Murder... Now and Then, page 15
Anna sat down. Her head was splitting, and her memories of yesterday evening were, to say the least, haphazard. Some things she remembered with the utmost clarity, but great pieces of the evening were missing. She remembered getting into her car outside the pub, and knowing that she had had far too much to drink to be driving, but that she had driven anyway. She remembered driving into the garages behind the flats, and deciding against trying to put the car away. She had left it out, and even that had been less than successful, the car sitting at an acute angle to her garage door.
She remembered being startled to see Max as she came upstairs; he had no business being at her flat, and Victor had told her not to see him again. And he had been disapproving about her having driven. But then, Max didn’t drink; he couldn’t have got the car back in one piece if he had been in her condition. She remembered, vaguely, being pleased about that, as though it had put her ahead in some sort of stakes.
She had faint, confused memories of telling Max what had happened. My God, what had she told him? How much had she told him? She didn’t know. She didn’t know. In between telling Max that she had told Victor to stuff his job and waking up with Max asleep beside her and this unforgiving hangover, there was a total blank.
‘Would you like something?’ the sergeant was asking. ‘A cup of coffee, or something? Colin – make Miss Worthing some coffee, please.’ He jerked his head towards the open kitchen door, and the young policeman took himself off. ‘Black,’ Finch added, making a correct assessment of Anna’s state of health.
It had been the knocking on the door that had brought her to consciousness; Max had slumbered on as she had pulled on the silk dressing-gown that hung on her door, and opened the front door, on the chain, to the police telling her that Victor was dead.
‘We thought that you might be able to help us,’ Sergeant Finch said.
She looked up at him. It hurt.
‘He might have disturbed an intruder,’ he said. ‘We don’t seem to be able to find Mr Holyoak’s wallet. I take it he did carry one?’
She nodded dumbly. Dear God.
‘We thought you might know if anything else is missing,’ he said. ‘Well, my boss thought you might know.’ He smiled. ‘He was at the do,’ he said. ‘Chief Inspector Lloyd.’
She remembered him, at any rate, if she couldn’t remember much else. He had fancied her. She didn’t speak.
‘You were in the flat with Mr Holyoak yesterday?’ he asked.
‘For a little while,’ she said guardedly.
‘We’ll need your fingerprints,’ he said. ‘ Was his stepdaughter still there when you were with him?’
A shake of the head this time. But that hurt more than speaking. ‘She left some time during the afternoon,’ she said.
‘You were alone with Mr Holyoak?’
She sighed. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘And what time did you leave?’
‘About quarter-past six,’ said Anna.
‘Did you see anyone you didn’t think should be there?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said.
‘Did you see anyone at all? Security men, whatever?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘Where did you go when you left?’
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She hadn’t had time to think about this.
‘I’m sorry if you think it’s none of my business,’ he said. ‘But I have to know where you went, in order to corroborate your story that you left at quarter-past six.’
Anna looked back at him.
‘It’s just so that we can eliminate you from our enquiries,’ he said. ‘It’s routine.’
‘Anna?’ Max’s voice called from the bedroom. ‘Come back to bed! What are you doing out there, for God’s sake?’
Oh, hell. That was all she needed. The bedroom door opened, and Max emerged, yawning, scratching his head, and quite, quite naked. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘Mr Scott’ said the young man, his face expressionless. ‘We meet again.’
Max narrowed his eyes a little. ‘Detective Sergeant … don’t tell me, I’ll remember … Starling. Swallow?’ The words were slurring slightly.
‘Finch, sir.’ He remained entirely impassive.
‘Finch, Finch. Of course. Knew it was some sort of brainless creature. What the hell do you want this time?’
My God, Max had got drunk too. And he was still drunk, unlike her. She was horribly, desperately, sober. No wonder he hadn’t heard the knocking.
‘I’m making enquiries into the death of Mr Victor Holyoak,’ said Finch.
‘Holyoak’s dead?’
The constable reappeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray on which he had set mugs and a pot of coffee. The whole lot very nearly went when he saw Max.
Anna wished he would get dressed. She stood up, taking the tray and putting it down on the coffee table, where it rested unevenly. She pulled her keys out from underneath it.
‘Don’t you think you should put some clothes on?’ asked Finch.
‘Why?’ asked Max, putting his arms round Anna from behind, trying to kiss her neck. She could smell the alcohol. ‘Is nakedness a crime? Finch is from the Thought Police,’ he said.
She tried to shake him off.
‘I don’t want to stop you thinking, Mr Scott,’ said Finch. ‘Just hitting women.’
Anna twisted round to look at Max. She couldn’t imagine him hitting a woman. Max had been a revelation to her; he was a truly kind, gentle man. Finch must have got that wrong. But he hadn’t, as she found out when Max spoke again.
‘I slapped my wife’s face yesterday, and I spent last night screwing you – Sergeant Peacock doesn’t approve.’ He gave the sergeant the benefit of his booze-laden breath. ‘What happened to Holyoak?’ he asked.
Anna took advantage of being released from Max’s embrace to sit down again, and Finch handed her a mug of black coffee without answering Max’s question. ‘ Drink it,’ he said. ‘It’ll do you good.’ He straightened up, and looked at Max. ‘ Perhaps you wouldn’t mind getting dressed, sir,’ he said again.
‘Perhaps I would,’ said Max.
‘I don’t think you answered my question, Miss Worthing,’ Finch said. ‘Where did you go when you left Victor Holyoak’s flat?’
‘She was here,’ said Max. ‘With me.’
‘And what time did you get here, Mr Scott?’ he asked.
‘Half six. Anna was here when I arrived, and we’ve been together ever since. Couldn’t have got a bus ticket between us all night, isn’t that right, girl?’
Finch turned to her, then, with a questioning, and disbelieving look.
She gave a nod of confirmation. Partly because Max had left her very little choice, and partly because you never told the police anything that you didn’t have to. But she much preferred not lying to them, and she much preferred Max sober.
‘Thank you, Miss Worthing,’ said Finch. ‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind coming in to let us have your fingerprints some—’
‘What for?’ demanded Max.
‘Elimination, sir. We have to know who has been in Mr Holyoak’s flat.’
‘Then you’d better have mine,’ said Max, swaying slightly. ‘ I’ve been there.’ He leered at Anna. ‘We’ve spent a lot of time up there.’ He looked back at Finch. ‘If you know what I mean,’ he said, with a suggestive movement of his pelvis.
‘Thank you, sir, your prints would be useful.’
‘So you can go now, can’t you?’ said Max, holding out his hand to Anna.
Bemused, she took it, and allowed herself to be hauled up from the sofa. He put his arm round her waist and pulled her towards him; she could feel the tension in his body as they touched. ‘And let us get back to what we were doing,’ he said. He squeezed her even closer to him, and his heart was beating fast.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Finch. ‘ But I will be making enquiries to see if anyone can confirm when Miss Worthing came home last night. I’m sure you understand, Miss Worthing.’
They left, and Anna almost fell under his weight as Max’s body went completely limp. He pushed her away as he ran into the hallway. He made it to the bathroom, where he was predictably sick. He closed the door when he could, and Anna heard the sounds of ablutions being performed until he emerged again, his long figure looking comic in her bathrobe.
‘Sorry,’ he said, sitting down shakily.
She left him to recover while she too showered and cleaned her teeth, and tried to make herself feel more human. Two Veganin, she thought might help. Three.
‘You shouldn’t have got drunk,’ she said when she came back out to him. ‘You’re not used to it.’
‘I didn’t,’ he said.
‘Max – I could smell it. And you were behaving like I don’t know what.’
‘I took a swig from your bottle before I came out,’ he said. ‘What was left of it.’
‘Why?’ she asked, mystified. ‘And why did you come out naked, for God’s sake?’
‘Would you question a repulsive naked drunk if you didn’t have to? I wanted to get rid of him, and I did.’
‘But what made you sick?’
He dropped his head. ‘Memories,’ he said.
She knelt down beside him, suddenly aware of Victor’s no longer being in the world. It was a frightening feeling.
Max put his arm round her. ‘You must feel dreadful … I’m sorry. I know how you felt about him, but I can’t … I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘ It’s a nightmare – the whole thing’s a nightmare from start to finish.’
‘Why did you tell him I was here when you arrived yesterday evening?’ she asked.
‘You needed an alibi,’ he said simply. ‘I know what that feels like. So I said you were with me.’
Anna swallowed. ‘But … but how do you know I didn’t kill him?’ she asked.
‘You were very drunk,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t have told me all that without letting it slip that you’d done something awful.’
Oh, dear God. Told him all what?
Victor was dead. She had to keep reminding herself of that. And what she had done. She remembered that quite clearly, and had from the moment she had opened the door to a police uniform.
‘No one should have to go through what I went through.’ He got shakily to his feet, and put his arms round her. ‘No one.’ He made a noise, a cross between a sigh and a sob. ‘They don’t give you time to mourn. Someone you’re close to is just … just ripped away from you, and all they can do is ask where you were, and take your clothes away and call you a liar.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I know what it’s like,’ he said. ‘If I can stop them doing it to you, I will.’
‘But … but you’ve no idea where I was. I could have been anywhere – how do you know they can’t check up?’
‘I heard him, going on at you – you couldn’t prove where you were, or you’d have told him. That’s why I came out.’
‘Don’t you want to know?’ she asked still a little suspicious of such gallantry, and totally lacking his faith in the uselessness of the police. Lying got you into trouble.
‘None of my business,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to get Finch off your back. So I told a lie. The rest was true, though,’ he said with a weak smile. ‘You couldn’t get enough of me. You wouldn’t even answer the door.’
She frowned. ‘The door?’
‘Someone rang the bell. It was late – I thought it might be important, but you didn’t want to know. You said we were more important. Then you passed out.’ He smiled. ‘ I didn’t fell terribly important.’
She had faint, faint memories of being in bed with him, of wanting him never to leave her, just like he said she had. But it was like another life, another person. She had never wanted any man. She had used them, made money out of them. She had grown very close to Victor, despite the way he was, but she had never wanted him. And she hadn’t wanted Max any of the other times; she had just given him what he wanted. Last night had been different; she remembered that. She wasn’t sure it was a good thing.
‘I’d better go into work,’ she said. ‘I know he had a TV and a video for instance – I should have told Finch that, I suppose.’
Max shook his head. ‘ It wasn’t a burglary,’ he said.
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘ Victor was … well … he had real enemies,’ she said. ‘That scar he’s got? He got jumped by some business rival, who slashed him with a razor—’
‘What?’ said Max. ‘What sort of business was he in, for God’s sake?’
‘Drugs. Big time – heroin, cocaine. Not now, of course. But then. It’s how he got started.’
‘Nice,’ said Max.
Drug dealing was possibly one of Victor’s nicer traits, thought Anna, but then Max didn’t know him. Hadn’t known him. Victor was dead. She had to remember that.
‘Then why bother going in?’ he said.
‘Because it’ll look bad if I don’t.’
He pulled her close to him. ‘Don’t go yet,’ he said. ‘Let’s forget about all this for a while. Before they won’t let us forget. We managed it last night, didn’t we?’
She smiled. ‘Your hangover may be fake, but mine isn’t,’ she said. ‘And you’re not exactly on top form yourself.’
‘I need you,’ he said simply.
He had stayed with her when she needed him. Despite the way she felt, and against her better judgement, she went back to bed with Max. But she didn’t forget about it. Her head still throbbed, which was more than the passion did; the earth certainly didn’t move, whatever it had done last night. But Max was gentle and comforting as ever; she felt less lonely. And she felt something else that she couldn’t put a name to.
She had never made love; she had had men, and they had had her, since before she had reached her teens. She had learned over the years with Victor how to make sex with her an experience that they wanted to repeat. But she had never made love until now, and they were still lying in one another’s arms when the police came back. Once again, she entertained Sergeant Finch in her dressing-gown, but this time Max got dressed before he emerged from the bedroom.
‘I must ask you both to come to the police station to answer further questions concerning the death of Mr Victor Holyoak,’ said Finch. ‘You are not under arrest, and you are not obliged to answer the questions which will be put to you, but what you do say may be given in evidence.’ He looked at Max. ‘Are those the clothes you were wearing last night, Mr Scott?’
Max nodded, and glanced at Anna.
‘And you, Miss Worthing? Could I see the clothes you were wearing?’
Anna went into the bedroom, scooping up the pile of clothes that still lay by the side of the bed, and came out again, looking at Finch with loathing as she thrust them silently into his hands. Max had warned her.
He glanced at them, and handed them back to her. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘ Could you get dressed now, please?’
Catherine sat in the car, where she had been waiting for Max to arrive. Zelda had arrived; she hadn’t seen Catherine as she had become impatient waiting for the lift, and taken the stairs, as everyone else had done. Catherine wasn’t going to go in until Max arrived.
It was much later that she realized that Max was probably already there; he would have taken a taxi to work. Anna Worthing hadn’t arrived either, she noticed. But Catherine still hadn’t gone up.
It wasn’t really fear any more. It was a feeling of helplessness, of wanting just to sit here and never move again. But it was mid-morning; she couldn’t stay here for ever. Max might be worried. She had to go up and face the music. She got out of the car, stiff and sore, and pressed the lift button, preparing herself for what was to come. She had been awake all night, the car not being the most comfortable place to sleep, even if she could have done. But she doubted that she would have slept wherever she had been. She had been trying to work out how to cope with this moment, and now that it had arrived, she still had no idea.
The lift wasn’t going to come; she climbed the stairs, and pushed open the door with its oak-tree motif. She was faced with groups of people standing around; receptionists, police officers, members of staff. One of the girls on reception pointed over to her, and murmured something to a dark-haired woman who stood by the reception desk. The dark-haired woman advanced.
‘Mrs Scott?’ she asked.
Catherine nodded. ‘Is … is Max here?’ she asked the receptionist but she didn’t answer.
‘Mrs Scott, I’m Detective Inspector Hill, ‘Stansfield CID. Could I have a word with you?’
‘Where’s Max?’ she asked again, but the inspector led her to the little rest room off reception, and closed the door.
‘Mrs Scott,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you about your stepfather.’
Chapter Six
Then: Winter, thirteen years ago . . .
Anna was with Victor, feeling secure, as she always did when he was there, and never did and never had all the rest of her life. The blinds shaded the bright January sun, and she left them drawn as they spoke.
‘I dealt with Bannister,’ he said. ‘Some of the damage will be permanent, I assure you.’
Anna’s eyes widened slightly at the chilling statement, but she didn’t say anything. Victor wasn’t the sort of man whose actions you queried.
She had seen a lot of him; it was his stepdaughter he really wanted to see, but she was at work all day, and she was getting home later and later. He hadn’t found her in yet. And over the weeks, she had heard his story.
He had been in hospital, receiving outpatient treatment for a minor injury, and he had met Margaret who was recovering from a stroke which had left her in delicate health. Margaret had been widowed when Catherine was a toddler; she and Victor had married six months after that first meeting, when Catherine was thirteen. For eighteen months everything was wonderful. But then his wife had had a second, crippling stroke that had cut her down when she was just thirty-eight, and she had been left almost totally paralysed, with little or no hope of any improvement. After another eighteen months his step-daughter had run away from home, which had devastated her mother, and Victor had spent huge amounts of time and money trying to find her, to persuade her to go home. It amounted to an obsession, in Anna’s opinion, but she didn’t voice it. For one thing it wouldn’t help, and for another, she knew better than to criticize Victor.
