Class Murder Page 8

  ‘Peter,’ she said gently, ‘what’s happened? You can tell me.’

  She held her breath, trying not to inhale a nauseating smell of alcohol and sweat. If Peter’s stalker was real, there was a chance he might be the killer. She was hoping to hear something that might help them trace the culprit, but Peter merely reiterated his fear that a man was following him.

  ‘What makes you so sure it’s a man, if you’ve never seen his face?’

  He shrugged, and mumbled that it could be a woman. Unable to glean anything more from Peter, Geraldine could only reassure him that she would file a report.

  ‘A report’s not going to protect me, is it?’

  Recalling Peter saying the stranger resembled an actor in an old film, Geraldine wondered whether the stalker was just a figment of his imagination. Nevertheless she treated his statement seriously. Filing a detailed report on it, she recommended that his house be kept under surveillance. Eileen was sceptical of Peter’s claim, dismissing his fears with a shrug. She even suggested that Peter might have killed Stephanie himself, and was now projecting his terror on to strangers, believing they were watching him.

  ‘The stress of guilt can play strange tricks on the mind,’ she said.

  ‘It might well have all been in his imagination, but he was scared.’

  ‘And drunk. Well, Ian can talk to him tomorrow, if there’s time,’ Eileen said, ‘although I doubt there’s any more to this. But he’ll have to come back here. I can’t have Ian going all the way to Saddleworth on a hunch. And he’ll have to be sober next time.’

  Only Ian appeared at all interested in Peter’s story. ‘It’s bothering you, isn’t it?’ he asked Geraldine.

  ‘He’s a very frightened man,’ Geraldine replied.

  ‘Murder is frightening, and disturbing, especially to those who knew the victim.’

  Geraldine scowled at his condescension. ‘This isn’t my first case.’

  She knew she was overreacting, but it was hard adjusting to her new position. Rather than growing accustomed to her demotion, she was feeling increasingly conscious of her lowered status.

  ‘How’s your sister getting along?’ Ian asked quietly.

  Remembering the reason for her demotion, Geraldine felt a weight of anger lift from her mind. ‘To be honest, I’ve hardly spoken to Helena since I came to York, it’s been so manic, what with moving and now this murder to investigate. I should have been to see her, I just haven’t got the strength to cope with her problems right now. But I have called the clinic regularly to check, and she’s still there.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I’d be gutted if all this was for nothing.’

  Ian nodded. ‘But whatever happens, even if she relapses and goes back to using, she’ll always know you did everything in your power to help her to kick her habit. And what’s more important, you know you did everything you could for her.’ He smiled sympathetically. ‘There can’t be many people who would throw away a brilliant career to try and rescue a drug addict, like you’ve done.’

  ‘She’s my sister, Ian.’

  ‘A sister you only met recently. You’re effectively strangers.’

  ‘We’re identical twins. I didn’t have a choice, Ian, not really.’

  ‘That’s what you say, but I’m telling you, I don’t think many people would have done what you did. I’m not sure that I would have done it.’

  ‘Is that because you don’t think she’ll be able to kick the habit?’

  He hesitated. ‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

  They both knew he was lying.

  ‘I have to stay positive,’ she said, speaking to herself rather than to him. But it was too late. The dull aching anger that had been haunting her swept over her again.

  She turned away. ‘She’ll be out of rehab soon,’ she muttered.

  ‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it?’ he repeated, but this time he sounded uncertain.

  15

  After work that evening, Geraldine went for a drink with Ian. She couldn’t tell him that she hoped Naomi wasn’t going to join them again. Instead she suggested they go somewhere different.

  ‘What’s wrong with the Fulford Arms?’

  ‘Nothing, but we went there on Monday.’

  ‘That’s because it’s on our doorstep. It’s comfortable enough, and the beer’s good. I can’t see the point in going anywhere else.’

  She couldn’t argue with him without admitting that she wanted to spend time alone with him. It wasn’t that she was hoping any kind of romance might spring up between herself and Ian, but they had known one another for years, and he was someone with whom she could discuss her twin sister who was due to leave the rehabilitation clinic. She didn’t feel comfortable disclosing details of her family to Naomi, who was still virtually a stranger to her.

  It was Geraldine’s turn to buy a round. Standing at the bar she glanced around and recognised a small group of her colleagues seated at a table. She nodded to them in greeting without going over to join them. Ian was sitting by himself when she took him his pint.

  ‘You must be pleased Helena’s going to go home soon,’ he said as she sat down.

  Geraldine shrugged, but before she could answer he turned away and looked over at the door.

  He smiled, and Geraldine realised he was still looking towards the door. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Naomi waving at them. Ian jumped to his feet and pulled a spare chair over to their table. Geraldine forced a smile as the young constable sat down and put her pint on the table.

  ‘It’s so cold out there,’ Naomi grumbled, her eyes fixed on Ian. ‘Winter’s finally here with a vengeance. I think it’s going to snow tonight.’

  ‘They’ve had snow in London already,’ Geraldine said. ‘I was expecting the weather to be wintry far earlier around here.’

  ‘Wait,’ Naomi told her. ‘When it gets bad here, it’s really bad. You won’t believe it.’ She laughed, and Geraldine smiled at her.

  They began to discuss the case. Geraldine kept quiet, listening to her colleagues. Ian thought Tony was the most likely suspect, and Naomi agreed with him.

  ‘Geraldine doesn’t think it was him,’ Ian said, as though Geraldine wasn’t there.

  ‘Why not?’ Naomi asked, turning to her.

  ‘It’s not that I think he didn’t do it, it’s just that I’m not convinced he did.’

  Naomi looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean? Have you got another suspect in mind then?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Then I don’t understand. I mean, I don’t see the problem with going after Tony.’

  ‘It’s quite simple. I’m not sure Tony killed her. Just because he’s the only suspect, doesn’t mean he’s guilty.’

  ‘Geraldine has a reputation for instinctively getting at the truth,’ Ian said.

  Naomi looked surprised. ‘Have you two worked together before, then?’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ he replied, moving the conversation back to the investigation. ‘Of course, we’re only surmising at this stage. But if he is guilty we’ll find proof soon enough. It’s only a matter of time. He won’t escape for long.’

  ‘Look at it another way,’ Geraldine said. ‘What makes you so sure he’s guilty? It’s not as though we’ve got any proof, in fact, all we’ve got to go on is that he used to be her boyfriend. Since they split up, she’s moved to York and he’s found himself a new girlfriend. He seems perfectly happy with his present arrangement. So what possible motive could he have for killing Stephanie? Surely if either of them was going to be jealous it would be her, not him? We can’t pin this on him just because he used to go out with her.’

  ‘But someone killed her,’ Naomi said.

  ‘And so far we’ve got nothing to go on,’ Ian added.

  ‘We need to look harde
r then,’ Geraldine told them. ‘We have to find evidence.’

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be any,’ Ian said. ‘We’re having his house searched, and digging up the garden there, but so far nothing’s come up.’

  ‘His girlfriend must be happy,’ Geraldine said.

  ‘She’s going crazy,’ Ian grinned.

  ‘What about the man’s DNA found on the body?’ Geraldine asked. ‘That didn’t come from Tony Palmer. So we know there was another man present when she was killed.’

  Ian shook his head helplessly. A match had still not been found for the partial DNA profile that had been left under one of the dead girl’s finger nails. All that they knew was that he was Caucasian, with dark hair and dark eyes.

  ‘Dark hair narrows it down,’ Ian said, with a scowl.

  ‘It gets you out of the frame,’ Naomi teased him, ruffling his blond hair.

  Without a match on the database they had no way of identifying the dark-haired man.

  ‘We don’t even know the man whose DNA was found was actually there at the time of her death,’ Ian pointed out. ‘He could have arrived before the attack.’

  ‘We need to find that man, whoever he is,’ Geraldine insisted.

  ‘And how do you suggest we do that?’ Ian was sounding irritated.

  They were all frustrated by the unidentified DNA. Samples had been taken from everyone who had known Stephanie, and so far none of them had provided a match.

  ‘My money’s on the ex,’ Ian said after another pause.

  ‘It’s not his DNA,’ Geraldine repeated. ‘That has to be significant.’

  ‘Ian’s already told us what he thinks.’

  Feeling increasingly frustrated by the ramifications of her demotion, Geraldine held back from suggesting that Naomi was only agreeing with Ian because he was the senior officer there. If she hadn’t taken a foolish risk to save her twin sister’s life, she would still be on track for promotion to detective chief inspector. But she didn’t regret her decision. As for the consequences of her demotion, it was a bitter experience but she was learning to deal with her new circumstances. It wasn’t as though she had much choice.

  A few days had passed since she had last spoken to her sister. Leaving her colleagues in the pub, she went home and poured herself a large glass of wine before calling Helena’s mobile.

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’

  Although they had only recently met, on the death of their mother, Helena recognised Geraldine’s voice straight away. She reminded Geraldine that she was due to leave the rehabilitation clinic soon.

  ‘What are you planning to do when you leave there?’

  ‘That depends on you, really.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Even though Helena had been in rehab, Geraldine didn’t want her twin coming to live with her. As a recovering heroin addict, her life was very different to Geraldine’s. She was immediately reassured by Helena’s reply.

  ‘I’m hoping to go back to my old place. It’s still empty.’

  ‘What’s to stop you?’

  Helena hesitated. ‘There’s the rent for starters. Mum used to help me out with that. There’s what I still got of the money she left, but that’s going to run out, innit?’

  ‘What about housing benefit?’

  ‘I can’t claim.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They’re only letting me leave the clinic because I said I was going to family.’

  ‘What family?’

  ‘You. You’re my family now.’

  ‘I’m living in a one-bedroomed apartment,’ Geraldine lied.

  ‘No, no!’ Helena interrupted her, ‘I’m not coming to live with you! Bloody hell, I’m not moving to wherever it is you’ve buggered off to.’

  ‘Then I don’t understand…’ Geraldine broke off as she realised what Helena meant. ‘Are you asking me to pay your rent?’

  ‘So you’ll do it?’

  ‘How much is it?’

  Geraldine didn’t mention that she still owned a two-bedroomed flat in Central London. The rent she received was enough to cover her mortgage and other expenses of keeping the flat. With that and her salary she could afford to cover Helena’s rent as well as her own, but she didn’t rush to offer to support her. She had already done so much for Helena, it might be time to expect her to cope independently. But the spectre of Helena reverting to her habit silenced her.

  ‘Well? You gonna help me or what? I know you got the dosh because you’re paying for this place. But I’m done with rehab. I’ll be getting out soon. So, what’s it to be, sis?’

  Geraldine frowned. Although the clinic’s fee was more than Helena’s rent could possibly amount to, Helena was only ever going to be at the clinic for a few months. Committing herself to paying her sister’s rent might become a permanent obligation. As though listening to someone else speaking, she heard herself say that would be fine.

  ‘But I’ll pay the rent directly,’ she added quickly.

  There was no way she would risk handing over that amount of money to a recovering heroin addict.

  ‘You don’t trust me,’ Helena snapped. ‘After all I been through in this bloody place, you still think I’m going to blow your dosh on smack.’

  Geraldine sighed. It would have been nice to get some thanks for agreeing to cover Helena’s rent.

  16

  More of them should have been killed by now. With so many potential victims to choose from, there could have been more deaths. He was spoiled for choice, really, but he needed to take his time and select his targets carefully. Only by controlling his feelings could he maintain his success. If he was clever, he would never have to stop. And he was clever. He was very clever. Far too clever to be caught. He took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to control his frustration. It would be easy to become complacent, watching reports of his exploits in the media, and be tempted to rush into his next attack.

  Despite the vast array of resources at their disposal, the police were clueless about his identity. They said they had several people ‘helping them with their enquiries’, but they hadn’t approached him yet. All the same, he had to remain on his guard. He was aware of the risks he took. That knowledge kept him safe. Because he hadn’t finished yet. He had barely begun. It might take a long time for him to achieve his goal, but he could be patient. In the meantime he had to protect himself. There must be no possibility of discovery.

  He had spent a long time thinking up a safe way to dispose of any evidence that might lead the police to discover his identity. It was crucial to get this right because, however careful he was, once his bloody clothes were discovered his arrest would be inevitable. The blood of his victims would be easy to identify, and his DNA was bound to be all over the clothes he had worn when killing them. At first the problem had seemed insurmountable. Puzzling over what to do had delayed him for months until, in the end, he had come up with a simple solution.

  Once he had worked out how to avoid discovery, Stephanie had been easy to dispatch. Killing was never a problem. As soon as she opened the door he had slipped through it before she could stop him. Safely inside the flat, he had left no doubt that her murder was intentional. A violent attack was necessary to send out the right message. Afterwards he had been careful to leave the building without attracting attention, slipping away to dispose of his clothing where no one would ever find it. There had been no one around to see him emerge from an abandoned lock-up garage, washed and in clean clothes, the bloody evidence of his work tied up in a black bin bag in the back of his van.

  Not even a week had passed since he had killed Stephanie, and he wasn’t planning to find another victim just yet. There had been a lot of fuss about her murder in the local media, so he was keeping a low profile. He had been mulling over who to choose as his next victim, trying to pick an easy target from her group of friends at school
, when an opportunity turned up out of the blue. Not far from Stephanie’s family home one evening, he nearly drove straight past a man leaving the pub. Just in time he recognised Peter and pulled into the kerb to see where he went.

  Obviously tipsy, Peter staggered down towards the canal, and he followed with no clear plan in mind. He did his best to move around silently, but Peter heard him and hurried back to the road. Back on the street he had to seize his chance or lose it.

  ‘No, no,’ Peter waved one hand at him dismissively. ‘I don’t need a lift. I want to walk.’ He was so drunk he could barely string his words together in coherent sentences. ‘Go away. I want to walk.’

  There were no other vehicles on the road.

  ‘It’s going to rain,’ he insisted softly. ‘You might as well jump in. Are you going home? It’s on my way.’

  It wasn’t strictly speaking a lie because it was going to rain, although possibly not that evening. Peter craned his head back and stared at the sky. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he lowered his gaze.

  ‘Says who?’ he demanded. ‘What do you want? Who are you anyway? I don’t know you.’

  ‘Get in and I’ll drop you home. I’m a police officer,’ he added vaguely. ‘Anyone can see you’ve had a drop too much and we can’t have you getting in trouble, can we? You might wander into the road and have an accident.’

  ‘How do you know where I live?’

  ‘You’re going to tell me and then I’ll take you home. Come on now, you’re in no fit state to be wandering around the street on your own.’

  ‘Going to rain,’ Peter mumbled as he clambered into the van.

  He still hadn’t made up his mind what to do, exactly, but when Peter fell asleep almost as soon as they drove off, he realised this was too good a chance to pass up. Driving at a steady pace, he waited until they were out of the built up area before putting his foot down. From time to time he glanced at his passenger who was sound asleep and snoring gently. Reaching a deserted spot he drew up, taking care not to drive off the tarmac to avoid leaving tyre tracks. Jumping out, he ran round to the back of the van to grab his knife, before dragging his befuddled passenger out on to the road.