Its a lot of effort for potentially little result, Diane. There are other major leads we can be following up.
Such as?
Such as the possibility that our caller has already committed his murder.
5
She never liked using that car park, said Geoff Birley. But it was the only place near enough to the office, without her having to walk a long way.
He stared down at his large pale hands where they lay helplessly on his knees. Hed given his age as forty-one, three years older than his wife. He was a foreman on the despatch floor at one of the big distribution centres just outside town. Hard physical work, no doubt, but never any sign of sun.
Thats the trouble with this town, you know. Not nearly enough parking spaces.
He looked at DI Hitchens for understanding. Always a mistake, in Diane Frys view. But Birleys face was pale and set in an expression of shock, so maybe he knew no better at the moment. A family liaison officer had been appointed, a female officer who might make a better job of sympathizing with Birley and getting him to talk once the detectives had gone.
They keep opening more shops, and encouraging more and more tourists to come in, but they dont give people anywhere to park.
Hitchens didnt answer. He left it to Birleys sister, Trish Neville, a large woman wearing an apron, who had insisted on making tea that neither of the detectives had touched.
Geoff, Im sure the inspector doesnt think thats worth fretting about just now, she said. He has more important things to talk to you about.
She spoke to her brother a little too loudly, as if he were an elderly relative, senile and slightly deaf.
I know, said Birley. But if it hadnt been for that If there had been somewhere nearer to park her car, and more secure. If the company had provided parking for its staff
They were sitting in a low-ceilinged room with small windows, like so many of the older houses in the area. Peak Park planning regulations wouldnt have allowed the owners to knock holes in the walls and put picture windows in, even if theyd wanted to. It wouldnt have been in keeping.
The room might have been dark and gloomy, if it hadnt been recently decorated with bright floral wallpaper and dazzling white gloss on the woodwork. Somebody, presumably Sandra Birley, had arranged mirrors and a multi-faceted glass lamp to catch what light there was from the windows and spread it around the room. Fry found herself seated in an armchair with a chintz cover, facing the windows. Normally, she disliked the fussiness of chintz intensely. But in this room it seemed to work, softening the crude lines of the stone walls.
Geoff Birley had stopped speaking. He licked his lips anxiously, as if hed forgotten what he was saying. He seemed to know they were expecting something of him, but wasnt sure what it was. He looked up at his sister, who was standing over him like an attentive nurse.
Well, Im just saying, Trish, he said. About the car park.
Trish Neville sighed and folded her arms across her chest. She looked at the two detectives. Overto you, she seemed to say.
Despite that, your wife used the multi-storey car park regularly, didnt she, sir? said Fry.
Yes, she did, said Birley. But she always tried to get a space on the lower levels, so she wouldnt have to go up to the top to fetch her car if she worked late at the office. Only, you have to get there early, you see. You have to be there at seven oclock, or youve had it for the rest of the day.
And she was late yesterday morning?
She got held up by a phone call as she was leaving the house. It was only her mother, mithering about nothing as usual. But Sandra always has to spend a few minutes listening to the old bat and calming her down. Sandra is like that if she cut her mother off short, shed have felt guilty about it all day. So she made herself late because of it. By the time she got to Clappergate, the bottom levels of the car park would already have been full. A few minutes make all the difference, you see. And when that happens, you have to go up and up, until youre on the bloody roof.
Her car wasnt quite on the roof level, in fact, said Fry. It was on the one below, Level 8.
She was lucky, then. She must have nipped into a space.
Fry and Hitchens exchanged a glance. The fact that Mr Birley should still be describing his wifes actions as lucky told them that reality hadnt sunk in for him yet. The one thing Sandra Birley hadnt been last night was lucky.
Mr Birley, said Hitchens. When your wife went back for her car, we think she used the stairs to get to Level 8, instead of the lift. Yet the lift was working. Would that have been her usual habit, do you think?
The question seemed only to confuse Geoff Birley. How do you mean?
Would your wife normally have used the stairs to go up eight floors, rather than take the lift?
Birley hesitated. It depends. What did it smell like?
Now it was Hitchens turn to look puzzled. Im sorry, sir?
The lift. What did it smell like? Did anyone open it and have a smell inside?
Fry had been present when the lift was examined. Even now, she had to swallow a little surge of bile that rose to her throat as she remembered the stink.
Yes, it smelled pretty bad.
Like somebody had thrown up in there, then pissed on it?
Those smells featured, I think.
Birley shook his head. Then Sandra wouldnt have gone in it. She might have pressed the button and opened the doors. But if the lift smelled as bad inside as you say it did, she wouldnt have used it. No way. She couldnt stand bad smells in an enclosed space. It made her feel sick.
So you think shed have used the stairs, even though the lift was working?
Yes, Im sure she would. You can count on it.
Trish put her hand on her brothers shoulder, perhaps detecting some sign of emotion that Fry had missed. She left it there for a few moments, while Birley breathed a little more deeply. The two detectives waited. Fry noticed that Trishs arms were broad and fleshy, yet ended in surprisingly small, elegant hands with long fingers, as though the hands had been transplanted from someone else.
Im fine, really, said Birley at last.
Your wife was late leaving the office too, wasnt she, sir? said Fry.
Yes, she was. There was a late meeting, and then she had some work she had to finish. Shes done very well for herself at Peak Mutual, you know. Shes an account executive.
Did you know shed be late?
She rang me just before five thirty to let me know, and told me not to wait for her to get home before I had something to eat. I got a pizza out of the freezer and left half of it for her. Hawaiian-style. She likes pineapple.
Fry saw Trishs hand tighten on his shoulder in an affectionate squeeze. She was anticipating Birleys realization that the five-thirty phone call was the last time he would ever speak to his wife, that Sandra would never come home to eat her half of the pizza. But the moment didnt come. Or at least, it didnt show on Geoff Birleys face.
When Mrs Birley called, you were already home, sir? asked Hitchens.
Yes, I was on an early shift.
Your wife didnt happen to say what the work was she had to finish?
No, she didnt often talk about her work. She told me about the people in her office little bits of gossip, you know. But she didnt bring her work home. She was good at her job, but she liked to keep the two halves of her life completely separate, she said.
It was a good trick if you could do it. Fry glanced at Hitchens, who nodded.
Mr Birley, we have to ask you this, she said. Can you think of anyone who might want to harm your wife?
He frowned and shook his head. No, not at all. Everybody liked her. She wasnt the sort of person to get into arguments. She hated upsetting people. If there was someone at work she didnt get on with, she would just try to avoid them.
I see.
It wasnt somebody Sandra knew, was it? Surely it was one of these lunatics who prey on women? She was a random victim. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Most likely, sir, said Hitchens. But we have to cover all the possibilities.
Geoff Birley looked up at his sister again. It seemed to Fry that it was Trish he was talking to now, as if the police had already left his house.
Only, Id hate to think it was someone Sandra knew that attacked her. I couldnt bear the thought of that. It had to be a stranger, didnt it? Thats the only thing we can cling to. Its some consolation, at least.
What time did you first try to call your wifes mobile, sir?
About eight, I suppose.
And it was already off then?
Yes.
Hitchens leaned forward in his chair, as if about to leave.
Would it be all right if we take a look around while were here, sir? he said.
Would it be all right if we take a look around while were here, sir? he said.
What for?
Anything that might help us find your wife.
Puzzled, Birley looked at his sister, whose face had set into an angry expression. I suppose itll be all right, he said.
The Birleys lived in a detached limestone cottage with an enclosed garden. Fry guessed there were probably three or four bedrooms upstairs. From outside, it was obvious that the property had been created by combining two cottages whose roofs were at slightly different heights. An external chimney stack at one end suggested there might have been a third cottage in the row at some time.
Fry looked first into the kitchen and saw an enamelled range, the kind that provided central heating and hot water as well as cooking. Shed never be able to manage one of those herself. In the sitting room, the focal point had been a castiron stove with a carved surround, which looked equally impractical.
In the dining room, Fry paused to admire a carving of a leaping dolphin on a table near the fireplace. There was much more light at the back of the house, thanks to a sliding door that led into a conservatory, with pine floorboards covered in raffia matting. She walked straight through it and out into the garden, past a lawn and a series of raised borders, until she found a brick store place and a garden shed that had been painted bright blue. Neither of them contained the body of Sandra Birley.