Silent Witness (A Dylan Scott Mystery) (16 page)

“I see.”

“So, needing someone to talk to, I ended up at Megan’s. I was still angry with Carly. My head was a mess and I almost believed I was right, that Carly
was
seeing Kaminski. That’s why I said those crazy things to Megan. God, I knew Carly wasn’t having anything to do with him. The idea was ludicrous.”

“Right.”

“Megan was someone to talk to, that’s all. She works at the hospital. She understands. And after Carly—” He shrugged. “A man needs someone to talk to after a tragedy like that.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“Is that why you were involved with Sonia Trueman? For someone to talk to, I mean.”

“Sonia.” Walsingham rolled his eyes. “The way she carried on, you’d have thought we were Romeo and Juliet. It was a silly, senseless fling, that’s all. It meant nothing. Well, not to me. And if I’d had any idea she was reading things into it, I would have put her straight a lot sooner. The last thing, the very last thing, I wanted was to upset her, to give her the wrong impression.”

He emptied his glass in one long swallow and rose to his impressive height. “Well, if there’s nothing else you need to know, Dylan, I’ll be off.”

“There is one thing.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Dylan stood up too. Walsingham was a couple of inches taller.

“I’d very much like to know who killed your wife. Was it you?”

Every expression flitted across Walsingham’s face. Dylan saw anger, shock and frustration. Anger was uppermost.

“Me? You think I could kill my own wife? You think I could murder the mother of my two sons?”

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

Walsingham surprised Dylan by sitting down again. Dylan sat next to him. Waiting.

For a moment, he thought the doctor was about to confess all.

“It’s funny,” Walsingham said, “but when the police came that day—the day I found Carly—I knew immediately that they had me down as chief suspect. Afterwards, I spoke to one of the detectives. He said a spouse is always looked at very closely. Something to do with the number of murderers who are close to their victims.”

Dylan nodded at the truth of that.

“I couldn’t believe it,” Walsingham said. “I mean, not me. I save people’s lives. All sorts are brought into the hospital, you know. We get drunks, wife-beaters, drug addicts, thieves. I expect we even get killers. They all have one thing in common and that is receiving the best medical attention we can provide. I took an oath, Dylan. I couldn’t kill anyone. I just couldn’t do it. And I certainly couldn’t kill my sons’ mother.”

Dylan almost believed him. Almost.

Walsingham rose to his feet again. “And now, I really must go. Goodnight, Dylan.”

“Goodnight.”

Dylan quickly finished his drink and left the club. He was in time to see Walsingham jump in a cab parked on the nearby rank and be driven off to who knew where.

Dylan could jump in another and say “Follow that taxi” but there was little point. Walsingham would be on to that one.

One thing was certain, he wasn’t going to be fooled by someone claiming that they’d taken the Hippocratic Oath and, therefore, couldn’t harm anyone or anything. Harold Shipman had taken that same oath before hanging himself in a police cell after being found guilty of murdering over two hundred of his patients.

Dylan would head back to his hotel and stare at his computer screen until it put him to sleep. Within about ten minutes, he’d guess.

As he walked, he called home. Bev answered within three rings.

“Hi,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Fine. Yes, it’s okay.” She sounded tired, as if she didn’t care about anything. “Your mum’s been here all day, so that was good.”

“Yeah? So what have you been up to?”

“Not a lot. I went and sat in the garden for a bit. I thought I’d read, but I couldn’t find anything I fancied. And I didn’t want to listen to anything.”

Bev was a bookaholic. He’d bought her a Kindle over a year ago and he dreaded to think how many ebooks she had on that. Plus the fact, whenever they went into town, she couldn’t resist browsing in bookshops. No sooner had a cover caught her eye than she’d read the blurb on the back and taken it to the till. He’d bet any money on there being over a hundred unread books at the house in one format or another.

Bev was the woman who sat in bed late at night, complaining that she had to be up early, and finished a book. So long as it featured a hero and heroine who were going to fall in love and live happily ever after, she didn’t care.

“Oh, well,” he said, feeling at a loss, “it’s sometimes good to just sit and do nothing.”

“Yeah. How about you? How are you getting on?”

He told her about his security firm find and about his meeting with Neil Walsingham. He couldn’t claim to be getting on well, but at least he’d been doing something.

“How are Luke and Freya?”

“Luke’s fine,” she said. “Freya’s Freya.”

“Is she asleep?”

“Yes, for all of five minutes. Perhaps she’s trying to beat her own record.”

He smiled, but he knew it wasn’t funny. Bev was struggling.

“Why don’t you get an early night?” he suggested.

“Because I have a hundred and one things to do. The house is a tip, I have enough washing to set up my own laundry business—”

“But nothing that can’t wait.”

“I suppose. Yes, I might. Or I might see if there’s anything on TV. I don’t know, I can’t be bothered to do a lot.”

“Then do nothing. Sit and gaze at your navel. Or pour yourself a glass of wine and have a long hot bath.”

“I might. What are you doing now?”

“I’m going back to the hotel to sit and stare at CCTV pictures for an hour or so.”

When he ended the call, he thought of phoning his mother to find out her opinion of Bev. After all, she’d spent most of the day with her. He couldn’t face it though. Why do today what he could put off till next week?

It was almost dark when he reached the hotel. He was putting his card in the door’s lock when his phone rang. The display showed a local number, one he didn’t recognise.

“Hello?”

“I know who killed Mrs. Walsingham.” The voice was muffled, distorted.

“Who is this?”

“Neil Walsingham. He killed his wife. He should be locked up.”

“Who is this?”

The connection was cut. The line was dead.

Dylan shut down his computer. He’d wasted most of the morning staring at cars travelling along Darwen Road and had reached the stage when a bunch of strippers on an open-top bus wouldn’t have registered.

He’d spotted Neil Walsingham’s car, though, so that had been cause for a minor celebration. Not that Walsingham driving through Dawson’s Clough a week before his wife was murdered proved anything.

He grabbed his jacket, wallet and car keys, and left the hotel.

Forecasters had threatened Lancashire with more gale-force winds and heavy rain but, so far, it was dry if a little breezy. He drove into the town centre, parked and walked through the pedestrianised shopping centre.

Last night’s mysterious call had come from a local number, but Dylan’s attempts to reach it had rung out unanswered. It was early this morning that he’d finally got a response.

“Er, yeah?”

“Who is that?” Dylan had asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The number I’ve reached, where is it? Who are you?”

“Well, it’s a phone box, isn’t it?”

“Where?”

“In Clough centre. Outside Smith’s.”

“Right. Okay, thanks for your help.”

There it was. A few yards from WH Smith’s was a public phone box.

Dylan stepped inside, lifted the receiver and tapped in his own number for confirmation that his anonymous caller has used this particular phone. They had.

As he headed back to his car, he tried to come up with answers to a dozen questions. First, was the caller male or female. The voice had been too muffled to even guess at the gender. Also, why would someone use a town centre phone box to call him? Why, if that person believed Neil Walsingham should be behind bars, didn’t they give him a clue? Could they
know
Walsingham was responsible for his wife’s murder or were they just guessing?

He had no answers and it was time he headed to the fun factory that was Strangeways. As the route took him half a mile from the Pennine View Rescue Centre, he decided he might as well pay Sue Kaminski a visit.

Her car, a battered, rusty Fiat, was the only vehicle in sight. Thankfully, there were no huge Rottweilers guarding the gate. None that Dylan could see at least.

He was about to risk opening that gate when Sue came out of the front door and spotted him.

“Dylan, what a lovely surprise. Are you on your way to see Alek?” She strode over and opened the gate. She was wearing clean black trousers, a blue jacket and shoes with small heels.

“I am, yes. I thought I’d call in here as I’m passing, but it looks like you’re on your way out.”

“It’s my day to visit Aunt Joyce,” she said. “Come inside and I’ll make you a coffee.”

“No, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to delay you.”

“Come on.” She smiled. “Aunt Joyce won’t mind.”

“Okay then, thanks. Sorry, but I don’t have anything new to tell you.”

“You can tell me how you’re managing to get all these visits to Alek.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Hey, I’m only teasing. In any case, when you get him out of that place, I’ll have him back here where he belongs.”

Dylan gave her a noncommittal smile.

She took him into the kitchen which, to Dylan’s surprise, was empty of dogs. A cat was curled up in the windowsill, waiting for the sun to shine perhaps, but it was the lone four-legged occupant.

“Milk and two sugars, wasn’t it?” She filled the kettle and switched it on.

“Please.”

The Aga was throwing out heat, as it had been on Dylan’s first visit. The extra warmth was still needed as Lancashire couldn’t understand that spring was supposed to have arrived. The only sign of the new season that Dylan had seen was a couple of brave lambs being buffeted by the wind.

“I saw Alek’s parents on Monday,” he said.

She tried to stifle a groan and failed. “Agata phoned me last night. They’re paying me a visit tomorrow.”

“Oh? Any particular reason?” Strange that they hadn’t mentioned it.

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, I gather. Agata said they hadn’t seen me for a while. Which is true. I keep meaning to call them but time just vanishes. How are they?”

“They’re fine.” He took a seat at the table. “How do you get on with them?”

“Okay.” The reply was automatic but her hand stilled on the kettle. “They’d known Alek’s first wife for a long time so they were upset when he got divorced. I’m not sure anyone could measure up after that.”

Dylan could believe that. He’d seen no framed photos of Sue with Alek.

“And she used to visit them more often because she still had family in Birmingham. She used to call on Alek’s parents when she saw her own, you see.” She put a mug of coffee in front of him. “There you go.”

“Thanks.”

She was waiting for Dylan to speak and it served as a reminder that he was getting nowhere. All he’d discovered was that Neil Walsingham had an affair more often than Dylan changed his shirt, and that he might not have been at the hospital when his wife was killed. Other than that, he had nothing.

“Do Alek’s parents ever talk to you about Mrs. Walsingham?” he asked.

“Not really, no. Sometimes, they’d tell Alek that she’d called in. They’d say it was nice to see her, that’s all.”

“They never mentioned any problems she was having? Financial problems? Disputes with anyone?”

“No. Never. Why do you ask?”

“Someone wanted her dead, Sue, and I can’t think of a single reason why anyone would.”

“You know what I think? I think a burglar got in, thinking she was out and then, when he realised she wasn’t, he killed her.”

“An opportunist?”

Dylan didn’t think so. Burglars tended to stick to their own craft. They might, if disturbed, hit out at someone, but they were unlikely to turn killer. It wasn’t as if Carly had disturbed anyone as she was still lying in her bath.

“Do you know Kirsten? She was Carly’s best friend and acted as bridesmaid when Alek married Carly.”

Sue shook her head slowly. “Never heard of her. But I wouldn’t expect to. Why? What’s she been saying?”

Frederyk and Agata Kaminski were paying Dylan too well for him to worry about hurting people’s feelings.

“She claims Carly was still in love with Alek,” he said.

A nerve twitched at Sue’s throat and she pulled a face, as if she had a bad smell under her nose. “Well, she would, wouldn’t she? Carly didn’t want Alek, but she didn’t like it when he married me. She couldn’t have, could she? That’s why she made him go round to her house. If he hadn’t, if he’d kept away from her—” She broke off, preferring to chew on her bottom lip.

Sue could live to be a hundred and still not accept that her husband had enjoyed sex with his ex-wife. He was a grown man, not a child. He hadn’t been forced into Carly’s bed. He’d gone willingly.

“Well, I won’t keep you from visiting your aunt, Sue. I’ll go and see Alek.”

“Give him my love, won’t you? I hate to think of him stuck in that place when he should be at home. I know you’re doing all you can, Dylan, but all the same—” She broke off. “Tell him I’ve written, and that I’ll see him soon.”

“I will.”

Despite telling himself not to, Alek had looked forward to Dylan Scott’s visit. He’d failed to quash the hope that maybe Scott was as good as everyone claimed. He’d dared to think that maybe, just maybe, the bloke really was capable of getting him out of this hellhole.

He was doing okay in here. It was possible to cope with Strangeways so long as you kept the right attitude. If you kept yourself to yourself and didn’t upset anyone, you could get by.

At first, he’d thought he had nothing to get out for, but then he’d imagined taking Charlie for a long tramp across the hills. He’d discovered a longing to feel the wind on his face, and to sort out his fishing gear and spend a day on the riverbank.

As soon as he spotted Scott, he knew he’d been a damn fool to raise his hopes. He’d be better off putting his head down and accepting that this was as good as it got for the next decade or so. It was clear the bloke had no good news for him.

“Hi, Alek,” Scott said. “How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

They sat opposite each other on plastic chairs that were attached to the table.

“Sue sends her love,” Scott said with a forced smile. “She’s written to you and she says she’ll see you soon.”

Sue wrote every day. Every. Single. Day. It would only be newsworthy if she hadn’t.

“I called to see her on my way here,” Scott said. “She was on her way out. Off to see her great-aunt.”

“Like the old lady will care whether she’s there or not.”

Scott shrugged. “I saw your parents on Monday.”

“How are they?” He knew damn well how they were. It hurt to think of them having to go through this. They’d come to England years ago, when he was only three years old, but they were still outsiders. It wasn’t England or the English, it was them. They considered themselves inferior, saw themselves as the unwanted guests at a party. Alek could have made them proud, made them feel as if they belonged in this country, but instead, he’d wound up in Strangeways, branded a killer.

“They’re doing okay,” Scott said. “They’re paying Sue a visit tomorrow.”

“Sue?”

Scott smiled. “You sound surprised.”

“I am a bit.” A lot. His parents had never taken to Sue and any meetings were always strained. “We don’t see much of them.”

“Yes, so Sue said. While I was in Birmingham—I think I told you Carly’s parents have refused to see me? Well, I spoke to Kirsten.”

“Oh, yes?” He hadn’t seen her since he and Carly divorced. He’d never really liked or disliked her. In his eyes, she’d been Carly’s best friend. Nothing more and nothing less. He’d always believed she’d been jealous of him though. She’d wanted Carly for herself.

“She’s not your biggest fan,” Scott said, “but, unlike everyone else, she did say that Carly still loved you. She didn’t know you’d been seeing Carly, but she wasn’t surprised to hear it.”

Alek nodded again. Scott was telling him nothing he didn’t know, and nothing that warranted his parents handing over a lot of cash.

“I had a chat with Neil Walsingham, too.”

“Lying bastard.”

“Yes.” Scott drummed his fingers on the table. “The trouble is, I can’t think why he’d kill Carly. His life seemed to be going okay, after all. He had his sons, a nice house, a job he enjoyed, a mistress. Why would he want her dead? It wasn’t as if he’d taken out a huge life insurance policy so he didn’t gain financially.”

Alek had asked himself that same question countless times and, just like Scott, hadn’t come up with a single answer. Walsingham had enjoyed playing the respectable doctor, meeting up with his golfing cronies and climbing the social ladder. A wife like Carly, an attractive one who any man would enjoy taking to functions, and one who didn’t make demands, suited him. Carly might have been made for him. So why the hell would he risk everything by killing her?

“Perhaps he had nothing to do with it,” Alek said.

The hopelessness of it all hit him in the stomach. Carly’s killer could be long gone. Maybe a young thug had got into the house and been surprised to find Carly there. Perhaps he’d only intended to steal some cash. Drug addicts would kill their own grandmothers for a fiver. That thug would be long gone by now. Either that or he’d be living in Dawson’s Clough and laughing with relief.

“In which case,” Scott said, “why would he lie about the phone conversation he supposedly heard between you and her? Why would he claim you threatened her the night before?”

Alek wanted to scream. He had no fucking idea.

“According to him,” Scott said, “he didn’t push her for information because they were going out for a meal and he didn’t want to spoil the occasion.”

“He didn’t want to spoil—fucking hell, that’s rich. He picked a fight with her.”

“A fight? What are you talking about?”

“He did it all the time. Image, his image, was everything to him and, whenever they went out, he reckoned she didn’t look pleased to be with him. He used to accuse her of chatting up blokes and stuff like that. He was right, she did. She used to do it to piss him off half the time.”

“And you’re saying they quarrelled about it that night?”

“Yes. Carly told me about it the next day, the day she was killed. She said he was in a foul mood all evening. He accused her of chatting up the waiter and then sulked like a child. Once he got her outside, he had a right go at her. She was laughing about it when she told me. The car was parked at the back of the restaurant, apparently, and he kept shouting at her and wouldn’t unlock it.”

“That’s interesting. Did you mention any of this at the time?”

“Only about a dozen times. He denied all knowledge and, of course, they couldn’t find any witnesses. They wouldn’t. He was always careful to lose his temper in private. Besides, I expect they didn’t try too hard.”

“I’ll have a word with him about that and see what he says. But he’s lying about other things too,” Scott said. “According to his current mistress, he knew his wife was seeing you.”

Alek shrugged. “We always guessed he did.”

“When I questioned him, he brushed it off. He claims he’d told her that when he was still angry with Carly. According to him, he and Carly used to argue about you. You kept phoning her, pestering her, refusing to accept your marriage was over and he accused her of enjoying your attention.”

“If he
did
know about us, I’m surprised he didn’t say something to Carly.”

And yet—

Alek hadn’t said as much to Scott because it was none of his business, none of anyone’s business, but, on that last afternoon, Carly had said she was ending things between them. She’d been a little crazy. Crazier than usual.

“For good this time, Alek,” she’d said.

“Yeah, yeah.” He’d grinned at her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

“I mean it. I’ve got the boys to think about. They’re growing up fast, and I can’t have them finding out that their mother’s—you know.”

“I’ll go now then, shall I?” He’d heard it too often. How many times had they, for one reason or another, decided to put an end to their relationship once and for all? He’d lost count. “I hope you’ll be very happy, my love.”

He’d been at the door before she’d called him back.

“Honestly, Alek, you always take things too literally. I didn’t mean now, this minute, for God’s sake.”

“Ah. So when are we supposed to end this thing?”

“Stay for a while.” She’d slipped her hands beneath his shirt and covered his face with kisses…

Alek hadn’t taken her seriously. They’d both known for years that they had to get over each other, that they both had spouses, that Carly had children. They’d known that what they were doing was wrong. The truth of the matter was that they’d been powerless to do anything about it.

Perhaps this time, Carly would have done something about it. Maybe Walsingham had confronted her. Perhaps he’d threatened her with divorce. If she’d thought she was on the brink of losing her safe life as the doctor’s wife and, far more important, her children, she might have ended things between them.

He’d never know the answer to that one. No one would.

“I’m a bit short of suspects,” Scott said.

“So were the police.” Alek knew he sounded bitter, but he couldn’t help it. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You’re here because one hell of a lot of evidence put you here.”

“I had no motive though. If, as everyone wants to believe, I couldn’t accept our marriage was over, I wouldn’t want her dead. If, as I know, she was the only woman I ever truly cared about, I wouldn’t want her dead. Why in hell’s name would I?”

Scott looked at him for long moments and finally shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know why anyone would.”

Scott pulled at his tie to loosen it. The bloke always looked uncomfortable. Alek wondered if Strangeways was making his skin crawl or if Scott felt guilty about wasting his parents’ money.

“You were close to her,” Scott said. “If someone had wanted her dead, surely to God she would have said something, mentioned something odd, talked about someone who disliked her.”

“She didn’t.”

Alek’s heartbeat picked up pace and he tried to take a few steadying breaths. His panic attacks were becoming more frequent. His hands were cold and clammy, his throat was dry. He began tapping a tune with his foot, anything to take his mind off the panic.

Tap, tap, tap.

That bruise on her arm—Christ, he’d never bruised her before. He’d claimed she liked rough sex, but she hadn’t. She liked to have fun in the bedroom, but she didn’t like any rough stuff. She certainly wouldn’t have liked anything that involved pain, so how the hell had he bruised her?

“You okay?” Scott asked.

“Yeah.” He ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“It’s this sodding place,” Scott said. “It gives me the creeps and I know I’ll be walking out soon.”

“Sue’s the same.” He sighed. “God, she must be having one hell of a time of it.”

“She’s doing okay.”

“Financially she isn’t. Without my income, she’s had it. She’s already sold her car. Not that it was worth anything. All she’s done is exchange one heap of rusting crap for another. She sold my van too and got a couple of grand for that, but she must be really struggling. And knowing her, she’ll go without herself rather than give the animals less food.”

“She has a lot of friends,” Scott said. “I’m sure they’ll help her out.”

“It’s not the same though, is it?”

“No, but they’ll help. She has Jamie, and I get the impression he’d be more than happy to help her out.”

Alek almost smiled. “Yes, I bet Jamie’s loving every minute of this. Having me stuck here must make him feel as if all his birthdays have arrived at once.”

“Yes, I suppose it must.”

He saw a hundred questions in Scott’s eyes. “Don’t go getting ideas about him.”

“Why not? If you didn’t kill Carly Walsingham, someone else did. Until we know who that someone is, everyone is a suspect.”

“But Jamie? Come off it. And even if he was a killer, he’d have gone for me, not Carly. One thing
is
certain, the killer couldn’t have known I’d take the blame for any of it.”

Scott shrugged. “He could if he’d known you were visiting Carly that afternoon.”

“But no one did. Christ, I didn’t even know myself until the night before.”

They talked some more and, with every passing moment, Alek’s heartbeat increased.

He’d been a fool to think that Scott might be able to work a miracle and get him out of this place. It would be far more sensible to accept what had happened and make the most of it. He’d been doing okay in here until Scott arrived on the scene. Since then, he’d started to fall apart. It wasn’t just the panic attacks, it was those fucking awful nightmares.