Knife Edge (26 page)

Pearce took a swig of water, then leaned forward.

‘I asked Pete to go and have a word with Reuben, sound him out a bit.’

‘Yes, we spoke to him yesterday,’ Leighton continued. ‘He lives in a semi-detached place over in Ashley Down, seemed really edgy when we showed up. Understandable, I suppose – Lesley’s been all over the news and things weren’t good between them – but even so …’

He frowned and shook his head.

‘First thing he said when he opened the door to me was that he didn’t have anything to do with it, and he just got more and more defensive from there on.’

‘You reckon his alibi’s a bit thin, yes?’ Pearce interrupted.

‘That’s right,’ Leighton agreed. ‘He was vague about his movements for that Monday. Says he spent the afternoon in the city centre – did some shopping, went for a coffee, that sort of thing – but there was nobody with him. So to my mind, he’s still very much in the frame.’

Pearce got slowly to his feet.

‘Cheers, Pete.’ He paused, then addressed the room. ‘Now, this Reuben bloke may well have nothing to do with the murder, but until we can rule him out, he’s going to be a person of interest, and that’s a bloody short list at the moment. We’re already running down a credit-card receipt he’s given us, and DS Thompson’s team …’ he cast around the room until he spotted her ‘… are working through CCTV from the shops around Broadmead and Cabot Circus. It shouldn’t be hard to figure out whether his story’s accurate or not, right, Michaela?’

‘Right, sir,’ DS Thompson replied.

‘Good. In the meantime, I think we want some of you to nose around discreetly, see what we can learn about this bloke. General background’s OK, but we’re particularly interested in his movements and behaviour around that Monday, immediately before and after the main event.’

Pearce nodded to Leighton, who returned to his seat.

In the front row, Nick raised his hand.

‘What about the cyclist?’

‘We’re still after him,’ Pearce replied. ‘I want to know who he is, even if it’s just to rule him out. More CCTV for Michaela’s lot to go through.’

Harland hung back a little as the room emptied, then followed Pearce out into the corridor.

‘Got a moment, sir?’ he asked.

‘Sure.’ Pearce turned to face him. ‘What’s on your mind?’

Harland took a deep breath.
How best to put it?

‘Well,’ he began. ‘I was just thinking about Lesley’s personal effects, and the Redland crime scene …’

‘Yes?’

‘I was wondering if there was anything missing …’ He hesitated. ‘Or added.’

‘Added?’ Pearce frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Harland shrugged noncommittally.

‘Objects that just … don’t belong,’ he explained.

Pearce looked at him thoughtfully.

‘You reckon this isn’t an isolated killing?’ he asked quietly.

‘I think it’s something to consider,’ Harland replied.

Pearce studied him for a moment, then turned and motioned for him to follow. They walked along the corridor to a small, windowless interview room. Pearce closed the door behind them.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘What sort of objects are we talking about?’

‘Small, innocuous things,’ Harland explained. ‘A door key that doesn’t fit, someone else’s supermarket loyalty card, that sort of thing.’

Pearce nodded to himself.

‘I’ll check again, but there was nothing out of place as far as I know.’ He shot Harland a meaningful look. ‘In the meantime, I really need you to be a hundred per cent focused on Reuben Cort.’

‘OK.’

‘Because if Blake hears you’re still banging on about the Severn Beach thing … well, that doesn’t do anyone any good, yeah?’

Had he been that obvious? Harland closed his eyes briefly then sighed in agreement. ‘Yes, sir.’

Pearce looked at him carefully, then smiled.

‘Good man, Graham.’

Downstairs, the smoking area at the back of the building was deserted. Harland pulled the door shut behind him and gazed up at the grey sky.

Was he losing his perspective? Obsessing about old cases?

He took out a cigarette and turned towards the wall, shielding the flame as he lit up, then sighed out the smoke. There was something about the Redland murder, about the way it was done and the complete lack of evidence, that troubled him. He’d had that same feeling on the Severn Beach case.

And hadn’t that one involved an initial incapacitating blow too?

There had been nothing on that case for months … apart from the woman who’d stopped in at Portishead. He frowned, wondering if he could get away with requesting a ping for her boyfriend’s phone, just to see where he’d been that day – it was galling to have a suspicion and not be able to check it. But a mobile check would cost money, and that would doubtless bring it to Pearce’s attention. He couldn’t risk that, not now, but there might be another way.

Jamming the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, he reached into his pocket and drew out his phone. Thumbing down the list of numbers, he considered calling Mendel, then decided against it – partly because he felt foolish after Pearce had seen through him, partly because he knew what Mendel would say. He dialled the number for Portishead instead, and asked to be put through to the main office.

‘All right, sir.’ Josh sounded surprised to hear from him.

‘Hi.’ Harland did his best to sound cheerful. ‘Can you do me a quick favour?’

‘Sure.’

‘I need a mobile number for Kim Nichols? I think she lives in Salisbury or somewhere near there, but she came into Portishead a while back, so she’ll be on the file.’

‘Kim Nichols …’ Josh’s voice repeated it slowly, with the faint clatter of the keyboard as he typed in the name. ‘Is this for the Redland case?’

‘No, no.’ Harland assumed a disinterested tone. ‘Just something that’s been niggling me, something I want to clear up.’

‘How’s Redland going?’

‘Early days, Josh. How’s everyone back there?’

‘OK, thanks, usual stuff …’ He paused. ‘Ah, Kim Nichols. Here you go.’

He read out the number. Harland held the phone up with his shoulder as he scribbled the digits in his notebook, then thanked Josh and hung up. Straightening, he took the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out.

It was probably nothing. Kim hadn’t even been sure if her boyfriend had done anything at Severn Beach, and there was nothing to link that case with Redland. But it wouldn’t do any harm to check.

He weighed the phone in his hand for a moment, then dialled and lifted it to his ear.

One ring … two … three … click.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi,’ Harland greeted her. ‘Is that Kim Nichols?’

‘Yes.’ Her tone was slightly guarded. ‘Who’s this?’

‘It’s DI Graham Harland from Avon and Somerset Police. We spoke when you came to Portishead?’

There was a long pause before she answered. ‘Yes?’

‘Are you able to talk for a moment?’ he asked her.

‘Um …’ She was hesitant. ‘Can you hold on?’

‘Of course.’

Harland listened to a succession of muffled sounds. Was she covering the mouthpiece? Moving to somewhere with more privacy before she spoke to him? He wondered where she was …

‘What is it?’ Her voice came back suddenly, but she was speaking in an urgent whisper now. ‘Why are you calling me?’

‘I’m sorry to trouble you.’ He suddenly felt bad for spooking her. ‘I just wanted to ask you something—’

‘I told you before,’ she hissed. ‘That was all a mistake. Please, I really don’t want Rob to know that I spoke to you.’

‘Kim, it’s all right.’ He tried to sound calm. ‘I’m not contacting him, I’m contacting you.’

‘But why?’

‘I just have a question, something I wanted to check, OK?’

There was another long pause.

‘I don’t see what good it will do.’ She still sounded suspicious, but the initial shock of his call was wearing off. ‘What’s the question?’

‘I appreciate your help,’ he told her. ‘I was just wondering if you knew where Rob was on the twenty-first of July? That was a Monday, the week before last.’

‘Monday before last?’ She seemed almost relieved, as though she had feared a more troubling question. ‘I think he was working from home … yes, he was at home all day that Monday.’

There was no hesitation in her voice now.

‘You’re sure?’ Harland pressed her.

‘Yes, I remember because it was the day I had my car serviced.’

Not defensive, just matter-of-fact. Harland rubbed his eyes and sighed in frustration. It had only been a feeling, and yet …

‘Why?’ Kim was becoming wary again now. ‘What’s this about?’

‘It’s nothing,’ he told her. ‘Just something I wanted to check, but you’ve cleared it up for me.’

‘You’re not going to tell Rob about me, are you?’ She sounded anxious, like she had done on that afternoon back in Portishead.

‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her. ‘That’s all I wanted to ask. I’m sorry to have bothered you.’

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it. Thanks for your help.’

‘Oh.’ There was relief in her voice. ‘OK. Well, goodbye then.’

‘Bye.’

Harland ended the call and stared at his phone for a moment before putting it back into his pocket. It looked as though Pearce had been right.

Kim stood motionless, a lonely figure on the rickety metal fire escape that jutted out from the top floor of the old white building. Behind her, the gabled Salisbury rooftops huddled together like gloomy slate peaks, obscuring the narrow streets and the bustle of the city centre below.

She stared down at the phone in her hand, the back of it still warm from Harland’s jarring call. Perhaps this was good. Perhaps this meant it was finally over. Ever since her stupid visit to Portishead she’d been on edge, worried that the police would make some clumsy move and betray her to Rob. But Harland had sounded as though he was satisfied. Maybe she could forget all about it, try to move on.

A breeze gusted up through the gap between the buildings, stirring old cigarette butts on a section of flat roof just below her. She’d come outside with just her thin blouse, but she folded her arms against the cold air, not ready to go back inside just yet, needing a moment more to compose herself. Part of her yearned to call Rob, to hear his voice and make-believe that everything was all right, but she couldn’t tell him what had upset her. She couldn’t tell anyone.

Sighing, she began picking absently at the flaky black paint on the fire-escape handrail, watching the pieces twirl down into a mossy gutter below.

Rob …

Her thoughts went to him, and she turned her face to gaze up at the sky. He was working from home again today, like he had been that Monday. She wondered why Harland had asked her about that, but quickly decided to put it out of her mind. Whatever it was, Rob wasn’t involved. He’d been at home all day, thank goodness. There was nothing to worry about.

She turned, her heels clicking noisily on the metal fire escape, then stooped to move the brick she’d used to wedge open the door before stepping back inside. Pulling the door shut behind her, she started down the corridor, her mind still on that Monday.

She’d taken his car to work because hers was at the garage. They hadn’t spoken during the day as far as she could remember – but of course, he’d left his phone in the boot of the car.

Walking slowly back into the office, she went across to her desk and sat down. Placing her hand on the mouse, she moved it to wake the computer, but her gaze drifted down to stare at the tiny snapshot of Rob she kept in a little heart-shaped frame beside her computer.

What had happened on the twenty-first?

She looked up at the screen, tempted by the Internet icon and the thought of searching for things that had happened on that day …

No.

Everything was fine. He was at home all day, she knew that. He must have been.

‘Are you all right?’

Rob was studying her, genuine concern on his face.

‘I’m fine.’ Kim gave him a brief smile and let her eyes drop back to the mug of hot chocolate she was holding. ‘Just thinking about something that happened at work today.’

‘Want to talk about it?’ he asked, reaching forward to touch her hair.

She shook her head.

‘Fair enough.’ He leaned back into the sofa and yawned.

She had felt uncomfortable around him all evening, withdrawing from him, avoiding conversation. It was like that first day at the cottage, after he’d told her. But there were no tears this time, no release, just that gnawing sense of dread.

He yawned again, and got slowly to his feet, stretching.

‘I’ve got an early start – Nottingham tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘You coming up?’

Kim glanced at the paperback on the coffee table, then gazed up at him.

‘I think I’ll sit and read down here for a while,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed.’

‘OK.’ He leaned over her, kissing the top of her head, then wrapping his arms around her. ‘Goodnight.’

She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his embrace. But there was no comfort in it any more.

‘Night.’

She sat alone, huddled into the corner of the sofa, knees drawn up to her chest, pressing her toes into the cushions. Above her, she heard the vague rush of the bathroom cistern filling, and the muffled footsteps as he came through to the bedroom. Her eyes watched the ceiling, following his movements, listening for the faint creaking as he got into bed and settled for the night.

Now, the house was silent. Her book lay untouched on the table. All the other distractions were gone and she was alone with her fears.

She unfolded herself slowly, sitting forward and lowering her feet to the floor. Getting up, she moved quietly, padding through to the kitchen to retrieve her work bag, then hurrying back to the relative warmth of the living room. Glancing up at the ceiling again, she paused to listen for any sounds, then unzipped the bag and drew out her laptop.

It was silly. She already knew where he’d been that Monday. What good would this do?

But the doubts and the curiosity were overwhelming. Harland had called her for a reason, and she had to know.