Dead Famous

DAY TWENTY-EIGHT. 7.00 p.m.

Geraldine’s witness statement had arrived at the point of the murder. She told the same story as all the others. “I saw the bloke in the sheet come out of the sweatbox, cross the living area, go into the toilet and kill Kelly.”

“How long would you say Kelly had been on the toilet before the killer emerged?” Coleridge asked.

“About four or five minutes, I think.”

“Did you actually see the murder?”

“Well, not actually, obviously, the sheet was in the way. We just saw the sheet billow up and down twice and wondered what was up. Then the bloke buggered off sharpish back to the sweatbox, leaving Kelly covered in his spare sheet.”

“You saw the sheeted figure return to the sweatbox and go inside it?”

“Yes, we all did.”

“What happened then?” Coleridge asked.

“We sat and watched. Kelly was still on the bog but covered in this sheet.”

“You didn’t think that was strange?”

“Well, of course we thought it was fucking strange, but the whole thing’s fucking strange, isn’t it? We didn’t know what was happening. As far as we knew there’d been a bit of malarkey with the sheets, that was all. I mean, come on, inspector, we weren’t expecting a murder, were we? I think we sort of presumed she’d fallen asleep. They were all completely pissed. It would have been strange if things hadn’t been strange.”

“Then what?”

“Well, we saw the puddle, didn’t we?”

“How long would that have been after the figure in the sheet had left the toilet?”

“I don’t know. Five minutes, max.”

“Yes, that’s what the operator in the camera run said.”

“Does it matter?”

“The editor and his assistants thought it was more like two.”

“Maybe it was, I don’t know, it seemed like five minutes. Time drags a bit when you’re sitting staring at a bird on a bog covered in a sheet. What’s it say on the video time code?”

“Two minutes and eight seconds.”

“Well, you know, then. What are you asking me for?”

“So then you saw the puddle?”

“Yeah, suddenly we could see a wet sort of dark shiny glow spreading out from around the toilet.”

“Blood?”

“Well, we know that now, don’t we?”

“It must have occurred to you then.”

“Well, of course it did, but it just seemed so impossible.”

“The sheet was already sodden with it. Why didn’t you see that?”

“As you know, the sheet was dark blue. The stain didn’t show up on the night camera. All the sheets in the house are dark colours. Our psychologist reckons it’s more conducive to people having sex on them.”

“So what then?”

“Well, I’m embarrassed to say, inspector, that I screamed.”