Road Closed (26 page)

‘If she’s lying, that puts her right in the frame for the attacks on Raymond Barker,’ Geraldine told Peterson. ‘And if not –’

She didn’t finish the sentence. Someone had launched two vicious assaults on Raymond Barker and they had no other suspect.

‘If not, then maybe Barker did lie to protect Callum Martin when he said he was attacked by a woman,’ Peterson replied. ‘That’s two murders and two attempts on Barker’s life. If you ask me, Martin’s the one we should be going after. Let’s hope Bert Cartwright has something concrete for us.’

Geraldine looked worried. They had contacted all the hospitals in the area but there was no sign of the old man. He had disappeared.

46

Sandmouth

A call came through from Sandmouth station while Geraldine was in the canteen. She had been studying what Sophie Cliff had said. She knew most of the statements by heart and couldn’t focus on them any longer. Her head was beginning to ache. While she was sitting quietly at a corner table, drinking a mug of tea, a couple of young constables came in. She recognised Polly, who had been crying in the toilets. The two constables glanced over at Geraldine. Choosing a table at the other side of the room, they sat with their backs to her, heads bent forward. Judging by the jerking of their two heads, they were both talking incessantly. As she left the room, Geraldine overheard a snippet of their conversation.

‘He’s not worth it,’ the dark haired constable was saying.

‘That’s easy for you to say –’ Geraldine heard Polly reply as she went out into the corridor.

She returned to her desk to find a new report waiting. A local sergeant had interviewed the manager of the Excelsior Hotel who confirmed that Sophie Cliff had arrived at reception at around eleven on Saturday morning. The manager said that room number 213 had been ready for her on arrival. She had stayed there for three nights, checking out at nine thirty that morning after having breakfast in the dining room. Their records showed she had eaten in the hotel, sitting down on each of the three evenings at seven o’clock when the dining room opened. She had signed in for breakfast at eight o’clock every morning. The local constable had been thorough. He had checked the CCTV from the hotel car park and was able
to confirm that Sophie Cliff’s car had not moved from the hotel car park throughout her stay.

Geraldine showed the report to James Ryder when he wandered into her office that afternoon.

‘Summarise it,’ he said, waving at the report in her hand. Geraldine was aware of him, perched on the corner of her desk, as she read. She tried to ignore his closeness.

‘It’s a bit convenient, isn’t it, sir?’ she asked when she had finished. ‘Barker’s attacked on Saturday evening on his way home from the pub, his house is torched on Monday evening and he’s almost killed, and meanwhile our suspect is conveniently staying at a hotel nearly a hundred miles away at the time.’

Ryder sighed. ‘Too much of a bloody coincidence,’ he agreed, standing up. ‘But Sophie Cliff couldn’t have driven back here on Saturday and Monday evening if her car was in the car park all the time.’

‘The timing’s possible, though, sir. She could’ve set all this up as an alibi –’

‘And taken a cab –’ Ryder interrupted.

‘Or hired a car,’ Geraldine added.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he barked. ‘Get moving on it. Check out every cab company and car hire firm. If Sophie Cliff travelled backwards and forwards between Harchester and Sandmouth on either of those two evenings – or both – we need to know. Check the trains and buses too. Any way she could’ve managed it. Go on then, get on with it.’

‘Yes sir.’ As the DCI closed the door Geraldine thought she overheard him say, ‘Good thinking, Geraldine,’ but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know if she felt elated because the enquiry was opening up, or because James Ryder had expressed his approval of her.

It didn’t take long to check the train schedules. There was no direct train from Harchester to Sandmouth. The last train on Saturday evening left Harchester at ten fifteen, ten forty
on a Monday. Sophie Cliff couldn’t have attacked Barker and reached the station in time to catch a train that would make the connection to Sandmouth that evening and it was impossible for anyone to have travelled from Harchester to Sandmouth by train on Monday or Tuesday morning and reached the hotel in time for breakfast at eight. Several constables set to work, checking taxi firms from all the interconnecting stations to see if a passenger had taken the last train from Harchester in the evening and completed the journey by taxi. Only one woman travelling on her own had taken a taxi from Lower Troughton to Sandmouth at eleven ten on Monday. Her destination turned out to be a private house three miles from the Excelsior Hotel. The passenger was traced. She wasn’t Sophie Cliff.

It took longer to establish that Sophie couldn’t have made the journeys entirely by car. Constables checked every taxi firm and cab hire company in Harchester and Sandmouth and every intervening town, village and train station. Only one journey had been booked from Harchester to Sandmouth on Saturday evening, at eleven o’clock, by a Mr George Kite. A constable traced Mr Kite who confirmed that he had made the journey in person.

Three hire cars had been taken out over the period. At the end of the day, the constable who had overseen the research handed Geraldine a list of names: Desmond James, Bobbie Geere, and Ellis Collamore.

They had drawn a blank. Sophie Cliff’s car hadn’t moved from the car park. With a car, she could have returned to Sandmouth overnight and appeared in the dining room again at eight on Tuesday morning. Without a car, it was impossible for her to have eaten in the dining room in the Excelsior Hotel in Sandmouth at seven on Monday evening and been back in Harchester in time to set fire to Raymond Barker’s house
before nine o’clock. She couldn’t have been responsible for the attack on Barker on Monday evening.

‘Not unless she’s superwoman,’ Peterson joked. Geraldine didn’t smile. It was past nine when Geraldine finally returned home to find a message from Hannah on her answer machine.

‘Geraldine, call me.’ With a twinge of guilt she deleted the message. It was too late to call back that evening.

47

Panic

‘I told you before, you’ve got nothing to be scared of. It’s always the same with you. What the hell have you got to be so scared about all the time? Don’t I look after you? I keep you safe, don’t I? Scared of your own bleeding shadow you are.’ Cal sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette. He didn’t offer Brenda one.

‘What if they find out? What if they know it was you?’ Brenda whimpered. She pressed herself against the back of a chair, legs bent, clutching her knees to her chest.

‘What if they find out what was me? Do you have any idea how stupid you sound? I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. Talk sense for fuck’s sake.’ Cal flicked cigarette ash impatiently.

‘I know where you and Ray went. I’m not stupid.’ Brenda glanced fearfully at the glowing end of Cal’s cigarette. ‘I’m not stupid,’ she repeated, raising her voice. Cal hooted with laughter. ‘I know it was you, breaking into those houses. I know it was you topped that old woman.’ Her eyes flicked nervously to the door, her hands fidgeted. ‘Why did you do it, Cal? Why did you kill her? She was just an old woman. She never did you any harm. I saw her picture in the paper.’

‘Would you mind telling me what the bleeding hell you’re talking about.’ Cal’s voice was dangerously quiet. Brenda scrambled to her feet and moved behind the chair, out of reach. ‘Who’s this old woman you’re talking about? What old woman?’ He glanced at the door. There were other people
sleeping upstairs at the Blue Lagoon where they were staying until the house was fixed up.

‘And there was that fire,’ Brenda went on, reckless now. ‘I don’t mean the one we had in our house. I mean the fire on Harchester Hill. The one where some guy died.’

‘Cliff.’

‘What?’

‘That was his name. Cliff.’

‘Whatever.’

‘I’m telling you, that was his name. Thomas Cliff. It was all over the papers.’

‘That was you, wasn’t it?’ Brenda pressed him.

‘What was me? What are you on about?’

‘That was you, started that fire, wasn’t it?’

Cal stared at her. ‘Mind your own business,’ he said at length. ‘What’s it to you anyway? You think me and Ray are the only ones breaking into houses round here? Stupid cow. Could’ve been anyone. What makes you think that fire was anything to do with us? Don’t you go blabbing your stupid ideas to anyone else. It’s nobody else’s business what me and Ray do in our own time. You keep your evil ideas to yourself, got it?’ He raised his hand. ‘No one knows anything about what we were doing, and that’s how it’s going to stay.’ He stood up.

Brenda was too agitated to keep quiet. ‘What if they find out, Cal? What if they’re on to you?’

‘Stop worrying, will you? You’re doing my head in. I’m telling you, no one can put me in the frame. We’re quite safe, as long as you keep your stupid trap shut.’

‘They know, Cal.’

‘Who knows what?’ He stubbed his cigarette butt out on a dirty plate, watched it sizzle in a pool of vinegar, lit two more cigarettes, and threw one at her. She hesitated over whether to bend down to pick it up, and stamped it out on the floor instead. He had caught her out like that before. ‘Suppose you
tell me just what you’ve been blabbing about, you stupid bitch, and who exactly you’ve been blabbing it to.’

Brenda trembled at his tone. She kept her head lowered, unable to meet his eye. ‘Not me, Cal,’ she whispered. ‘It wasn’t me. I never said anything to anyone. I never breathed a word about anything to anyone. You know I wouldn’t, Cal.’

‘What then?’ He took a long drag of his cigarette. ‘Why don’t you tell me exactly what you haven’t been telling anyone.’ He sat down again and crossed his legs. ‘I’m listening.’ He blew smoke at the ceiling and waited.

Brenda took a deep breath. She clutched the back of her chair. ‘The filth were asking around the market about the bag Ray left behind at that old woman’s house.’ She lifted her head defiantly and stared at Cal. ‘I knew he’d be no good for you, Cal. I said so, didn’t I?’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’ve been keeping your ears pinned back,’ was all he said.

‘I heard the girls from the market talking about it.’ Her teeth were chattering so hard she could barely speak.

Cal stared at his cigarette. ‘What girls? Tell me what you heard. Tell me everything, Brenda.’

‘It was Maggie. The filth were round at her place, asking about a bag. A khaki bag. Like the one –’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. Like the one Ray left behind in the old woman’s house that night. Bloody retard.’ He spat out a thread of tobacco. ‘What did she tell them?’ Brenda was smiling to herself. Cal raised his voice and slapped his leg. Brenda jumped. ‘I asked you, what did she tell them?’

‘She never told them anything. They were just asking. Why would she tell them anything? They’re filth, Cal. No one talks to filth. Maggie’s all right.’

He grunted. ‘Who is she?’ Brenda shook her head. ‘You’re talking about the one who sells bags at the market? Who is she? Where can I find her?’

‘Why do you want to know?’ Brenda whispered. She was shaking.

Cal grinned at her. ‘You tell me what I want to know, Bren, and I’ll make it worth your while. I know what you want. That’s fair, isn’t it? All you’ve got to do is tell me where the bag woman lives. Come on, Bren. I’m not going to hurt her.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag. Brenda’s eyes fixed on it as he waved it in the air.

‘You won’t hurt Maggie?’ she said, starting forward.

Cal dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and ground it under his heel.

‘You know I wouldn’t do that. I only want to talk to her. Make sure we get our story straight, that’s all.’ He looked at Brenda and smiled, baring his teeth.

48

Hit And Run

Maggie groaned as the alarm penetrated her dream. ‘It’s that dratted doorbell again,’ her mother whined. Maggie kept her eyes closed. She knew there was no one at the door. Her poor mother had been dead for years. Reluctantly she reached out of her cocoon to hit the snooze button, the air chill on her naked arm. Resisting the urge to sink back into sleep she dragged herself out of bed and threw some clothes on. It was early but she was determined to be at the market before Geoffrey, if it meant getting up in the middle of the night. In her hurry she cricked her neck. Just when she thought her day couldn’t get any worse, it began to drizzle. She reached the market, which was deserted, and started to set up.

‘Blast this weather.’ She hung small bags on hooks in front of the larger ones displayed beneath. When she had finished, she settled down on a crate in the corner of the stall and watched the market gradually take shape for the day.

‘I’m freezing my tits off,’ Alice on the next stall grumbled. ‘Coming for a drink Friday?’ Maggie nodded but she wasn’t really listening. She was thinking she might leave early. It was a shame to waste all the effort of setting up but the market was dead and she was knackered. She looked around. No one else was packing up yet.

‘What do you reckon?’ she yawned. ‘Is it worth sticking it out?’

‘You’re not thinking of clearing off already?’ Alice glanced out from under her awning. ‘The morning’s hardly over. I’m going to wait a while. It might clear up.’ After about half an hour the rain gave over. A weak sun glimmered through the
clouds. Alice sauntered over to Maggie’s stall. ‘I reckon it might pick up at lunch time,’ she said. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘Cheers.’

A few minutes later Alice handed Maggie a steaming polystyrene cup. ‘I haven’t seen anything of Brenda this morning, have you?’

‘No. Maybe she’s gone down with the flu.’

‘Or picked up something nasty.’

‘Someone nasty more like.’

‘Couldn’t be nastier than that fellow of hers. Colin?’

‘Callum.’

‘That’s the one.’