Thursday, May 21

When I got home the place was swarming with police and for one crazy second I was tempted to just keep walking past and pretend I didn't know the place. One of them stopped me at the gate and I explained that I lived round the back. He took down my particulars and let me through.

The door to the front two flats was open and I could see the outline of people silhouetted by bright lights inside Donny and Julie's place. There was nothing else to see apart from some yellow tape cordoning off part of the garden and a few extra cars in the street. I asked the one at the gate what was going on but he merely motioned me through. I was just in time because a station-wagon emblazoned with a TV network logo pulled up and the chatty policeman went over to talk to them.

Round the back Mr and Mrs Hamidullah were part of a nervous semi-circle of neighbours gathered at the back fence. They looked at me expectantly as I walked down the drive as if I might have more information. Only their children seemed unaffected, playing quietly in the backyard.

'What's happened?' I asked.

'Something bad,' Mr Hamidullah said shaking his head.

'It will be that one with the motorcycle.' It's the longest sentence I've ever heard from Mrs H. It was accompanied by a chorus of nods from the neighbours.

'Some TV people have arrived,' I volunteered, pointing up the drive to a cameraman shouldering his equipment.

'Oh dear, we must go,' said Mr H. 'Quick, inside, children.'

Most of the others scattered too, though I noticed one or two of them start preening themselves and tidying their hair. I went with the majority.

There was nothing to do but wait. They'd get round to me sooner or later. I was out of milk but didn't fancy running the gauntlet if there were TV crews about. There was nothing about it on the news on any of the channels, but it kept me occupied switching back and forth. I even tried the radio but to no avail. The knock finally came just after eight o'clock. There were two of them.

'Mr Spaldy, is it?' said the first, consulting his notebook.

'Spalding,' I corrected.

'I beg your pardon. Detective Inspector Billington, Sergeant Rogers.' They both held up their IDs. 'We'd like a word about this business round the front if that's convenient.'

'You better come in,' I said.

'You're certainly tucked away round here, Mr Spalding,' he said as I ushered them through the kitchen. 'I don't think we'd have noticed this place if you hadn't spoken to the constable on the gate.'

'No, that's why I like it,' I said. 'What's going on?'

I motioned them to the sofa and took the armchair for myself.

'Were investigating a … er ... suspicious death in the front flat. Flat "a", is it?' The sergeant nodded. 'We'd just like to ask you a few questions.'

'Is it the girl?' I asked. He nodded. 'Oh shit.'

'What made you think it was the girl?'

'Well, it's him, isn't it. The boyfriend. He's a bit rough.'

'Rough?'

'I think he beats her up and stuff. Well, I know he does. You can hear them at it from the street, even down here sometimes.'

'Have you seen evidence of beatings, Mr Spalding?'

'I've seen him do it.'

In response to his raised eyebrows I told him about the foot-stomping incident I'd witnessed in the carport.

'You didn't go to her aid, then?'

'I did, but he went for me. I just tried to help her up and came at me like a lunatic. The man's a nutcase.'

'He went for you?'

'Yeah. I was helping her up and he just shoved me in the back. I turned round and he grabbed me by the throat and started waving his fist in my face, screaming obscenities and practically foaming at the mouth. Like I'd been the one who'd hurt her in the first place.'

'Grabbed you by the throat,' he repeated carefully. The sergeant was scribbling in his notebook. 'How, exactly?'

'Sorry?'

'Can you remember the way he grabbed you? Was it from the front pushing back or ...'

'No, from the side. He had his thumb against my windpipe.' I demonstrated.

The two of them exchanged glances.

'And then what happened?'

'Well, she leapt up and grabbed his arm and that kind of broke the spell. He pushed her away and went back to working on his motorbike and I came inside.'

He nodded.

It was so quiet you could hear the tap dripping in the bathroom.

'When did this incident occur?'

'About a month ago.'

'And you didn't think of making a complaint?'

'What, you mean to you lot? Yes, I did initially. But then I thought about it and realised it wouldn't do any good. There weren't any witnesses apart from Julie and I'm sure she'd have said whatever he wanted her to say or he'd take it out on her later.'

'Do you think she was scared of him?'

'Well, I don't think "scared" is quite the right word. She has—had—a sort of rosy view of him. I ran into her in the dairy a week or two later and she apologised for him and said that people didn't understand him, that he was really quite nice and gentle underneath.'

'And what did you think of that?'

'I thought she was living in a dream world.'

'Did you see any other evidence of physical abuse? Bruises, cuts, black eyes?'

I thought of the bruise on her thigh. I shook my head. 'No.'

'And when did you last see them, Mr Spalding?'

I heard the tap drip again. The sergeant looked up from his scribbling.

'That would have to be last Friday evening.'

'Both of them?'

'Yeah.'

'Together?'

'No',

I told him about helping her with the fridge and then seeing Donny later as I walked into town.

'Can you remember what sort of state was the flat in? Was it tidy or were they a bit messy?'

'Oh no, very tidy. I was surprised, after seeing him—you know—and hearing all the rows and the banging and crashing. It was surprisingly neat. That was her, I expect. There were like fresh flowers and stuff around the place and everything was spick and span so it looked really odd with the fridge just keeled over in the middle of it. Incongruous, you know?'

'And you've not seen the boyfriend since?'

'Not since Friday.'

'Are you sure it was him you heard on Friday night?'

'When I got home from the pub? Well, it sounded like him. And there was a motorbike in the carport.' I shrugged.

'It's not been there since?'

No'.

'Not over the weekend?'

'Not that I noticed.'

The dripping seemed louder as the sergeant rifled back through his notes.

'When did it happen? The ... I mean Julie?' I ventured.

'There'll be a post mortem of course, but it appears that death occurred sometime between Saturday afternoon and the early hours of Sunday morning.'

I nodded.

'Anything else, John?'

The sergeant looked up from his notes and shook his head. 'Don't think so sir.'

'Well, thank you, Mr Spalding. We'll be in touch if we need anything else.'

I showed them to the door. As they reached it, and I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, he turned and said, 'Just one more thing. I take it we don't have your fingerprints on file?'

I shook my head.

'I'll have someone call round. We'll need to eliminate you from our enquiries.' He looked at his watch. 'But maybe not tonight.'

'Inspector,' I said. 'What happened to her?'

'Too early to say for sure Mr Spalding. But it rather looks like she's been strangled.'