in Bromley.

There just hadn’t been time yesterday. Roger had called her into his office straight after her uncomfortable conversation with Lockyer, to get updates on the Hungerford and Leech cases. By the time she got out it was gone eight o’clock – too late to see Sue.

She waited for the lights to change and then pulled onto Lewisham Road. She stopped to let two women cross in front of her. Yesterday’s bad weather hadn’t lasted. The sun was out, warming the pavements, creating a steamy haze around the women’s feet. One held the hand of a little girl who was skipping alongside her mother in a pretty summer dress. The other woman was pushing a double stroller. A child sat in one side, but the other was crammed full of Sainsbury’s bags and a picnic blanket. Everyone seemed to be migrating to their closest patch of green to enjoy the sunshine, whereas Jane was left with the smog-stained buildings and oil-soaked roads and working on a Sunday.

She pulled up to the roundabout, indicated and then took her chance and nipped out in front of a procession of empty buses. Sunshine hit the windscreen, blinding her for a second. She leaned over and pulled down the visor on the passenger side, then her own. Peter was sitting next to her in the passenger seat, his belt pulled tight, his hands wrapped around a multicoloured Lego helicopter. It was a pre-birthday present from his grandmother. Jane suspected it was a ‘good behaviour’ treat. ‘Let’s have some music, shall we?’ she said, turning on the stereo and then reaching over and smoothing down the wayward cowlick on the top of his head.

She wished she didn’t have to take Peter with her. She cursed under her breath when she got stuck at the temporary traffic lights straddling Bromley Road. She had already been into the office this morning and left Peter sitting at her desk while she briefed her team. Roger had signed off on fifteen extra officers ahead of Monday’s briefing, which meant she would need to go in again this afternoon to organize work schedules, and then she needed to go over Victor Lebowski’s background. Penny had forwarded his details. A tutor having an affair with a student didn’t surprise her, but it might explain why Maggie hadn’t told her parents or Chrissie. It was the kind of thing that could ruin a man’s career.

Fifteen minutes later she pulled up outside Sue and Mark’s house. ‘Okey-dokey. Here we are. Now you remember what we talked about,’ she said, unclipping her seatbelt and then Peter’s as she turned to face him. ‘Tom and George might be a bit sad, because they are missing their daddy.’

‘When will he be home?’ Peter asked. He had asked the same question at breakfast.

‘I don’t know, honey, but there’s nothing for you to worry about.’ She climbed out of the car and waited for Peter to join her. She took his hand, led him up the path, pushed the doorbell and waited. She could hear footsteps and saw a shadow appear behind the obscured glass in the front door. It opened to reveal Thomas, dressed in a red T-shirt, long white football shorts and a scruffy pair of trainers. ‘Hi, Tom,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘I know grown-ups always say, “Oh, haven’t you grown”, but in this case it’s true. You’re taller than me.’ He was a typical rangy teenager, rake-thin, all limbs, knees and elbows.

‘Mum’s in the kitchen,’ he said, pulling the door open wide to let them in. ‘Hey, Pete. How’s it going, mate?’

She felt the pressure increase on her hand as Peter tensed. She squeezed back to reassure him. ‘What games have you got?’ Peter asked, staring at his flip-flops.

Jane couldn’t help smiling. ‘I happened to mention that you and Georgie have a computer. Peter wants an Xbox for his birthday,’ she said. Thomas nodded and retreated into the house until he was standing on the bottom stair.

‘Cool. We’ve got loads of games. George is upstairs. Mum won’t let me play
Call of Duty
with George, but we’ve got
Lego Star Wars.
You ever played that?’ Peter brandished his Lego helicopter as if it was a secret access device to the world of computer gaming. ‘Nice. Come on.’

Peter released his grip of Jane’s hand and followed Thomas up the stairs. He didn’t look back.

She was about to call out when Sue appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Hi, Jane,’ she said, wiping her hands on the tea towel that was tucked into the pocket of the apron she was wearing. ‘Thanks so much for coming over at a weekend.’ If anything, Sue looked better than she had on Tuesday night. She had some colour in her cheeks and her voice had some bounce to it. The boys, Jane thought – all this was a facade, a show of normality for Thomas and George.

‘It’s not a problem,’ she said, walking forward and putting her arms around Sue. She could have wrapped them round twice. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Oh, you know,’ she said, patting Jane on the back as if she was burping a baby. ‘Bearing up.’ The two women parted and looked at each other. This part was always difficult. Was Jane here as a friend or a police officer? She could see Sue wrestling with the same dilemma, because both applied. Both
had
to apply. As much as Jane wanted to support her friend, listen to her worries and dry her tears, she had a job to do. Everything that Sue said could be important. The private details of their marriage were now evidence – indicators that could lead to Mark. ‘I know,’ Sue said, as if reading Jane’s thoughts. ‘Business or pleasure?’ she added, smiling. ‘Come through. I’ve just made some lemonade. Do you fancy some?’

‘Sounds great,’ Jane said, following Sue through to the kitchen. The children’s drawings and attempts at pottery still adorned almost every surface and the rustic walls gave the room a warm glow, but the door to the utility room was closed, two pieces of red tape criss-crossing the entrance. Jane was pleased to see that whoever had sealed the room had used plain tape, rather than the bright-yellow crime-scene stuff. Neither Sue nor the boys needed to see that every day.

Sue put a jug of lemonade, two glasses and a packet of biscuits on a tray. ‘I’ve got a table set up in the back garden,’ she said, picking up the tray and nodding for Jane to follow her. Sue walked back into the hallway, passed the front door and went into the lounge. It was an open-plan lounge and dining room, the table set up at the far end next to French doors that led into the garden. ‘Have to go the long way round, I’m afraid.’

‘Okay.’ Jane felt as if her inter-personal skills had abandoned her. She was so desperate to get the ‘work stuff’ done that she was finding small talk impossible.

‘So, where are we?’ Sue asked, walking out into the garden and sitting down at a small mosaic-topped table. She balanced the tray in the centre.

Jane walked over and sat down opposite her, taking her notepad out of her handbag. There was no easy way to say it. ‘The blood results are back. It’s Mark’s.’

‘I guessed as much,’ Sue said, leaning forward and stirring the lemonade with a long-handled wooden spoon.

‘As you know, there were extensive blood-spatters in the utility room, which had been wiped down.’ An image of the utility room bathed in the harsh spotlights settled in her mind. ‘The cleaning fluids used match the products that SOCO found in the utility room, in the cupboard under the sink,’ she said, turning the page on her notepad, keeping her eyes on the paper in front of her. ‘No other fingerprints were found. However, SOCO did find a small amount of white residue on the trim of the back door. I’ve just had confirmation that the substance is consistent with the powder used in surgical gloves.’

‘Are you saying someone came into my home . . . someone attacked my husband?’ Sue’s voice stuttered to a stop.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Jane said, reaching over and taking her hand. ‘That’s the premise we’re working on.’

‘But why? Who would do this?’ Sue said, shaking her head, her hands gripping the edge of the table. ‘Who would—?’ She stopped. ‘I . . . ’

‘What is it, Sue?’ Jane asked, trying to catch her eye. ‘Sue?’

Sue shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I just can’t believe this is happening.’

‘Sue, I need your help.’

Sue looked over her shoulder and up at the window of the bedroom where her sons were playing computer games. When she turned back, Jane could see that her face had paled. Without looking Jane in the eye, she said, ‘Ask me anything.’

27th April
–
Sunday

Lockyer dropped onto the sofa and turned on the television. Both sash windows were wide open, but there was no breeze to shift the heat in his lounge. The back of his shirt was soaked in sweat from his journey home in the car. He and Bobby had sat in the back garden at Cliffview and played ‘Happy Families’. He had spent most of the game trying to engineer the deal so that Bobby would get his favourites, Mr Pots the painter and Mr Pint the Milkman, together with their respective families.

He rested his head back and looked up at the ceiling. Cobwebs clung to the cornices. He made a mental note, not for the first time, to get a duster that extended. He closed his eyes. Bobby would be forty-six this year. Time was meant to heal, but Lockyer felt just as angry today as he had five years ago when he drove to Manchester to meet his brother for the first time. The hardest part was having no one to blame. His parents were dead and so was Aunt Nancy, Bobby’s guardian. Lockyer would never understand how they could separate two brothers. How could they lie to them both? But then that was part of it. No one had needed to lie to Bobby. His autism shut him off from the world to a certain extent. He remembered faces, footfalls, smells; he didn’t remember hurt or rejection. Lockyer tipped his head forward and looked at his watch. Was it too early to have a beer?

He stood up and walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. The blast of cold air as he opened the fridge felt good. He debated between a French stubby beer and a larger bottle of Corona. Bigger was better. He took out the bottle, the glass cold against his palm, and reached into the kitchen drawer for the opener, flicking the lid onto the counter. He took a long swig and let out a satisfied groan. Just what he needed to smooth out the edges. He slopped back into the lounge, his flip-flops smacking his heels with each step. He could hear raised voices. A young couple were having a row on the pavement outside. He wandered over to the windows, sipping his beer as he listened to snatches of dialogue. He turned away, pained by another wound in his life that wouldn’t heal.

It should be
them
on the street arguing, bickering like couples do once the honeymoon period is over. They never had the chance to get that far. Sometimes he could still feel her. Late at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he would come into the kitchen and stand at the sink staring out at his tiny concrete garden. He would hear her approach, her feet soft on the tiled floor. She would put her arms around his waist and rest her cheek against his back. He shook his head and downed the rest of his beer. He didn’t want to think about her, but she was always there, a shadow in his peripheral vision that disappeared if he tried to look at her. He reached for the remote and turned off the television. He was going to have to go for a run, try and sweat out this funk.