Too Close For Comfort (9 page)

“Oh yes, of
course. Sorry. Do come in. I'll put the kettle on.”

Settling on the
armchair in the corner of the living room, Wendy felt this was the
best spot to sit in, in order to get a good view of the whole room.
If Ludford really was as dangerous as he seemed, she didn't want to
leave anything to chance. She loosened the locks on the window
behind her, saving herself a few valuable seconds should she need
to make a quick escape.

“What are you
doing?”

Wendy jumped.
“Robert! Oh, sorry. Nothing.”

“Were you
trying to open the window?”

“No. Erm...
yes. I'm a bit hot.”

“You were
freezing cold not twenty seconds ago.”

“I know. That
time of the month – you know.” The line guaranteed to stop any
conversation with a male dead in its tracks.

“Do you want
sugar?”

Wendy
remembered her mother and aunt giving her lots of old wives' tales
and practical remedies for alleviating the symptoms of the
menstrual cycle, but she didn't recall sugar being one.

“In your tea.
Do you want sugar?”

“Oh. Yes, one
please.”

Wendy watched
closely as Ludford returned to the kitchen. Not wanting to leave
her seat for fear of him catching her mid-snoop yet again, Wendy
scanned the room from her padded lookout post. As her crooked head
guided her eyes along the spines of Ludford's books, she was jolted
back upright by the ringing of a phone. She heard him answer.

“Hello? Ah,
Nigel! I've been meaning to...” Ludford's words trailed off as he
kicked the door closed. The satisfying click of the latch in its
socket triggered a sigh from Wendy. Realising that this was her
chance, she jumped from her seat and skipped over to the side
dresser, whereupon she commenced rifling through the drawers in
search of any incriminating evidence.

She knew she
was looking for something which would either prove or disprove the
theory that Ludford was involved with the serial killings – she
still wasn't quite sure which – but she hadn't quite bargained on
what stared back at her from the third drawer down on the left.
Half of it glistened silver under the angle poise lamp; the other
half glued to a filthy napkin with a dark reddish-brown dried
adhesive. Of course, Wendy knew exactly what was staring back at
her. You didn't become a DS without knowing a bloodstained knife
when you saw one.

Skipping back
across the room, she grabbed her handbag, extracted a handkerchief
of her own from within it and wrapped the soiled knife and attached
handkerchief carefully, being careful not to make direct contact
with it, before placing it in her bag and quietly closing the
drawer.

The rules of
all good thriller films dictated that Ludford would walk through
the door at that moment. In reality, it seemed like an age. Wendy
sat back on her now-useless lookout spot, desperate to launch
herself through the half-open window and run back home through the
streets. Doing so would alarm Ludford and he'd soon find out she
had the knife. Then who would be his next victim? No, it was too
risky. She would have to sit it out and wait for him to come back
into the room before making her excuses and leaving.

When the age
finally passed and Ludford returned to the living room, he froze on
the spot.

“Jesus, Wendy.
You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you alright?”

“I think... I
don't really feel very well, actually.”

“Oh. You must
be coming down with a fever. That must be why you wanted the window
open all of a sudden. Here, let me take your temperature.”

Ludford walked
over to Wendy to place his hand on her forehead.

“No! I mean...
I'm sure I'll be fine. I just need to go home and rest.”

“OK, leave your
car here and I'll give you a lift back.”

“No, no. It's
fine. I'm only round the corner. Please, I'll drive.”

“Are you sure?
You look terrible.”

“I'll be
fine.”

Locking the car
door immediately, Wendy started the car and headed straight for the
station.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

Wendy struggled
to get her breakfast down. Aside from the deep, nauseous feeling in
the pit of her stomach, she supposed that if she managed to eat
she'd have even more of a struggle trying to
keep
it
down.

“You OK, Wend?
You look a little... shaken.”

“I'm fine,
Michael. Honestly.”

“You sure? You
were at Robert's last night, weren't you?”

The name sent
shivers down Wendy's spine.

“Yes. Yes, I
was.”

“Did anything
happen? Be honest with me, Wend. You look terrible.”

“Will people
stop telling me I look terrible? I fucking
feel
terrible.
Look, I'm in a situation which I
really
don't want to be
in.”

“What kind of
situation? With Robert?”

“Yes, with
Robert.”

“Tell me, Wend.
Did he hurt you?”

“Michael. If I
tell you, you have to swear absolute secrecy. This is bigger than
you could ever know and it is absolutely imperative that you do not
breathe a word to a living soul. Do you understand?”

“It goes
without saying.”

“Culverhouse...
I... we, both think Robert Ludford may have something to do with
the deaths that have occurred recently.”

“You mean he
knew them?”

“I don't know.
I think he knew one of them, at least. He went rather odd at the
mention of Nicole Bryant on the TV the other night and now refuses
to talk about the situation. Listen, Michael, we think he may have
been
directly
involved.”

“Directly? You
mean he killed them?”

“We can't be
sure, but the clues are getting stronger. You remember I told you
about the knots? Well, I... I found something in his flat last
night.”

“Oooh, not
another book?” Michael said, sarcastically.

“No. A
blood-stained knife.”

“Woah. OK, this
is serious.”

“Exactly. I
took it straight to the station last night. Forensics are working
on it as we speak. We should know later today whether the blood
matches that of any of the victims.”

“And if it
does?”

“If it does, we
have a real problem.”

Wendy felt all
eyes on her as she walked through the police station later that
morning. The overnight desk sergeant had clearly blabbed everything
about the knife to her colleagues last night.
Stupid bitch.
Never trust a duty sergeant
.

Walking into
the incident room, the eyes seemed to sharpen and focus on her even
more tightly.
Good news travels fast.
Wendy could almost
read their minds.
Stupid cow, getting involved with a serial
killer. How could she not have known? Some bloody cop she is.
Couldn't even spot a serial killer in her own bed, the cheap
slut.

“Guv. I presume
you're aware of last night's development.”

“I think the
King of sodding Spain is aware of last night's development, Knight.
What in the name of hell were you playing at, giving a potential
murder weapon to a part-time desk sergeant? You're fucking CID, for
Christ's sake. I suppose you'll be filing your reports with the
caretaker next?”

“I'm sorry,
guv. I panicked.”

“You panicked?
Fat fucking lot of good panicking at a blood-stained knife does
when you're meant to be investigating a murder!”

“With respect,
guv, it's a little bit different this time.”

“You're damn
right it's a little bit different this time. This time you've been
shagging the prime suspect!”

“I didn't know
he was a suspect at the time, guv. And we didn't
shag
.”

“You didn't
shag? Well what the bloody hell do you call it then?”

“We
made
love
.”

The incident
room tittered like a group of schoolchildren in a sex education
class. Culverhouse's glowering eyes ensured it ceased as soon as it
had started.

“Right. Well,
whatever you want to bastard well call it, the fact of the matter
is you've got some serious explaining to do to Commander Hawes if
it turns out that one speck of one victim's blood is on that knife.
The Commander already has my head on the chopping block and I will
not
allow your fucking bungee knickers to have me kicked off
the case. Do you understand?”

“Yes, guv.”

“Good. Next
door. Morning briefing.”

Wendy took in
very little of that morning's briefing as her mind kept replaying
the moment she found the knife in Ludford's drawer. The fear and
trepidation. Now she felt anxious and nervous at what the future
held. Her career was in jeopardy and she knew it. She supposed it
didn't matter too much that she didn't take in a word of the
briefing. Of course, she knew the whole story better than anyone.
All the pieces were starting to come together. The seemingly random
meeting in the car park, the books on knots, the evasive tone
regarding Nicole Bryant and, of course, the knife.

After the
briefing, Wendy followed Culverhouse back into the incident room. A
woman from the forensics lab was waiting for him. Culverhouse and
the woman went into his office and closed the door. A few minutes
later, the door opened and the woman from forensics left. As Wendy
moved towards the door, it opened further and Culverhouse came into
view. A lock of hair hung over his forehead, hooked into the
creases that now appeared on his brow. Wendy knew exactly what had
been said.

“Wh... who...
whose blood?”

“Grace Norris.
It's the murder weapon. Ludford is our killer.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

Wendy had
finally managed to convince Culverhouse that if he must arrest
Ludford at work, he should have him called to reception and do it
there rather than cause a scene in front of the whole office.
Reluctantly, he had agreed.

“Mr Ludford?
Yes, I can call him for you. Do you have an appointment?”

“We don't need
an appointment, love.”

“Well, is he
expecting you?”

“I should
imagine so, yes.”

“Right. Well, I
can certainly call him and ask if he's free.”

The young,
blonde-haired receptionist picked up the phone and dialled
Ludford's extension.

“Hello, Mr
Ludford? I've got a gentlemen and a lady here who say you're
expecting them. Oh, I see.” She turned to Culverhouse. “He says he
isn't expecting any visitors today. What did you say your name was
again?”

“I didn't. Tell
him Wendy Knight is here.”

“Oh, OK. He
says the young lady with him is a Wendy Knight, Mr Ludford. Does
that mean anything to you? OK, yes, I'll let them know.” She put
the phone down. “Mr Ludford will be down in a few moments, if you'd
like to take a seat.”

“Don't worry
about us, darling – we'll do this standing up. You can have the
front row.”

When Ludford
finally emerged from the lift a minute or two later, he smiled at
Wendy before noticing the man who was with her.

“Hello, Wendy.
Colleague of yours?”

“Yes, Robert.
This is a colleague of mine. Listen, I'm sorry for...”

“Right,
Ludford. You're nicked.”

Ludford let out
a nervous laugh.

“Sorry – I'm
what?
”

Wendy's head
dropped as Culverhouse placed the handcuffs on Ludford.

“You heard. I'm
arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Grace Norris. You do
not 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.”

“Murder?!
Please tell me this is some sort of joke. I've never even heard of
Grace Norris! Wendy? What's going on?”

“I'm sorry,
Robert.”

***

Ludford's face
was a picture of sterile depression as he sat, head bowed, in the
police station's interview room.

“This interview
will commence at exactly fourteen hundred hours. Present are
myself, DCI Jack Culverhouse, DS Wendy Knight and the suspect, Mr
Robert Ludford. Mr Ludford, are you familiar with the name Grace
Norris?”

“I already told
you this.”

“For the
benefit of the tape, Mr Ludford.”

“No. I had
never heard of Grace Norris until my arrest earlier this
afternoon.”

“I am now
presenting the suspect with exhibit one. Mr Ludford, do you
recognise this object?”

Culverhouse
placed the knife and handkerchief, sealed inside a zip-lock bag,
onto the desk.

“It's a
knife.”

“Yes. Is it
your knife?”

“No, I don't
think so.”

“You don't
think so?”

“I have a lot
of knives for camping and cooking. I don't remember the aesthetics
of each one.”

“Let me be more
specific. Did you use this knife to kill Grace Norris?”

“No! I haven't
killed anyone!”

“Mr Ludford,
this knife was found in a drawer in your flat. The blood on it
belongs to Grace Norris.”

“But... that's
not possible! What do you mean it was found in my flat? You haven't
searched my flat.”

“Its discovery
was incidental, Mr Ludford.”

Wendy shuffled
uncomfortably.

“Incidental?
You mean... Wendy? Did you have something to do with this?”

Wendy remained
silent. Culverhouse slowly rose to his feet and cleared his
throat.

“DS Knight, can
I have a word with you outside for a moment?” He walked towards the
door and turned back towards the tape machine. “14:02. DCI
Culverhouse and DS Knight have left the room.”

Wendy could
still not lift her head as they stood outside the interview
room.

“You listen to
me, Knight. You insisted on being in on this interview knowing damn
well that you shouldn't be within five miles of this police station
right now. The least you can do is co-operate with the bloody case,
do you hear?”