The Murder House (11 page)

Of course, I knew I was trying to build walls around me, to protect myself from the overwhelming shame. It seems odd to say that a murderer feels embarrassment, but it's true. Yes, we feel crushing guilt and revulsion, but I was also embarrassed. Ashamed and embarrassed. That's part of the punishment. For many people, the prospect of the shame heaped on them by their family and friends is one of the things that prevents them from killing in the first place, while embarrassment is an emotion that should never be underestimated.

I was due to meet my friends in our favourite bar at seven o'clock. We were going to have a drink, then Frances had booked a table in a new Italian restaurant. It was a surprisingly nice evening considering it had been such a hot day, and Colin had bagged seats outside. The air smelled of spilled beer, cooking food and the slightly sulphurous aroma of the water in the docks.

Colin told me that Gary and Frances were going to be late, but that was OK: Colin was easy company, and I liked hearing his stories about life in the world of computers – there were even more shenanigans among the anoraks than at New Bridewell. He was a nice-looking man, with that intriguing combination of light hair and dark eyes. He always smelled of soap and clean clothes, and his passion in life was bird-watching.

I was a bit surprised when he suddenly reached across the table and touched my hand.

‘I've got this do at work,' he began awkwardly. ‘It's this coming Friday, and I was wondering whether you'd come. It'll be as dull as ditch water, probably, but I'll buy you dinner after.'

‘Do you need a woman to prove you're not gay?' I asked jokingly. I'd actually used him in much the same way a few weeks before, taking him to the annual shift party, so that Sergeant Wright wouldn't think I was a lesbian. I don't know why I cared what Wright thought, but I did.

‘No,' replied Colin seriously. ‘I want you to come because I think you're fun to be with, and I can talk to you.' He shrugged. ‘I think you're great.'

The tenuous hold I had on my self-control broke. I started to cry. Colin liked me – a murderer who'd killed the brightest star in our school. I didn't deserve it, yet it was a tremendous relief that someone should say something nice. Perhaps I hadn't changed. Perhaps killing James was an anomaly. Maybe I was normal after all.

He put his arms around me, laughing, thinking my tears were because someone handsome and personable should make protestations of affection. Or was I being unfair? Colin was a nice bloke, and it was me who had the problems. In fact, I had so many problems that there was no way I was going to taint him by letting him take me out. He deserved better.

‘I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Mrs Paxton,' said Oakley kindly, offering a tissue to the woman who sat opposite. She ignored it and took a linen handkerchief from her handbag instead. ‘People go missing all the time, and it turns out that they just forgot to mention their plans.'

‘James isn't like that,' said Maureen Paxton. She was a determined-looking woman in her sixties, with well-cut grey hair, immaculate make-up and elegant clothes. She was exactly the kind of mother Oakley imagined Paxton would have. ‘He's diligent and conscientious. He'd never disappear off on a holiday without telling me. There's Henry, for a start.'

‘A dog?' asked Oakley tentatively. Or a lover, he thought, but did not say.

He was due to meet Catherine for dinner. He'd been seeing her a lot recently, and had almost dispelled the myth that policemen made unreliable partners. He hadn't been late once, although it looked as though he might let her down that night. Superintendent Taylor had caught him just as he was leaving and had asked him to speak to Mrs Paxton, who was demanding to see a senior officer. Apparently, Wright wasn't quite the thing. Unfortunately for her, there wasn't much the police could do when grown men went ‘missing'. There was no suggestion that Paxton was depressed, unhappy, or taking medication, so there was no reason to be concerned about his safety. That his car was parked outside his house suggested a taxi to the airport.

‘Henry is not a dog,' declared Mrs Paxton haughtily. ‘It's a banana plant, a descendant of one brought back from the Caribbean plantations belonging to our ancestors. All the Paxtons have one; it's a family tradition.'

Oakley was not surprised to learn the Paxtons had such disagreeable antecedents. ‘And how does having a banana plant infer that James' absence is sinister?'

She sighed her impatience. ‘Because it needs to be watered. It was nearly dead when I let myself into his flat this morning. James always brings Henry to me when he plans to be away – which isn't often, as he's devoted to his work and seldom leaves the city.'

‘We have his details on file, and every officer in Bristol will be on the look-out for him tonight. Tomorrow, I'll go to his flat myself.' Oakley began to gather the forms together to indicate the interview was at an end. If he left now, he wouldn't be too late for Catherine.

‘You'll go to his flat now, to see for yourself that there's something wrong,' said Mrs Paxton angrily. ‘Then I want a full-scale search.'

‘And what will James say when he returns to find policemen all over his flat and news of his “disappearance” in the local papers?' asked Oakley practically. ‘A man in his position won't want that sort of publicity.'

Her eyes filled with tears again, and Oakley felt sorry for her. Unlikeable though she was, she was still a frightened mother, desperate to do all she could for the child she felt was in trouble.

He studied the report that Wright had written while she composed herself. She'd been concerned, but not particularly worried, when her son had failed to show up at a garden party the previous day. She'd tried to phone him at home and on his mobile, but there'd been no reply. The next morning she'd gone to his flat to find it empty.

She'd called several of his acquaintances, but no one had seen him since Tuesday – six days before. But then again, it sounded as though no one had expected to see him, as he tended to be too busy to socialize. Mrs Paxton had then contacted his office, and was surprised to be informed that James was on holiday. The receptionist didn't know where he had gone, only that he must have left on Tuesday evening, as he hadn't come to work on Wednesday.

Oakley rubbed his chin, thinking he wouldn't have time to shave before meeting Catherine. One way his Indian ancestry manifested itself was in a dark, five o'clock shadow. Catherine called it designer stubble; he called it scruffy. He glanced at his watch: eight twenty. He forced his thoughts back to Paxton.

So no one – friends, family or colleagues – had seen him since he had left work the previous Tuesday evening, and it was now almost a week later.
Had
something happened to him? Oakley had been surprised when Paxton had missed Yorke's remand hearing on Thursday. Had he fallen foul of a dissatisfied client? Or had the prospect of a garden party with Mother and the vicar sent him diving for the nearest luxury cruise?

Colin was wonderful that evening in the café with our friends. I'm not sure how it happened, and it was against my better judgement, but I agreed to go with him to his work's do. He was like a schoolboy, all happy and proud. Afterwards he was amusing, attentive and fun, and I even began to enjoy myself. I drank more wine than I should – I wasn't driving – and by the time we left for the restaurant I was feeling better than I had in days. I determined to put James out of my mind for the evening. It probably seems unfair, relaxing in the company of friends while James rotted on the floor of that nasty little house, but even murderers deserve some time away from their guilt. I never used to think so, but I do now.

I was amazed at how a few glasses of wine and Colin could make me feel so much better. He was really good at telling stories. He could transport anyone away from a hard chair and the smell of pizza to his office pranks, or his holiday in Turkey, or wherever else he happened to want you to be. James receded further still.

‘Have you heard about James?' Frances asked suddenly, bringing me back to Earth with a thump. We'd been chatting about a school trip we'd once taken to Paris. James had been there, although I don't recall him doing anything special – not like Colin befriending some Russians, or Frances and Gary getting in trouble for staying out late. But it was probably the memory of Paris that brought James to Frances' mind.

My heart started thudding again, although it was nothing like it had been on The Night. I reached for my wine and my hand was unsteady. I didn't drink any, in case I spilled it and drew attention to the fact that I was shaking like a leaf.

‘What about him?' My voice was more steely than I'd intended, so I forced a smile. ‘I haven't heard anything for months – years. Not since he used to come here and meet us.'

‘Nor me,' said Gary. ‘The last time I saw him was when we went to see that awful film about the alien invasion. What was it called, Fran?'

They began to debate the name of the film, which led to a discussion about science fiction in general. While they argued, Colin turned to me.

‘James once told me that you and he had … you know. Once.'

‘He did?' I asked in panic. Had he bragged to many people? What had he said? That I was a poor and uninspired lover? That it hadn't been worth the price of the meal he'd bought me? The thought was horrible. ‘It wasn't a very good night,' I muttered.

‘You did, then?' Colin sounded surprised. ‘I just thought he was being mean, to get at me because he knew I liked you. He can be spiteful.'

‘He can,' I agreed. ‘Did he warn you off or tell anyone else?'

‘Only me, as far as I know.' If Colin was bemused by the questions, he didn't show it. ‘Like I said, he told me because he knew it would hurt my feelings.'

‘Well, it was pretty dismal,' I said. It didn't surprise me that James had aimed to wound Colin. He was that kind of person. I went on, remembering to refer to him in the present tense. ‘He looks good, but it's all show and no substance.'

I suppose I should have denied having sex with James, so he would think that James' claim was sheer malice. He would have believed me, as he obviously didn't like the thought that James and I had been together. But the wine had taken the edge off my wits, and I hadn't been quick enough to think it through. I changed the subject quickly and started to talk about my pizza, but Colin turned to Frances.

‘What about James?' he asked. ‘Has he been promoted again? I never see him at Sainsbury's these days. I suppose he's graduated to Waitrose.'

‘He failed to turn up for a court case,' replied Frances. ‘First on Thursday, then again today. My mum told me. She occasionally temps for Urvine and Brotherton, and she overheard people talking about it. The rumour is he's gone off on holiday to a gay resort.'

‘He's
gay
?' asked Colin. ‘But I thought …' He couldn't help glancing at me. Fortunately, neither Frances nor Gary seemed to notice.

‘It doesn't surprise me,' said Frances. ‘I've heard he's a dismal lover, and he's never really been one for girls. Too good looking, that's what my mum says.'

‘Well, I don't believe it,' said Gary, shaking his head. ‘I'm serious; I really don't. How do you know he's not gone off with a woman?'

‘Mum says he doesn't have one,' replied Frances.

‘Thanks for the warning,' said Gary, winking.

‘It wasn't a warning,' said Frances, rather sharply. ‘If he's managed to resist your charms all these years he's not about to jump your bones now, is he? I was telling you because I thought you'd be interested.'

I lifted my glass to my lips, but my hand was steady now. I'd have to brace myself for many more mentions of him in the coming weeks, especially once his body was discovered. I couldn't go to pieces every time. I'd need to appear puzzled but calm when they confronted me with any evidence they found. I'd need to say that I'd no idea why James should have phoned me, of all people, the night he died. And, as for the murder weapon I'd been so worried about – well, the rock was rough and dusty, and fingerprints don't adhere well to those sorts of surfaces. Perhaps I'd be lucky.

Colin was muttering that he couldn't imagine why a nice, attractive, intelligent and sensitive woman like me had gone to bed with such an arrogant, self-centred bastard. I agreed. It hadn't meant a thing, I said, not adding that it hadn't meant a thing to James, either. The shock of hearing him mentioned had sobered me somewhat, and I wished again that I'd had the presence of mind to deny having a one-night stand. What would happen if Colin told the police that I was one of James' conquests? It would be all over the station in hours, especially if Wright heard about it.

Later, I was to learn that gossip was the least of my worries.

‘I'm sorry to bother you at home, Mr Brotherton. It's DI Oakley from New Bridewell. We met this morning in court.'

‘Did we?' Brotherton sounded cool and uninterested. ‘It's late. What do you want?'

‘Just one question,' said Oakley quickly, sensing the ‘end call' button was about to be pressed. ‘James Paxton's mother is extremely worried. She says he wouldn't have gone on holiday without informing her, and she's asked us to look into it. Will you give us the number of his hotel, so we can put her mind to rest?'

There was silence at the other end, until Brotherton said, ‘I don't know it.'

‘Did he tell you he was going?' pressed Oakley. ‘Or did he just disappear?'

‘That's three questions, Inspector. You said one.'

‘I didn't realize they were rationed,' retorted Oakley. ‘Will you answer them on the phone, or would you rather I came to your house? I can probably be there before midnight.'