Kill My Darling (28 page)

Slider left Wiseman to stew for a bit, and went to see if Scott Hibbert was back from the land of the fairies. He looked terrible, and didn't smell any too good, either. Obviously his stay first at the hotel, and then at Valerie's, with no work to go to and nothing to take his mind off his sins, had sent him on a downward spiral, for he was sporting several days of beard and did not seem to have bathed for the same length of time. He was wearing a nasty pair of sweat pants and a zipped fleece top over a T-shirt, his hair was matted and his feet were shoved bare into a pair of battered-looking trainers that were adding something of the ripe Gorgonzola to the olfactory mix in the cell.

Slider looked at him through the wicket. His eyes were inflamed and rather crazed-looking, and he sniffed constantly and wiped his nose on his cuff. ‘Is he all right for interviewing?' he asked O'Flaherty, the sergeant on duty.

‘If y'ask me,' O'Flaherty said without sympathy, ‘him and reality's never been on first name terms. But he's no worse than the average headbanger we get in here. Sure, you can talk to him if you think it'll help. The doc's signed off on him, and he's about as able for't as he'll ever be. Tape Room One?'

‘Trot him along. I'll be there in five minutes,' Slider said, and went to collect Norma, so as to have fresh ears on the case.

Hibbert scrambled to his feet as soon as Slider entered, and was gently pushed back down by Gostyn, the uniform minding him. ‘Are you the boss around here?' Hibbert asked, his eyes flitting nervously to Swilley and back. ‘I want to talk to the boss.'

‘I'm the investigating officer,' Slider said, and introduced himself and Swilley. ‘Are they treating you all right?'

‘Yes, yes, but I want to talk to you,' he said urgently.

‘You can, son, just settle down. I'm going to ask you some questions and I have to ask you if you want a solicitor to be present.'

‘They've already asked me that,' he said almost petulantly. ‘I don't want a solicitor. I just want to talk to whoever's in charge.'

Slider managed to shut him up for long enough to get the tape rolling according to protocol, and then he was off.

‘You've got to understand, it wasn't the way it looked. Valerie. It was just a business arrangement. Of course I had to keep it secret from Mel because she wouldn't have understood. Women never do. But Val was good, the best in the business, and she had the contacts, so I needed her for that end of it. And she was – well, you saw her. She's not a bad-looking woman but she's a lot older than me, and a bit desperate. Anyway, she made it clear enough I was going to have to give her a bit more than just money to get her on board with it. What was I to do? I had to keep her sweet or she could have blown the whole thing and landed us both in trouble. She wasn't that bad, actually,' he said, his mind wandering. He stared vacantly at Swilley, who stared back blankly, not to disturb him. ‘I mean, she knew a thing or two – you know, in bed – and I'm not saying I'd have needed my arm twisted in normal circumstances. But I didn't set out to be unfaithful to Mel.'

‘What was the nature of this business arrangement you had with Valerie?' Slider asked, to get him back on track.

Hibbert explained it pretty much as Valerie had to Atherton, but with a lot more detail. ‘But the thing was,' he went on, ‘she was obviously more interested in me than the job, and she'd started hinting about me moving down there with her. Then she started talking about marriage. So I knew I didn't have much longer before I was going to have to dump her. But we had this really big job coming up. It was a developer thing, the biggest job I'd ever had a hand in. This row of houses with big gardens. The developer wanted to pull 'em down and put up blocks of flats. He didn't mind saving a bit of money wherever he could. If we could get the owners to sell, and get the prices right, we were sitting on a million quid for our trouble – and all cash, tax free. You don't get chances like that every day of the week. So I had to keep her sweet, Valerie, until it was done. I had to pretend it was her that mattered to me. I even had to pretend I might marry her. But I never
wanted
to be unfaithful to Mel. It was just business.'

He looked to them for sympathy for his predicament.

‘Tell me about that Friday, the weekend of your friend's wedding.'

‘Well, I was down there, of course. Doing this deal. Val and me had to wine and dine the developer and get it all tied up. The wedding was a blessing, because it meant I could get away on Friday. There was a stag night thing going on, so I said I was going to that. Saturday I had to go to the wedding, but I got away as quick as I could, and Val and me pretty much worked through the night putting it all together. Then she started on about our marriage plans again, and saying we could have a lovely Sunday together, just her and me, so I thought it was a good idea to get out while I could. So I went back to London Sunday morning.'

‘So it wasn't the case that Melanie was the one thing standing between you and your new life down in Bournemouth, making lots of lovely money in a hot housing market?' Slider said.

Hibbert looked stunned. He licked his lips. ‘I know you think I killed her. I've seen it in the papers, and on telly. You think I did it. Well, maybe I did. She was a cracking girl, Melanie, but she was too good for me. All her friends thought so. She was smart and clever and educated and everything, and all I had was – well, I don't know what she saw in me. I'm good at what I do, that's all. I'd got this plan to turn the flats in the house where we live into two maisonettes. Would have made a lot of money. But I don't think she liked it, because it meant getting that old fool Ronnie out of the basement, and he didn't want to go. She liked him, God knows why. I think,' he said, with a hint of anger, ‘she liked him more than me, sometimes. It was always waifs and strays with her. Anyone with a hard luck story. She didn't appreciate someone who got on and got ahead through their own efforts. She just didn't appreciate money, thought it didn't matter, though she didn't mind spending mine. It was a good job I made good bread because she never had a cent. Dunno what she spent it on. But I still think she'd have loved me more if I was an ex-con like Ronnie or a waster like her father.'

‘It's hard not to be appreciated,' Slider said.

‘Yeah,' said Hibbert. He flicked a look at the impassive Norma, then returned his congested eyes to Slider. ‘Maybe that's why she had to go, so I could start a new life with Val.
She
appreciates me. She knows she's lucky to get me. I'm good-looking, I'm young, I've got a nice car, I've got what it takes to make money. What more does a women want? She made me mad sometimes, Mel, the way she was always so much better than me. I couldn't drop my socks on the floor, had to put them in the laundry basket. It's my bloody floor, just as much as hers! Bloody laundry basket – who has one of those? And the way I held my fork – that didn't please her. And she was always correcting my grammar. How d'you think that makes me feel? She didn't like my ties. She didn't like my signet ring –
her father
never wore jewellery, she said. And everything in the house had to be done the way
she
liked it. I brought her home this ornament once – kind of like a fairy, with wings and everything, holding some flowers – china you know. Well, Val's got one, and she likes it, and I saw one like it in a shop, so I brought it home, a present for Mel, and you should have heard her! Well, she didn't actually
say
anything, I mean she said thanks and everything, but you could see she didn't like it. Practically put gloves on to touch it. And you know, that fairy never made it to the mantelpiece. I never saw it again. I reckon she must have put it in the bin when I was out of the way.'

‘She didn't like your friends, either, did she?' Slider suggested.

He glared at Swilley, who seemed to be becoming a substitute for the absent. ‘No, she bloody didn't. She thought she was too good for them. She said they were boring. That's why the wedding was such a good excuse, because I knew she'd never want to come.'

‘So it served her right, really, that it
was
just an excuse.'

‘Yeah!' Hibbert cried. ‘Stuck up, snotty cow! Served her right! You're all the same, you bitches, think you're better than us!' And he flung himself across the table at Norma, trying to grab her by the throat.

Norma moved like lightning, catching his wrists and slamming them down on to the table with a strength hard-won in endless arm-wrestling bouts since she first joined the Job. Slider and Gostyn were round the table and got a grip on his elbows, but in truth Swilley could have held him on her own. Motherhood had taken none of her edge, Slider thought with satisfaction.

But Hibbert didn't struggle. He'd cried out in pain when his wrists hit the table, and yielded as soon as Slider and Gostyn grabbed him. When they let him go, he collapsed slowly forwards on to the desk, cushioning his head in his arms, and sobbing brokenly. ‘I killed her,' he wept. ‘I really, really loved her. I don't care if Dave said she was a snotty cow. I loved her, and I killed her, and now I've got nothing. I wish I was dead!' He finished on a howl, and said nothing more coherent.

Slider watched him dispassionately, knowing there would have to be another visit by the doctor to make sure he was not hurt – his cry of pain was on the tape, and the sounds of scuffle – and that if another tranquillizer was administered they wouldn't get to interview him again for hours, by which time the impetus would be gone.

FOURTEEN

Virgin Athletic

W
hen Connolly finally tracked down Stephanie Bentham, she was with a bunch of other youngsters in typical Saturday afternoon mode. There was a patch of green with a bench and a bus stop beside it, and they were hanging about there, some sitting on the bench, some standing, one sitting, arms crossed, on his bicycle, pushing himself an inch forward and backward monotonously with his foot. They were chatting, laughing, texting, two of the girls were smoking with faint defiance, and the atmosphere was so heavy with teenage hormones it could have triggered a Control Order under the Clean Air Act.

Stephanie was a little apart, sitting on the rail surrounding the green. Connolly thought she had never seen anyone look so unhappy. She was hunched, her hands between her knees, and when Connolly stood before her she raised wide desperate eyes like a cornered hind staring at the hunter.

‘Are you Stephanie?' Connolly asked, showing her brief, but discreetly, shielded by her body from view of the others.

Stephanie nodded.

‘I need to talk to you. D'you want to walk along with me? No need for them to know your business, is there?'

She seemed beyond being grateful for that, but she hitched herself off the rail and fell in beside Connolly, walking away from the group, some of whom, Connolly noted from her eye corners, looked their way, but not with great interest, God love 'em. Ah, the self-absorption of youth!

‘I've me car round the corner,' she said to Stephanie when they were clear. ‘We can sit in that for a chat if you like.'

Stephanie looked a moment of alarm. ‘No. Not in the car,' she said quickly; then seemed to collect herself and said: ‘Can't we just walk? There's the park down there.'

The car, Connolly surmised, was playing some leading part in the feature movie going on in the girl's head; or maybe she was afraid of being abducted.

‘Walking's fine with me,' Connolly said cheerily. ‘Sure I don't get out in the fresh air enough.'

She thought she would wait until they were in the park to begin, to build up some trust between them, or at least let her get used to her, but before they reached the gates Stephanie made the first move. ‘It is right?' she asked, without looking at Connolly. ‘Did – Mr Wiseman – did he really kill his stepdaughter, like they're saying?'

‘Who's saying that?' Connolly asked.

‘The others.' She gestured backwards. ‘Everyone at school. They say that's why he's not been in. They say the head's sacked him, and now you've arrested him.' Now she looked at Connolly, appalled. ‘If he's a murderer . . .'

‘We arrest a lot of people,' Connolly said for the second time that day. ‘It's what we have to do sometimes to question people – it's a technical thing. I won't bother you with it, but it doesn't mean they've done anything, necessarily.' Stephanie was staring at the ground again, trudging miserably. ‘You care about him, don't you?' Connolly said gently. A startled look. ‘Ah, g'wan, I know all about it. You can tell me.'

The head went even further down. Her next words were so tiny they were almost indecipherable. ‘Will my mum and dad have to know about it?'

‘It may not come to that,' Connolly said. ‘You're seventeen, right?'

‘Last December,' she confirmed.

‘I can talk to you without your parents, so. Look, pet, if I can keep it quiet I will, but it's not entirely in my hands. But you've got to do the right thing. You know that, don't you?'

Nod.

‘Did you know Melanie Hunter?'

Shake. ‘Only what's in the paper. My mum reads every word, she's obsessed with it. Knowing that – Mr Wiseman's one of our teachers makes her more interested. If she knew – you know – she'd go mad. My dad'd kill me. And the others – they wouldn't understand. They think he's just a boring grown-up, a teacher. They don't know . . .'

‘The other side of him,' Connolly suggested. Pass the sick bag, Nora.

Stephanie looked up, eager and hopeful of understanding. ‘He's not like he seems in school. He's different. More – gentle, and – he talks to me, like a real person. Not like Mum and Dad. They just, like, issue orders, and when they ask you questions they don't listen to the answers. But Ian – Mr Wiseman—'