Free Cut Short by Leigh Russell Page A

have planned to kill his girlfriend.
      Back at her desk, Geraldine took out her notebook, then closed it with a sigh and shoved it angrily back into her bag. She knew they had to be patient, but it was hard to relax with Angela Waters' killer loose on the streets. She could have driven behind him that morning on her way to work, caught a glimpse of him standing at a bus stop, or walked past him on her way to the pub the previous evening. They didn't know who he was. He could be anywhere.
     
     
     
     

 
     
    15
     
     
    Suspect
     
     
     
     
    By lunchtime they had made no progress. There were more inane calls from the public, including several from concerned mothers.
     
     
    My daughter's gone out and she should've been home over an hour ago. Do you think something's happened to her? Oh, hold on, I can hear her now.
     
     
    Nonetheless, Geraldine listened to the whole tape of messages, afraid she might miss a clue to the killer's identity.
      That afternoon, the DCI decided to bring John Drew in and 'have another go', as Peterson put it. Pleased to leave her desk, Geraldine led the way up the stale smelling concrete stairs. This time they didn't find the suspect alone. He peered round the door wearing nothing but a crumpled T shirt and boxers and protested loudly when they pushed past him to see the dark-haired girl from the flower shop lying sleepy-eyed on the sofa, naked above the waist, her short denim skirt hitched up her thighs. Angela Waters' boyfriend hadn't wasted any time finding comfort in his loss.
      'What do you want?' he growled.
      'Get dressed, Mr Drew,' Peterson replied. 'We're taking a trip to the station. We'd like to ask you a few more questions.' The girl rose unsteadily to her feet, tugging at her skirt. She yanked a dirty T-shirt over her head.
      'You arresting me?' Johnny Drew demanded.
      'You arresting him or what?' the girl repeated sullenly. Her speech was slurred.
      'Shut it, Millie,' Drew snarled. She hung her head, glaring up at the detectives through her dark fringe.
      'You arresting me then or what?' He struck a defiant pose, legs apart, hands on hips.
      'We'll arrest you for wasting our time, if you don't get dressed now,' the DS answered.
      'Beat it, Millie,' Drew shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bedroom, muttering about privacy, Peterson on his heels. The girl slammed the front door so hard the windows shook.
      The suspect sulked in the car all the way to the station.
      In the interview room, Peterson went in hard. 'You like beating up girls, don't you? It gives you a kick. That's right, isn't it? Makes you feel powerful.'
      Drew wasn't cowed. 'What's it to you?' he countered, gazing levelly at the DS. 'None of your fucking business, that's what. I want a lawyer.' He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms and stared at Peterson. They left him to kick his heels while they sorted out a brief. Once they reassembled, Peterson resumed. Geraldine felt confident that if Drew was guilty the sergeant would crack him, but she wasn't convinced they had the right man.
      'You were telling us how much you enjoy beating up girls, Johnny.'
      'So? If a girl needs a bit of a slap now and again, what's it to you? Some women like a bit of rough.' He tried to wink at Geraldine but they could see he was scared. Too clever to deny that he'd raised his hand to Angela, Geraldine thought he must surely be too smart to risk discovery by attacking his own girlfriend in broad daylight in public. She didn't feel comfortable with this line of enquiry.
      'A bit of a slap?' Peterson was saying. 'A broken rib, a broken arm. You think some women like that, do you? How would you like it?'
      'Accidents. She fell and no one can tell you any different.' Drew flapped his hand dismissively but he was riled.
      'Lose your temper a lot, do you, Johnny?' Peterson asked.
      'Only with filth like you,' Drew countered.
      'What about your girlfriend's