Martin Edwards - All the Lonely People

The young constable scuttled out and Moulden settled his burly frame into the chair that Macbeth had recently vacated. Clicking his tongue, he said, “Well, Harry lad, another fine mess you got yourself into.”

“Dave, will you speak to that bugger Macbeth and his bloody boss and convince them I’m not a double murderer?”

Soberly, the older man said, “Convince me first.”

Irritated by the reply, and reminded by his empty stomach and parched throat how long it was since he had last eaten or had a drink, Harry said, “They must be desperate if they’ve sent you to prise out a cough, mate.”

Moulden didn’t smile. “You’re in a tricky situation, don’t misunderstand that. So what’s been going on?”

Harry gave him a precis of events. When he had finished, he said, “Skinner put me through the wringer. Macbeth too, though with less finesse. They almost had me thinking I was guilty.”

“They’re good jacks, Harry. It’s a tough case. But Skinner’s determined — reminds me of you in a funny sort of way. Once he gets into an investigation, he’s like a bloody limpet. And Wes Macbeth.. ” Moulden sucked in his cheeks. “Well, he doesn’t like lawyers.”

“I’d noticed. But who does?”

Lowering his voice, Moulden said, “He has his reasons. His kid sister was raped when he was a teenager in Kirkby. The feller who did it lived in the same deck-access block. He took his time, didn’t spare her anything. Some sharp defence brief from Manchester spent hours cross-examining her about her sex life, driving her to hysteria in order to get his client off. You know the drill. He argued that she led the creep on. Worked a treat. The jury fell for it hook, line and bloody sinker. A month later the girl gassed herself. A kitchen oven job. Wes found her body when he got home from school.”

He gave Harry a considering look. “It could have turned Wes crazy, but he decided to fight back from the inside and joined up with us. Got his promotion in record time, and not just because he’s a token black. He’s a hard bastard, Harry, but he follows the rules and he’s good at his job. You can be sure he won’t let any lawyer stand in the way of getting a conviction. He regards your lot as worse than the thugs and thieves you represent. I’ve told him myself that’s as daft as judging us by the odd ones who put their hands in the till or rough up a youngster on sus. All the same, if I’d been through what he’s been through, I don’t suppose I’d chum up with any defence brief who came my way.”

Harry said, “The lawyer was only doing his job.”

“So is Wes, so stop bleating.”

Neither of them spoke for a minute. Harry shifted his thoughts back to the central problem of the murders. Two deaths now — three if you included the unborn child. With Evison gone, he was as far away as ever from being able to prove that Liz’s lover had murdered her. To his dismay, he became aware of tears of frustration pricking at his eyelids.

“It must be Coghlan, Dave. No one else fits the bill.”

Moulden said, “I know you hate the man, and I don’t blame you for that. But we need more to go on than a gut feeling. Face it, if that wasn’t the case, you’d have been locked up by now.”

Obstinate as a chastised child, Harry said, “He had the motive and the temperament.”

“Not the opportunity, though. When your wife was killed he was two hundred miles away. That’s for certain.”

“His alibi checks out?”

A curious expression flitted across Dave Moulden’s face. Was it veiled amusement? “We’re satisfied about his movements, yes.”

“These things can be set up from a distance, have you thought about that? Coghlan has plenty of hired hands available, I suppose it was one of them that attended to me the other night.”

“You think that hasn’t been considered? Give us credit for knowing our own business best.” He hesitated. “All I can say is that in the light of our inquiries we have reason to doubt whether Coghlan was connected with the death of your wife.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Sorry, mate, can’t say anything more.”

“Was Coghlan aware Liz was pregnant?”

“We don’t think so. At least, not until we told him. Unless he’s a bloody good actor.”

Harry thought for a few seconds, then said, “Who else did your people tell about the baby?”

“The sister-in-law. No one else as far as I’m aware. We were interested to find out who your wife had confided in, but it seemed she was a lady who liked to keep these things close to her chest.”

“Have you traced the businessman she was involved with? This Tony?”

Moulden shook his head. “So far we’ve drawn a complete blank. Which is interesting. Your wife was a talker, said everything but her prayers, by all accounts. Yet we hadn’t even been able to put a name to the man until you told Skinhead an hour ago. She obviously said more to your mud-wrestling friend than anyone else, and even with her she didn’t let much slip, did she? Makes you wonder if he might have been a figment of her imagination, doesn’t it?”

“Remember, the man was married.”

“That may explain it.” Moulden winked. “Matter of fact, though I don’t officially approve, it’s true that you’ve picked up one or two snippets that had escaped us. This feller Rourke, for instance. None of the people we’ve talked to have let on about her seeing him.”

“They may have met at the club,” said Harry. “Could that be significant?”

The policeman heaved large shoulders. “I’m not paid to do much thinking, but obviously we need to interview the man. Trouble with this case is, all the leads take us nowhere. Take an example — your brother-in-law’s farewell meal with her had us interested. Of course, we sniffed around. Very embarrassing for a pillar of the community like Mr. Edge, I’m sure. The upshot being, we found he did arrive at the Adelphi precisely when he claimed. No one there had the impression that he’d just left his sister-in-law’s corpse lying in an alley. No forensic links whatsoever and the timing would have been too tight for comfort anyway. And as far as we can tell so far, he was working in his spick-and-span office in Water Street when Evison was killed.”

Moulden scratched his nose reflectively. “This second murder, it’s hard to explain away, you see. Unless there’s been a hell of a coincidence, it wipes out any chance that your wife was simply the victim of a random street crime, Yet if we’re right, and Coghlan and Edge are clean, who does that leave?” He gazed solemnly at Harry. “You see why you’ve been subjected to a touch of the third degree? No alibi for the first murder, on the scene of the second at just the right time. Motive and opportunity… it doesn’t look good.”

“What about means? How was Froggy killed?” Dave Moulden smiled, but his eyes were watchful. “That’s what we can’t tie in with you. I suppose you’ve realised that already? The boys reckon they went over your flat with a fine toothcomb. Perhaps you’d hidden it somewhere else or picked it up for the sole purpose of wiping little Evison out.”

“Stop talking in riddles. Tell me how he was killed.” Moulden said softly, “Pensby’s been blabbing to the Press, despite our words of warning, so there’s no point in my holding back, I suppose. Evison was shot with a sawn-off shotgun, probably fired when the din of the dumper trucks provided a cover. So far we haven’t been able either to find the weapon or to link you with it. Until we do,” he said, unsmiling now, “no copper, not even Wes Macbeth, is likely to risk an arrest. You may as well be on your way. No more third degree for the time being. But Harry, mate, if there is a link, you’re finished. And not all the legal loopholes in Liverpool will be enough to save your skin.”