The Other Woman (31 page)

‘What – what did happen at the hotel?' asked Whitworth, angry and bewildered, but no one enlightened him.

‘An idiot on a motorbike?' Lloyd said wearily, as if he didn't know. There could hardly have been two idiots on motorbikes abroad on Friday night.

‘Some cretin who didn't even have his lights on,' she said.

Lloyd closed his eyes briefly. Drummond. Here was Drummond. Again. Perhaps Tom was right in his jaundiced summing-up of the problem. Perhaps it was one giant conspiracy.

Judy's clear, quiet voice broke into the lull that had followed Mrs Whitworth's outburst. ‘In your previous statement, you said that you must have just missed your husband,' she said. ‘What did you mean?'

Melissa Whitworth frowned. ‘What do you think I meant?' she asked, her temper rising again. ‘I had been home, and gone out again. Then I came back, by which time Simon had been home and gone out again. I missed him. That's not too difficult to grasp, is it?'

‘
Just
missed him,' Judy corrected, not at all ruffled by Mrs Whitworth's anger. ‘How did you know you had ‘‘just'' missed him, Mrs Whitworth?'

Melissa Whitworth's cheeks grew pink.

‘How did you know that you had just missed him?' Judy asked again, infuriatingly.

‘I saw his car turn into Byford Road as I left the football ground,' she mumbled, and turned to him again. ‘You told me you got called away from the office! But I had
seen
you.'

Simon Whitworth leapt to his feet. ‘I was on my way to the police station!' he shouted.

‘I know that now!' she yelled back. ‘But I didn't know it this afternoon, when I was being questioned, did I? I thought—'

Whitworth advanced on her. ‘You thought what? That I'd killed her? Is that what you thought? Why? Why in God's name would I have killed her? I loved her! Don't you understand? I loved her!'

‘Loved her! Would you like to know what she thought of that – what she thought of you?'

‘I don't want to hear any more lies,' Whitworth said, railing against what was all too obviously the truth. ‘ I don't believe a word of it.' He sat down again, a muscle working in his temple as he contained the anger.

He may have to, Lloyd thought. The atmosphere simmered and bubbled as he asked Simon his next question. ‘I take it you admit having an affair with her, Mr Whitworth?' It seemed a little unnecessary, but it was as well to have everything spelled out.

‘Yes.'

So, he could forget about delicacy. ‘Did you see Sharon earlier, when the match was on?'

‘No! I wasn't there.'

‘Sharon Smith had sex with someone less than half an hour before she died,' Lloyd said. ‘Was that you, Mr Whitworth?'

Whitworth looked up, his eyes wide. ‘I don't believe you,' he said.

He would have to believe someone some time. ‘Was that you?' Lloyd repeated.

‘I don't believe you! You're lying – you're all lying! Why are you telling all these lies about her?'

‘Are you saying it was someone else?'

‘There wasn't anyone else!' Whitworth shouted.

‘Are you saying that it was you? Were you at the football match, Mr Whitworth?'

‘No I was not!'

Lloyd sighed. ‘ Then she was with someone else,' he said.

‘No! I don't believe you – I don't believe a word of this!'

Evidently not, thought Lloyd. But she had been with someone whether Whitworth liked it or not. And it was becoming very important that they find out who. Drummond loomed large in Lloyd's thoughts again. The whole thing could have happened after Melissa Whitworth had left Sharon stranded.

‘We will be requiring you to take a blood test, Mr Whitworth,' he said.

Whitworth sat silently fuming at his wife, his anger a coiled spring waiting to be released as soon as they had gone.

Judy looked a question at Mrs Whitworth, who gave a little nod of reassurance.

‘You think we have rows?' said Lloyd, as they saw themselves out, and walked to where the car was parked.

The other car was still there; Lloyd strolled over to it, looked in, and round it. There was no need to be suspicious of it, really, he scolded himself. Even if his theory was right, it only meant that the Whitworths were what he had assumed them to be in the first place. A monumental waste of time.

He got into the car, and wearily put it in gear. God, he hated the fog. His eyes were aching with the effort of simply trying to see, as he turned into the now famous Byford Road, and headed down the hill. He thought about asking Judy just to come to the flat, which was much closer, but she hadn't got anything with her to wear tomorrow, and that would mean driving her home in the middle of the night, which he could do without. Malworth it was.

‘So where does that leave us?' asked Judy.

Sharon had once again proved to be rather less quiet and unassuming than her nearest and dearest had believed her to be. Someone other than Whitworth had been with her, and Drummond was still the favourite, in Lloyd's book. Acting alone, or, he thought darkly, in concert with whoever wanted Jake Parker to come to heel. Or possibly … he didn't speak again. until he pulled up outside the shops in Malworth High Street.

‘Money,' he said. ‘There are enormous sums of money involved in all of this.'

‘You don't think it was a crime of passion, I take it?'

Lloyd shook his head. ‘Why did Barnes start that fight? Why did Drummond follow Sharon? Why did Parker change his story?'

Judy released her seat-belt. ‘Do you still think someone deliberately got Parker out of the way?'

‘Yes,' said Lloyd. ‘And I still can't believe that Drummond isn't involved – and I still can't believe that the rape was a coincidence.'

‘There's no other explanation, Lloyd.'

Lloyd turned away from her, and looked out of the window at the fog curling round the old-fashioned street-lamps. ‘Isn't there?' he asked.

‘You can't honestly believe that a serial rapist is somehow mixed up in property fraud,' she said.

Lloyd shook his head. ‘I just don't think Bobbie Chalmers was one of his victims,' he said quietly.

‘She has to have been. I've told you. No one knows what he does, or what he says, but the victims and him.'

‘I am the Stealth Bomber?' said Lloyd.

That was what the rapist said to his victims, over and over again. They had been careful not to release that to the press, or the papers would have called him by it, which was just what the rapist wanted.

‘No,' he said. ‘No one knows, but his victims. And me,' he added. ‘And you. And Finch. And anyone else who's entitled to open the files.' He turned back to look at her reaction.

Judy blinked at him. ‘A police officer?' she said. ‘Are you seriously saying—'

‘Drummond,' he said, interrupting her, ‘ was beaten up by police officers.' He looked at her. ‘Wasn't he?'

‘Yes,' said Judy. ‘But that doesn't mean …' She shook her head.

‘And couldn't that have been a gentle reminder by two of the boys in blue to keep his mouth shut about his involvement?' said Lloyd. ‘Or is that a coincidence too?'

She nodded her head obstinately. ‘Yes,' she said. Yes, it is a coincidence too. I
know
these men! I hold no brief for what they've done, but it was one of those things! They aren't part of some web of corruption, Lloyd.'

Lloyd wished that he could be as certain. ‘This time – and only this time – the rapist throws away his mask and knife?' he said. ‘Coincidence?'

Judy didn't speak.

‘And the fight at the ground? Another coincidence? You said it yourself! Sharon just wasn't the sort of girl to whip men up into jealous rages – she was killed for a
reason
, Judy.'

Judy thought about that. ‘I'm not certain what sort of girl she was,' she said. ‘It depends who you listen to. But suppose I accept that Sharon was killed for a reason. Why in God's name would they do that to Bobbie?'

Lloyd looked serious. ‘ It wouldn't be the first time that rape has been used as a weapon of terror,' he said quietly. ‘I think someone was giving Parker a very severe warning as to his future conduct. Whoever did it made it look like one of the series of rapes, that's all.'

‘And you think that corrupt police coached him?'

‘I don't know, Judy,' he said. ‘ I hope I'm wrong. But look what happened to you with your car.'

She took a deep breath. ‘You said that that was a juvenile reaction that I should ignore,' she said.

‘It probably was and is. But …' He shrugged.

‘Have you told anyone else your theory?' she demanded.

‘No.'

‘Good,' she said hotly.

He smiled. ‘You're supposed to be picking holes in it,' he said. ‘Not taking offence.'

‘I will,' she promised him. ‘But I think I'd better sleep on it first.' She smiled. ‘Are you staying?' she asked.

‘Better not,' he said.

She was disappointed, and showed it before she had time to disguise it. He wasn't often allowed a glimpse of her feelings; he rather liked it when he was.

‘Sorry,' he said. ‘But I am in charge of a murder inquiry, and you are a member of the team. I can hardly leave this number as where I can be reached in the middle of the night, can I?'

She stared at him. ‘You are unbelievable,' she said. ‘I'm only a member of the team because you pulled strings!'

He thought he had better look sheepish. ‘All the same,' he said. ‘We'd better not rock any boats at this stage.' He was aware that rocking boats was something that was done when he felt like it. Still, she was a bit on the irritating side too, so she could put up with that minor fault.

She smiled again. ‘ Say goodnight properly, then,' she said.

Simon slammed the front door, and got into the car, firing the engine and driving off into the fog before he had time to think about what he was doing.

It was lies. It was all lies. She had started lying this afternoon, with all that rubbish about Sharon preferring married men, and then … His face burned as he remembered the dreadful things she had said once the police had gone.

He couldn't see where he was going. He forced himself to calm down, to slow down, and with the lessening of speed came the voice of reason, which he didn't want to hear. Why would Melissa lie? What would be the point? Besides, he knew Melissa. He knew that she wasn't lying. And what had he really known about Sharon? What she had told him, what she had chosen to show him.

But he had loved her. And even if their unsatisfactory situation had brought out a side of her that he didn't recognise and didn't like, it would never alter that.

Colin had had a very long wait, but he had never once thought of giving up. Not until daylight would he have left his post; the longer the wait, the sweeter the moment. He had stood at the mouth of the alley, in the shadow, watching the road. By day it was busy, but at night it was lonely. And tonight his friend the fog was back, licking round the edge of the alley. It was perfect.

And then when he had seen Lloyd's car pull up he had thought that he'd have to try another night. Perhaps he lived there after all. Or perhaps he was spending the night there, at least. He had stood there for a few minutes, trying to come to terms with the disappointment.

But they hadn't got out of the car, and Colin had reasoned that in that case, Lloyd might not be staying after all. It looked like he had been right, because in the muted glow from the street-lamps, he watched them say a long goodnight.

His heart began to beat quickly as he walked silently into the darkness of the alley, and took the ski-mask from his pocket, pulling it on. Then he took out the knife. Knives scared them. Scared them witless.

He heard the car door open, heard the murmur of voices, and flattened himself against the wall, holding his breath. The alley was wide; wide enough for vans to park and turn at the far end, so that they could unload at the rear of the shops. She would pass him without noticing a thing until it was too late, because he was invisible.

The car door closed, and he listened as her high heels clicked along the pavement.

She couldn't see him, but he could see her, as she paused for a moment at the mouth of the alley, backlit by the street lights. She came out of the mist, and into the blackness; she was quite alone.

And he was the Stealth Bomber.

Lloyd might have gone, had it not been for his bladder; he shouldn't have had the tea on top of the coffee. It was his urgent need for her facilities that had changed his mind, though he wouldn't tell Judy that. He caught her up as her footsteps started down the alley.

‘Hey, Jude,' he called to her retreating backview, almost ghost-like in the misty darkness.

She turned.

‘You've persuaded me.' He quickened his step again to catch up with her almost ghostly presence. ‘Aren't there any lights in this place?' he asked.

‘There's one over the door,' she said, trying to sort out her keys. ‘It's not much use at the best of times, but it must have gone.'

Tell your landlord to change the bulb,' he said. ‘This is dangerous.' He crunched some glass underfoot, and then tripped over the step he had forgotten was there as the door opened into the equally dark entrance. ‘See?' he said.

‘Yes, sir.'

She closed the door and kissed him in the dark; he was glad he'd changed his mind, but he wished she would hurry up.

‘I'm letting you in on one condition,' she said, as she put on the light, and started upstairs.

‘What's that?'

‘That you leave the job here.' She smiled, and carried on up, until she stopped, and turned. ‘ It could have been Whitworth,' she said.

She was going to stand here and discuss it. It served him right for being hypocritical. ‘He was at the police station by nine fifteen,' he said.