‘Yes, except he’d left a message on my answerphone. I only heard it today, I’ve not been in the office much. He still owes me some money and he was ringing to say he still intended to pay. It must have been before all this.’
A look of incredulity crossed her face. Then she looked exasperated. ‘When was this?’
‘I don’t know exactly, my machine hasn’t got a time announcement. But like I say, it must have been before Thursday, before it all happened. I mean he’d hardly ring me about something so trivial if he’d just killed his wife.’ I still couldn’t relate the words to an actual death. Couldn’t believe Tina was really dead, murdered.
‘Do you know what day the message was left?’
‘No, not for sure. I could probably find out if you really need to know.’
‘We do,’ she snapped.
‘A friend left a message too. I could ask her, see if she can remember when it was.’
She nodded. The ponytail bounced briskly. ‘We’ll need the tape.
‘What? Why?’
‘I’ll take it now.’ Bossy. She stood up pulling on gloves.
‘Look, I don’t know what the big deal is. It’s just a message about the bill.’
‘The big deal,’ she was really rattled now, raising her voice, ‘is that James Achebe is suspected of killing his wife. The couple were heard arguing prior to her death.’ I’m sure she wouldn’t have told me the half of it if she hadn’t been so pissed off. ‘She was last seen by the postman at nine fifteen that morning; at ten o’clock a neighbour failed to get an answer and notified us. He has no alibi for those forty-five minutes. But,’ she glared at me, ‘but,’ (I had heard her the first time) ‘he claims he was at work at the time we estimate the attack took place. No one saw him there until later on. So we’ve only his word for it. And he claims he made a phone call, rang you.’
‘Oh, Jesus.’ I felt the blood drop from my face, shock ripple through my wrists and fingers. The answerphone message was Jimmy’s alibi.
‘What?’ Sergeant Bell demanded.
‘I’ve left the machine on. If anyone rings it’ll record over it. Oh, shit.’
I ran for my coat, called to Sheila that I’d be out for ten minutes and left with Sergeant Bell. We jogged round the corner. With every step I berated myself. Stupid, sloppy, incompetent.
Grant Dobson was washing the car in their drive. We swapped greetings but I’d no time for being sociable.
I clattered down the stairs, the sergeant at my heels, unlocked my office door.
The answerphone sat on the right side of my desk, its little red message light still and steady. I pressed the off switch. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. I pulled out my chair and sank down. Pressed play.