Leigh Russell, page 4
Now Tom was possibly teething, which was making him tetchy, and he refused to settle. Geraldine resorted to rubbing Calpol on his gums and eventually he fell asleep in her arms. Gently she laid him in his cot, hardly daring to breathe for fear she would wake him and he would start yelling again.
‘I hope he sleeps tonight,’ she said, joining Ian in the living room.
‘You never told me about your day,’ Ian said.
This was her opportunity to talk about the murder case she was working on, but she was too tired to face a row, so she just smiled and assured him everything was fine.
‘You’re confident you can find him?’ he asked.
‘Find who?’
‘Your shooter. When were you planning to tell me about it?’
Geraldine hesitated. If she confessed how tired she was, Ian was bound to object to her taking on the case.
‘I was going to tell you,’ she replied, annoyed with herself for sounding apologetic even though she had done nothing wrong.
‘It’s not like we have many shootings in York,’ he said. ‘The media’s going to go crazy. You do realise it could be quite a lot of pressure. I think you should have discussed it with me first, before jumping in with both feet.’
‘I only found out about it today,’ she protested, hating that she had to defend herself to him. But he was right, she probably ought to have mentioned it to him earlier. ‘I was going to tell you only then Tom starting crying and it went out of my head.’
‘Really?’ He sounded understandably sceptical. ‘It went out of your head? I know you, and once you’re on a case, you won’t forget about it for a moment.’
‘I meant, it went out of my head to talk about it just then. Tom was crying. And now, let’s get some sleep while we can. I’ve got a feeling he’s going to be awake again during the night.’
Relieved that they had talked about it, she wondered whether to tell him she regretted having held back from discussing it with him before this, but decided it was best to say nothing. Any attempt to justify her reluctance would sound clumsy or, worse, insincere, and she was too tired to think about what she might say that wouldn’t sound awkward.
‘Don’t worry about Tom tonight,’ Ian said as he climbed into bed.
‘What?’
‘We’re both working. We should take alternate nights.’
‘What if one of us is on night duty and he doesn’t wake up? Does that count or will it roll over?’
Ian gave a sleepy smile. ‘Why don’t you write out a rota?’ he teased her. ‘Now get some sleep.’
‘Thank you.’
‘What are you thanking me for? He’s my son too.’
He smiled and Geraldine felt an overwhelming rush of love for him. She lay beside him for a while, watching him as he lay beside her with his eyes shut, looking like a larger version of Tom.
‘I’m so lucky to have met you,’ she said, but Ian was already snoring and she realised, with a guilty pang, that she wasn’t the only one who was worn out.
8
Having established the dead man’s identity as Martin Reed, other DNA detected in his car was being processed and samples had been taken from anyone who might have travelled in it, so they could be questioned and eliminated from the enquiry. Members of his family and anyone who had worked closely with him were being contacted. Leaving the police station, Geraldine drove to see his daughter who lived not far away, off the Holgate Road. There were cars parked along the street but she managed to find a space not far from the house. A light rain was falling, and she zipped up her jacket and pulled up her hood as she hurried to the front door to shelter under the porch. Daisy Reed lived in an apartment in a converted detached house. It must have once been a handsome red brick property but the exterior was now neglected. Grass and scrubby weeds poked up between the paving slabs in a narrow front yard where garbage spilled out from a bin. Wooden window frames were so ingrained with grime that scrubbing them would probably remove flaking paint as well as dirt; the brickwork was in need of repointing and the paintwork on the front door was chipped and filthy. It formed a stark contrast to the house where Daisy’s father had lived.
A short, squat woman came to the door. Like the house, she looked as though she had seen better days. Her lank brown hair was threaded with grey, and she wore no make-up on her pockmarked face. Clutching a threadbare grey cardigan around her chest, she peered warily through the narrow gap between door and jamb. Seeing a stranger outside, she began to close the door. Geraldine promptly stepped forward and introduced herself.
‘Am I speaking to Daisy Reed?’
‘Yes, I’m Daisy Reed,’ the woman replied, pulling the door further open. ‘What do you want? A constable’s already been here to tell me my father’s car’s been found, abandoned down by the river. That’s what your colleague said. Abandoned,’ she scoffed, as though an abandoned car was something shameful. ‘It’s his car all right, but they refused to return it, and said no one was allowed to go and pick it up. No explanation, just a flat no. So when are you going to let him have it back? Only he’s going to want it, isn’t he? And he’s going to need to get it checked because it was stolen by joy riders and goodness knows what damage they might have caused, speeding around. And what the hell do you need my DNA for? Do you think I stole his car? You think I’m a closet car thief? I can’t even drive!’
‘May I come in?’ Geraldine interrupted Daisy’s tirade.
‘No, you bloody well can’t come in. You listen to me. That car is my father’s property. You’ve got no right to keep hold of it. Your colleague said they had it towed away. I just hope for your sake you haven’t damaged it, towing it away. You need to return it to him, and it had better be—’
Geraldine interrupted Daisy’s rant, insisting she accompany her inside. Finally falling silent, Daisy gave a reluctant nod and led the way upstairs to a small living room off a narrow corridor. Three worn brown leather armchairs were arranged around a scratched wooden coffee table, facing a small television that was fixed to the wall. There was a musty smell, as of a place long empty; paint on the skirting boards was chipped and the ceiling was stained with water marks. Despite all the evidence of neglect, the room looked lived-in and comfortable, with a half-drunk cup of tea on the table beside a small pile of well-thumbed copies of Reader’s Digest magazines. Geraldine wondered whether Daisy’s apparent financial deprivation had caused any friction between her and her wealthy father.
‘I’m sorry to tell you your father is dead,’ Geraldine told Daisy gently, when she was seated.
She watched the other woman covertly as Daisy took a tissue from a box on the table and blew her nose noisily. She tucked the tissue in the sleeve of her cardigan and frowned. ‘Yes, well, I expected you to say that. It’s the easiest conclusion, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘What I mean is, you’re taking the obvious way out. You found a body somewhere near the car, so of course you jumped to the conclusion that the dead man must be my father. But you don’t even know if he’s dead. We’re very close. No one knows him like I do.’ She gave a twisted smile and leaned back in her chair. ‘You might not want to believe this, but I would know if my father was dead, and he isn’t.’
Geraldine waited a moment to hear if she would say anything else, but Daisy closed her eyes as though signalling that the conversation was over.
‘Do you know why his car was left near the river?’
‘I told you, it must have been stolen. Unless it was her doing,’ Daisy muttered. ‘But don’t ask me why she would leave it there. She’s such an airhead, it’s impossible to say what goes through her mind, if anything. Have you seen her? All make-up and hair and fancy clothes, and nothing between her ears.’
Geraldine leaned forward. ‘Who are you talking about?’
‘She got round him when he was vulnerable. My father was never quite the same after my mother died. We both thought that.’
‘We both?’
‘Me and my brother, Nigel. We weren’t convinced by my dad’s claim he was happy with that bitch.’
‘Who are you referring to?’
Daisy heaved a sigh. ‘Listen, my parents were married for nearly forty years. Mum died just over a year ago. Nigel suggested our father have bereavement counselling when Mum died, he was that lost without her. I mean, he just went to pieces. But you can’t force someone to get help if they don’t want it. My father’s a very proud man, very independent. But then a few months after our mother died, this gold-digger, Serena, moved in with him. He told us she’d been working for him as his personal assistant, but before we knew anything about her, she’d become more than that. A lot more. And Mum had only just died.’ Her voice rose indignantly. ‘Serena made her move while he was still grieving for our mother. Anyway, my brother and me, we don’t think Dad was ever happy once Mum died. It’s tragic, the way he lets her manipulate him. It’s not as if he’s a fool. He’s a highly intelligent man and he knows I’m always here for him. When Mum died, I went to his house every day to clean for him, and do his laundry, and I cooked for him every evening. He doesn’t need anyone else. I still can’t believe he was stupid enough to let her move in with him. He didn’t have to be lonely. He had me.’ She broke off, her features crumpled in grief, and a solitary tear made its way down the pitted surface of her cheek.
Geraldine spoke very gently. ‘I’m afraid your father is dead. There’s no room for doubt. I’m sorry to tell you he was murdered.’
Without warning, Daisy pitched forward. Her head on her knees, she burst into noisy weeping.
‘Is there someone who can sit with you?’ Geraldine asked. ‘Would you like me to call your brother?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘No way. No, just go away, leave me alone,’ she mumbled. After a few seconds, she raised her head and spoke clearly. ‘Go and arrest her.’
‘Arrest who?’
‘Serena, of course.’ Daisy let out a curious snort, her shoulders shuddering. Her eyes glittered with fury. ‘Isn’t it obvious it was her?’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Serena. She killed him.’
‘That is a very serious allegation. What makes you believe she was involved in what happened to your father?’
‘It’s not a question of what I believe. I know it was her. I had a bad feeling about her right from the start. Ask my brother. He’ll tell you it was her. Who else could have done it?’
‘Please accept my condolences. I assure you we are investigating the circumstances of your father’s death and we will find whoever is responsible for what happened.’
‘I’m telling you, it was Serena. You need to arrest her now, before she gets away,’ Daisy insisted tearfully. ‘She killed our father. She has to be punished.’
Repeating her assurances that the police were doing everything in their power to apprehend Martin’s killer, Geraldine took her leave of his daughter. Back at the police station she learned that scene of crime officers had found a bullet in the grassy verge on the river bank, not far from the bridge where the body had been discovered. DNA on the bullet matched Martin’s. Now they knew he had been shot right by the water, but they hadn’t found the gun, and they didn’t know who had fired the fatal shot.
9
It was the first time either of them had been in their father’s bedroom since their mother’s death. Walking in there without his permission, Daisy felt awkward, as though they were intruding on his privacy which, in a way, they were. Gazing around uneasily, she half expected her father to burst in and demand to know why she and her brother were snooping around in his room. She tensed, waiting to be startled by his booming voice, but the room remained shrouded in dusty silence. She took a tentative step forward; her feet made no sound on the thick carpet.
Until their mother’s death, their father had always been strong, mentally as well as physically. When his wife died, suddenly and unexpectedly, he had fallen apart. Perhaps it would have required superhuman strength to cope with her dying so unexpectedly only days after her condition had been diagnosed. Or perhaps he had always been a weak man, cowering behind a domineering exterior, propped up by a submissive wife. Whatever the truth about their father, there had been no time to discuss their mother’s treatment, no time to process the terrible news.
Their father had staggered around in a daze for weeks. ‘If only we’d had some notice,’ he kept repeating. ‘If only we’d had time to prepare.’
‘If only your doctor would stop dosing you up on sedatives, or whatever it is he’s giving you,’ Nigel had muttered, loudly enough for Daisy to hear.
It had never occurred to Daisy that their father might go to pieces like that. He was too solid a figure to crumble. Daisy and Nigel had both been confident he would soon be back on his feet, running his business with his characteristic authority. They had discussed the situation without a hint of apprehension. With hindsight it should have been easy to spot the warning signs that they had overlooked at the time. They had even quietly congratulated one another on how seamlessly he had managed to pass the responsibility of his day to day work on to his personal assistant, while they had both been too preoccupied to involve themselves in their father’s business affairs.
Neither of them had met Serena before their mother died but she seemed very efficient and they were grateful to her, at first. In any case, they too needed time to come to terms with the sudden loss of their mother. Their father had been largely preoccupied with his work throughout their childhood, while their mother had always been there for them, encouraging and supporting them into adulthood. She had died suddenly without giving them a chance to say goodbye. It had been a terrible shock for them both. And now their father was gone too.
‘We’re orphans,’ Daisy said, looking sadly around the bedroom. She was determined not to cry. ‘Do you think she killed him?’
Nigel shrugged. He understood immediately to whom she was referring. ‘Who knows?’
‘Of course we don’t know. I’m asking what you think.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ Nigel replied, gazing around his parents’ bedroom, his brow lowered in a frown. ‘Who else could it have been?’
The room held few reminders of their mother after a marriage of nearly forty years. There were no pictures of her on display anywhere in the house, and when Daisy looked in the wardrobe, she didn’t see any of her mother’s clothes hanging inside. There were only signs of Serena’s occupation, from the framed photograph of her and their father on the mantelpiece in the living room to the flamboyant dresses hanging in the wardrobe that had, until recently, been filled with their mother’s grey and beige.
By the time his children realised the nature of Martin’s relationship with his so-called personal assistant, Serena was already living with him.
‘There’s no fool like an old fool,’ Nigel said bitterly. ‘He should have waited. It’s indecent to move on so soon.’
‘I know. And she’s so young,’ Daisy agreed. ‘She must be ten years younger than me.’
‘How old is she, exactly?’
‘I don’t know, but she can’t be thirty yet. It’s disgusting.’
‘A lot of men like younger women,’ Nigel said, turning on her, suddenly testy. ‘It’s not exactly unusual.’
Daisy regretted her tactless comment as soon as it left her lips. She never said as much, but she thought Nigel had been lucky to find a wife at all. Despite her lumbering hips and flat chest, Carol wasn’t unattractive and, at thirty, she was sixteen years younger than her husband. Nigel, by contrast, was possibly the ugliest man Daisy had ever met, and that wasn’t just because he was her brother. Prematurely bald and chinless, he looked like an egg squashed on to a lanky body. Daisy found it hard to understand what Carol saw in him. But what had happened to their father was different. Martin had been seduced by a younger woman at a time when he was grieving and vulnerable.
‘I wasn’t talking about the age difference,’ Daisy said quickly. ‘It’s just that she’s blatantly a gold-digger. It’s hard to believe he didn’t see through her.’
‘What I find so offensive about the whole thing is that our mother was barely cold in her grave when Serena made her move,’ Nigel said.
‘I know. I will never forgive her. Never. That grifter spotted how vulnerable he was, and couldn’t wait to leap in and exploit him.’
‘And he was stupid enough to go along with it,’ Nigel said angrily.
‘Yes, the conniving bitch fooled him into believing she actually cared about him and not just his money.’
‘As for how he died and who did what to whom, we don’t know what she was capable of, but I’m sure she wasn’t acting unselfishly when she moved in with him,’ Nigel said grimly.
‘It’s perfectly obvious what she was after all along,’ Daisy said, opening a drawer in the dressing table. ‘Take a look at this.’
She held up a large pear-shaped diamond. It swung gently on its gold chain, sparkling in the light from the crystal chandelier overhead.
‘He never bought Mum anything like that,’ she added sourly.
‘Is it real?’
‘It looks real.’
‘What do you suppose something like that is worth?’
It was Daisy’s turn to shrug. ‘We’d need to take it to a jeweller’s to get it valued. It could be anything from two bob to tens of thousands of pounds.’
