58

‘You never thought Eddy was responsible,’ Ian said curtly. ‘I can’t see what difference this makes anyway. I’m not even sure what you’re talking about.’

This was so unlike the Ian Geraldine knew that if she hadn’t known about his marital difficulties, she might have been quite put out. As it was, she tried to explain, as patiently as she could.

‘It just means that Amanda might never have intended to leave the house in her slippers. We’ve taken that as indicating she knew her killer, because unless she was with someone she knew well and trusted, why would she have gone out with him without getting dressed? But the point is, she might not have known her killer. She could have put one shoe in the door -’

‘Put a shoe in the door?’

‘Yes, exactly, put a shoe inside the door frame to stop the door from closing when she went out.’ She paused. ‘To save her having to go and find her key.’

‘Yes, yes, I understand what you mean, but this is mere supposition. The DCI’s not going to listen to it, and even if she does, she certainly isn’t going to take it seriously.’

‘Which is why I’m here in your office, talking to you and not her.’

‘Because you know you’re talking nonsense?’

‘No. Because Eddy had no reason to kill Amanda –’

‘She might have known something about the other murders.’

‘And she could equally well have been killed by a stranger,’ Geraldine continued, ignoring Ian’s interruption, ‘so the other two victims could have been killed by someone else as well. I know Eddy had a motive for killing his father and stepmother, but if a stranger could have killed Amanda, why not them as well?’

Ian shook his head. ‘Geraldine, I don’t understand what you’re talking about, really I don’t.’

‘Do I at least have your permission to pursue this?’

‘Pursue what? I have no idea what exactly you’re proposing to do with this hare-brained theory you’ve just come up with for no reason other than that you decided Eddy wasn’t guilty, and now you’re clutching at straws trying to prove you were right and everyone else was wrong.’

He sounded so irate that Geraldine made her excuses and left the room. There was no point in talking to him if he wasn’t even prepared to listen to her. But she was determined to find out more about the circumstances of Amanda’s death, and her house seemed the best place to start her enquiries. After a fruitless hour searching around Amanda’s house and talking to her neighbours, Geraldine went to the hospital hoping to fare better there. This time she was in luck. Learning the victim of the attack had just woken up, Geraldine hurried to her bedside. If anything, the woman looked worse than previously, with her two eyes blackened, and her nose red and swollen above her bandaged jaw. But she was conscious. Glancing at her notes, Geraldine read the name: Angie. She was forty-two. The list of her injuries was extensive. She only glanced briefly at the notes before turning her attention to the supine woman.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked gently. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

‘Angie,’ the woman muttered. ‘I already told you, it’s Angie.’ Her inflamed eyelids fluttered. ‘Are you the doctor?’ she lisped.

‘Angie what?’ Geraldine asked. ‘I’m here to help you,’ she added, ‘but I need to know your name.’

‘Angie. Just Angie.’

‘OK Angie, that’s OK. Where do you live?’

‘Why?’ The woman’s eyes opened wider. ‘Are you going to get rid of it? I can’t go back, not while it’s there.’

‘Are you talking about the dog?’ Geraldine guessed, and was rewarded with another flicker of recognition in the woman’s eyes. ‘Yes, we can arrange to get rid of it so you can go home.’

‘Thank you.’ The woman closed her eyes. ‘It’s a vicious brute, and it stinks the place out.’

‘But I can’t sort that out for you unless you tell me where you live,’ Geraldine added quickly, afraid that Angie would drift off to sleep again before telling her what she wanted to know.

Angie mumbled an address as her eyes closed. With a quick nod at the nurse behind the desk, Geraldine left. She called the police station to log her movements, summoned immediate back-up, and on impulse also phoned Ian to let him know what she was doing. He advised her not to enter the property where Angie lived until back-up arrived, including a trained dog handler.

‘Don’t worry,’ she assured him. ‘I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’ve no intention of risking being mauled by a savage dog.’

‘Just be careful.’

His insistence irritated her. She was hardly a fresh-faced young officer with something to prove. She had helped to train him when they had both been less experienced. Without answering, she hung up and set off. There was no real urgency, but she put her foot down, speeding unnecessarily along Gillygate. Leaving the hospital, she forked off to drive parallel with the River Foss to her right. The address Angie had given her was in a side street off Haxby Road. She pulled up outside the end of terrace house and glanced around. The patrol car hadn’t arrived yet but a quick check showed that it was on its way and would arrive within a few minutes. There was no need to wait for it. On the contrary, a discreet approach might reveal more, before anyone was alerted to police interest in the residents.

She hurried to the front door and rang the bell. There was no response. She tried again. This time, the door swung open slowly, with a chain across. An aged face peered suspiciously up at her. She introduced herself and held up her warrant card for inspection. The old man nodded his head, mumbling to himself, but didn’t remove the chain from the door.

‘And what is it you’ll be wanting with me?’ he demanded in a marked Irish accent.

‘Do you keep a dog on the premises?’

‘That I do not.’

Geraldine considered. The old man looked extremely frail. She doubted he would be able to control a sizeable dog.

‘Does anyone else live here with you?’

‘No.’

‘What about Angie?’

‘Who?’

Patiently Geraldine described the woman in hospital.

‘Oh, that’ll be her next door,’ the old man said, jerking his head to indicate the side of the property. ‘This is number 7. You’ll be wanting 7a. They live downstairs.’

With that, he slammed the door. Walking along the side of the house, Geraldine wondered fleetingly how the old man managed the stairs to the first floor, and whether she ought perhaps to report his conditions to social services.

Number 7a had no bell so she knocked on the door, gently at first, then hammering loudly when no one answered. A few seconds later she heard footsteps and the door was flung open. She recognised the cadaverous face staring at her with a curious intensity, as though he too was trying to work out where he had seen her before.

‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Is this about her?’

‘Do you mean Angie?’

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s still in hospital.’

He scowled, muttering angrily about the stupid cow having fallen down in the street.

‘She drinks,’ he added, with a sly glance at Geraldine. ‘I told her to be more careful. It was an accident waiting to happen. She’s badly hurt, isn’t she?’

She nodded. He seemed to think she worked at the hospital. So much the better. His guard would be down. Just then her phone vibrated and she heard a car pull up in the street. Back-up had arrived.

‘Do you keep a dog on the premises?’ she asked, determined to unearth as much as she could before the man’s suspicions were alerted.

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘No,’ he replied, a shade too quickly.

‘Are you sure you never have a dog here? Perhaps you look after it for a neighbour?’

He gave an exclamation that was half spitting, half laughter.

‘It’s not the sort of thing you forget. You can come in and take a look if you don’t believe me.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Geraldine saw movement around the corner of the building. Her colleagues must be at the neighbour’s door. Reassured, she nodded and stepped inside. As the man reached across to close the front door behind her, she noticed an unpleasant smell. The narrow hall was almost blocked by a muddy lawnmower. The man manoeuvred his way past it and she followed him, taking care not to soil her trousers on the mower. When he opened a door at the far end of the hallway, the stench grew stronger. Momentarily uneasy, Geraldine paused, but her colleagues would arrive at any minute. Once the man saw uniformed officers at the door, all hope of catching him unawares would be lost. Taking a deep breath, she followed him into the back room.

A pair of threadbare upholstered armchairs and a couple of miscellaneous upright wooden chairs were arranged around a low coffee table on which were several packets of cigarette papers, an opened packet of hand rolling tobacco and a bright red plastic lighter. Shreds of tobacco had spilled on the table and on to a grubby rug. The man crouched down and jerked the edge of the rug back to reveal a trap door. As he wrenched it open the putrid smell grew stronger, engulfing her in a wave of hot damp air. Before she could stop him the man seized her by both arms and pushed her through the door on to a staircase she could barely see in the darkness. She slid down the first few steps with the man propelling her downwards. In a flash, she spun around but she was too late to save herself from falling.

‘Dinner’s arrived!’ he yelled.

Below her, in the darkness, she heard an answering growl.