A Fatal Verdict (35 page)

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ll ring Carole now.’

‘What?’ Kathryn stared at him, dazed. ‘What are you talking about - ring Carole now?’

‘To tell her what story to tell. Don’t worry, she’ll do it for me. She does care, you know.’

‘You mean - it was you and Carole who did this? My God, Andy - how?’

‘Did what?’ He frowned, his fingers paused above the mobile.

‘Killed David, of course. Drowned him in that pit.’

For a moment, hope sang in her heart. Above the fear and horror she felt pride, that her faithless husband had done something for once, had cared enough about Shelley’s death to wreak the revenge she herself had failed to do. If his mistress had helped him, well at least for once she had done something good. But the frown on his face killed her hope.

‘Kill him? No, of course I didn’t, Kath. I thought you did. That’s why I told them I was here.’

Kathryn groaned. This nightmare was just getting worse. ‘You mean, you were with Carole that night, and you want her to lie and say you were here with me? Andrew, you idiot,  you don’t think I actually killed him, do you?’

The lack of an instant answer made her want to laugh and scream at the same time. What was the matter with the man, to tangle things up so badly? But then, she scarcely understood him at all these days. ‘Oh Andy, don’t be so stupid, how could I possibly have drowned him in a pit in the woods? What am I - Superwoman?’

‘It’s not me who suspects you - it’s them.’ Andrew persisted stubbornly. ‘After all, you had a motive, you took my shotgun into York - and now they say he was drugged. What are they likely to find in your pharmacy, anyway?’

‘God knows. It’s been in the hands of that wretched locum for the past month. I’m still trying to sort out the mess. It would help if I knew what drug they were looking for.’

‘Yes, well, maybe you should phone Cheryl now, to let her know what’s happening. After all ...’  He looked at her carefully. ‘You were here that night, weren’t you?’

‘Of course I was. Andy, I didn’t kill him.’

‘That’s why you need an alibi. I’ll ring Carole now, before it’s too late.’ Holding his mobile, he walked out into the study.

Kathryn sat down, her heart beating wildly. So now I’m to be rescued by my husband’s mistress, she thought. Or more likely, convicted by her when this stupid alibi fails. But it’s too late now, and anyway, that’s not what matters, not really. What really matters is that policeman, and what he makes of that shoe. If it wasn’t me who killed David, who did? Andrew says he took Miranda to the airport and saw her get onto the plane. But what if she gave him the slip somehow - it’s not impossible, she’s run rings round her dad since she was eight. What if she didn’t get on that plane, and came back?

47. Arrest

The search of the pharmacy went a long way to ruining Kathryn’s business. Neither she nor Cheryl Wolman, students together at Imperial College, London, had inherited or married wealth; they had saved and borrowed on their own, remortgaging their family homes when their children were small and the venture far from certain to succeed. They had worked hard, building up an appreciative clientele in a town not short of aggressive competition; and their efforts had paid off, making them prosperous and well respected amongst the discerning elderly population of Harrogate.

All this was threatened by the intrusive presence of four detectives inside next morning. By eleven the news was all over the town: those nice ladies at Walters and Wolman’s were being busted by the drug squad. Even people with no business at the chemist’s took a diversion down the street to see for themselves, and those who came at lunchtime were particularly rewarded to see computers and bags full of ledgers being carried out to a waiting van, while the pharmacists watched, white as sheets.

‘How long are you going to keep this stuff?’ Kathryn asked. ‘We can’t run a business without records.’

But Churchill was unsympathetic. This was a murder enquiry, he insisted; his warrant empowered him to impound any evidence he deemed relevant. To him, as he explained to Tracy and the rest of the team that morning, the situation already seemed quite clear. Kathryn Walters had both motive and means to dispose of David Kidd; now, as the evidence began to fall into place, it was clear that she had had the opportunity as well. A witness had seen a woman with Kidd getting into his car; a partial footprint found in the mud matched Kathryn’s trainer; and there were several packs of rohypnol  unaccounted for in the pharmacy records as well.

The arrest came at six the next morning. Kathryn was in her dressing gown feeding the dog, when two cars drew up outside. Churchill got out, three other detectives behind him.

‘Kathryn Walters,’ he said. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of David Kidd. You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ He nodded at Tracy behind him. ‘This officer will stay with you while you get dressed. Is your husband at home?’

‘Yes. He’s still in bed.’

‘Well, he’d better get up, smartish. I want a word with him.’

Tracy followed Kathryn upstairs, and Andrew came down, red-faced and blustering. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing? It’s six o’clock, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Justice never sleeps,’ said Churchill smoothly. ‘Though you do, sir, it seems. At your mistress’s flat, most often.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t you? You told me that you spent the night of the 16th  with your wife, a lie that she confirmed. We checked with your mistress Carole Robinson, who claimed that she was alone that night. The trouble is, sir, times being what they are, her apartment building has CCTV cameras installed to protect female residents from harm, and guess what? We checked the film of that night and who should we see on it but you, sir - arriving at seven in the evening and not leaving until eight the following morning.’

‘There must be a mistake ...’

‘Yes, sir. The mistake of a liar who got found out. But a mistake which gives you an alibi too, as it happens. You can hardly have been murdering Mr Kidd if you were rogering Miss Robinson in her flat all night, can you? The details of which she is probably confirming to a woman PC about now. I’m afraid your wife is coming with us.’

In the interview room Will Churchill sat with Tracy Litherland facing Kathryn and Lucy Parsons, the solicitor Sarah Newby had recommended, across the table. He switched on the tape, and repeated the caution. ‘Mrs Walters, on Thursday the body of a man, David Kidd, was recovered from a disused wartime drainage tank in woods two miles from your house. How do you feel about that?’

Kathryn glanced at Lucy Parsons, whom she had met for half an hour before the interview began. Say as little as possible, the lawyer had advised her. If you’re innocent, keep telling them that. If you don’t want to answer a question, say nothing. If you’re glad about Kidd’s death, don’t emphasize it.

‘Shocked, I suppose.’

‘Just shocked? You said you were glad yesterday, at your house.’

‘Yes, well. You and I both know he killed my daughter.’

‘He was acquitted, Mrs Walters, by the court.’

‘The court got it wrong. I said that after the trial.’

‘You did, yes.’ Churchill read from a paper on his desk. ‘”This isn’t justice, it’s a farce. The jury got it wrong. That man’s going to walk free and if he isn’t stopped he’ll do it again. Another mother will go through all this pain.” Do you remember saying those words?’

‘I remember it, yes. I was upset.’

‘If he isn’t stopped. That sounds like a threat to me.’

‘Does it?’

‘Yes. Come on, Kathryn. We both know you were arrested with a shotgun outside David Kidd’s flat. You went there to kill him, didn’t you?’

‘How could I? I didn’t have any cartridges.’

‘So you say.’ Churchill gazed at her coldly. He had confronted Terry Bateson again about that incident earlier this week. Terry had stuck to his story but Will Churchill didn’t believe a word of it. The man was a sentimental fool. ‘What was the point of taking a gun then, if you didn’t intend to use it?’

‘I was upset. I wanted to frighten him, I suppose. Show how badly he’d hurt me.’

‘Are you pleased that he’s dead?’

‘I’m not sorry.’ Kathryn felt Lucy’s fingers on her arm. ‘How could I be?’

‘So you admit you had a motive for his death?’

Kathryn felt tears welling in her eyes and brushed one away from her cheek. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want any of this. If Andrew had done this, I’d be proud of him. But he didn’t, he’s not man enough to. So that leaves Miranda. And if she was here instead of me, that would be ten times, a hundred times worse. I couldn’t bear it. Overnight her suspicions about Miranda’s involvement had grown stronger, together with her desire to protect her. Miranda must have done it: how, Kathryn didn’t know and didn’t want to. All that mattered was that this policeman didn’t find out.

A picture came into her mind of the lapwings who nested in the fields near their home in the spring. When she went out with the children or the dog the mother bird would appear ahead of them, screeching, trailing a wing as if it were broken, flapping and falling to the ground again, risking its life in front of the dog’s jaws, but always drawing it a few yards further away from its chick. That’s what a mother is supposed to do, she thought. That’s what I’m doing now.

‘All right.’ Churchill turned to another subject. ‘Where were you on the night of the 16th?’

‘At home with my husband.’

A cool grin stretched Churchill’s lips. ‘You’re sure about that, are you?’

‘Yes. Why, don’t you believe me?’

‘As it happens, no, I don’t. You see, we have CCTV pictures of your husband entering the flat of a Miss Carole Robinson at about seven that night, when you say he was at home with you. We also have pictures of him emerging from the flat at eight the next morning.’

‘Oh.’ Things could always get worse, Kathryn realised. It was bad enough guessing - knowing - where Andrew had been that night, but to have this man salivating as he twisted the bruise was a new form of torture altogether. She looked at the two detectives sadly. ‘I must have got the night wrong.’

‘You admit he has a mistress?’

‘He has graduate students who he does research with. I think she’s one of those.’

‘Research. Is that what he calls it?’ Churchill smirked. ‘So you were alone that night?’

‘I must have been, yes.’

‘And you lied about your husband being home.’

‘I made a mistake about the day, that’s all. So did my husband.’

‘All right.’ Churchill reached beneath the table and produced a pair of black trainers in an evidence bag. ‘Do you recognize these shoes?’

Kathryn shuddered. She examined the shoes through the plastic. ‘I have a pair like this, certainly. Where did you find them?’

‘In your house, yesterday afternoon.’

‘So?’

‘The scenes of crime officers have found several partial footprints around the tank where David Kidd’s body was found. They appear to match the tread on those shoes exactly.’

‘It doesn’t prove it’s me.’ Hundreds of women must have shoes like these, Kathryn thought. But she didn’t say it, because she guessed whose shoe had left the footprints. And she felt with a sudden, urgent panic that if she did say that, Churchill would instantly realize his mistake and start looking for the real murderer, which would never do. The lapwing flapped its wings in her mind. She shook her head, confused.

‘Kathryn? How do you account for that?’

‘I don’t. I have no idea.’

‘The tread on your shoes matches the footprints found at the scene of the crime. So you were there, weren’t you?’

Kathryn shook her head, wordlessly. Churchill persisted, his voice louder. ‘You were there, weren’t you? Wearing these shoes? I need an answer, Kathryn.’

Lucy Walters put her hand on Kathryn’s arm, facing Churchill firmly. ‘Inspector, my client is distressed. She needs a break.’

‘In a minute. Let her answer first. Were you there, wearing these shoes?’

Kathryn looked up, meeting his eyes, so close to her own. If she confessed, Miranda would be safe for ever. But she couldn’t do that either, it seemed. Not yet, anyway. Maybe a time would come ... it was so hard to think what was right, in this cold, impersonal room, with this man firing the same question again and again. All she wanted to do was escape. Shaking her head, she whispered: ‘No. I wasn’t there.’

Churchill sighed, as if tired of all this pretence. ‘Why not confess now, Kathryn, and make it easy for yourself? You have a motive for this crime, you have previously threatened the victim with a shotgun, you have conspired with your husband to lie about your whereabouts on the night of the murder, and your footprints were found near the crime scene. In addition to which you’re a chemist with a pharmacy in Harrogate. We searched your shop yesterday, as you know. We were particularly interested in the drug rohypnol. Do you know what that is?’

‘Yes. It’s occasionally prescribed as a sleeping pill. Flunitrazepam.’

‘Do you stock it in your pharmacy?’

‘We usually have a few packs, yes. For private prescription.’

‘You know it has illegal uses, too, don’t you?’

‘As a date rape drug? Yes, that’s why it’s strictly controlled.’ Kathryn frowned. ‘Why are you asking about this?’

‘The pathologist found significant traces of this drug, rohypnol, in David Kidd’s blood.’ Churchill studied her reaction carefully. ‘Perhaps you could tell us what the effects of this drug are, Mrs Walters.’

‘It makes people dizzy and confused, unable to control their body properly. They lose all inhibitions, like someone who’s drunk, but still look as if they’re awake although they don’t know what’s going on. Normally they don’t remember anything afterwards, which is why rapists love it, I suppose. How could David Kidd have taken it?’

‘That’s what I hoped you might tell me.’ The two detectives, watching Kathryn, both saw a shudder, tightening of the lips. In Kathryn’s mind the answer to the question was clear; of course, what better way for someone like Miranda to disable a man than slip him some roofies. The perfect feminist’s revenge. She shook her head slowly.

‘You see, I did a little research on this,’ Churchill resumed grimly. ‘It seems that this drug, fluni ...’ he looked down at his notes. ‘Flunitrazepam, is subject to strict record keeping by the World Health Organization, no less, as well as the UK government. Yet when we checked your records, Mrs Walters, we found no less than two packs of this drug unaccounted for. Not covered by any prescription. Can you explain that?’

Kathryn stared at him, stunned. ‘No, I can’t. Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure, Kathryn. We checked very thoroughly.’

‘I’d have to look at the records myself to explain it.’

‘You’ll have plenty of time for that, before the trial.’ Churchill leaned forward across the table, a wolfish grin on his lips. ‘How did you do it, Kathryn? Trail him to a pub and slip the pills in his beer, is that it? They dissolve in a couple of minutes, I’m told. Tasteless, odourless, invisible. Then what? You steered him out to his car, and drove him to the woods near your home while he lolled in the seat like a dummy? Was it difficult to drive, a Lotus? Had you driven one before?’

Kathryn stared at him, like a rabbit watching a stoat. She could deny all this, even his description of the drug, which in its legal version released a blue chemical dye, but she didn’t want to. Not now, not yet. In the horror of his mistaken accusation, she thought, lay some safety.  For herself, because she was innocent; for Miranda, because she was unsuspected. There was another possible reason why this drug might be missing from her pharmacy; a fortnight ago her partner Cheryl had sacked a young male locum who had harassed the female staff. But she said nothing of this now.