Dead End (16 page)

‘Yes.’

‘What's he done?’

‘Can't tell.’ Zoe made a few obscene suggestions and Lucy grimaced. ‘No!!’ she typed as fast as she could. ‘Nothing to do with me. WORSE than that.’

‘Did he try it on with your sister?’

‘Haven't got one.’

‘With your brother?’

‘No! Nothing like that.’

‘Good.’

‘No, not good. It's WORSE than that.’

‘Worse?!’

‘Much worse.’

‘What??’

‘Can't say.’

‘You have to tell me now.’

‘I can't tell anyone.’

‘I'm your friend. You know you can trust me.’

‘I can't tell.’

‘I won't tell.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

Lucy hesitated. She glanced at the door. ‘I hate my dad. I really hate him. I wish I could go away.’

She was relieved that Zoe couldn't see her face. She hadn't realised she was crying, but tears were spilling down her cheeks and she made no attempt to stop them.

‘What about your mum?’ Zoe asked. ‘Don't you have a mum?’

Lucy was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘My mum's dead.’

‘OMG what happened?’

Lucy shook her head, logged-off and flung herself on her bed, still sobbing.

26

STALKER

T
hursday was Susie's day off. Vernon hadn't appreciated how much he relied on seeing her during the day. He usually passed the time flitting around the shop floor, just in case he caught her as she went for a break, or came back from one. He watched out for her along the aisles, and hoped to see her on the till next to his, the monotony of his working day punctuated by their brief encounters. Sometimes they took their breaks at the same time and he would make a point of sitting next to her. Susie always had plenty to tell him about her social life. She had a boyfriend who didn't seem to be around much. Vernon didn't like to ask too many personal questions but, as far as he could make out, her boyfriend was away at university in Bristol and Susie spent most of her evenings going out with girlfriends, having a good time. ‘It was a laugh,’ was her favourite expression. Vernon struggled to make it sound as though he was equally busy. In reality he spent much of his free time looking after his invalid mother.

When Susie was away there was little to relieve the boredom of his working day, so he was pleased to see her walking along the shop floor towards him on Friday.

She caught his eye, paused, and smiled at him. ‘Hey, Vernon.’

‘Hey.’

‘Got anything planned for tonight?’

He nodded. ‘Seeing friends, you know. How about you?’

She grinned and started to tell him about an early firework party she had been to the previous evening. ‘It was such a laugh,’ she said, but just then the manager appeared from the other side of a display stand and she scurried away.

The manager pounced on Vernon. ‘You don't look busy.’ Vernon smiled back weakly but before he could think of anything to say the manager had launched into a catalogue of chores that needed to be done in the stock room. Vernon was only half listening. He was wondering when he would see Susie again. At last the manager finished and Vernon made his way miserably upstairs to start on his morning's tasks. He didn't expect to see Susie in the stock room and cheered up when he saw she was already there, stacking books into a plastic box.

‘Oh, it's you,’ she said, putting down the books she was holding. She sat down gingerly on the side of the crate. ‘So? Tell me what happened. Did you go to the police?’

‘Yeah, I did.’

‘And? What happened?’

Vernon took a deep breath. He felt very clumsy standing in front of her. ‘Tell you what, do you fancy going for a drink after work? Like we did last week?’ She looked away. The gesture told him all he needed to know. She wasn't interested. ‘Just a quick one?’ he pleaded, hating himself for sounding so desperate. ‘And I'll tell you all about it.’

‘Tell me now. I really want to know. What did the police say?’

Vernon stared down at her glossy blonde hair and fought the temptation to make up an extravagant lie to make himself sound more interesting. ‘Nothing really,’ he admitted. ‘I just told them what I'd seen, and they wrote it all down and made me sign it and – well, that was it, really.’ He looked around the dusty room. ‘Tim sent me up here to help with the book returns.’

Susie held out a list. ‘Here you are then. Rather you than me.’

‘I think we're supposed to be doing it together.’

‘I know, but you don't mind, do you? It's hardly going to take two of us, is it?’ She skipped out of the room and Vernon didn't see her again until it was five thirty and time for Tim to close the shutters and lock the door.

‘At last!’ Susie called out as she darted past.

‘Have a good evening,’ Vernon called after her but she didn't turn round. He didn't think she even heard him.

Vernon collected his jacket and left. He had the impression that someone walked out of the store immediately behind him, but when he turned his head to look the doorway was empty. He was in no particular hurry, so he decided to save the bus fare and walk home. The chances were he wouldn't get home much sooner if he waited for a bus anyway, because the next one wasn't due for a while, and he didn't think it was going to rain. As he left the shelter of the shopping centre, the fresh air made his eyes water. There was a faint acrid smell in the air and an occasional distant popping of fireworks. It was less than a week until November 5th. He wondered whether Susie would be going to another firework party and wished there was one he could invite her to, but there wasn't much chance of that. He turned off the main road and quickened his pace. It was growing chilly. Apart from an occasional car shooting past, the streets were deserted and dark.

A crackle of fireworks nearby startled him, making him jump, and at the same time a brilliant silver shower lit up the dark sky above the street lamps. In the sudden glare he noticed a movement behind him and looked back. Someone was moving slowly along the street towards him but, while he watched, the shadowy figure came to a halt. Vernon felt uneasy as it occurred to him that the person on the pavement hadn't stopped to look at the fireworks. On the contrary, whoever it was had been looking in the other direction away from the light, as though reluctant to be seen.

Vernon shivered and hurried on, telling himself not to be daft. He knew that no one was following him, why on earth would they be? Nevertheless, when he reached the corner of his own road, he glanced warily over his shoulder and was reassured to see the street behind him was empty. A further burst of fireworks lit up the sky just as Vernon reached his gate. Raising his hand to close it he happened to glance up. A figure was standing motionless in the shadows on the opposite side of the road, watching him.

His mother was waiting for him. ‘Is that you, Vernon?’

‘Who else are you expecting?’ He did his best to conceal his resentment, but it was hard. Most boys his age would be at the pub now, having a few pints on a Friday night, but Vernon's mother needed him at home.

‘Carol was round. She brought a fish pie,’ his mother smiled up at him as he went into the living room. Propped up against cushions she looked comfortable enough. ‘It'll need to go in the oven for about forty minutes.’

‘OK, mum.’

‘Don't forget to heat the oven first.’

‘I know what to do.’ His mother smiled sadly at him. ‘Fish pie sounds nice,’ he lied, trying to sound cheerful. ‘How was Carol?’ His mother was always in a good mood after seeing her sister, Carol, one of her few visitors apart from the carers sent by the council. They were all kind and considerate, but strangers nonetheless. They hadn't known his mother when she'd still been able to walk. ‘Did she take you out?’

‘Yes, we went for a little turn in the park.’

‘That's nice, mum.’

‘How was your day?’

‘It was fine. I'll go and put the oven on then, shall I?’

As he went into the kitchen, Vernon looked out of the window and saw a silhouette on the pavement across the road. As Vernon watched, the figure turned slowly and vanished into the darkness.

PART 3

‘Do not fear death so much, but rather the inadequate life.’

Bertolt Brecht

27

MARRIAGE

K
athryn Gordon was adamant that they must do their best to force a confession from Matthew Kirby.

‘Everything points to him,’ she said. Geraldine's irritation was growing, not only because no one seemed to be listening to her doubts about Matthew Kirby's guilt, but even more because she had nothing to support her opinion, other than her intuition.

‘He seemed pretty shocked at discovering she had been tied up,’ she insisted. ‘And he wanted to know if his wife had been raped.’

‘If he killed her, he's hardly going to be giving the impression that he knew all about the manner of her death,’ Peterson pointed out.

Geraldine frowned. It was true that, statistically, the murdered woman's husband was the most likely suspect. True, too, that his alibi was dodgy. His mistress's corroboration was hardly reliable. The rest of the team were in agreement about him, Geraldine alone insisting he was innocent. She wondered if she should reconsider. It was only Matthew Kirby's reaction to his wife's body that had convinced her he couldn't have murdered his wife, but perhaps she was relying too much on her gut feeling. Used to trusting her instincts about people, she felt a sudden wave of self doubt. She could be terribly wrong about Matthew Kirby.

Geraldine had to admit Matthew Kirby looked guilty as he sat down at the interview table. he was dishevelled and his eyes were swollen from lack of sleep as he slumped in a chair, unable to meet her gaze. His bottom lip trembled and he fiddled with the cuff on his left sleeve.

‘This won't take long, will it?’ he asked once the formalities were over. ‘Only I'm worried about my boy –’ his voice cracked.

‘What about your daughter, Mr Kirby?’ Peterson asked, leaning forward in his chair.

‘And Lucy as well, of course. I was about to say –’

‘Your daughter's had a few things of her own to say, Mr Kirby.’ Peterson's voice held a quiet threat.

‘My daughter's been… very upset… since her mother died… What… what has she been saying about me?’

The sergeant leaned back. ‘We'll ask the questions, Mr Kirby.’

‘I think –’ Matthew turned to Geraldine. ‘Look, do I need a lawyer? Am I being accused of… anything?’ He waited but she didn't answer. ‘Do you think I killed my wife?’

‘Your daughter seems to think so,’ Peterson answered.

Matthew Kirby's face fell into his hands and his shoulders shook. Peterson leaned forward but Geraldine shook her head. ‘For the tape, the suspect is distressed. Would you like a moment to pull yourself together, Mr Kirby, before we continue?’

Matthew raised his head and turned aside, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. ‘No. I'm all right. It's just that Lucy's – well, she hates me. It all started long before her mother's death, before we moved from York. And it's not just the usual teenage father-daughter thing, it's worse than that. It's because she found out about Charlotte. She's never forgiven me. And now this… I do wonder what's going to happen to her. She seems so angry, all the time. Wouldn't you be worried about her, if she was your daughter?’

Geraldine thought about Lucy, reproachful and sullen. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. Peterson glanced round at her, and she hesitated. Caught out in a moment of sympathy for the suspect she realised that she still didn't believe Matthew Kirby was capable of killing his wife. She sat back and allowed her sergeant to question him.

‘Lucy knows about your affair,’ Peterson launched in. ‘But that's not our concern. What's worrying us is her accusation that you are responsible for your wife's death.’

‘I accept I'm at least partly to blame for the breakdown in my marriage. But not my wife's death. Come on, Sergeant, do you really think I'd kill her? It's a crazy idea. We'd been married for nearly sixteen years.’

‘A marriage you wanted to end.’

‘Yes, I've not made any secret of the fact that I wanted a divorce. I've been wanting a divorce for a long time. I was waiting until my children were old enough to be more independent and then I was going to leave Abigail, with or without her agreement. I fell in love with her, I married her, our marriage broke down, I met someone else. That's it. It's not a happy story, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. Relationships end all the time. It doesn't mean I killed her. Jesus,’ his voice rose in indignation, ‘if I was that desperate to leave, don't you think I'd have packed a case and walked out by now? But I stayed, because of the children. I love my children, and I wouldn't do anything that might harm them. Do you really think I would deprive them of their mother?’ He paused before continuing in a more measured tone. ‘Maybe I didn't love Abigail any more. Maybe I never really loved her. I don't know. But I know I wouldn't kill anyone. I couldn't. Why would I want to kill her when I could have left her at any time?’

Peterson stared at Matthew Kirby. ‘You're a wealthy man now, Matthew. How much is it you stand to inherit from your wife? More than enough to pay off your debts, I'd say.’

‘Oh please, Sergeant. That's ridiculous.’

Peterson went over Matthew Kirby's finances, then his movements on the previous Saturday and Matthew confirmed that after he had given his children lunch he had gone to visit Charlotte.

‘Did you go straight there?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time did you arrive?’

‘I can't remember exactly. I didn't look at my watch and make a note of the time, but I must have left home about one and it's only half an hour's drive.’

‘Did you stay with Charlotte overnight?’

‘No. I'm always home at nights. Because of the children.’ He gave a helpless grimace. ‘I didn't want them to know I was seeing someone else.’

‘You've kept this from them for five years?’

‘I thought I had. Is there anything remarkable in that? Plenty of couples carry on clandestine affairs for years. I'm not saying it's something I'm proud of, but it happens all the time.’