THE JAGGED LINE A Thrilling, Psychological Crime Mystery (Harry Briscombe Book 2) Page 4

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, he was the victim of a hit-and-run accident earlier today. It could be just an unlucky coincidence that both he and one of his tenants came to grief in the same week, but again, I think it warrants following up.’

  He drained the contents of his mug and stood up. ‘Are you happy to interview the Lazards on your own?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Good. Well, you do them in the morning and I’ll do the Cartwrights. We can compare notes when we get back and see what we’ve got. Good work on the door-to-doors, by the way.’

  ‘Well, it’s a shame we didn’t come up with anything more useful but the trouble is, the gardens are so bloody long most people can’t even hear what’s happening on the other side of the fence – let alone see it. Some of them weren’t happy, I can tell you, at the thought of a random murderer wandering around at the bottom of their gardens – wanted to know if we were going to put some sort of security patrol out there to protect them.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘As if we’d get approval for that. They have no idea, do they?’

  ‘No, and it’s probably just as well.’

  ‘Will the DCI be okay about me interviewing the Lazards on my own?’

  ‘Murray? He’ll be fine. He’s not as scary as he looks, and as long as you do a good job you’ll get a pretty free rein. He’s great for delegating and letting his team follow their noses. That’s not common these days.’

  ‘Great, I’ll see you in the morning, then.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Best be off. I’m meeting a couple of my gym mates in the pub tonight. Want to join us?’

  ‘I think I’d feel a bit old next to your friends.’

  She grinned. ‘We’re a pretty mixed bunch, as it happens – one of them’s nearly thirty, if that suits you better?’

  ‘Thanks … maybe another time. I promised I’d visit my gran tonight.’

  And life didn’t get much more exciting than that, he thought, as the two of them went their separate ways.

  Out in the car park, he climbed into his car and headed out onto the road. Ahead of him, cars were pulling out of Hatfield University, some of their occupants heading home after a day’s work, others heading in the direction of the Galleria to catch a film or a bite to eat. He eased himself into the slow-moving traffic, his head full of the conversation to come and turned on the radio as a distraction.

  Half an hour later he was pouring his grandmother a cup of tea as she sat in her winged chair in the sitting room.

  ‘I’ve stopped the last of the pills,’ she said, watching as he made room for the cup on the table next to her. ‘Dr Roe said it was alright.’

  ‘Good. You gave them a try but there’s no point taking them if they just make you feel sick all the time. And you’ve felt better since you stopped the other ones.’

  She was looking worse, though, he thought. More frail by the day. He couldn’t help wondering how much longer she could go on living in her own house, but she was such a stubborn one.

  ‘If I have to, I’ll go to the Hospice,’ she’d said a week or so back. ‘But I don’t want to. I want to die here in my own home. Is that too much to ask when we all know I haven’t got long now?’

  She’d looked at him with those clear blue eyes. She was still so damned lucid.

  ‘Of course it isn’t and if that’s what you want then I’ll do my best to try and make sure it happens.’

  But he’d known what she was really asking and the time for his decision had come.

  Now, as she sat huddled in her chair, sipping tea through her straw – a picnic rug draped over her legs for extra warmth – he took the first step forward in what he vowed would not be the slow road to ruin.

  ‘I was thinking about our conversation last week,’ he said carefully, not meeting her gaze. ‘I can’t agree with all of what you said, but if you’d like me to move in with you for a while … just to see you through the winter months?’

  She drew back from her straw and gave a little cackle as she looked up at him.

  ‘Well, you may have taken your time about it, lad … but your old room’s already made up. I asked Claire if she’d mind doing that a few days ago.’

  He did return her look then, shaking his head at the triumphant gleam in her eyes.

  ‘You’re a devil, you know that? And who’s Claire, anyway?’

  ‘You know … the carer that comes in. I told her I was hoping you’d come to stay for a bit.’

  The old lady paused, and there was just the tiniest suspicion of moisture in the corner of her eye as she looked at her grandson.

  ‘I know I can rely on you, Harry, and out of everyone – my own daughter included – there’s no one I’d rather have with me at the end. But I’ll only let you stay on one condition.’

  He stared at her suspiciously, knowing he wasn’t going to like it.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘That you won’t go against my wishes when the time comes. I know there are things we don’t agree on, but I don’t want to be forced into treatment I don’t want. I’m ready to go. I want to go. And you need to know that.’

  ‘Gran–’

  ‘Is it a deal?’

  She gave him that smile that had twisted him around her little finger so many times in the past, and he sighed, knowing he couldn’t fight her.

  ‘You’re enough to try the patience of a saint – you know that? I’ll move my stuff in over the weekend.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  The following morning, Beth Macaskill stood on the doorstep of the neatly kept semi-detached council house in Potters Bar and looked around her. Most of the houses on the estate were well maintained, in total contrast to the inner-city estates she’d been exposed to during her last stint in Leeds. There, she’d got used to seeing houses in a semi-derelict condition and local churches with barricaded windows and razor wire on their walls.

  Outwardly, it was all so very different to the rural life she’d grown up with and yet she, more than most, knew that the underbelly of crime slithered insidiously into all walks of life and communities, sucking its victims into ever-deeper water until it became impossible for them to swim free. And from then on, for most of them, it was game over.

  But not her.

  She took a breath, focused her thoughts and rang the bell.

  ‘Who is it?’ The voice coming from the intercom was female and made her jump.

  ‘Detective Constable Macaskill,’ she said into the mouthpiece. ‘We spoke earlier?’

  ‘Just push the door.’

  The buzz of the intercom was followed by a click and Beth entered the small hallway.

  ‘I’m through here.’

  Beth made her way into what was a reasonably sized lounge, warmed by a brightly glowing wood-burner.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised really to see the woman sitting in the wheelchair, but she was – though more by the fact that she was quite striking to look at with curly dark hair and bright blue eyes, than by the fact that she was disabled.

  ‘Mrs Lazard?’

  Beth held out her ID but the woman waved it away.

  ‘Don’t need to see that. I recognise your voice from when we spoke. Where’s the accent from?’

  Beth smiled, used to the question. ‘Northumberland.’

  ‘Ah, I guessed as much. I’ve got a sister who lives in Hexham. Now, what did you want to talk to me about? If it’s to tell us that Paul Copeland’s out of jail, then you’re a bit late. The victim support people already told us when he first came out. Though what they thought we were going to do about it, I don’t know.’

  ‘No … I haven’t come to say that, though it is about Paul Copeland.’ She hesitated. ‘You may not have heard … that he’s dead?’

  That got the other woman’s attention. ‘No. You’re kidding. How?’

  ‘He was murdered on Monday night.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  She was silent for a moment. Then she looked at Beth and shrugged. ‘Well, I’m not going
to say I’m sorry because I’m not – the bastard didn’t give a shit about what he’d done to me. All he worried about was the fact he might have to go to prison. I can still hear him bleating on about it while we were waiting for the ambulance. Look at me now – there’s more than one type of prison, I can tell you.’

  She reached for a glass of water on the table beside her and sipped from it. Beth waited until she’d put the glass back down on the table before saying, ‘I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Mrs Lazard, but we need to eliminate you and your husband from our enquiry. Do you mind telling me where your husband was last Monday night?’

  The other woman’s look became guarded. ‘Not out killing Paul Copeland, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

  ‘As I say, it’s just for elimination purposes.’

  She seemed to give it some thought. ‘I’m not sure exactly – my memory’s not as good as it used to be since the accident – but he was here for the early part of the evening and then I think he nipped down to the pub for a pint a bit later on. Probably The Crown in Barnet. We used to live in Barnet: it’s where all his mates are.

  ‘Do you remember what time he got in?’

  ‘Well … I was watching Newsnight, I remember – more rubbish about post-Brexit Britain – and it was coming to an end when he came in. So about twenty past eleven, I’d say.’

  ‘What time will he be home today?’

  ‘Probably around six. You can catch him at work if you want to speak to him before then.’

  Beth thought about it. It would be good to tick the box and go back with a complete dossier.

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘He runs the Carefree Day Centre in Welwyn, for his sins – as if he doesn’t have enough of that with me. It’s just off the square not far from John Lewis.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll maybe do that – get it out of the way so we can concentrate on other stuff. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?’

  ‘No thanks, love. I’ve got all I need.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘It’s been good to chat – God, how pathetic does that sound? Must be desperate if I enjoy being interviewed by the police – but you’ve brightened up my day, no doubt about it. That’s what I miss most being stuck in this thing, you know – the company. It’s true what they say about finding out who your friends are in these situations.’ She looked reflective, as if there were several things she could add to that. Beth couldn’t begin to imagine how awful it must be to have your life snatched away from you in an instant. The thought struck her that if Andy had survived he could well have ended up in a wheelchair, too, with her as his carer. She’d have been happy doing that if it meant he was still in her life, but she couldn’t imagine feeling that way about any other man.

  She smiled. ‘Well, it makes a change for me, too – not often a visit from me is the highlight of someone’s day.’

  ‘Don’t believe that for one minute, pretty thing like you. You don’t look like a normal copper, though, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  Beth laughed. ‘Are you referring to my hair, by any chance?’

  ‘It’s certainly different – not that it doesn’t suit you,’ the other woman added quickly.

  Beth smiled self-consciously. ‘I’ve had it like this ever since my best friend died. We were eighteen and thought we looked so cool. I guess I’ve just not been able to ditch it.’

  ‘You’ll do it when you’re ready, don’t worry about that. Life moves on at its own pace – you can take that from me. Just be sure you move on with it when the time comes, if you don’t want to be left stuck in a rut.’

  Beth didn’t answer. The truth was she didn’t want life to move on. It was her fault Andy had died – if she hadn’t called him, telling him what Briony was about to do – at least one of them would still be alive today.

  A photograph on the mantelpiece caught her eye and she moved over to pick it up, changing the subject. ‘Are these your kids? They look smart in their school uniforms.’

  ‘Yeah, James and Emma. They’re great. So’s Ken – I don’t know what we’d do without him.’

  There was a trace of fear in that throwaway remark, and as their eyes met, Beth understood it.

  She could see that without her husband, life for Maggie Lazard would be very difficult indeed.

  ‘Dead? You kidding me?’

  There was no doubt Ken Lazard looked shocked when Beth told him, but she found herself eyeing him carefully, trying to assess how genuine that shock was.

  They were sitting in a back office at the day centre sipping coffee, although Ken Lazard had made it plain he didn’t have much time to spare. ‘I’ve got to help with the mid-morning snacks in ten minutes. We’re short-staffed.’

  Now he was looking at her directly. ‘That bastard ruined our lives the day his car ran into my wife and not a word of apology or sympathy out of him. As far as I’m concerned he deserved whatever he got. I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry …’

  ‘Could you tell me where you were on Monday night, Mr Lazard?’

  ‘Me?’ He looked taken aback. ‘Well, uh ... I dunno … at home, I think.’

  ‘Only, your wife thought you’d maybe gone out to the pub that night?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I think I did. I remember now, I went a bit later than usual because Maggie and I got locked into a particularly long game of Trivial Pursuit.’

  He smiled, and there was pride in his eyes. ‘She beats me hands down every time. I’m thinking of switching to Scrabble. I might have a chance then.’

  ‘So you left home at what time?’

  His expression changed to one of irritability. ‘God, if I’d known I was going to be questioned I’d have made a note. I don’t know, probably around eight?’

  ‘And what time did you get back?’

  ‘Elevenish, I’d guess – that’s as late as I’d ever normally be. If I go earlier, I’m usually home by ten-thirty.’

  Beth took out her notebook. ‘What pub was it and can anyone vouch for you?’

  He hesitated. ‘The Black Boar in Potters Bar, I think. They might remember me, but it’s not my usual haunt. I fancied a change.’

  Something in the way he said it made Beth look at him closely, but she didn’t say anything.

  ‘Okay, thanks for that. Obviously we’ll head over there at some point and see if anyone can remember you. Did you talk to anyone? Meet up with friends?’

  ‘No. I was alone, and as I say, I’m not a regular there. But someone might have noticed me.’

  Beth stood up to go. ‘That’s a nasty cut you’ve got on your lip.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Ken touched the corner of his mouth gingerly with his finger and he didn’t look at her directly as he responded. ‘I caught it on the corner of the kitchen cupboard. Stupid.’

  ‘Well, thanks for seeing me – that’s all I need at the moment. We’ll get back to you if we’ve got any more questions.’

  She looked through the internal window to where staff were beginning to assist patients to their places at the tables. ‘How long have you worked here?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Five years. Ironic, isn’t it? I never thought I’d be bringing my work home to the extent I am now. Not that I’d have it any other way. Magz didn’t deserve what happened to her and she’s been so strong – so have the kids. I have to be strong in a different way. I’m not perfect at it, but it works – we work. We’re doing alright.’

  She wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or her, as he stood up to show her out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kirsty looked at her mother’s drained features over the lunch table and couldn’t help feeling that she’d never understand Sylvia Cartwright in a million years. Here she was, completely shell-shocked by all that was happening, yet all that seemed to be bothering her at the moment was the fact she’d had to cancel her hair appointment for the following day because she didn’t feel up to talking about what was going on with Ramon, her hairdresser.

  ‘Of course
you don’t,’ she said gently. ‘Not when Dad’s so poorly. Your hair looks fine anyway, and a few more days isn’t going to make any difference.’

  ‘I know it seems stupid worrying about my hair, but I don’t know if I’m coming or going at the moment.’

  ‘I feel the same. It’s natural, Mum. Look … why don’t I visit Dad on my own this afternoon? You need a break. Have a lie-down and catch up on some sleep – then Robbie can bring you in later.’

  ‘I don’t know … what time’s he going?’

  ‘He said his last appointment’s at five and he’d be along after that. He’ll be happy to pick you up.’

  ‘I’m not sure …’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do at the moment. It’ll be the same as it was this morning. If anything changes I’ll call you straight away, I promise. You need to keep your strength up.’

  ‘I just can’t get over how awful he looks.’

  ‘People always look terrible when they’re in hospitals.’

  ‘I suppose I could call that policeman back – the one who wanted to come this morning – tell him I’ll be here now if he wants to come.’

  ‘Good idea. I’d forgotten about that.’

  ‘What did you and Dad argue about?’

  The question caught Kirsty off guard. Now wasn’t the time to be going into it.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘It does to me. You were always such a daddy’s girl and then suddenly you’re not talking to him. What can he have done to you that was so bad?’

  ‘He didn’t do anything … not to me anyway.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Mum, let it drop. Now isn’t the time.’

  Her mother scraped back the chair and stood up. ‘Fine. I can’t force you to tell me. You must be protecting someone – probably me. Is he having an affair or something?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, that’s the sort of thing that’s been running through my head these last nine months – and God knows what else. So just think on that. It’s not just your relationship with him that’s been affected.’ She sighed. ‘You better get off to the hospital now. I’ll call Robbie – see if he can pick me up later.’