The Other Child (39 page)

‘Yes.'

‘We'll talk to Miss Ward, Mr Tanner, and with the staff at the Golden Ball. I have to ask what your relationship to Karen Ward is.'

His reply sounded a little too casual. ‘We used to go out. For about a year and a half.'

‘You were a couple?'

‘Yes.'

‘And the relationship ended when you met Gwen Beckett?'

‘A little after, yes. But our relationship had already lost its spark. At least to me.'

‘Right. But after the messed up engagement party you absolutely had to see her?'

He pulled a face. ‘Not “absolutely”. It was just that the evening had been downright unpleasant and I suddenly realised I wasn't going to be able to sleep. I just wanted to go out. Karen and I are good friends, so I called her up.'

‘You are good friends? Three months after you left her for another woman?'

He did not say anything.

‘Does Miss Ward know that you are, let's say, engaged? Does she know about Gwen Beckett?'

‘She's heard rumours.'

‘But you didn't tell her?'

‘I didn't deny it either. It was … God, Inspector, what's this all about? About my love life?'

‘About your credibility.'

He made a dismissive gesture. ‘My situation … my private life is … difficult right now. But that doesn't make me a murderer!'

‘I suppose you kept in with Miss Ward the whole time? For times when you felt frustrated? Because Gwen Beckett is not exactly the woman of your dreams?'

‘Am I being judged on morals here?'

‘Why didn't you say from the start that you were in the Golden Ball with an old girlfriend?'

‘Because it would cause problems with Gwen, if she heard.'

‘Really? Is she that jealous? To make life difficult for you when you openly meet an ex for a drink in a pub?'

‘I didn't want to risk any trouble.'

‘Where did you go after the pub?'

He looked at her cautiously. ‘After?'

‘Well, you must have left the pub at some point. Our witness was looking out at the road until late in the night, but your car didn't reappear. The Golden Ball isn't open all night!' She was bluffing. Marga Krusinski had only mentioned midnight. A pub visit could have lasted that long. But Tanner need not know the details of the witness statement.

He shifted uneasily back and forth on his chair.

‘All right, Inspector. I almost don't care now. I did go to Karen's flat with her.'

‘And you stayed until …'

‘Until about six in the morning. Then I drove home. I didn't want my landlady to know I had been out, so I chose a time when she was still asleep. I showered, dressed and later went for a long walk. The weather was beautiful.'

‘So you spent the whole night with Karen Ward.'

‘Yes.'

‘And she was fine with that, although you are about to marry another woman?'

‘Of course she was fine with it. Otherwise she wouldn't have taken me home.'

The situation seemed clear to Valerie now. Fiona Barnes had hit the bullseye with her accusations. Dave Tanner's interest in Gwen Beckett was calculated only to get hold of the Beckett farm property. At the same time he would meet his ex, a young student who Valerie had noticed was exceptionally attractive and better suited to the worldly Dave Tanner than the bland, inexperienced Gwen Beckett. His ex knew about Gwen and was no doubt in agonies about it, but clung to the hope that she would win Dave Tanner back and so she let him do as he wanted with her.

And Valerie realised something else. Dave Tanner had certainly not given up on his intention of marrying Gwen Beckett. After all, Karen Ward offered a sure alibi as to his whereabouts at the time of the murder, and yet in spite of his precarious situation he had not used his alibi – out of fear of losing Gwen. A lot rested for him on the chance of a new life. Perhaps too much.

She would check his statement, although she was almost certain that he was telling the truth.

She got up. ‘All right, Mr Tanner. You can go now. I don't have any further questions right now. We'll talk to Miss Ward and with the barman at the Golden Ball. I expect they will confirm your statement.'

Dave got up too. He did not say anything, but she knew the question going through his head.

‘Mr Tanner, I don't see any need for me to tell anyone you know about this chat. If what you say is true about the night of the crime, then you will be taken off the list of suspects. Of course I'll write a report, but it will be an internal one.'

Now he smiled. His smile was warm and alive. Valerie thought that although Karen Ward was stupid to let herself be used by him, she could understand that a woman would find it hard to let this man go. When was the last time she had been smiled at by a man like this? Too long ago to be able to remember. She quickly brushed the thought aside.

‘Thank you, Inspector,' said Dave and held out his hand.

She shook it.

‘Of course I have no right to judge you morally, Mr Tanner. But one word of advice: decide on something and take that path. Consistently. Anything else … doesn't work in the long-term.'

To her surprise his face became serious. ‘I know. And once again, Inspector: thank you. For everything.'

He left the room.

Her eyes followed him for a little too long. She ordered herself: Stop it, Valerie! That kind of man makes women unhappy. As sure as rain. Now, concentrate on the case.

Reek had to go to the Golden Ball right away. Then try to contact Karen Ward.

And then Dave Tanner would be out of the investigation.

Her phone rang. It was Sergeant Reek.

‘Inspector, I've got Jennifer Brankley on the other line. Can I put her through? She says it's urgent.'

Brankley calling her? What did she want now?

‘Of course,' she said. ‘Put her through!'

Maybe things were moving, finally.

14

‘These pictures are indeed … suspicious. Very suspicious,' said Sergeant Reek.

He had gone through the contents of the drawer from Stan Gibson's flat meticulously. However he had not found anything which threw a light on the murder of the young woman. The photos were definitely of Amy Mills. And it was just as certain that the young woman had been followed by Stan Gibson – if he had taken the photos. He must have spent all his free time trailing her and taking pictures of her whenever he had an opportunity. Added to that, Ena Witty had claimed he had watched Miss Mills in Linda Gardner's flat with a telescope.

Since Jennifer Brankley's call Valerie had felt breathless with excitement. It could not be a coincidence. A man who lived opposite the flat where Amy Mills had spent the last evening of her life. He had also told his current girlfriend that he had spied on Amy Mills in her most private moments during her weekly babysitting. And one of his drawers was full of photos of the dead girl.

Just let someone try and say he was a harmless peeping Tom!

It still had not been easy to get a search warrant.

She had visited Ena Witty and Jennifer Brankley in Witty's flat. Ena Witty was as white as chalk. She seemed to have been thrown off balance by the realisation that her boyfriend might be guilty of a serious crime. It was enough, as Valerie knew, to throw much more self-confident and tough women than Witty. At least Jennifer Brankley was obviously holding her nerve. She was also the one with the presence of mind to take a pile of photos from the suspect's house, so that Valerie had something to hand, literally, which she could show the judge.

‘It all happened so quickly,' Jennifer explained. ‘I was scared silly that Gibson could walk in any minute. I grabbed these pictures, Ena packed a few personal items, and then we cleared off

Valerie had not pressured Ena Witty. She was itching to obtain as much information as she could as quickly as possible, but the young woman seemed so shattered that it seemed sensible to treat her with care.

‘He said that he watched Amy Mills with a telescope, when she was babysitting for Linda Gardner?'

‘Yes. He often said that. He showed me the telescope too. It's in his living room. He was proud that he could see her so well!'

And the photos … Valerie knew she had to get into his flat. If possible, before Stan Gibson knew the danger and removed the incriminating evidence.

‘He didn't come back while you were there?' she checked. ‘Or did he see you leave the flat?'

‘Not that we noticed,' replied Jennifer. ‘I think he would have talked to us if he had seen us. You know, I was afraid because of the rain. Ena says he's working on a site in Hull. But as it's tipping it down, they might have stopped work. I thought he might come back any moment.'

‘We'll find out where he is,' said Valerie. ‘He has to be somewhere. Miss Witty, I'll need to talk to you later today. Are you going to stay in your flat?'

‘Of course. I … I don't know where else I should go. I'm scared. He'll be so angry, Inspector. Maybe he didn't have anything to do with Amy Mills's murder. He'll never forgive me for going to the police …'

‘There was no other option, Ena. I told you that,' said Jennifer gently. Valerie realised that she had Jennifer Brankley to thank for the fact that Stan Gibson's extremely strange behaviour had been reported to the police. Ena Witty would never have plucked up the courage to do it on her own. She would have hummed and hawed until Stan Gibson had noticed she was disturbed and perhaps put the photos in a safer place.

‘I'll stay with Ena for now,' said Jennifer quietly, as she accompanied Valerie Almond to the door. ‘I don't think she should be on her own.'

The situation seemed to have reinvigorated her, thought Valerie. The challenge is good for her. She's not as tense as before, but seems calmer and more in control.

The judge was none too pleased when Valerie appeared with a request for a search warrant for Gibson's flat. It was past four o'clock, and he should have been going home, not dealing with some tiresome problem. If Gibson was just a harmless citizen with a screw loose, the media would scream
Basic Rights Violated
if they got wind of it.

‘Don't you have anything more than this suspicion?' he had asked, disgruntled. She pointed to the photos spread out on his desk. ‘That's more than suspicion! These photos are facts! He followed Amy Mills for weeks, secretly taking pictures of her.'

‘As long as the victim doesn't complain, then it doesn't concern us as a crime.'

‘The victim can't complain. She's dead.'

‘Inspector—'

‘He spied on her with a telescope from the flat opposite. He was obsessed with her. It's patently obvious that his life was completely taken up by this. Maybe in his fantasies she was meant to be his. When she didn't care to share that opinion, perhaps he murdered her. The crime was done with ferocious hate. That's just what you would expect when a man, who has lived in such a strange fantasy world' – she pointed to the photos – ‘is rejected.'

‘That's guesswork!'

‘And maybe I can back it up, if I can get into the flat.'

‘Why don't you arrest Gibson first?'

‘He can't be found right now. Sergeant Reek contacted the construction firm he works for. He was assigned to a site in Hull today, but work stopped at midday because of the rain. No one knows where he went next. The foreman says some of the men wanted to go for a drink and he might have gone with them.'

‘Not a crime.'

‘No. But when he gets home he'll get in touch with his girlfriend straight away. He'll notice something is wrong, because the young lady is completely distraught. I want to search the flat
before
he destroys everything which could be evidence!'

The judge growled, ‘Hmm …' The law permitted a house to be searched when there was a good probability that evidence relevant to a crime would be found. Moreover, a house could be searched without the resident's knowledge if there was a reasonable suspicion that informing the resident would lead to the materials in question being destroyed.

Valerie played a trump card. Nothing conclusive, but a nice piece of the puzzle. ‘Sergeant Reek found out something else. The firm that Gibson worked for is the firm which was doing the building work down in the Esplanade Gardens. Gibson was working on that project. That is the building site where the two fences were moved, blocking Amy Mills's shortest way, forcing her to go through the darkest and most deserted part of the park.'

‘Any passer-by could have moved the fences. Any stupid kid. Any homeless person. You don't have to work on the site to access the fences.'

‘No. But if you work on the site, and see the fences every day, the idea might come to you that you can direct Amy Mills in the direction you wish. Sir, all of the points on their own are flimsy, I admit that. But put them together and they do throw a suspicious light on Stan Gibson. I think a search warrant would be justified.'

She had got her piece of paper. Maybe she had only got it because the judge wanted to go home and he knew that he would not get rid of the officer quickly any other way. She could be very insistent, especially when she was under pressure and finally,
finally
, saw a lead that could help, that could even be the breakthrough.

Not that it looked like that in Gibson's flat right now. They had found the tripod and telescope as described. They had found about five hundred more photos. That was all.

Not enough to accuse someone of murder, thought Valerie.

It was already getting dark outside. The day was almost over. The rain was letting up.

Four officers had gone through Gibson's flat with a fine-tooth comb – without finding anything conclusive. Valerie felt like crying out of frustration. She had had to cross Dave Tanner off the list of suspects today. And now it looked as if she could say goodbye to the next challenger for the crown of chief suspect. Even before he had really come on the scene.