Anthony – bad news I’m afraid.
Lambeth forensic lab is now up
and running. Grunshaw has definite
match on hair. Suggest you head
for the hills. Kevin.
I was still staring at the screen when two police cars tore round the corner with their lights flashing. Because of the way the station was configured, with a pedestrian area in front of the entrance, they didn’t see me. But I had a clear view as they screeched to a halt. Detective Inspector Cara Grunshaw and Detective Constable Mills burst out of the first car. Two uniformed officers appeared from the one behind. I watched in horror as they rang the doorbell. I hadn’t told my wife about any of this. What was she going to say?
Before I knew what I was doing, I had turned round and hurried off the other way, putting as much space between myself and Cara Grunshaw as I could. I already had a weird sense of disembodiment. Just a moment before, I had been part of the crowd, making my way home. Now I was wanted by the police! I was on my own, but it was worse than that. I felt as if I was watching myself on a screen, recorded by some all-seeing camera positioned high above. I forced myself to slow down, recognising that I was already behaving like a fugitive. If someone saw the police cars and then saw me, the connection would be obvious.
I turned up the alleyway where Jordan Williams had appeared the night before and went back to the park where we had met. I needed somewhere to sit down and think and knew it was unlikely there would be many people there at this time of the evening. I couldn’t go back to Tolpuddle Street; that was the uppermost thought in my mind. It wasn’t just the dirt and the humiliation. If I was sucked back, it wouldn’t be for twenty-four hours. There would be no Hawthorne arriving to rescue me a second time. Cara had her evidence. Would it stand up in court? Of course it would! Tolpuddle Street could quite easily be the first step on the way to life in jail.
The park was locked. I sat on the edge of the pavement in despair.
All of this was crazy. I hadn’t murdered anyone. But then the dagger, the fingerprints, the hair, the Japanese blossom and the CCTV images said otherwise. I had a motive. I had threatened Harriet Throsby, according to one witness. I had agreed she deserved to die, according to another. And all of that was without taking into account my first victim, Bristol Argus critic Frank Heywood. There was no way round it. I think if I’d been on the jury, I’d have convicted me.
I don’t know how long I stayed there. Perhaps Cara would have gone by now and I could slip in and hide under the bed. It was a shame that the flat had no back entrance, not even a window I could climb through. I didn’t dare go back into Cowcross Street. There would probably be a police officer waiting for me all night. In the end, I did what I should have done in the first place. I took out my mobile phone and called my wife.
She answered on the second ring. ‘Anthony? Where are you?’
‘Is Cara Grunshaw still there?’
‘Yes. She is.’ She continued in the same breath. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Murder that critic!’
‘What? I didn’t go anywhere near her! You can’t seriously think I had anything to do with it!’
‘The police seem to think they have a very good case.’
‘And you believe them, not me?’
‘Well, I know how upset you get by bad reviews.’
‘Not upset enough to kill someone!’
‘And why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t think you’d want to know.’
‘You’re right! This is very disappointing—’
I would have continued, but then the phone must have been snatched from Jill’s hand and Cara Grunshaw came on.
‘Where are you, Anthony?’
‘I’m not telling you.’
‘You won’t get away. We’ve got the whole of London looking for you. It’ll make it a lot easier for you if you just turn yourself in.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Jill.’
‘She’s very upset. She had no idea of the sort of man she’s married to.’
‘Why don’t you just drop dead, Cara!’
‘Are you threatening me now?’ A pause. ‘Are you somewhere near?’
I hung up. There was something in her last question that had scared me. Was it possible that she could be tracing the call? I’d watched that scene in lots of films where the police try to keep the suspect talking for as long as they can while they close in on the signal – in fact, I’d written it a couple of times myself. I’d often wondered how long it really took. Perhaps these days it was instantaneous. It was time to move. I got up and walked back the way I had come.