We stood in the gloomy room, breathing harshly, and listened as Rachel’s voice burbled on. Then it came. ‘It’s Jimmy Achebe. I know I still owe you for the job…’ I let it play through. This time I noticed the noises in the background, vans coming and going, the occasional squawk of Tannoy, familiar to me from his previous calls. When Rachel started again I stopped the recording.
‘That sounded like his workplace,’ I said. ‘He’s rung me from there a couple of times before.’
She nodded, noncommittal.
‘You’ll contact your friend and find out what day she rang you?’
‘Yes.’ I tried then and there but all I got was Rachel’s answerphone. I reminded her of my home number and asked her to ring me as soon as possible.
‘I’ll take the tape.’
I ejected it and handed it over.
‘We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.’
‘This might give him an alibi though, might it?’
She zipped up her jacket. ‘It’s a bit flimsy,’ she said. ‘All it proves, if we can establish it’s Thursday, is that he rang sometime after nine.’
‘And before nine thirty.’
She frowned.
I held my hand out for the tape.
‘Listen, Rachel says the time again when she rings back. It pinpoints it. Jimmy must have rung in that half-hour.’
I played Rachel’s second message. Sergeant Bell listened. But she didn’t give anything away, just nodded when it finished. I gave the tape back to her. She slipped it in a plastic bag, then in her pocket. Pulled on her gloves. And left.
Why hadn’t the police asked me directly about any answerphone messages? I wasn’t the only sloppy one. If Jimmy had been giving that as an alibi it should have been checked out straightaway. What on earth was the point of all the allusions to whether he’d been in contact when what they had to corroborate was whether a message had been left on my machine that Thursday morning? I felt my cheeks grow warm with rising anger. And because of their beating round the bush the message could so easily have been lost.
I locked up and climbed the stairs. The tape proved that Jimmy hadn’t killed Tina. It must be at least half an hour’s drive from Levenshulme to Swift Deliveries over the far side of Swinton. Tina had been alive at nine fifteen, dead at ten o’clock and Jimmy had rung me between nine and nine thirty. No way could he have made that call and been in Levenshulme at the crucial time. Jimmy Achebe wasn’t a murderer.
But if Jimmy hadn’t killed Tina then who the hell had?