The Murder House (33 page)

I glanced down, and saw that someone had left a paper in the carrel. It was open on page three, so he probably imagined I was a closet lesbian, as well as a closet reader of
The Sun
. I closed it quickly and let him think he was right. It was better than the truth.

‘I've just spoken to a couple of Paxton's school friends who said you were in the same year as him,' he went on. I glanced at the door. Would he catch me if I made a run for it? Or should I stay and brazen it out? His manner was friendly enough, and he'd aimed at levity. Surely he wouldn't do that if he was about to arrest me? I forced myself to calm down and sound suitably apologetic.

‘I was wondering if I should mention it, Guv, but I didn't want to waste your time. I stopped him for speeding some years ago. I can't remember when exactly. He invited me to a gathering of old Redlandians, probably as a way to get out of getting reported, although I gave him a ticket anyway. I still see Gary and Frances, but I haven't seen James for ages.'

‘That's what they said. And you
should
have mentioned it. To keep it quiet looks deliberately obstructive – the kind of thing Wright would have done.'

That was an unpleasant thing to say; I wasn't at all like Wright. I went on the defensive. ‘Actually, I tried several times, but you were always busy,' I lied. ‘And I didn't want to
demand
an interview, because there's not much I can tell you, and I didn't want you thinking I was trying to force myself in the limelight over someone I knew a decade ago.'

‘I wouldn't have thought any such thing.'

I forged on. ‘But James and I barely acknowledged each other at school, and I only saw him for a drink with three other people years ago. It's hardly information to help you find his killer.'

‘No, but you could have told me about Paxton's father,' said Oakley. ‘It would have been helpful to know that he's inside.'

I gaped at him. ‘Inside? You mean in prison?'

‘You didn't know?'

I really hadn't, and I could see from his face that he believed my shock was genuine. No wonder he thought I should've talked to him! That kind of information was certainly relevant.

‘Blimey,' I breathed. ‘There was never a father around for James at school, so I assumed he was dead. He never said anything to the contrary.'

‘Your friends said Maureen Paxton started using her maiden name after her husband's trial, and they can't remember what he was called. They think that whatever happened was just before James came to your school, though.'

‘He came late,' I recalled. ‘When he was fifteen. And he was always called Paxton.'

‘How do you fancy a morning on the computer, going through old trials with a view to finding a defendant with a wife called Maureen?'

I shook my head, but tempered my words with a smile. ‘I'm on duty in Broadmead today, and I'd better stick to what I've been assigned to do. We all know what happens if I don't.'

He wasn't pleased, but that was too bad. If I'd asserted myself earlier then Wright wouldn't have blown up at me, and I probably wouldn't have had to kill him.

‘All right,' he said. ‘I'll get Dave Merrick to do it. By the way, I'm going to ask your boyfriend to come in later. The other two thought he might be able to fill in some gaps.'

Oakley did call Colin, and arranged for him to drop into New Bridewell the following day. It could have been worse – Oakley could have questioned Colin before I'd had a chance to talk to him myself. Colin could tell Oakley anything except the fact that I'd slept with James. The rest of it – school, reporting him for speeding, having drinks after – was taken care of. Gary and Frances didn't know about my night of so-called passion – or if they did, they hadn't mentioned it to Oakley – and I was sure I could persuade Colin to be discreet.

On the phone, Oakley asked Colin whether he knew the name of James' father. Colin did, and Oakley mentioned it to me just as I was leaving the station. He was in a good mood, and told me that Colin had helped him tremendously – that his information had explained a peculiar reaction on Maureen's part when the mention of trials came up. I had no idea what he was talking about.

Apparently, James' father, William Pullen, was an architect who'd raised buildings with substandard materials, but had charged for the best stuff on the market. That had been in the Midlands, and when the trial was over James and his mother had fled to the West Country to begin a new life. Colin had been a good friend, I thought, to keep that secret for so long.

Oakley was driving to Birmingham to interview Pullen in prison that evening. I asked how he thought it would help with the murder enquiry, and he told me that Pullen could not have perpetrated fraud on such an enormous scale without a large number of iffy contacts. It was Oakley's belief that Pullen had been recommending his son to powerful criminals. I suspected he was right: it would explain why James had had so many high-profile clients clamouring for his services. He was young to have earned such a reputation, but it made sense if he had a powerful backer in the criminal fraternity.

I wished Oakley luck and set off to meet Colin. It had been another baking day, and I felt an urge to be by the sea, to walk along cliffs fanned by a cool breeze. Colin was waiting outside the station so I drove him to Brean Down, a mile-long peninsula that stuck into the sea like a swollen finger. Colin and I strolled along the soft, mossy grass, keeping off the path to avoid other people. The sun shot golden rays across the shimmering sea, and the air was full of the scent of salt, mud and hot vegetation. I began to relax.

Colin and I walked to the very end, and watched the sea surge and heave around the rocks below. We sat for a long time, as the gold of the sun faded across the water. Soon it was dark, and I knew we'd have a job getting back to the car, but it didn't matter. We had all night, and we were both off work the next day. Stars began to twinkle, and I realized we were alone. I slipped under the fence that kept the foolish and reckless from going too close to the edge, and indicated Colin should follow.

‘What are you doing?' he exclaimed, half-horrified, half-amused. ‘Come back. You'll fall!'

‘I won't. There's a grassy area down here. Come on, don't be a wimp! I used to play down here when I was six.'

‘Yes, but I'm rather larger than a child – there may not be room,' grumbled Colin, climbing down with great caution. When he reached me I stripped off my shirt and pushed him down on the grass.

‘What? Here?' He glanced around uneasily, as if hoards of people were watching.

We fumbled with our clothes, and it was strange to feel the prickle of dry vegetation under my back and clinging to my hair. I felt reckless, wild, and I think he began to as well. Eventually, we lay back, slippery with sweat. I swatted at an insect that landed on me, then gazed up at the stars.

‘You're going to see Inspector Oakley tomorrow,' I said. By mutual consent, we hadn't talked about work – his or mine – all evening.

‘He asked about James' father, and I thought I'd better tell him, even though I promised James I never would. I don't want to be arrested for non-cooperation.'

I began to dress. ‘Unfortunately, we can't arrest people for that. If we could, we'd have half the country locked up.'

‘You introduced me to Oakley, if you recall, and he seemed a canny sort of chap,' said Colin, pulling on his trousers. ‘I don't want him thinking I topped James because of you.'

‘Because of me?' I asked in astonishment. ‘What do I have to do with it?'

‘He slept with you.' He grinned at me in the darkness. ‘I know you said he wasn't very good, but I didn't think you'd have forgotten about it completely.'

‘But it was years ago, and it didn't mean a thing.' I was beginning to have a bad feeling about the way this conversation was going.

‘Right,' he agreed. ‘
You
know it meant nothing and
I
know it meant nothing, but did
James
? For all we know, he might have written in his diary that it was the greatest night in his life. That would make me Suspect Number One.'

‘Don't be stupid,' I said impatiently. ‘And don't tell Oakley rubbish, either. He's really stumped by this case, and the last thing he needs is information to confuse him even more. There's no point in telling him about me and James.'

‘But I'd never lie to the police,' said Colin seriously. ‘I couldn't. They'd know I was holding something back, and then I
would
be in trouble.'

‘Nonsense. All Oakley wants is a bit of background detail – not a list of who James slept with and who he didn't.'

I felt him stiffen. ‘Why don't you want me to tell him about you and James?'

‘Why d'you think? Because I could lose my job.'

‘I hardly think they'd sack you for that! It's not your fault James was murdered.'

‘No, but I didn't tell them about it,' I explained. ‘I couldn't bring myself to – it's not something I'm proud of.'

‘I can see why.' Colin gave a short laugh. ‘
You
didn't top him, did you? For being a bastard?'

I was glad it was dark and he couldn't see my face. ‘He wouldn't have been worth the ensuing aggravation.'

‘I know about Noble,' he said unexpectedly. ‘You arrested him. It was a big case, but James got him off.'

I was puzzled. I hadn't told Colin that I'd arrested Noble because by the time we'd started to go out I'd equated the whole incident with James stealing the file on the train – and poor Mark Butterworth's subsequent death. ‘How did you know what I did?'

He started to do a jig as he tried to put on his shoes without untying the laces. In another situation, I'd have found it endearing. Now I wished he'd keep still. ‘James told me. He lived near me, remember? We met occasionally at the supermarket and he mentioned it then – along with the fact that he'd slept with you. All because he'd regretted telling me about his dad.'

I blinked, bemused. ‘I thought he told you about that at school.'

‘He did – after he'd been arrested for shoplifting. He thought criminal behaviour might be in his genes, and told me why.'

I was getting confused. ‘Why should the business with his dad have anything to do with me, our one-night stand, and Noble?'

‘He was being a bastard, of course. He knew I liked you and he used it to get something he wanted – namely me never to say anything about his villainous sire. If I did, he said he'd put about the tale you slept around. He knew that would hurt me because … well, I was falling in love with you, you see?'

‘
You
didn't kill him, did you?' I tried to laugh, but the sound that emerged was about as far from humour as you can get. Colin was right: James
was
a bastard.

‘I almost wish I had, but I was at a conference at the time.'

‘Oh, good,' I said lightly. ‘But please don't mention this to Oakley. I'm not kidding – I
will
lose my job.'

‘I have to, Helen. He'll find out anyway, and then we'll both be in trouble. He'll find out that James stole files from you, too, including the one that saw Noble walk free, so if you haven't already confessed, I recommend you do it soon.'

‘James told you that, too?' I gulped. Damn him! How many other people had he blabbed to?

‘He did, although he told me how upset you were, so I've never mentioned it before. But I'm glad it's in the open at last. It'll be a clean start for both of us, with no more secrets to hide. And Oakley will understand – he seems a reasonable sort of chap.'

Yeah, right! Showed what
he
knew about the police, the sanctimonious little prick. This was the twenty-first century, not a novel in which honesty was rewarded with a happy ending.

‘It doesn't work like that,' I said, not disguising the desperation in my voice. ‘I'll be finished.'

‘Then that's a chance you'll have to take,' he said firmly. ‘I can't lie, and neither should you. Not to the police. It wouldn't be ethical.'

Bugger ethics! I thought, standing up and lurching forward. With both hands I gave him a good solid shove in the chest. His eyes opened wide in shock, and then he was gone into the blackness. I crawled as close to the edge as I could and peered over it.

He was there, his face just a foot from mine! He was scrabbling at the grass as he tried to pull himself back up again.

‘What the hell are you doing?' he yelled. ‘I could have been killed!'

Thank God for rocks. I rejected the first one I grabbed and seized a lump that fitted neatly into my hand. His face filled with terror, and I saw appalled understanding flash, just before the rock came down on the top of his head.

He just slipped away. He didn't scream or flail with his arms; he just vanished. I climbed down a few feet and peered over the edge. The cliffs were sheer there, and I could see rings of white where the surf crashed against their feet.

It was late, and I was getting cold. I started the long walk back to my car.

K
illing Colin was horrid. I'd been fond of him, and hoped that we'd have a future together. I was hurt to learn that he put honesty before my wellbeing, and his silence hadn't been too much to ask, had it? As I stumbled back across the downs, the enormity of what I'd done began to hit me and I found myself weeping, huge, uncontrollable sobs. They threatened to overwhelm me and, when they reached a point where I was finding it difficult to breathe, I knew I had to pull myself together. I couldn't walk along wailing like a banshee or someone would call the police.

I eventually reached the car park. It was well past eleven, and only three cars were left, one of which was mine. I found a place to hide, out of a wind that had actually grown quite bitter – or perhaps it just felt cold because I couldn't stop shivering – and settled down to make sure no one had seen me. I spotted a scrap of paper on the ground near my foot. A cinema ticket. I picked it up and kissed it. It was for the 7.30 p.m. showing of the latest James Bond in Weston-super-Mare. I hadn't seen it, although Colin and I had planned to go together the next week. It would be my alibi.