Fatal Act (32 page)

She returned to the station with his revised list. A team of sergeants was despatched to investigate them, and establish their whereabouts at the time of the murders.

G
eraldine would have preferred to be out questioning potential suspects herself, but as an inspector running a team she had to allocate some of her time to dealing with tedious paperwork.

‘How’s it all going?’ Nick asked her as soon as she sat down. ‘You look a bit low.’

‘It’s going slowly. And now I’ve got all this lot to sort out.’

Thumping a pile of papers with the flat of her hand, she couldn’t help smiling at his comical grimace.

‘Fancy a drink tonight to mull it over?’

‘I would have loved to, but I’ve arranged to see a friend tonight. Maybe another time?’

She hoped she hadn’t sounded too keen about accepting an invitation for a casual drink in order to talk about work.

‘How about tomorrow then?’

She nodded, turning away so he wouldn’t see how pleased she was.

‘OK. Tomorrow it is.’

G
eraldine settled down to work, feeling happier. That evening she had arranged to meet with her former sergeant, Ian Peterson, who was coming to see her flat for the first time. So far only her sister and niece had seen her new home. Now she was quietly excited about showing the place off to her friend. She had spent a couple of hours tidying up especially, shoving clothes into her wardrobe, and cleaning the kitchen. Then the following evening she was going out with Nick. Life was looking up.

S
he had no intention of telling Sam about her plans to go out with Nick again. There was no point in provoking another tirade from her touchy sergeant. Usually good-humoured, there was something about Nick that put Sam in a temper. They were sitting in the canteen together having a break for tea, when, as luck would have it, Nick passed right by their table. He paused. Sam looked away pointedly as Geraldine smiled at him.

‘Where do you fancy going tomorrow night?’ he asked, casting a sly glance at the sergeant.

Geraldine sensed Sam bristle as she replied, ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Same place then?’

‘That sounds fine to me.’

He sauntered off, whistling.

‘What was that all about?’

Even though she was aware that Sam detested Nick, Geraldine was taken aback by the anger in her voice. Sam was leaning forward, her shoulders raised, her voice tense with emotion.

G
eraldine put down her tea.

‘Leave it, Sam. This isn’t something we’re going to discuss.’

Sam glared at her, but she spoke gently. ‘I’m just worried about you, Geraldine. I’m only trying to look out for you.’

‘Yes, I appreciate that, but I’m not some naïve teenager in need of advice, thank you.’

Sam heaved a sigh. ‘We all need advice sometimes.’

Geraldine frowned, vexed that Sam had made her feel like an arrogant idiot who thought she always knew best.

‘Yes, that’s very true. I know we all need advice at times. This just isn’t one of those times.’

‘I think it is.’

‘And I think it’s time for you to mind your own bloody business.’

With that, Geraldine stood up and strode out of the canteen.

I
an arrived so promptly she thought he must have been waiting outside in the car. She buzzed him in and took a couple of beers from the fridge while he was making his way up to her flat. As they exchanged greetings, she was relieved to see that he looked like the Ian she remembered, animated and cheerful. It didn’t take long to give him a tour of her new home: kitchen, bathroom, living room, bedroom and spare room.

‘That’s it,’ she concluded as they returned to the living room and she poured beer into two glasses and handed him one.

‘It’s really nice here,’ he said.

She knew him well enough to recognise his praise was genuine.

‘Thank you.’

‘I mean it, Geraldine, I’m really pleased for you. It’s great. And I’ll tell you something else. You don’t know how lucky you are to have a place like this to yourself.’

‘I’d rather have someone to share it with.’

He raised his eyebrows and she felt herself blush.

‘I mean, living on your own, it’s not ideal, is it?’

He sighed and put down his glass. ‘The alternative can be a whole lot worse.’

‘Yes, of course, I know it could be worse. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with the wrong person –’ Too late she broke off, afraid she had put her foot in it.

‘Let’s not talk about personal stuff tonight,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to spoil the evening boring you with my problems.’

She nodded. ‘I’m here if you ever want to talk about it –’

‘I know, but there’s nothing to talk about. What I mean is, sometimes talking doesn’t help.’

‘OK, let’s eat then. Are you hungry?’

‘Starving, and something smells good.’

She smiled. ‘Spaghetti carbonara,’ she said. ‘Home made.’

‘My God, that’s my favourite. How did you know?’

‘I have met you before.’

They exchanged a smile.

W
hile they were eating, they talked about her new life in London, and the colleagues they had both worked with in Kent. They discussed his promotion and exchanged views on the cases they were both working on. Ian’s investigation sounded fairly straightforward, although he confessed to Geraldine that he had his reservations about the guilt of their main suspect. He was fascinated to hear about her current case.

‘It sounds like a Sherlock Holmes mystery,’ he said, his eyes alight with excitement. ‘The Case of the Vanishing Murderer! What fun!’

Laughing, she scolded him for joking about it. ‘This is serious, Ian. It’s no laughing matter. Three people are dead and we’ve still not got the foggiest idea who’s responsible, and the crime scenes make no sense. How is he getting away?’

‘That’s certainly some stunt,’ he agreed.

T
hey passed a pleasant evening. Ian left early to drive back to Kent and Geraldine cleared up and went to bed. She was tired and thought an early night would do her good, but she couldn’t sleep. Not knowing what was making her jittery wound her up even more. First she decided she must be feeling nervous about seeing Nick outside of work again, and wondered if Sam knew more about him than she was letting on. Then she had an uneasy feeling she had missed something in Piers’ list. A team of sergeants was checking through the names, but she decided to take a look at it herself in the morning. Under pressure, she could no longer contain her need to control the investigation. Almost a month into the case, the mystery had grown more baffling at every turn. With three people murdered, it was anyone’s guess when another victim might be discovered.

G
ERALDINE
WOKE
EARLY
THE
next morning. Having lain in bed worrying about the investigation for what felt like hours, but was in reality only about forty minutes, she got up and made herself an unusually large breakfast. It was too much for her so she ended up throwing half of it away, which didn’t improve her mood. She would have liked to look her best that day as she was planning to spend time with Nick later on, but instead she looked dreadful; tired and wan with grey circles under her eyes. Too late she regretted having spent the previous evening with Ian, although she knew that wasn’t the reason for her looking and feeling so lousy. They hadn’t drunk much because Ian had a long drive home, and he had left her quite early. The problem was that she had passed a disturbed night. She felt as though she could do with a good sleep but there was a day’s work to get through before she went out with Nick. It was only a casual drink, she reminded herself. But it was a long time since she had spent time with an eligible man – if he really was unattached. Sam had implied he was still married and regularly unfaithful to his wife, the most despicable kind of womaniser.

S
he was pleased Nick wasn’t in the office when she arrived that morning. Geraldine usually arrived first as she liked to get in early to beat the rush hour. Her journey time could easily double if she left the flat after seven thirty. This morning she was at her desk by seven, starting to trawl through the statements made by the people named on Piers’ list. It made tedious reading.

‘On Friday evening I was babysitting for my sister’s twins.’

‘On Friday evening I was out for a drink with my mates.’

‘On Friday evening I was running over lines with a friend.’

‘On Saturday evening I was visiting my parents.’

‘On Saturday night I was staying with a friend… out clubbing… at a hen night… at the theatre… at the cinema… at home with my flatmates.’

She yawned, struggling to focus on the screen. So far the sergeants who had been asking the questions had not stumbled on anything even vaguely curious. All the accounts had been verified with other witnesses. Not a single person was without an alibi for at least two of the evenings when Anna, Bethany and Zak had been killed. It had been a necessary but fruitless task for the sergeants to carry out in the first place, and completely pointless for Geraldine to double check.

G
lancing over at his empty chair and untidy desk, her thoughts wandered to Nick. She wasn’t sure she would want to embark on a serious relationship with him, and a casual fling with a colleague was never a good idea. There was far too much potential for disastrous consequences. The only reason she had even considered seeing him was that he was there and had professed to be interested in her. She wouldn’t have picked him out in a crowd as particularly attractive, and she wasn’t sure she trusted him, or even liked him. She turned her attention resolutely back to her work. By the time Nick arrived she was already tired of reading fatuous statements. Welcoming the distraction, she greeted him eagerly and was dismayed when he merely grunted in reply without even bothering to look up. Evidently he wasn’t that interested in her after all. It wouldn’t be the first time she had misread the signs, but it would be particularly galling to discover she had fallen out with Sam over nothing.

‘Are we still on for tonight?’ she asked.

H
e turned to face her and she was shocked to see that one half of his face was bruised and swollen.

‘God, what happened to you?’

‘Nothing,’ he mumbled, adding after a brief awkward pause, ‘I broke up a fight and got this for my pains.’

He gave a short angry laugh.

‘What happened?’

Reluctantly, he explained that on his way home the previous evening he had passed a group of teenage boys brawling in the street. He had stopped his car and gone to intervene, and one of the boys had socked him.

‘Didn’t you arrest him? Assaulting a police officer –’

‘No. It wasn’t like that. This,’ he pointed to his injury, ‘was an accident. He took a swing at the other boy and I got in the way. They were only about thirteen.’

‘Even so.’

‘They were just kids. When they realised what they’d done, they were so scared they were almost crying. I took the names of the two who had been fighting – the rest had scarpered as soon as they knew who I was. I scared the hell out of them, and then I let them go. There was no harm done.’

‘Except to you. That’s a nasty black eye you’ve got.’

‘It’s not the first time,’ he told her with another laugh, ‘these things happen. It could’ve been worse. Now, I don’t know about you but I’ve got work to do.’

With that, he turned back to his desk and began typing furiously.

N
ick was beginning his day’s work while Geraldine was ready for a break. She went to see what Sam was doing and they went out to a nearby café together. Sometimes it was good to get away from the station, and Geraldine wanted to avoid Sam seeing Nick in his present state. Seated in a corner they discussed Piers’ list of possible enemies. So far none of them was even a potential suspect as they each had a solid alibi for the times of at least two of the murders. Sam was sceptical about the whole idea.

‘Three people killed just to punish one man?’ she scoffed. ‘Piers Trevelyan has got to be the most self-centred man ever, and that’s saying something. Talk about thinking the world revolves around you. I see your precious Nick had another bust up with his wife,’ she added, taking a sip of coffee, her eyes fixed on Geraldine.

G
eraldine put her straight about the cause of Nick’s black eye.

‘He was only doing what any self-respecting officer should do.’

Sam rolled her eyes then leaned forward and spoke in a quiet, urgent tone.

‘You know he hits his wife,’ she said.

‘No, I don’t know that, and nor do you. Have you ever seen him hit her?’

‘No, but –’

‘Have you even met his wife?’

‘No, but –’

‘It’s just idle chatter then.’

‘Everyone knows it.’

‘If you will listen to unsubstantiated rumours –’

‘I’m telling you –’

‘Come on, I’ve told you before, it’s not appropriate to talk about colleagues behind their backs like this, spreading malicious gossip. And anyway, it’s time we got back to work.’

‘But I haven’t finished –’ Sam gestured at her plate.

‘I’ll see you later then.’

Inwardly fuming, Geraldine stood up and left.

F
ROM
THE
RIGHT,
AND
the front, Nick was virtually unrecognisable. His right eye was usually slightly closed in a permanent mischievous wink. Now it was swollen completely shut, and hideously discoloured with black and purple bruising. The suggestion of violence about his injury made him look vicious, so that it was suddenly easy to believe he was a wife beater. Geraldine was shocked to realise how far her impression of people was influenced by their appearance. She knew Nick. He was a decent officer who dedicated his life to supporting his fellow man, protecting the innocent, preserving law and order, and serving justice, like almost every other officer she had ever known. But if she had passed him on the street right now, without having met him before, she would have assumed he was a thug who went around getting into fights.