The Slowest Cut (5 page)

Warner placed the notebook back on the pile and stood up with a puzzled look. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Hello, Dr Warner. I’ve come from the Headmistress to tell you that there’s an urgent matter you need to come and attend to.”

“Urgent? What is it?”

Annette lied and asked for forgiveness in her mind. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know.”

“I can’t leave my class unattended.”

“Mrs Willoughby’s arranging cover for you.”

Warner’s expression changed from puzzle to suspicion and he glanced quickly towards the window. For one moment Annette thought that he was going to jump, except that they were six floors up and it was almost certain death. Warner must have realised it as well, because finally he shrugged in defeat.

He lifted a textbook and scrawled a list of page numbers on the board, then barked. “Read those before I come back. There’ll be a quiz.” It was followed by a quieter. “Someone will be along in a moment to supervise you.” Then he walked coolly past Annette into the corridor.

For a moment Annette thought it had all gone to plan but once outside the classroom Gerry Warner shoved her to the floor and sprinted off in the direction of the stairs. Thirty seconds later she heard an almighty thud and she knew that he’d been stopped by Liam’s foot or fist. It didn’t matter which; Liam had been right. Warner wasn’t behaving like an innocent man, so they wouldn’t treat him like one.

Chapter Seven

John was meeting Craig at six o’clock, which left him with four hours to fill and he thought he might as well fill them with the case. It would give them a conversation opener before he bored the ass off Craig about Natalie. He flicked on his computer and scrolled through the latest lab results; nothing. Although that didn’t mean that they weren’t available. It sometimes took hours for things to be put on the intranet.

There was only one real way to find out if they were ready, so John voted with his feet and took the lift to the fifth floor. He was so deep in thought when the doors slid open that he stepped out without looking. John’s lack of attention was rewarded by a feminine sounding yelp and the clatter of papers falling to the floor. A slim woman with long blonde hair was standing in front of him, holding her nose and gazing dolefully down at the shambles John had made of her files.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

The woman lifted her eyes from the mess at her feet and half-smiled, removing her hand gingerly from her face for him to look.

“Is it bleeding? Only I’d rather not have a nose-job this afternoon.”

John stared at the woman’s face, horrified by the appearance of a bruise. He touched her reddening nose warily with one finger, his practiced medical hand able to tell that it wasn’t broken. He exhaled gratefully and smiled.

“No fracture, thank goodness. But you’ll definitely have a black eye.”

John hunkered down quickly to gather her notes and handed them to her in an unruly heap, babbling in a flustered tone. “I hope they weren’t for something important? I’ll help you rearrange them, if you’ve got the time?”

The woman smiled at his obvious embarrassment and extended her free hand. “Katy Stevens. I’m an endocrinologist at St Mary’s Trust.”

John stared at her for a moment then realised that he’d left her hand hanging rudely in mid-air. He grasped it so firmly it made her wince and he apologised again. John waved her to a bench beside the lift.

“Katy Stevens? You know my girlfriend, Natalie Ingrams, don’t you?”

A smile spread across the woman’s small face, throwing the darkening bruise into stark relief against her tan. John winced again. She looked like someone had punched her.

“Yes, we’re great friends. We see each other practically every day at the M.P.E. on the Lisburn Road.” Katy’s smile became a grin and she nodded. “You must be John. She talks about you a lot.”

The mix of pride and concern that John felt at being discussed showed on his face.

She laughed. “It’s all good, I promise. Natalie thinks you’re wonderful. Although for God’s sake don’t tell her I told you that. She’ll kill me.” She glanced around the lab, indicating the rows of steel machines. “Do you work here?”

“Downstairs. I deal with the dead, I’m afraid.”

“Does that mean you’re afraid of the dead? Or you’re apologising for dealing with them?”

John laughed. “The latter. It doesn’t make for great dinner party conversation.”

“Unless you’re with doctors, in which case we’re all fascinated.”

“Or the police. They’re even more fascinated, trust me.”

John glanced at Katy’s face again, marvelling at how pretty she was, even with an enormous bruise. Her next words surprised him; they were accompanied by a rueful frown.

“I dealt with the police last year. About the death of a young mother. After I got over the shock of being interrogated, I have to say they did a good job.”

“Oh? Who ‘interrogated’ you?” He emphasised the word in an amused tone.

“A D.C.I. Craig. He was nice. Natalie knows him. I bumped into him again just before Christmas at an art gallery.”

“That would be Marc. He was always the arty romantic sort.”

“Actually, I believe he was on a case.”

The Trainor murder. John smiled and stood up.

“How does your nose feel now?”

“How does it look?”

“Nice shape. Pity about the colour.”

Katy reached into her handbag, withdrawing a small mirror and grimacing at her reflection. She touched her nose cautiously then gave John a reassuring look.

“It looks worse than it feels, honestly. Don’t worry. But I’ll make sure to tell Natalie that her boyfriend hit me. It should be good for a rant or two.” She laughed at John’s crestfallen face. “I’m joking. Walking into a door makes me sound much less stupid.” She rose and turned towards the lift. “Well, perhaps I’ll see you again sometime, under better circumstances. Goodbye.”

John watched as Katy walked away then he had a thought. He went to the reception desk and gathered his expected results, then went back to his office to lay his plan.

***

Jake walked away from Ian Carragher’s business place in Academy Street, scratching his head. Liam had said Carragher was upset at the thought of what might have happened to his wife, and he was still that, although he’d continued to work. But what Liam hadn’t said was how cool a character he was. When he’d tried to explain that he might be at risk Carragher had just shrugged and said. “It’s the price you pay.” The price you pay for what?

He’d heard similar things said by guys in the military and armed response, even from some criminals. He could understand it from all of them; they took chances every day. But Ian Carragher wasn’t in a high risk occupation; surveying was hardly cutting edge stuff. The fact that Carragher had said it meant he thought he was taking risks he might have to pay for, and if they weren’t at work then that meant they were somewhere else in his life. Perhaps in an area that had involved his wife?

Jake climbed back in the car and drove down the Dunbar Link, heading back towards the C.C.U. He was going to take a close look at Mr and Mrs Carragher, a very close look, and he had a hunch that something very nasty was going to turn up.

***

“Is Warner saying anything, Liam?”

“Not a dicky bird, boss. Clammed up as soon as we got him into the car.”

Craig gazed through the two-way mirror at the man lounging on the interview room chair at High Street Station.

“What did he say before then?”

Liam sniffed. “A delicate combination of four letter words, and the grammar school teacher’s equivalent of ‘you’ll never make anything stick.’”

“Like what?”

“Ah well, that’s it exactly, isn’t it? We hadn’t accused him of anything, just said we needed him to come in and help us with our enquiries. I didn’t even say it was anything to do with Eileen Carragher’s death. But he’s feeling as guilty as hell about something.”

Craig peered through the glass then gave Liam a rueful look. “How did he get that fat lip?”

Liam glanced at him sheepishly. “Well… Annette was asking him to come and help with an urgent matter, and he pushed her to the ground then legged it down the corridor, where…”

Craig interrupted. “Where, let me guess, you were waiting to stop him? Gently, of course.”

“Got it in one.” He threw Warner a menacing glance. “He shouldn’t have hit a woman.”

Craig nodded. “Is Annette OK?”

“Aye, pretty much.”

Craig stared at the glass, anticipating the chat they were about to have with Warner. “You go in first, Liam. I want to see how he reacts to you. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Liam pulled open the viewing-room door and ten seconds later he appeared on the other side of the glass. Craig could hear his booming voice without the microphone, but he turned it on anyway, to catch Warner’s much softer words. After Liam ran through the formalities of name, address and whatever, he sat back in silence, folding his hands demurely on the table top.

Craig stared at their suspect, wondering what made him tick. Gerry Warner looked for all the world like an ordinary bloke. A school teacher; average shirt, average tie, average height. Sixty but looking late forties. Steel-grey hair, still all his own and not bad looking in a gaunt, sharp-jawed way. No-one would have looked twice at him in the street. Nothing about Warner said ‘killer of middle-aged headmistresses’, but then Craig didn’t believe for one moment that he was.

Gerry Warner hadn’t killed Eileen Carragher, any more than her husband had. But he was up to his ears in something, and whatever it was had led to Eileen Carragher’s death. Craig watched the two men sit in silence for a moment then he entered the interview room, taking a seat beside Liam and introducing himself for the tape. Warner’s expression soured when he heard Craig’s rank and his sarcastic tone matched.

“Oh my. Here come the judge.”

Craig smiled slightly, recognising the reference to a 1960s song. It would have been released when Warner was young. Warner had managed to summarise his obvious contempt for authority in one brief phrase. Despite the fact he was a teacher, Gerry Warner obviously didn’t see himself as ‘the man’. Craig imagined him as an anarchic student, wild, free and protesting every cause, until life and a mortgage had forced him to get a job and join the herd. What a blow reality was to some people.

“Good afternoon, Dr Warner. Thank you for helping us with our enquiries.”

Warner snorted. “I didn’t have much sodding choice, did I?” He gestured towards Liam. “King Kong here invited me with his fists.”

Craig’s tone was cool but firm. “Now, that’s not strictly true, Dr Warner, is it? Inspector McElroy asked you politely and you chose to assault her. The moment you did that you committed a crime. D.C.I. Cullen was merely impeding a criminal’s flight.”

“Call it what you want, Craig. I’m getting my union lawyers on the job and I’ll make sure this is in the press.”

“Whatever you wish. Now, we originally asked you here to help us with an urgent matter. Aren’t you at all curious what that might be?”

“Shortage of brain cells in the police force I suppose. Sorry, I can’t help you with that. I need all of mine.”

Craig saw Liam’s fists whiten and shot him a look that said ‘stand down’. He continued speaking in mellifluous tones.

“Very amusing, Dr Warner, but it’s something much more serious than that. I understand that you know a Mrs Eileen Carragher?”

Warner scanned Craig’s face suspiciously, certain that everything he said was a trap. When he’d run out of ways that Craig’s question might have been one, he answered.

“Yes. I know her. We went to college together to do our P.G.C.E.”

“P.G.C.E.?”

“Post graduate certificate of education. To teach.”

“Ah.” Craig deliberately paused for too long, just to make Warner sweat. He was rewarded by droplets forming on his top lip. “But you’ve seen her since. At college reunions for instance?”

“Yes. I saw her on Saturday for drinks.” Warner glared at Craig and then Liam, then gave an exasperated sigh. “Look, what is this about?”

Craig leaned forward and watched as Warner leaned back to match, maintaining the distance between them.

“We have reason to believe that Mrs Carragher may have been the victim of a brutal assault sometime between Saturday and Sunday. We’re trying to establish her whereabouts on those days.”

Warner’s eyes widened in shock, and something more. Craig recognised it immediately and Liam threw him a glance that said he had too. It was fear. Gerry Warner was afraid of something. Something to do with Eileen Carragher’s assault. His shock said he hadn’t known that Eileen Carragher had been attacked, and more, that he hadn’t done it. But his fear said that the reasons behind her attack might apply to him as well.

“HOW?”

The word was shouted so loudly that Liam jumped, anticipating a flying fist. It didn’t come. Instead Gerry Warner’s eyes were frantic. He was desperate for an answer.

“A woman’s body was found, with severe injuries. The location and items found lead us to believe it may have been Mrs Carragher. We’re still waiting for a formal identification, but…”

“You can’t tell from her face? Why can’t you tell from her face?”

Warner’s voice rose in volume as he repeated the question in differing permutations, until finally Craig shook his head. She had no face. Warner slumped back in his chair like he’d been punched in the chest and put his head in his hands, saying “my God” again and again.

Craig asked him several more questions without success, nodding Liam to try the same, but they’d got all they were going to get from Gerry Warner for today. Craig called Jack Harris to put him back in a cell and get the on-call doctor to check him out. The last thing they needed was Warner topping himself in the station. They wandered into the staff-room and Liam put the kettle on to boil.

“Well, that was useless, boss.”

Craig shook his head. “Not completely. We know that he saw her on Saturday, but my money says she was alive when they parted, whatever time that was. He was too shocked by her death to have had anything to do with it.” He paused, remembering Gerry Warner’s reaction. “Did you see how frightened he was?”

“Aye. What was that all about?”

“Whatever the reason was for Eileen Carragher being killed, Warner’s afraid that it applies to him as well. He thinks he’s next and he’s scared stiff.”