Dead End Page 7

  Geraldine gazed into the other woman's worried eyes. ‘Charlotte, we believe Abigail Kirby was murdered. Now, let's start again. You say you were here in the afternoon, on your own, until Matthew Kirby turned up. What time did he arrive?’

  Charlotte shrugged. ‘I don't know. I didn't look. He just came round and we talked, that's all.’

  ‘And what time did he leave?’

  ‘I don't know. It was late. After midnight.’

  ‘And he was here with you all that time? Think carefully, Charlotte, this could be important. Did Matthew Kirby leave you at all during the afternoon? Did either of you leave the flat for any reason that afternoon or evening?’

  ‘No. I told you. He came round and he stayed here, with me, until late. Neither of us went out. I'm sure of it.’

  Geraldine told Charlotte Fox not to leave the area without contacting the police first.

  ‘Am I a suspect?’ Charlotte whispered apprehensively.

  ‘No, but we may need to ask you a few more questions.’

  Geraldine and Peterson walked back to the car without talking for a few minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

  ‘She didn't confirm his alibi,’ Geraldine broke the silence. ‘But we may be able to establish her whereabouts from the mobile phone records.’

  ‘She certainly gives him a motive,’ Peterson replied. ‘Abigail Kirby, late forties, interested only in her work, pays no attention to her husband but refuses to divorce him.’ He glanced at Geraldine. ‘Matthew wants to get rid of his wife because he's worried he's going to lose his young girlfriend if he can't marry her.’

  ‘I agree so far it all points to Matthew Kirby,’ Geraldine said. ‘He wanted to be rid of Abigail all right. The question is, did he want it badly enough to kill her – and cut out her tongue? I don't believe it. He might have been in love with another woman but he didn't walk away from his marriage, he cares about his children, and he seems quite – ordinary.’ She shook her head. ‘I can't help feeling we're dealing with someone far more sinister than Matthew Kirby.’

  14

  ZOE

  Lucy shut her door firmly. Her desk top was clear apart from her computer and a dirty mug that gave off a faint sickly sweet smell of chocolate. Lucy hated clutter and never put any school books on her desk, although that was what her parents had bought it for. She moved the mug out of sight before switching on her computer.

  The screen flickered alight and she saw that Zoe was already online.

  ‘Hey Zoe!’

  ‘Hey you!’ Zoe replied at once and Lucy smiled. ‘What's new?’ They chatted for a while. Grumbling about her brother, Lucy learned that Zoe had an older sister.

  ‘You're so lucky!’ Lucy told her. ‘I wish I had a sister not a stupid useless brother.’

  ‘It's not so great.’

  ‘Do you share clothes?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Lucky!’

  ‘A brother's better. You get to meet all his friends.’

  ‘He's 12! And he's a dick. Always poking his nose in where it's not wanted.’

  ‘We ought to use a password when we log on then.’

  ‘Why?’ Lucy asked. ‘Instant messenger's private. Isn't that the point?’

  ‘If we're going to tell each other secrets we need to make sure no one else can read them!’

  ‘OK.’ A thought struck Lucy. ‘We need to delete the password every time.’

  ‘Delete everything as soon as we've read it.’

  ‘So what's it going to be?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What's the password?’

  ‘Don't know. Any ideas?’

  ‘Clueless.’

  ‘Too obvious!’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I wasn't suggesting it as a password! I meant I haven't got a clue! You got any ideas?’

  ‘I'm thinking.’

  ‘How about JLS?’

  ‘Too common.’

  ‘JLS aren't common!’

  ‘No. JLS is too common for a password.’

  Lucy tried again. ‘What about schoolsucks?’

  ‘OK. Memorise and delete!’

  Engrossed in chatting, Lucy was startled when someone called her name. She minimised her screen and spun round to see her father silhouetted in the doorway. ‘What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?’ What was the point of agreeing a password on a secure site if her dad was going to barge into her room, uninvited, and read her private messages over her shoulder? ‘What are you doing in my room? How dare you come in without knocking?’

  ‘I just wanted to tell you I'm going out –’

  ‘Good. Don't hurry back.’ Lucy turned to her screen and waited to hear the door close. After a few seconds she looked over her shoulder. Her father was hovering in the doorway. ‘Are you still here?’ she demanded crossly.

  ‘I thought you might want some supper before I go out.’

  ‘Well you thought wrong. And close the door behind you.’

  ‘Lucy…’

  ‘What do you want? Can't you leave me alone?’ She heard the door close and when she looked around, he had gone. With an angry smile she turned back to the screen.

  Zoe had left three messages while Lucy was talking to her father.

  ‘Sorry,’ Lucy wrote. ‘My dad came in.’

  ‘Did he see what you were writing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No worries. He was nowhere near my computer.’ Zoe didn't answer. ‘And I minimised the screen as soon as he opened the door.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘No it bloody isn't. He can't just walk in without knocking.’

  ‘You're right. It's your space.’

  ‘I hate him!’

  ‘Parents are a pain. Are you sure he didn't see what we've written?’

  ‘I'm sure. The point is he's got no right to come in without permission. I could have been writing something private. He could've seen it.’

  ‘But he didn't?’

  ‘No. But he shouldn't come in like that. He's got no right.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I hate my dad.’

  ‘Parents are bloody annoying.’

  ‘It's more than that. I HATE him.’

  Lucy jumped when she heard her door open. She minimised her screen and leapt from her chair in a fury. ‘What did I just say?’ she yelled.

  Her brother kicked a trainer across the room. ‘I don't know,’ he answered amiably. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘What are you doing in here? Leave my shoes alone. And get lost.’

  ‘That's friendly,’ Ben grinned at her. He brushed his dark fringe with the back of a hand but it flopped over his eyes again straightaway.

  ‘Go away. I'm busy,’ she said.

  ‘You don't look busy.’

  ‘Well that just shows how much you know.’

  ‘More than you, because I came in to tell you something.’ He made no move to leave.

  ‘What is it then? And this had better be interesting.’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or you've come barging in here for no reason, without my permission, and disturbed me when I was doing something very important.’

  ‘Oh shut up, you're not in school now. I don't need your permission to speak. You're not my teacher.’

  ‘You do need my permission to come in here. It's my room.’

  ‘Well I don't need your permission to come in, obviously, because I'm here.’

  ‘Well you can go away again. Right now.’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or I'll tell mum –’

  They stared at one another, shocked into silence.

  ‘I only came in to tell you dad's gone out,’ Ben mumbled. He didn't look at Lucy.

  ‘Big deal. I hope he never comes back.’

  Ben turned and left the room, banging the door behind him. ‘You're a cow!’ Lucy heard him shout as he stomped along the landing to his own room. ‘A stupid bloody cow!’

&nb
sp; ‘Oh fuck off,’ she muttered under her breath. She turned back to her screen and was relieved to see that Zoe was still online.

  ‘Are you there?’ Zoe had written and, a moment later, ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Lucy typed. ‘My idiot brother came in.’

  ‘Did he see my messages?’

  ‘No. He didn't see anything.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. I wouldn't let him anywhere near my computer! He's such a loser.’

  ‘Bad as your dad?’

  ‘No one could be as bad as my dad!’

  ‘Why? What's wrong with him?’

  ‘Can't tell you.’ Lucy signed off abruptly. She couldn't even tell her best friend what her dad had done. She couldn't tell anyone that her father had killed her mother so he could get all her money and marry Charlotte.

  The police were stupid. Even Ben didn't understand what had happened. She wondered whether to tell him but she was afraid he wouldn't believe her. He never took her seriously. No one did. Her mother was the only person who had ever cared about Lucy and now she was dead and it was all her father's fault. Lucy flung herself down on her bed and began to cry in earnest.

  PART 2

  ‘It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say ‘It lightens’…’

  Shakespeare

  15

  Vernon

  Vernon slipped his cuff back to check the time. In a few minutes Tim was going to lower the shutter over the entrance furthest from the tills.

  ‘You doing anything tonight?’ Susie asked. In his wildest fantasies Vernon might imagine she was coming on to him, but in reality he knew she had a boyfriend. She was never going to be interested in him anyway. She probably felt sorry for him. Susie was stunning, tall and willowy, with blonde hair and blue eyes; without a doubt the best-looking girl Vernon had ever met. He thought about her most of the time.

  Tim had his back to them dealing with a customer, and Vernon relaxed. Tim wasn't bad as store managers went, but it wasn't a good idea to be seen standing idle these days. The fact that it hadn't been his fault when he had lost his last job only made him more wary. People were being laid off all the time, it was all over the news. Several of his mates were out of work and he had only managed to find a temporary replacement for his previous job. Once Christmas was over, the prospect of finding work was going to get worse.

  ‘I might go for a few jars with a mate,’ he answered vaguely. The truth was he would probably be spending the evening at home with his mum. ‘How about you? Got anything nice planned? Wednesday night on the town, is it?’

  Susie gave her easy laugh that made Vernon's breath catch in his throat. He wished he wasn't so awkward and sweaty. ‘I'm seeing some of the girls from school. We might go to Wendovers. We'll probably go into town, you know.’

  Vernon nodded. They watched Tim operate the shutter and wait while it slid silently down.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Vernon muttered.

  ‘Do you think Tim's gay?’ Susie whispered conspiratorially, leaning forward so Vernon could smell the sweet scent of perfumed shampoo. The manager looked round and Susie's blonde hair swung as she turned away to busy herself at the nearest shelf, tidying the newspapers.

  Susie was in the staffroom buttoning her coat when Vernon went up to collect his jacket. He followed her down the narrow back stairs and they left together. Although the outside doors stayed open until six, by five thirty the shopping centre was almost deserted. A few shoppers were wandering about carrying bags stuffed with early Christmas presents. Vernon and Susie passed a queue of people waiting to pay for their parking, and paused by a huge Christmas tree on display at the foot of the escalator. Beside it a sign advertising Santa's grotto was flanked by grinning life-sized plastic elves.

  ‘They look like something out of a horror movie,’ Vernon said and Susie laughed.

  ‘You in a hurry to get off?’ she asked. Vernon shook his head, suddenly self-conscious. ‘Fancy a drink then?’

  They went to the nearest pub. ‘So nice to sit down,’ Susie smiled as Vernon brought two halves over and they chatted about work, grumbling companionably.

  ‘At least you've got the option,’ Vernon said. ‘I've got no idea what I'm going to be doing after Christmas.’

  ‘You should see it as an opportunity.’

  ‘An opportunity to be broke!’ He stared glumly into his drink thinking how his mother would have told him off for wasting three quid, but it was his money.

  ‘No, an opportunity to change your life. To do something new. You could do anything.’ Vernon gazed into her eyes, bright with enthusiasm, and noticed funny little blotches of black in the corners where her make-up had smudged. He felt a shiver of excitement. Maybe Susie was right. He was only seventeen. ‘You've got your whole life in front of you,’ Susie was saying. ‘You don't want to spend it stuck in some bloody shop counting the minutes till closing time.’ Vernon nodded. He'd heard it all before from his mother, but somehow the words sounded different on Susie's lips. He gulped his beer then regretted drinking it so quickly. He wanted this conversation to last all evening.

  Susie was talking about work again. Vernon watched the sheen on her lips as they moved, without really listening to what she was saying. ‘So how was your day?’ she asked.

  ‘A funny thing happened, actually.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Susie yawned.

  ‘I saw my old headmistress, Mrs Kirby, in the paper. You know, the woman that was found by the recreation ground, murdered.’

  ‘Oh my God, she was your headmistress. You knew her!’ Susie leaned forward. ‘What was she like? It must have been dreadful, reading about it in the paper.’

  ‘I didn't know her exactly. I don't think she ever spoke to me all the time I was at school. Not that I would've wanted to talk to her. She was a right old cow. Sorry, I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. She was only there for my last year anyway. But what was really weird was that I saw her in the shop on Saturday, the same day she was killed.’

  ‘You saw her the day she was murdered!’ Susie stared at him, fascinated, and Vernon felt his face redden as she leaned towards him. ‘What happened? Tell me! Oh my God, this is huge.’

  ‘There was this man.’ He paused, trying to find words to explain what had happened.

  Vernon had picked out his old headmistress, Mrs Kirby, straightaway while she stood waiting to pay. As the queue shuffled forwards she had glanced around impatiently. Vernon hadn't heard what Mrs Kirby said to the man behind her in the queue, but he recognised the expression on the man's face after Mrs Kirby turned away. All the kids at school hated Mrs Kirby. If it hadn't been for her, Vernon might have stayed on, might even have tried for university in spite of his GCSEs. His dismal grades weren't entirely his fault. His mum had deteriorated so much when he was in Year 11 that she could barely get around without a wheelchair and although the council people sent in carers, Vernon had to help out with the shopping and the housework, not that he did much of that, but there was still the washing-up and the laundrette. Mrs Kirby didn't care about any of that. She had made it clear from the start that she had no time for pupils who had done badly in their GCSEs. The previous headmaster had been a decent guy, but Mrs Kirby had swept through the school like a cold blast.

  The man behind Mrs Kirby in the queue was old, so Vernon was surprised to see an unmistakable expression of loathing on his face as he looked at Mrs Kirby. Vernon's own aversion to her was already fading. He didn't really care any more. But there was no mistaking the man's abhorrence as he stared at the back of Mrs Kirby's head.

  Vernon struggled to describe the scene to Susie, aware that his anecdote sounded boring. It had made such a vivid impression on him at the time that he still remembered it as clearly as though it was taking place now, in front of his eyes, although nothing had actually happened. A stranger had seen Mrs Kirby and Vernon thought he'd looked disgusted. Big deal.

  ‘The thing is,�
�� he said, ‘I saw her on Saturday morning, and it said in the paper that she was killed sometime on Saturday.’

  Susie was really interested now. ‘You might have been the last person to see her alive.’ She bent forward again, lowering her voice. ‘And the man you saw, he might have been the killer!’

  Vernon gasped. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. ‘Do you really think so?’

  Susie nodded, wide-eyed. ‘You have to tell the police –’ she began, but just then her phone rang. She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder, still talking on the phone. Then, with a wave of her hand, she was gone.

  Vernon stared disconsolately at a smear of lipstick on her glass. He almost wished he hadn't told her about seeing Mrs Kirby, because he knew she was right and he ought to tell the police. It was just possible he had seen Mrs Kirby's murderer. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what the man had looked like.

  16

  Matthew

  On her way to the morning briefing Kathryn Gordon stopped Geraldine in the corridor. ‘I had a word with a colleague last night.’ Geraldine hesitated, uncertain where this was heading. ‘A colleague on the Met.’ Since the investigation had started Geraldine had barely given a thought to her proposed career move. The Met was having a recruitment drive and Geraldine had discussed her position with Kathryn Gordon who had agreed to support her application for a transfer to London; joining the Met would be equivalent to a promotion. The DCI had contacts in the Met and had even offered to put in a good word for Geraldine. Such assistance could make all the difference, but weeks had passed and she had heard nothing. ‘I told him you couldn't possibly be released at the moment so I'm afraid any possibility of a transfer is on the back burner for now.’

  ‘Of course.’ Geraldine held open the door of the Incident Room. ‘And thank you.’