‘I wish I had your faith. I worked some ridiculously long hours at the time. What if I missed something?’ Maggie swallowed.
‘The CPS agreed that the evidence pointed at Raven. You didn’t prosecute the case, the CPS did, so if there are any doubts, it should be them that needs to worry. If they had any questions about the evidence, it was down to them to get the answers.’
‘When did you become so wise?’ Maggie smiled.
He shrugged and gave Maggie’s shoulder another reassuring squeeze, then walked back to his desk.
Maggie pulled up the details of her interview with Bill Raven on her computer and went through it thoroughly. One of Raven’s points of appeal related to insisting he was pressured into answering. Maggie noted numerous breaks in the interviews where she had asked how he was doing and neither he nor his solicitor had made an objection. Maggie also came across a point where she had commented on his state of mind. Again, no objection or concern from his solicitor.
‘Is that a smile I see on your face?’ Nathan called out from his office.
‘I’ve just read the statements and there’s no way I was at fault here.’ She bit her lip.
‘Exactly. See what I mean, you’re shit hot on details. Wish I could say the same about me!’
Maggie laughed. Nathan was a ‘by the book’ officer, but his notes could do with some work. She frequently felt he was her moral compass. Whenever she was unsure of something, she often thought to herself what would Nathan do? Though she would never tell him that.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Maggie headed upstairs to meet with Donald Stanford from the CCRC. She wiped her hands on her trousers before knocking on the door. Her nerves were on the verge of exploding.
‘Come in.’ The deep bellowing voice did nothing to set her mind at ease.
‘Hello, sir. DC Maggie Jamieson.’ She held out her hand, waiting for him to shake it.
The man stood and extended his arm. ‘Pleased to meet you. Can I call you Maggie? And please, call me Don. Make yourself comfortable.’
‘Thank you.’ She took a seat across from him.
‘I take it you know why you’re here? Your DI should have explained the process, that way we can just get on with things and I won’t have to keep you from work.’
Maggie nodded.
‘Good. I’ve read all the statements taken from the moment Bill Raven was arrested and subsequently charged. I have to say, you seem to be very detailed, Maggie.’ He smiled smugly.
‘Thank you. I try to ensure that all bases are covered.’ Maggie forced herself to smile back.
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Is there a problem?’ She was a bit surprised by the frown on his face.
‘Err, well …’ He leaned forward. ‘I wouldn’t say a problem, but I did come across something of interest.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Mr Raven was questioned a few times, for long but manageable periods. You seem to take great care about his well-being, making sure he was comfortable.’
‘Yes …’ Maggie felt a bead of sweat run down her spine.
‘During the second interview,’ he turned his laptop towards Maggie. Pointed to a paragraph. ‘Could you read that section for me?’
Maggie leaned forward and scanned over the text, then nodded when she’d finished. Damn!
She’d wait to hear what he had to say before responding.
He spun the laptop towards himself. ‘Mr Raven tells you that he stole a pig, killed it, collected its blood and brought it back to his flat. Did you investigate that claim further?’
Maggie swallowed. ‘I’d have to check my notes, but as far as I can remember, we didn’t. When Bill Raven was arrested, the duty GP was concerned that he may have been suffering from drug-induced psychosis. His behaviour was erratic. One moment he was lucid, the next he was rambling about nonsense. The GP gave him meds and said we could interview him. When he fed us that story about stealing a pig, we believed it was a psychotic episode. If you look at the transcript, he starts talking about blood dripping from the ceiling, the way it looked under the glare of the lights, what it felt like to walk barefooted through pools of blood. Then he gets increasingly distressed and starts making strange noises, shouting, grunting and squealing like a pig.’ Maggie took a sip of water and tried not to think about those initial interviews and the long hours she spent with him, listening to his every word. ‘I’m sure you’ve noted I stopped to ask him if he was OK. Our reason for not wasting time on pursuing that point was the fact that no one reported a missing or stolen pig. As you can see from the interview, Mr Raven mentioned the pig and then moved on to something else entirely.’
‘Yes, he did. However, just prior to his appeal – around a month ago now – it seems further tests were undertaken, and that Mr Raven did indeed, at some point, have pig blood in his flat. You see, despite the initial tests finding nothing, a piece of wood was retested, and a small droplet had not been affected by the cleaning agent he had used.’ He raised his eyebrows and continued. ‘Not only that, but when we checked the records, a local farmer had reported the theft of a pig.’ He stopped there and Maggie sat back in her chair.
There was a long moment of silence and Maggie felt her hand begin to tremble. ‘With all due respect, sir, that offence would have been dealt with by another team. There was more than enough other circumstantial evidence that led us to believe Raven was guilty – his confession for one.’
‘DC Jamieson …’ Maggie shifted uncomfortably in her seat as he leaned forward. ‘Mr Raven alleges that he tried to tell you about the pig incident numerous times, to explain why there was blood in his flat, but you dismissed it. Because he was so tired, after hours of interrogation, he felt the only way that you would relent would be to admit to everything.’
Maggie let out a bitter laugh. Her hands balled into fists and she could feel the heat rise on her neck. ‘The statements are all there. Are you insinuating that I doctored evidence? We wouldn’t have known about the murder, or the missing women, if not for Mr Raven coming to the police station and confessing.’
‘Please. Calm down.’ He raised his hands in a patronizing manner. ‘I’m not saying you doctored evidence at all. However, Mr Raven claims he told you things … in private …’
‘I can assure you – if Mr Raven ever said anything to me in private, it would have been recorded in my notebook and then transferred onto the system. It just didn’t happen.’
‘Well, that’s what we’re here to—’
‘I’m sorry,’ Maggie cut him off. ‘This is getting ridiculous. I thought this would be more objective but you’re all playing into Raven’s hands. He must be laughing in his cell right now. I’ll admit, I underestimated him, but he is involved in these crimes.’
‘Maggie, don’t—’
‘And if you don’t start focusing, more people are going to die. I’m through answering your questions without my union representative.’ Maggie stood and picked up her bag, then stalked from the room without another word.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bill had heard voices for as long as he could remember. It had started with the weed, but he’d graduated to heroin and other class A drugs just before his eighteenth birthday. The whispers had only got worse. His parents were so fucked on crack that they barely noticed; his mother a schizo like him who never went to her appointments. Bill was raised off and on by his grandmother from the age of nine, and she was the only person who made him feel loved. He missed her home, his childhood home. So many happy memories, all lost when she had to sell it and move into a smaller place. She had died before any of the crimes came to light and he attended her funeral knowing that she would never learn of this period in his life. One day he would be free to leave flowers on her grave.
Whenever things had become too much, and the cravings returned, he thought about his waste-of-space mother. The beatings, the way she leaned close and screamed, spittle showering his face …
‘So how has everything been since my last visit, Mrs
Raven?’ The woman looked around the room and must have noticed the dirty walls and smell from the couch as she rubbed her nose.
‘Just great. He’s been a good boy, haven’t you darlin’?’ He flinched when she tried to ruffle his hair.
‘Really? Only the school have been in touch …’ The woman frowned as Bill crawled with embarrassment into the corner. ‘One of his teachers told me that Bill smelled funny, like he never washed, and they had seen nasty bruises on his legs and arms.’
His mother glared at him before turning around and flashing a smile at the social worker. ‘There must be some mistake.’ She looked at the broken watch she wore on her wrist. ‘Oh, is that the time? We’ll have to reschedule as Billy has an appointment and we can’t be late.’ His mother pointed at the door.
The social worker left reluctantly, glancing back at Bill and smiling. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
All hell broke loose when his mother came back into the room.
‘You little piece of shit. Are you trying to get me in trouble?’ She poked him in his chest, but he didn’t understand why. He never did.
‘I … I didn’t say anything, Mum … I swear.’ He clenched his hands repeatedly.
‘You fucking little liar. Dirty, piece of shit. I should throw you out with the rubbish. That’s all you are, a piece of dirty trash. The rats can have you.’ And then the blows came, raining down on him until his mother had exhausted herself and needed her drink or drugs, whatever she had in the house.
Bill dragged himself up the stairs, into his bedroom where he lay on the floor. Shivering cold. His mother never washed or changed the sheets on his bed. The smell of piss burned his nose.
One day she would see who the piece of trash was.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bill was looking forward to his meeting with the police today. He specifically requested DC Maggie Jamieson, someone he had spent a lot of time thinking about. She was a fascinating and worthy opponent and he couldn’t wait to watch her squirm. He remembered their first interviews together and the way she tapped her pen when she was thinking about something. How she delicately placed her hair behind her ear. He smiled. He knew what perfume she liked to wear and what she smelt like after a day of interviews in a small prison cell. He rarely had any memorable visitors, or any real mental stimulation, so he was going to savour this.
He looked at his reflection in the stained mirror screwed to the wall. Ran his fingers through his hair with a smile. He wished he could have worn the new suit he had purchased for his court appearances. Smart, equal to his visitors. But he would have to make do with his new haircut and freshly shaven face. He wondered if Maggie would recognize him and be impressed by the effort he had made for her. Gone was the gaunt unhealthily thin heroin addict he had been. Time spent eating starchy prison food and going to the gym had soon sorted him out. He had taught himself to speak properly. Listening to his psychiatrist’s posh accent. Watching television programmes and mimicking the voices. He liked the way he looked and sounded now and the way that people glanced at him. They respected him, feared him, maybe even admired him.
He gathered together his appeal paperwork, rehearsed his arguments again in his head. Imagined Maggie leaning closer across the table in the interview room. Thought about her begging him to drop his appeal, imagined reducing her to tears, ending her career. Walking to his bed, he crouched down and left the psychological reports under his pillow. If they wanted to look into the darkness of his mind, they’d have to do that homework themselves.
Bill enjoyed games, especially those that fucked with people’s minds. He was smarter than them all and he’d had longer to prepare.
He sat crossed-legged on the floor, completely still, controlling his breathing as he waited for the guard to come and retrieve him. He stared up through the prison bars, biding his time until he was free again. Eventually the guard called his name and led him towards the legal visit area. As he passed the other inmates they hooted and banged against the bars of their cells. Those on the landing moved out of his way and lowered their gaze as he passed. The officer brought him to a room, and he sat at a table to wait for Maggie.
After a few moments, he saw her through the room’s plexiglass windows and he took a sharp intake of breath. He hadn’t realized what it would be like to see her after all this time. He felt himself stiffen.
Bill stood as the door opened. Electricity coursed through his veins. Breathe, Billy-boy. You need to keep calm. He took a deep breath and counted to ten as DC Jamieson entered the room.
‘Where’s DI Rutherford? Will she not be joining us?’ He rubbed his hands together.
‘The DI is on her way. Why don’t you have a seat, Mr Raven.’
She seemed to be trying to hide her fear under a mask of confidence, but he could see right through it. Just like he could with the guards. He watched her closely as she pointed to the plastic water jug on the table.
‘Would you like a drink?’ She began to pour herself a cup and raised her eyebrows waiting for his answer. He thought he saw her lip twitch.
‘Yes, please. The new medication I’m on can leave my mouth very dry.’ He licked his lips slowly and she looked away. ‘You’re looking very thin these days, DC Jamieson. I hope this situation is not the cause.’
Maggie ignored the comment and sat down across from him. She took a pad and pen out of her pocket. She began to fidget with her notebook. Just as he was about to say something, DI Rutherford entered the room.
‘Good morning, Mr Raven. Hello DC Jamieson. Shall we just get started? Where’s your solicitor?’ DI Rutherford walked quickly inside. Raven knew he would need to watch this one.
‘As I’m helping you with your enquiries, and not being interrogated, I told him not to join us. I hope I’m not wrong.’ Raven smiled. ‘I’m happy to get started. I wouldn’t want to keep you any longer than necessary. After all, you have a killer to catch, don’t you?’ He laughed.
The DI frowned.
‘Something funny, Mr Raven? There are families who want answers and the public want to feel safe again. I don’t think this is anything to smile about, do you?’ The DI stared at him.
He folded his hands together before answering. ‘Oh, it’s no laughing matter. I’m so sorry if my facial expressions annoy you, but as I explained to your colleague earlier …’ He took a sip of water. ‘Sometimes my medications can play havoc with my feelings. I was smiling at the fact that I’m here to help bring the real killer to justice.’
Maggie squinted and eyed him cautiously.
DI Rutherford leaned in. ‘Mr Raven, you said you wanted to help us with our investigation, so do you have some information to pass on? I have to admit, I wasn’t too keen on this meeting, but your solicitor convinced my DCI that this is an avenue we should explore. Please,’ she stressed, ‘do not waste our time.’
‘No time will be wasted. I can assure you. I’m here to help – you know that – so should we start from the beginning?’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Maggie refused to look away from Raven; his soulless eyes would not haunt her this time. Her leg shook restlessly under the table. DI Rutherford would be pissed off if Maggie hijacked the interview.
‘I’ve had a lot of time to clear my head in here,’ Raven said, as his eyes flicked over Maggie. ‘A lot of time to think. Can you imagine what it’s like to be kept in a cell on your own for a crime you didn’t commit? Ridiculed by the media and disowned by your friends?’ He leaned back in his seat and spread his legs wide, that smile that Maggie hated creeping across his face. ‘It’s taken me this long to recover, for the medication to start working, for the heroin and crack cravings to die down. Only in the past month have I started to piece together what happened.’
Maggie clenched her fist under the table, but she couldn’t stop herself from replying.
‘Mr Raven,’ Maggie spoke firmly, ‘we won’t ask you again. Rather than carry on with this ridiculous charade, do you have anything useful to share with u
s?’
‘Is she always this rude, DI Rutherford?’
Maggie wanted to reach across and punch Raven in his smug face.
‘DC Jamieson’s question is a valid one, Mr Raven, so answer it.’
Maggie couldn’t hide her pleasure at her superior’s support.
He sneered. ‘I do know things. Lots of things. When I was having my episodes, I believed that I was committing horrible crimes, that I was some sort of monster incapable of human empathy, that all I wanted to do was walk barefoot through pools of blood.’ He caught Maggie’s eye and smiled. ‘But – I know now – that it wasn’t me. Maybe I heard something, or witnessed something, and it traumatized me. That happens you know.’
Maggie leaned forward. She decided to take a different tack. ‘Take your time. What horrible things do you remember?’
He rubbed his temples. ‘It’s difficult to recall. Do you think someone could have told me what they did? Confessed to me in secret. With all the drugs I was taking, maybe I just internalized their story?’
‘I suppose that could be possible. Do you have any idea who might have told you such a story?’
‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could remember, DC Jamieson? Wouldn’t you just love to be able to reach back into your mind and remember everything in perfect detail? I could go back to the first time we met, that red jacket you were wearing, how you had just been for a haircut, how you had slept badly and forgotten to iron your shirt, how—’
‘Enough.’ DI Rutherford scowled. ‘Stick to the question.’
Maggie swallowed and felt cold fear wash over her. He smiled and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t commit these crimes. Surely even you can understand that Lorraine was murdered while I was in prison?’
Maggie’s fear turned to anger, and she could no longer contain herself. ‘Let’s say I am buying this bullshit. If what you say is true – reach into those memories of yours and tell me how you knew Lorraine’s name when you initially confessed.’
The Other Killer Page 5
