Cut Short (4 page)

  'Oh, he was disturbed all right,' Peterson said.

  Geraldine tried to imagine the scene. 'A sudden rush of fear and a frantic struggle, before she lost consciousness. It would all have been over in a couple of minutes. No time to shout for help.'

  'She might have been too frightened to call out, or too surprised. Then again, we don't know she didn't shout for help,' Peterson pointed out. The traffic light turned green and he pulled away. 'Are you saying you think the killer wanted to finish the job quickly so she didn't suffer?'

  'A considerate killer? It's possible, if he knew her. But so was the need to finish the job quickly. He strangled her in the park, remember.'

  'Yes,' Peterson agreed. 'He'd have to be quick, whatever his feelings.'

  'But why would he do it in such a public place?'

  'Suggests an opportunistic killing. In any event, he wouldn't want to hang around.'

  'So the question is: did he want to kill her? Or did he want her dead?' Geraldine asked intensely. Peterson frowned and she shook her head. 'It's not the same, is it? Not the same thing at all. Because if he simply wanted to kill … regardless of his victim's identity …' She fell silent and they considered the possibility. 'But the killer wanted to see his victim's face. He was checking he had the right girl,' she went on uncertainly.

  'Or he was enjoying watching her,' Peterson said grimly. Geraldine winced as the DS voiced her own fears. They both knew that if the killer had strangled Angela Waters in pursuit of some perverse pleasure, he was likely to strike again.

  The Incident Board had been updated. The names of Angela Waters' mother and brother were pinned up. Carter had taken a sergeant to the car showroom, a twenty-minute drive away, from where he would go on to question the neighbours. Merton was following up known offenders. Geraldine's next task was to visit the café where Angela had worked and then interview her boyfriend, John Drew. She tried to suppress her excitement. Statistically, she knew the boyfriend was the most likely suspect.

6

Café

A menu hung in the bay window of the Bella Cafe, along side a notice advising customers that the café was open from '7 to 7, for the Best Cup of Coffee, with a Choice of Genuine Italian Pastries'. The fluorescent-lit interior boasted gaudy orange walls and tubular steel chairs with garish green plastic seats. It was empty apart from a girl dressed in black trousers and a white shirt who greeted them solemnly.

  'Table for two?'

  Geraldine held up her warrant card. Wordlessly the girl motioned them to a corner table.

  'It's about Angie, isn't it? Is she in some sort of trouble? Only she didn't turn up for work yesterday and the boss is hopping mad. She still hasn't called in. I tried to phone but she's not answering her mobile. Has something happened to her?' She waited between them as they sat down.

  'Please take a seat, Miss …?'

  'Christina.' She fell into a chair and rested her chin on her hands. 'Boss'll be out soon.' She nodded morosely in the direction of a small white door marked 'STAFF ONLY'.

  'How well did you know Angela Waters?' Geraldine asked her cautiously. She placed a tape recorder on the table. Peterson sat, pen poised. Christina looked up and the question hung in the air as a stout, balding man burst through the staff door and summoned her with a peremptory gesture. She rose and shuffled over to him. Although he spoke in muted tones they could tell he was scolding her. Finally she remonstrated and his demeanour transformed. He switched his attention to the two detectives and advanced on them, his head inclined sideways in a servile pose. A black moustache bobbed on his upper lip as he spoke.

  'Sir, I beg pardon.' His voice was incongruously high. 'I did not appreciate you are police. Please accept coffee. On the house.' He threw a perfunctory nod at Christina before smiling at Peterson.

  Geraldine addressed him. 'We'd like to speak to Christina without interruptions, and then we'll talk to you, Mr …?'

  'Umberto. Antonio Umberto is—'

  'We'd like you to close your café while we talk to you, Mr Umberto. Please turn your sign round. We'll start with Christina. This needn't take long,' she added, as the proprietor stiffened. He scurried to the door, then withdrew behind the counter to eavesdrop.

  Geraldine spoke quietly. Across the table, she saw Peterson struggling to catch her words as they dropped into the silence. Christina glanced nervously at her boss, busily straightening wilting sandwiches on a white plate.

  'Christina, I'm sorry to have to bring you bad news about Angela. She was attacked in the park yesterday, and died there.' The girl looked down at the table. She didn't make a sound but her chin trembled and she pressed her hands together in her lap until her knuckles went white. Geraldine waited.

  'Killed?' Christina repeated at last in a barely audible murmur.

  Briefly, Geraldine outlined what had happened. 'She didn't suffer, but we have to find out who did this, so I need to ask you a few questions.'

  Christina had worked with Angela Waters for seven months, but as far as information went, it was soon clear they'd drawn a blank. Christina knew little about her co worker beyond what had emerged in idle chatter during quiet moments. The girls didn't socialise outside work and Christina had never met John Drew.

  'Who?'

  'Angela's boyfriend.'

  'Oh, Johnny. Yeah. Sorry. I didn't know his surname. Ange never stopped talking about him. She was crazy about him. I told her she was too young to even think about marriage. 'Get out there and play the field,' I told her.'

  'Had Johnny asked her to marry him?'

  'I don't think so. It was just something she talked about, you know, how some girls do. I think she put up with a lot from him but they seemed to be working it out.'

  'Working what out?' Peterson asked.

  'His commitment phobia. The usual.' She shrugged. A single tear rolled down her cheek and she blinked. The reality of her colleague's death had hit her. Christina leaned her elbows on the table and shielded her face with one hand. The fleeting intimacy had slipped away.

  'You said she put up with a lot from him. What did you mean?' Geraldine asked. Christina shook her head. 'Did she ever mention an argument? Did she complain that he drank? That he'd lashed out at her in a rage?'

  'Look, I never met the guy. All I know is she said she thought he was the one, you know. He was always giving her flowers, which was sweet, but she was scared he wasn't the marrying type. The good ones generally aren't.' Mark darted into Geraldine's thoughts but she drove him from her mind and focused resolutely on what Christina was saying. 'She never said anything about any fights.'

  'You said she put up with a lot from him?'

  'Only that he wouldn't make a commitment. They never do.'

  Geraldine carefully kept her voice even. 'Do you think one of them might have been seeing someone else?'

  'You mean two-timing? Not her. She was crazy about him. And, anyway, she's not like that. I told you, she's … she was nice.'

  'And her boyfriend?' Peterson pressed her, but the questioning had lost its force.

  'Look, I want to help the police and all that, but I don't know anything about her boyfriend. I never met the guy. As for Ange, she was really nice, but I only ever saw her here. I don't even know where she lives.' Christina looked close to tears again.

  'Thank you, Christina. You've been very helpful.' Geraldine pulled out a card and handed it to the girl. 'I'd like you to contact us if you think of anything else that might help us to find out more about Angela.' Geraldine looked up and caught the proprietor's eye, he was listening intently. He looked away quickly, and resumed fiddling with the food on the counter. 'Mr Umberto,' Geraldine called, 'we'd like to speak to you now, please.' He kept his eyes fixed sullenly on the floor as he walked to the corner table.

  'Go clean the kitchen,' Umberto growled as he sat down. Christina jumped up and disappeared through the staff door.

  Umberto looked apprehensively from Peterson to Geraldine. 'I been busy,' he said. 'My kitchen always sparkles like a pin. Only one of my staff, she's gone. Just like that. Not a word.' He threw his hands in the air, making a whistling sound through pursed lips. 'This is how it is with young girls today.' He shrugged. 'They come, they work a little, they go. Who knows where they go, one day she's here, next day she's gone. Not even a phone call. Not a word. Is not like Italy, the young women. Here no one cares, no one got family to teach them what is right and what is wrong.' He sighed. 'Now what am I going to do?'

  Geraldine interrupted him. 'Angela Waters is dead, Mr Umberto.'

  He looked shocked. 'Angela dead?' he repeated, his nervous chatter silenced. He stared at Geraldine. 'She is dead, you telling me?' He crossed himself, and shut his eyes briefly.

  Geraldine asked for Angela Waters' details and Umberto hurried through the staff door to fetch them. He ran on his toes, surprisingly light on his feet, returning a moment later with a slip of paper. Angela's name, address and mobile telephone number had been written in a childish scrawl in smudgy blue biro. After seven months' employment, that was all she'd left behind. Umberto had no other records. He'd paid her in cash. He assured them he kept scrupulous records, which were available for inspection at any time, but they weren't at the café just then. They were with his most honest accountant, a good man, more like a priest, who helped him.

  Geraldine interrupted his earnest defence. 'We don't want to inspect your records, Mr Umberto, although I daresay the Inland Revenue would find them interesting.' Umberto was deeply sorry but his accountant was on holiday and 'all my papers are taken with him.' His protestations about Angela were equally insincere. He declared that the café would never recover from her loss. 'She don't complain. She is clean and always she smiles to see me.' The only thing that rang true was when he said, 'Always she gets good tips. Is good for everyone, yes?'

  'We'd like to take a look around,' Peterson said.

  Mr Umberto flushed. 'You want to look around?' he repeated, as though the sergeant had made an obscene suggestion. He followed them through the door marked STAFF ONLY. Christina wasn't there. As Geraldine turned to Umberto, the girl reappeared through the fire door. She smelt of cigarette smoke. Geraldine and Peterson exchanged a glance.

  'I just been out for a breath of air,' Christina mumbled, and turned to the sink. She began to scrub it furiously. Mr Umberto nodded and shrugged, as if to say, 'What can you do? You just can't get the staff nowadays. Is not like Italy.' They had a quick look around the kitchen.

  'I'd like to speak to you again, Christina. In here.' Geraldine led the girl back in to the café and they sat down, out of earshot of Umberto. 'Just one last question, Christina. You were here at work, yesterday morning?' The girl nodded. 'What time did you arrive?'

  'I was on the morning shift but Angie never turned up at one so the boss asked me to stay on. He was hopping mad. It wasn't the first time. She was always phoning in sick. Only yesterday she never phoned. The boss swore he'd sack her this time. I had to work a twelve hour day, without a break.' Peterson's eyes narrowed at that but Geraldine focused on her line of questioning.

  'Were you busy here yesterday morning?'

  Christina shrugged. 'The usual.'

  'How does it work, then, Christina? You're serving at the tables, and Mr Umberto is where? In the kitchen?'

  The girl laughed. 'Him? In the kitchen? Never. That's me, that is. In and out the kitchen, serving tables, clearing tables, washing up. All he ever does is stand behind the till and make sandwiches. He won't trust anyone else to do it. No one slices like he does, he says.'

  'I bet he can slice cucumber thinner than anyone,' Peterson chipped in and Christina sniggered.

  'You're right there.'

  'Did he go out to the kitchen at all?'

  'No. I told you. He never does. All he ever does is stand by his precious till, slicing, and grinning at people as they order their sandwiches.'

  'Was he here all morning yesterday, Christina? He didn't go out for anything? Think carefully.'

  Christina answered straight away. 'He never leaves the café when it's open. He doesn't trust anyone. Won't even go to the toilet. He won't give anyone else a key, or let us near the till.' Geraldine sat back. She had her answer. Antonio Umberto couldn't have slipped out to the park on Wednesday morning.

  'The Food Standards Agency might want a chat with that charmer, after the Inland Revenue finish with him,' Peterson muttered to Geraldine as they climbed back in the car.

  She nodded. 'Remind me to cross Bella Café off my list of places to eat.'

  'What do you reckon on Umberto, ma'am? I think he's hiding something.'

  'He's a slimeball all right,' Geraldine agreed, 'but the waitress gave him an alibi. And being crooked doesn't make him a suspect in a murder case. Where's his motive?'

  'Umberto's accounts are fiddled,' Peterson said. 'Maybe Angela Waters found out.'

  'Hardly a motive for murder.'

  'She could have been blackmailing him?'

  'Hmm. It's a thought, I suppose. Christina's given him an alibi, but we'll check out the possibility anyway.' Peterson grinned enthusiastically as she gave some credence to his theory, making her remember he'd only recently been promoted to DS. 'I'll have a constable put onto it straight away,' she promised. 'We can find out if there's been any unusual activity in his account, or any change in his takings or spending, although I'll bet a lot of it never reaches the bank.' There was a pause.

  'What are you thinking, ma'am?' he asked.

  'I'm thinking we should pay a visit to Johnny Drew,' she replied. 'And I'm thinking it's time you called me gov.'

  'Right you are, gov,' he grinned again. Geraldine glanced in the mirror as they drove away. The sign on the door had been turned round. It was business as usual at the Bella Café.