Killer Plan (19 page)

50

The cell stank of
stale sweat and shit. There was one window that showed a tiny square of grey sky. She glanced up at the ceiling, whitewashed and bare apart from a small painted cross showing the signs of the compass so Muslims could face east when they prayed. Other than that one symbol, the cell was bare. Greg was so worked up he didn’t pause to listen to what Geraldine was saying. Red-faced, hot and sweaty, he jumped up and began haranguing her as soon as the door to his cell swung open.

‘I’ve been banged up here for a week, all for having a row with some poor sod who’s gone and got himself killed, as though it’s my fault someone clocked the bastard. Dave had it coming all right, but I never so much as touched the bloke, never laid a finger on him, and now I’m locked up. It’s a bloody disgrace. Trying to make something out of this. So what? If every bloke with a black eye got banged up for murder, there’d be precious few people left out on the streets.’

Geraldine waited until he paused for breath before telling him quietly that he was free to go. Without giving him a chance to respond, she continued.

‘If you’re experiencing problems with physical abuse at home, we can arrange for social services to help you. Greg, listen to me, you don’t need to live with abuse. Everyone has the right to feel safe. Please, for the children’s sake as well as Stacey’s, and yours, let us contact social services on your behalf.’

She had already begun her report, but it would be processed more effectively with his co-operation. Working without his consent, she could do less to help him. Geraldine entered the cell and invited him to be seated.

‘What? On this thing?’ He kicked the bed angrily.

‘Sit down,’ she repeated firmly.

He did as he was told.

‘Greg, there are people who can help you.’

‘Like you, you mean? Locking me up without any good reason.’

‘I’m suggesting you go to the social services for help.’

‘What the fuck are you on about?’ he blustered. ‘Like fuck I’d go to the social services. Bloody interfering load of bastards they are, interfering in things what don’t concern them. Look,’ he went on in a more reasonable tone, ‘no one understands Stacey like I do. The poor cow doesn’t need strangers breathing down her neck issuing bloody injunctions and fuck knows what else. It’s all been tried before and none of it helps. Those social workers don’t know fuck all. They come in, all blithering and blathering and it don’t make a blind bit of difference. In the end they bugger off and good riddance, leaving me to pick up the pieces. They drive her over the edge. We’re better off without their sort of help.’

Gazing at his eye, still swollen and bruised, she tried again.

‘What about your eye?’

He raised a hand in an involuntary movement, wincing as he touched the reddened skin.

‘Stacey hit you, didn’t she? You told me that yourself.’

‘I tripped,’ he mumbled. ‘It was an accident.’

If he insisted he had walked into a wall, there was nothing she or anyone else could do to help him.

‘I fell over and banged my head on a wall, I tell you. Why the fuck won’t anyone believe me? What do you think happened?’

‘Greg, there are people who can help you.’

‘All lying bastards, the lot of you. Being paid to lock up poor innocent blokes. You’re all in it. Find some poor bloke, fit him up, and throw away the key. Another box ticked. Another crime solved. As long as you hit your bloody targets, you don’t give a toss who’s on the receiving end. You’re only interested in making sure your trumped cases stick. I wish I
had
killed the poor bastard. At least I’d be behind bars for a reason. You’re all lying bastards, the whole bloody lot of you.’

It was impossible trying to reason with him. Even the suggestion that Stacey’s children might be in danger didn’t persuade him to accept help. Geraldine accompanied him to the custody sergeant to collect his belongings before escorting him to the exit. All she could do was file a report and hope Greg thought better of his hostility when a social worker paid him a visit. Realistically, she wasn’t optimistic, but there was nothing more she could do to help him.

‘Why would anyone stay with a partner who abuses them?’ she asked Max when she joined him later in the canteen.

He shrugged. ‘Love?’ he suggested. ‘Masochism? Force of habit? People who grow up as victims of violent parents often choose violent partners.’

She was amused by his eagerness to answer her rhetorical question.

‘Statistics in this area aren’t very reliable,’ he continued, ‘because we only know about violence that goes on behind closed doors if it’s reported. And even then it’s usually one person’s word against another’s.’

‘There would be physical evidence to back up an accusation.’

‘What about mental and emotional abuse? There doesn’t have to be physical violence. We studied this at uni,’ Max said, with the assurance of a man who knew what he was talking about.

‘The confidence of youth,’ Geraldine thought. She wondered if her superior officers had found her equally presumptuous at his age. For all his brashness, she quite liked Max. He was certainly keen and bright. She was inclined to agree with Reg’s opinion. With a few years’ experience Max was going to shape up into a first-rate detective.

Geraldine thought it best to inform Caroline face to face that they had released the man arrested for her husband’s murder.

‘What do you mean, you let him go? What about Dave?’ She sounded angry.

‘New evidence came to light that confirmed the suspect was innocent.’

‘Innocent? Who’s innocent?’

She backtracked when Geraldine asked her what she meant by that.

‘Oh, nothing. I didn’t mean anything. I’m just disappointed, that’s all. So the bastard who did for my Dave is still out there somewhere,’ she added bitterly.

‘We’re doing everything we can to find him,’ Geraldine assured her. ‘We’re following several leads and hope to resolve things soon. But these things take time,’ she added illogically. ‘We have to ask you to be patient.’

Without another word, Caroline slammed the door in Geraldine’s face.

51

‘What are you doing?’
Ed repeated as he took a few steps forwards.

‘Stay where you are. Don’t come any closer.’

It was too late to hide the body.

‘Why? What’s wrong with that man? Did he fall off his ladder? Why did he fall off his ladder?’

‘I think he was ill and it made him dizzy, so he fell off.’

‘He was very silly to go up that ladder if he was feeling dizzy,’ Ed said solemnly. ‘It’s a very long ladder. He’s a very silly man.’

Brian shrugged. ‘Silly’ was a childish word to use in the circumstances.

‘Yes, he is silly,’ he agreed.

Brian turned back to the body, grabbed it beneath both shoulders, and pulled. The figure shifted slightly.

‘Are you trying to make him get up?’

‘No. I’m trying to move him.’

‘Why doesn’t he wake up? Is he dead?’

Brian sat back on his heels and squinted up at Ed, wondering what might be going through his ten-year-old mind at such a time.

‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘He’s dead. He was a bad man.’

‘Serves him right then.’

Silently Brian heaved a sigh of relief at his matter-of-fact tone. He had been afraid the boy would become hysterical, or insist on summoning the police.

‘Anyway,’ Ed went on, ‘we had a dead man in our garden. He was in our shed. Only our dead man was my dad and…’ His lips wobbled and tears welled up in his eyes, but he forced himself to carry on speaking. ‘Our dead man was my dad, and he wasn’t bad.’

Brian scrambled to his feet and ran over to him.

‘Don’t cry,’ he muttered, putting his arms awkwardly round the boy and patting him on the back. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe here with me. I’m going to look after you. Everything’s going to be all right. You’ll see.’

With a jerk Ed pulled away.

‘What are we going to do with him?’ he asked curiously, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

‘Who?’

‘Him. The dead man. What are we going to do with him? Are we going to bury him here? I could dig a really really big hole to bury him in.’ He paused uncertainly. ‘If you want me to.’

Brian could have laughed out loud. The boy was priceless. Together they were going to bury the body, and no one else would ever find out what had happened in their garden that day. It would be their secret. All Brian had to do was think of a way of persuading Ed to keep silent about it, but that wouldn’t be difficult. He’d think of something. On reflection, he wondered if it was such a good idea to bury the body in the garden. It would take some time, and they might be seen. They weren’t overlooked at the back, but the houses on either side could see down right into their back garden. He glanced up at the windows of the house next door.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said. ‘Let’s hide him in the bushes for now, and then we can think about what we’re going to do with him.’

‘OK.’

The body seemed impossibly heavy and cumbersome. Brian held him under his arms, and Ed clutched his ankles. It was a strenuous task, but between them they succeeded in dragging the dead man across the patio to the flower bed. It was even more difficult to manoeuvre him onto the earth. At the edge of the paved area, they knelt down side by side and rolled him over and over down onto the earth. He lay on the ground, tolerably well concealed beneath a bank of camellias.

‘We could put leaves on his face,’ Ed suggested. ‘Then the foxes won’t find him.’

Brian gave a taut smile. It wasn’t foxes he was worried about. But he didn’t want the boy to be traumatised by the sight of the man’s face half chewed away by wild animals. It might give him nightmares.

‘Covering him up with leaves is a very clever idea,’ he agreed.

As soon as it was dark, they would drag him to the car and dispose of him, somewhere he would never be found. Meanwhile, he let Ed gather up a clump of leaves and drop them on the dead man’s face. Brian crouched down and spread them out evenly. The leaves were cold and damp and mushy. Touching them with his bare hands made him shudder.

‘That’s very good,’ he said as he stood up and straightened his aching legs.

‘It’s not very good for him,’ Ed replied. He looked thoughtful. ‘Was he very bad? Are you glad he’s dead?’

Brian nodded. ‘He was a very bad man. He came here to hurt you. Yes, I’m glad he’s dead.’

‘Why did he want to hurt me?’

‘I don’t know. No reason. Just because he was a bad man.’

‘Did he hurt other children?’

‘Yes. Lots of them.’

‘Was he a paedophile?’

‘I don’t know. Probably. Yes, he was.’

‘That’s why you made him fall off the ladder, isn’t it? To stop him getting in the house and hurting me.’

‘I didn’t make him fall. The ladder wasn’t safe. It was wobbly. I tried to hold onto it and keep it steady, but I was too late to save him.’

‘Why did you try to save him? He wanted to hurt me. He was a bad man, a very bad man.’

‘Yes, he was very bad. He can’t hurt you now. But it wasn’t my fault. He did it to himself.’

‘Serves him right. You shouldn’t have tried to save him.’ Ed’s expression changed. ‘My dad wasn’t a bad man. He didn’t hurt anyone.’

‘Let’s go inside,’ Brian interrupted quickly. ‘We’ll wash our muddy hands, and then we can make some hot chocolate. Come on, we haven’t finished the game. I’m going to win!’

‘You’re not. I am!’

Ed turned and raced back indoors. Brian hurried after him, calling out to him to leave his muddy shoes on the mat.

52

To begin with, Greg
thought he must have misunderstood the detective. He stared into her large eyes, so dark the pupils were swallowed up by the irises. She was classy, way out of his league. A low voice was telling him he was free to walk out of his cramped cell, collect his possessions, and return to Stacey and the kids, or go to the pub and have a few pints. It was hard to take in. The inspector might have been talking about the weather, her voice was so quiet and steady as she mouthed the life changing words. After a moment she fell silent, waiting for his response.

‘What?’ he said stupidly. ‘What’s that you said?’

‘I said you’re free to go home. But don’t think of doing a runner. Stay out of trouble, and let us know if you’re thinking of changing your address.’

For a moment he couldn’t move. He stood there, staring at her, thinking about what she had told him, imagining what his mates at work would be saying behind his back, and what the boss would be thinking of him. He spoke very slowly and clearly to impress on her the seriousness of the situation.

‘You have to tell them.’

‘Tell who?’

‘Tell them at work. All of them. I been banged up here for days. Cost me a week’s wages you have. I need you to tell them you screwed up royally. You got to tell them I done nothing wrong. Tell them I’m an innocent man, or they’ll never take me back.’

‘That’s not a problem.’ She spoke as if to a child, making him feel about two feet tall. ‘Remember, you’re not to go off anywhere or you’ll be in trouble before you know what’s hit you.’

Her expression altered. He bristled, understanding her pity, and muttered obscenities under his breath. What did a posh bitch like her know about trouble?

He had been lying in one position on a hard bench for far too long, and his neck was stiff. It felt unreal as he hobbled out of his cell to collect his possessions. Carefully he counted his cash, although he couldn’t remember how much had been in his wallet.

‘There’s a tenner missing.’

‘No, it’s all there, mate, what you signed for.’ Behind his desk the custody sergeant grinned with fake conviviality, as though he was standing behind the bar in a pub. ‘No place like home, eh?’

Greg wondered why the guy bothered to try and sound friendly. He must know Greg hated his smug guts.

‘Just give me the rest of my things.’

His shoes felt uncomfortably tight. Mustering as much dignity as he could, he straightened up and glowered at the sergeant.

‘I’m a wronged man.’

‘Best get off home, then, sir.’

Home. He half expected Stacey to have changed the lock, but his key turned easily. The three kids were creating havoc in the living room, chasing each other over the furniture. The television was blaring out a monotonous beat. Through a brief hiatus in the racket he heard a neighbour yelling at them to shut the fuck up. He strode across the room and switched the television off. The kids stopped careering round the room and turned to glare at him.

‘What d’you do that for?’

‘I was listening.’

‘Mum said we could have it on.’

Greg turned to face them. ‘Mum’s not here now, I am.’

‘Where you been then?’ one of the little boys squinted curiously up at him. ‘We thought you was dead.’

‘We thought ninjas got you!’

One of the little boys launched himself at his brother and began pummelling him. ‘You’re stupid!’

‘No, you’re stupid!’

Greg ruffled the nearest child’s tousled head.

‘Oy, get off me! Pervert!’

Greg smiled. It was good to be home. That night he would sleep in a proper bed, with Stacey.

‘Where’s your mum?’

‘Dunno.’

His mood altered. He went in the bedroom. One day he would find her there, stretched out on the bed, dead. But not this time. He could hear the rasping of her breath as she heaved herself up onto one elbow and stared at him with glazed eyes. Her bleached hair was tangled and straggly, in need of a wash.

He gave a tentative smile.

‘Stace, it’s me. I’m back.’

‘What the fuck you playing at, buggering off...’

Her voice trailed away and she fell back on her pillows with a grunt.

‘I been in the nick all this time. Don’t you remember them bastards taking me away?’

‘What did they get you for?’

‘Well, it wasn’t like I was nicked. I was, but they let me go. I done nothing.’

That made her laugh. ‘You done nothing?’ she spluttered, when she was able to speak. ‘You done nothing all your life. You always was useless...’

She sat up properly and attempted to question him seriously, but her speech was slurred, and she struggled to find the right words. She scared him when she was like that. He ought never to have left her on her own.

‘I said I want to know where you been all this time, leaving me on my own to deal with those damn kids, like you was free of us all... just do what the hell you want... you always do...’

Mumbling incoherently, she sank back on the bed again. Feeling wretched, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his shoes. His feet hurt. In the next room the television began blaring again.