A Narrow Margin of Error (5 page)

‘No.’

‘You heard the others leave?’

‘Yes – well, I can’t say for sure, but I heard female voices in the hall sometime just after I’d had breakfast, which I took to be Marcie and Darla leaving. And a male voice too – I’m not sure which of the men it was, though. I never heard anything more, but there was no one else in the house by the time I found Rowan. Of that I’m sure. You get to know when a house is empty, you see.’

Hillary did.

So at some point that morning, all the students had left. Mrs Landau had heard three of them. Had a fourth stayed behind, and then sneaked out after killing Rowan? Or had one of them sneaked back in?

She took Wanda Landau carefully over it all for a second time, but the landlady had nothing to add to her original statement.

Finally Hillary thanked her and rose. ‘We’ll probably need to see you again some time in the future. And I’d quite like to see the
room Rowan died in at some point. I take it there’s someone currently in residence?’

‘I’m afraid so. And, of course, there’s nothing really to see anymore. Rowan’s family had all his things, and it’s been entirely redecorated since then.’

Hillary nodded. ‘Yes, I expected as much. Well, thank you, Mrs Landau, you’ve been very helpful.’

Outside, back under the lime trees, Hillary regarded the house thoughtfully.

‘Nice woman, guv,’ Sam ventured timidly. ‘Must have come as a bit of a shock for a lady like that. Finding a body, I mean.’

Hillary nodded. ‘So she struck you as being a lady, did she, Sam?’ Hillary mused. ‘Don’t fret,’ she added quickly, when the lad looked alarmed, as if he’d done something wrong. ‘She struck me that way too. But I get the feeling that life’s not exactly been all peaches and cream for our landlady. What’s she doing raising her grandson, for a start? When we get back to the office I want you to find out everything you can about Mrs Landau’s personal history.’

‘You really think her family life is relevant, guv?’ Sam asked, surprised. ‘I mean, I know the first person to find the body is always looked at closely, but in this case, you don’t think the old lady really had anything to do with it, do you?’

Hillary smiled grimly. ‘Right now, Sam, everyone who lived in that house when our victim died interests me. And as for what might be relevant and what isn’t – until we know all there is to know, we can’t possibly tell what might matter and what doesn’t. Can we?’

And with that rather sage advice ringing in his ears, Sam followed her across the road and back to the rust-heap of her car.

P
C Tom Warrington tied up the laces on his steel-toe-capped boots and walked back towards the central lobby. He’d been working a stint in admin for several weeks now, since coping with perpetual paperwork was always an unpopular pastime with his colleagues, and he knew that taking it on had earned him some much-needed brownie points with his sergeant. The bastard had never liked him, and since the sarge wouldn’t be caught dead in admin, it had the added bonus of keeping him out of Tom’s hair.

But even that wasn’t the real reason why Tom had applied for the job in records. It simply gave him much-needed access to the information he wanted. But he had to be careful, he knew that.

At twenty-six, he was getting rather old to still be in uniform after nearly eight years in the service, and sometimes that still rankled. He knew that he had the reputation for being something of a loner, and he knew as well that many of his workmates seemed to avoid him. He was sure it was because they were jealous.

Ever since he’d hit puberty, he’d worked out with weights, and his body-building had left him with a formidable physique. Which meant he did more than his fair share when it came to manning the lines at football matches when hooliganism was expected. He was also seconded regularly to help out when extra numbers were called upon for riot-control work. Not that he was complaining about that – he loved it. The adrenaline rush was something else.

As he began to cross the foyer, he noticed that a large gaggle of uniforms, most of them from Traffic, was clustered around the front desk. The second shift had obviously arrived, for a much older man had replaced the desk sergeant of that morning, and there seemed to be a fair amount of raucous ribbing going on. Obviously, the younger element was keen to impart the latest news to the old-timer. Tom’s cat-green eyes narrowed in contempt at the gossiping horde, before two words that always caused his heart to leap got his attention, and he veered off towards them.

‘And he’s sure it was Hillary Greene?’ the desk sergeant was saying.

‘Straight up,’ one of them shot back. ‘In the car park, they were.’

‘Actually snogging?’ the desk sergeant asked, a somewhat sceptical lilt in his voice.

Tom’s heartbeat accelerated even further as he came to stand a few feet behind a pair of WPCs.

‘And it was definitely her super?’ one of the others asked.

‘No doubt about it. They’d just had a cosy dinner together in the pub, hadn’t they?’ was the response.

‘Who’s this Superintendent Crayle then?’ one of the WPCs in front of him asked the woman beside her, and her friend grinned back.

‘Dishy Steven? Haven’t you seen him yet?’

‘No, I’ve just been transferred from Newport Pagnell. Only been here a week,’ the other one responded. ‘Good-looking, is he?’

‘I wouldn’t say no, if he asked.’

‘Well, I suppose there’s nothing against it,’ the desk sergeant handed down his verdict magisterially, causing the WPCs to suddenly pay attention. ‘The super’s been divorced for years, and Hillary’s as free as a bird. Good luck to ’em, I say.’

‘But he’s younger than her, ain’t he, Sarge? You don’t reckon he’ll be another Danvers then,’ someone asked, and there was a general burst of levity.

‘Danvers? Who’s that?’ The newcomer from Newport Pagnell nudged her mate with her elbow.

‘He was Hillary Greene’s guv’nor when she was still a DI,’ her friend explained patiently. ‘He was dishy too, but DI Greene wouldn’t have him.’

One of the women suddenly spotted Tom standing just behind them and shot him a curious glance. It was the newcomer, and her eyes widened appreciatively as she took in his impressive figure. She liked the dark hair and green eyes too, but before she could make any sort of approach, Tom Warrington turned away abruptly. Her curious friend saw where she was looking and whispered loudly, ‘Forget it. He looks buff, but they say he’s a bit of a weirdo.’

He knew they were talking about him now, but it barely
registered
. His hands, however, were clenched so tightly into fists that they were white with the lack of circulation, and his nails dug painfully into his palms. He punched the code into the keypad on the door that would allow him access to the offices beyond, and his teeth ground as he heard another burst of laughter behind him.

An unbecoming flush of rage stained his face as he pushed through the door and into the quietness of the corridor that lay ahead. How dare they laugh at her like that behind her back? A gossiping bunch of stupid old women, the lot of them.

And what they were saying about his Hillary and Steven Crayle couldn’t possibly be true. He simply didn’t believe it. Everyone knew that Hillary didn’t even look at the men she worked with. Danvers was the proof of that. And everyone knew she’d been just good friends with her boss before that. Crayle wouldn’t prove to be any different. There was nothing special about
him
, after all. He was nothing but a pansy, a tall, lean streak of wind in his fancy suits. His Hillary wouldn’t look twice at a poser like that.

He marched towards the toilets and slipped into the gents. A civilian clerk was at the urinal and nodded at him briefly. Tom
slipped into a cubicle, pulled the toilet seat down, and got out a mobile phone.

He had purchased it yesterday – a cheap, pay-as-you-go affair that he’d use for a few more days, before disposing of it and buying another.

Unmarried, unattached, and still living with his parents in a neat semi not far from the station, Tom had very few expenses and could spend most of his pay cheque how he wanted.

Now he keyed in the only number stored in the mobile’s memory and began to text. When he’d finished, he checked the screen closely. It wouldn’t do to have made a spelling mistake. His Hillary had earned an English literature degree at an
unaffiliated
Oxford College, and it would be disrespectful not to get everything just right. He’d even read up a book on grammar, so as not to let her down.

But he could see no problems with what he’d written.

With a nod and a press of his thumb, Tom sent the message winging its way to her and cautiously opened the cubicle door. But the other man was gone, and he was on his own. Relieved, Tom Warrington walked to the mirror and met his handsome reflection with a small smile.

He was pleased with the message. It showed the proper amount of love and concern, but it was also scrupulously fair. He’d warned her not to cheat on him, after all – so if anything bad had to happen, it wouldn’t be his fault. Not that he was worried.

Hillary was smart, and faithful and all his. Nothing would go wrong this time, he thought determinedly, straightening his tie and washing his hands. Not like with the others. They had just been mistakes. Silly girls, who’d never understood him. Looking back now, he could see that all three of them had been doomed to fail.

Hillary was different. She was in the job, she was more mature and, most importantly of all, she was actually worthy of him. None of the others had been.

But his eyes still glittered with repressed anger, and he felt a sour, ugly taste in the back of his throat. And he knew why. He suddenly wished he could plant a bomb that would blow the whole HQ sky high, because they seemed determined to ruin it all for him. With their stupid gossip and snide, ugly, humdrum lives, they were trying to taint what he and Hillary had together.

Well, he wouldn’t let them. But now that they’d planted a seed of doubt, he knew he had to root it out before it could do any serious damage. He had to make sure, just for his own peace of mind.

He thought about the CRT and Hillary’s team, looking for a possible weak link.

It didn’t take him long to find it.

Hillary returned to the station with Sam after talking to Rowan’s landlady, and went straight to the small office shared by Jimmy, Sam and Vivienne. ‘Sam, type up your notes and give them to Jimmy for the murder book. Vivienne, any word yet from the Drugs Squad?’

‘No dice,’ Vivienne said sourly. ‘The prat I talked to said it was hardly top priority. The case is donkey’s years old, and without the ME giving a clear indication of what the drug might have been, he thought we was having a laugh.’

Hillary sighed heavily. ‘OK, leave it to me. I must have an old pal on the squad somewhere who owes me a favour. You can get on to the next thing on your list. And if you’re actually serious
about joining the service, don’t let anyone hear you call another officer a prat. Even if he or she is one.’

Jimmy grinned but didn’t look up from the folder he was reading.

Vivienne rolled her eyes at Hillary, but wisely kept her pretty, bright-red-painted mouth firmly shut.

‘Sam, who is there on our list of witnesses who still lives locally?’

Sam quickly reached for his notebook. ‘Most of them, actually, guv. Well, localish. Darla de Lancie’s the nearest. She’s just in Botley.’

‘Right.’ Hillary checked her watch. If the woman was at work, they wouldn’t catch her in, but she was willing to risk it. ‘We’ll take her next.’ She hesitated, then glanced reluctantly at the younger girl. ‘Vivienne, would you like to come with me on this one?’

Although she was sure that Vivienne wouldn’t be with them for much longer, and that she was already bored with the idea of being a policewoman, she still felt obliged to fulfil her unspoken role as mentor with an even hand.

‘Sorry, Hillary, I can’t. I’ve got too much on.’

Again Jimmy grinned, but didn’t lift his eyes. He knew as well as the others that the only reason the little minx didn’t want to leave the office was because she wanted another chance to run across the boss and make yet another play for him. Sooner or later she’d get the message that he just wasn’t interested. And then there’d be tantrums!

‘OK,’ Hillary said quickly, visibly relieved. ‘Sam, you stay and do the notes, and get on with the background checks I asked for. Jimmy, fancy getting out of the office?’

‘I always do, guv, I always do,’ Jimmy reassured her cheerfully.

Seeing as it was lunchtime, they stopped off in the Black Bull for a sandwich and half a pint of shandy, before heading towards the Oxford suburb of Botley.

Darla de Lancie was now Mrs Pitt, and lived in a nice little
detached residence in a small cul-de-sac of similar new-builds. Each plot had a driveway with a carport against one wall, and in Darla’s small patch of lawn the other side stood a dwarf cherry tree, with spring bulbs planted around it.

Modest, but nevertheless probably still expensive enough, given house prices, Hillary thought, as she walked up the path and rang the doorbell. Darla had obviously done well for herself.

She waited, almost half-expecting her summons to remain unanswered. Even if Mr Pitt had a good job, nowadays most couples needed two incomes just to survive, and she was about to turn away from the door, resigned to having to make an
appointment
and thus lose the element of surprise, when the door suddenly opened.

The woman who stood there looking at them uncertainly hadn’t aged much in the ten years or so since she’d been a student. The petite figure was perhaps a little more rounded, but the riot of red hair, the freckled face and big green eyes were all the same.

Before she could speak, there came the wail of an infant from the depths of the house behind her, and the reason for the slightly thickened waist, as well as the explanation for why they’d found her at home, was made suddenly clear.

‘Sorry, can you make this quick?’ Darla said, waving a vague hand behind her. ‘I don’t buy at the door.’ Her gaze flickered nervously to Jimmy. ‘And I don’t want to talk about religion either.’

‘Sorry,’ Hillary said, holding out her ID card. ‘Please, go and see to your child, Mrs Pitt. We can wait outside a bit until you’re ready.’

Darla blinked at the information on the card and gave a quick glance around. ‘Oh no, that’s all right. Please, come in. You’re the police?’

‘We work for the police, yes,’ Hillary corrected her, as they stepped into a small, rather anonymous-looking hall, carpeted throughout in beige. ‘We work with the Crime Review Team.
We’re currently taking another look at the Rowan Thompson case.’

Darla’s freckled face visibly paled. ‘Oh. I see. Can I just….’ She indicated the stairs to the left, as yet another fretful wail wafted down from upstairs.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Please, go on through to the lounge,’ Darla said, pointing vaguely towards a half-open door. ‘Make yourselves comfortable. Have a seat – I’ll make a cup of tea in a minute. Sorry, Terry’s teething. I’ve been trying to settle him down for his afternoon nap.’

She suddenly turned and bolted upstairs, clearly nonplussed and upset by their presence, and Hillary shot Jimmy a quick, speaking look. Careful not to be overheard, they made their way to the lounge and shut the door behind them.

‘We’ve certainly thrown her for a loop,’ Jimmy said, glancing around. The lounge was small, and again carpeted in beige throughout. A neutral magnolia wash covered the plastered walls, and a substantial three-piece suite in coffee-coloured
hard-wearing
cotton took up most of the room. A large-screen television hung on one wall, and a large bunch of rust-coloured chrysanthemums sat in a pot on a windowsill.

‘Yes. We’re an unwelcome blast from her past all right,’ Hillary agreed, taking one of the armchairs and finding it surprisingly comfortable. Jimmy took a seat on the sofa.

Eventually, the noise from upstairs abated, and a few minutes later, Darla joined them. In spite of her promise of tea, none was forthcoming as she somewhat reluctantly took the armchair opposite Hillary.

‘So this is about Rowan, you say?’ Darla began diffidently. ‘I have to say, all of that seems like another lifetime ago now. Uni, and all that. We were all so young.’