Murder of a Dead Man (29 page)

‘The doctor?’ she prompted.

‘Gave me an injection. Told me it was influenza. Influenza my arse. Whatever it was, it knocked me for six. I remember my eyelids being too heavy to open. Feeling too sick to move. My legs and arms lying like dead weights on the mattress.’

‘You were moved out of the cell?’

‘Between that injection and the streets, everything’s hazy. There was a room, a white room with tiled walls and lots of shining chrome on the walls. It could have been a room in the prison, it could have been anywhere. I don’t know how I got there. I was lying in a bed, there were more injections. Once I thought I was strapped down, but I can’t be sure whether that was real, or I dreamed it.’

‘You must remember something more.’

‘Do you think I haven’t tried?’ he shouted. He turned to the wall and she glimpsed tears trickling down his face. ‘Oh God, Anna, I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. It’s just that I’ve had two years with nothing better to do than go over this, and I know no more now than I did when it was happening.’

She waited for him to continue.

‘There are a few images, and some must have been real,’ he said when he had regained control.

‘Bandages covering all of my face, even my eyes.

People removing them and swabbing my skin.

Now,’ he touched his face with his fingertips, ‘I know they were real. The others I can’t be too sure of. Like the straps, I don’t know if they were there or not. There was a middle-aged woman with dark hair dressed in a white overall. She washed me, changed my sheets, but she never spoke. Not once, although I tried to speak to her. Whenever I did, she gave me an injection. There were other people wearing surgical masks, and more injections – lots of injections. They were definitely real. The pin pricks were visible for months afterwards.’

‘Afterwards?’

‘When I was on the streets.’

‘How did you get there?’

‘One morning I woke up in a car park. I had the clothes I stood up in, and a blanket, that was it.’

‘No money?’

‘A hundred pounds in an envelope, marked
Tony
. It soon went.’

‘Nothing more?’

‘Nothing, except a new face. I freaked out the first time I saw myself in a mirror. I wondered if I was going mad. If I’d dreamed my entire life.’

‘The car park you were left in?’

‘It was on the outskirts of London. When I calmed down, I went to a library, looked through the newspapers and read about my supposed escape from prison. Then, I decided to make for this town, because Hannah and Blanche were here. I had to find out if I was Adam Weaver. If my memories were real. At that time I was prepared to believe almost anything. I couldn’t even be sure I was sane.’

‘It’s a long way from London to here.’

‘I hitched a ride. The lorry driver who picked me up had been down on his luck once. He dropped me off at the docks. When the money ran out there was only one place to go, Jubilee Street. You know the rest.’

‘I only wish I did.’

‘Life on the streets isn’t interesting.’

‘Look at it from my point of view. The team I’m working with has been assigned a murder case.

One that wouldn’t warrant a paragraph in a newspaper if it hadn’t been for the brutal way the victim was killed. Then we find ourselves looking at photographs of the victim, a man who died of natural causes two years before our murder took place. Then we discover the man we originally thought was the victim is still alive, and what we have is…’

‘How did you find out it wasn’t me who died?’

‘Someone saw you after the murder. How did you get the victim to swap clothes with you?’

‘Favours come cheap down Jubilee Street. At the right time of day, a bottle of cider will buy a man’s soul.’

‘Why did you do it?’

‘Because the kids and teachers in Hannah’s school had seen me. I knew they’d remember the red baseball boots and I didn’t want to be picked up as a paedophile and have my fingerprints taken, only for the police to discover who I was.’

‘Would that have been so terrible?’

‘I’d rather die than go back inside.’

‘Is that why you shot a policeman?’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘I was there when you tried to kill him, Adam.’

‘You’ve got that wrong, Anna. He shot at me.’

‘His gun was never fired. Adam, I saw you…’

‘I’ve never had a gun, Anna. Where in hell would a man living on skid row find one? Look,’ he pulled back the sleeve of the towelling robe he was wearing so she could examine the wound on his arm. It was infected, running with pus. ‘He shot me.’

She’d seen gunshot wounds before, and there was no mistaking the injury. She’d seen Peter’s gun but he hadn’t fired it. There hadn’t been time for him to pull it out of his shoulder holster.

‘Let’s forget about the shots for a moment,’ she said, unable to make sense of what Adam was telling her. ‘The fire was deliberately started in that building.’

‘Not by me. It was already burning when I ran down the stairs.’

‘Eleven people died as a result of that blaze.

And the injured are still in hospital.’

‘It wasn’t set by me, Anna.’ He looked at her earnestly. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’

‘If you were innocent, why did you run?’

‘Because someone was shooting at me.’ He returned to the bed and sat on the edge. ‘Because even half a life in Jubilee Street is better than none.

Because I’m terrified of being locked up again.

Because I want to find Laura’s killer.’

‘You know who killed her?’

‘I know he must live somewhere close by.

Laura was forever driving here to leave Hannah with her sister – and once, when Hannah was taken suddenly ill – she returned to Blanche’s within half an hour. I know because Hannah told me.’

‘That’s all you have to go on?’

‘Someone must have seen them together. When I first arrived here, I tried hanging round the nightclubs, asking questions, but after a while no one would talk to me.’

‘I’m not surprised if you behaved like you did on that video.’

‘What video?’

‘You don’t remember a television crew filming you in Jubilee Street?’

‘Oh my God!’

‘You were stoned out of your mind.’

‘Red wine and amphetamines.’

‘Remind me not to try it.’

‘Anna, I’ve put all that behind me. I’m not a junkie. I admit I popped the odd pill when I could afford them but I never injected. You need the occasional high when you hit bottom. But I was never stupid. Anna, you’re all I’ve got. You know me. We lived together…’

‘I don’t need reminding,’ she broke in.

‘I’m a womaniser. I’ve been a drunk and worst of all I’ve been a bastard to you and all the other women who were foolish enough to tell me they loved me. But I could never murder anyone. Look at me,’ he pleaded. ‘Look into my eyes and tell me if you think the man you’re looking at could kill anyone, much less the mother of his child.’

She looked away, her emotions in turmoil.

Once, it seemed a very long time ago, she had loved Adam Weaver. Perhaps enough for a small part of her to always love him. And, even wearing a dead man’s face, he was still Adam. She could hear it in his voice, his rich, resonant voice – see it in the way he moved his hands – sense it in the depths of his eyes when he looked at her.

‘Anna,’ he took her hand in his. ‘I know I’m asking a lot, but if you allow me to stay here for a day or two, it will give me the time I need to find Laura’s murderer.’

‘How can you do that with your face on the front page of every newspaper?’

‘It’s been there for days. No one has caught me yet.’

‘If you give yourself up, I’ll try to get Laura’s case reopened. I have influence. I’m with the Serious Crimes Squad.’

‘No, Anna,’ he shook his head. ‘Don’t you see this is my last chance? I can’t – I won’t – go back to gaol. I’ll kill myself first.’

Her initial reaction was to dismiss his threat as theatrical ravings, but something in his eyes stopped her. If he had moved any closer or tried to seduce her by using the same old techniques he had employed to silence her ranting about other women when they had been together, she would have picked up the telephone and dialled the station. But seeing him sitting on the end of her bed, clutching her hand like a child, lost, alone and broken, made her believe in him as nothing else could have.

‘I’ve only one bedroom and one bed. And you’re looking at it. But I’ve an extra duvet. If we roll it up and put it down the middle we can both sleep on this. I’m on early shift in the morning. I’ll see what I can find out. We’ll talk again tomorrow night.’

‘Anna…’

‘Don’t thank me. Not yet, Adam. I may have to arrest you yet.’

‘Jet lag?’ Peter asked Dan as he stifled a yawn.

‘Sheer bloody exhaustion.’

‘Now, that’s something I do know about.’

‘And something you’re going to know a good deal more about. You get my e-mail?’

‘Yes,’ Trevor replied.

‘Interviewed Brian Marks?’

‘Can’t,’ Peter replied. ‘He’s away until the beginning of next week.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Secretary didn’t know.’

‘And you call yourself a detective? He must have left a number in case of emergency.’

‘He didn’t and he lives alone. His secretary checked with his housekeeper. He’s locked up his house and given the help a fortnight’s paid holiday.’

‘Get on to the local force. Get a search warrant.

There has to be an address in the house. ’

‘Do you expect a man like Marks to leave anything lying around?’ Trevor enquired.

‘We have to be seen to be doing something other than sitting on our arses.’ Dan looked at Anna who was nursing her damaged hands. ‘I’ve a job for you. I’ve checked with the super and you can have Sarah Merchant to assist.’

‘The girl on the switch board?’

‘She’s a whiz with computers and the sooner we computerise all the information we have on this case the better. Concentrate on Adam Weaver. I want the name and address of every friend, relative, acquaintance, plus any and every hole he could bolt to, available at the touch of a finger. The man has to be somewhere, and the way he’s evading us it’s my guess someone is shielding him.’

‘Little green men in a spaceship?’

‘Was that intended to be a serious contribution, Peter?’ Dan asked.

‘You’re beginning to sound like the super,’

Peter grumbled. ‘We’ve searched every inch of this town from one end to the other.’

‘Then search it again,’ Dan said.

‘Have a heart. I’ve spent more time in Jubilee Street than I have in my own bed this week. We’ve checked dossers, we’ve checked burglaries…’

‘And?’

‘He broke into a terraced house in Balaclava Street the night before last, took a blanket and drank a glass of water.’

‘Then he’s still out there. Trevor, track down Brian Marks. Peter, check out pushers. If that video was anything to go by, Adam Weaver has a habit that needs feeding. Tonight we all go out again.

Except you, Anna.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Peter wondered if Anna was sicker than she was letting on. Normally she would never have allowed herself to be pushed to the sidelines of a case.

‘Something has to break soon.’ Dan reached for his peppermints.

‘Sir,’ Anna ventured. ‘Shouldn’t we pull the records on the murder of Weaver’s wife?’

Peter groaned. ‘We’re investigating a convicted killer on the run, the murder of Philip Matthews, arson with eleven related deaths, a solicitor who might be crooked and a suspect doctor. Why in hell do you want to dig up what’s over and done with?’

‘Any reasoning behind your suggestion?’ Dan asked Anna.

‘Weaver always said he was innocent. What if he was?’

‘Come on,’ Peter scoffed. ‘He had his trial.’

‘And was convicted on circumstantial evidence.’

‘Circumstantial traces of his blood were found in that bathroom,’ Peter replied.

‘It was his bathroom; he had a cut on his hand.’

‘Sustained when he chopped up his wife?’

‘Sustained on set a week before Laura Weaver was murdered,’ Anna said.

‘How come you know so much, Anna?’ Dan looked at her thoughtfully.

‘I went through newspaper cuttings for background on Weaver,’ she lied. ‘Something Blanche Davies said set me thinking.’ Anna paused, sifting the information Blanche had volunteered from the story Adam had told her the night before.

‘She said her sister didn’t confide in her. Adam Weaver said at his trial that his wife was having an affair.’

‘You think the lover could have killed her?’

Dan asked.

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘Why would any man kill his bit on the side?’

Peter asked.

‘Jealousy – anger – perhaps she told him it was over. It has to be worth looking at.’

‘No innocent man would escape from gaol and undergo something as drastic as a face change,’

Peter argued. ‘Weaver’s life was wrecked. He went from being a rich, successful actor, with a family, to a penniless nobody in Jubilee Street. If he’d been innocent he would have stayed in prison and written letters to the newspapers and his MP – gone on hunger strike – asked his solicitor to lodge an appeal.’

‘He did all that, except the hunger strike, but his efforts weren’t reported. He could have escaped in order to find the real killer.’

‘That’s one hell of a jump,’ Peter looked at her.

‘First he’s innocent, and now he’s playing Sherlock Holmes.’

‘What if the real killer knows Tony is Adam Weaver?’ Anna proposed uncertainly.

‘How would he?’ Trevor frowned. ‘It took us long enough to find out.’

‘What if he had something to do with Adam Weaver’s face transplant?’

‘Philip Matthews died, not Adam Weaver,’

Trevor pointed out.

‘He died wearing Tony’s clothes,’ Anna recalled.

‘Even if Weaver’s wife was killed by someone else and that someone is now after Weaver, which I don’t believe,’ Peter said flatly, ‘I can’t see how the killer would know Weaver was Tony. But if he did, why did he set fire to the wrong man in Jubilee Street?’

‘He went by the clothes. It was dark…’

‘Close up, Matthews was nothing like Tony.