The Shape of Snakes (34 page)

"Sam's waiting for us in the car," I explained. "I'd like him to hear what you're going to say next."

Drury glanced nervously at the boys. "Which is what?"

I made him the same offer I'd made Maureen. "A trade?" I suggested. "You see you're right about one thing. The kind of justice I'm looking for is a little more"-I sought for a word-"basic than making you take the blame for everything that happened."

I didn't think he'd follow me, particularly as the boys returned to the pub as soon as I moved away. But perhaps he misunderstood what I wanted Sam to hear ... or what I meant by basic justice...

The car was parked beyond the trawler moorings, facing out over the water, and as we approached Sam opened the door and climbed out. In a spirit of mischief, I introduced them to each other as I lowered my rucksack onto the bonnet. "Mr. Ranelagh. Mr. Drury." They nodded to each other like a couple of wary rottweilers, but didn't shake hands. "You asked me if I was expecting you to deliver Derek on a plate," I reminded Drury, "but I don't see how you can do that unless you suppressed evidence at the time."

He looked tight-lipped at Sam, aware that anything he said now would be heard by a witness. "There was no suppression of evidence," he said sharply, "merely question marks over where Derek was at nine o'clock. He claimed he was having a drink with the local tart who'd been touting for custom since the place opened."

"Sharon Percy?"

He nodded. "It was straightforward stuff-the two of them were regulars-and the publican agreed they were both in there that night although he disputed the timing when we first questioned him. He remembered seeing Sharon at nine o'clock but he didn't think Derek came in until later." He shrugged. "He backed off when we asked for a statement ... said one day was much like another, and he couldn't swear he wasn't confusing two different occasions."

"This being the William of Orange," I said. "The pub Annie was banned from because she was black."

He gave an impatient shake of his head. "She was banned because she couldn't hold her drink and swore at the other customers. The publican was within his rights to refuse to serve her."

I looked questioningly at Sam.

"It was known locally as the Orange Free State," he told Drury. "There was a sign on the door saying 'no dogs' and the 'd' had been crossed out and changed to a 'w.' It was a popular pub-a fair number of policemen used it-but you never saw any blacks in there."

"If it offended you, you should have reported it."

"It didn't," said Sam honestly. "I never even questioned it."

"Then why expect me to?"

"Because it was your job. I'm not saying I'd have given you any medals for it-hell, the last thing I wanted was to have Mad Annie swearing at me over a pint-but the laws on discrimination were clear and anyone who put 'no wogs' on their front door ought to have been prosecuted." He paused to exchange a glance with me, clearly wondering how far he should or could go. "The landlord was cock-a-hoop after the accident," he went on abruptly. "Kept telling anyone who cared to listen that we had a truck driver to thank for making the streets cleaner."

"Not in front of me he didn't," said Drury so quickly that I guessed he'd had to answer that question before, probably at the time of his "retirement."

"So did you bother to challenge Derek about his alibi?" I said dryly. "Or was that when you decided to take him aside and tell him that
I
was the problem, and the best solution for everyone would be to shut me up? And how did you put it exactly? Do us all a favor, Derek, and teach that nigger-loving bitch a lesson because your alibi stinks and you'll be in trouble if you don't. Or did you drop hints to Maureen when you were looking at the bits of junk in her sitting room?"

I watched him flick a wary glance at Sam, but he took confidence from Sam's obvious ignorance of what I was talking about. "Of course I challenged him," he said bullishly. "He stuck to his story ... so did Sharon. They both said they'd been there all evening. We didn't believe them, but there was nothing we could do if no one was willing to contradict them."

"Did you ever find out what they were really doing?"

He shrugged. "Our best guess was that Sharon had been on her back somewhere and Derek was out thieving. They both had convictions-Sharon for prostitution; Derek for assault and theft."

"Sharon was with Geoffrey Spalding," I said. "He lived at number 27 and used to meet her at a hotel once a month because he didn't want his wife and daughters finding out what he was doing. He's the one who said he saw Annie in the street around a quarter past eight and tried to persuade her to go home."

"I remember him."

"I think he was lying about the time," I went on. "According to Jock Williams, Sharon arrived in a taxi at the William of Orange shortly after nine. He said she was high as a kite and had obviously been with another client, and I'm betting the client was Geoffrey and the same taxi dropped him off at the top of Graham Road before taking Sharon on to the pub. Which means, if Geoffrey talked to Annie at all, it must have been an hour later than he said it was."

He refused to accept it. "I spoke to him in front of his wife and she didn't question that he was home by 8:30."

"She wouldn't have known. She was on chemotherapy for breast cancer and would have been asleep whatever time he came in. Where did he say he'd been?"

Drury thought back. "Late at work. Nothing to raise any eyebrows over."

I turned to Sam. "I've always thought he must have passed the Williams' house as you came out ... otherwise you and Libby wouldn't have needed an alibi."

"Someone did," he admitted, "but I've no idea who it was. To be honest, I can't even be sure it was a man. It could have been a total stranger taking a shortcut, but Libby went apeshit and said tongues would start wagging-" He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "Is this the man you think killed Annie?"

"I don't know," I answered slowly, "but I've never understood why he said he spoke to Annie unless it actually happened. It was an unnecessary lie. He could have done what you and Jock did and said he saw her on the other side of the road."

"People embroider all the time," said Drury. "It makes them feel important."

I shook my head. "She was seen by two different couples at around nine o'clock. The Pardoes at number 8 who watched her from their bedroom window, and the couple in the car who say she lurched out in front of them. They all said she was on her feet ... but by the time Sam passed her at 9:15 she was collapsed in the gutter."

"That's not what Mr. Ranelagh said at the time."

"His revised statement was in the envelope," I said impatiently, "so I know you've read it. The question is, was Annie on her feet when Geoffrey Spalding passed her? And if she was, did she speak to him? I think she was-and did-and that whatever she said made him so angry that he pushed her into the road. It would explain why he advanced the time by an hour ... it would also explain why Sharon was prepared to give Derek an alibi. If she told you she'd been with a customer-and you found out who it was-you'd have worked out PDQ that Geoffrey was the last person to speak to Annie.''

Drury frowned. "And?"

"You'd have come to the same conclusion he did ... that he killed her."

He gave a grunt of irritation. "Half an hour ago you were producing pathology reports saying she was beaten up several hours in advance of her death, now you're saying Geoffrey Spalding murdered her. When are you going to make up your mind, Mrs. Ranelagh?"

Sam roused himself. "She's not saying Spalding killed her." he said reasonably, "just that he
thought
he did. If it comes to that, I've spent twenty years worrying that I did the same. And maybe I did. Maybe that fifteen minutes I left her to lie in the gutter was the difference between life and death."

"Then you should have cleared your conscience by telling us the truth at the time," said Drury with a far from friendly smile, "instead of contaminating the investigation because you couldn't keep your hands off your friend's wife."

He would have been wiser not to mention Libby
, I thought with private amusement as I watched an angry flush stain Sam's cheeks. Guilt was the one thing guaranteed to fire my husband's temper.

"You told us there wasn't going to be an investigation," he snapped. "I remember it very distinctly. You came to the house the next day to explain the postmortem findings. Unequivocal, you said ... a clear-cut accident ... no hint of foul play. I also remember you saying that if there had been any question marks over the death, the whole matter would have been turned over to the CID."

"There
were
no question marks, Mr. Ranelagh. It might have been different if you hadn't lied, but we could only work with the information we had."

Sam smoothed a hand across his bald patch, staring past Drury to the lights on the other side of the water. "Jock and I didn't offer any information until the Thursday evening when we were asked to make voluntary statements in support of what Libby had told you the day before, namely that Jock was at my house."

"So now you're blaming Mrs. Williams?"

"No, merely pointing out that you'd made up your mind it was an accident a good twenty-four hours before Jock or I said anything." He stared thoughtfully at Drury as if he were fundamentally reassessing some previous judgment. "Would it have made any difference if we
had
told the truth? Wouldn't you just have claimed she was hit by a truck between the couple in the car seeing her and my finding her?"

Drury's silence was an answer in itself. "You telephoned me several times at work," Sam went on, "telling me that my wife was suffering a classic response to stress and needed psychiatric help. You said you'd seen that sort of reaction before and it always led to more and more a accusations."

"You agreed with every word, Mr. Ranelagh, including the necessity for an official caution."

My husband folded his arms and stared fixedly at the cobbles as if certainty lay within their uneven surface. "Did I have any choice?" he asked. "You read out a catalog of complaints against her ... wasting police time ... making false accusations against Derek Slater ... reporting imaginary sex attacks to win sympathy ... plaguing you with telephone calls and visits because she had an unhealthy obsession with you." He lifted his head. "You were a policeman. I had to accept you were telling me the truth."

"It must have tallied with your own opinion," said Drury persuasively, "otherwise you'd have argued your wife's case."

Sam made a troubled gesture with his hand. "I was in no position to argue. I hadn't seen her for nearly three weeks, and on the one occasion she phoned she was hysterical. I couldn't make head or tail of what she was saying so I called her parents and asked them to help her." He paused, trying to marshal facts in his head. "But you'd already persuaded my mother-in-law that an official caution in front of her family was the best way to deal with the situation. 'She needs shaming to stop her wasting any more police time,' was the way you put it."

There was a short silence.

"It worked then," I said lightly. "I'd have slit my throat rather than say another word to Mr. Drury ... or to you and Ma, Sam. You both stood by and watched this bastard bully me into keeping my mouth shut"-I jerked my chin at Drury-"and then shook his hand at the end as if he'd done something fine. The only person who refused to go along with the charade was my father, yet he knew no more at that stage than you did. He just had faith in the woman he knew me to be rather than a pathetic, disturbed creature who was resorting to sexual fantasy to prolong her fifteen minutes of fame."

"You were never described in those terms or treated with anything other than courtesy," said Drury curtly. "Your husband knows that. That's why I asked him to be present, so that you wouldn't be able to rewrite the history afterward."

"You could be as courteous as you liked," I said, "because you knew I wouldn't argue with you. Not after the
unofficial
caution you arranged for me the night before. You should have joined the party," I told him. "I imagine it was a great deal more exciting than hammering a needle into a twelve-year-old's arm or pounding at a black face until the cheekbone snapped."

The muscles along the man's jawline tightened. "Now you're slandering me in front of a witness."

"Then sue me. Give me my day in court. It's all I've ever wanted. But you'll be on thin ice ... I've another copy of your assessment in my rucksack."

He took an abrupt step forward, swinging his fists at his sides. I thought he was going to hit me and dodged away 'round the bonnet of the car, but he snatched up the rucksack instead and tossed it into the water beyond the harbor wall.

There was a second of silence before it hit with a splash, and Drury stared after it with a look of satisfaction on his lean face. He flung off the nervous hand that Sam laid on his arm. "Leave it," he warned. "This is between me and your wife."

"You always were a shithead," I hissed angrily as I thought of my wallet and credit cards sinking into the sludge at the bottom of the river. "That's the only solution you've ever had to anything. Get rid of the evidence before your crimes find you out."

He laughed at my anger. "It's not so much fun when the boot's on the other foot, is it?" he taunted, resting his palms on one side of the bonnet and staring me down.