The Other Woman (14 page)

‘I think we should have lunch now, don't you?' Mac said quietly.

Jake came out of the suite of offices that he rented from Malworth Borough Council, but allowed business acquaintances to believe he owned, and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one on the steps.

The whole morning wasted because Evans had gone to Birmingham. Jake hadn't bargained on Evans simply disappearing; if he didn't come back, Jake would be running a considerable risk, and he had no intention of running any more risks than he had to.

He started up the car, and pointed it homewards. Evans had to come back sooner or later, and he couldn't say what he wanted to say to him with the security man eavesdropping. He accelerated away, the cigarette clamped between his lips, mentally rehearsing what exactly he was going to say when he did locate Evans.

But waiting for him on the mat as he unlocked the front door was a note from his driver-cum-minder Dennis to say that he had been unable to get a reply from Bobbie's flat that morning, and had seen no sign of life.

Jake stared at the note, all thoughts of what he was going to say to Evans driven out by this new crisis. He dialled Bobbie's number; the phone rang out for long minutes before he hung up, his face tense and worried.

What the hell had gone wrong now?

Melissa finished what she was doing on the VDU. She hadn't looked at Mac, hadn't spoken. Then she picked up her bag. ‘I'll be at the bus stop,' she said quietly. ‘Don't leave with me.' And she walked out of the room.

Mac read the notice board for a few moments, then left, calling cheerio to Donna, who had at least presumably confirmed to the police that he had been going to take her to the opening, and that she wasn't dead.

He walked towards the bus stop, where Melissa's red car sat, and got in beside her. ‘ You didn't give the police that tape,' he said. ‘Did you?'

‘I told her that what she told me would be confidential,' Melissa said, pulling away from the stop. ‘ Which way?'

‘Turn right at the end,' said Mac. ‘And don't bullshit me.'

‘I'm not. Just because she's dead doesn't mean that her private—'

‘You had that tape in your bag yesterday. You couldn't have been back to the office since interviewing her, or it would be in your tape rack, which it isn't. Which means you interviewed her yesterday. The day she died. Left.'

She pulled out on to the bypass, where wisps of the ever-present mist still floated amongst the haystacks.

‘Did you tell Mr Lloyd that?' Mac asked.

‘No.' She overtook a tractor, and pulled savagely back into the left-hand lane. ‘Why don't you join forces with him?' she asked. ‘Since you're such a good detective?'

‘Is it still in your bag?' he asked, twisting round to the back seat.

The car squealed to a halt as he felt around in the bag, and she pulled his hand away. ‘Leave that alone!' she said, her eyes blazing.

‘Come on, Melissa, let's hear it,' he said, pushing her hand off his arm, and rummaging in the bag again, bringing out the tape. ‘Let's hear what Sharon Smith had to say for herself the day she died.'

She snatched it from him. ‘ What business is it of yours?' she shouted.

The tractor sounded its horn as it pulled out round them.

‘I found her! And the police think I'm just as likely to have done it as you or your husband or anyone else. I don't believe in coincidence either. So I want to know what she said that's so bloody secret!'

She looked at him for some moments, then silently handed him the tape.

He took it out, taking a moment to work out how it went into the car stereo. ‘It's left at the roundabout, first left again then third on the right,' he said, as he pushed it in.

Melissa switched on the hazard warning lights and the car stayed where it was, she staring straight ahead while he listened to every word that the predictably shallow Sharon had had to say. Then he got to the bit that mattered.

‘
… where do you go for privacy?'

‘The office, usually.'

So that was it. He looked at Melissa; her face held the pink blush of anger that it had when he had first seen the tape.

‘
Well
…'
think that's all I need. Thank you for giving me your time!

‘Is that it?'

‘Yes.'

The tape went dead, and Melissa slowly turned towards him, the flush gone. ‘So you see,' she said. ‘What happened with you and me was …' She searched for the right words. ‘A simple act of revenge. Nothing more.'

Mac released the tape, and put it in his jacket pocket. ‘It'll be safer with me,' he said.

Melissa said nothing.

‘It's left at the roundabout, first left again then third on the right,' Mac said again.

Melissa's eyes burned with resentment as they slowly left his. She put the car in gear and pulled away.

‘DI Hill, Malworth, for you,' said Detective Inspector Barstow.

Lloyd took the phone. ‘ Yes, Judy,' he said.

‘Two things. I understand we're faxing the report on the Drummond stop to you now, and I can tell you that Drummond isn't the rapist after all.'

Lloyd closed his eyes. ‘Are you sure?' he asked, but he knew there was no point. Judy didn't make statements like that without hard evidence to back them up, and already he was rethinking his strategy concerning Drummond.

‘The rapist was going about his business at the far end of Malworth at about five past nine last night. The assault went on for over twenty minutes,' she went on, her voice brisk. ‘ The speed trap clocked Drummond at nine thirty-two, almost ten miles away, coming from the opposite direction.'

That was hard evidence, Lloyd conceded. ‘ So we've got four rapes now?'

‘Yes, but she says she'll deny that anyone raped her if I pursue it, and she means it. There would be no useful purpose served in forcing her to give evidence.'

Lloyd frowned. ‘ Why won't she co-operate?' he asked.

‘She thinks she'd get raped all over again in court,' said Judy succinctly. ‘And she's leaving the country soon. She just wants to get away.'

‘Are you sure she was raped by the same man? Sounds more like she knows who raped her, and isn't saying.'

‘It was the same man,' Judy repeated, her voice firm and uncompromising. ‘The papers know about the mask and the knife, but we've never released what he says or his MO. Whoever attacked Bobbie Chalmers had that off to a tee.'

So Sharon's murder hadn't been a rape gone wrong. There had, he supposed, been very little evidence to support his rather shaky theory that Drummond was the rapist. But Drummond was still his man for Sharon's murder. Perhaps Drummond was yet another of Sharon's boyfriends that she didn't have. He had seen two men brawling over her in public; perhaps that hadn't met with his unqualified approval.

‘How is she?' he asked belatedly, of the rape victim.

‘As well as can be expected,' said Judy crisply.

Lloyd said goodbye, and hung up. Judy always held him a little to blame just for being a man after she had dealt with this sort of thing. Still – perhaps dealing with a series of rapes would put her off the idea of applying for promotion to the planned rape squad, about which there had been more rumblings, of course, since this lot had started.

If it didn't put her off, the experience would mean that she'd walk into the job, if the squad ever did get set up. Lloyd sighed.

‘A Mr Evans in the interview room, sir – Harris says you'll want to see him.'

Lloyd doubted that.

Mr Evans sat at a table with Detective Constable Harris; Lloyd glanced at the constable.

‘Mr Evans of Evans and Whitworth, sir,' said Harris, and turned to Evans. ‘He was at the football match too.'

Evans looked pale. ‘I … I can't believe that Sharon's dead,' he said.

Lloyd sat down. ‘I'm sorry, Mr Evans,' he said. ‘I know it must be a shock to you, but the more we can find out about Sharon, the better. She came to work for you ten months ago, is that right?'

‘Yes. She was very good – worth much more than I was paying her. She was a secretary, receptionist, office manager – she had made herself virtually indispensable.' He looked away. ‘I shall miss her very much,' he said simply.

‘Did she talk about her private life at all? Boyfriends, that sort of thing?'

Again, Evans shook his head. ‘ I don't think she had a boyfriend,' he said. ‘She never mentioned one.' He looked back at Lloyd. ‘She was a very nice girl,' he said.

Lloyd smiled. ‘Nice girls have boyfriends,' he said.

Evans coloured a little. ‘Oh – of course they do. I just meant … she wasn't the sort to … to …'

‘Get herself strangled?' offered Harris.

Evans coloured more deeply. ‘ She was a very nice girl,' he said again, defiantly.

Lloyd thought about that. It was the impression he had got from the family, and the friend who had come to look after Mrs Smith. It was the impression Finch had got from Whitworth. But it wasn't the impression he was getting from her behaviour. Damn it, she had had boyfriends all right, and Drummond was probably one of them. That was why all the lies, all the discrepancies.

‘One more thing,' he said. ‘ We found a key in Miss Smith's handbag – her mother doesn't recognise it. Did you perhaps give her a key to some cupboard, or …?'

Evans was shaking his head.

Lloyd stood up. ‘Thank you, Mr Evans,' he said. ‘Detective Constable Harris will show you out.'

He went into the murder room, where there was a buzz of activity that he hoped meant that they were actually getting somewhere. People talking on the phone to would-be witnesses, some of whom would have useless information, some of whom would be attention-seekers, and one, every now and then, with real information, like the one who had seen Drummond follow Sharon into the car park.

On the wall was a plan of the Byford Road Sports and Leisure Complex, with the little recess in which Sharon's body had been found marked with a cross. On the blackboard were lists of names: people who had been interviewed, people who still had to be interviewed, people who could conceivably be suspects, people crossed off.

Sharon's description was there, and what they knew of her movements. Cross-references might lead them off in another direction, but for now he only had Colin Drummond. The system had worked well to produce him as quickly as it had; the computer had logged the stop on the dual carriageway into Malworth of one Colin Drummond, driving in a reckless manner from the direction of the old village, which was also the direction of the football ground.

Lloyd remembered the bike roaring through the village now; remembered wondering vaguely and unoriginally, in the midst of his miserable evening with Judy, where the fire was. When Drummond was brought in with a cut lip and a black eye, having noticeable difficulty in moving, and answering the descriptions they had been given of the rapist, they had all thought that they could pack both the rape and the murder incident rooms up again.

‘The tie,' he said to Detective Inspector Barstow, when the inspector got off the phone.

Barstow unlocked a cupboard, and produced the tie, which was enclosed in clear plastic.

‘Are the parents still here?'

‘They're not leaving without Colin,' said Barstow, mimicking what Lloyd assumed was Mrs Drummond's voice.

‘We'll see,' said Lloyd.

Perhaps the Drummonds might be a little more forthcoming about Sharon. Perhaps quiet, unassuming Sharon who had no discernible boyfriends wasn't quite what her nearest and dearest thought she was. Or said she was, at any rate. It had always seemed quite remarkable to Lloyd how many of the young women who died violently had been quiet girls with no boyfriends. But that was a male chauvinist thought, he supposed.

Mr and Mrs Drummond were in reception, looking drawn and anxious.

‘How long are you going to keep Colin here?' Mrs Drummond demanded as soon as Lloyd had got them into an interview room, by dint of turfing out the occupants.

‘Well, that depends on Colin,' said Lloyd. ‘You see, I have to know what went on.'

‘We had to find out from a neighbour that Colin was here!' she said, her voice shrill with anxiety. ‘She said Colin could hardly stand up straight when he got home last nights! What's been going on?'

‘That's what we're trying to find out,' said Lloyd, ‘as I've just said. Has Colin ever mentioned a Sharon Smith to either of you?'

‘Is that
her
?' asked Drummond.

Lloyd raised his eyebrows in a query.

‘Is that this girl that's got herself strangled?'

Lloyd nodded. ‘Yes, Mr Drummond,' he said.

‘No, he hasn't.'

Lloyd ran his hands over his face. ‘Maybe you should take some time to think,' he said.

‘I don't need time. And if you can't do better than this, you'd better release him. Now.'

Lloyd produced the tie. ‘Do you recognise this?' he asked.

Mrs Drummond looked at it, shaking her head. ‘No,' she said.

‘Could it be one of Colin's?'

Drummond laughed. ‘Colin's only got one,' he said.

‘No, he hasn't!' said Mrs Drummond, stung. ‘But he doesn't wear them, except for work,' she said. ‘We only came back from holiday this morning to … to all this.' She blinked away the tears.

‘Does Colin have a girlfriend?'

‘That's his business!' said Drummond.

‘Ssh, Desmond,' said Mrs Drummond, soothingly, as one might to a grizzling baby. ‘No,' she said. ‘ Not yet. He's only a boy.'

Lloyd thanked them, and went back to the murder room, where Barstow was tearing off a fax from the lab.

‘Right,' said Lloyd to the assembled company. ‘ Drummond isn't the rapist, so I was wrong about that. But I'm going to have one last attempt to make him tell us how he came by his bruises. Meanwhile – see if we can't dig up a girlfriend that Sharon Smith might have spoken to about her love life.'