Verdict Unsafe (32 page)

“In that case, perhaps you can tell me where you were at nine o’clock last night?”

“I don’t know exactly. On the rank, cruising, taking a fare somewhere—working. I don’t know exactly where I was at a
particular time unless I have a booking. And I wasn’t the only one who had access to that gun—Ginny does have other clients.”

“You’re the only one to whom she showed it, according to her,” said Lloyd. “And her husband didn’t know she still had it.”

“Oh, yes, he did,” said Jarvis. “Because I told him she still had it—-why do you think he gave her that beating?”

Lloyd didn’t think Lennie
had
given her the beating. But, like Judy said, who else would Ginny be protecting? “When did you tell him?” he asked.

“At about twenty past eight last night.” Jarvis picked up his drink. “So if he says he knew nothing about it, he’s lying, Chief Inspector. And you’d be better employed asking him these questions.”

Matt had hit the M25 at its worst possible time. Lorries, vans, and cars sat nose to tail, inching along for seconds at a time only to stop again. He looked anxiously at his watch. Four o’clock. He had thought he had left plenty of time, but if he couldn’t move faster than this, he’d have to hang about in Dover, and that was the last thing he needed.

Ten minutes—ten
minutes
later, the traffic moved. Ten yards.

She’d told them about the gun. So perhaps he could stop denying its existence, said Finch, and tell them when he last saw it. Lennie sighed, admitting the logic of that.

“On Friday, when she was given it.”

“Which Friday?”

“Last Friday. A week ago yesterday. I told her to take it back where it came from.”

“Why did you do that?”

Lennie shook his head. “I don’t like guns,” he said. “And I don’t trust people who give them away. So I told her to take it back. And I thought she had until now. If she says she didn’t …” He shrugged.

“So where do you think it is now?”

“How should I know?”

“ABC Cabs were booked to take Mr. and Mrs. Gloucester to Stansfield railway station at ten past six on Wednesday the third of November,” said Marshall, appearing in Judy’s open doorway.

“I knew it,” said Judy.

“Only thing is,” said Marshall, in his unhurried, measured tones, “that wouldn’t be Lennie’s shout. He only gets the cab from nine o’clock in the morning.”

Admittedly, Judy really couldn’t see Lennie working at six o’clock in the morning, even if there was a possibility of ill-gotten gains as a result. Lennie was too indolent to put himself out to that extent.

“And if we’re right,” Marshall went on, “then the driver would have to get them talking, find out how long they were away for, and if the house was going to be empty, that sort of thing.”

Judy smiled. “You think I’ve been looking at the wrong driver,” she said. “Don’t you?”

“I think it would be worth my giving Jarvis another visit,” he said. “I mean—it’s a weird setup, isn’t it? Him choosing to drive at night?”

She agreed, and Marshall had been gone about five minutes when Lloyd came in, airing his latest theory. He, it transpired, had also just been to see Rob Jarvis, which visit had spawned theory number four.

“It was an IRA-type execution,” he said. “Ginny says Jarvis had every opportunity to take the gun. God knows, he had reason to want to kill Drummond—he said so himself. He suddenly can’t remember where he was at nine o’clock last night. He knows how to use a pistol. What reason could he possibly have for keeping quiet about seeing Drummond dump those clothes, other than that he intended getting his own revenge on Drummond?”

“Well…”said Judy. “We’ll probably find that out when the owners come back from holiday.”

“What?”

“Chances are he was burgling a house at the time,” she said.

“You think
he’s
the burglar?”

“Marshall does. I think he’s right.” She smiled sympathetically. “Sorry to dent another theory,” she said.

Lloyd frowned. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t murder Drummond,” he said.

“It does,” said Judy. “The burglary happened at the same time—remember?”

Lloyd’s face fell. The knock on her door was followed by Sandwell, who apologized for the interruption, explaining that the phone wasn’t connected to the incident room yet. He wanted Lloyd to look at what he called “the publicity material” for the rape inquiry, amongst other things. As though poor Mrs. Ashman was some sort of pop star being promoted.

Lloyd went back out through the CID room, and detailed Tom to speak to Ginny. “Find out who else has been in that house who could have had access to the gun,” he told him. “DC Marshall seems to have stolen Jarvis from us. And Lennie knew about the gun—Jarvis told him Ginny still had it. Check that out.”

Her phone rang, and Judy was summoned to the presence; she went upstairs, knocked, and entered on the command, and then stood for some moments while Case marked things off in his apparently endless files, her back straight, her feet together, hands clasped loosely behind her back, at ease. Technically.

He looked up at her eventually. “How is your investigation of the burglaries going?” he asked.

“DC Marshall has gone to interview Jarvis,” she said. “I expect he’ll be making an arrest.”

“Quick work, Inspector.”

“Marshall did most of it, sir. I can’t take the credit.”

He nodded. “Chalmers has retracted her statement to the complaints investigation, and has admitted that she was raped that night,” he said. “She has given the hospital permission to
release her medical record as confirmation. You are no longer under investigation.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Judy, and took a deep breath. “And in that case I must tell you that Constable Burbidge had absented himself from duty and was not in the car with Constable Turner at the time of Bobbie Chalmers’s rape.” She paused, trying to gauge his reaction, but she couldn’t. So she went on. “And a roll of adhesive bandage which should have been in the first-aid kit was discovered sometime later to be missing. It was replaced the following morning. When asked to account for his absence from duty, Burbidge said that he was attempting to sort out a domestic crisis.”

She was used to Lloyd, the volatile Lloyd, who would go off like a drop of nitroglycerine hitting the floor, or go quiet and be sarcastic and cutting, like acid spreading over it. Case did neither of these things.

“I presume you checked out this alibi?” he said.

“No, sir. The whereabouts of his wife and children are unknown to him, and my attempts to trace them have so far failed.”

“You have made the attempt, then? I suppose that’s something. When were you given this information, Inspector?”

“During my interviews with both Turner and Burbidge on Thursday the fourth of November,” she said. “I was also told, and have since confirmed, that Burbidge had been working undercover at the farm where Lucy Rogerson was later raped.”

Case flicked his pen backward and forward between his fingers, the only indication that he was a very angry man. But Judy knew one when she saw one, despite his still calm delivery. “And you withheld this information?” he said.

“I didn’t consider it relevant, sir.”

The pen stopped, and he pulled it into his fist. “This I must hear,” he said. “Why didn’t you consider it relevant?”

“I was interviewing Matt Burbidge because he had been seen in the vicinity of the flat where Marilyn Taylor was raped and murdered,” she said. “I checked his alibi, which was
confirmed, and I had no reason to doubt it. The rest did not seem to me to be relevant to my inquiries.” She had been rehearsing this ever since Lloyd had made her realize that Bobbie would admit the rape now that Drummond was dead.

“Finch was with you, wasn’t he?” he said. “Did he also regard the rest as irrelevant?”

“Sergeant Finch asked Burbidge to accompany us to the station to answer further questions. When he refused, Sergeant Finch was of the opinion that we should arrest him. I overruled him. It is entirely my responsibility.”

“Too damn right, it’s your responsibility,” said Case. “You ignored vital evidence pointing to him as a suspect in the Chalmers rape. The man had no alibi, and refused to cooperate. It was your duty to arrest him, Inspector.”

“On what grounds, sir? Bobbie Chalmers had stated quite categorically to me and my senior officer that she had never
been
raped. I had no reason to think that she would alter her stance. Therefore I had no grounds for arresting him, and I instructed my sergeant accordingly.”

Case’s eyes widened slightly.

“Now that I have learned that Bobbie has made an official complaint of rape, I have passed on the relevant information,” Judy continued. “The lack of an alibi
is
only relevant once there’s a crime to go with it. I don’t believe that I’ve done anything wrong, sir.”

The pen made a dull clicking noise as it was tapped against Case’s bottom teeth, and he looked out of the window. The tapping stopped; he swung his chair around and looked up at her again. “Very clever, Inspector,” he said. “Very clever. And I suppose you’ve got an answer for not passing on the information about the Rogerson girl?”

“Burbidge’s connection with Lucy Rogerson has become relevant as we now have a live complaint of rape to investigate. Since it is similar in every detail to the other rapes committed at that time, presumably the reopened inquiry is no longer merely window dressing.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” He threw the pen down. “You’re not dragging me into this, Inspector.”

“into what, sir?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, sit down, woman! And stop talking like a bloody computer!”

Judy sat down, taking out her cigarettes. “Do you mind?” she asked, lighting one without waiting for an answer, wishing her hand wasn’t shaking. She wasn’t used to sticking her neck out like this. She wasn’t used to sailing quite so close to the wind. She needed a cigarette.

“Why are you shopping him now?” Case asked.

“I’m not shop—”

“You must think you can’t keep the lid on this any longer,” he said, talking through her. “That this way you can get out from under.”

“I’m not shopping anyone!” Judy said angrily. “I don’t have to get out from under anything!”

Case shook his head. “You’re working to your own agenda, Inspector,” he said. “Credit me with some intelligence.”

Judy acknowledged the grain of truth in that with a slight nod. “I stretched the rules,” she said. “Because Matt Burbidge didn’t rape these women. Drummond did. I hoped I might be able to keep Matt out of it. But I can’t, not now that Bobbie’s admitted that she was raped.”

Case reached over and took one of Judy’s cigarettes out of the packet. “Give me your lighter,” he said.

Judy watched him draw in smoke and release it in a calming blue stream.

“I ought to be reporting this entire conversation to the DCC,” he said.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Because I think you would win, like you did with Drummond’s complaint about you. But I believe now more than ever that Drummond was fitted up for these rapes, and that his statement to you was a fake.”

“Sir—” Judy began, but he held up a hand.

“Don’t say anything, Inspector,” he said. “When I get you, it’s going to be on something you
can’t
talk your way out of. You can go.”

It was useless. He had her down as a double-dyed villain, and nothing was going to change his mind unless she could prove that Drummond was the rapist. She got up, picked up her cigarettes and lighter, then put them down again, and left his office. If she’d started the man smoking again, she could at least leave him the requisites. He was on the phone, demanding to know Lloyd’s whereabouts, before she had closed the door.

Carole had come downstairs once Lloyd had left, but whatever she had been going to tell him, she had obviously changed her mind. Rob drank his whisky and poured himself another.

“Don’t drink too much,” Carole said, as the doorbell rang again. “You don’t want to get Breathalysed.”

Right now, he wasn’t sure he cared.

Carole got up to answer the door, and came in with DC Marshall in tow.

“I’ve already had a visit from your Chief Inspector,” said Rob. “I’ve told him everything I know—including the bits I didn’t tell you.”

“Is that right, sir? That’s very interesting, but … it’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?” said Rob, feeling the adrenaline rising. “Why are you here?”

“I understand you took a Mr. and Mrs. Gloucester to Stansfield railway station at …”

Rob was barely listening. He had been waiting for this. He had thought that he would be stopped last night. Or picked up on the rank. He had thought when Lloyd came that it would be about the burglary; so had Carole. That was why she’d stayed upstairs. She hadn’t wanted to see him getting arrested. But it hadn’t been about the burglary. This was.

He was being asked about some of the other runs he’d done to stations and airports. He was being asked if he realized that all these people had been burgled while away on holiday, and that he was the only factor they had in common. He was being asked if Marshall might take a look around the house.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he said.

Carole was looking stiff with worry.

“Do you garage your cab, Mr. Jarvis?”

“No,” said Rob. “It’s on the road twenty-four hours a day.”

“But you do have a garage?”

Carole made a little sound; Marshall realized his faux pas. “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Jarvis,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. Might I take a look in there, Mr. Jarvis?”

Rob saw no reason to spin it out, especially in view of the effect it would have on Carole if he made Marshall go and get a search warrant. He took out his keys, and walked around with Marshall to the garage where the stuff from Tuesday night’s burglary, the stuff Carole had seen when she opened the garage door, was sitting.

So Carole did see him being arrested. He told her not to worry. She would, of course.

“Do you feel up to answering some more questions?” asked the policewoman.

It was almost worth getting beaten senseless for all this, thought Ginny, as she stiffly got off the bed. She had been in the hands of the police more times than she could possibly count, and they had treated her like something they’d found on their shoes, mostly. Some of them were OK, like Inspector Hill. But most of them were like Lennie said.