Skinner's mission

34

The little flat was an unexpected find in the heart of the City. It was in the basement of a tall grey Victorian terrace with a small, unadorned but neatly swept courtyard to the front, but opening out at the rear into a large well stocked and lovingly maintained garden.

It would have been quiet on any morning, but at just after 9 a.m. on a Saturday, birdsong was the only sound to be heard.

Angela Muirhead was in the garden, sitting on a wooden bench seat, idly throwing scraps of stale bread on to the grass. As each piece landed, a finch, a sparrow or a tit would plummet down from its perch in the bushes against the boundary wall to snatch it up. Occasionally more than one bird would eye the same morsel and there would be a fight.

She looked up as the policemen approached. She was barefoot, wearing a bulky black sweatshirt, and grey cotton trousers. Her hair was tangled, she wore no make-up and her eyes looked heavy, and slightly puffy.

‘Hello,’ she said to Donaldson, dully, as recognition dawned.

‘Good morning, Miss Muirhead,’ the Superintendent replied. ‘This is Detective Sergeant McIlhenney. He and I are investigating Mr Medina’s murder, and we have to ask you some fairly detailed questions.’

‘Can we do it out here?’ she asked. ‘I don’t like being indoors just now.’

‘Okay,’ said Donaldson. ‘Let’s sit at the patio table.’ She nodded and led the way across to a small grouping of plastic furniture arranged on the paved area on to which the flat’s French doors opened.

‘This isn’t an interview under caution,’ said the Superintendent, ‘but I’d like to tape it for convenience.’ The woman nodded; he placed a small cassette recorder before her.

‘What was your relationship with Carl Medina?’ he began.

‘He was my partner. We lived together,’ she said in a voice that was almost a whisper.

‘Could you speak up, please,’ said Donaldson. ‘For the tape.

‘Were you intending to marry?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, when we were in a position to start a family.’

‘What was stopping you?’

‘Money. Carl hasn’t had a full-time job since he left the garage. Our idea was that if I had a baby, I’d go part-time afterwards, but with Carl out of work we just couldn’t afford to lose half my salary.’

‘What sort of man was Carl?’

‘Lovely. Kind and gentle; quite serious, yet he could be funny when he wanted.’

‘Did it come as a shock to you when he lost his job with Jackie Charles?’ asked the detective.

Angie Muirhead nodded again. ‘Yes, it did. He seemed to be getting on well there. He liked the salesmen, and the company liked him enough to give him the same Christmas bonus as they got.’

‘Are you sure the company knew about the bonus?’

She looked up, offended. ‘Yes, quite sure! There was a letter of thanks with it, from Mr and Mrs Charles.’

‘When he was fired, he told you he’d been made redundant, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you think when you heard us say that he’d been dismissed for fiddling the books?’ Donaldson looked at her, trying to read her expression.

‘I didn’t believe it,’ she said, at once. ‘Carl was on a good salary, and there were the bonuses. He didn’t need to steal anything. I still don’t believe it. After you left on Thursday Carl explained everything that happened. He said that he made up the redundancy story because he was too embarrassed to tell me what Mrs Charles had got up to.’

‘You accepted that?’ A harder tone came into the policeman’s voice. ‘He told you a respectable woman nearly twenty years his senior made a crude pass at him, and you believed it?’

‘Yes. I believed it. I do still. The world’s full of spoiled rich bitches.’

‘And Carl would never have been unfaithful of course.’

‘That’s right,’ she said, defiantly.

‘How about you, Miss Muirhead? Were you faithful to him?’ To the detectives’ surprise the woman flushed, and looked away.

‘Answer, please,’ said Donaldson.

‘Yes.’ It was a whisper. ‘Apart from one time.’

‘When? Speak up, remember.’

‘At an office party.’

‘Your office?’

‘No. Carl’s, the Christmas before he left the company. It was at Mr Charles’ house. Everybody had a bit to drink, and I got talking to Mr Charles. He seemed very nice and he made me laugh. It’s a big house, and before I knew it we had sort of drifted away from everyone. There was a back bedroom. All of a sudden, I just felt out of it, completely gone, absolutely helpless. I’ve always suspected there was something in my last drink. When he came on to me, I knew what was happening, but. . I was just numb; couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything.’ Her voice was barely audible, but instead of interrupting her, McIlhenney picked up the tape and held it close to her. ‘He did it, then he helped me into a bathroom, and left me there.’ Her eyes were filled with tears.

‘And afterwards? You didn’t think of making a complaint? ’

She shook her head, helplessly. ‘How could I? I mean, I’d let him, hadn’t I? Oh I felt so dirty, yet if I’d said that my drink had been spiked, who’d have believed me?’

‘We would have, love,’ said McIlhenney, quietly. ‘But proving it would have been another matter.’

‘Did Charles contact you again after that night?’ asked Donaldson.

‘No. Never. Not once. A few months later, Carl was fired. I haven’t seen Mr Charles since that night at his house.’

‘Did you ever tell Carl about the. . encounter?’

‘Of course not. I was afraid to.’

‘Why? Because of what Carl might have done to Jackie Charles?’

She shook her head, vigorously. ‘No. Because of what it might have done to us,’ she said vehemently.

‘When Carl was made redundant, I thought that it might have had something to do with it; that perhaps Mr Charles was scared I’d tell him, and that in turn he’d tell Mrs Charles.’

Donaldson took the tape from McIlhenney, and looked at it to check that it was still running. ‘Did Carl have any sort of work after that?’ he asked, replacing it on the table.

‘Only bar stuff,’ she said, ‘and occasional messenger jobs. Nothing full-time.’

The detective pointed to her left hand, where gold and diamonds sparkled on the third finger. ‘Did he give you that ring?’

‘Yes, six months ago, to mark our being together for five years.’

‘It looks a bit pricey. How could he afford that?’

She hesitated. ‘He told me that he’d borrowed the money from his dad. I was surprised, since his dad’s a miserable old sod. I only found out the truth a month ago. He borrowed it from a private finance company.’

‘Do you know the name of the company?’ asked McIlhenney.

‘It was a man. A Mr Heenan. I found out about it all when he came to the house one night. He told Carl that with interest he owed him double the thousand pounds he’d borrowed, and that he wanted the interest paid within a week.’ She paused, rubbing her throat absent-mindedly with the fingers of her right hand. ‘He didn’t make any specific threats, but I was scared.’

‘What did Carl do?’

‘I had a thousand in a savings account. I gave it to him, to give to Heenan. Then I arranged to borrow the other thousand from the bank. But Heenan came back last Saturday and said that he wanted another eight hundred in interest and the capital sum repaid, all within a week. This time he had another man with him.

‘Carl told him to fuck off. He said that he would get the thousand and that was it.’

‘What did Heenan do?’ asked Donaldson.

‘Nothing. He just said “Within a week”, and left. The loan came through from the bank on Wednesday, and Carl handed the money into his office in Peffermill Road on Thursday morning. In cash.’

The Superintendent looked at her. ‘And you thought that was case closed, did you?’

He turned to McIlhenney. ‘I guess, Sergeant,’ he said, ‘we should pay a visit to our old friend Mr Thomas Maxwell Heenan.’

‘You know him? said Angela Muirhead.

‘Oh yes,’ said Donaldson. ‘We know all the loansharks. We even know where most of them get their money. From the same guy that gave you and Carl your Christmas bonuses.’