The Other Woman (15 page)

‘Please God, there's some DNA evidence on her body,' said Barstow, handing Lloyd the report. ‘Her clothes aren't going to be much help. They were new. But Finch was right about the sawdust,' he added. He looked at Lloyd, a look that Lloyd was not unused to getting. ‘I think we're taking a bit of a flyer with Drummond,' he said. ‘Sounds like she was inside one of the buildings at one point – it could have been one of the workmen.'

Lloyd smiled. ‘DNA evidence would be nice,' he said. ‘But we managed without it before, and I expect we can manage without it now.'

He looked at the report. New leisure suit, velour. New shoes, trainers. Traces of mud, of blood (her own), of builders' sand. Traces of sawdust. The mud and sand were present where her body was found; the blood was from a small graze on her arm. The sawdust was unaccounted for as yet. Scene of crime officers would be examining the interiors of all buildings.

Good for Finch, he thought. Who needed forensic scientists when they had Finch's nose?

He looked at the list of site workers, most of whom had been interviewed, none of whom had admitted still being there at that time in the evening, and he hoped they weren't going to have to interview them all again.

Drummond was in the interview room by the time he got there, looking scared stiff, as he had all along. His eyes rose to Lloyd's as he came in. Lloyd sat down, and clasped his hands behind his head, tipping his chair back on two legs, just a tiptoe between him and disaster. It always disconcerted people, he'd found. It was worth the risk. He didn't speak at all.

After long moments, Drummond looked up from the formica which he had been studying. ‘I never killed her,' he said.

‘Were you at the match with her?'

‘No. I didn't know her.'

‘Have you got a girlfriend, Colin?'

Colin looked a little puzzled. ‘No. I've already told you.'

‘I think you did have a girlfriend,' said Lloyd, swinging gently backwards and forwards, his eye on the ceiling. ‘I think Sharon was your girlfriend. I think you saw her at the match, saw two men fighting over her. I think you followed her to the car park, and dragged her round the corner, where no one could see. You wanted to know what was going on with her and Parker, She was struggling and kicking – she was probably saying things – you couldn't take it. So you strangled her.'

There was silence after he'd finished speaking; Lloyd didn't look down from the ceiling. He rocked slowly back and forth. ‘ Is that why you strangled her? Because she'd been playing around with Parker again?'

Colin shook his head slowly. ‘It's them you should be talking to,' he said. ‘They're the ones who were fighting over her. I didn't know her.'

‘Nice try, Colin. But unfortunately they were in police custody from then on. And you're the one who left with her.'

‘I just … I just went after her,' said Colin. ‘I never killed her! I just – I saw her in the car. I never killed her.'

At last, at last. Lloyd didn't dare move, and just hoped the chair legs were stronger than they looked. ‘What car?' he asked.

‘I never killed her! She was in the car, and she started taking her clothes off! I never killed her!' Colin was growing ever more agitated, then stopped speaking suddenly, his face white.

Lloyd's eyes came slowly down from the ceiling, and the crack in the brand-new plaster, to rest on Colin Drummond.

Drummond visibly got himself under control, his eyes growing less afraid and more wary as he thought the whole thing through. And in that instant, Lloyd had lost him, he knew; Drummond was beginning to realise how little they really had on him.

‘Slow down,' Lloyd said, trying to rescue the situation by switching strategy. ‘And begin at the beginning.' His voice was friendly, his manner that of someone who understood. But when Drummond started to speak, Lloyd wondered just who was kidding whom.

‘I thought she might talk to me. But she just walked away. I went and got the bike. I followed her. A car picked her up.'

Lloyd shook his head. ‘She never left the football ground, Colin,' he said.

‘She did! She did. They went
back
to the football ground! It was dark by then. Empty. They parked right over at the far side – it was obvious what—' He swallowed. ‘ I waited for a while,' he said. ‘Then I just got on the bike and went away. I must have forgotten the lights.'

Lloyd let the chair down slowly. He still waited for Drummond to carry on with his story. For that's what it was, and soon he'd trip himself up on his own fiction, even if he had stopped himself spilling it all out this time.

‘I got stopped on my way into Malworth by the police. That's it that's all.'

‘Not quite all, Colin.'

Drummond swallowed. He wouldn't look at Lloyd.

‘When did you fall off your bike?'

The question lay there between them. Drummond had swung wildly between lies and truth about everything, but now Lloyd had the faxed report of the officers who had stopped Drummond on the dual carriageway; the end was in sight. A nice, speedy arrest, a confession, a charge, a prosecution. Then it was up to other people to decide what to do with him. Not his problem, thank God.

‘There was no car, Colin,' he said, his voice gentle, almost sympathetic. ‘No one picked Sharon up, because Sharon never left the ground. You dragged her back, behind the wall. You did know her, didn't you, Colin? And when Parker and Barnes began fighting over her, you realised that she wasn't quite what she made herself out to be – and you lost your temper, isn't that it?'

Drummond was pale, the bruises on his face standing out.

‘And you didn't fall off your bike. You got those bruises because Sharon kicked and punched, not by falling off a bike. You had them when the police stopped you. We
know
that, Colin – there's no point in denying it.'

‘She left the ground. She got into a car,' Colin repeated mutinously.

Lloyd looked back at the ceiling.

‘There was a car,' said Drummond. ‘There
was
. I swear it. Someone picked her up, they took her back there. They did. That's who killed her, it must be.'

‘Colin …' Lloyd began wearily. ‘If you didn't know her, why were you so interested in what she was doing in—'

‘But I didn't fall off my bike,' Drummond said suddenly, interrupting Lloyd's question.

‘What did happen?' asked Lloyd.

‘I got beaten up.' Lloyd sighed. My God, he didn't give up. ‘ By whom?' he asked. ‘By the traffic cops,' said Drummond. Now he'd heard everything.

Lionel arrived home, and reached the front door as the phone started ringing. Panic made him unable to find his front-door key; when he did, he dropped the bunch. By the time he had retrieved them and found it again, Frances had answered the phone.

‘Oh – hold on,' she was saying, as he practically fell into the house. ‘He's just come in.' She looked at him. ‘Someone called Jake Parker,' she said, handing Lionel the receiver. ‘He's been trying to get you all day.'

Lionel closed his eyes briefly, and took the phone, waiting pointedly until she had gone back into the sitting room and closed the door before he put it to his ear. ‘Hello,' he said, cautiously.

Parker's voice was low and menacing, and it took Lionel a moment or two to take in what he was saying.

‘You stupid bastard, Evans,' he said slowly. ‘What the hell did you have to kill her for?'

‘You wanted me, sir?'

Merrill waved a hand to indicate that Judy should sit down. ‘How did you get on?' he asked.

‘Officially, nothing happened to her,' said Judy.

‘So I understand. And unofficially?'

‘She was his fourth victim. But she's a dyed-blonde night-club hostess who titillates men for a living, and she's emigrating or something soon, so she just isn't about to go into the witness box to be pulled to pieces. I'm not so sure we should try to make her – she could be something of a liability.'

Merrill rubbed his eyes. ‘Anything new for us to go on?'

‘Only the location – the Jetty, this time. Exactly the same MO, same description. I've given the incident room what I got, but it won't help much.'

They had to find him; it was as simple as that. Once they had a suspect, there would be no problem of identification. They had the physical evidence, the DNA fingerprint just waiting for a match. All they needed was the suspect, and there were a great many officers doing nothing but looking for him.

‘We're going to have to go through the previous offenders again,' said Merrill. He looked at her for a moment before speaking again. ‘What do you think of psychological profiling?' he asked.

Judy shrugged a little. ‘Paying someone to tell you that he's a loner with a chip on his shoulder seems a bit odd,' she said. ‘But we've done a spot of amateur profiling. The lack of a pattern seems to indicate someone who doesn't have to be anywhere in particular in the evenings, so he probably isn't accountable to a wife. The times and the places suggest that he is definitely local, rather than someone who visits the area on business. The attacks all took place in the evening – he's probably a nine to five man rather than unemployed or a shift-worker.' She shrugged. ‘Professionals might be able to gather a lot more from what we've got than we can,' she said. ‘To be fair to them.'

Merrill grunted. ‘Let's do a thorough job on the previous offenders first,' he said. ‘According to the computer, there are three most likely. I want to interview them again.' He moved some papers about his desk. ‘Now,' he said. ‘Re Sharon Smith. This boy Drummond lives in Malworth … there's his address. Can you get someone to make discreet enquiries about whether or not he left for this football match wearing a tie?'

Judy frowned. Why discreet? They'd been questioning him all day – there was nothing very discreet about that.

‘We don't want it to look like harassment,' explained Merrill, in answer to her frown. ‘ He has come back with something of a counter-charge against two Malworth officers, and the complaint has to be investigated, which does, as you will, I'm sure, understand, make the whole thing a little delicate.'

Merrill was all right, but more than a little pedantic. Besides, Judy still felt a little awkward about her greeting to him on the phone that morning. She wished he would get to the point and let her go away again.

‘He's made a complaint against the officers who stopped him for the traffic offence, and that will of course have to—'

Judy interrupted him. ‘What sort of a complaint?' she asked. She was a witness, though another police officer wasn't much use in these circumstances.

Merrill rubbed his eyes, and flexed his back, and did other things to indicate that he had had a trying morning, and that the afternoon was turning out no better, with people asking him questions that they should know better than to ask, and that he wasn't supposed to answer. Judy imagined he'd at least had some lunch, instead of a painful interview with a rape victim. And he must know her well enough by now to know that she wasn't asking out of mere curiosity.

‘He says they worked him over,' he said bluntly, once he had decided to answer her.

‘What?' said Judy. ‘But I saw them. After they stopped him – some considerable time after, I think.'

Merrill stared at her. ‘ You
saw
them?'

‘Yes. I was on my way home.'

‘Did you stop?'

Judy felt a little guilty. ‘ No,' she said. ‘I was tired, and—'

‘And you'd had a fight with your boyfriend?' suggested Merrill, with a slight twinkle.

Judy blushed again. ‘Yes,' she said. At least he didn't know who her boyfriend was, she thought. She had to be thankful for small mercies.

‘So you didn't get a good look at Drummond,' said Merrill.

‘But I did,' she said. ‘ I wasn't going at any speed in the first place because of the fog. And I can assure you sir, that there was nothing at all wrong with Drummond when I saw him. Of course, he might be saying that it happened after that – but if he isn't, then—'

Merrill looked hard at her. ‘Are you one hundred per cent certain about that?' he asked, interrupting her. ‘ He had no facial injuries – he was having no difficulty walking?'

‘I'm quite sure. I actually looked at him carefully, because I'd heard the siren some time before, and I did think there might have been an accident. But he was fine – pacing up and down while they examined the bike. I know the complaint investigator will think it's just police officers sticking together, but it's the truth, I promise—'

‘No,' said Merrill, interrupting her. ‘ He won't think that.' He sighed heavily. ‘ The officers concerned said in a written statement that Drummond was in that state when they stopped him,' he said quietly, ‘and when asked how he had come by his injuries would give no explanation. That's why Stansfield were so certain Drummond was their man,' he said.

Oh no. Judy looked away from him.

‘It wasn't a trap, Judy, believe me,' he said. ‘I had no idea that you had seen them.'

She didn't speak.

‘Out of my hands now,' said Merrill. ‘I'll send a report to the DCC. You'll almost certainly be called as a witness in the disciplinary proceedings, I'm afraid. And any criminal proceedings which may result.'

Judy nodded. Giving evidence against fellow police officers. Life, at the moment, was a bitch and a half.

Merrill leant forward. ‘ See if the grapevine knows why these two had it in for Drummond,' he said, almost to the blotter, almost as though he wasn't speaking at all.

Judy wished Sandwell was there. He would have known already. She wished she had never got up. She wished she hadn't had the row with Lloyd, because then she wouldn't have been going along that road as early as she had been, and she wouldn't have known what state Drummond was in when they stopped him.