Judith’s first thought, when she’d seen it, was that Walker had written it, to blame her for his suicide. Her second had been that Eddie Fraser had left the note there for the same purpose. But Walker hadn’t killed himself, and Eddie Fraser might be an arsehole and a strongman, and a dinosaur and a man with a massive blind spot when it came to his son, but he wasn’t a murderer. He hadn’t killed Robert Walker just to put pressure on Judith. That would be insane.
The rain was heavier now. Judith walked, her breathing easing, barely noticing as her T-shirt soaked through. She supposed it was possible that Eddie could have heard about Lachlan’s report as soon as it had come in, and sent someone over to the house to plant the note, or even planted it himself, before she had arrived. But if it had happened like that, how could he have entered and left the house without Lachlan seeing him? She thought again about the beautifully written calligraphy, and dismissed Eddie Fraser as a possible suspect. That note had been written by someone with all the time in the world.
Not by Eddie Fraser. But if not him, then who? It had to have been the murderer.
Judith had regretted taking the note in the immediate aftermath of her action, but now she was glad she’d done it. She couldn’t think of a single way that her life would be made better by someone else seeing it. But burning the note hadn’t erased the problem it presented. She had an enemy, and while she had no earthly clue who they might be, they clearly knew far too much about her.
Back at her apartment, Judith showered and changed into the previous day’s black jeans and black shirt. They were presentable, barely. She dropped the rest of her clothes to the laundromat down the street, to promises of a two-day turnaround, and took a tram to the station. The squad room on the tenth floor was quiet, with only a handful of cops at their desks. Judith hesitated, then turned around and took the lift back down two floors. She found Claire Holdsworth drinking coffee and eating a croissant at her desk, headphones on over her red curls. Judith tapped her on the shoulder, and Claire jumped guiltily.
‘Sorry. I didn’t see you.’
‘Did you call me on Saturday?’ Judith asked quietly.
Claire looked confused. ‘On Saturday?’
‘You didn’t call to tip me off about Robert Walker’s murder?’ Judith had been thinking all weekend about that call. The voice had been young and female, and she was certain that there’d been a hint of an English accent.
‘Robert Walker’s murder?’ Claire echoed. The confused look deepened.
‘It’s fine if you did, Claire. It was helpful, actually. But the call got cut off, you see, so I—’
‘I didn’t call you,’ Claire said. ‘Sorry. I didn’t even know Walker had been killed until you said it just now. Did someone call you? What made you think it was me?’
‘It’s nothing. I thought maybe I heard your accent. Never mind.’
Claire was still holding her croissant in her right hand. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick. There were traces of black nail polish, a remnant only at the base of her thumbnail, a dark shadow on the side of her index finger, like she’d tried and failed to remove it all. Judith’s attention sharpened. Her eyes went to Claire’s face.
‘I haven’t gotten to that video yet,’ Claire said. ‘It’ll be a day or so. I’ve got two laptops and a phone to go through on a fraud case. Actually, I suppose if Walker is dead, your case is closed now?’
Claire Holdsworth looked a lot like Alexis Turner—if you tucked all that red hair under a black wig, added black eyebrow gel, heavy eyeliner, and hid her face under a hoodie.
‘I suppose it is,’ Judith said. Her eyes searched Claire’s again, looking for a tell, and found nothing. Claire’s eyes met hers easily and if there was any tension in her face, it seemed to Judith that it was only the tension any young officer would feel if a senior detective stood over them and questioned them about anonymous phone calls.
Judith thanked Claire and left her to her work. But she walked away wondering. Luke Fraser had had his fans. Most of them were very young male officers, idiots like Alex Thompson or Derek Lambert, low on confidence and common sense, but there’d been a few women too. To Judith, Luke’s contempt for women was blindingly obvious, but would it be so obvious to someone fifteen years her junior? She’d seen Luke turn on the charm for women who fit his idea of the feminine ideal—pretty, and young and unsure of themselves. Claire was both very pretty and very young, but surely far too confident to be an attractive target for Luke, and far too smart to fall for his bullshit.
No, she was turning in circles, looking for connections in the wrong places. She was tired, that was the problem, and therefore jumping at shadows. If she suspected every woman who wore black nail polish of being the real Alexis Turner, she would have to interrogate half the young women in the building. She needed sleep, and in lieu of that, caffeine.
Judith went to the nearest coffee machine, where she made a long black with an extra shot. She added two sugars to her cup, and took it not to her desk, but down another five floors to level three, where the audiovisual room was located. The room was large but basic; windowless and charmless. There were three big screens mounted on the wall, and two computers that had a lot more firepower than the desk PCs in the squad room. The room was empty except for one technician, who was reviewing black and white security footage from what looked like a new car storage facility.
‘Hey Arnie. What’re you working on?’
‘Jude.’ He gave her a wary look. ‘Are you supposed to be in here?’
The audiovisual room was restricted. It was for technicians’ use only, probably because they didn’t trust ordinary cops not to screw up their precious machines.
‘Now, Arnie, let’s not start things off on the wrong foot.’ Judith took a seat at the second station, and logged in. She called up internal security footage from the station from the previous Monday, specifically camera footage of the corridor outside the interview room where she’d met with Alexis Turner. The footage appeared on one of the big screens.
‘You can look at that at your own desk,’ Arnie said. ‘This room’s supposed to be for techs only.’
Judith ignored him. She sat back in her chair and watched as the video played, and Alexis Turner walked down the six metres of corridor that led to the interview room.
‘You got lucky, didn’t you?’ Arnie said.
‘How did I get lucky, Arn?’
‘Well, I heard that Walker got topped. I also heard that he’d made a complaint about you. I put the two together and figured out that you’re off the hook. That’s what we call a deduction.’
Judith shook her head and gave him the half-smile he was looking for. She wasn’t quite as confident as Arnie that the complaint would just go away. Walker’s wife was a woman with resources. If she didn’t want to let it go, and if Eddie Fraser didn’t want the complaint to die, things could still get pretty uncomfortable.
