The Other Woman (29 page)

‘You wouldn't still be thinking of leaving the country while all that was going on, would you?' asked Lloyd.

‘No,' he said. No, he wouldn't. If he could persuade Bobbie to, he'd feel a whole lot better, but one thing was for certain. Guilty men ran. He was the victim of this fraud, and he was staying to see it through. He could almost believe it; and before he knew where he was, Evans would almost believe it too.

They left, at last, and he poured himself the drink he had been going to have before they arrived.

Let them sort that lot out, he thought.

‘I was right about the building development, anyway,' Lloyd said smugly, as they got back into the car, and the headlights reflected back against the fog.

‘Mm.' It didn't do to praise Lloyd.

‘Evans now,' he said, and set off slowly.

‘I can't see why Evans would have killed Sharon,' she said. ‘He knew she'd already told Parker everything she knew.'

‘You don't believe for a moment that Parker wasn't involved, do you?' said Lloyd. ‘ Evans could well have panicked, and killed Sharon, thinking that if he got rid of Sharon, he and Parker could carry on. But Parker knew that Sharon's death meant that the police would be investigating his affairs. And he knew, when he'd stopped being angry and thought about it, that something untoward happening to Lionel would be viewed with suspicion. So he's getting out from under, and leaving Evans to carry the can.'

It all made sense. Whatever Sharon had really told Parker, and whatever Parker had really told Evans, Evans was in trouble up to his neck if the accounts were examined.

And Lloyd had been right about the fight, come to that, she thought. ‘Do you think Lionel put Barnes up to it?' she asked. ‘To get Parker out of the way?'

Lloyd shook his head, and took the car out on to the fog-bound road to the village where Lionel lived. ‘ No,' he said. ‘If it was him, he didn't have time to organise something like that.' He grinned. ‘So perhaps Drummond did see a car,' he said. ‘I'm not always right.'

‘Oh, surely you are,' said Judy.

Lloyd chose to ignore the sarcasm. ‘It fits Drummond's story,' he said. ‘Sharon left the ground at the same time as Evans did,' he said. ‘He could have seen her, pulled up, asked if they could talk, and taken her back up there on the pretext of including Parker in the discussions. Perhaps that was even what he meant to do.'

And if that was what had happened, then it
was
presumably Evans that Sharon was having an affair with, because whoever it was made love to her when they got there. The ground had been dark and deserted. Perhaps Evans had thought that his relationship with Sharon would save his skin. She didn't know that Parker had told Evans; when she realised that she was being manipulated, she had apparently sealed her fate.

Lloyd slowed to a crawl as he watched for the turn-off to the bypass village. ‘Where the hell is this place?' he muttered, as though someone had deliberately tidied it away when he had left it on his desk.

Judy wound down the window, admitting trails of mist, as she tried to recognise a landmark that would stop them getting hopelessly lost.

‘And Drummond was an innocent bystander,' said Lloyd, but the statement still lacked conviction.

Judy sighed. It seemed likely enough to her. The voyeuristic Drummond had not left when the action started in the car; he had watched enviously, then consoled himself with his reckless ride on the bike. When he was stopped, he had presumably been a cocky little bastard, as Finch would have it. The police officers' response to that had been swift and painful, and their lies had dragged Drummond into the murder inquiry.

‘You still don't believe Kim?' she asked, as a sign loomed out of the mist, and Lloyd indicated the turn.

‘I'll reserve judgement until I hear what Evans has to say,' said Lloyd.

She was sitting in the armchair, saying she was sorry for having misjudged him.

Mac didn't feel in the least offended; my God, she had only known him two days. All that mattered was that she had listened to the tape, and she was here, in his room. His landlady had admitted her with deep suspicion, and had only allowed her to come up because it was still early evening, and she knew that people didn't get up to anything like that until after ten o'clock at night.

Not that they had got up to anything; Melissa had sat very properly in the visitor's chair, and he had perched on the end of the bed, almost as though nothing had ever happened. It wouldn't be sensible, anyway. One twang of a bedspring, and he would be out on his ear

‘I'll get a flat,' he said. ‘Not in Stansfield – the waiting list's years long. Malworth maybe – they've got privately let flats there.'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Good idea.'

‘I'll be installed in one before you know it.' He carefully didn't say ‘we'; he didn't know what sort of relationship Melissa had in mind, and he didn't honestly care whether she wanted to stay with Simon or not, just so long as some of her time was his.

She smiled a little uncertainly. It was funny, Mac thought, that this should make her shy, in view of what had gone before. He wanted to chase away her awkwardness as she had done his, but not here.

‘Can we go somewhere?' he said.

‘What?' She seemed startled.

‘The hotel, maybe. I could just about afford to stay the night there so that it didn't look too much as though we—'

‘No, Mac,' she said, as though he had already asked three times and wouldn't take no for an answer.

He frowned. ‘Well – all right. It's just that …' He pointed down through the floor. ‘ She won't miss a trick – and I was warned when I came here. Any hanky-panky and I was out. I can't really afford to get chucked out.'

It was Melissa's turn to frown. ‘ Mac,' she said firmly. ‘I told you in the first place. I'm married. What happened is not going to happen again.'

He felt as though she had punched him. ‘But – you … I thought – why did you come here?'

She sighed. ‘To say I was sorry for believing that you had blackmailed me,' she said.

No. No – he couldn't have been that wrong. She hadn't been like someone acting under duress. ‘But it was wonderful,' he said. ‘You know it was.'

‘It wouldn't be like that again,' said Melissa. ‘I thought I had no choice – that removed the guilt, somehow. I didn't have to have a conscience about it. I was doing it for Simon, because he was there, Mac. I saw him. And you had the tape – I thought …' She sighed. ‘And now they know anyway,' she said.

He hadn't been doing it for bloody Simon. If he had thought that it would have got rid of Simon, he'd have given the police that tape without a moment's hesitation. He got up and looked out of the window, his back to her.

‘You didn't think I was blackmailing you at the hotel,' he muttered.

‘No. I'd had nothing to eat and too much to drink. I'd been hurt – really badly hurt. Mac, I love Simon! I don't
want
to have an affair. I just want to keep him out of prison.'

So that's all it had been. The result of too much booze on an empty stomach. He had been right in the first place. It might just as well have been one of the reps. ‘Then get out,' he said.

She did.

Lionel had been watching television when Chief Inspector Lloyd had arrived with yet another police officer. A woman this time – very nice, too. It hadn't surprised him to see Lloyd at the door; they had said that someone would call. But they had asked if there was somewhere private, and that had surprised him a little, and alerted him. If they thought that Frances shouldn't hear, perhaps he and Parker weren't lying low enough. But they couldn't know about that, he thought, as he took them into the sewing room that he sometimes used as a makeshift study.

They said it was about Sharon; Lionel tried not to sigh aloud with relief. But he hadn't gone to them with what Mrs Smith had said about Sharon being expected home, and he ought to have told them. Anything, they had said. Anything that might help. If he told them now it would look a little …

‘What did you do after you left Mr Parker at the football ground on Friday night?' Lloyd asked.

‘I went home,' said Lionel. ‘I think I told the police officer who spoke to me next day.'

‘No – I want to know exactly, Mr Evans. You left the executive box with Parker – he went to talk to Sharon, and you left the ground. What did you do then?'

‘I went to my car – I went home.'

Lloyd perched on the edge of the sewing-machine table. ‘But you had just had a very nasty shock, hadn't you?' he asked.

Oh, God. Lionel licked his lips. ‘What?' he said evasively.

‘Mr Parker had just informed you that Sharon Smith had found irregularities in the accounts held on behalf of Parker Development,' Llyod said steadily.

Lionel knew that his mouth was opening and shutting. ‘He said something about … yes,' he said, hoping that the perspiration that he could feel trickling down the back of his neck was not as evident to his inquisitors as it was to him. ‘ So Sharon said, at any rate.'

Inspector Hill looked interested. ‘Do you think it's likely to have been a mischievous allegation?' she asked.

He had been over this. He had known that this had to happen some day – that was part of the plan, after all. All that was happening was the questions were coming sooner than he had expected. But he had prepared the answers. With great difficulty, Lionel took himself in hand.

‘Well, I find it hard to believe that …' He stopped, as though unwilling to put into words the thought that had crossed his mind. That was better than blaming Whitworth straight out. Defend him. Defend his integrity. Nice chap. Clever wife. Doesn't make enough of herself though, so not really so surprising that he took to the fetching, if dull, Sharon.

Detective Chief Inspector Lloyd was apparently engrossed in the intricacies of Frances's sewing machine, but he joined in the conversation none the less. ‘Find what hard to believe, Mr Evans?'

Lionel took his eyes away from the inspector, and focused on Lloyd. ‘That there could be anything wrong with the accounts,' he said. ‘I took on Mr Whitworth for his expertise in these complex development projects. I'm fine when it comes to doing land searches for semis, but …'

Somehow, without Parker's voice saying it, it didn't sound so clever. It didn't sound so likely. And it didn't sound good. For the first time, the very first time, Lionel was alone with only his conscience. No devil perched on his left shoulder, telling him what he could do with his share of the loot; no street-smart Parker to make it all sound like an exciting game with high stakes. Just a dreadful feeling that it wasn't going to work, and an even worse feeling which, if it did work, he would have to live with for ever.

‘Is that what Sharon thought? That it was Whitworth who was cooking the books?'

Lionel frowned. ‘I … I don't know,' he said.

‘So you had had a nasty shock, as I said,' said Lloyd. ‘But you just went to your car, and drove away?' he asked.

‘Well – no. I couldn't believe it – I didn't want to believe it. I sat there for a few minutes. I heard the announcement that the match was being abandoned, and people began to come out. That's when I left.'

‘And when did you see Sharon?' Lloyd looked up from the sewing machine, his face the picture of innocence as he asked his deadly question.

‘I didn't,' said Lionel, now thoroughly alarmed. ‘I didn't see her at all.'

‘You must have done,' said Lloyd. ‘You were on the balcony with Parker. And Sharon left moments before the match was abandoned – moments before you did.'

Lionel shook his head. ‘I must have missed her,' he said.

Lloyd pushed himself away from the table, and handed over to his colleague with a slight raising of his eyebrows.

‘You must have wanted to speak to her, Mr Evans,' she said. ‘You must have wanted her to explain what she had found.'

Lionel nodded, shrugged. He had known what Sharon had found, and he hadn't been thinking all that clearly at the time.

‘So when you saw her, you drove up to her, and asked her to go back with you to Parker, and you would all discuss things rationally – work out some sort of solution.'

It might have been a good idea, if it had occurred to him. Or if he'd seen Sharon. But it hadn't, and he hadn't.

‘Isn't that what happened?' Lloyd asked. ‘You saw her walking back down Byford Road, and you picked her up, and took her back. But the place was deserted, and you thought perhaps you could persuade her not to blow any whistles. But it didn't work, so you panicked, and killed her.'

It was so ridiculous, it didn't even alarm him that the chief inspector was accusing him of murder. ‘ I didn't see her,' he said. ‘I didn't pick her up.'

The door opened and Frances came in with a tray on which she had put a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. Everyone fell silent until she had left, closing the door behind her.

‘Someone did,' Lloyd said. ‘Someone picked her up, and took her back to the ground. She was in the car with whoever it was until at least nine o'clock. Someone made love to her, and we think that that same someone killed her, Mr Evans.'

Lionel's mouth was permanently open. ‘You think I … you think Sharon and I were—' He almost laughed with relief. ‘Here,' he said, pointing to the tray. ‘Help yourselves. Sharon and me?' He felt light-headed, breathless. ‘ It wasn't me she was having an affair with,' he said. ‘ It was Whitworth. I didn't see her – whoever picked her up must already have done it. Try Whitworth. Sharon's mother was expecting her home at seven o'clock – she had got her supper ready. What made her go to the football match instead of going home? Whitworth, I'll be bound. If anyone picked her up and … and … well, if anyone did, it had to have been Whitworth, if what Parker told me about them is true.'