Verdict Unsafe (38 page)

“Wouldn’t start,” said Judy. “Or … she needed Dutch courage to get in there, and thought she’d get done if she drove it.” She thought for a moment. “Or maybe seeing all the stolen stuff made her feel shaky—she hadn’t driven for two years, didn’t want to risk it. She—”

“All right,” said Lloyd. “It isn’t a puzzle at all. End of work session.”

Judy smiled, and kissed him. He made coffee, they moved to the sofa, and things got quite exciting. Then she remembered she hadn’t taken her pill, and had to find her handbag, and then
had to turn it out to find the packet, and it was while she was doing this that Lennie’s scornful appraisal of street girls came into her mind. They think if they’re on the pill, they’re laughing. They’d all be HIV positive in five minutes.

She stopped with the pill halfway to her lips. That was Drummond, she thought. It was Drummond that Rosa thought couldn’t make her pregnant. And she had said he couldn’t
make
her pregnant, not that she couldn’t get pregnant. It had nothing to do with her being on the pill.

“What’s wrong?” said Lloyd.

She swallowed the pill. “Nothing,” she said.

Light was beginning to dawn. But it could wait. The work session was over.

ROB WAS SIGNALING, APPROACHING THE TURNOFF for Parkside, before he remembered.

He took the right, carrying the acute turn on like you could in London cabs, so that he was facing the other way, a maneuver only possible here at this time on a Sunday morning, when there was no commercial traffic, and the Sunday drivers were still tucking into their bacon and eggs.

He pulled out onto the bypass again, and drove back through Malworth, on to Stansfield, and home. No more Lennie. No more Ginny. No more break-ins.

Today was the first day of the rest of his life.

Lloyd had unilaterally reinstated Judy to the two inquiries from which she had been barred; Case didn’t know yet, and Lloyd was well past caring what he did or said when he found out.

He hadn’t told her, couldn’t if he’d wanted to, how he had felt when he had walked in on her and Harper. The feeling had been, quite simply, indescribable. His worst fears realized. And he knew his subsequent reaction had puzzled her, for he had a tendency—perhaps even a marked tendency—toward jealousy where she was concerned. He put up with Freddie flirting with her, just. He had hated it when she had still been married to Michael. He had regarded with deep suspicion the men with whom she inevitably worked until he had satisfied himself that they had no designs on her, and that she wasn’t interested in
them. And last night, there she had been, obviously very relaxed, to put a kind construction on her condition, holding hands with someone he didn’t even know she had met.

But she had had a straight choice, and she had chosen him. He had won the gold medal, and wealthy, handsome, debonair, charming Hotshot Harper had come puffing in for the silver. She may have been uncharacteristically squiffy, but Lloyd had been as high as a kite. And he had discovered that he sometimes did like the company of drunken police officers.

And now, complete with hangover, she was pursuing inquiries of her own with Ginny, and he was facing Matt Burbidge across the table in the interview room. He hadn’t been able to run a motorbike to earth, but his chat with the caretakers had been interesting; if Matt hadn’t turned up by half past ten, they had said, they just left; he had a key to the back door. He hadn’t arrived by ten-thirty on Friday night, but this was not unusual. So, motorbikes apart, he could have raped and murdered Marilyn Taylor. But Lloyd started off with Rosa.

“You must have known as soon as you saw that security-camera still that Mrs. Ashman was the prostitute whom you knew as Rosa,” he said. “Long before you were suspended, long before Drummond ever mentioned her.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone that?”

“I did,” said Burbidge. “It’s a long story.”

“Tell me it,” said Lloyd, sitting back. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“All right,” said Burbidge. “When I was on the beat in Parkside, I nicked those whores every time I could. I don’t approve of it. Never have. Carrying on like that where decent people are trying to bring up kids. But I was told not to arrest Rosa, so I didn’t.”

“Who told you not to arrest her?”

“It doesn’t matter. But when I saw that security camera photograph, I went back to this person, told him. He said to forget it, but I didn’t think that was right. So I told DCI Merrill, who was in charge of the rape inquiry. Told him she was working
the Ferrari under the name of Rosa. Turned out he already knew that. And he didn’t want it broadcast.”

Ginny had told them about the police taking advantage. That in itself hadn’t surprised him; he just hadn’t thought of Merrill as being one of the ones she meant. “Who’s the other person who knew?” he asked. “The one who told you not to arrest her?”

“Oh, no—you’re not getting names from me. The investigation team have tried that once or twice. I’ve only given them one name. Your girlfriend’s.”

“I take it you’re referring to DI Hill?” said Lloyd, getting up, stretching a little. Feeling a slight twinge of back pain. “Are you saying she knew?”

“Not about Rosa. But she’s involved.”

Suddenly, things got a lot clearer for Lloyd. “You’re DCS Case’s mole, aren’t you?” he said.

Burbidge nodded. “I was keeping him informed,” he said. “Until your girlfriend decided to stitch me up, too. Now he’s not sure he can trust me. You have to admire her style, don’t you? She gets rid of me and Barry, makes herself look true blue with the top brass, gets herself airlifted out of Malworth, then gets all the glory in a murder inquiry. Then when things get sticky, she turns the tables on me, making out I raped the Chalmers woman. I knew what the bitch was up to when she came around asking questions— Why do you think I was on my way to France?”

Lloyd frowned. “Why were you on your way to France?” he asked.

“To talk to my wife’s parents! Tell them that I had to see her, that she had to make contact. That I needed her to confirm that I was with her that night, not raping anyone!”

“Wouldn’t a phone call have done?”

“Do you think I haven’t tried? They hang up!”

“What have you done to upset them all so much?”

“Mind your own business.”

“And Marilyn Taylor’s rape and murder? Is DI Hill stitching you up for that, too?” asked Lloyd.

“Of course she is.”

“And how is she supposed to have done that?” he asked.

“The blood on Drummond’s jeans matches the hair found on Taylor’s bed. Well, I know it isn’t my hair, so it can’t be my blood, can it? Anyway—I didn’t cut myself that badly. I doubt if I even got any blood on his jeans.”

“So whose is it? It isn’t Drummond’s.”

“It must be the real rapist’s blood, mustn’t it?”

“And how would it get on Drummond’s jeans?”

“Because she put it there!”

Lloyd laughed. “DI Hill had nothing whatsoever to do with Drummond’s jeans,” he said. “She never even saw them, never mind handled them.”

“No, but her mate did, didn’t he? Finch? They know who the rapist is, and they’re covering up. They’ve been covering up all along.”

Lloyd felt much more philosophical about all the accusations swirling about Judy’s head now that he realized that Bartonshire Constabulary wasn’t really alive with mutterings about Judy’s alleged corruption; it was the concoction of one very bitter man and one misogynistic anachronism, which was one of the things he was proudest of having called Case during their little tête-à-tête about Judy.

He sighed, shook his head. “You know your trouble, Burbidge?” he said. “You and your friends at Malworth were conspiring to pervert the course of justice for so long that you think everyone’s doing it.”

“She is, that’s for certain.”

“No,” said Lloyd. “She’s not.” He tapped his temple. “That’s all in your mind, Burbidge,” he said. “And if the blood on Drummond’s jeans isn’t yours, that’s easily confirmed. Let us have a sample of blood.”

“No. You can’t charge me with that girl’s murder, not on what you’ve got. And even if you do, no jury’s going to convict me because the blood on someone else’s jeans matches evidence found at the scene. You can say I refused to give you a sample, but it won’t do you any good. I was never anywhere near that flat, or that girl—and no one’s going to frame me for it.”

Lloyd smiled. “You’re out of touch, Burbidge,” he said. “I
can oblige you to submit to a sample of saliva being taken. Didn’t you know?”

Burbidge stared at him.

Lloyd sat back, folded his arms, and examined Burbidge for some moments. “And I can’t think of any reason why you wouldn’t cooperate unless it is your blood,” he said. “Therefore I will so oblige you.”

Burbidge sighed, ran a hand over his unshaven face, and looked at the tape recorder. “Put that off,” he said. “And I’ll tell you.”

Lloyd reached over, stopped the tape. “It’s off,” he said. “But you are still under caution, and I will give anything you say in evidence if it’s pertinent to this inquiry.”

Burbidge nodded. “Fair enough,” he said.

DI Hill looked a bit pale, Ginny thought. She hadn’t seen her yesterday—maybe she’d been sick. Lennie had gone out the minute she’d arrived, saying he’d be back in an hour, if the inspector could stay that long.

“I don’t need a baby-sitter,” she had said, but DI Hill had said she didn’t mind staying.

“I’m not going to fall over now,” Ginny said. She felt better today. Her face still ached, but her eye didn’t feel so bad, and at least it was sort of open now.

“Forty-eight hours you’ve to be watched, it says on that card,” said DI Hill. “And you should really be in bed.”

“I don’t want to be in bed. I spend half my life in bed.”

That made the inspector laugh. “Speaking about that,” she said. “Tell me about Rosa.”

“I didn’t know she was that Mrs. Ashman.”

“I know. Tell me what you did know about her.”

Ginny shrugged. There wasn’t a lot to tell. She had come in to the Ferrari one night with Lennie, and then she had started coming most nights. She hadn’t had many punters. Drummond was her only regular. And of course that DCI from Malworth, but he never paid her for it, so she didn’t make much money. Ginny hadn’t been surprised when she had packed it in.

“The night she packed it in,” said the inspector, “she spoke to you. What did she say?”

“I told them yesterday. She was mad at Lennie for smacking her. Do you want a cup of tea or something?”

“I’ll make it,” the inspector said, and got up and put the kettle on. “What exactly did she say, Ginny?” she asked, and sat down at the table again. “Tell me everything she said.”

“She said he’d hit her for doing Drummond without a condom. She thought it was stupid, because it wasn’t like he could get her pregnant.”

The inspector was leaning forward slightly. “Why couldn’t he?” she asked.

“That’s what I said. And she said he couldn’t come while he was doing it. He had to, like, come out and do it himself, or he just lost it.”

DI Hill sat back, smiling. “Are you saying that he suffered a sexual dysfunction whereby seminal emission during coitus could not be achieved?” she said. “That self-stimulation was his only alternative to loss of penile erection?”

Ginny stared at her. “You what?” she said, getting up automatically when the kettle boiled, so used to making Lennie endless cups of tea that she could have done it in her sleep.

“Did you hear them going on like that in court?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t know what they were on about.” Ginny made tea, brought it to the table, got two mugs. “Is it important?”

“Well, it’s done wonders for my hangover,” she said.

“Is that what’s up with you?” said Ginny. “I was wondering.” She frowned as she got the milk and sugar. “What’s it mean, then? All that stuff about sexual thing?”

“It means,” the inspector said, “that he couldn’t come while he was doing it.”

“Why didn’t they just say that?”

She smiled. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Should I have said? In court?”

DI Hill shook her head. “They wouldn’t have let you,” she said. “You’re not allowed to tell them what Rosa told you.”

“Oh, yeah. But I can tell you. Mr. Lloyd said.”

“Yes. Did she say anything else?”

Ginny poured the tea. “Not really. She was telling me about him—we were having a laugh about it. She said she reckoned he’d been wanking off for so long he couldn’t do it any other way. We thought he’d gone, but he hadn’t. He was playing one of the machines. And he walked out, all red in the face. Served him right.”

The inspector had gone serious again. “He heard you and Rosa laughing about him?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Did Rosa leave straightaway?”

“No, she stayed and had a drink. There wasn’t much doing—I wasn’t working, either. She was a good laugh. She went about eleven, I think, because one of my—” Ginny broke off. She hadn’t worked it out, not until now. “He followed her, didn’t he?” she said. “Because we were laughing about him? He followed her, and—” She didn’t finish the sentence. “She was a good laugh,” she said.

The inspector leaned close again. “Ginny—did he attack you again? Did he do that to you?”

“No!”

“Listen—if you tell us exactly what happened, and how it happened, it could be self-defense. Even if Lennie shot him. Even though you tried to cover it up. But you must tell us now, Ginny. You must tell us now.”

“It had nothing to do with Drummond!”

“Then who beat you up? Lennie didn’t—I don’t care what he says.”

“It was a punter.”

The inspector sighed, and picked up her tea. “You make a good cup of tea, Ginny,” she said.

She should. She got enough practice.

Matt had told Lloyd about going to work undercover on the farm, about living and working there for a month. About seeing Lucy every day, and talking to her. She had flirted with him. She wasn’t interested in the young lads—it was very flattering. He was forty. She was seventeen. And she—well, she didn’t want some teenage boy mauling her; she wanted someone
with a bit of savvy, someone … like him. He had had an affair with hen He had been the first. People would say he’d seduced her, but it hadn’t been like that. She had …chosen him. To initiate her into the ways of the world.