Good Girls Don't Die (22 page)

‘Being a total arsehole doesn’t automatically make him a killer,’ said Lance, as he and Grace made their way back upstairs after the interview. ‘I’m still not convinced he’s together enough to be our guy. Our guy is smart.’

‘True.’ Grace shared some of Lance’s doubts, yet all the same she’d been deeply shocked by Matt’s undisguised hatred of blameless young women. Had his anger and resentment erupted only in response to recent events, or had a capacity for lethal violence always been there, lying deep, expressed in the sexual exploitation and humiliation of his students? Matt might not be very shrewd or cunning, but he was well educated and intelligent. Surely his response to not getting his own way couldn’t simply be rooted in some warped sense of privilege and entitlement? But then it was his position that had protected him: either not a single one of his academic colleagues had picked up strongly enough on his misogyny to demonstrate any practical concern for his female students or they had simply and expediently chosen to look the other way.

Grace knew which answer she favoured.

‘You OK?’ asked Lance. ‘You’re shivering.’

She stopped on the stairs, unable to catch her breath enough to continue.

‘Grace? What’s the matter?’ Lance took hold of her shoulders and guided her gently downwards. ‘Here, sit on the step. Can I get you anything?’

She shook her head, unable to speak, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Lance sat down beside her. ‘It’s OK. Keep breathing. It’ll be OK.’

Slowly his warmth began to seep into her, and the darkness receded enough for her to take a breath. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. He really got to you, didn’t he?’

She concentrated on breathing through her mouth, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal. ‘Having my old DCI here doesn’t exactly help.’

‘Is this about what happened in Maidstone?’

Grace nodded reluctantly.

‘Want to tell me about it?’

She waited until she could keep her voice steady. ‘They turned on me, all of them, even my husband. I think Trev believes it when he says he did it for them. No one spoke up for me. Colin never said a word. Not a word. I was completely on my own.’

Lance rubbed her shoulder gently. ‘You’re here now.’

‘Matt’s students. Someone should have listened to them.’

‘I know.’

They sat in silence for a few moments. ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.

‘Sure.’

‘I told you about the officer in Kent, Lee Roberts, who got busted.’

‘Yes.’

‘He was a liability. Dangerous. A very, very short fuse. And no one was prepared to do anything about it. It was me who called in the tip-off about his dealer. If I’m honest, I suppose I did kind of hope Lee would get taken down, too, but I never gave his name. I wouldn’t have done that.’

‘OK.’

Grace wasn’t sure from Lance’s tone what he was thinking. ‘What would you have done?’ she asked.

‘Would I have made the call?’

‘What would you have done to me if you knew I had? If Lee was your fellow officer?’

‘And I’d known what state he was in?’

‘Yes. Do you think I had it coming? What they did to me?’

Lance shrugged. ‘Lee pops pills and then gets busted, that’s his problem.’

‘You wouldn’t have sent me to Coventry? Put dog shit in my desk drawer?’

‘Jesus, is that what they did?’

Grace nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘Bastards. And that creep Colin Pitman was your DCI?’

‘Yes. He refused to take any official action. Said it wouldn’t be in my best interests.’

Lance shook his head in disbelief. ‘I don’t know if I’d
have made the call. But I would never have treated you like that. Never.’

Grace sighed. ‘Thanks.’

Lance put an arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer. A couple of community support officers came up the stairs towards them, awkward in their bulky vests, belts and hooked-on radios. Grace and Lance remained where they were, making the two young women pick their way around them. They turned, curious, and glanced back at them.

‘Kiss and make up,’ Lance called after them. ‘It’s just the best, isn’t it?’

Grace meant to laugh but it came out as half sob, half hiccup, making Lance laugh as well. The two support officers snatched a second look, and Grace turned to smile at their discomposure. ‘Ignore him,’ she told them, digging Lance in the ribs with her elbow. She stood up, dusting off the seat of her skirt, then kissed Lance lightly on the top of his head. ‘I mean it. Thanks.’

‘Any time.’

Keith was waiting for them impatiently. They weren’t sure how much of their interview with Matt he would have observed as Hilary had been eager for Keith personally to inform the victims’ families that the Internet troll had been arrested, and also then to field their difficult questions about why Matt Beeston had not been kept in custody since his initial arrest. But Grace discovered, as soon as he’d closed his door behind them, that he had something else to tell them.

‘Gareth Sullivan just got back to me about Roxanne Carson’s notebooks. They’re having almost as much trouble as us trying to decipher her shorthand –’

‘Can’t we send them to a code-breaker?’ Lance interrupted. ‘GCHQ or something?’

‘I tried suggesting that,’ Keith replied tersely. ‘He told me to get a court order.’

‘So could he decipher anything at all?’ asked Grace, still jittery over whether her friend’s notes would reveal her phone call and their clandestine meeting at the coaching inn.

‘Sullivan was pretty sparing with the detail, but because Matt Beeston is under arrest, he was good enough to share with me that Roxanne was aware that Polly Sinclair took Matt Beeston home with her the night before she disappeared. Something that was never actually spelled out to the media.’

‘So does Sullivan know who told her?’ Lance asked eagerly.

‘He knows,’ said Keith disgustedly. ‘But, in the name of journalistic ethics, he wants to seek permission from the person concerned before he gives us a name.’

‘Zawodny saw Polly in bed with
someone
,’ said Lance robustly. ‘And Matt’s arrest has been more than public knowledge. He could’ve put two and two together and told Roxanne.’

‘Why?’ asked Keith.

‘Take the heat off himself,’ Lance replied.

‘It could also have been Polly’s housemate,’ suggested Grace.

‘If Roxanne had been tipped off and arranged to meet Matt at the vigil,’ said Keith, ‘then how did she make contact? When did they speak?’

‘Easy enough to make an anonymous call,’ said Lance. ‘From the train station, for example.’

Grace avoided Keith’s eye and swallowed hard before speaking. ‘There’s someone else who could have told Roxanne about Matt and Polly.’ She turned to Lance, enlisting his support. ‘Danny Tooley.’

‘Of course,’ said Keith. ‘I remember you said that Polly asked Danny for a lift home when she was with Matt in Colchester.’

‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘Danny told us he refused because he knew Matt had a bad reputation amongst the female students.’

‘And we know Roxanne was keeping tabs on Danny,’ added Lance.

Grace shot him a grateful look, then took a deep breath. ‘I think Danny told her about Zawodny’s boat, too. It’s my fault. I asked him about it, if he’d ever seen Polly with Zawodny in Wivenhoe.’

‘Why the hell haven’t you told me this before?’

‘I was about to. But things got busy. I’m sorry, sir. It’s not an excuse.’

‘No, it’s not.’ Keith frowned in irritation. ‘Should we be looking at him as a suspect? Was he was in town the night Polly disappeared?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Lance. ‘But he doesn’t drive. Where would he have taken her?’

‘What about Rachel Moston?’ asked Keith. ‘Did he know her? Would he have any reason to kill her?’

Lance looked to Grace to answer. ‘He knew who she was. But we’re not aware of any connection. I don’t think he’s a suspect. It’s more whether he was telling Roxanne more than he ever told us.’

‘You think?’ asked Keith with heavy sarcasm.

‘In which case he might also have known who Roxanne was planning to meet up with at the vigil,’ said Lance, giving Grace a look of encouragement.

‘We should bring him in,’ she said. ‘Take a statement under caution.’

‘Get on with it, then,’ said Keith. ‘And I’m sick of pandering to Gareth Sullivan’s journalistic ethics. Tell Duncan to organise a court order to seize all Roxanne’s notebooks.’

Danny was reluctant to leave the bookshop, explaining discreetly that there were supposed to be at least two people on the floor at all times. Lance responded cheerfully that a word with his manager or, failing that, a call to his head office, would clear the way, leaving Danny little choice but to accompany them.

He was quiet in the back of the car, despite Grace’s attempts to chat and resume their earlier rapport, and baulked at the brick facade of police headquarters, shrinking into himself and waiting to be led through the lobby and on into the secure areas of the building. As Lance set up the tape in one of the more pleasant interview rooms, Grace watched Danny take a careful look around at his surroundings. Finding himself under observation, he gave her a wary smile.

‘So, Danny,’ she began, ‘you know that Roxanne Carson has been murdered?’

He nodded.

‘Almost certainly by the same person who murdered
Rachel Moston. We’re looking at the possibility that Roxanne was killed because she was a journalist, because she knew something as a result of her work that the killer felt threatened by.’

Danny looked alarmed, but nodded to show he understood.

‘Roxanne herself might not necessarily have realised the significance of what she’d heard or been told,’ Grace continued, ‘and therefore we need to piece together precisely what she knew and who she’d been talking to. You’re aware that we already know that she’d spoken to you.’

‘You think I killed her?’ he blurted out.

Grace was about to reassure him, but Lance got in first. ‘Did you?’ he asked.

‘Maybe you’re going to say I did.’

‘Is there a reason we should say that?’ Lance pursued.

‘I talked to her quite a lot,’ said Danny. ‘She’d text me if she had questions, about stuff on campus and things.’

‘It would be really helpful if you could tell us absolutely everything that you told Roxanne,’ Grace said in her most soothing voice: making Danny panic wasn’t going to assist his accurate recollection. ‘And everything that she asked you.’

‘OK,’ he told Grace, flicking a worried look at Lance, who, perhaps realising he’d gone in too hard, smiled encouragingly and sat back, leaving the stage to Grace.

‘I don’t like these places,’ Danny said unexpectedly. ‘They remind me of when I was a kid, when my mum was ill.’

‘You’re here as a witness,’ said Grace. ‘We’re grateful for your help.’

He nodded and settled himself in his chair, reminding Grace of how a fretful dog might tread out his bed.

‘What kind of questions did Roxanne ask you?’

‘She wanted background. What the students are like, whether they do much partying, who they go out with, that kind of thing.’

‘And did you see her or speak to her at the vigil on Tuesday night?’

Danny nodded. ‘Early on, before you and I spoke.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She was busy, said she needed to keep moving.’

‘Did you see who she talked to?’

‘Some of Polly’s friends, and I think some friends of the other one.’

‘Friends of Rachel Moston?’

Danny shrugged. ‘I hardly knew her.’

‘OK. Did Roxanne ever ask you specific questions, then or earlier? About what she thought we – the police – were doing or wanting to know about?’

‘I told her you’d asked about the Polish guy, their landlord. That he had a boat. She was interested in that. Wanted to know what else you’d said.’

‘And what did you tell her?’

‘I didn’t know anything else.’

‘You saw the newspaper article, speculating that a vodka bottle played a part in Rachel Moston’s murder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you remember if Roxanne asked you about a bottle, either before or after that article?’

Danny hung his head. When he raised it again, his eyes were wet. ‘I’d been telling her about Polly. About how upset she was, how Dr Beeston hadn’t been very nice to her. I feel really bad about that now. Polly trusted me.’

Grace fought the urge to lean forward, tried her best not to betray her eagerness. ‘What did Polly mean when she said he hadn’t been very nice?’

Danny met her gaze with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before. ‘It wasn’t her. She wasn’t like that. He got her really drunk. It was his fault.’

‘What was his fault?’

‘That she did those things. It wasn’t her.’

‘What things, Danny? I know you cared about Polly and don’t want to say anything bad about her. But we need to know exactly what she said.’

‘It was something about a bottle. I didn’t really understand what she meant.’

‘What were her precise words? Can you remember?’

‘She wasn’t like the others! She wouldn’t have done that sort of thing!’

Not wanting to push Danny too hard when it was clear how upset he was at betraying the girl of his dreams, Grace decided she could always come back to this later. ‘And you told Roxanne?’ she asked instead.

‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ he cried. ‘Polly trusted me!’

‘But you said enough for Roxanne to go away thinking that Dr Beeston had done something to Polly with a bottle? Something sexual perhaps?’

Danny shrugged, the fierceness fading away. ‘I didn’t say that. Roxanne did. He got Polly drunk. She didn’t know what she was doing. She was sweet and lovely and kind.’

‘And can you remember
when
you told Roxanne what Polly had said? Was it before or after the newspaper article last Monday?’ she asked. ‘Please think hard, Danny. It’s important.’

‘Before.’

Grace looked at Lance. His eyes were dancing with excitement but, taking up the reins, he changed the tone, making his voice light and chatty.

‘And did Roxanne say if she was going to speak to Matt, to get a response from him? Or maybe had already?’

‘I don’t remember. I don’t think it came up.’

Danny looked exhausted.

‘OK, thanks. I think we’ve pretty much covered the ground now, Danny. We really appreciate you helping us like this. I know you need to get back to work, so we’ll organise a car for you in a moment.’ Lance flicked through his notebook as if double-checking that he hadn’t forgotten any unimportant details. ‘Oh yes, the landlord, Pawel Zawodny. He came to the vigil.’

‘I don’t know him,’ said Danny.

‘You might have noticed him. He brought a massive bouquet of flowers, caused quite a stir.’

Danny shook his head, clearly not interested in the subject.

‘Roxanne didn’t mention wanting to talk to Pawel
Zawodny?’ Lance pressed. ‘Even though he’d recently been in custody?’

‘Not that I remember.’

‘Not to worry.’ Lance wound things up and switched off the tape.

‘So you think Roxanne knew who killed Rachel?’ Danny asked, as they all got to their feet.

‘It’s possible,’ said Grace.

‘Is it Dr Beeston?’

‘We’re working on it.’

‘When will you know?’

Grace caught something in Danny’s eyes, just a flash and then it was gone, but enough to convince her that he was still holding something back. A crazy idea jumped into her mind, but she wanted to voice it, just to see if she was right, if she could catch him unawares.

‘If you know where Polly is, you would tell us, wouldn’t you, Danny?’

He gave an awkward laugh. ‘Me? Why would I know?’

‘Because she came to you. She trusted you.’

Lance jerked his head up in surprise, but then nodded. ‘Was Polly afraid of Dr Beeston?’ he asked eagerly. ‘Is she hiding from him? Because if she is, you can assure her that it’s safe to come out now.’

For a moment Grace almost thought Danny was going to crumble and tell them whatever secret he was keeping, but then his eyes filled with tears. ‘I only want her to be cared for,’ he said.

‘We all do,’ Grace assured him. ‘Especially her family.’

‘But if you know where she is, Danny, you can tell her she doesn’t have to hide away any longer,’ said Lance. ‘I promise we’d make absolutely sure she’ll be safe.’

Danny kept his head down and walked to the door without answering.

‘Even if she could just let her parents know she’s alive.’ Lance spoke to the back of Danny’s head, which hunched more deeply into his shoulders.

He turned back to face them, brushing his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘I can’t help them. I’m sorry. But I don’t think she’d ever deliberately do anything to hurt them. She’s not like that.’

They left Danny in the lobby to wait for a car to take him back to the bookshop. As soon as they’d returned through the inner door to the station, Lance turned to her. ‘Do you think he knows where she is?’

Grace shook her head. ‘For a moment there I did. But do you remember how upset he was when we saw him at the vigil? He was crying. Why would he weep like that for her if he knew, or even had good reason to hope, that she was safe?’

‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Lance conceded.

All the same, as they made their way upstairs, something about that flash in Danny’s eyes stuck at the back of Grace’s mind like a forgotten word or name on the tip of her tongue that would only come back once it was too late to matter.