The Domino Killer (25 page)

Gina took a deep breath. She was outside Proctor’s house. The driveway was empty and she’d spent some time watching the house for any sign of him. She hadn’t seen any. No tall shadow in the windows. No, it was Proctor’s wife she was after, hoping to get some kind of insight into the man, from the woman who knew him best.

Gina popped a mint into her mouth, the booze still strong on her tongue, and walked towards the front door, the sound of her heels drowned by the rumble of a passing bus. She’d gone home first to put on a suit. If she was going to play a part, she might as well look like it.

The house wasn’t what she’d expected. It was large, once imposing and grand, but in what had become bedsit-land. The short concrete driveway was cracked in places and grass tried to assert itself. Gina fastened her suit jacket. She rang the doorbell and breathed out into the palm of her hand. Still bad. When the door opened, she smiled.

The woman in front of her seemed nervous, her eyes wide and darting from side to side. Her hair was cut short and simple and she was wearing a cardigan and trousers, greys and muted blues. She was a woman who didn’t want to be noticed.

‘Hello, I’m Gina Ross,’ she said. ‘I’m from Honeywells Solicitors.’

Before Gina had the chance to say anything else, the woman put her hand to her mouth and said, ‘Is it about the money? About Mark’s accounts?’

That stalled Gina for a moment. ‘Why do you think that?’ she said.

‘Are you here to sue us, to tell us we’re going to court?’

‘No, I’m not,’ Gina said. ‘It’s about Mark’s case, his arrest the other night.’

She looked confused. ‘Arrest? I don’t understand? The police were here earlier. They thought he was dead, but he’s not, and now they’re looking for him.’

‘Can I come in please?’ Gina said.

‘But Mark isn’t here.’

‘You can still help me, though.’

The woman paused as she thought about that, and then, as if remembering her manners, she stepped aside. ‘Of course, I’m sorry. Go through.’

Gina eased past her and looked around. She’d learned through her police career that a person’s house was a barometer of their personality. So often she had been to houses with a BMW on the drive and yet holes in the furniture, as if all that mattered was how those outside the house perceived them. She’d been to untidy houses that were dirty through lack of care and substance misuse, and other times because the occupants’ lives were too busy, with laughing children and chaos.

Proctor’s house was different to that. It was quietly grandiose, in that it was bigger than they needed, with a wide and open hallway with rooms going off it, and a banister that curved upwards like a grand gesture. The contents didn’t quite live up to it, however, with a stained pine dining table and bookcase in one room, and a stiff-looking sofa in another, straight-backed and purple. As Gina was shown into the main living room, there was nothing of warmth. The walls were painted light grey but weren’t brightened by flowers or pictures. Instead, there were photographs in black frames of a young woman, a girl really, her arms round an older woman who bore a resemblance to Proctor’s wife. There were no books or magazines strewn around, no cups on tables, nothing to suggest that it was a room where anyone relaxed.

‘Call me Helena,’ the woman said. ‘Sit down, please.’

‘Thank you,’ Gina said, and sank into the sofa, the cushions insubstantial.

Gina was wondering if Helena was going to offer her a drink but she didn’t. She sat down on the chair opposite but perched forward, her hands on her knees, her legs tightly together.

‘I just need to know more about your husband,’ Gina said.

‘Why?’

‘Because we’re defending him. We need to know what story to present to the jury, or whether anything in his past can give him a defence.’

‘What has he done?’

Gina tried her best at a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.’ If she did, Helena would realise that Gina was going way beyond what she would do for a burglar.

‘But is he going to court?’

‘I don’t know. Possibly not.’

Helena seemed satisfied with that. ‘Mark’s a good man,’ she said.

‘But you mentioned the money, his accounts?’

‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘So tell me about him,’ Gina said. ‘What’s his story?’

‘Why haven’t you asked him?’

Gina leaned in, and Helena did the same. She was a follower, not a leader. ‘You know what men are like. They keep things back to make themselves look good. Sometimes you’ve got to find other ways to help them.’

Helena smiled. The sisterhood thing had worked.

‘A normal childhood, so he said,’ Helena said. ‘He grew up in Ancoats, although he doesn’t see his family any more.’

‘Oh, why’s that?’

‘He doesn’t tell me so I’ve stopped asking. They didn’t come to our wedding. I tried to find out about them, I wanted to invite them as a surprise, but Mark got angry when I told him I’d been trying.’

‘Did you get to meet them?’

‘Only his sister, Melissa. She was a little bit haughty, if you want my opinion, and I don’t like to speak badly of people. Nothing obvious, but she’d been living down south and thought she was a bit special. As soon as I mentioned Mark, she scowled as if he was nothing but a bad memory. There was some big falling out, I know that much, but he won’t talk about it.’

‘Families are like that,’ Gina said. ‘Has he been in trouble before?’

‘No, never. He has his business and works hard.’

‘What sort of business?’

‘Financial investments.’

‘But you don’t think he’s doing very well?’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘You thought I was here to take him to court.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. Some of his clients get angry when he can’t pay them back quickly enough. One came here and started shouting, and I almost called the police, but Mark stopped me, told me that the customer is always right. He paid him, but well…’

‘Go on.’

Helena looked at the ceiling. Her chin trembled and tears brimmed onto her lashes. ‘Please don’t tell him this, but I found some accounts once, and they were different to his normal ones. I’ve seen those, the ones he sends to his clients, with balances showing how the investments are growing. These were different, just a handwritten log, and I recognised Mark’s handwriting. Like a list of names with dates and numbers alongside, and a running total.’

‘Where did you find these?’

‘He used to keep them in a blue metal box in the workshop, padlocked. I thought it was some kind of toolbox, for a drill or something, but I suspected something, so I looked inside. There were these logs, and other things; photographs and trinkets. I heard him coming so I had to put it away. I think he’s moved the accounts now but everything else is still in there. It’s been locked ever since.’

Gina felt a tremor of something significant. She tried hard not to give anything away, a skill honed through years of policing, where the killer questions are best coming after some indifferent casual ones, where you trap someone in a lie and then throw in the evidence that proves otherwise.

‘Have you challenged him about it?’

Helena gave a small laugh. ‘He’s a man; he’s allowed some secrets. It’s how they are. It was none of my business.’

‘Can you show me?’

‘Why are you so interested?’

‘Just curiosity,’ Gina said. ‘You made it sound interesting.’

‘He’s my husband,’ Helena said. ‘It would feel like betraying him.’

‘Where’s his workshop?’

‘Just at the bottom of the garden. It’s my father’s old workshop really, but he’s dead now, so Mark uses it.’ She frowned. ‘Spends all night down there sometimes. I don’t know what he does. Reads books, I think, with his candles burning. He likes candles.’

‘Don’t you ever ask him?’ Gina said. ‘It seems so secretive.’

‘It’s where Mark goes to relax,’ Helena said. ‘I don’t mind. A man needs to relax, don’t you think? He works hard and he doesn’t want me jabbering on about my day.’ She blushed. ‘I’m his wife. It’s my job to serve him, keep him happy.’

Gina bristled but didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to get into an argument about conjugal roles.

‘I’d seen the box before,’ Helena said. ‘I’d been curious, and one day he left his keys behind when he went out. I had a look.’

‘Does Mark know you’ve looked inside?’ Gina said, trying to sound casual, but she could detect the keenness in her own voice.

‘I don’t think so. He’s never said anything. I’d just have to say sorry and hope he was all right with that.’

Gina was flooded by pity. For some reason, Proctor dominated this woman, kept her imprisoned by her own insecurities as he lived out his own sick fantasies.

The box was important though. Photographs, trinkets. It fitted with what Joe had said.

‘Thank you,’ Gina said, wanting to get away, to update Joe. ‘You’ve been helpful.’

‘Have I?’

‘You have. I understand my client a bit more. That’s very useful.’

‘If you need any more information, I don’t mind helping,’ Helena said. ‘Perhaps I ought to clear it with Mark first. I don’t want to betray him. Not for all he’s done for me.’

Gina wanted to grab Helena’s arm and drag her out of the house, to urge her to get away, as far as she could. No more control. Be yourself. But she didn’t. Instead, she said, ‘Thank you for your time.’

‘Are you going already?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. We’re just so busy, but you’ve been a great help.’

She stopped, startled, when the door opened. It was Mark Proctor, smiling, confident and brash, walking into the living room and making Gina sit down again. She hadn’t heard his car.

‘This is a nice surprise,’ he said.

‘I just wanted to get some updates on your instructions,’ Gina said, a flutter in her voice.

‘So why are you leaving?’ he said. ‘After all, it’s me you want, isn’t it?’

Gina was uncertain but she realised quickly she had no choice. It would look strange if she didn’t speak to him.

‘Okay, thank you,’ she said.

Proctor sat in the large comfortable chair. Gina got the message: it was his throne. She took her notebook out of her bag and a pen out of her pocket, to look the part.

‘So what do you want to know?’ he said, his hands held outwards.

‘Just more about what you were doing at the time of the burglary,’ Gina said.

Helena gave a small cough and said, ‘I’ll just make my husband a drink, if you’re all right with that.’

So he had a title, husband, not Mark?

‘What have you told Helena?’ he said, once Helena had left the room, his gaze less genial, his tone sharp.

‘Nothing. You’re a client of the firm. Everything is confidential.’

‘You just blurted out the word “burglary”.’

‘It was in direct response to your question?’

He pursed his lips as he thought about that, before saying, ‘So what do you want to know?’

‘About where you’d been on the night your car was stolen from the compound.’ It was the only logical response.

‘Why?’

Gina met his gaze. She’d dealt with people like him all through her career. She shouldn’t be intimidated by him.

‘Juries convict for the strangest of reasons, and just the whiff of suspicion can be enough. The allegation against you makes it sound like you were up to something. If you want to be believed in court, you have to show that you weren’t.’

‘Do I?’ he said, his eyebrows raised. ‘I thought the prosecution had to prove it against me, not the other way around? When did it change?’

‘That’s bullshit, and always has been,’ Gina said. ‘Once you get a judge to let it go to a jury, they can convict because they don’t like the way you stand or smile.’

‘And acquit because they just don’t want to find someone guilty, even when they are?’

‘Sometimes. Not here. The prosecution case will look complete and somehow you have to fight it off. So tell me.’

‘Not yet.’

Anger started to bubble inside her. She wanted to rush him right then. He’d evaded her all those years ago and now he was enjoying her frustration too much. It was time to make him uncomfortable.

‘I didn’t think you’d help me,’ she said. ‘So I’ve been making enquiries on your behalf.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you heard of ANPR cameras? The police have them in locations they won’t disclose, but they clock and record every car that goes past. Really helps to narrow a suspect list down. I’ve still got friends in the police. It’s easy for them to track down where you were with the ANPR cameras. I’ve already asked a friend to have a look, to see if we can build up a picture of your movements. If we can do that, we can show your night was an innocent one, and you are guilty of nothing more than being uninsured.’

Proctor breathed heavily through his nose and his eyes shone a little darker. ‘There’s no need for that.’

Gina leaned forward. ‘Do you think you’ll get away with saying nothing in court? Whatever I say to you, it will be nothing like the grilling you’ll get in the witness box.’ Her voice had taken on a keener edge. ‘So enlighten me. Why would someone else steal your car when it’s locked in a police compound?’

‘Because people do stupid things. They make errors of judgement and forget about the fine detail.’

‘Do you think that will be enough?’ she said. ‘Why would someone want your car so much that they’d take that risk, and then go on to torch it?’

‘Perhaps some people have just got it in for me,’ he said, glaring now. ‘People develop irrational hatreds.’

‘What were you hiding?’

‘Who said I was hiding anything?’

‘It’ll be the first question on the lips of the jurors: why would he do it if he wasn’t hiding something? What were you trying to destroy?’

Proctor sat back and jabbed jis finger towards Gina. ‘Your job is to check that the prosecution have done their job correctly. No one can make me talk. You know that, I know that. You want to hear the answers, I can see the desperation in your eyes, but I won’t satisfy that. What will it cost me? A fine? A few hours of unpaid work for the community? That means nothing. Tiny ripples, that’s all.’