Killer Plan Page 4

  If the questions were too difficult for her to handle she would have to break down in tears, or complain of a headache, and postpone the interview. She almost did. It was crazy, allowing herself to be interrogated in her present state. But leaving the detective unsatisfied meant the prospect of yet more questions. Far better to get it over with as quickly as possible. At least she had a cast iron excuse for sounding confused right now.

  All she wanted was to be left alone to rebuild her life quietly, in her own way. Things were going to be very different now. She dropped her gaze, afraid the detective would see through her lies. It was hard to take in the reality of the situation. Never again would she sit downstairs by herself, wondering if her husband was going to return home before morning. Worse than his infidelity had been his deception. Lies had fallen easily from his lips, as though he hadn’t cared whether she believed him or not. Losing her trust had meant nothing to him. Her own lies had to be convincing.

  The inspector’s words cut through Caroline’s chaotic thoughts.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm your husband? Take your time. Think carefully.’

  ‘No.’ She answered, too quickly.

  ‘Was there anyone who might have held a grudge against him for some reason?’

  Caroline tried to speak slowly and make her words sound considered, but she could hear herself gabbling, close to hysterics.

  ‘No. No one. He wasn’t that sort of man.’

  ‘What sort of man?’

  Caroline hesitated. She wasn’t fooled by the inspector’s sympathetic expression. Behind a show of compassion, the woman was waiting for her to slip up so she could pounce. Caroline could see it in her eyes. She was desperate to pin this murder on someone, and the victim’s wife was bound to be a likely suspect, especially if they ever found out about his other women.

  ‘He wasn’t the sort of man to get killed,’ she announced firmly.

  The inspector’s eyes widened slightly. That was bad. Caroline’s reply had surprised her. In all her years as a detective, the inspector had obviously never heard an innocent person say that. It was as good as a confession of guilt. Any second now, Caroline expected to be arrested. She closed her eyes in an effort to stop shaking, and waited for the inspector to speak. What would happen to her sons if she went to prison? But when Caroline opened her eyes, the inspector was rising to her feet.

  ‘If you can think of anything else, call me.’

  Stunned, Caroline took her card and stared at the name: ‘Detective Inspector Geraldine Steel’.

  ‘If you think of anything else that might help us,’ the inspector repeated, ‘you can call me at any time.’

  Caroline nodded.

  ‘I’ll see myself out. Would you like PC Perry to wait with you until your neighbour gets here?’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  She just wanted the police to go away and leave her alone. On top of having to deal with the shock of Dave’s death, she had to cope with the stress of telling lies to an inspector trained to detect the truth. She could barely control herself from confessing her guilt just to put an end to the terror. But she had to stay strong for the sake of her boys.

  As soon as the inspector had gone, Caroline dropped her head into her hands and began sobbing uncontrollably. At last she pulled herself together and went upstairs to wash her face. The boys had been taken to a neighbour’s house. They hadn’t wanted to go, but the police had suggested it would be best.

  ‘We need to get on with our work here,’ they said quietly.

  Caroline understood that they wanted to move the body. It would be better if the boys weren’t around when that happened.

  ‘But what about you, mum?’ Ed insisted. ‘We can’t leave you here by yourself.’

  She had to promise them she would be fine on her own before the boys agreed to leave. She didn’t add that she needed time to rearrange her face, and her thoughts. She was a widow. Her husband had been violently murdered in their own back garden. She told herself fiercely that she hadn’t the faintest idea who had killed him, or why. He must have been the victim of a random attack by a maniac, or a drug addict. His death made no sense. It had nothing to do with her chance encounter in the park the previous afternoon. The best thing she could do right now was forget all about that. There was certainly no point in mentioning Brian to the police. Even in her confused state of mind she understood that they were bound to suspect her of being implicated in Dave’s murder. For the sake of her sons she had to ensure no hint of suspicion fell on her.

  When her neighbour finally brought the boys back, Caroline had her crying under control. No one could have suspected she was feeling overwhelmed, not by grief but by fear.

  8

  By the following morning a team of constables had been assembled to speak to residents in The Ridgeway where Caroline lived. Leaving Max to co-ordinate the door-to-door questioning, Geraldine turned her attention to the neighbours on either side of the Robinsons’ house. She would have liked to speak to all the residents in the street herself, but she had to be practical. First she walked along the pavement to the first corner in one direction, then back the other way as far as the next side turning, observing.

  The door to the adjoining property was opened by Arthur Mortimer, a stout ruddy-faced man who enquired her business in a brisk tone. As soon as she introduced herself his demeanour altered.

  ‘It’s all been a terrible shock,’ he admitted solemnly. ‘My wife’s very upset about the whole thing.’

  ‘Were you close to them?’

  ‘Close? No. I wouldn’t say we were close, exactly. But we knew them to speak to. We were neighbours, you know. We were… neighbourly.’

  Arthur took Geraldine through to a tidy little kitchen where he introduced his wife, Mavis. Wide-eyed with dismay, she ducked her head deferentially to Geraldine.

  ‘We heard all the sirens going, but it never occurred to us there’d been a murder, just the other side of the fence. We watched all the comings and goings, but when we saw the ambulance we thought there must have been a terrible accident, didn’t we? It wasn’t until we saw the tent in the garden that Arthur told me what had happened. “There’s been a murder,” he said, didn’t you, Arthur? He knew straight away.’

  Arthur’s face turned a deeper shade of red.

  ‘Of course we knew something was wrong,’ she went on, ‘but we weren’t sure whether to go round there or not. There are children in the house.’

  ‘It wasn’t our place to go interfering,’ her husband interrupted her firmly. ‘We’re not family.’

  Geraldine had the impression this wasn’t the first time they had discussed it.

  ‘After all they’ve been through, as well,’ Mavis continued, ‘to have it all end like this.’ She shook her head. ‘It could have been them that found their father out in the garden like that. After all they’ve been through, poor things.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Geraldine wanted to know. ‘What have they been through?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said, “after all they’ve been through.” What did you mean?’

  Mavis threw a worried glance at her husband before mumbling about hearing shouting next door.

  ‘We heard them a few times,’ Arthur agreed, ‘shouting obscenities at each other. I don’t think they got on well.’

  ‘They had no business using language like that in front of their children,’ his wife added.

  Having established they had nothing more to tell her, Geraldine left. It had begun to rain so she pulled up the hood of her raincoat and walked quickly along the road to question the neighbours on the other side.

  A woman with straggly blonde hair came to the door.

  ‘What?’ she demanded.

  Geraldine introduced herself and explained the purpose of her call.

  ‘First I knew about it was when your lot arrived. Why they needed to turn up with sirens bla
ring, beats me. I mean, what was the rush? The poor bloke was dead, so where was the hurry?’

  Fortunately there was a narrow porch overhanging the front door, because the woman didn’t invite Geraldine in.

  ‘I don’t want to be unhelpful, Inspector, but I really don’t know what you want me to say. It’s not like we were mates or anything. They just live next door. I know them to say hello to, I know they’ve got twins. Always making a racket, those kids, but they seem all right, I suppose. He’s – he was…’ She broke off in confusion. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I hardly knew the bloke. But they used to do a hell of a lot of swearing and yelling, especially in the summer, with the windows open. I hope you catch the maniac that killed him before it gets dark.’

  Geraldine didn’t say they had no idea yet who had committed the murder.

  ‘Did you have the impression they were a happy household?’

  The woman snorted. ‘What’s happy when it’s at home?’

  Geraldine tried again. ‘What impression did you have of them?’

  The neighbour shrugged. ‘Like I said, I don’t really know them. They’re – they were – just the people next door.’

  ‘Did you ever see them going out together as a family?’

  The other woman shook her head. ‘We keep ourselves to ourselves. I’m not one to go snooping.’

  The neighbour in the house opposite was more forthcoming. She invited Geraldine in straight away, without even pausing to glance at her warrant card. But although she was keen to help, she could offer no useful information either. She seemed to want to talk about the victim.

  ‘He was a lovely man,’ she repeated, dabbing cautiously at heavily made-up eyes. ‘And those poor boys, orphaned at such a young age, without any warning.’

  Geraldine didn’t point out that David Robinson’s sons were not orphans while their mother was still alive.

  ‘And to go like that,’ she continued, ‘savagely butchered in his own back garden. It’s horrible.’

  Outwardly impassive, Geraldine wondered how much the woman knew about the nature of her neighbour’s death, and who had told her. The man had been dead for less than twenty-four hours and already gossip was spreading. With neighbours talking in terms of butchery, she hardly dared speculate how the local media would sensationalise the fatality. None of it made any difference to the victim, but publicity didn’t make life easier for his family, or for the police who were already under pressure to find the killer quickly. Until he was caught, there was always a chance he might strike again.

  9

  The detective chief inspector summoned the team to a briefing early next morning. Geraldine was already at her desk, having left home at six thirty to avoid the Monday morning traffic.

  ‘The violent nature of the assault suggests a crime of passion, which makes the wife a suspect. What do you think, Geraldine? You questioned her. Do you think she could have killed him?’

  Choosing her words with care, Geraldine said she thought Caroline had been afraid rather than upset.

  ‘I mean, I can understand why she might feel frightened. It looks like this was a frenzied attack,’ she added, repeating the pathologist’s words.

  ‘It certainly looks as though it could have been done in the heat of the moment. So do you think she’s responsible?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s hard to say. The neighbours reported hearing heated arguments, but I can’t believe she would have left him in the shed like that, with her children in the house.’

  Reg scowled. A tall man, he stood with his shoulders slightly hunched, in an aggressive posture.

  ‘You don’t think she did it then?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘What about evidence? Does she have an alibi?’

  Geraldine turned to Max who had been checking out Caroline’s movements at the time of the murder. Caroline claimed to have taken her sons to football training on Saturday afternoon. Her husband had wanted to stay at home to cut the grass. She had left the house at around two o’clock and hadn’t left the football club until around six, arriving home at about a quarter past.

  ‘She was a bit vague as to the exact times. As soon as they reached home, she got their dinner on while the children went upstairs to shower.’ Max looked up from his notes with a frown. ‘We’ve already spoken to half a dozen of the other parents who were there, and to the football coach. They’ve all confirmed that she was at the training ground with her kids on Saturday, watching them play football, and that she didn’t leave early. So she wouldn’t have reached home till past six.’

  ‘He was killed between four and five,’ Geraldine said.

  ‘She would’ve had to slip away from the football without anyone noticing, race home, kill him and then be back again without anyone realising she had gone,’ Max pointed out.

  ‘So we all agree it’s unlikely, but is it possible?’ Reg persisted. ‘She might not have returned home intending to kill him. She might have forgotten something, gone home to fetch it, and come across her husband by accident, as it were. Is the timing feasible?’

  Geraldine understood his eagerness. If they thought Caroline had murdered her husband, they would at least have a line of enquiry to pursue, and Reg would have something to tell his superiors.

  ‘Are you confident she couldn’t have gone home in the time available?’ Reg repeated.

  ‘Just the travelling home and back again would have taken half an hour, at least, whatever route she took. I’ve checked all the possibilities. Plus her alibi checks out,’ Max said firmly. ‘We checked CCTV at the sports ground as well as asking other parents who were there, and Caroline’s vehicle never left the car park. The evidence shows she was there the whole time.’

  ‘Excellent work, Max, very thorough,’ Reg said. ‘Carry on like that and we’ll make an inspector of you before you know it, eh, Geraldine?’

  She nodded. Reg had never praised her so generously, but she had to agree Max was an impressive young man. For all his air of breezing through tasks, there was no denying he worked hard, and he seemed to grasp that any detail could be significant until it was ruled out. What was even more impressive was his easy manner when standing up to the detective chief inspector’s questioning. But Geraldine would happily have forfeited Max’s confidence for her usual sergeant’s presence at her side. It was true that Sam could act rashly, but only because she was driven by a passion for her work. Despite her impetuous nature, she had an instinct for the job which Geraldine suspected Max lacked.

  With a snort of impatience, Reg turned to Geraldine. ‘She was his wife. Maybe she isn’t directly responsible for his death, but she must know something. Didn’t you manage to find out anything at all?’

  Geraldine did her best to ignore the implication that she hadn’t been conscientious in her questioning. She repeated her earlier statement.

  ‘What was she afraid of?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  A sergeant made a quip about anyone in their right mind being afraid of being questioned by Geraldine, but she didn’t smile. Caroline had made her feel uneasy, although she couldn’t say why.

  That afternoon Geraldine went along to the mortuary to find out what Miles could tell them. His reports were invariably submitted promptly. All the same, she wanted to go and speak to him herself. Not only would she hear the results of his examination straight away, but he was often willing to share information with her in person that he would be reluctant to commit to a written report. ‘Off the record,’ he liked to say, and she was grateful to him for sharing his impressions. Not all pathologists were so relaxed in their approach.

  Miles looked up and smiled at her when she arrived. In his white apron he looked like a plump butcher as he raised a bloody gloved hand in cheerful greeting.

  ‘This is all pretty clear cut, for once,’ he announced cheerfully. ‘He was struck on the side of his head with some force, probably with the edge of the spade which was then swung at th
e back of his head, again with some force. He must have been knocked down – probably knocked out – by the initial blow. The edge of the spade caught him and sliced right through the skin, fracturing the parietal bone.’

  ‘Was that what killed him?’

  Miles nodded. ‘Brain damage, intracranial bleeding and shock all contributed to his death.’

  ‘What can you tell us about his killer?’

  ‘Anything I say would be guesswork.’

  ‘Guess away.’

  Many pathologists would refuse to speculate about crime scenes, at least in the presence of a detective on duty.

  ‘This is most unscientific,’ Miles protested feebly, his eyes alight with excitement.

  ‘Yes, yes, off the record, I know. So…?’

  Grinning, Miles rubbed his bloody gloves together. ‘The first blow was to the side of the head. Presumably he didn’t see it coming because there’s no evidence he tried to defend himself, no bruising on his arms from an attempt to ward off the blow. He was standing in the shed, and it’s possible – there’s no evidence for this, mind – but it’s a reasonable supposition that someone came up behind him. There’s no other way of making sense of his being hit so soundly on his head.’

  ‘Soundly?’

  ‘Fiercely, strongly – it was a blow strong enough to knock him out. It would have knocked him off balance anyway.’

  ‘He must have flung his arms out as he fell, cutting his forearm on a rake. Scene of crime officers have confirmed blood on the rake, and these lacerations match the prongs of the tool.’

  Geraldine leaned forward to peer at a line of parallel scratches on the victim’s arm.

  ‘He also hit his face on a lawnmower when he fell.’ Miles nodded to a colleague who turned the body over, exposing a large bruise on the side of the dead man’s forehead. ‘Once he was down, he tried to stand up.’