A Fatal Verdict (34 page)

46. Unwelcome visitors

Miranda phoned home the day after she arrived to say that she had, indeed, stopped off in New York to spend some time with a friend. She hadn’t answered her mobile because the charge had run out. The explanation did not go down well with Kathryn but what, after all, could she do about it? Her elder daughter - her only daughter now - was a grown woman, she could do as she chose. She had always been stubborn, determined - qualities of self-reliance and independence that had taken her across the Atlantic to marry her American vet. But now, it seemed to Kathryn, she was ignoring him. Her response, on the phone, was cool.

‘Bruce will be pleased to see you then, at last.’

‘Yes, of course he is, Mum. And Sophie. I brought her a bear.’

‘Good. Well, take care of them, darling. They matter to you, more than your friends.’

‘I do realise that, Mum. Honestly.’

In the conversation it seemed to Kathryn, somehow, that there was an invisible barrier she could not get past. Perhaps it was just that Miranda was tired - after all, a four thousand mile journey could cause that easily enough; but after she put the phone down she wondered how close she had come to Miranda even during the time she was here. They had been together a great deal, of course, spending long tearful evenings reminiscing about Shelley’s childhood; but the trauma of the verdict, and her own failed revenge with the shotgun, had changed things somehow. Even through the haze of the Valium, it seemed to Kathryn that Miranda had become more distant, withdrawn further into herself in a way she had not noticed before.

Perhaps it was just her own way of coping. She hoped so. The other possibility - that Miranda, like her father, had a lover outside her marriage, perhaps in New York - was not one she wanted to face. A small thing, perhaps, after the death of a daughter, but it was the small things, sometimes, that could tip you over the edge.

Andrew, at least, had been more attentive since her arrest, but that did not mean he was home every night.  So when he was, as now, she tried to treat the evening as a celebration rather than a normal event. She had bought a chicken, a bottle of wine, and was preparing a proper roast meal in the kitchen. It was an effort, even to focus her mind on the cooking. Everything she did at the moment was like that, as if she carried a huge boulder of grief on her shoulders.

But she had to go on, she told herself grimly. If she was to survive, and walk away from this horror that had happened, she could only do it one step at a time.

She was draining sprouts when she glanced out of the window to see their collie barking at a woman who was closing the gate at the end of the track behind a car which had just come through. There was something disturbingly familiar about the woman which set Kathryn’s heart beating anxiously. She watched as the woman got back into the car, which drove swiftly down the track, the collie streaking exuberantly alongside.

‘Someone coming, Andy,’ she called to her husband. ‘Can you see who it is?’

‘All right.’ As the car pulled up outside the front door Andrew stepped outside and called the dog to heel. The young woman got out, followed a man in a suit, and a uniformed police constable. They came towards him, their faces grim but polite.

‘Mr Walters? DS Tracy Litherland. We met before, you may remember ...’

‘On the night Shelley died. Yes, of course.’

‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Churchill. Is your wife at home?’

‘Yes, she’s inside. Why?’  A pulse beat uncomfortably in Andrew’s throat. Not more bad news, surely?

‘Could we come in? We have a few questions.’

‘About what? She’s had a lot of strain recently, you know. We both have.’

Will Churchill spoke for the first time. ‘It would be easier to explain inside, sir. If you don’t mind.’

‘Oh, all right.’ Reluctantly, Andrew led them through to the farm kitchen. Kathryn’s eyes darkened as she saw it was the police. ‘What now, for heavens sake? Not that gun again, surely? Is this my official warning?’

‘I’m afraid not, no, madam,’ Churchill said solemnly. ‘If you’d like to take a seat? A few days ago we found a body. In the woods, a couple of miles from here.’

‘Oh, that.’ Paradoxically, the announcement came as relief to Kathryn. She had read about the incident and dismissed it as a tragedy that, for once, had nothing to do with her. The name of the dead man had not been released. ‘Yes, it was in the Press. A man in a car, wasn’t it? You must be busy.’

‘We are.’ Churchill studied her coldly. ‘We thought you might be able to help with our enquiries. The dead man’s name, you see, was David Kidd.’

‘Good God!’ Kathryn stared at them unseeing, as a stream of emotions swirled through her mind - shock, horror, joy, relief. ‘David’s dead?’ she said, her voice croaking hoarsely. ‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘He appears to have drowned in his car, in a pit on a disused airfield in woods two miles south of this house.’

‘Thank God!’ Andrew squeezed Kathryn’s hand in warning, but the  relief in her voice was plain. ‘Did he kill himself, then, is that it? Out of guilt?’

‘No. We believe he was murdered.’

‘Oh. Well, whoever did it should be given a medal.’ She brushed away tears, meeting their cold, disapproving eyes with a bleak smile of delight. ‘You don’t expect me to be sorry, do you? That bastard killed my daughter.’ She laughed, a high, shrill laugh half out of control. Andrew squeezed her hand tighter.

‘Not according to the court, he didn’t,’ said Churchill coolly. ‘He was acquitted, as you know very well. And you told the world how wrong it was on prime time TV. Shortly after which, Mrs Walters, you were arrested outside his flat with a shotgun registered to your husband. Now David Kidd has been found dead, a few miles from your house.’  He took out his notebook. ‘So perhaps you could tell me where you were on the night of Wednesday 16th October. Both you and your husband. From say, six in the evening till six the next day.’

Kathryn shook her head, dazed. This was all crazy, and it was happening too fast. David was dead - she wanted to savour the wonderful news, not account for herself to this obnoxious young man with his questions and notebook. Where had she been, anyway, and what did it matter? The Valium made it hard to remember. ‘I got home from the pharmacy at about seven, I think, and then I was here, all evening.’

‘Was anyone with you?’

‘I’m not sure ... I don’t know ...’ Something was knocking at the back of her mind, a terrible, shocking question wanting to come in.

‘I was here, all the time.’ Andrew answered smoothly before she could say any more. ‘All evening, don’t you remember, Kath? I came home shortly after you. We had a meal, watched TV for a while, and went to bed.’ His hand tightened on hers as she turned to him in surprise. What the devil is he saying that for, she wondered. He didn’t come home at all on Wednesday, did he? Or have I got the days mixed up?

‘Is that true, Mrs Walters?’ Churchill’s eyes were focussed intently on her, as though he could see inside her mind. She glared back, hating him. Surely Andrew can’t have done this? But if he has, my husband’s been a hero, for once. Rashly, she decided to agree.

‘Yes, I think so. It was just like tonight, only we weren’t interrupted by policemen.’ She smiled again, more vacantly this time. ‘We didn’t kill him, much as we might have liked to. How did he die, exactly?’

‘He drowned,’ Churchill answered shortly. ‘His car was found in a fuel pit. You didn’t go anywhere that evening, then? Not out for a walk, for instance, with the dog?’

‘It’s not necessary,’ said Andrew. ‘She exercises herself, as you saw.’

‘So you were both here. What did you eat?’

Andrew glanced hesitantly at his wife, who answered coolly for them both. ‘Shepherd’s pie. Followed by apple crumble. And cream. Oh, and coffee of course. With mints.’

‘A lot to cook after a long day at work.’

‘I like to cook. As you see.’ Kathryn nodded at the Aga, where the chicken was roasting in the oven. Potatoes were steaming on the side, sprouts ready drained in the sink. ‘I was just about to serve up. Unfortunately we can’t ask you to stay.’

‘Can anyone confirm this story?’ said Churchill, ignoring the hint. ‘Your other daughter, Miranda, perhaps? Where was she?’

A door opened at the back of Kathryn’s mind, and the terrible question crept in.
Why wasn’t Miranda at home when I phoned?
Three days after she left here?

‘In America,’ said Andrew, coming to the rescue again. ‘I drove her to Manchester airport myself, on Monday. Even watched her get on the plane, as it happens.’ He smiled with obvious relief. ‘So you won’t be bothering her, I hope.’

‘You don’t happen to remember the flight number, do you sir?’

‘I can tell you the time. 08.37, British Airways. Good enough?’

Churchill wrote it down. ‘We’ll check. After all, she had a motive too.’

‘A motive? So you’re saying one of us killed him, are you?’ Kathryn glared at the officious little detective, real hatred in her eyes. The threat was out in the open now. ‘Look, we’re glad to hear he’s dead, of course we are, both of us. That may not be Christian, but it’s true. That man killed our daughter, whatever the jury said, and he deserved to die. But that doesn’t mean we killed him. My husband and I were here together in this house and Miranda was thousands of miles away in America. So if he was murdered it must have been someone else. A nasty little sod like that must have dozens of enemies. Why don’t you go out and find them instead of wasting our time?’

‘We’re pursuing several lines of enquiries, madam.’

‘Are you? It doesn’t look like it. What makes you so sure it wasn’t an accident, anyway? Or suicide - he had enough to feel guilty about.’

Churchill put down his pen and looked at her carefully. ‘Well, for one thing, Mrs Walters, the post mortem. He didn’t just drive into that pit in the darkness, you see. He was drugged. We had the laboratory results today. And you’re a pharmacist, I believe.’

Kathryn shook her head slowly. She  felt sick. ‘That’s a serious accusation.’

‘It’s a serious matter, Mrs Walters. I have a warrant here to search your pharmacy. So if you don’t mind, I must ask you for the keys.’       

‘The keys to my business? What on earth for?’

‘As I say, Mr Kidd’s body was drugged, and we need to determine whether the drugs came from your pharmacy. We could do it now but it’s late and I imagine you’re tired. So if you give me the keys we can start in the morning. Don’t worry, you can hand out prescriptions while we search.’

This is nonsense, Kathryn thought. How could David Kidd have taken drugs from my pharmacy? Even if he did, how would he get up there in the woods, in a car? It doesn’t make sense. But if it’s got nothing to do with me, it can’t have anything to do with Miranda or Andrew either, can it? Stunned, she handed over her keys. ‘What about my partner, Cheryl Wolman?’

‘Someone’s calling on her at the moment.’ Churchill got his feet. ‘I’ve a warrant to search this house, too. We’ll begin straight away, if you don’t mind.’ He strolled out into the hall, pausing by a rack of coats, shoes and boots in the porch. He picked up a shoe, turning it over in his hand and peering at the sole. ‘This yours, is it?’

‘Well it’s obviously not my husband’s.’

Churchill nodded. ‘Size six, I see.’ He dropped the shoe and its pair into a plastic evidence bag. ‘If you stay down here with this officer, I’ll take a look upstairs.’ He waved casually at the Aga as he left the room. ‘Eat, if you want to. It’s going to be a long night.’

It was the shoes which upset Kathryn the most. They were a pair of black trainers which  she wore sometimes for running or walking the dog. They were stronger, more waterproof than those she used in the gym. But the most important thing was how she had got them. They were a gift from Miranda. She’d seen her daughter with a pair like that and liked them so much that Miranda had bought her some for Christmas. She remembered them running together, mother and daughter dressed alike, a perfect match. They both took the same shoe size, six.

So why had the policeman taken them? Not to match with a shoe he’d found, surely - that wouldn’t make sense. So what else did shoes leave? Footprints! If he’d found a size six footprint matching those trainers in the woods near where Kidd had died then ... of course he would think it was her. Especially since she probably had been in those woods wearing those trainers with the dog some time in the past month - and she almost never cleaned them, so the bits of mud and leaves in the soles or trapped between the laces might easily be the same as those on the feet of whoever had killed him.

Someone else who hated him as much as she did. Well, there must be plenty of those. But not so many who wore size six trainers.

Why wasn’t Miranda at home in Wisconsin, four days after she’d left? What could she possibly have to do with drugs from my pharmacy?

For an hour she and Andrew sat silent together in the kitchen, watched by a young constable. Neither of them felt like eating, so she took the chicken out of the oven and put it in the warmer with the vegetables. When the police eventually left Andrew fumbled for the mobile in his pocket.