The Other Woman (18 page)

How did he know? He had made an official complaint; that wouldn't make him any more popular with the constabulary, but he had had no choice. After he had told him, the chief inspector had just looked at him; Colin had seen the disbelief, and the anger. Then he had terminated the interview, and left him with a uniformed sergeant and Constable Harris.

His mind had been prepared for all sorts of reprisals, but they had given him a complaints form to complete, and then he had been dumped back in the cell. It had seemed to have changed nothing, but something must have happened, because a little later he was being taken away by his parents, and the fear had at last left him. He was going to enjoy watching these two getting their comeuppance.

And Lloyd. Patronising him, calling him Colin all the time like that, so convinced that he was her boyfriend, for some reason. Why he thought that was a mystery to Colin. And he still didn't believe him about the car.

‘Colin?'

Colin moved the powerful beam of the portable light in the direction of the voice, dazzling Chief Inspector Lloyd, who shaded his eyes.

‘Mr Drummond to you,' said Colin.

‘I'd like to ask you some questions about the car you saw,' he said, walking in further.

Colin still held the beam pointing at him. ‘ You believe me now, do you?' he said.

‘I have my job to do,' he said, lowering his hand as his eyes grew more accustomed to the bright light. ‘You weren't telling the truth, and I knew you weren't.' He was blinking, but he didn't put his hand back up.

‘I thought I might end up in hospital if I did,' said Colin.

‘I can't discuss that with you. But I need to know about that car – if you really saw one.'

Colin was on his own private territory. In the garage, with its faint, ever-present smell of oil and petrol, the stone floor on which the soles of his boots made a scraping sound when he walked, its shelves full of boxes of spark plugs and spares. In summer, the air was perfumed by the damp grass that clung to the mower; that had faded into the heavy autumn smell of newly oiled machinery, put away for the winter. Lloyd had no right. No
right
.

The beam cut past Lloyd, out into the fog. Colin put down the lamp, and the garage was lit again, distorted shadows on the walls, on the floor, on Lloyd's face.

‘I just saw its rear lights,' he said.

‘Did you get a glimpse of the colour – an impression of the size? Did you see any of the number?'

Colin shook his head, and the huge shadow on the wall moved with it.

‘You said you followed her – why did you do that?'

Colin picked up a rag and crouched down beside the bike, polishing the paintwork. Before, he had been too scared to think straight. But he wasn't scared any more, not now that he was back where he belonged. He shrugged, the cloth moving slowly over the mudguard until it gleamed. ‘I just wanted to see she was all right,' he said.

He looked up at Lloyd, and reached up for the lamp, bringing it down to his level. It made Lloyd look like a devil now, his features lit from underneath. He moved to address the petrol tank, polishing it with the same lazy stroking motion.

‘Why didn't you just talk to her? Why follow her?'

Colin's hand stopped. ‘ I didn't know if she'd want me to talk to her,' he said. ‘After what had happened. I wasn't sure what to do. Then the car picked her up.'

‘Where?'

Colin smiled. Lloyd should have asked these questions a long time ago. He must have been chewed out. Sent round here to get told what he would have been told if he hadn't been so convinced that Sharon had been his girlfriend.

‘Byford Road.'

‘Whereabouts in Byford Road?'

About halfway down towards the village.'

‘When?'

He thought about that. ‘About half eight, just after.' He snapped off the light, and for a moment, the darkness seemed impenetrable. Then light from the fog-obscured early evening skies filtered in, and he could see Lloyd. ‘I'm finished in here,' he said, walking out past him.

Lloyd came out, and Colin pulled down the door.

‘Why did you follow the car?' he asked.

‘I thought she might be getting a lift home,' said Colin. ‘I thought I could talk to her when she got out. But the car went back up to the football ground and parked.'

‘And she began to remove her clothing?'

Colin was turning away from him as he spoke; he checked the movement, and turned back with a smile. ‘Not then,' he said. He walked towards the side door of the house, where the kitchen light gleamed in the misty twilight, through the glass of the door. The truth, lies. Colin smiled. Lloyd would never know which was which. Only he knew. ‘After they'd been there about ten minutes,' he said. ‘So I left. Wasn't much point in staying, was there?'

‘But you didn't just leave, did you? You drove off without lights, at eighty miles an hour, in thick fog.' Lloyd walked up to him.

‘And you want me to believe that what she was doing in the car didn't bother you?'

‘I didn't drive away from there like that. I just drove round for a while. Then I fancied going fast.'

Lloyd looked annoyed with himself. That pleased Colin.

‘So when did you actually leave the football ground?'

‘About nine,' said Colin. ‘I reckon.'

‘And she was still in this car when you left?'

Colin opened the kitchen door. ‘Sod off,' he said. ‘I've had enough of answering questions.'

Jake Parker's eyes widened. ‘You're the last person I expected,' he said.

He had thought that it might be the police again, but he had not thought that he would find Lionel Evans offering himself up. He might have preferred Evans's office, or better still, his car. But he was here now, and Jake wasn't about to waste any time.

‘I had to come,' said Lionel.

‘Did you?' said Jake shortly, and walked into the living-room, where he lit a cigarette, doubtless ruining the Laura Ashley soft furnishings.

Lionel closed the door quietly and followed him in. ‘ Jake – you accused me of killing Sharon!'

Jake turned to face him. ‘So I did,' he said.

‘You can't believe that!' Lionel was pale; his eyes were wide with fear.

‘What do you expect me to believe? I tell you that she came to see me – next thing she's dead!'

Lionel was shaking his head. ‘No. No, you're wrong, Jake. You're wrong. I didn't even see Sharon last night!'

‘What?' Jake removed his cigarette from his mouth. ‘You were on the balcony
with
me, Lionel! If you're going to lie, watch who you're lying to.'

‘But … but I—' Lionel sank down on the sofa, then looked up. ‘The police have got someone,' he said. ‘It's in tonight's—'

‘What are you trying to tell me, Lionel? Someone else conveniently took it into his head to kill her? They pick up anyone remotely suspicious after a murder – that's why they've got him. He had no motive – you did.'

Lionel looked bewildered. ‘Why shouldn't I think it was you?' he said. ‘ You had as much to lose as I did.'

Jake took a puff of the cigarette, and some pleasure in releasing smoke in the direction of the swathes over the curtains. ‘When we saw her,' he said slowly, ‘I went to talk to her. She was talking to this guy as though nothing at all had happened, and I lost my rag – I grabbed her and pushed him away. I'd have knocked the little bitch's head off if he hadn't pulled me off her.'

Lionel blinked at him. ‘If … if you were that angry with her,' he said, ‘ why aren't the police questioning you?'

‘Because I got arrested for disturbing the peace,' said Jake. ‘I was in a bloody cell all evening. But where were you?'

What colour Lionel had had left drained away. ‘Home,' he said. ‘I went home.'

‘You panicked, and killed her, that's what you did. And do you know what that means? That means I get some chief inspector here before breakfast wanting to know what my little difference of opinion with her was all about!'

‘What did you tell him?' Lionel asked, alarmed.

Jake closed his eyes. ‘I made out I was jealous,' he said. ‘I saw her chatting up a bloke, and I told the chief inspector that I was jealous. All right?'

‘But she wasn't,' said Lionel, still trying hard to hold on to the threads. Was she?'

‘I don't know,' said Jake, with another sigh. ‘I didn't ask.'

Lionel looked worried. ‘It would hardly have been like her,' he said.

Jake snorted. ‘Who says it wasn't like her? She wasn't the goody two-shoes she made out, Lionel. Whitworth could tell you that.'

‘
Simon
?' Lionel squeaked. Jake didn't think his voice could move up any more registers.

‘Simon,' he confirmed. ‘Didn't you know?'

Lionel shook his head slowly, wonderingly. ‘ How do
you
know?' he asked accusingly.

‘She told me.' He sat down. ‘ They've been turning your office into a regular little love-nest, Lionel.'

It had been his own fault, Jake supposed, for sending her there in the first place, in what had been one of his few acts of selfless generosity. Evans had needed someone to look after the office, and she had wanted to work somewhere closer to home.

‘Are you
sure
?' asked Lionel.

‘Oh, yes.' Jake got to his feet again, as anger once again swept over him. ‘I did her a favour, ungrateful little cow, and that was how she repaid me.' He leant down towards Lionel. ‘But killing her was a very bad idea,' he said, shaking his head.

‘I didn't! You can't think I did!'

No. Jake didn't think that at all. But he very much wanted Lionel to think that he did. The law were sniffing round, and he had a proposition to put to Lionel. But he had to get him good and scared first.

‘Who, then?' he asked. ‘Your fairy godmother?'

‘Let him go?' said Simon.

Melissa nodded, and stroked Robeson, who was sleeping off the anaesthetic.

‘But why?'

She sat down at the table, and picked up her knife and fork. ‘They don't confide in newspapers,' she said, with a shrug.

Simon felt irrationally as though Melissa was somehow responsible, because the evening paper for which she worked had told him that a man was being held, and now she was telling him that he wasn't. ‘Was it the wrong man?' he asked.

‘I don't know!' She began to cut up her chicken. ‘They wouldn't say yes or no when they were asked if he had been eliminated from their inquiries,' she said, her tone conciliatory. ‘Which probably means that he hasn't been – they're usually quick to point out if someone really isn't a suspect any more.'

Simon looked at his plate. ‘ Do they know why she went to the match?' he asked.

Melissa swallowed. ‘They haven't said.'

Simon pushed his plate away. ‘I didn't tell them everything,' he said.

Melissa's face coloured a little. ‘What do you mean?' she asked sharply.

‘I said she hadn't told me her plans,' said Simon. ‘But she did, sort of. She said she was meeting someone.'

Melissa put down her knife and fork. ‘What did she tell you?' she asked.

‘Just that.'

‘It won't be much use to the police, then,' she said.

Simon should have told the police about Sharon's appointment, but everything was so confusing; he had needed time to think. Then, when he saw the headline in the paper, he had thought that his information wouldn't have helped. Now Melissa was telling him that nothing was settled, and he had to make a decision.

‘It might have been him she was meeting,' he said, with a nod at the paper, and very little conviction. ‘This man that they've had to release.'

‘So what?'

‘I think I'd better tell them,' he said.

Melissa pushed her plate away too. ‘I don't see the fact that she was meeting someone had got anything to do with it,' she said.

Simon shook his head. She wasn't usually illogical. ‘Don't you?' he said. ‘ I think the police will.'

‘Oh, do what you like!' she said, and ran upstairs.

Simon looked after her, puzzled by her reaction. He had thought he might get an argument, given the police's unwarranted interest in her movements, and her current dislike of them; he had thought she might think that he had already told the police something which had led them on a wild goose chase, and that he should leave well alone.

He hadn't expected her to be angry.

Lionel felt mesmerised; he watched as Jake moved, lithe as an athlete, across the room, watched as he opened a drawer, and almost passed out when he pointed a pistol at him.

‘I've been warned not to take the law into my own hands,' he said conversationally.

He was walking towards Lionel with the gun trained on his head. Lionel couldn't speak, couldn't think; his vital functions seemed to freeze into immobility, for which he could only really be grateful. The gun was placed at his temple, and he still didn't, couldn't, move.

‘So we can do it legal,' he said. ‘I can ring the police, tell them what Sharon told me.'

Lionel spun round, almost knocking the gun from Jake's hand, but not quite. He doubted if he would have been quick enough to do anything even if he had. ‘ You
can't
do that,' he said.

‘I can. You've landed me right in it, Lionel. Because now that she's dead, they're going to be poking and prying into her affairs. Finding out what she did, who she saw, who she knew – what she knew.' He pulled the clip from the gun.

It was empty. Lionel breathed again. He ought to run for it now, while he had a chance, but … he had to know what Jake was going to do.

‘I can give them an edited version of what Sharon told me,' he said. ‘Leave my name out of it, and it doesn't look good for you, does it?'