Class Murder Page 5

  ‘This is about your ex-girlfriend, Stephanie Crawford.’

  He seemed to tense, instantly on his guard. It wasn’t clear if that was because his current girlfriend was standing right beside him, or because he had something to hide.

  ‘She’s got nothing to do with us,’ his girlfriend snapped. ‘Whatever she’s done, it’s none of his business. Like you said, she’s his ex. He doesn’t know her any more.’ She glared at Tony. ‘You don’t have anything to do with her any more, do you?’

  Ignoring the interruption, Geraldine spoke to Tony. ‘Stephanie’s dead.’

  ‘What?’ He gasped. ‘Stephanie’s dead?’

  ‘She was murdered,’ Geraldine added softly.

  ‘Murdered? What do you mean?’ His expression of shock appeared genuine. ‘That’s not possible. I mean, I would have heard.’

  ‘Why would anyone tell you? You don’t have anything to do with her now. She’s history,’ his girlfriend said. She turned to Geraldine. ‘That’s terrible, but it’s got nothing to do with Tony. He doesn’t see her any more.’

  ‘Wait, Amy. I want to know…’ he turned to Geraldine. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘Tony, it’s got nothing to do with you…’

  ‘I want to know what happened.’

  Peevish rather than angry, he didn’t strike Geraldine as an aggressive man, but she knew how deceptive appearances could be.

  ‘How did it happen?’ he bleated.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  As she stepped into a narrow hallway, Geraldine turned to Amy and asked her to put the kettle on. With a scowl, Amy nodded and hurried away to the kitchen as Tony led Geraldine into an untidy sitting room, the carpet partly hidden under several piles of glossy magazines. Stepping over them, he sat down on one of two matching armchairs and invited Geraldine to sit opposite him on the other.

  ‘What happened?’ he repeated.

  Briefly, Geraldine told him what she knew.

  He frowned. ‘Stabbed? But why? Who would have done that?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out. Tony, can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Stephanie?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Her flatmate told us that she once had a boyfriend who was violent.’

  He looked surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Tony,’ she leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘If we discover anything in Stephanie’s medical records that indicates she was injured while you were seeing her, or at some point after you split up…’

  ‘You won’t,’ Amy said firmly, entering the room.

  Geraldine glanced up at her as she placed a tray down on a magazine lying on a low table.

  ‘Tony never raised a finger against that girl. He couldn’t have. He’s not like that. I should know. I live with him.’

  ‘Thank you for the tea. I’d like to speak to Tony alone now, please.’

  ‘Well, that’s not going to happen. There’s no way you’re sending me out of the room in my own house, sergeant or no sergeant, so…’

  ‘If we can’t conduct our conversation here,’ Geraldine cut in abruptly, ‘then Tony will have to come to the police station in York so we can speak properly. Tony,’ she turned back to him, ‘you’re not a suspect. But you did know Stephanie, and we’re currently speaking to everyone who knew her. We’ll need to speak to you as well,’ she added, turning back to Amy. ‘Would I be right in suggesting you had a grudge against Tony’s ex-girlfriend? You don’t seem comfortable with him talking about her. Perhaps you wanted her out of the way?’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake,’ Amy cried out. ‘I never even met the girl, not to talk to. Are you going to treat everyone you meet as a suspect?’

  ‘In a murder investigation, everyone who knew the victim is a suspect, yes,’ Geraldine replied severely, ‘and anyone who seems reluctant to assist us in our investigation is bound to attract our attention. Now, would you please let me speak to Tony alone? And then perhaps I can have a word with you? At the moment, I’m only here to eliminate you from our enquiries. So far there’s been nothing to suggest either of you is under suspicion, apart from your unwillingness to assist the investigation.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Amy conceded disagreeably, ‘you’ve made your point. I’m going.’

  When they were alone, Geraldine invited Tony to tell her about his relationship with Stephanie.

  He assured her the affair had ended by mutual agreement. ‘We both agreed our relationship was going nowhere. Her parents were pressurising her to get married but neither of us was sure that was what we wanted. Not with each other, anyway. There wasn’t any falling out, nothing like that. She wanted to move to York and see a bit of life…’ he broke off, his voice trembling. After a moment he regained his composure. ‘She thought I was a boring stick-in-the-mud because I was happy to stay here in Uppermill. But it’s a beautiful place. Why would I leave? She said she wanted to experience life in the city. So she went ahead and got herself a job in York. She wanted me to go with her, but I think she knew deep down that was never going to happen.’ He sighed. ‘We just wanted different things. She was more than ten years younger than me. I think that had something to do with it. I’m thirty-five.’

  Geraldine wondered if that was why he had turned to an older woman once Stephanie had left him. He seemed a reticent kind of man, tall and gentle and rather weak. She asked him to provide a DNA sample to eliminate him from their enquiries, but somehow she doubted that Tony was the killer they were searching for.

  8

  A heavy fog was descending as Geraldine drove out of Uppermill. If she had brought an overnight bag with her she wouldn’t have hesitated to check into the pub on the main street, since she had to return to the village the next day to speak to the dead girl’s other ex-boyfriend. It occurred to her for the first time how very different working in York was going to be, compared to her job in London where volume of traffic was a problem, rather than distances travelled. Despite her reservations, the journey back to York wasn’t too heavy going, although it was miserable. She was always able to see far enough ahead to be able to drive comfortably and although the roads were likely to be icy overnight, they had not yet frozen over. A faint sleety drizzle began to fall as she approached the city and she was pleased when she could stop and get out of the car to stretch her legs.

  Focused on her driving, she had given her visit to Uppermill little thought on her journey. Back at her desk, writing up her findings, she struggled to report her conviction that Tony wasn’t responsible for Stephanie’s murder. As an inspector in London, she had grown accustomed to working with colleagues who were prepared to follow her instincts. Her former detective chief inspector had often been impatient with her for following her hunches before she had sufficient evidence, but even he had come to acknowledge that her gut feeling rarely let her down. Now, without the trust of her colleagues, she no longer felt the same confidence in her own instincts.

  Weighing everything up, it seemed wise to be circumspect in her comments about Tony Palmer. Avoiding insisting too firmly on her own impression, she focused instead on his good relationship with his new partner and his surprise on hearing about Stephanie’s death, which had seemed genuine. She hoped Eileen wouldn’t dismiss her comments as naive. Ian wasn’t around, so she went home as soon as she had finished writing up her report.

  On Monday morning she set off very early for Saddleworth once more. Peter Edwards, one of Stephanie’s former boyfriends, still lived there. The other one had moved to America two years before her death and had not returned to the UK since. The young man she was going to visit lived in a village a few miles from Uppermill where he rented a room in a house on the main street. She hadn’t called ahead, because she wanted to catch him off guard before he left for work.

  Once again, it was a woman who opened the door. She looked about sixty.

 
‘Yes, dear? How can I help you?’ She smiled enquiringly at Geraldine.

  When Geraldine explained what she was doing there, the landlady invited her in without any questions.

  ‘Wait here and I’ll call Peter down,’ she said. ‘He’s upstairs in his room. At least, I haven’t heard him go out yet.’

  Leaving Geraldine sitting in a cosy front room, she disappeared. A moment later Geraldine heard her going upstairs. She returned with a young man in jeans and a crumpled T-shirt, who gave the impression he had just climbed out of bed and pulled on whatever clothes he had been wearing the previous evening. His feet were bare. Brushing his untidy fair hair out of his eyes, he sat down opposite Geraldine while his landlady bustled about putting the kettle on, making a pot of tea.

  ‘I’ll just pop some toast on, shall I?’ she asked. ‘Or would you prefer a tea cake?’

  ‘I’m sorry but this isn’t a social call,’ Geraldine interrupted her. ‘I need to have a word with Peter on his own. Thank you,’ she added as the landlady poured them all a cup of tea.

  The landlady left and Geraldine closed the door behind her before turning back to Peter who was blinking sleepily.

  ‘What’s this about?’ he asked. ‘Who did you say you were?’

  Sipping his tea as she introduced herself, he seemed to wake up.

  ‘A detective? What do you mean?’

  As he registered what she was saying, his expression grew wary. He glanced guiltily around the room, as though looking for an escape route. Accustomed to being treated with suspicion, Geraldine didn’t read too much into his reaction. Even people completely innocent of any wrongdoing could feel uncomfortable when she visited them at home in her official capacity. And few people she spoke to were completely innocent. She had heard many unforced apologies for petty misdemeanours while she had been pursuing murder enquiries.

  ‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ he began.

  ‘I’d like to talk to you about Stephanie Crawford.’

  ‘Steph?’ He frowned. ‘I haven’t seen her in a while. I heard she’s gone to York. Why? What’s she done?’

  While he wasn’t particularly forthcoming, Peter soon convinced her that he knew nothing about Stephanie’s recent history. His shock on hearing that Stephanie had been murdered seemed authentic.

  ‘She was with this guy Tony Palmer,’ he told her, obviously trying to be helpful. ‘But they split up a while back, and he’s with some other woman now.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think he’s got anything to do with it. Tony’s a nice guy. A bit soft, but nice.’

  ‘Tell me about your relationship with Stephanie.’

  He shook his head again, helplessly. ‘It was years ago. We were still at school. This has got nothing to do with me. And now I’m going to be late for work if I don’t leave soon.’

  His face had turned pale and he looked frightened. Ignoring his last comment, Geraldine continued with her questions.

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Shit, I can’t remember. I mean, I haven’t seen her since we left school, and that was nearly five years ago.’

  ‘Where were you last Thursday evening?’

  ‘Is that when it happened?’

  ‘Just answer my questions, please. Where were you?’

  He frowned. ‘Having a pint, I guess. Yes, I went out for a few beers.’

  ‘Were you with anyone?’

  He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t drinking on my own, if that’s what you mean. I was with a mate. And the landlord will tell you I was there as well.’

  Making a note of the names of the men who could corroborate Peter’s story, Geraldine left after taking a sample of Peter’s DNA. The local pub was open and the cheerful middle-aged man behind the bar nodded when Geraldine showed him a photograph of Peter. She had taken it on her phone, but the landlord recognised Peter straight away.

  ‘Course I know him,’ he told her with an easy smile. ‘He lives in the village. He’s a regular here. Name’s Peter. Nice lad. Is he in trouble?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. But can you tell me if he was here last Thursday evening?’

  The landlord paused, thinking. ‘Well, he did miss one evening last week but that must have been Monday, so yes, he would have been here on Thursday. He was having a beer with another local boy, if my memory serves. They’re here together most evenings during the week.’

  ‘What time did he leave?’

  ‘Oh, they’re here till closing, those two. It’s the darts keeps them here. We run a team.’ He smiled.

  Geraldine didn’t need to question Peter’s companion to confirm his alibi. Thanking the landlord of the pub she left. Normally she wouldn’t have been disappointed by the outcome of her enquiries so far, but Stephanie had mentioned a violent ex-boyfriend to Ashley, and Geraldine had gone to Saddleworth with high expectations.

  It felt strange to be driving back home to York. Her new flat was pleasant, with views out over the river from her kitchen and her sitting room. When the weather improved it was going to be picturesque. But she was a long way from London. She missed her family, and her friends on the Met, particularly her sergeant, Sam, to whom she had been close. Of course she had known that she was going to be hundreds of miles away when she had agreed to the move, but she hadn’t anticipated quite how isolated she was going to feel in her new home. What was more disappointing was that she had overestimated the consolation of working with Ian again. No longer her sergeant, it was understandable he would appear more distant with her than he had been when they had worked together before. She should have realised that would happen. But she couldn’t turn the clock back, and would just have to make the best of her new situation.

  It was nearly midday by the time she arrived back in York. After lunch Eileen wanted the team to gather for a briefing. Aware that her opinions no longer carried much weight, Geraldine deliberated about her report. Apart from the DNA samples she had taken, everything she had to say was subjective. Tony and Peter had both given a plausible appearance of innocence, but that was just her opinion. It wasn’t much to go on. Eileen wouldn’t be impressed.

  9

  She was back in Saddleworth. Good. It amused him to watch the police going round in circles. Having been to visit Tony Palmer once, she was off to talk to him again. She could question him for as long as she liked. It wouldn’t help her. He alone knew the police were on a hiding to nothing; they were never going to find out who had killed Stephanie. But while they were busy running around, they were unwittingly giving away quite a lot of information. He smiled to himself. This was another attribute of a successful killer. In addition to his intelligence, boldness and patience, he was lucky. He smiled, acknowledging the truth in the saying that people made their own luck, because persistence was another quality that contributed to his success. He never allowed anything to stop him, once he made up his mind.

  Yesterday he had suffered a temporary setback. Having followed the detective all the way back to the police station in York, he had lost sight of her. He had watched the exit to the police station for hours, but she must have gone home in a different car. He would have to look out for that, and not assume he could keep track of her through her vehicle. Undeterred, he had set out the next morning to try and pick up her trail again, and his tenacity had been rewarded when he had caught sight of her on her way back to Saddleworth. She had actually driven right past him as he was travelling back to the police station in York. Turning round as soon as he could, he had set off in pursuit, relishing the chase now that he had picked up the trail again so quickly. Casting about to find him, she had no idea that he was right behind her, like a pantomime villain.

  Instead of going back to see Tony Palmer, she drove to the neighbouring village and stopped in a street off the main road where she rang one of the bells. He didn’t recognise the woman who came to the door. It must have been someone who had known Step
hanie. After about half an hour, the detective emerged from the house and drove off. He considered going to the house himself to find out who she had been speaking to, but he could go back there any time. He would be better off following the detective, and this time he wouldn’t lose her. He had bought binoculars especially. He would have to be careful, scrutinising drivers leaving the car park at the police station, but with a little discretion he thought he could carry it off. It was just a case of being careful not to draw attention to himself.

  In the event, he didn’t need to wait outside the police station at all because the detective didn’t go back there but instead drove along the A1036 and on to Bishopsgate Street, where she disappeared into an underground car park beneath a smart block of apartments overlooking the river. As he drove past he noted the position of the building. Finding a parking space, he hurried back, registering that there was a hotel across the road, which could be useful. Cautiously he trotted up a short flight of steps leading to the entrance to her block. A key fob was needed to open the front door, but it would be easy to gain access by following someone inside. Peering around the corner of the building, he could see a series of balconies. It looked as though her flat overlooked the river, which might offer him another way in.

  Having learned as much as he could on an initial reconnoitre, he didn’t linger. Discovering where the detective lived was enough information for one day. He would need to think through his next movements carefully. He wasn’t reckless and had no intention of breaking in there unless it proved necessary. If his luck held, the police would never come anywhere near discovering his identity, and that was just how it should be. All he wanted was to be left alone to pursue his own agenda. It wasn’t much to ask. Still, if he needed to learn how much they knew, now he had discovered where she lived he could easily find a way to slip into her apartment and have a look around. Going there while she was out during the day probably wouldn’t help him much. She would carry her information around with her on a laptop or smart phone, besides which she was bound to have some sort of alarm system protecting her home while she was out. But he could go there one night and have a look around. Hopefully she wouldn’t wake up. He was confident he would be able to overpower her if she did, but killing a police officer wasn’t a good idea.