Читать книгу Til Death Do Us Part - Stephen Edger - Страница 19

Silence descended on the car journey through the New Forest, passing wild ponies, donkeys, and tourists making the most of the luscious summer heat. Families sat on picnic blankets, enjoying good food and conversation, while children hunted for frogs and fairies in the undergrowth. The scene was picture-perfect, and Alice couldn’t help but imagine the day when she and Ben would load the car with their own children and head out into the wilds of the countryside.

Despite patches of heavy traffic, they made it back to the village of Chilworth, a stone’s throw from the end of the M3 motorway, inside thirty minutes. A blue saloon car parked in front of the gates to the property greeted them as they turned onto their road. It had no formal markings, but even Alice could tell what profession its driver had.

‘Let’s just keep driving,’ Alice suggested. ‘Let’s not let them ruin another day.’ She meant every word. They could drive past the house and head to her mother’s or one of their friends’ houses – anywhere to keep the wolves at bay for a while longer.

Ben shook his head. ‘We can’t run forever.’ With that he pressed the remote control to open the automatic gates, instructing the taxi driver to go past the blue saloon and continue up the driveway.

To their right, the large house stood in all its glory, the view from the road blocked by the high fence and bushes, looking magnificent and modern as the sun reflected off the large windows. Despite the proximity to the motorway, only the slightest hum of traffic carried on the wind. To the left of the main building stood the brick enclosure housing the near‑Olympic‑size swimming pool and hot tub; to the right, the double garage containing her Audi and his Mercedes. Their bedroom was the largest in the centre of the first floor, with two smaller rooms each side; a sixth bedroom was downstairs towards the rear of the property.

Ben and the driver were first out of the car, and as the bags were removed from the boot, the blue saloon pulled up alongside them. Ben paid the driver and thanked him, waiting until the taxi was through the gates before closing them once more with the remote control.

He turned to Alice and whispered, ‘Why don’t you head inside, and leave me to deal with whoever this is?’

Alice pulled her handbag over her shoulder like a sash. ‘We’ll do this together. We’ll show them we’re united.’

The two plainclothes detectives exited the blue car, lifting their identification into the air.

The woman spoke first. ‘Ben Goodman? I’m DC Vanessa Hazelton, and this is my colleague, DC Wayne McTeal.’

‘What do you want?’ Ben asked defiantly. ‘I told you lot everything I know. I didn’t kill that poor girl.’

‘We’re not here to arrest you, Mr Goodman,’ Hazelton replied. ‘I believe DI Vernon would have informed you we need to collect the clothes you were wearing on Saturday night? That’s what we’re here to do.’

Hazelton had a quiet voice, but there was a determination in the tone that suggested she was used to getting what she wanted. A pretty face, her brown hair was cut short, giving her an androgynous look. If it weren’t for the two bulges in her pink blouse, it would be easy to mistake her for a teenager.

Alice followed Ben and the detectives through the front door. The high ceiling in the grand hall kept the room light and airy, but as they moved through to the kitchen, the sun’s rays on the large bifold doors meant the room was obnoxiously warm and stuffy. It had been three days since Alice was here last. Stepping to the panel on the wall, she adjusted the temperature on the thermostat and welcomed the cool rush of air as the ceiling fans kicked in.

Hazelton had followed Alice into the kitchen while Ben had taken McTeal upstairs.

‘Once we have the clothes bagged up, we’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your weekend,’ Hazelton offered with an empathetic smile. ‘I assume Ben has told you why we took him to the station yesterday?’

‘Of course. We don’t keep secrets.’

Hazelton’s face remained passive.

‘He didn’t do it, you know,’ Alice suddenly blurted. ‘He told me he didn’t and I believe him.’

‘I’m in no position to disagree, Mrs Goodman.’

The comment threw Alice. ‘You don’t think he did it either?’

‘I’m not paid to have an opinion. I just follow the evidence. With all due respect, Mrs Goodman, a young woman has been brutally murdered. Whomever was responsible is still out there, somewhere on the streets evading justice. He – or she – needs to be brought to justice, and before they do it again. Our only priority is finding this individual. Imagine if she was your best friend: wouldn’t you want us to do everything in our power to find her killer?’

Alice sipped her water but remained quiet.

Hazelton moved across to the bifold doors, staring out. ‘You have a beautiful garden. How far back does it stretch? Sixty feet?’

‘Something like that,’ Alice sighed.

‘Is this your own work or do you have a gardener?’ Hazelton continued, pointing at the raised flowerbed that ran the length of the lawn on the left side.

‘A gardener tends to it once a week. I’m not green-fingered.’

‘Nor me,’ Hazelton smiled. ‘I live in a third-storey flat, and whenever my mum brings over a houseplant, it never lasts more than a month. Sometimes I don’t know why she bothers.’

‘Are you from Southampton?’

‘No, I’m based in Bournemouth, but the inquiry is being led by the Major Crimes Team here in Southampton, so a small group of us are here supporting.’ She paused. ‘It isn’t my place to say, but I’m sorry that the arrest was so public. Ordinarily, someone would have had a quiet word and been more discreet; I don’t know why DI Vernon made such a big fuss.’

Ben appeared in the kitchen, McTeal following behind, holding a large sealed bag and wearing blue protective gloves.

‘Did you get it?’ Hazelton asked him.

McTeal lifted the bag and nodded.

‘You won’t find anything on the clothes as they’ve been cleaned,’ Ben warned. ‘If I’d known I would need to prove my innocence, I would have left them unwashed.’

Hazelton approached him, meeting his stare. ‘That’s all right, Mr Goodman, you’d be surprised at how difficult it is to remove the telltale signs of blood. We’ll have our forensic specialists review the clothing and let you know the results. Of course, these could be key to ruling you out of our investigation. Let’s hope so, hey?’

‘They will,’ Ben replied curtly, before following them back to the front door and showing them out.