Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (31 page)

Amy Birkdale trudged slowly back across the atrium, deep in
thought. Mike was right, of course. It was none of his bloody business. But he
was right about sharing the load. Well, maybe...

She drained the last of her latte and disposed of the
cardboard cup and plastic lid in the recycling bins at the bottom of the
stairs. I’ve always thought of myself as calm and professional, she said to
herself. I’ve always worked hard on my profile. But am I missing a trick? Is
that why Dave seems so much happier at work than I do? Even though Bryn treats
him as a total dogsbody? And if so, have I left it too late? At this company,
anyway?

She glanced around sharply as a shout echoed across the
atrium, but from her vantage point near the lift shaft she couldn’t make
anything out. She shrugged, and went to press the lift call button, before
thinking better of it and starting to plod up the stairs instead.

A clatter of heels from above snapped her out of her
reverie. She stopped on a half-landing and looked up. Di
Rodway
was hammering down the stairs towards her two at a time. Not far behind was DC
Halshaw.

“Out of my way!” “Stop her, Amy!” they yelled
simultaneously.

Amy froze.

Di
Rodway
stopped on the
half-landing in front of her. “Get out of my way, bitch,” she hissed, reaching
into her handbag.

Amy hesitated.

Suddenly, Di produced a craft knife and slashed it
backhanded across Amy’s face. She flinched instinctively, and the knife missed
the end of her nose by millimetres. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Di
tensing for a forehand slash.

Don’t break eye contact, Amy told herself, her heart racing.
Whatever you do, don’t break eye contact!

“Little Miss Wonderful,” growled Di
Rodway
.
“Little Miss fucking Wonderful. You won’t be so wonderful when I’ve fucking cut
you, will you?”

Amy forced herself not to look away. Suddenly, she noticed
Di’s eyes dart across to one side.

“Put the knife down, Ms
Rodway
!”
commanded Halshaw, as she stepped down on to the cramped platform.

“Fuck off!”

“I said, put the knife down!”

Di
Rodway
feinted at Amy with the
knife, and then lashed out at Halshaw’s face. Halshaw twisted out of the way,
but her stockinged feet slipped on the polished wood. She landed heavily on the
stairs behind her.

Heavy footsteps were pounding down the stairs above them.

Di
Rodway
turned back to Amy.
“Move, bitch!” she barked.

Mutely, Amy shook her head.

Di brandished her knife again. Amy edged backwards, and felt
the metal edge of the stair tread beneath her high heels. This is it, she
thought. As Di drew back the knife to strike, Amy hurled herself at her
outstretched arm. Di screamed as the force of the impact bent her body
backwards over the rail and all but dislocated her shoulder. With her free
hand, she grabbed a handful of Amy’s hair and pulled with all her strength.

“If I go, you go, bitch,” she gasped.

Eyes closed, Amy hung on to Di’s knife arm for grim death,
despite the agonising pain in her scalp. She felt her feet gradually lifting,
as their bodies began to tip over the handrail. She heard the knife clatter on
the marble floor, two and a half floors below. But Di
Rodway
didn’t release her grip on Amy’s hair.

“If I go, you go,” she repeated.

After what seemed like an eternity, Amy heard a gruff male
voice.

“That’s enough, Ms
Rodway
,” it
commanded.

Gradually, Amy felt the pulling ease, and her feet settle
back on to the platform. She opened her eyes, and saw a burly uniformed officer
next to her on the platform, holding a pair of handcuffs. On the stairs behind
her were the three other officers she had seen in the coffee shop, a young
Asian policewoman and two young male Constables, one white, the other black.

Halshaw scrambled to her feet, one hand pressed against the
back of her head. “I don’t think you’ll be needing those,” she said. “Blackaby,
you and Gupta take Ms
Rodway
down to River Road.
Neville and Pollard, go back upstairs and find Mr Salter.”

The two young male constables hurried back up the stairs
obediently. Amy stood to one side as Blackaby and Gupta led Di
Rodway
slowly away, one arm cradling the other.

“You OK?” asked Halshaw.

“Fine,” grunted Amy, rubbing her scalp. Then she remembered
what Mike the barista had said. “I’m OK, thanks,” she added, more gently. “A
bit shaken, that’s all. What about you? Are you all right”

Halshaw smiled ruefully. “Other than a sore head and a
bruised arse, yes. Thank you, Amy. Without you, she’d have got away. For sure.”

Amy smiled weakly and said nothing.

“Did you manage to stop her?” asked Chase, as Halshaw
reappeared into the meeting room.

“Yes,” she sighed, collapsing gratefully into the chair next
to him and pressing a plastic bag of ice against the back of her head. “But
it’s all thanks to Amy, really.”

“Why’s that?”

“She delayed
Rodway
long enough
for me to catch up with her, and then, after
Rodway
attacked me, she forced her to drop her knife.”

Chase’s eyebrows shot up. “Knife? What knife?”

Halshaw said nothing.

He shrugged. “Anyway. Well done. Where is she now?”

“Who? Di or Amy?”

“Both.”

“Di
Rodway’s
on her way to River
Road with Gupta and Blackaby. Amy’s in the Ladies.”

“Is she OK? Amy, I mean.”

“I think so, yes. She’s pretty shaken, and
Rodway
tried to pull out a chunk of her hair, but otherwise
she’s fine.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Ms
Rodway
? Not a lot.”

“And are you all right?”

Halshaw smiled weakly. “I think so, yes.
Rodway
went for me with her knife, I tried to get out of the way, but I slipped and
bashed my head on the stairs.”

There was a knock at the door.

“What is it?” demanded Chase.”

Constable Neville appeared in the doorway. “What do you want
us to do with Mr Salter, Sir?” he asked. “Shall we take him down the nick too?”

“Yes please,” replied Chase. Then an idea seemed to occur to
him. “No, not just yet,” he went on. “Ask Pollard to bring him back in here for
a minute. And then see if you can find Bryn Lewis.”

“Sir!”

Neville went on his way, leaving the door ajar. A few
moments later PC Pollard appeared, accompanied by a pale but composed Les
Salter.

“Hello again, Mr Salter,” smiled Chase. “Come and take a
seat, just for a moment.”

Salter did as he was bid. Pollard loitered awkwardly by the
door. Halshaw stared into the middle distance, drained, as the adrenaline began
to fade.

“Just a couple more questions, if I may, Mr Salter?” Chase
continued, softly.

Salter nodded.

“Remind me, please. Why exactly did you want to burgle Ms
Birkdale’s flat?”

Salter looked up at him beseechingly. “Because I love her,
Inspector,” he replied, in a flat voice.

“And yet you caused her all this trouble? Her things ruined,
money and valuables stolen? That doesn’t sound very loving to me.”

“I didn’t mean to...”

Chase banged his hand on the table, so hard that Salter
jumped. “I think you did mean to, Mr Salter. This had nothing whatsoever to do
with love, had it? It was all about revenge.”

“No!”

“Yes, it was. You hated Amy.”

“No!”

“You resented her, didn’t you? Her beauty, her success, her
popularity?”

“No!”

“You hated her because she rejected you, didn’t you!”

“No!”

“You loathed her!”

“No!”

“You despised her!”

“No!

“You wanted to kill her, didn’t you?”

“No, Inspector! Why would I...?”

“Just like you killed Lucy Faith?”

“No!”

Halshaw looked up sharply.

“So why did you kill her, then?” Chase demanded.

Salter said nothing.

“Why, Mr Salter?”

No reply.

The interview room door swung open, and Neville ushered Bryn
Lewis in. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again quickly when
Halshaw shot him a warning glance.

“Oh hello, Mr Lewis,” smiled Chase. “You’ve arrived just at
the right time. Mr Salter here was explaining why he murdered Lucy Faith.”

“What!” blurted Lewis.

“That’s right, isn’t it, Mr Salter?” said Chase.

Salter nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Lewis clenched his fists and took a step forward, but
subsided when Pollard laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Why did you kill My
Lady?” he pleaded. “Why, Les? She was everything to me.”

“That’s why,” replied Salter, in little more than a whisper.

Lewis began to edge forward again, until Halshaw shot him
another warning glance.

“Please explain, Mr Salter,” Chase said.

Salter turned to face Lewis. “You’ve taken everything from
me, Bryn,” he said. “Now you’re taking my life’s work away. Just like you took
my team, my wife...”

“Your wife?” retorted Lewis.

“Yes. At the Christmas Party, two years ago. Frank Usher
told me.”

“I danced with her, Les. That’s all, I promise you.”

“No. You took her off somewhere quiet and screwed her. Frank
told me. Just like he told me about you and Amy.”

Lewis shook his head incredulously. “What about Amy and me?”

“You’ve been screwing each other for the last year and a
half. Frank told me. That’s why she stopped loving me.”

“She never loved you, Les. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”

“No, Bryn, you’re wrong. She loved me once. I know she did.
But then you stole her away from me, just like you’ve taken everything else I
ever loved. So I decided to take the thing you loved most. Lucy.”

“How did you find out about My Lady?” Lewis asked, coldly.

“It wasn’t hard. I asked Di, that’s all. She knows where you
go, Bryn. She knows all about your afternoons at The White Hart. You may fool
everyone else with your working from home crap, but not Di. Oh no. She’s known
for ages.”

Abruptly, Bryn Lewis shook off Pollard’s hands. Halshaw tensed,
expecting Lewis to hurl himself at Salter. But Lewis threw open the door and
hurried out of the room. The faint sound of his sobbing gradually receded down
the corridor, until Pollard closed the door again.

“OK, Mr Salter,” said Halshaw. “If you want us to believe
you killed Ms Faith, answer me this. What did you do with her handbag?”

Salter looked at her through tear-filled eyes. “I hid it
under a bush in the park,” he replied, in a flat voice.

“And what about her phone and her laptop?”

“They’re at home.”

“Where in your home, sir?”

“In the bottom of my wardrobe. Don’t worry, officer. They’re
safe. I haven’t done anything to them, I promise.”

“We’ll have someone collect them later,” said Chase. “We’ll
need to search your property, Mr Salter. You realise that, don’t you?”

Salter blew his nose loudly and nodded.

“Right,” Chase continued. “That’s it for the moment. You can
take him down to the station now, Pollard.”

Pollard stepped forward. “Please come with me, sir,” he
said, quietly.

Salter stood and meekly let himself be led away.

“Oh, and Pollard!” Chase called after him.

“Yes Sir?”

“When you’ve taken Mr Salter down to River Road, leave him
with Neville and come straight back here, please. Bring Blackaby too, if
Sergeant Baker will let you.”

“Yes Sir.”

Halshaw closed the door behind them and resumed her seat.
“Do you think Salter’s confession will stand up in court?” she asked.

“I doubt the case will ever come to trial,” said Chase.
“He’ll probably be ruled unfit to plead. Pity, really.”

“At least Mr Kelmarsh won’t have to hear about his wife’s
double life.”

“Granted. But Salter really ought to be in the dock. He’s a
vicious, cold-blooded murderer.”

She took a deep breath. “What about Frank....?”

“And he’s a manipulative bastard too.”

Halshaw frowned.

“Salter, I mean,” he added.

Halshaw smiled sympathetically. “You just can’t forgive him
for using Anna Birkdale, can you?”

Chase chuckled, despite himself. “You’re reading my mind,
aren’t you?”

“God, I hope not,” she laughed nervously.

Before Chase could respond, the door opened again and Amy
Birkdale appeared, looking pale and dazed despite a thick layer of freshly
applied makeup.

“Well done, Ms Birkdale,” smiled Chase. “How are you
feeling?”

“OK, I guess,” she replied, in an unsteady voice.

“You helped Halshaw capture Di
Rodway
,
I gather.”

Amy looked embarrassed. “So who killed Lucy?” she asked.
“Was it Les?”

“We think so, yes.”

“And did he burgle my flat too?”

“No. But he arranged it. We believe he paid someone to do it
for him.”

“Bastard! What the hell did he do that for?”

“Because he wanted to rekindle your relationship, he said.”

“What relationship, Inspector? I mean, he gave me a lift
home a couple of times, a year or two ago when my car was off the road, but
that’s all. And straight after that he started trying it on with Mum.” A look
of alarm crossed her face. “Oh my God! She did tell you about that, didn’t
she?”

“She told me all about it,” said Chase. “Don’t worry.”

Amy smiled a watery smile of relief.

“Good,” Chase continued. “There’s just one more thing...”

A minute or so after Amy Birkdale left, Paul McKinley burst
into the room.

“Frank says that Les and Di have been arrested,” he panted.
“Is that right?”

“That’s quite correct, Mr McKinley,” Chase replied, evenly.

“What, for the break-in at Amy’s?”

“I can’t answer that, I’m afraid. But let’s just say that
we’re not looking for anyone else in relation to that particular incident.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath and drew himself up to his
full height. “In which case, you’ll be hearing from my solicitor.”

Chase’s eyebrows shot up. “What on earth for, Mr McKinley?”

“Police harassment, for starters. False arrest, perhaps.
Defamation, probably, too.”

“Why?”

“You’ve been after me for that break-in from the start. I’ve
been worried sick. I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten properly for the last week.
My wife will tell you.”

Halshaw looked from one man to the other in alarm, which
began to turn to anger as she noticed the smile playing around Chase’s lips.

Chase slowly got to his feet. McKinley clenched his fists,
as if expecting an assault, but Chase walked to the window and perched
nonchalantly on the window sill, between a multi-coloured assortment of
whiteboard pens and a brace of abandoned cardboard coffee cups. “Listen, Mr
McKinley,” he began.

“What?”

“For one thing, you were never arrested. Or cautioned, come
to that. Our conversations were private and purely informal. There are no
records, I took no notes. You didn’t make a statement. I have repeated nothing
of what we discussed to a living soul, I promise you.”

Halshaw noticed McKinley’s shoulders begin to droop, but he
continued to stare belligerently at Chase.

“And as far as accusations go, Mr McKinley,” Chase
continued, levelly. “I only recall accusing you of one thing. I said you were a
nasty, jealous, vindictive bastard. And that, sir, is no more than the truth.”

“But...” McKinley began to bluster.

“DS Halshaw and I will forget this conversation ever took
place, Mr McKinley, and I suggest you do the same. Now get out of my sight.”

Defeated, McKinley turned away. He was halfway to the door
when Chase called after him.

“Oh, one other thing, Mr McKinley. I’ll take your phone now,
if I may.”

McKinley produced his Blackberry and slammed it petulantly
on to the table. The battery cover skittered across the wooden surface and
landed on the floor at Halshaw’s feet.

“Not that one,” snapped Chase.

“I don’t have another phone.”

“Yes you do, Mr McKinley,” Chase replied, with the patience
of a long-suffering nanny. “Turn out your pockets, please.”

Scowling, McKinley did as he was told, and a wallet, a comb,
a glasses case, a bunch of keys, a selection of hotel ballpoints, and a handful
of change appeared on the table.

Chase glanced inside the wallet and glasses case
perfunctorily. “Halshaw, search him, please,” he ordered.

McKinley began to protest, then thought better of it, and
held his arms outstretched. Halshaw pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began
to work through the pockets of his suit jacket, which yielded nothing more than
a pack of spare buttons, a couple of stray coins and a selection of used
tissues.

“Now the trousers,” Chase commanded unnecessarily.

Halshaw gritted her teeth and tentatively checked his front
pockets. Nothing. Relieved, she started on the rear pockets. One was empty, but
the other... She looked up at Chase. “This one’s vibrating, Sir.”

“I know,” he said, glancing across to the door, where Amy
Birkdale stood clutching her Blackberry.

Halshaw reached into the pocket and pulled out a small black
Nokia handset. The flashing screen displayed the words:

Incoming call: Amy Bitch Whore

She showed the phone to Amy, who gave a tight nod, before
handing it to Chase.

He glanced at the display, and tossed the phone onto the
table. “I think that proves my point, Mr McKinley,” he said. “You really are a
thoroughly nasty, jealous, vindictive bastard. So from now on I’ll be watching
you. And if I ever, ever hear so much as a whisper that you’ve been up to your
old tricks again, with Ms Birkdale or anyone else, I’ll be down on you like a
ton of fucking bricks. Is that clear?”

McKinley mumbled something under his breath.

“I didn’t quite catch that, sir,” said Chase, in his most
honeyed tones.

McKinley’s head snapped up. “Absolutely clear,” he replied.

Chase tilted his head dismissively. McKinley didn’t waste a
moment, but turned away, only to find Amy Birkdale blocking the doorway, her
Blackberry still in her hand. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

She didn’t move.

“Excuse me, Amy,” he repeated.

She stood her ground.

This time he looked up and faced her. “Please, Amy,” he
begged.

She looked back at him contemptuously. After a second or
two, she stepped fractionally to one side. He brushed past her and scurried off
down the corridor.

Once McKinley had disappeared, Amy heaved a huge sigh of
relief and slumped in the chair that he had occupied.

“Well done, Amy,” beamed Chase. “I meant what I said. If you
have any more trouble with him at all, however trivial, please let me know.”

“I can look after myself, you know,” she retorted.

“Yes, I know. And I very much doubt you’ll have any more
trouble from Mr McKinley. Not now. But the offer’s there if you need it.”

She seemed to relax. “That’s good to know,” she replied. She
turned to Halshaw. “You see?” she said. “I told you I had nothing to do with
Lucy’s murder.”

“What?” exclaimed Chase.

“Yeah. She had me in here for half an hour before you showed
up, grilling me about it. Seems like my Dad had a thing with Lucy at one time,
and she,” another glare at Halshaw, “said you thought I’d killed her in revenge
for breaking up Mum and Dad’s marriage.”

Chase shook his head slowly, the elation rapidly ebbing from
his body. He glanced at Halshaw, but she was staring intently at the beige
carpet tiles between her shoes. He turned back to Amy. “And have you mentioned
any of this to Anna?” he asked, despairingly.

“Course I have. It’s not every day you’re accused of murder.
Particularly by your Mum’s boyfriend.”

“Christ,” he murmured. “What did she say?”

She shrugged. “Mum? Not a lot, to be honest.”

Chase sprang to his feet. “I’d better go,” he said.
“Halshaw, you finish up here. I’ll see you back at River Road. We need to
talk.”