Authors: Faith Martin
She just had to keep plodding on and hope that there was something out there that he had missed, and that she would recognize it when she came across it.
D
ebbie Gregg rose early after a fitful night, and made her partner’s breakfast. He was fairly easy to feed, and this morning’s fare consisted of cornflakes, toast and marmalade, and a strong pot of tea. She herself could eat nothing.
She kissed him goodbye at his usual time, and then glanced at her watch. She had a part-time job in a dental practice in town, but she wasn’t due to start until 1.30.
Best to get it over with now.
She picked up the phone, and reached for the card the woman copper had left with her yesterday. She rang the CRT department and was instantly put on hold. Nervously, Debbie paced about the room with the phone in her hand, going over and over again in her mind what she wanted to say, and how she wanted to say it, and then abruptly sat down.
She gave a short bark of near-hysterical laughter. This was just like Anne, to be ruining her life, all over again.
‘Hello? Mrs Gregg?’ Hillary Greene’s voice in her ear made Debbie jump and she leaned forward, hunching her shoulders protectively and suddenly wishing that she still smoked. Right now, she could just do with a fag.
‘Yes. You called round my house yesterday. About my sister’s case,’ she heard herself rasp, and took a deep breath.
‘Yes, I remember who you are, Mrs Gregg,’ Hillary said softly.
‘Well, I’ve just remembered something, see. Something we probably talked about yesterday must have triggered it off in my mind, because at about half past three this morning, I suddenly woke up and thought of it,’ she lied, then wondered if she was talking too fast, and tried to relax a bit.
She had to spin it, so this canny copper would swallow it.
‘It’s funny how things like that can happen, isn’t it? I mean I wasn’t thinking about our Anne, particularly. But even if you think of something else, I suppose your subconscious mind carries on worrying about it. Chewing it over, so to speak. Or that’s what they say, isn’t it?’
On her chair, Debbie cringed. Now she was definitely waffling. Why the hell didn’t she just say what she’d phoned to say and get it over with?
‘Yes, it very often happens that way,’ Hillary replied patiently. ‘Why don’t I pop over to see you and we can talk about it? It won’t take me much more than half an hour or so to get there.’
Debbie shot off the chair and began to pace again.
‘Oh there’s no need for that,’ she said quickly. ‘I mean, it’s a fair old way to come, and it’s probably nothing. Well, nothing important. It’s just that—’
‘If it’s all the same to you, Mrs Gregg,’ Hillary said, doing something she very rarely did, which was to interrupt a witness in mid-flow, ‘I’d rather do this in person. I’ll start out right away, and should be there by ten.’
There was something in her voice that didn’t brook much argument, and Debbie felt her temper flare for just a second, before she quickly got it under control. Her mother had always said that her eldest daughter had her infamous Granny Webber’s temper, and would often regale her with tales about the trouble her grandmother’s temper had led her into.
Determined not to lose it, she swallowed back the angry retorts that crowded into her mouth, and took a deep breath instead. The last thing she needed right now was to start a barney with the likes of this one. She had to remember just who she was dealing with. She might have her Granny Webber’s temper, but she also had her famous instincts, and they were all telling her that Hillary Greene was no Andrew Squires; she might have been able to run rings around Squires. She wasn’t half so confident that she could do the same with the competent red-head.
‘OK fine, but I still think we can just use the phone. It won’t take me two minutes to say my piece,’ she persevered, careful to keep her tone light.
‘About ten then, Mrs Gregg,’ Hillary said, and suddenly Debbie was left with just that annoying disconnected telephone buzz in her ear.
She hung up with an explosive bang and prowled about some more. Damn, she needed a fag. But Colin wasn’t a smoker either, so there were no fags in the house.
She swore and paced some more.
Back at HQ, Hillary stuck her head in the communal office, but only Jimmy was in.
‘I need a lift to Brackley again. Debbie Gregg’s just phoned with some new information for us.’ And added softly, ‘Or so she says.’
Jimmy didn’t need to be told twice.
As he drove to the small market town in Northamptonshire for the second time in as many days, Hillary stared thoughtfully out of the window.
She’d been determined to do the interview with her witness face to face simply because she needed to watch Debbie Gregg’s body language. People lied to you all the time – and they lied even more if you happened to be a cop investigating a crime. And it was far easier to get away with it on the telephone. But face to face, she’d be able to watch the older woman’s eyes, her hands, the way she sat, and be in a better position to gauge whether or not any hesitation in her voice meant prevarication or a genuine attempt at recall.
And if it did turn out to be nothing important after all, as she was so careful to maintain – well, they got paid for the petrol. And any time spent out of that stationery cupboard that was masquerading as her office, the better.
When they pulled up outside Debbie’s modest little house, Hillary saw the curtain move and knew they were expected. Nevertheless, Debbie let them ring the doorbell, then wait a few moments before she answered the door.
Playing a power game, or just taking time to get all her skittles lined up in order? Probably both, Hillary decided, as the door opened, and a totally blank-faced woman looked back at her.
‘Hello again,’ Hillary said pleasantly. It took effort to school your face into showing no expression at all, and she wondered exactly what it was the older woman was trying to hide.
Debbie nodded, and glanced beyond them. It was a dull but dry day outside, not too cold, but there was nobody out and about. She shut the door firmly behind them. Again, there was no offer of tea or coffee, and she led them straight through to the same room as they’d occupied yesterday. She waited until they had seated themselves, once again side by side on the sofa, then sat down herself. Hillary wondered if she was the only one feeling like she was trapped in a time warp.
‘I’ve got to go out soon,’ Debbie lied, still annoyed by having to do this face to face.
Ever since visiting her niece yesterday, Debbie had been wracking her brains for something to feed to the cops to keep them off her back. It had to be genuine, otherwise the sods would probably do her for wasting police time or something, and in the end, what she’d remembered wasn’t much of a crumb, but it should give them something else to gnaw on.
Or so she hoped.
‘It was just after Anne’s funeral. You know, it was delayed a bit, because of the coroner holding on to the body for so long,’ she began cautiously.
Hillary nodded. ‘That sometimes happens.’
‘Yeah. Well, it was written up about in the local papers, like, and they had a photographer there, at Anne’s funeral. It upset Melvin something terrible, it did, to have some strange bloke snapping away as if he was at a wedding. Sorry, that’s not the point, is it.’
Debbie’s eyes once again began to wander around the room. Hillary had noticed this habit yesterday, and had wondered then if it was a way of deliberately avoiding eye contact. Now she was far more inclined to think it was a nervous habit of long standing.
And not necessarily significant.
‘Anyway, I was in Tesco’s, doing a bit of shopping, when this woman came up to me. Funny enough I knew her, sort of, because she used to work on the tills – in Tesco’s I mean, although she didn’t then. When she came up to me, I mean. I suppose she’d found a better job somewhere else, but still did her shopping there,’ Debbie gabbled confusingly, but Hillary was following what she meant. Just. What Jimmy, who was taking the notes must be making of it, she wasn’t sure, but she could trust him to keep quiet until later.
‘Yes, I understand,’ Hillary said. ‘Go on.’
As if aware that she was making a hash of it, Debbie suddenly coloured and bit her lip. ‘I’m just explaining things, so’s you’ll know why I remembered her name, even though I didn’t know her.’ She sighed and gave a brief laugh. ‘It was because when I used to see it on her name tag, you know, the ones they wear on their uniform lapel, it was the same name as a girl I went to school with. Diane Burgess.’
Debbie paused for a breath, then glanced at Hillary briefly before turning her gaze back to inspect a lacklustre print on the wall behind her. ‘It wasn’t the same Dianne Burgess that I knew, of course. She went to Australia with some bloke she married. I’m just explaining, like, how I came to know a stranger’s name. Well, not a stranger, exactly, like I said, I used to go to her till, sometimes, and we’d chat a bit.’
‘I understand,’ Hillary said again, wondering why Debbie, who yesterday had been rather defiant and not exactly garrulous, now felt the need to say quite so much.
‘Anyway, I was in the bakery section, looking for some of these rolls I liked, when she sort of sidled up to me and said how sorry she was for all my trouble. Meaning Anne, of course. That was all anybody meant, back then.’
Debbie’s tone took on a bitter note, and as if aware of it, she suddenly shook her head.
‘Anyway, usually when people came up wanting to “pay their respects” – and what a laugh that is – what they really wanted to do was pump me for information, or get a cheap thrill talking to a murder suspect.’ Debbie’s lips twisted into a grim smile. ‘Anyway, I was just about to say something pithy and leave her to it, when she suddenly put her hand on my arm and said she knew what I was going through. Well, that stopped me in my tracks.’
‘Yes, I can see how it might,’ Hillary agreed. ‘So let’s just make sure I’ve got this right. A woman called Diane Burgess, who used to work in Tesco’s, came up to you just after your sister’s funeral and said she knew what you were going through?’
‘Right,’ Debbie nodded. ‘So I said something like, “Oh, you’ve had someone in your family murdered too, then?” or something sarky like that. Well, of course, she blushed a little bit, because obviously she hadn’t, had she? But instead of walking off in a snit, like most of them did when I told them what to do with their phoney pity, she looked around, quick like, to see if anyone was listening in on us, and then said, no, it wasn’t that. It was just that she knew what it was like to find out that Anne had been sleeping with your husband.’
Hillary felt herself stiffen slightly. This was new information indeed, for Andrew Squires hadn’t been able to find any evidence of Anne McRae’s infidelity with anyone other than Shane Gregg.
‘I see,’ she said quietly, trying not to let on how interested she suddenly was. ‘And what did you say to that?’
Debbie smiled grimly. ‘Well, not a lot, as it happens. I mean, what can you say? It was embarrassing enough to have everyone know me and Shane’s private business, and let me tell you, the whole world knowing that your husband’s been shagging your little sister on the sly is humiliating enough,’ Debbie again paused to take a deep breath. ‘But to have some virtual stranger come up and commiserate with you because that self-same little sister has been banging her husband as well – well, that takes the wind out your sails, let me tell you. I mean, what
could
I do? Or say? I could hardly invite this Diane Burgess woman back to my place for a coffee so that we could have a good old chinwag and slag off Anne, could I? She’d just been murdered for Pete’s sake! Besides, what good would comparing notes do either one of us?’
‘So what
did
you say?’ Hillary repeated patiently.
‘Nothing much. I think I said sorry, as if it was somehow all my fault. And muttered something embarrassing and lame, like how I hoped things worked out for her. And then I scarpered.’ Suddenly, Debbie gave a sharp laugh. ‘Never did buy the rolls I wanted, neither.’
‘And you didn’t tell this to DI Squires?’ Hillary chided gently.
‘No,’ Debbie said shortly. And seeing the red-headed woman’s eyebrows rise in silent query, she sighed grimly. Bloody coppers were all the same. They all wanted their pound of flesh. ‘By then, I’d wised up, hadn’t I?’ Debbie carried on grudgingly. ‘Squires had had me down at the bloody station answering questions a dozen times or more by the time we’d buried Anne, and I’d got sick and tired of it, and got myself a solicitor. And every time he pulled me in, I kept quiet until my brief got there. And so by the time this woman came up to me in Tesco’s I wasn’t talking much to the cops any more.’
Hillary sighed. She could see how that could happen. And no doubt there was also a hint of one-upmanship in Debbie not passing on the information to the SIO in charge of her sister’s case. It was human nature to get resentful and bloody-minded when pressed too far, after all.
Even so, she must have understood that it could have been significant. Debbie was not stupid. She must have realized that uncovering another lover for her sister meant that there was now another murder suspect for DI Squires to question.
Unless, of course, Debbie didn’t care whether or not her sister’s killer was ever caught. By her own admission, she was angry with Anne, and resentful of her youth and good looks. Perhaps keeping the information to herself was her way of exacting some measure of revenge.
‘And then I just forgot about it, as time went on,’ Debbie continued. ‘It wasn’t hard – there was so much going on back then. Me and Shane were splitting up and getting divorced. I was looking around for a new gaff, and what with one thing and another, I never gave it much of a thought until last night. I dare say you coming around and raking it all up again – about Anne, I mean – jogged my memory, like.’
‘Well, I’m glad it finally did, Mrs Gregg,’ Hillary said. ‘It could be a very important piece of evidence.’
‘Well, maybe,’ Debbie said dubiously. ‘Don’t see how, though. I mean, I can’t see her, that Diane Burgess, being involved. She was a bit of a mouse, if you ask me. And definitely not the sort to take a rolling pin to somebody.’