Deadly Alibi Read online

  Realising that Geraldine knew something about Chris to which she wasn’t privy, Sam sat back in her chair.

  ‘The girl’s father came along and took down the number of my van, for no reason except that I was there. He was a nut job. Well, you didn’t manage to pin that trumped-up charge on me, and you won’t pin this on me either.’

  ‘When did you last see your wife?’

  ‘Alive, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’ Geraldine answered quietly. He knew very well what she meant.

  ‘I’ve already told you, I saw her on Thursday morning, before I left for work. I saw her every morning. She was my wife, for Christ’s sake. She wasn’t in when I got home that evening, and I never saw her again. Not while she was alive anyway. I didn’t kill her. And that’s all I’m going to say.’ He crossed his arms and pressed his lips together as though to illustrate his point.

  ‘No one accused you of killing her,’ Geraldine pointed out softly. She turned to Sam. ‘Did you hear anyone suggest he killed his wife?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So I wonder what put that idea in your head, Chris?’

  ‘You think you’re clever, trying to trip people up. You should show a bit more respect. I just lost my wife.’

  ‘That’s why we’re here.’ Geraldine paused before leaning forward and speaking very gently. ‘It’s understandable you’re feeling upset, Chris. You loved your wife, didn’t you?’

  He glared at her without answering. His previous experience of being questioned had made him wary.

  ‘It must be hard, knowing you had a row the last time you saw her alive. What were you arguing about?’

  He sat up abruptly, his eyebrows raised. ‘What?’

  ‘There’s no need to try and keep up this pretence. We know what happened. Something she said made you angry, and in the heat of the moment you lashed out. It wasn’t the first time, was it? She tried to fight back. That much is clear from the evidence. The jury will be told that you lost your temper, but they’ll find it easier to believe if you tell us right from the start what you were arguing about. Come on, Chris. No more lies.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! We never fought. We were married. We loved each other. Stop trying to trick me with your lies. It won’t work. You can make up whatever crap you like, it won’t change the fact that Jamie is dead. Someone killed her, and it wasn’t me. I’m telling you, it wasn’t me. And now, I demand to have a lawyer.’

  Although Geraldine had stopped short of accusing Chris of murder, they all knew it had been implied. While they were waiting for the lawyer to arrive and talk to his client, Geraldine and Sam took a break to discuss how the interview was going so far.

  ‘He’d hit her before,’ Sam said as they took a seat in the canteen. ‘The post mortem found evidence of them fighting. Only this time he went too far. Then he panicked and tried to get rid of the body.’

  ‘Just because there’s a history of violence, it doesn’t necessarily mean he killed her.’

  Sam took a large bite out of a doughnut and shrugged.

  ‘But it’s likely,’ Geraldine went on, thinking aloud as Sam munched. ‘Did you see how white he went when I told him we knew he’d beaten his wife in the past? He was certainly shocked. Was he angry at being reminded of it, or shocked that we knew about it?’ She sighed. ‘There’s something he’s not telling us.’

  ‘Like how he hit his wife over the head with a sharp instrument,’ Sam said as she took a swig of her tea.

  At last the duty lawyer was ready for them.

  ‘Chris, we’re not accusing you of anything,’ Geraldine reassured him. Not yet, she thought. ‘You haven’t been arrested yet.’

  ‘So I could get up and leave?’

  ‘If you want to refuse to co-operate with us when we’re trying to find out who killed your wife.’

  Chris glanced at his brief who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and leaned over to whisper to his client. Portly and white-haired, the lawyer was well into his sixties. Gazing complacently across the table, he looked as though he was preparing to take a nap. Weighing his experience against his probable approaching retirement, Geraldine was not sure she would feel very confident about being represented by him if she was suspected of murder. For the sake of the suspect, she hoped the lawyer was more alert than he appeared.

  ‘We just want to know what happened between you and your wife on the evening she was killed. There could have been extenuating circumstances to make a judge incline to be lenient. Perhaps she confessed to being unfaithful? Or did you get home and find her there with someone else? Was she unfaithful, Chris?’

  His face flushed red and he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I told you, I never saw her that evening.’

  ‘Would you like to reconsider your response? Only for some reason you don’t seem very sure.’

  ‘My client has already answered that question, more than once. If you persist in hectoring him, I will advise him to leave.’

  Having heaved himself forward in his chair to make his declaration, the lawyer sank back and closed his eyes as though his work was completed.

  Geraldine revised her opinion of him. Despite his apparent nonchalance, he was listening closely.

  ‘You’ve told us, several times, that you weren’t at home with your wife on Thursday evening. Can you tell us where you were?’

  Chris shifted uneasily in his chair again. Wiping his forehead on his sleeve, he glared at Geraldine.

  ‘No I can’t. But I know I wasn’t at home.’

  ‘So where were you?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘You didn’t report your wife missing straight away. Why not?’

  ‘I thought she’d gone out.’

  ‘For three days? Weren’t you concerned? Or did you know very well what had happened to her?’

  Chris stared at her, his eyes wide with fear.

  ‘My client’s under no obligation to answer that question,’ the lawyer answered for him. ‘He’s told you he wasn’t at home on Thursday evening. Where he went is no concern of yours.’

  ‘Everything is of concern in a murder investigation,’ Sam said.

  ‘Indeed,’ the lawyer agreed, ‘however, I don’t need to remind you that my client is not a suspect, and therefore not obliged to answer any of your questions. Unless you wish to arrest him?’

  ‘I didn’t…’ Chris interrupted

  The lawyer held a plump hand up to silence him before continuing. ‘But I don’t think you want to do that, with no evidence to suggest he’s guilty.’

  Stifling a sigh, Geraldine changed tack. ‘You don’t deny you own a black Ford Transit van.’ She read out the registration number.

  ‘Why would I deny it? You know it’s mine.’

  ‘And can you confirm that you were driving your van along Highgate High Street last Thursday evening?’

  Chris glanced at his brief who was sitting, eyes closed, his hands folded over his rounded stomach. In the silence that followed, he opened his eyes and looked at his client, waiting. Geraldine held her breath.

  ‘Look, I don’t deny I own that van, but it wasn’t being driven anywhere in Highgate last Thursday because it was in the garage having some work done.’

  ‘What work?’ Sam asked.

  Chris frowned at her. ‘It went in for a service. The brake pads needed replacing, and two tyres.’

  Geraldine and Sam exchanged a glance which was not lost on the lawyer.

  ‘Will that be all then?’ he enquired, suddenly brisk.

  ‘One more question. Which garage did you take the van to?’

  ‘Bloody hell, you don’t believe a word anyone says, do you?’ Chris burst out irritably.

  ‘It’s my job to question everything,’ Geraldine replied, noticing how readily he lost his temper.
/>   ‘It was in the workshop, in Hillmarton Road. Go on. Ask them. They’ll tell you I wasn’t driving the van on Thursday. It was off the road nearly all week.’

  The lawyer sat up. ‘I think that answers your question, Inspector. And now, unless you have any further questions for my client, I’m going to suggest he goes home.’

  ‘No further questions,’ Geraldine replied.

  ‘Until we’ve checked out your story,’ Sam added.

  16

  The garage Chris had mentioned was down a side street west of the Holloway Road, towards Tufnell Park. Geraldine drove there and found it without any difficulty. Leaving her car on the forecourt, she walked over to the workshop. Two men were working on cars at the back, while a third was looking under the bonnet of a van near the open doors. He straightened up as Geraldine approached. Quite tall and muscular, he would have been attractive were it not for his churlish expression.

  He took a step towards her, blocking her way. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge.’

  The mechanic glanced over his shoulder at the other two men who were busy working.

  ‘You can speak to me. I’m the manager.’

  Briefly Geraldine introduced herself and explained the purpose of her visit.

  ‘So you see,’ she concluded, ‘this is a really important question. A man’s liberty may depend on what you can tell me.’

  The mechanic nodded to show he understood. Although he spent a long time wiping his oily hands on a rag, they did not look much cleaner when he had finished.

  ‘Come on,’ he said at last, ‘we need to go and check in the office.’

  With a quick glance at his colleagues, who had taken no notice of the newcomer, he led her across the open yard. The bright sunshine gave Geraldine a fleeting sensation of regret. This was the weather for barbecues and sun loungers, not for pursuing murder investigations. She followed the mechanic into a small office where a girl seated at a desk looked up to welcome them. Her warm smile seemed to make the room glow, it formed such a marked contrast with the mechanic’s dour expression.

  ‘Take a break, Tracy,’ the mechanic said curtly.

  As the girl stood up her long hair swung, silky as a model’s in a television advertisement. Before Geraldine had a chance to say she would deal with the receptionist and allow the mechanic to return to his work, the girl picked up her bag and slipped out through a door in the back wall.

  ‘She was due for a break,’ the man said by way of explanation.

  He took the seat vacated by the receptionist and gestured at Geraldine to sit down on the other side of the desk.

  ‘Now, what was it you wanted to know?’

  Geraldine gave him the registration number of Chris’s van. ‘I need to know exactly when it was brought here for a service, and when he collected it.’

  ‘The dates it was off the road?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  While they were talking, he fiddled about on the keyboard, frowning and screwing up his eyes to stare at the screen.

  ‘Yes, here it is.’

  As he read out the information, Geraldine felt like smiling. The van had been in the workshop from Monday to Wednesday during the week of the murder. Chris’s wife had been killed that Thursday.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ she said. ‘Can you let me have a copy of the details?’

  ‘Of course. I don’t know where Tracy files the paperwork. I mean, I could search through all the drawers but it would probably be quicker to wait till she gets back. I can email it to you now, if that helps. Where do I send it? Oh shit. Sorry, but the system’s just crashed. It does that all the time. Do you want to jot down your email address for me, and I’ll send you the booking form as soon as it’s rebooted. I can send you the report and the invoice too if you like. It sometimes takes a few tries but I’ll definitely get it all over to you by this afternoon. Tracy will be back soon. Or you can come back in an hour or so when she’s here and she’ll give you copies of the paperwork.’ He shrugged. ‘Put me under the bonnet of a car and I know what I’m doing…’

  Geraldine hesitated, but there was no point in sitting around waiting. The flustered mechanic had as good as admitted he didn’t know how to sort out the temporary glitch with his internet access. It would have to wait until the receptionist returned. In the meantime, Geraldine had her answer. All she needed was the written confirmation which would be delivered that afternoon.

  ‘You’re sure you can get that over to me today?’ she asked as she gave him her email address.

  ‘No problem. As soon as we get this sorted, I’ll deal with it.’

  ‘Thank you, and thank you for your time.’

  For the first time, the mechanic smiled. He was clearly relieved to be getting back to work. Geraldine was even more pleased to return to the police station and record her findings. Within an hour, the promised email came through. Attached were copies of the invoice issued to Chris, and the report on the work carried out on his van. The dates confirmed that the work had been completed the day before Jamie was killed.

  As soon as Geraldine logged the confirmation, instead of summoning her, the detective chief inspector came to see her in her office. He was beaming.

  ‘We’ve got him then,’ he announced, sitting down at the unoccupied desk in her office where their colleague, Neil, worked.

  While Neil was away, Geraldine had the room to herself. The privacy that she had enjoyed in her previous post no longer felt so agreeable. At first merely tolerating her new working conditions, she had quickly grown accustomed to Neil’s presence in the room. Both equally overworked, increasingly so with the latest cutbacks, Neil focused on his own tasks and rarely disturbed her concentration. Although the subject had never come up in conversation, she was sure he felt the same way about sharing an office with her. From time to time they went out for a quick lunch together. On such occasions Neil proved good company, and it could be very helpful to discuss a case with a colleague who was not working on it.

  ‘Got him bang to rights,’ Adam went on. ‘I’m going to call the team together as soon as you’ve brought him in, but I wanted to have a word with you first, just to say that was a job well done. You and Sam can go and pick him up straight away.’

  ‘Another box ticked,’ Geraldine muttered. ‘Thank goodness he was stupid enough to think he could lie his way out of it,’ she added quickly to make it clear that she was pleased too.

  ‘It’s as good as a confession.’ Adam grinned. ‘If we could just find the murder weapon we’ll be done, with no loose ends. No sign of it yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh well, he’s had time to get rid of it. But we’ve got enough without it.’

  17

  Geraldine strode along the corridor to an interview room. As before, the portly lawyer was present. Only this time, the interrogation was going to be very different. Adam, not Sam, was at her side to question Chris about his wife’s murder because this time, they knew he had lied about his van being in the garage on the night of the murder.

  In the interview room, Chris sat slumped beside his brief who sat with his eyes closed.

  ‘Can we get on with it?’ He opened his eyes and glanced at his client. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll soon have you out of here.’ He turned back to Geraldine. ‘This is the second time you’ve questioned my client today. You also questioned him yesterday and the day before.’

  ‘He came here voluntarily on Sunday to report that his wife was missing,’ Geraldine pointed out.

  Adam interrupted. ‘We can question your client as often as we consider necessary, until he tells us the truth. You seem to have forgotten that he’s a suspect in a murder enquiry.’

  The lawyer’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is he being charged?’

  Chris let out a faint whimper and shook his head. ‘No, no,
it wasn’t me,’ he bleated. ‘I could never hurt her. I – I just couldn’t.’

  ‘We know you beat her,’ Adam replied. ‘She had the defence wounds to prove it.’

  ‘Defence wounds incurred while fighting off her killer,’ the lawyer said.

  ‘You need to study the post mortem report more carefully,’ Geraldine told him. ‘Your client’s skin was found under the victim’s fingernails, and there are scratches as well as bruises on his face. There’s no question they were fighting recently.’

  ‘Were there any such injuries on her body to confirm that she had been assaulted?’ the lawyer asked.

  ‘She was hit on the head,’ Adam answered.

  ‘So,’ the lawyer leaned forward in his chair, ‘the evidence suggests that the victim was putting up a fight without anyone attempting to attack her?’

  Geraldine hesitated, but Adam was quick to respond.

  ‘We must presume that she was attempting to fight him off because he was wielding a weapon of some kind, poised to kill her with a blow to the head.’

  ‘Presume?’ the lawyer repeated quietly, sitting back in his chair.

  Geraldine turned her attention to Chris. Pasty-faced and sweating, he looked terrified. She spoke gently.

  ‘Chris, we’re not yet clear about the exact circumstances leading up to your wife’s death, but what we can prove beyond any doubt is that you killed her. You’ll only harm your defence if you keep on trying to deny it. We know you did it. We have enough evidence to prove it. We understand how traumatic this must be for you. You never meant to kill her, did you? Things just got out of hand. You loved your wife, didn’t you? So what happened that night, Chris? Did you discover she’d been having an affair? Did she refuse to have sex with you? Is that why she was fighting you off?’

  Chris looked as though he might burst into tears. He turned to his lawyer who shrugged as though he had nothing to say.

  ‘No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. I would never have hurt her. Never. It’s not – I’m not like that – I couldn’t…’ He stammered and broke off in confusion. Staring straight at Geraldine, he said slowly and clearly, ‘I did not kill my wife.’