The Other Woman (36 page)

‘Whatever,' said Lloyd airily. ‘It all got very messy. Drummond told us about the car, and added his artistic touches about her taking her clothes off to make us believe that it was a man who was in the car with her. But he knew that it was a woman – and someone else knew who it had to have been.'

Judy looked unconvinced. ‘ You can't blame police corruption this time,' she said. ‘You and I and her husband knew that it was Melissa Whitworth who picked her up,' she said. ‘Last night. No one else knew. So – are you accusing me of being behind all this, or making a confession?'

He smiled.

‘No one else knew,' she repeated.

‘McDonald knew,' said Lloyd.

Judy sat back a little.

‘McDonald,' said Lloyd. ‘ Who was ‘‘lost'' for two hours on Friday night, when Bobbie Chalmers was attacked. Who has a very low opinion of women in general, something to prove, and access to any car that happens to be in the garage where he works. Mr Parry's car, for instance.' He sighed. ‘And we're hanging on to McDonald until I've checked it out.'

She looked at him seriously. ‘Do you really believe that police corruption is at the bottom of all this?' she asked.

Lloyd sighed. ‘I don't want to,' he said. ‘But someone is. Someone with access to confidential police files.'

‘Not necessarily,' said Judy, thoughtfully. ‘One of the victims could have told someone what happened to her. Someone who carried out a copy-cat attack.'

Lloyd gave her a look this time. ‘At precisely the right moment to give Drummond an alibi?' he asked, getting up. ‘Let's go.'

‘Where?' she asked.

‘Green's garage,' he said. ‘To eliminate McDonald, with any luck. I don't want to believe he could do a thing like that.'

‘I can't see anyone at all doing it,' she said, standing up, and tutting irritably as she picked at something on her skirt. ‘Damn,' she said. ‘I remember why I didn't just hang this up in the wardrobe, now.'

Lloyd never ceased to wonder at Judy's tidiness. He never hung things up in wardrobes until he ran out of surfaces to drape them over But she knew
why
she hadn't.

‘I meant to brush it,' she said. ‘It's covered in hairs from Mel—' She stopped mid-word. ‘Sharon met Melissa on Friday evening,' she said.

He didn't know at what, but his gun dog was pointing; Lloyd congratulated himself on getting Judy on to the inquiry, and convincing Andrews that she was needed on a permanent basis. He needed Judy at work just as much as he needed her in his life. All he had to do was fire off his blunderbuss imagination, and she would spot any shot that hit home.

‘Identical …' she said, her voice far away. ‘It
was
all a performance.'

Lloyd stared at her. ‘You're not seriously suggesting that Drummond does have an—' he began.

‘She had shown her hand … of course she had. The money started going in bigger amounts.' She looked triumphantly at Lloyd. ‘Do you have the forensic report on Sharon's clothes?' she asked.

‘Not yet – they won't even have started on them yet, I don't think,' he said.

‘No – the ones she was wearing when she was found. I haven't actually seen it.'

‘Yes.' He went back to the desk, and dived into the pile of papers, extracting the report with the expertise of the truly orderless.

She practically grabbed it from him, and read through it, her eyes darting from line to line. Then she pushed some stuff over on his desk to make a tiny, tidy oasis, and started checking through her notebook, frowning now and then, then making definite ticks, her brow clearing as she sat back, nodding slowly.

‘What?' he said, coming round to her side of the desk, looking over her shoulder at the undecipherable Judyscript, unable to bear the suspense any longer. ‘What is it?'

She looked up. ‘We were both wrong,' she said. ‘And we were both right.'

He had never been in Malworth police station before. He had followed Lloyd and his girlfriend there yesterday, but until last night, he had never been inside. It wasn't like Stansfield. It was an old building, with heavy varnished doors and big door-handles. Its cells were like something you'd see in an old film. He'd told them not to tell anyone he was here.

Now he was in an interview room, with a constable, waiting to be asked more questions. He hadn't said a word so far. They couldn't prove it was him, and he'd be walking out of here like he'd walked out of Stansfield. He'd ditched the knife when he heard people coming after him, and it wasn't against the law to wear a ski-mask. Two of Malworth's traffic division had beaten him up, so he would say they'd set him up if they tried to hold on to him. He'd be leaving here very soon.

The door opened and a heavy-set man came in, and sat down. ‘I'm Detective Chief Inspector Merrill,' he said. ‘You know why you're here, don't you, Mr Drummond?'

That was better. None of that Colin stuff. And Merrill didn't move around all the time. He just sat down like everyone else. Colin shrugged.

‘A young girl was raped last night,' said Merrill. ‘She was the fourth rape victim in recent weeks. What can you tell me about that, Mr Drummond?'

Colin looked uninterested. He was uninterested. It was the next one that interested him.

Mrs J. Hill. That was what it said on the name-plate on the door. It had been exciting, planning it for a particular target, rather than the opportunist raid that he had finally carried out. Watching them until one strayed off alone was all right, but he still liked the idea of a planned strike. He'd be out of here in no time, and this time he would get her when she was really alone.

Or thought she was.

They stood outside Bobbie's flat in Malworth, in a tableau of determination and frustration, the drizzle seeping into everything, covering the cars in a glaze of tiny drops. Lloyd hadn't come up to the flat; Judy had pointed out that whatever else Bobbie Chalmers might be, she was still a very recent victim, and a man's presence might not help the interview.

What interview? Bobbie Chalmers had said nothing from the moment Judy had cautioned her. Nothing at all. Judy had tried everything she knew, but her success on her first visit had been the result of Bobbie's having to talk about what had happened to her to someone. Now, she was out of hospital, and Judy was beginning to realise what strength she must have when she had not just been brutally attacked.

She had shown Bobbie the search warrant, asked to look in the boot of the car, and gone down to tell Lloyd that she had got nowhere. Now he stood beside the car, watching as Bobbie Chalmers sorted out the keys on her ring.

Judy had hoped to keep the two incidents separate, but if it was the only way to get answers, then it was. ‘I know who raped you, Bobbie,' she said.

There wasn't even a vestige of a pause as Bobbie selected the key. ‘I wasn't raped,' she said.

It was the first time she had spoken, but Judy didn't feel the little surge of adrenalin that she usually did on producing a response, because she knew this one was going to get her no further. Even she didn't need her notebook; that was going to be the extent of Bobbie's statement.

‘Open the car boot, please,' she said, with the resigned air of one who knew that there would be nothing in the car boot. But she had got the search warrant, so she might as well search.

Bobbie opened the boot; Judy looked through the oddments, and stood back. ‘You can close it now,' she said.

Lloyd had been watching the performance with an air of what could only be described as amusement; Judy glared at him. They needed answers, and they hadn't been given any; needed evidence, and they hadn't found any. It wasn't funny. She closed her unused notebook. ‘We may want to ask you more questions,' she said.

Bobbie nodded.

Lloyd walked up to her, and smiled. ‘Well, thank you, Miss Chalmers,' he said, with his very best Welsh accent. ‘ Nice to have met you – oh, incidentally – Mr Parker can vouch for someone called …' He made great play of finding a piece of paper, and his glasses, and what he was looking for. ‘Ah, here it is. He can vouch for a man called Dennis Parry, can he?'

Dennis Parry had denied ever having heard of Jake Parker, of course.

Bobbie frowned slightly. ‘ You'd better ask him,' she said.

‘We tried, but we can't contact him. He's not at home, and he's not in the office. Parry said you knew him, but obviously you don't– we'll just have to go ahead and charge him.'

Judy found Lloyd's facility for lying a little disturbing at times.

Bobbie looked flustered for the first time. ‘What – what's he supposed to have done?' she asked.

Lloyd put on the expression that suggested he was worried that he might have put his foot in it. ‘Look,' he said, transparently changing the subject. ‘ You shouldn't be standing out here in this weather. You get back inside, and keep warm.'

‘He works for Jake,' Bobbie said uncomfortably, throwing the information over her shoulder as she turned back towards the doorway. ‘Sort of.'

They got back into the car, with Lloyd being intolerably smug. ‘You met your match at last,' he said. ‘I knew you had to one day.'

‘Pity you didn't try your technique sooner,' said Judy.

‘She isn't going to say a word about Friday night,' he said. ‘ Not to anyone.'

No. Judy sighed. She could see this whole thing going down as unsolved. And she was damned if that was going to happen.

‘Jake Parker next,' said Lloyd. ‘I think we'll take Finch with us, though.'

They wouldn't find anything there either, Judy thought gloomily. ‘She'll be on the phone to him right now, warning him,' she said. ‘I don't suppose your insistence that he was somehow uncontactable will stop her.'

Lloyd shrugged. ‘Probably not,' he said. ‘But if I know Mr Parker, he will have removed every shred of evidence already, so what difference does it make?'

None.

Jake tore up the last of the evidence that could point to him in any way at all, put it in the log-burning Aga, and watched it go up in flames. He'd hated that pretentious bloody thing when he'd moved in. Having to get logs out of their plastic covering in their wooden log bin like some gentleman farmer when he was in the middle of an industrial town. Having to work out how to boil an egg on it. Now, he loved every inch of its rustic body.

But he was hot. He peeled off his shirt, and went along to the bathroom, whistling softly to himself as he undressed. At least it wasn't a log-burning shower. He had just stepped into it when he heard the phone ring.

Oh, to hell. Let it ring.

He felt better once he had showered. As he turned off the water, he heard the banging at the door, and frowned. He knew who knocked like that, and it wasn't double-dazing salesmen.

‘All right, all right!' he shouted. ‘Don't knock the door down, boys. I'm coming.'

He plucked his bath-robe from the door, and wrapped it round himself as he walked along the corridor, and opened the door.

‘Mr Parker,' said Lloyd.

‘Mr Lloyd. And Detective Inspector Hill – perhaps I should get dressed, since there are ladies present.'

‘This is Detective Sergeant Finch,' said Lloyd, as all three walked in past him.

‘We've met,' said Jake. He wished he had put some clothes on. He felt very vulnerable. He closed the door, and walked into the living-room, where Finch was already opening drawers in a swift and professional search of the bureau. Too late, thought Jake, glancing at the warrant that Inspector Hill was holding up for his inspection.

‘I thought it would be a different department who was dealing with this,' Jake said pleasantly. ‘You won't find anything, Sergeant Finch,' he added. ‘I wasn't involved.' He smiled. ‘But I suppose you have to look,' he said.

‘Your offices are also being searched,' said Lloyd.

Jake nodded. ‘I thought they would be,' he said. That was why he had gone in on Saturday morning and destroyed anything and everything that might connect him with the scam. He had covered his traces. He knew how the police worked.

And because he did, he was just a little worried. Lloyd and his lady inspector were on the murder inquiry.

‘It would be a month ago, would it?' said Lloyd. ‘When Sharon came to you and told you what she had discovered?'

Jake took a cigarette from a box on the coffee table, and lit it with the heavy table-lighter. He sat on the sofa. ‘No,' he said. ‘It was Friday. Just before the opening do.'

Finch had moved on to the bookcase, pulling out books, holding them by their covers, shaking the pages.

‘Then too,' said Lloyd. ‘But I rather think her first visit was about a month ago. And she told you that she knew what you and Evans were up to.'

Jake still smiled, and poured himself some whisky. Guess-work. This was guess-work. He had taken care of everything – they could guess till they turned green, they couldn't prove a thing.

The inspector had her notebook out again. My – she had been busy since yesterday afternoon.

‘She came to you first, rather than go straight to the police,' said Lloyd. ‘ Blackmail?' He raised his eyebrows in a query. ‘Perhaps,' he went on. ‘But from what I've heard of her, I think not. You had been good to her – you had got her the job with Evans when she had to move back to Stansfield. She didn't want to make trouble for you if she could avoid it:

Jake drew smoke deep into his lungs, and released it in a blue stream. ‘Sorry,' he said. ‘The first I knew about it was Friday.'

Lloyd sat down, while the industrious Finch began on the hi-fi cabinet, with its LPs and cassettes and videos and compact discs. He'd be there all day. And he would find nothing. Jake reached across to the ashtray, but the ash fell from his cigarette on to the flowered upholstery. Shame. ‘ If you don't mind, Mr Lloyd, I'm a busy man. I should be at work – so perhaps you'd come to the point.'