The Alibi: A gripping crime thriller full of secrets, lies and revenge. Jaime Raven
swallowed hard and looked beyond me at something that wasn’t in the room.
‘She asked me to come over because she wanted to talk to me,’ he said. ‘She knew that Amy and I were planning to visit Amy’s son in Canterbury this afternoon.’
‘Amy?’
‘My fiancée. We’re getting married next year.’
‘I see. So you arrived at Megan’s house about seven. Is that right?’
‘Yes. But there was no answer when I rang the bell so I thought she must have overslept. I don’t have a key so I went around the back to call up to her bedroom window. That’s when I looked into the kitchen and saw her on the floor.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘I smashed the door window with a rock from the garden and got inside. I thought she might still be alive even though there was a lot of blood. But when I knelt down beside her and saw the gash in her throat I realised that she wasn’t.’
The tears he’d been holding back began to spill from the corners of his eyes and his face creased up. I could almost feel his pain and a cold flush went over my skin.
I gave him time to recover, then cleared my throat for the second time. ‘When was the last time you spoke to Megan, Mr Fuller?’
He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and switched his gaze back to me.
‘Yesterday evening,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘She was upset. I didn’t realise how upset until I got a text from her much later asking me to come over this morning. She must have sent it just before …’
He couldn’t finish the sentence and my face grew hot as I watched him struggling to hold it together.
I leaned forward, elbows on knees. ‘What was Megan upset about, Mr Fuller? Can you tell me that?’
His voice dropped to a hard-edged whisper, and anger suddenly blazed in his eyes.
‘She was upset because of that gobshite Shapiro.’
‘You mean Danny Shapiro, her ex-husband?’
‘That’s right. They’d had words again yesterday, but she said that this time he threatened to kill her because she was planning to include derogatory statements about him in her autobiography.’
I was taken aback by this bombshell revelation. Danny Shapiro had threatened to kill his wife only a short time before she was murdered. It was a dynamite piece of information even though we probably wouldn’t be able to print it at this time for legal reasons.
‘I assume you’ve told the police,’ I said.
Nigel Fuller nodded. ‘Absolutely. But they’re not stupid. They must have guessed that he’s the one who killed her. He hated Megan and he’s been vile to her ever since she left him.’
‘What was their reaction when you told them?’
‘They said they’d talk to him right away. I’m hoping the bastard has already been arrested.’
I was still processing what I had just heard when the doorbell chimed. As Martha went to answer it I put my notebook and pen back in my bag and stood up. Instinct told me it’d be the police at the door and a few moments later I was proved right when one came into the living room.
‘It’s the family liaison officer, Nigel,’ Martha said from behind her.
Her name was Lauren Tomlinson. Sergeant Lauren Tomlinson. The last time we’d met – about six months ago – she’d given me a bollocking for trying to gain access to the wife of a man who’d been shot dead in Greenwich.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she said to me before she had even introduced herself to Mr Fuller.
‘I was actually just about to leave,’ I said. ‘Mr Fuller here was kind enough to grant me a short interview.’
‘Did you get permission?’
‘I didn’t think I needed it. There were no officers outside when I arrived.’
Tomlinson was a tall woman with short dark hair and storm-grey eyes which stared at me accusingly. She clearly wasn’t happy, and I could tell she was up for making an issue of it. But Nigel Fuller took the wind out of her sails by getting to his feet and saying, ‘It’s not a problem, Officer. I was happy to cooperate in the hope that an appeal for information will produce a result.’
Tomlinson masked her disappointment well by introducing herself to him and then offering to show me out.
‘No need to bother,’ I said. ‘I know the way.’
I then turned back to Megan’s father and offered my condolences again.
‘It’s impossible for me to imagine what you’re going through,’ I said. ‘I’m confident though that whoever killed Megan will be brought to justice.’
My words ignited another blast of emotion in him. He dropped back onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands.
As I walked out of the room his shoulders were pumping up and down with his crying and I became aware of guilty feelings stirring inside me.
Sure, I’d got an exclusive interview and an explosive angle on the story. But the man’s grief had dampened my enthusiasm and reminded me of what it was like to lose a loved one.
Ethan Cain
Detective Inspector Ethan Cain studied the body as dispassionately as he could. Even so the sight of it caused something to stir in the pit of his stomach.
Megan Fuller was still lying on the kitchen floor with a gaping hole in her throat. The blood that had spilled onto the lino was now dry, but some still glistened inside the wound and between her thin, purple lips which had been cut from a blow to the mouth. Her nose was broken and her pale, lifeless eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.
She was wearing a navy-blue blouse and tight jeans. Her long brown hair was fanned out around her head and had soaked up some of the blood.
‘The bloody shoe-prints belong to the father,’ Detective Chief Inspector Redwood said. ‘The poor sod will have to live with what he saw here for the rest of his life.’
Cain lifted his gaze from the floor to the back door, which stood open. Nigel Fuller had gained access by smashing one of the glass panels and reaching for the key left in the lock.
Any dad would have done the same in his position, Cain thought. After all, he must have believed there was a possibility that she was still alive. Trouble was he had contaminated the crime scene and they would never know for sure if he had inadvertently destroyed any crucial evidence.
‘There’s no other sign of a break-in,’ Redwood said. ‘So there’s a good chance she let the killer in.’
Cain turned to his boss, who was standing in the doorway. Redwood was in his early forties, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered. Dark stubble bristled on his face and his eyes were bright blue and slightly bulging.
He was a hard-nosed individual with a short temper and a gruff voice. He didn’t drink or smoke and rarely socialised with the team, preferring the gym to the pub.
As the senior investigating officer he was in charge of the investigation, and Cain knew he’d do a thorough job. Redwood was fairly new to the Met, having moved down from Manchester five months ago, and he’d brought with him an impressive reputation. Unlike Cain he still viewed police work as a worthwhile vocation rather than a relentless grind on behalf of an unappreciative public.
The gaffer was the kind of copper that Cain used to be before disillusionment set in and he was told he’d probably never be promoted beyond the rank of detective inspector