Strange Blood (7 page)

Allowing another ten minutes for walking to the newsagent and choosing a card, Megan calculated that Tessa could have been back home as early as nine twenty-five. She wrote it down and checked the notes she had made about Tessa's last phone call. Steve Foy hadn't said where the Spelmans lived or what time Bob Spelman had picked up his learner driver. She thought about it for a moment. If the Spelmans went to the same church as Tessa there was a good chance they also lived on the Pendleton estate. It suddenly occurred to Megan that Tessa could have been murdered within a matter of minutes, left for a period of time and her corpse mutilated later. In which case Bob Spelman was going to have to come up with a pretty comprehensive account of his movements on the morning Tessa died.

Megan sat down on one of the cold, hard benches. It was still too early to go to the café. She watched people pushing trolleys through the automatic doors of the supermarket in front of her. A brightly-coloured cardboard sign caught her eye. It offered free home delivery for goods totalling twenty-five pounds or more. Megan scribbled down the name of the store. If Tessa had ever used the home delivery service the drivers would have to be interviewed.

Opposite the supermarket was a shop selling electrical goods. She wrote down ‘Television, Washing Machine, Dishwasher, Cooker' and wracked her brains to think of any other large piece of equipment Tessa might have had delivered to the house.

She glanced again at the people coming out of the supermarket. There were women pushing toddlers in buggies; elderly couples; middle-aged women; a gaggle of young girls who could be students. Megan frowned in concentration. What sort of women would be shopping alone between nine and ten on a weekday morning? It would be someone who wasn't at work. Someone whose children were in school. Whose husband would probably be at work.
Think like the killer.
She bit her lip as the words flashed through her mind. Yes, she reflected, that period straight after nine o'clock was an ideal time to stalk a woman. To follow her to a home that would probably be empty.

Then something else occurred to her, quite out of the blue. The fathers at the school. Someone who had dropped his children off at the same time as Tessa could have waited in the carpark and followed her home. She wondered if Steve Foy had considered that when he sent his team to question people at the school.

She pulled out her mobile phone.

‘Hello, Steve, I'm still at Pendleton precinct…'

His reaction to her suggestion was one of indignation. Checking the fathers had been his top priority once Richard Ledbury was out of the frame and yes, he was certain no one had been overlooked. He was a little less abrupt when she mentioned the supermarket delivery service and the electrical shop. He also accepted her point about the possibility of Tessa arriving home earlier than he had estimated.

‘Bob Spelman's on his way to the station now,' he said. ‘He does live near the Ledburys, actually, so I'll make sure he's got an alibi for the whole morning.'

‘Right,' she said, ‘If I think of anything else I'll call you.'

‘Okay,' he replied. ‘If you can't get hold of me try Dave Todd. He's still at Tessa's house – should be there most of the afternoon.'

A few minutes later she put her phone and notebook away and headed for the café. It was the only eating place in the precinct and the owner had obviously gone to some trouble to soften the uninviting look of the shop unit that housed it. Red and white checked curtains on brass rails screened the windows to shoulder height and the name
Pendleton Pantry
was inscribed on the glass in gold lettering which made the plastic fascias of the shops on either side look very tacky by comparison.

Before she reached the door Megan caught sight of Delva's head. It was turned away from the window but Megan immediately recognised the intricately braided hairstyle. They had agreed not to acknowledge one another and Megan went straight to the self-service counter without looking round.

She ordered a ham roll and a cappuccino and sat down two tables away from Delva. There were about a dozen other people in the café but it was a big room and not too noisy. Megan didn't think she would have much trouble eavesdropping when Delva's informer arrived.

Delva had her head buried in a magazine. She was obviously hoping nobody would recognise her. Megan glanced at the other tables, wondering if the woman had already arrived and was checking to see if Delva was really alone. But the customers were all in pairs or groups, a mixture of pensioners, students and mothers with small children. There was no one that fitted the image Delva's words had conjured in Megan's mind.

Megan wished she had bought a paper when she was in the newsagent's. She studied the Toulouse Lautrec posters on the walls and read the baguette fillings listed on a blackboard above the servery. Two plump women who looked like sisters were chatting by the till. Behind them a man was slitting french sticks and smearing the insides with margarine. One of the women looked at Delva and turned to whisper something to the man. Megan noticed they were both wearing the same thin rubber gloves she had just bought at the chemist's.

At that moment the door opened and a tall, scrawny-looking woman with long, blonde hair made straight for Delva's table. Megan bit into her ham roll and stared at the chequered tablecloth, listening. The coffee machine roared suddenly into life and for a few crucial seconds she was unable to hear a word. Stealing a quick glance she saw that the woman was showing Delva a photograph.

‘That's her, see?' The voice emerged, harsh and rasping as the noise of the coffee machine subsided. There was a strong Wolverhampton accent. ‘That was at a party a couple of years ago. See the bloke next to her?' There was a pause. Megan resisted the temptation to look up again. ‘That's Raven. He's got his hand on her knee, look.'

‘Raven? Is that his name?' Delva's voice had its usual calm, controlled tone but there was a hint of disdain, giving the impression that she wasn't taking the woman seriously.

‘I'm not telling you that unless you pay me,' the woman hissed.

‘Can you prove they were having an affair?' Delva sounded even more sceptical now.

‘Oh, yes.' Megan could hear the greed in the woman's voice. ‘I've got other pictures. Much more graphic than this. But like I said, you've got to pay for 'em.'

‘Listen,' Delva's voice dropped and Megan strained to hear. ‘We don't usually pay for stories. The most we ever offer is a fifty quid tip-off fee.'

‘Get lost! Do you know how much the
News of the World
would pay for something like this?'

‘I think any newspaper would tell you that you're on very dodgy ground.' Megan heard the threatening undertone in Delva's voice. ‘What you're doing is witholding information from the police. Don't you realise that's an offence?'

There was a loud scraping noise and Megan glanced up from her contemplation of the tablecloth. The woman had stood up but her way was blocked by the man who had been buttering the baguettes.

‘Excuse me,' he said, holding out a piece of paper and a pen to Delva, You're the newsreader on BTV, aren't you? Could I have your autograph?'

The woman pushed past him and Megan saw a look of confusion on Delva's face. As soon as the café door closed Megan was on her feet. Pushing the door open she gave Delva a brief nod. Delva's face was still creased with anxiety but she had taken the pen and paper and was scribbling something.

‘Could you put it “to Nick”,' Megan heard the man say as the door thudded shut.

The precinct was full of shoppers but the woman's mane of blonde hair made her easy to spot. Megan caught sight of her running past the chemist's. She was heading for the carpark and Megan ran after her. If she could see what car the woman got into she could follow and find out where she lived. Suddenly Megan stopped. It was too risky. She might lose her. After a moment Megan set off again, walking briskly this time. She had had a better idea. All she had to do was get to the exit barrier. She was pretty sure the woman wouldn't recognise her if she stood discreetly watching the cars leaving the carpark.

Megan stood behind a large bush and peered inside each car that went past. After six or seven had gone through the barrier she began to panic. What if someone had driven up and whisked her off without going into the carpark? But even as the thought went through her mind she caught a flash of blonde hair at the wheel of a red Ford Fiesta. It was her. As the car slowed to get through the barrier she scribbled down the registration number.

Ten minutes later Megan was sitting opposite Delva in the café with another cappuccino in her hand.

‘I couldn't believe it when that bloke came and asked for my autograph,' Delva whispered, glancing over her shoulder towards the servery.

‘It's all right, he's gone,' Megan said, ‘And actually, I think he did us a favour.'

‘Why?'

‘Well if you'd tried to follow her yourself she'd have done a disappearing act, wouldn't she? She certainly wouldn't have gone straight to her car.'

‘Hmm, I suppose you're right.' Delva rested her elbows on the table, clasping her hands under her chin as she looked at Megan. ‘Anyway, what did you make of her?'

‘Hard to say, really. What did the photo look like?'

‘Well she said it was taken at a party. Tessa Ledbury was on a big sofa with a man each side of her and a couple of other people leaning over the back pulling silly faces. The one she called Raven definitely had his hand on Tessa's knee but I suppose he could have just been fooling around.'

‘But she said she had other photos that were more explicit?'

Delva nodded.

‘Did she mention whether this affair was supposed to have been going on when Tessa died? I didn't catch what she said when she first came in.'

‘She said Tessa ended it about a year ago but she reckoned this Raven character was out for revenge.'

‘Well,' Megan said, taking a sip of coffee, ‘If Tessa did have an affair the police need to know. It doesn't necessarily mean her lover was the killer, though.'

‘So what do you think we should do?'

‘Give that car registration number to Steve Foy. I don't particularly want him to know I was in on this, so would you mind doing it?'

‘No, of course not.' Delva took the piece of paper Megan pushed across the table.

‘The police can check the guy out. I hope for his sake he's got a decent alibi for last Thursday. What did he look like, by the way?'

‘Well he was white, about mid-forties, shoulder length grey hair, slim,' Delva shrugged. ‘Very intense eyes. Not bad looking, actually.'

‘Did you notice a wedding ring?'

‘I don't think so.' Delva screwed up her eyes, concentrating. ‘No. I think it was his right hand on her knee, anyway. Why, is it significant?'

‘Only from the point of view of his wife, if he's got one,' Megan said. ‘Like I said last night, I'm not convinced Tessa Ledbury was murdered by an ex-lover or anyone else she was close to, but I have to be sure of my facts. So while the police are tracking down that red Fiesta I'm going to go back to the house to dig around a bit more.'

Delva said nothing, staring at the cloud of steam rising from her mug of hot chocolate. There was a faraway look in her eyes.

‘What's the matter?' Megan asked. ‘Do you think Des is going to be pissed off about you not getting the story?'

‘Oh no, it's not that,' Delva said. ‘I just can't help thinking about what this is going to do to Richard Ledbury. Poor sod's been through enough already without finding out his wife was having an affair.'

‘He might already know,' Megan said. ‘Tessa might have confessed when she broke it off.'

‘Yes, I suppose you could be right.' Delva cupped her hands around the hot drink as if she were trying to warm herself. ‘But wouldn't he have told the police?'

‘Not necessarily. If he forgave her for the affair he might not want to admit the possibility that the murder had anything to do with her ex-lover. He could be in a state of denial about the whole thing and if he is the grief over her death would just compound it.'

‘Yes, I see what you mean.' Delva raised the mug to her lips and drank mechanically, her eyes fixed on the tablecloth. ‘The way he went on about her when I was interviewing him, it was as if she was some sort of saint. It made me feel quite envious, actually. I was thinking what a fantastic relationship they must have had and wondering how come I never get to meet guys like that.'

‘Hmm.' Megan drained her cup. A short time ago she would have empathised wholeheartedly with that sentiment. But now was not the time to tell Delva about Patrick. She pushed her cup and saucer aside. ‘It doesn't sit very easily with all this Sunday school teacher stuff, does it?' she said.

‘No.' Delva leaned back in her chair. ‘Supposing he doesn't know,' she said, thinking aloud, ‘If the police track down the lover and find out he's got a cast-iron alibi, would they still tell him, do you think?'

‘They'd have to.' Megan shrugged.

‘Then it'll be my fault.' Delva's voice was almost a whisper.

‘Your fault? Why on earth do you say that?'

‘Because if I hadn't agreed to meet that stupid woman none of it would have come out.'

‘You know that's not true!' Megan shook her head. ‘I was listening to her, Delva, she's lowlife! If you'd said no she'd have gone to someone else. The police would have got to hear about it sooner or later.'

Delva sighed, pressing her lips into a thin line. ‘And it's better for him to be told by some sympathetic policewoman than to see it splashed across the front of one of the tabloids,' Megan went on. ‘In fact you've probably done Richard Ledbury a big favour handling it the way you did.' Megan sat back and folded her arms. ‘Listen, if you want I'll phone Steve Foy. I'll tell him you phoned me first because you weren't sure what to make of her.'