The Other Woman (12 page)

‘Did she try to kill herself?' Judy asked.

Menlove shook his head. ‘They don't think so,' he said. ‘We all inhale some just walking down a busy road. She had just inhaled more than usual.' He shrugged. ‘The attack might have taken place in a vehicle workshop or something,' he said. ‘Where engines were running. She won't talk about it.'

‘How badly hurt is she?'

‘It's just like the others,' he said. ‘He uses brute force and plenty of it, but the physical damage will heal. The doctor's not so sure about the mental damage – particularly if she's trying to tell herself it never happened, or it was her own fault or whatever.'

Judy looked at her watch. Eleven thirty – she might as well go to the hospital now. She was not looking forward to it.

‘How much longer am I going to be kept waiting?' Lionel demanded of the desk constable.

‘Oh … Mr Evans, isn't it? I'm sorry sir, we're very busy – Bill – Bill!'

The man whose attention the constable was trying to attract stopped at the door to the CID room, and turned back with a resigned sigh.

‘Mr Evans is wondering when someone's going to see him. He's been here for well over
two hours
.' The last two words were in a desperate sort of whisper, as though Lionel couldn't hear him, and didn't already know that anyway.

‘Oh – Mr Evans. Yes. Come in. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long.'

Lionel went into the long room, and Bill led him to a paper-strewn desk. ‘Forgive the mess,' he said. ‘I'm Detective Constable Harris. Now …' He scrabbled about in the papers on his desk. ‘You were at the football club last night, I understand.'

‘Yes,' said Lionel.

‘Attending a function?'

‘An opening party – a bit odd, since the place isn't really open yet, but I think it was more in the nature of a capital-raising event. I left early. Look – I left my wallet there, that's all. The policeman at the club said that I should come here.'

‘Yes, sir. But there was an unfortunate incident at the club last night, and we were wondering if you could, help us at all. Where exactly were you?'

‘In the executive box.' Lionel felt uneasy. Clearly, this wasn't about a wallet.

‘Did you see or hear anything at all odd?'

‘Like what?'

‘There was a fight. Did you notice it starting?'

Lionel shook his head. ‘Do you have my wallet?' he asked.

‘Yes, sir. It had slipped down behind a radiator. The constable found it after you reported it to him.'

‘Well, if I could just—'

‘When did you leave the club?'

‘I was with Mr Parker. He saw someone he wanted to talk to, and went down to the ground. I took the opportunity to escape.'

‘Was anyone with you?'

‘Yes. Mr Parker – we left the box together.'

‘I see. You didn't notice what Mr Parker did after he left you?'

Lionel was feeling more and more bewildered. He shook his head. ‘ No – I just said goodbye, and went to my car.' Fear produced a sort of veneer of boldness. ‘If this is about something other than my wallet, please say so,' he said. ‘As far as I am concerned, all that happened was that this morning I realised that I had left my wallet in the directors' box. I was
supposed
to be going straight to Birmingham, and so I—'

‘Birmingham?' said Harris, as though he had said he had been going to the moon.

‘Yes! Birmingham! Is that so odd?'

Harris was distractedly looking through bits of paper on his desk. ‘Are you the Evans of Evans and Whitworth?' he asked, his voice rising with disbelief.

‘You mean you don't know?' said Lionel, heavily sarcastic.

‘Well, I'll be buggered,' said Harris, then gathered himself. ‘Sorry,' he said, and stood up. ‘Mr Evans, I think we had better go into an interview room.'

Whatever Lionel had said, he shouldn't have said it.

‘Why did you go to see this Whitworth woman?' asked Detective Superintendent Andrews, the new head of Stansfield CID.

Lloyd had been a little irked when Andrews had arrived at Stansfield; he had liked being acting head, and he didn't like having to account for every little notion that occurred to him. But the new Chief Constable was fonder of chiefs than of Indians, and both he and Judy had acquired overseers.

‘Just one of those little oddities, sir,' he said. ‘ The victim worked for Mr Whitworth, and Mrs Whitworth was missing all night. I thought it best to check it out.'

‘And?'

Lloyd gave a little shrug. ‘And I have no reason to suspect Mrs Whitworth of anything other than perhaps a little extra-marital dalliance,' he said. ‘Gil McDonald – the man who found the body – and she are both employed by
Barton Chronicle
.'

Andrews picked up his pipe and studied it, rather as though he had never seen it before. ‘ Perhaps she was the lady with whom he had the date,' he said. ‘The one who is supposed to have stood him up.'

Lloyd smiled. ‘I think perhaps she was,' he said.

‘What about Drummond? Are we getting anywhere with him?'

‘Not yet,' said Lloyd. ‘But he answers the description of the rapist. Six feet tall, dressed in black from head to foot.'

‘Except that he uses a knife to scare his victims, and Sharon Smith was strangled,' said Andrews. ‘And we don't know yet if the victim
was
sexually assaulted, do we? I understood that it was unlikely.'

‘Yes, sir. But her clothes had been pulled about, and Drummond is very scared of something. We've placed him at the scene, he's lied to us, and he won't account for the bruises.'

‘I've got his parents downstairs swearing that Colin has always been a positive saint, and couldn't possibly be mixed up in something like this.' He looked up at Lloyd. ‘They want to know why they weren't informed.'

Lloyd indicated the chair, and Andrews nodded.

‘Drummond didn't want anyone informed. He's eighteen years old. His parents don't really come into it.'

Andrews ran his hands over his face. ‘Well, they have come into it,' he said. ‘And they won't go away. We don't really have anything on him, do we?'

‘Not yet,' said Lloyd. ‘But I'd like to hang on to him until we've got something from forensic and the p.m. I think he could be our rapist – and this one went wrong.'

‘Sure. But I don't think you can keep him here while you find out.'

‘He was stopped when riding his motorbike in a suicidally reckless fashion, and can't deny that. He's told a cock and bull story to account for the bruising, and wouldn't account for it at all when the traffic lads stopped him last night. I've asked Malworth for a full report of the stop on the dual carriageway and I'm trying to find someone who saw him set out for the match. With a view to discovering whether or not he was wearing a tie.'

Andrews smiled, and picked up his pipe. ‘It's all very circumstantial,' he said.

Lloyd shrugged a little. ‘Two hundred people were at that match – we ought to get something there. We've had a rough time of death given as three to six hours before she was found, so it could have been going on as the crowd were leaving the ground. Someone might have heard or seen something.'

Andrews raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you suggesting that we were busy arresting two men for a minor breach of the peace while this girl was being strangled?' he asked.

Lloyd sighed. ‘It's possible, sir. And going on what we know so far, it's even probable. That part of the car park's like a priest-hole with the new building. It juts out into the car park, and leaves a little recess. No one would see anything. And the match was in the process of being abandoned – there were loudspeaker announcements, a fight going on – there would be a lot of noise, a lot of confusion. Our men had their hands full – but someone at the match might just have seen or heard what was going on elsewhere.'

‘That's not going to look good, if it is what happened.'

‘No,' said Lloyd. ‘But perhaps we've got him already.'

The phone rang, cutting off the warning that Andrews was clearly about to give him about jumping to conclusions; Andrews nodded to indicate that Lloyd could leave.

Lloyd stood, and flexed his back as it complained. He must be getting old, he thought, and fairly rattled downstairs to prove that he wasn't.

Finch was never going to leave; it was nearly lunch-time, almost time to close up the office, and he'd arrived before ten. Simon knew that he was already under suspicion, thanks to Melissa's strange behaviour, before they got on to any possible motive.

Why had he phoned the police? It had been a ridiculous thing to do. If he hadn't …

‘You reported your wife missing—'

‘I simply said that she hadn't come home,' Simon corrected, years of magistrates' court training not going amiss. All right, he'd brought all this down on his head, but he was damned if he would let them put words in his mouth.

‘You reported that your wife had not come home, and then we find your secretary dead. It's an odd coincidence, isn't it?'

‘It's a coincidence, Sergeant. I fail to see that there is anything odd about it at all. It was a filthy night, and my wife decided to stay overnight at an hotel rather than drive home through thick fog. She was unable to get hold of me because I was at your own police station all evening! I was worried precisely
because
of the weather.'

Finch looked reflective. ‘You came to the station at about nine fifteen,' he said. ‘And left at ten forty-five or thereabouts. Is that right?'

‘Yes,' said Simon, trying not to think about any of it. What was Sharon doing at the football ground with Parker
or
this other person? Why was she there at all?

‘And before you were called to the station?' Finch asked, breaking into his private misery. ‘Where were you then?'

Simon stiffened. ‘I was here,' he said. ‘Working late.'
‘Alone?'
‘Not all the time. Sharon was here until about six.'
Finch didn't try to disguise his irritation. ‘She didn't leave here

until six?' he said. ‘Couldn't you have mentioned that earlier, Mr

Whitworth? We are trying to piece together her movements yesterday

evening, and we thought that she left when the office closed at

five.'
‘Yes. Sorry.'
‘Did she mention her plans for the evening?'
Simon looked up. He didn't want to think about any of this. It

was hard enough getting through today as it was. But he would

have to think about it. And he didn't want to answer questions

until he had. ‘ No,' he said.
‘Did she ever mention boyfriends to you, by any chance?'
Simon shook his head.
‘Any men friends that you know of?'
Simon closed his eyes. ‘She … she was very quiet,' he said.

‘Reserved. She didn't … she didn't talk much about—'
‘So what do you make of Mr Parker's story? Two men righting

over her in public?'
Simon stood up. ‘I hope you're not asking me to tell you what

passed between me and my client, Sergeant.'
Finch smiled. ‘ No, sir,' he said.
Finch went, at last, and Simon sat for a long time staring out

of the window at the shops across the road, and wondering how

in the world he was going to get out of this in one piece.
Sharon hadn't.

Colin had been left on his own again, but now the chief inspector was back. This time his manner was brisk, no-nonsense.

‘Someone answering your description was seen at the football ground, walking towards the car park at the same time as Sharon Smith.'

Colin shrugged again. He'd been waiting for this. They had abandoned the match at just about the same time; the people nearest the exits had been leaving.' He knew that someone might have seen him. ‘I never killed her,' he said.

‘Don't you like girls, Colin?'

Colin stiffened. ‘I don't know what you mean,' he said.

‘Most young men of your age have girlfriends.' Colin shrugged.

‘You're a good-looking lad. Are you shy? I know what women can be like, Colin, believe me. They can make a man feel this small.' The chief inspector indicated with finger and thumb just how small.

Colin's head shot up. They didn't make him feel small. ‘ They don't frighten me!' he shouted. He could feel the chief inspector relax, as soon as he had said the words, and he knew he should have kept his mouth shut. He looked down at the table, and waited for another question.

‘Have you thought about where you were on those other dates?'

‘I can't remember.'

‘I'm sure you can, if you try.'

Colin didn't answer.

Lloyd stood up. ‘ Let's see,' he said. ‘August fifteenth – that was a Thursday. What do you normally do on a Thursday evening, Colin?'

‘Watch television,' he muttered.

‘Oh? What do you watch?'

Colin shrugged.

‘And September seventh – that was a Saturday. Do you go out on Saturday nights?'

‘Sometimes.'

‘Where do you go?'

‘Just out on the bike.'

‘And September the tenth – that was a Tuesday.'

Colin looked up at him. ‘What's special about those dates?' he asked.

‘Women were raped on those dates, Colin. By someone tall, wearing dark clothes – and now a young woman has been murdered, and you turn up.'

Colin went cold.

‘Did Sharon Smith speak to you?' asked Lloyd suddenly. Colin shook his head. ‘Where did she go?' Colin swallowed. ‘She … she just walked away after the fight

started. They said the match was abandoned – I went to my bike.

I just left at the same time, that's all.'
‘How did you get so battered and bruised?'
He looked down again, and repeated what he had said over and