Chapter 10
Where were Comben and Fielding?
Anderson was nervy. It was always the same when the book said one thing and he felt another. He went over the whole thing yet again: the case against Julian would probably get the lad locked up for life somewhere. But was he guilty? The interviews with Julian had been unsatisfactory and the psychologist had been no help. He couldn’t keep the man locked up at another station indefinitely. He would have to bring him back and the press would have to know. Still he would like to hang on until he saw Comben and Fielding. Then the other occupant of his desk, the telephone, rang and, very soon, he knew it was decision time.
As soon as he got into the Super’s office, before he had time to accept the seat offered, the Super spoke.
‘I’ve got something to say to you,’ he said, ’and it’s serious.’
Anderson took his time settling himself in leather tub chair in front of the desk. He knew what Kearney was going to say and he prepared himself. He didn’t believe that his indiscretion with Clarissa had affected his handling of the case, so there was no need for the Super to interfere. He would want to get that across.
‘Now you’re not going to like this but it’s for your own good.’
Anderson nodded. Married with two teenage children and a wife ten years his junior: what did Kearney know about ’his own good‘?
‘There’s not much that goes on at the station I don’t hear about and you weren’t exactly discreet.’
Anderson nodded again.
‘John,’ the Super said, leaning forward and placing his elbows gingerly on his desk, ’we go back a long way. I feel that I can say things to you I can’t to other officers.’
Anderson stiffened. Had he come down to this: a contemporary talking to him like a ‘Dutch uncle‘.
‘You know how sorry Diana and I were when you and Gabriella split up.’
‘She walked out on me,’ Anderson said.
‘You put too much into the job, John. There are other things in life.’
Anderson was silent. How long was this going on? He could walk out; Kearney wouldn’t complain, since this was hardly police business. And then Kearney said something that kept him there rigid in his chair.
‘Look, you mustn’t take this the wrong way but your judgement of women: it’s not good. I haven’t said anything before but I can tell you now that you’re over it. Daphne and I had a bet the night you got married to Gabriella: I won. It couldn’t last; you two wanted different things.’
So, was he ’over it‘? His wedding day, Kearney’s words brought it all back; it was as though he had bitten into one of Proust’s Madeleines that had the power of inducing instant recall. But it wasn’t the early fumblings of their honeymoon nights that came back to him but that last evening the day before she left and the divorce deposition.
The deposition, Anderson didn't want to go over that again even in his mind. He looked up at Kearney and wondered just how long his reverie had lasted. He nodded again. Kearney looked relieved that he was paying attention. Anderson imagined he wouldn’t mention Gabriella again.
‘I don’t want to hear any more about this, John. You understand me don’t you?’
Anderson understood. The Super couldn’t care less about his sex life; he simply didn’t want to hear about it.
Comben was in his office when he got back to it. ‘So you’ve finally arrived,’ Anderson said.
‘I was out late on the job last night,’ Comben said. ‘Did you tell the Super about Simanovicz?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’
Anderson looked up at him. He had imagined Comben would be pleased if he had told the Super. He thought Comben believed that the case had been over as soon as they caught Julian.
‘Fielding might have something to tell us,’ Comben said.
Anderson waited.
‘She’s got some information on the American.’
‘Anything definite.’
‘I think so. Isn’t she in yet?’
They had left the club at the same time, so Fielding didn’t think it was too early when she rang the doorbell the next morning. Lesley did. Fielding could tell by the length of time she took to open the door and then by the smallness of the crack through which she peered. Still, pleasing Lesley was not the purpose of her visit. If the girl had been more open the night before, there would have been no need to worry her in the morning. And clearly, Comben wasn’t there either. Warm pyjamas buttoned up to the neck spoke of a cold flat not a passionate night. Fielding was pleased about that; she didn’t want to get the young man into trouble but, if he was in the way, so be it.
Lesley had to be very young: under twenty-five. Even without makeup the girl’s skin looked smooth and taut and there were no signs of the late night before. Fielding hadn’t used cosmetics until she was thirty but these days, nearing thirty-five, she used some discreet shading to the eyes and a modicum of face foundation. It created the right sort of illusion, which was that she had no time for cosmetics but without the inevitable result of such a decision — blotchy skin with fine lines and bags under the eyes after a late night. Still it all came off at night whether she was alone or not and she imagined Lesley did the same but with more confidence than dim lights in the bedroom provided for Fielding herself.
Fielding followed the woman into her sitting room and they sat opposite each other. Fielding lent back into the cushion behind her and waited. The girl knew what it was about, Fielding had told her the night before that they must talk and she must know by now that Fielding knew she knew about Toby - now Mark - and Clarissa Downing.
‘It’s worse than you think,’ Lesley said.
Fielding raised her eyebrows — worse meant better in her line of work.
‘I know who Mark Turney really is.’
‘So do I,’ said Fielding. ‘I also know who you really are. What I want to know is why you didn’t tell me about him.’
‘So you know that my sister Patricia was murdered by Mark when he called himself Tony Adams.’
‘There was no evidence.’
‘So your lot in Watford said, that’s why I couldn’t see the point of telling you about Mark Turney.’
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘Keeping my eyes on him. He’ll make a mistake and I want to be there.’
‘If we’d known about him, we’d have been able to keep our eyes open rather better than you.’
Lesley smiled but without joy. ‘He murdered before killing my sister. You knew all about that but it didn’t help did it?’
‘What makes you think that?’ Fielding asked.
‘Not all policemen are tight-lipped. I know all about Sheffield.’
So Mark Wright had done a little more than he had owned up to. Still she couldn’t blame him. ‘I don’t see how telling us could do any harm.’
‘You’d question him over these murders and he would be warned. If he took off, I might not find him again.’
‘How did you find him this time?’
‘Kevin knew the sort of place I’d find him in. I suppose he told you.’
‘You know I spoke to Kevin Walker?’
‘We keep in touch.’
‘So, that’s why you started work at the club. You thought Mark would still go there.’
‘No, I knew he’d moved on as he had from other clubs. Anyway, I didn’t want him to know I was around. But it’s good money and the girls there could tell me what happened to him.’
‘So his marriage was lucky for you.’
‘Yes, now he’s stuck and I can keep tabs on him.’
‘Amanda?’
‘I met her at Clarissa Downing’s writers’ class. I left when we started to live together. I knew I could find out about Mark and Clarissa through Amanda.’
‘Is Mark her man?’
Lesley stiffened as though the idea was not only new but also repulsive. Fielding could see that the idea had never occurred to her.
‘I know she must have someone and that he’s married but I think she would have told me if it was Mark.’
‘Why? He would have every reason to ask Amanda not to tell you about him.’
‘No,’ Lesley said, ‘I don’t believe this. Mark has never seen me and I have never used my real name.’
‘Still, she hasn’t told you who she’s living with has she? Will you ask her now? She may tell you but not the police.’ Lesley was silent and Fielding let her stew a little. ‘You don’t see your parents much,’ she said.
Lesley looked up, startled as though she had forgotten Fielding was there. ‘I was never close.’
‘But you were close to your sister.’
‘Oh yes, we used to go around together a lot. I introduced her to Mark.’
So that was it: guilt. Fielding knew that a little guilt went a long way. She knew that Lesley would find out for her what she wanted to know. She merely had to wait. ‘You won’t keep me in the dark again will you?’ she said and then stood. Lesley said nothing and followed her to the front door. Her expression hadn’t changed since the spectre of Mark Turney making love to Amanda Clayden had crossed her mind. The force had failed her as she had failed her sister and Fielding felt the strength of her resentment.
Mark woke and the silence surprised him until he remembered where he was. There was always some traffic passing outside his bedroom window at home but here there was none. It was dark but Amanda had bought opaque linings for the curtains, so it might be light outside. He glanced across to his bedside table but he hadn’t yet bought his digital alarm clock from home, so he switched on his lamp and looked at his watch. He was late for work; it had been one of those nights — tossing and turning. There was one good thing about being on bad terms with Clarissa: he’d had a bed to himself each night, which he hadn’t got with Amanda.
Amanda stayed sleeping while he showered and made coffee and then let himself out of the flat. Marrying a rich woman, sleeping with a young mistress they were supposed to be fun things and he had worked hard for them. But both women habitually slept on while he went to work: that was no fun.
He let himself out of the flat and walked to the corner of the avenue towards the Underground station. It had been an important street for him and he wondered whether Anderson appreciated his thoughtfulness. Both murder sites and the supposed murderer in the same short stretch of road — hadn’t that make it easy for Mr Plod?
As he reached the corner, two cars came down the hill. Visibility was bad because of cars parked right up to the corner of the road and the drivers slowed to walking pace before turning into the avenue. He had a good view of both of the women drivers as they passed him. He recognised Lesley immediately. He stopped at the corner to see where she was going and saw her slow outside the flat; then she drove on, clearly looking for a space to park. The second car overtook her as she slowed for a second time. It was very early in the morning for Lesley to be making a friendly visit. Croupiers work into the early hours and rise late. What could possibly have brought her there so early?
His heart and his quivering limbs told him something bad had happened but he controlled them. He reminded himself not to panic; it hadn’t helped in the past. There was at least one good thing: on foot, he was inconspicuous. Lesley certainly would not have noticed him since she had concentrated on avoiding parked cars and looking ahead for possible traffic and that widened his options.
He remembered his feelings when he had first seen her that night outside Amanda’s old flat. It had to have been Kevin and he might have to kill the bastard - afterwards he might just do that.
He had moved Amanda out soon after the night he had spotted Lesley. It was a pity he couldn’t have managed it before but it probably didn’t matter. It was inconceivable that it was all a coincidence: Lesley must have tracked him down. Amanda had never said anything and he had begun to assume that she had done as she was asked and not told anyone about him — even her flatmate. But maybe it was Lesley who had been quiet; perhaps she didn’t want to alarm Amanda. It was obviously good for her if Amanda kept tabs on him, then Lesley would have him in her sights too. Although just what the skinny bitch could do he really couldn’t think. Let them all imagine what they liked. They had nothing to pin on him.
But now Amanda was about to discover something about him she wouldn’t like. Did it matter? Afterwards, though, if he stuck to his plan, would it matter then? Should he cut his losses and run? It wasn’t a good thought. He had put effort and planning into the whole thing. To leave without a pay-off — that was unthinkable. He had run in the past but that had been because he had acted on impulse — it had merely been a fun thing to do at the time. He hadn’t expected to get anything from it. Now it was different.
He walked back down the road and let himself in through the front door — quietly. Upstairs he could hear the two of them talking. Their raised voices meant they hadn’t heard him come in from the street. He climbed the stairs and opened the door to the flat. They both turned their heads. ‘Hello Lesley,’ he said, ‘I haven’t seen you for some time. What a coincidence.’
‘It’s not a coincidence,’ said Amanda, ’she’s been trailing you for months, calling herself Felicity Galloway. Did you know she was my flatmate?’
Mark was pleased with the tone of Amanda’s voice. It looked like she was sticking up for him. ‘No I didn’t,’ he said to Amanda and then he turned towards Lesley. ‘You know Lesley,’ he said calmly, ’you’d do better to forget about me and get on with your own life. I didn’t kill your sister.’
‘I don’t believe you Tony, or is it Toby or maybe Mark. You’re a murdering bastard and the police are on to you.’
‘You’re beautiful when you’re angry‘, the cliché came to Mark’s mind as he looked at her. She was a much better shape than her sister was. That had been no loss. ‘The police know all about me,’ he said. ‘I was interviewed several times and they cleared me.’ As he finished, he turned towards Amanda. It would be useful to keep her on his team for the moment at least.
Amanda walked over to him and nestled in the arm he stretched out towards her. They formed a small phalanx against the furious Lesley. She turned to walk out. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell more lies to the police,’ said Mark.
‘What’s the point,’ Lesley said, ’they didn’t believe me last time. But you’ll make a mistake and, when you do, I’ll be there cheering. I hope you spend most of your life from now on behind bars.’
The slam of the front door confirmed in Mark’s mind that she wouldn’t be back. When she had gone he let go of Amanda and lent over the settee. His face fell forward and he hoped that Amanda could see the few teardrops that he had forced into his eyes. She came to him and put her arm around his waist. ‘I hope you don’t believe that bitch,’ he said without looking round, ‘I liked Patricia although I wasn’t in love with her. I would never have harmed her and I wouldn’t harm you.’
A ring on the doorbell stopped Amanda from answering but Mark felt he knew what she would have said.
When Lesley came out, Fielding stopped her in the road before she got into her car. ‘Well,’ she said. Lesley lent on the bonnet of her car and Fielding could see her chest move up and down fast. She wondered whether the girl would burst into tears.
‘You were right,’ she said, ’it is the bastard. He is Amanda’s man and she won’t believe what I say.’
Fielding nodded. ‘I know he’s got away with it up to now but I’ve a feeling this is the end of the road for him.’
Lesley looked up. Fielding didn’t enjoy the scornful look on her face.
‘You mean like before, when Pat was alive.’
She drove off and Fielding walked over to the flat looked at the list of four names on the entryphone and rang. Upstairs she was able for the first time to see Mark in the flesh. Now she could understand why Stevens was so obsessed: the likeness was amazing. The man in front of her was the image of the photo that had been sent from New York.
Fielding showed them her badge. Amanda was the first to react.
‘Are you going to harass him again,’ she said, ‘I thought you’d finished with that up at Watford.’
Fielding could see now why Lesley had been so upset. Amanda was on Mark’s team and she was staying there. ‘So you haven't been lonely while your wife has been away,’ she said to Mark.
‘Amanda and I are going to be together always. Not that it’s any of your business.’
Fielding translated Mark’s words in her own mind: ’always‘, meaning, ’together for the rest of her life, which may be very short‘. She couldn’t say it aloud it was after all defamatory. ‘I agree it isn’t any of my business — yet,’ she said and then paused to allow the thought to sink in. ‘I just called in because I wondered if you had any idea where Julian Simanovicz was,’ she said looking at both of them.
‘Is that the writer?’ asked Amanda.
Fielding nodded.
‘No we don’t,’ said Mark. ‘If we did, we’d have told you. What possible advantage is there for us to keep him free?’
‘It’s only that a car like your own was seen near here on the day he disappeared.’ It wasn’t true but she wondered whether Turney would feel he needed to deny the implication. But he said nothing.
‘Are you mad,’ said Amanda, ’do you think Mark would help him get away after he’d threatened me?’
Fielding nodded. She really had nothing to gain from the confrontation but she had needed to see Mark Turney for herself. Now she had and it made her a convert. Stevens, Wright and Fielding — they were lined up together now.
After she had gone, Mark took stock of the situation. On the bad side was that he had been tracked from Watford and maybe from Sheffield and Ludlow. He couldn’t believe that the police traced him solely through Lesley. On the good side, it appeared that Julian was still free. That was the best news. The old factory had seemed a good place to hide for a while but he never imagined that the boy could stay hidden for long before Anderson found him. But he hadn’t much time: it had to happen soon.
As he walked away from the flat, he smiled. It was clearly better to know what was going on and both Lesley and Fielding had helped him do that. But where was Clarissa? As her husband he surely had a right to know. At work, he made a phone call. The Superintendent was sympathetic. Mark got the impression that Anderson had gone too far. Had he been right about Clarissa and Anderson?
Fielding got back home before ten. She imagined she deserved a rest and spent some time in the bath before having breakfast. When she got in just before noon, there was an urgent note on her desk. Anderson wanted to see her ASAP. She had been out of touch for a bit and she imagined Comben had too. Had something happened? She joined Anderson and Comben in the Chief Inspector’s office.
‘I suppose you have never heard of communication,’ Anderson said ’keeping in touch.’
Comben looked at her as though he were doing the accusing. It looked as though he had said nothing about the night before.
‘I hadn’t thought until now that I was anything but on the periphery of your investigation,’ she said. ‘I’m here now.’
‘Comben tells me you might have something?’
She had had a little time to prepare but, however she saw it, she couldn’t keep Clive’s name out of it. The two of them meeting up at the same place, Lesley Rathbone being the common link and then Mark Turney and Amanda, it made no sense to her yet. But the coincidence was too much and Comben was part of it. ‘Has Clive told you about last night yet?’ she asked.
‘I haven’t had time, I’ve just got in myself.’
Fielding could see by the prompt way Clive answered that he had also been doing some quick thinking. She left it to him to explain his part first. She wouldn’t want to expose his thing with Lesley unless absolutely necessary but how else would Clive explain his presence at the club.
‘We both met at a gambling club in town last night. That’s why we were in late; those things finish in the early hours.’
Was that it? Did Clive imagine that would satisfy his boss? Fielding waited but she had no need to speak. Anderson continued to look at his sergeant expectantly.
‘Felicity, Amanda’s ex-flatmate works there. She told me she had some information.’
Fielding waited again. This was taking an age and she had no doubt that Anderson would get impatient very soon.
‘Well?’ Anderson said.
‘I interviewed her again yesterday but she had to go to work. She said she’d speak to me there.’
‘And what did she say.’
‘She told me about Mark Turney.’
It was time for Fielding to help out, so she did. ‘I’m sure that he’s the American. I traced him from Ludlow to Sheffield, then on to Watford and now Kilburn. Felicity is really Lesley Rathbone the sister of the murdered Patricia Rathbone from Watford. She believes Mark Turney alias Toby Langdale, alias Tony Adams killed her sister.’
‘But there was no proof and there’s no proof he is the American,’ said Anderson.
‘The FBI descriptions are so exact that I’m certain that Mark Turney is their suspect but, you’re right, we’ve no proof.’
‘I thought the American evidence did not include a detailed description?’
So Anderson had read the file, Fielding was surprised. But it did mean he was taking her theory seriously. ‘Stevens the American investigating officer sent a photo. It looks exactly like Mark Turney.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Stevens got the idea that the man looked like his twin and sent his own photo. The resemblance is uncanny. The only real witness in New York thought Stevens was the man who assaulted her.’
Anderson let the silence in the room last long enough to become oppressive. There was something he wasn’t being told. Why had Comben waited until Fielding turned up before telling his story? Why his reticence? Was this what they called teamwork?
It wasn’t as though Fielding had much. All she had was a series of coincidences. Nothing linked Mark Turney to the two murders except Clarissa and her student writer — it would never get to court and it couldn’t save Julian.
‘We have Julian Simanovicz,’ he announced. Fielding looked at him — puzzled. He knew what she was thinking. If they had him, why the mystery. ‘His story’s confused. I’m not sure he’s the man. That’s why I’m interested in what you've got to say.’
Anderson waited as Fielding took her time. He appreciated her caution, it was a sort of compliment to himself: she wouldn’t want to overstate the case.
‘We’ve got some evidence to suggest that Mark Turney is the man they are looking for in the States but not enough to be certain,’ she said, then she stopped. Anderson waited. ‘The pattern of the American murders is different but there are similarities,’ Fielding continued, ’the American commits senseless murders which are pinned on others — so he gets off.’
Anderson interrupted. ‘But this time there’s no recent pattern for him to latch on to,’ he said.
‘Just because the others were senseless, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t him,’ said Comben, ’the others might have been practice for the real thing.’
The three of them sat in silence for a minute or so. They had come to a hiatus and they all knew it. Soon the pressure to release or charge Julian would be too great and Anderson knew he could and would be convicted.
‘I need time,’ Anderson said, ‘If anyone wants me, you don’t know where I’ve gone. Is that understood? I need twenty-four hours. Can you do that?’
Fielding nodded. Anderson could see that she wasn’t sure how to do it but he trusted her. ‘You two work together on this okay.’ They nodded and he was off.
Back at his flat, he unplugged all his telephone receivers and left his mobile off. It was time for silence broken only by the calm of Mozart. The next day would be soon enough to see to Simanovicz and release Clarissa from her incarceration.
Fielding watched with quiet satisfaction as Anderson walked out of his office. She was in charge. It might only be for a day but she would make the most of it. ‘So let’s go and get him,’ she said. Comben was on his feet in an instant. Fielding was just as eager to leave the station. They wouldn’t want to be there that day. A great deal of shit from above might descend and they would prefer Anderson to be under it first.
‘Wait a minute,’ she said, ’there’s something I must do.’ She picked up the phone and dialled. ‘George, Fielding here. My mobile’s on the blink. It could be the battery. Can I leave it with you tonight,’ she said and then after a short silence. ‘No, I’ll take a chance and keep it for today.’
When she hung up, she saw Comben looking at her quizzically.
‘We can’t have two out of service at the same time it will look suspicious,’ he said. ‘Shall I accidentally leave mine behind?’
‘No,’ she said, ’we might need both. If you’re asked anything, just play dumb. Say Anderson put me in charge and you don’t know where either of us is.’
They used Fielding’s car but Mark Turney was not at work, nor was he at Amanda’s flat nor at Clarissa’s house. Then they collected Comben’s car from the station car park so they could watch for him at both houses: Fielding at Clarissa’s, Comben at Amanda’s.