The Other Woman (33 page)

Judy grabbed at the skirt that she had uncharacteristically left over the back of the chair on Saturday, when she had changed her clothes and had a bath and tried to pretend that she hadn't been the victim of a pathetic act of revenge. She pulled her clothes on, and glanced at herself in the mirror as she raced past, coming out into the hallway to hear the hum of her battery shaver now that she had vacated the bathroom, which Lloyd had considered was not a moment too soon.

That would be wrong too, she thought. He didn't have time for a wet shave, and that ridiculous shaver wouldn't take the fuzz off a peach. She was proved right when he emerged from the bathroom, declaring that he looked like Desperate bloody Dan, and that they were going to the Whitworths' again.

Judy stopped in the act of putting on a shoe while hopping about on one foot. ‘If we're not going straight to work, why are we killing ourselves to get out?' she asked.

‘I rang Tom while you were in the bathroom,' he said, ignoring her question. ‘ It gave me something to do while I was waiting. And I've brought him up to date on what we were told last night – he'll pass it on to Barstow for the team-talk.'

Judy put on her shoe. ‘And why are we going to the Whitworths'?'

‘Because either they are involved in this, or they're not, and I have to know one way or the other,' he said, draping his tie round his collar, and looking round for the mirror that had been in the hall until she had put the pegs up. ‘Bedroom,' she said.

He stood in front of the wardrobe, and called out to her as she hastily applied make-up. Clearly, calling on the Whitworths was to make their exit from the flat no more leisurely.

‘On the one hand,' he said, ‘I've got Freddie telling me this girl was inexperienced with men. On the other, I've got Melissa Whitworth telling me she was a vamp. On the whole, I think that Freddie is less biased.'

‘So?' said Judy, cautiously.

‘So at best Mrs Whitworth's distress is exaggerating her impression of Sharon – and at worst—' he came out of the bedroom – ‘she's lying. I have to know if that's for her husband's benefit or ours.'

‘Or Sharon was lying,' said Judy. ‘ To Mrs Whitworth.'

‘Why?'

Judy dabbed lipstick on to a hankie. ‘ To make damn sure she broke up the marriage,' she said.

Lloyd looked interested, and then remembered that he was in a bad mood. ‘And,' he went on, ‘in view of her inexperience, it's reasonable to suppose that the man that Sharon was with was Whitworth.'

Judy shook her head in wonderment. ‘I said that last night,' she said. ‘You said it was Drummond!'

‘And that if it was Whitworth,' Lloyd continued, as though she hadn't spoken, ‘then he is lying about not being at the football match. And there seems little reason for him to do that, unless he saw something that he wants to keep from us. Like his wife, who was supposed to be at home at the time. Perhaps she didn't just happen to see Sharon and pick her up again. Perhaps she was watching, and waiting.'

‘So you've changed your mind about police corruption and Drammond seeing the murder?' she asked mischievously.

Lloyd scowled. ‘ No, since you ask. But I mustn't have tunnel vision. Besides, we know these two were both involved with Sharon on Friday night, and we don't have an ounce of proof that Drummond was. Yet.'

Judy sighed, and they went out to face Monday morning and the Whitworths. A drizzle that was barely visible, blown by a persistent wind, was soaking into everything; the warmth that had lifted the other days after the pre-dawn fog was no more. Clouds were streaking, grey and dismal, across the sky.

A lot of little puzzles, Lloyd had said, thought Judy, as they drove out of Malworth. She took her notebook from her bag, and looked through the notes, pausing at each query. Some had been resolved.

Wearing leisure suit to work?
That had a cross beside it, and a description of what she had been wearing to work. And it was reasonable, Judy supposed, to change out of working clothes and into something more suitable for watching a football match, why should that entail actually buying clothes specially? That had seemed odd, but perhaps they had the answer now.

Newspaper cutting
. It had been in the pocket of Sharon's skirt; that should have suggested to them that the appointment with Melissa Fletcher/Whitworth had been made during the course of the day, and from what Evans had said, it seemed that it must have been; she had told her mother that she would be home at seven, and that would explain the change of plan. But someone who was solicitous enough of her mother's feelings to move back in when her father died had not rung to stop a meal being made for her? Still – she would have been under some emotional stress, given what she was going to do. And perhaps she had wanted to wear something new, something special, to boost her confidence.

Along the dual carriageway, through the village, past Lloyd's flat, over the roundabout, and up Byford Road, where Melissa had picked up Sharon Smith. And she had wanted to be taken back to the ground, but not, it would seem, in order to collect the clothes she had left there, though she still had the key.

Key
. Parker had lent her the key, and she had kept it, intending to go back and pick up her other clothes. And perhaps the altercation between Barnes and Parker had alarmed her enough to forget them. But when she went back with Melissa Whitworth? Surely she would have remembered by then? And yet, she hadn't mentioned them, or given that as her reason for wanting to go back. That was also a little odd.

Past the old post office, its grassed surrounds no longer on the Council mowing list, and obviously not on the new owner's either. The tall, yellowing grass shifted wetly in the dismal wind. The road at the rear that once had led to Mitchell Engineering now led nowhere, and cars were parked along it, belonging to those who worked in the little offices and shops of the village. This was where Melissa Whitworth had had her close shave.

Almost ran over an unlit motorbike
. That had to be Drummond. He had said that he had left the football ground at nine, and had been driving around. In which case, what had made him decide on his death or glory ride? Perhaps Lloyd was right; perhaps he had seen the murder. Or perhaps he had been murdering Sharon Smith himself. But there was nothing, either on his clothes or Sharon's, to suggest that he had been anywhere near her; no witness, no shred of evidence. Finch couldn't find that there had ever been any kind of connection between them. Logic said that he didn't know her, and her history suggested that she did not have quickies in the changing rooms with men she had never met. So he had not been with Sharon after Melissa Whitworth had left her. But what
had
he been doing?

Further on, and the football ground was on their left, already back to normal. No blue and white ribbon, no cars and vans. Much the way it had been when Sharon went back up there with Melissa Whitworth.

Football ground
. Parker and Evans were involved in a fraud over the development at the football ground. Melissa Whitworth had met Sharon at the football ground. There had been a fight at the football ground. Whitworth even took Parker back there when he had been released.

Why did Barnes start the fight?
Lloyd's question.
Did
Barnes start the fight? Judy wouldn't take Parker's word for anything.

Why did Parker change his story?
Lloyd's question again. To keep the police out of what he regarded as his business, Parker said.

Why did Drummond follow Sharon?
Because he knew her, according to Lloyd. Because perhaps he was the over-possessive single man, about whom she may not have been generalising. But that didn't accord with the evidence.

And all of them there, at the football ground. There were an awful lot of coincidences, she thought gloomily. She could see why Lloyd thought that Bobbie Chalmers was just one too many, and turned to her notes on the rape.

Lloyd was wrong. She wouldn't allow herself to believe that someone had leaked confidential information for such a purpose. And yet, he had got rid of the mask and knife this time; why? Why was this time different? But Lloyd couldn't be right. He couldn't. Merrill might be right – Bobbie might know who the rapist was.

‘Are you not speaking to me?' Lloyd asked.

She smiled. ‘Sorry. Just reviewing the situation.'

‘The situation is that we are having to go and waste more of our time with these …' He made a dismissive noise when, for once in his life, he failed to come up with a word.

‘You're letting them render you speechless,' she said, with a smile. ‘You really do disapprove of them, don't you?'

‘Don't you?' he asked, signalling right at the top of the hill, on the home stretch to the Whitworths' house.

‘No, I don't think so,' said Judy. ‘ Melissa Whitworth's all right. I don't know him.'

Lloyd took his eyes off the road, the better to show Judy his astonishment. ‘We are about to question her for the fourth time about her movements on Friday night,' he said. ‘For all you know she strangled that girl!'

‘With a man's tie?'

‘Probably her husband's tie,' muttered Lloyd sourly. He didn't like it when his theories were dented, even when he didn't go along with them himself. ‘She went home to get it specially.'

‘According to your last bit of deduction, she didn't go home at all. And I don't believe she killed her,' said Judy. ‘Any more than you do.'

Lloyd sighed loudly as the house, perched on its own on the edge of acres of fields, came into view in the distance. ‘How can you say she's all right?' he asked. ‘All you know about her is that she jumps into bed with total strangers.'

Judy laughed. ‘She jumped into bed with someone that she had met briefly. When she had had too many drinks and too much to put up with from her husband – marriage is like that sometimes.'

‘I see,' said Lloyd. ‘You're back on that, are you?' On the exposed bypass, he flicked the wipers to full speed as rain misted his windscreen. ‘ If you married me, I could look forward to your hanging about hotels getting drunk and looking for rough trade, is that it?'

Judy smiled as they heard the siren; she turned to see the area car, lights flashing, indicating that it was going to overtake. It squealed to a halt outside the Whitworths' house, and its two occupants met the man who was running down the path towards them.

Lloyd pulled in behind the police car, and Judy leapt out to see that it was Gil McDonald, of all people, who had run to meet it.

‘She's dead!' he was shouting. ‘She's dead! Just … just the same way. She's …'

And he sank to the grass verge on his knees, his head in his hands.

A police car. Lionel had thought that they might at least turn up in an unmarked car. The village would be buzzing by mid-morning at this rate. He frowned. Two uniformed constables? He had rather been expecting a tough, gimlet-eyed chief inspector, with two sharp young detective sergeants in tow. Surely two constables weren't about to examine his accounting records?

No. They'd be there with the warrant or whatever. And Simon thought he had problems, just because he'd had a spat with Melissa and lost his job. There were times when he would have given almost anything for Frances to start yelling at him. And what wouldn't he give never to have seen the inside of a solicitor's office in the first place? But it had been expected. That was what his family had always done.

Evans and Son and Grandson – that was what his grandfather had called the firm when Lionel joined it. Fortunately – in some respects, because he had really been rather fond of his grandfather – the old man had died not long afterwards, and Lionel's father had contracted the name to Evans and Evans. Which was what it had continued to be called even after his father's death. Until Simon came along. Lionel had realised that having his name on the brass plate meant more to Simon than his percentage; it had been the lure that had hooked him.

Lionel had tried to make Simon go home and have a shave and some breakfast, but he was just sitting at his desk, staring into space. He could hardly have been expected to be any too pleased at Lionel's news, of course. It was hard to know how to tell someone that there had never really been a job for him anyway, and now that the Evans part of Evans and Whitworth was about to be publicly disgraced, the Whitworth part should think about moving on.

That had seemed to upset him more than anything. Much more than the bust-up with his wife – more even, than Sharon's death, in a way. He'd hidden his feelings about that in the vain hope that his wife wouldn't find out. But he couldn't hide his feelings about losing his job.

There had been no knock on his office door. If they were looking through the stuff in the secretary's office without so much as telling him that they were on the premises …

He walked across the room, and stepped out into the corridor. The policemen were taking Simon out. They stopped, one either side of Simon, almost having to hold him up.

‘Melissa's dead,' Simon said, his voice expressionless.

Lionel's eyes grew wide. ‘Dead?' he repeated.

‘I think,' said Simon very slowly, ‘that they think I killed her.'

‘No one said that, sir. We just have to ask you a few questions, that's all.'

‘Oh, my God – what happened? When did it happen?'

Simon looked at the policemen, who looked at Lionel.

‘Do you want me to come, Simon?' Lionel asked, forgetting for the moment his own appointment with the constabulary.

Simon shook his head. ‘I didn't kill her,' he said.

‘No, of course not. I just thought—'

But Simon shook his head again, and was escorted to the waiting car.

‘What were you doing there?' Finch asked.