Maggie wanted to speak to the last woman on the list. Sasha Thompson had been questioned in the original Chopper Investigation and provided Adrian Harrison, Bill Raven’s associate, with his alibi. After refilling the jug of water in the interview room and making sure there were enough plastic cups, Maggie called Sasha through.
Sasha was in her early thirties. She had short, brown hair in a messy style, wasn’t very tall in stature, but had a noticeable bruise on her face, something Maggie had seen on many of the victims of domestic violence she had come across. The vacant look in her eyes, sweat and sallow skin indicated that she may be clucking due to heroin withdrawal. Maggie had come across this a few times where users dabbled for long periods, not realizing the drug had sunk its claws in. She wore baggy clothes, probably in an attempt to hide a skeletal frame.
‘I’m DC Maggie Jamieson. Do you know why we asked you to come in today, Miss Thompson?’
The woman sat, open legged, across from Maggie. ‘Yep. Something about Lorraine Rugman and my previous statement? Nasty business what happened to her, wasn’t it? What kind of psycho chops up a woman?’ Sasha’s shoulders shook and a look of disgust crossed her face.
‘Yes. Nasty indeed. Thanks for coming in. We’re trying to gather as much information as we can about Lorraine’s last known movements. I see you were interviewed just after Bill Raven confessed, back in 2016.’ Maggie looked up from her notebook. ‘Can you tell me a little bit about yourself? We don’t seem to have much from your original interview.’
Sasha shrugged. ‘I was adopted by a pair of pricks when I was three, but I probably would have been better off with my parents. After a few years of getting kicked about, Social Services took me out of that home and I was put in care where the abuse continued. I’ve been in prison a few times, as I’m sure my record shows – shoplifting, drugs, but nothing in the last ten years. That’s my life. Anything else?’
Maggie noted the track marks on Sasha’s arms and considered asking about the bruise on her face. Perhaps Maggie should report her to someone. Sasha took a sip of water, her skin pale under the strip lighting, and Maggie felt a surge of pity for her. There were so many women like this who had been dealt a bad hand of cards in life and never stood a chance. ‘If you want to talk about anything, I can put you in touch with someone.’
Sasha laughed weakly and shook her head. ‘Don’t you worry about me.’
They fell silent for a moment and Maggie glanced at the clock. ‘We really need your help with this case. Can you recall anything significant that happened in 2016 that you may have missed?’
Sasha bit her lip. ‘Not really. I spent most of that time with Adrian, off my face on drugs. In fact, I couldn’t get rid of that arsehole. He was my … business partner at the time.’
Maggie knew that Harrison dealt drugs and, given Sasha’s evasive response, Maggie figured this was the business she was referring to. ‘Care to elaborate on that, Miss Thompson? You were Mr Harrison’s alibi, weren’t you? What can you tell us about him?’
‘Actually, no. I don’t care to elaborate and yes I was, what of it? I’m not really sure what else I can add to what you lot already know. Adrian is a loser. And I mean that in the nicest way. He’s a bit of an attention seeker, but most people find him annoying. Once he likes someone, he latches on to them. Bit like a pet dog.’
‘Interesting way to describe your boyfriend.’
‘Boyfriend? Ha! Where did you get that idea? Just because you shag a guy a few times doesn’t make him your boyfriend, DC Jamieson.’
‘Oh. Your previous statement said he was your boyfriend.’
‘Well clearly that’s a mistake. He’s a friend and a boy. That’s about it.’
Maggie pulled out Sasha’s original statement and went through the rest of it with her.
‘Can you account for your whereabouts around the time just before and on the day that Miss Rugman’s remains were discovered?’
‘Is this a joke?’
‘I’m afraid not. Can you answer the question?’
‘Do I need a lawyer?’
‘I don’t know, Miss Thompson. Do you think you need one?’
‘I know what you coppers are like.’ She shifted in the seat. ‘Just covering my arse. I can tell you exactly where I was. In Manchester with some mates. I can even give you their details if you want.’ Maggie watched as she rummaged through the bag she had with her. Her hand shook as she pulled out a small, red notebook. ‘Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?’
Maggie tore a sheet from her pad and pushed it across to Sasha, with the pen she had been using.
‘What were you doing in Manchester?’
‘Catching up with friends and taking care of a little business …’ She handed Maggie the piece of paper and her pen. ‘Call them. They’ll tell you.’
‘OK. Thanks. Is there anything else you want to add?’
‘Nah.’ She bit her lip.
‘Do you have a contact number and address where we can reach you in case we have any further questions?’
‘’Fraid not. I’m sofa surfing at the moment and lost my mobile when I was in Manchester.’ She pointed to a number on the paper she had just given to Maggie. ‘Ring her if you need me, she’ll pass on any messages.’
‘Thanks for your time.’ Maggie escorted Sasha back to reception and waited as the woman signed out. ‘Here’s my card, if you need to reach me.’ Sasha pocketed the card and left the station. Maggie sighed and returned to her desk upstairs.
‘Did you get anything new to add to the investigation?’ Bethany turned her chair towards Maggie.
‘I wish. The only connection between the women and Lorraine is drugs and sex work … none of which brings us any closer to our killer.’
CHAPTER NINE
Bill Raven watched himself again on the television and smiled. I’m fucking famous. He deserved all this attention. He was dominating the television channels, and had reporters harassing the prison on a daily basis to speak with him.
Finally.
He looked at the cheap watch he had been sent by an admirer. People were sending him things regularly, they adored him. It was almost time for his medication, to keep the voices away.
Ha! The voices …
Coming off heroin in prison was hard – it wasn’t the plan, but it had to be done. Heroin, pretty much any drug, was available to him, but it countered the effects of the pills and that just wouldn’t do.
The prison psychologist wouldn’t sign him off medication supervision until Bill could demonstrate that he would stay clean. He had to prove that he would take the prescription and, truth be told, the meds calmed him down. Complete sobriety often led to him getting aggressive, and that wouldn’t do either. They couldn’t see that side of him yet. Plus, he had to stem the voices, right? The ones that made him do bad things …
Yeah, that’s what happened. He smiled to himself.
The guard came and unlocked his door. Raven smirked as the man kept his distance. He could use their fear … one day. But for now, he needed to collect his tablets before he could have a shower. He was excited. He had a big day ahead. The police would be visiting him to go over everything he remembered from his original confession. He had been waiting for this. He would tell them as much as he could, not everything of course. He had some business of his own to take care of first.
He imagined the day he would be released. With his old flat not available to him, his solicitor had said he would probably be placed in temporary accommodation while they sorted out his personal matters. When Raven was in his mid-twenties, his grandmother had sold the large home he had grown up in as she couldn’t afford the upkeep. He had fond memories of that place. He sighed. She had bought herself a more manageable property and, before any of this inconvenience, she had passed away leaving him the small bungalow in Doxley, a rural village just outside of Stafford. But there was paperwork and other matters to be dealt with before he could move in. With the money she had left him, he was going
to buy himself a little van and set up his own business – a gardener, maybe. He liked working with his hands. He had a lot of plans and was looking forward to getting started. He rubbed his palms together.
When he had first been arrested, Bill had felt strangely euphoric. Fame at last! No more being the brunt of jokes, bossed about – he was the man, and everyone wanted to know his story.
Telling the police he was responsible for murdering Lorraine, Yvonne, and Zoe made him feel powerful. The look on their faces as he described what he had done. Raven licked his lips.
Being charged. Oh, they all thought they were so clever. Poor, poor Maggie. He wondered how she felt now as she watched her career falling down a black hole. He wished he could have seen her face when she first learned about his appeal.
And finally, being convicted. Seeing the look of distress on the jury’s faces as the verdict was read out. He took a deep, satisfying breath. Closed his eyes and tried desperately to recapture that feeling again.
With his appeal in place, he had access to all the paperwork that had ultimately led to his conviction. The trial hadn’t been long because he had pleaded guilty. Three women had been presumed dead and a few small bits of forensics had backed up his confession. A hair here, a droplet of blood there …
Bill did know all three women. He had met them, sold drugs to them, partied with them. Witnesses had placed him with – or in the vicinity of – all three women at some point prior to their disappearance. He’d made sure of that.
Snippets of events flashed through his brain at lightning speed.
Blood. There was blood everywhere. It covered the floor like a velvety red carpet. Dripping down the walls – slowly. He had been hypnotized by it all.
Then there were the receipts that had been recovered by the police. So clever and probably the most damning of all because he had no explanation for why he had them. Well none that he was prepared to share. Bill had been seen on CCTV purchasing a hack saw, plastic sheeting, a roll of large black bin bags and a six pack of duct tape. The receipts for all items were found in a pair of jeans he had stuffed in the back of his closet. Maybe he was going to help a friend fix his roof?
The police hounded him in interview. Interrogated him until he was so exhausted, he just admitted it all – or that’s what his solicitor now claimed had happened. Bill had been off his face and did struggle to really remember everything. That much was true. The police had a nice scenario: he had kidnapped the women, cut up and disposed of their bodies in unknown locations and then confessed because of his overwhelming guilt. That worked, and it saved him from getting caught out in his lies, though he was too clever for that really. He confessed to killing the women because he already knew they were missing … and would never be found. They may as well have been dead. But were there more? There could be more.
Bill’s psychosis was a godsend and he had his heroin and crack cocaine use to thank for that. The periodic psychotic breaks had been detailed in keywork sessions at the drug and alcohol agency he attended over the years. Not long before he confessed to the police, he had stopped taking his anti-psychotics and begun self-medicating with whatever drug he could get his hands on. He had needed to block out reality and live his fantasies. It had been too long.
The meds ruined his thoughts – he couldn’t wait to be free of them, so he could see, feel and taste the fear. The thrills were what made him feel alive.
CHAPTER TEN
Maggie embraced the silence when she got home. She chucked her coat over the railing and removed her shoes, leaving them on the small shoe rack her brother had made. Andy wasn’t due in from work for another hour and she decided to use the time to unwind. She needed to have a conversation with him and wasn’t sure where to begin.
Her brother had moved in a few months earlier after coming to Maggie with his financial problems. Maggie had agreed to pay off his heavy gambling debts to avoid further strain on his relationship with their parents. In exchange, he would do any home repairs and, in the long run, she probably got the better end of the deal.
Unbeknownst to Andy, their parents had said they were hoping to visit in a few weeks. He had done a fantastic job on redecorating the spare room, but Maggie wasn’t sure when or how she would explain to their parents the current living arrangements. Why do families have to be so complicated?
Maggie called out to Scrappy, her fiercely independent ginger cat, as she made her way into the kitchen. ‘Scrappy. Come on and get your dinner!’ No response. That’s odd. She grabbed the can opener out of the top drawer, figuring if he heard her opening a tin of food, he’d show his furry face. He didn’t.
Maggie opened the back door and looked into the garden. She grabbed her sweater from the hook and pulled on her rubber boots, making her way down the path and calling out to the pain-in-the-backside cat of hers. ‘Scraaaaappy. Here kitty cat. I have your favourite din dins.’ She tapped the tin with the opener.
When she got to the bottom of her garden, she noticed that the gate was open a crack. It was usually locked and she cursed her brother under her breath. Maggie pushed the gate closed, pulled the bolt across and made her way inside. Scooping his food into his bowl, Maggie placed it on the mat by the door and then took off her boots. There was a chill in the house, so she kept her sweater on and poured herself a glass of wine.
She ambled towards the living room and reclined in the settee, putting her feet up on the table, just as her brother came through the door.
‘Hey, did you leave the back gate unlocked?’ She called out to him.
‘Well hello to you too!’ Andy laughed.
‘Sorry. How was your day, dear brother? Did you leave the back gate unlocked?’ A smile tugged at her lips.
‘Not me. I haven’t been out there for a few days. Why? Was it open?’
‘Yeah, it’s unlocked. I noticed when I went to go look for Scrappy.’
‘That’s weird. Do you want me to check it out?’
‘Erm – police officer here … no need. I am not worried. Probably someone trying it on, or kids – you know what they can be like. You only have to reach over to unlock it. But if you have a strong padlock spare, it might be a good idea to put that on, just in case.’
‘I’ll sort it.’ He scratched his head.
‘Was Scrappy around when you left?’
‘Pretty sure he was; he usually goes out his flap when I leave. But I can’t say for definite.’
‘OK. So, how was your day?’
‘Fine. Same shit, different day. I’m thinking of maybe looking for something in the building trade. I’m getting sick of the monotony of it all in the factory and the shifts can be draining. You know how I feel about starting my own business. Any experience would be good at this stage.’ He looked deflated and Maggie frowned. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be leaving anytime soon. Just something to think about.’
‘Phew! I had a mini panic then. There’s still so much to do on the house!’ She grinned and then fiddled with her hair. ‘Do you have a minute to chat?’
‘Sounds ominous. Let me jump in the shower and put some dinner on. Have you eaten?’
‘Not yet. What are you making?’
‘Might use up the veggies and do a stir-fry or something.’
‘Perfect! I’ll start chopping.’
He paused at the doorway. ‘About this little chat. Do I need to be worried?’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s just a conversation that we probably should have had two months ago.’ His frown deepened and she tried a reassuring smile. ‘Seriously,’ her voice sounded forced. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, now go.’ She imitated whipping a tea towel at his backside as he left the room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Andy wouldn’t be in the shower for long and Maggie knew she had to get her words and thoughts together before she broached the subject with him. She regularly spoke to her mother on the telephone and tried to visit her parents in Glasgow at least twice a year. They understood that her job was important,
and her mother had once told her how proud her father was of her – though he never told her that himself.
When it came to her brother, however, both of her parents had reached the end of their tether. Recalling her last conversation with her mother, Maggie sighed.
‘Have you forgot what he was like growing up? Always in and out of all levels of trouble. Granted, he never brought the police to the door, but he was close enough at times.’
Maggie had put the phone on speaker and carried on reading.
‘Always wanted to have the better things in life, and even though your dad and I tried our hardest, the ungrateful sod wanted more … are you listening?’
‘Yes, Mum …’
‘That brother of yours … hmph … turning to gambling and each time he won a little, he wanted more. Selfish, Maggie. Not a care in the world about any of us. And no shame in taking our money, our savings.’
Maggie could almost see her mother’s head shaking.
‘Yes, I was foolish. Giving him money behind your dad’s back. You wouldn’t believe the rows that caused when he eventually found out. Your father can’t stand the sight of him now.’
Maggie felt bad for her parents. She had always suspected their mother gave him more money than even she or their father knew about.
She shook her head and focused back on chopping the vegetables for dinner. It was about time things changed on that front. Her plan was a welcome distraction from the crap that her work life had brought with it.
Maggie was proud of Andy and how much he had turned his life around since their initial head to head a couple of months ago. He was paying off his debt, steering clear of gambling and attending Gamblers Anonymous. All of this in such a short period of time might win their parents over. Hope fluttered inside her.
She looked up and saw his gangly legs as he stomped his way down the stairs. He popped his head in the doorway, drying his hair with a towel.
The Other Killer Page 3
