Karen continued to scream, thinking of her future with Joe Tinker with his double-glazing and his central heating and his modern fully-sprung bed with the continental quilt.
Ten yards.
Five.
A moment before the caravan disappeared from view, the caravan door burst open, Albert flung himself out and hit the turf a yard from the edge. He had survived.
Karen was devastated. She flung down the camcorder and stamped her foot.
Fortunately, Albert was too shaken to notice. He still lay face down, panting.
Eventually she drew herself together and went to him. She could probably have pushed him over, he was so near, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. That would be too direct, a hands-on murder.
Albert said, “That was a bloody near thing.”
“What went wrong?” said Karen as innocently as she was able.
“Couldn’t get the bloody door open. I knew it was difficult. Found that out when I was cleaning the thing. Put some grease on it yesterday, but it wasn’t enough, obviously. Ended up kicking my way out.” He got to his feet. “Look at me. I’m shaking like a leaf.”
Karen said, “Let’s get you to the car.”
“Where’s the camera?”
“Oh, I dropped it over there,” she said. “I’m not sure how much I got. God, I was frightened!”
“Doesn’t matter, love,” said Albert with unusual tenderness. “We can’t use the video anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Evidence. If they ever find anything at the bottom of that cliff and come knocking on our door, the last thing we want is a bloody video of the event.”
She frowned. “They could only find the caravan.”
Albert was shaking his head. “There’s something else. With luck, the sea will take care of it.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Bloody Joe Tinker. When I went in to see him this morning, he said he wanted a half-share of the profits. Five grand! You know me, love. Mean as hell. I lashed out. Hit the bleeder against the kitchen stove and cracked his skull. Killed him outright. What could I do but shove him into his own bloody caravan and bring him down here for disposal?”
“Oh, God, no!” wailed Karen.
“Don’t shed tears over him,” said Albert. “Didn’t you ever notice he fancied you something rotten, the jerk? Like I told you the other night, what I have, I hold.”
Wayzgoose
1
A slight, worried woman in a leather jacket walked into Bath police station.
The desk sergeant eyed her through the protective glass. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Can I speak to someone?”
“You’re speaking to me, ma’am.”
“Someone senior.”
The sergeant had been dealing with the public across this desk for twelve years. “I’m the best on offer.”
Unamused, the woman waited. Her hair was dark and short, shaped to her head. She wore no make-up.
The sergeant coaxed her, “Why don’t you give me some idea what it’s about?”
“I just killed my husband.”
The sergeant bent closer to the glass. “You what?”
“I came in to confess.”
“Hang about, ma’am. Where did this happen?”
“At home. 32, Collinson Road.”
“He’s there now?”
“His body is.”
“Collinson Road. I ought to know it.”
“Twerton.”
The sergeant gestured to a woman police officer behind him and told her to get a response car out to Twerton. Then he asked the woman, “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Trish Noble.”
“Trish for Patricia?”
“Yes”
“And your husband’s name?”
“Glenn.”
“What happened, Mrs Noble?”
“He was in a drunken stupor at four in the afternoon when I came in from work, so I was that mad that I threw a teapot at him. Cracked him on the head. It killed him. Is that murder? Will I go to prison?”
“A china teapot?”
“Half full of tea. I’ve always had this wicked temper.”
“Are you sure he’s dead? Maybe you only stunned him.”
She shook her head. “He’s gone all right. I’m a ward sister, and I know.”
“A nurse?”
“Shocking, isn’t it?”
“You’d better come in and sit down,” said the sergeant. “Go to the door on your right. Someone will see you right away.”
The someone was Superintendent Peter Diamond, the senior detective on duty that afternoon. Diamond was head of the murder squad and this looked like a domestic incident, but as homicide had apparently occurred, he was in duty bound to take an interest. He made quite a courtesy of pulling forward a low, upholstered chair for the woman, then spoilt the effect by seating himself in another with a bump as his knees refused his buttocks a dignified descent. He had a low centre of gravity. A rugby forward in years past, he was better built now for anchorman in a tug-of-war team. “You’re a nurse, I understand, Mrs Noble?”
“Sister on one of the orthopaedic wards.”
“Locally?”
“The Royal United.”
“So...?”
“I came off duty and when I got home Glenn — that’s my husband — was the worse for liquor.”
“You mean drunk?”
“Whatever you want to call it.” She closed her eyes, as if that might shut out the memory.
Mild as milk, Diamond said, “You came in from work and saw him where?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Did you have words?”
“He wasn’t capable of words. I saw red. That’s the way I am. I picked up the teapot—”
“You’d made tea?”
“No. I’d only just come in.”
“So he’d made tea?”
“No, it was still on the table from breakfast, half-full, really heavy. It’s a family sized pot. I picked it up and swung it at him. Hit him smack on the forehead. The pot smashed. There was tea all over his face and chest. He collapsed. First, I thought it was the drink. I couldn’t believe I’d hit him that hard. He’d stopped breathing. I could get nothing from his pulse. I lay him out on the floor and tried mouth-to-mouth, but it was no good.”
She conveyed a vivid picture, the more spectacular considering what a scrap she was. She spoke calmly, her pale blue eyes scarcely blinking. I wouldn’t mind mouth-to-mouth from you, sister, Diamond incorrectly thought.
The door behind him opened and someone looked in, a sergeant. “A word in your ear, sir.”
Diamond wasn’t getting out of that chair. He put a thumb and forefinger to the lobe of his right ear.
The sergeant bent over and muttered, “Report just in from the house, sir. Body in the kitchen confirmed.”
Diamond nodded and asked Mrs Noble, “You said this happened at four in the afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“It’s twenty to six now.”
“Is it?”
“Quite a long time since it happened.”
“I’ve been walking the streets, getting a grip on myself.”
“You’re doing OK,” Diamond told her, and meant it. She was a nurse and used to containing her feelings, but this was a stern test. He admired her self-control and he was inclined to believe her story, even if it had strange features. “You didn’t think of phoning us?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Earlier, I mean. When it happened.”
“No point. He was beyond help.”
He offered her a hot drink for the shock — and just stopped short of mentioning tea.