‘Maybe I was hallucinating, or it came to me in a dream.’ He smirked.
‘And what makes you so sure these were hallucinations not memories? I think you’re lying and you’re doing a really shit job of it. I think you abducted those women, but you couldn’t even finish the job. You had to get someone to take over and kill them for you.’ Maggie grinned at him. ‘Is that it? Is someone else pulling the strings here? Pulling your strings?’ Raven’s hand clenched, and Rutherford kicked Maggie under the table.
‘I’m sure that what DC Jamieson is trying to say,’ Rutherford smiled, ‘is how can we use your memories to find out the identity of the killer?’
Maggie could see a nerve twitching in Raven’s neck.
‘No one pulls my strings, DC Jamieson, not unless I want them to.’ He smiled that sickly smile again. ‘The problem is, and this must be such a drag, my solicitor has lodged a successful appeal and now the CCRC is going to be all over you. I thought I might help you find the killer, but now you’ve insulted me I’m not even sure I want to anymore. I think it’s time you go, officers …’ He dismissed them with a flick of his hand, as if they were his servants.
Maggie laughed. ‘Suit yourself, but don’t get your hopes up about that appeal. I’ll find out the truth.’ She had made him show his true colours. The Raven she knew.
‘Look, Mr Raven, I’m happy to continue this discussion one on one. DC Jamieson, can you please leave the room?’
Maggie wasn’t at all surprised and knew she had crossed the line, but it was worth it. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She collected her things and left the interview room. As she shut the door his cold laugh rang out and a shiver went up her spine.
Maggie headed down the corridor towards the exit, now even more determined to find the evidence she needed. She took her bag and phone from the locker and stopped in the bathroom on her way out, to scrub her hands with the cheap soap. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, rubbing her tired eyes.
Outside the prison, she paced up and down and waited for DI Rutherford to finish. She took out her phone and typed a number, stared at the screen for a few seconds before deleting it. After a moment, she sighed and rekeyed the number again, hit the call button and listened to the dial tone, waiting for the one person who may be able to help.
‘Doctor Moloney speaking.’
‘Kate!’ Maggie felt something like relief. ‘How are you?’ She could almost hear the smile in Kate’s voice.
‘Maggie! What a wonderful surprise. To what do I owe this pleasure?’
‘I need to pick your brains and I’m hoping you have some free time this week. I can even meet you after work if it’s easier?’
‘Are you coming to the Domestic Abuse Forum on Friday?’
‘Yes.’ Maggie had nearly forgotten. Despite no longer being a part of their team, her knowledge of the cases made her the perfect police representative at the monthly meetings.
‘Excellent. How about after that? We could grab a bite to eat?’
‘That’s perfect.’ Maggie ran a hand through her hair. ‘And … I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us for the time being.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
‘Looking forward to seeing you on Friday.’ Maggie couldn’t help but smile as she disconnected the call. Dr Moloney was not only intelligent; she was one of the few people whose company Maggie genuinely enjoyed. She texted DI Rutherford to let her know she was in the café across the street and mentally began to collate everything she would need to get from her computer for her meeting with Kate.
We’ll see who has the last laugh, Raven.
CHAPTER TWENTY
He leaned across the table and smiled inwardly as he watched the DI slowly move back in her chair, listening to what he had to say, hanging on every word.
‘OK, now let’s take this back to the beginning. Where did all the blood come from in your flat when you were arrested?’
‘This is all in the case records. But because you asked me so nicely, it was no secret that Lorraine would come over to my flat. Adrian and I were selling drugs to keep our own habit going. Accidents happen … so it wouldn’t be surprising to find someone else’s blood in our flat. We used needles, burned shit, including ourselves. People fall over, bang their heads. Have you ever watched someone take heroin? Junkies are not the most coordinated.’
‘I didn’t ask about Lorraine’s blood. I asked about the blood in your flat when it was searched. Let’s try and keep to the current conversation or we’ll end up going in circles and neither of us want to waste any more time, do we?’
He tutted. ‘We both know that there was little to no evidence of human blood. I remember cleaning the flat – it was dirty, so dirty – normal bleach wasn’t getting out all the stains. I used oxygen bleach, you see, because it cleans much better …’
‘Mr Raven, what could you possibly be cleaning with that much bleach?’
‘The pig’s blood. Have you even read the case files? Why won’t you listen?’
‘How did it get there?’
‘When I killed the pig. I have a fascination with blood, always have. It’s beautiful don’t you think? It’s clean, completely pure. I love the way it runs down a wall and collects in bright red pools. How thick it is sometimes, but how it can also flow like water.’ He closed his eyes. ‘But things got out of hand – what more can I say? Now who is going in circles? In fact, you’re boring me. I’m done with this.’
Before DI Rutherford could continue, Bill stood and motioned to the guard. He laughed when he saw the expression on her face.
If only she knew what really happened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Yvonne
She trembled on the cold, thin mattress as she listened for footsteps above. She had to strain to hear anything with the cloth bag over her head and her ears covered. Yvonne had no idea now how long she had been in the cellar, but the drugs were wearing off and she was desperate for another hit. It was like she was coming up for air after swimming deep underwater, but the air was poisoned, and all she wanted to do was to take another dive. To forget how weak and starving she was. How her skin covered her bones like cling film, how every bone jutted out as she slowly wasted away.
She didn’t remember much about the night this all began, but she’d spent a lot of time reliving it in technicolour detail. She had been invited to a party – a friend of a friend type of invite.
What kind of party is this? Taxi paid for. Booze free. Gear free.
Alarm bells should have rung there and then, but she was too set on getting off her face, so she ignored any niggles of doubt.
The rest of the night was a blur of booze, drugs, dancing and sex – in that order. Yvonne made the mistake of letting her guard down and when she woke up, she was here, head covered, ears taped over, hands and legs tied to the uncomfortable bed. What felt like days passed before anyone came down to see her. The visits were few and far between. She had learned to hold in her piss or risk wetting herself until the person came to change the bedpan or the rare moment she was taken to the toilet, and given the vile tasting water to drink along with a piece of bread. Sometimes she was lucky and got a slice of meat – rancid meat, but it still tasted better than nothing.
She shivered. How much time had passed since she was taken? She thought about her mum and her daughter, about whether they would remember her. Did they still live in the same house? Did they still wonder if she was alive?
Has her daughter lost her first tooth? She could remember her big smile and that curly hair. A tear trickled down her face. Maybe her own mother was relieved. She’d always told Yvonne how her child would be better off without a druggie as a mum.
Enough. She didn’t want to think anymore.
She needed a hug. Even though she couldn’t see, she still looked around, listening for the other women. They weren’t allowed to speak, but sometimes when they were alone, they would mumble comforting noises to each other in the dark.
The
women must be locked away in the bathroom. If they disobeyed their captor, one would be confined in there, chained to the radiator and gagged, forced to crouch on the tiled floor for days.
There was a loud bang from upstairs and her heart skipped a beat. They’re back. Her body shook, not out of fear, but because she knew the person would have some gear and she could once again wrap herself up in a blanket of peace.
She heard the heavy dragging sound, the one that let her know someone would be coming down the stairs. Then the creak of the door and sweat started to run like a river on her neck in anticipation. Her eyes were covered, but she could still see shadows. She didn’t speak. The last time she did, a sock or something similar had been rammed into her mouth and stuck in her throat.
With each step there was a bump on the stair, as if they were dragging something behind them. Out of the corner of her eye, Yvonne could see the figure bending over, placing things on the floor beside her cot. A shiver of fear crept along her spine.
The person never spoke, but sometimes there was that horrible smell, a strong cologne of some kind. She didn’t know whether it was one person or many different people and that made her even more scared. Their captor would not connect with her on any level. Maybe that meant they would let her go. Her head told her not to get her hopes up, but her heart wanted to believe she still had a chance.
Their captor approached her, and she felt the cold, sharp edge of a knife against her throat. She knew that was the warning: Do as you’re told or you’ll get hurt. She had stopped fighting long ago.
Her hands were untied and then the figure moved to her legs. Once the restraints had been removed, the figure pulled her over to whatever had been spread across the floor. Her bones cracked. She was pushed down onto her knees and a nudge in the back told her she needed to lie forward. Her muscles spasmed as she was roughly flipped onto her back, too weak to care what would be happening next. A band was tied around her arm and, with a rush of relief, she felt the familiar prick of the needle as it pierced her skin.
No matter what happens now, at least she would feel at peace.
She didn’t even feel the knife being driven into her chest or care when she heard the snipping sound as her arm was removed from her body.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DI Rutherford came racing out of her office like her arse was on fire. ‘We have more body parts, people! Maggie, grab your coat – you’re with me. The Moat Pub, in Newsoll.’
‘What the hell? Is that one of those pubs by the canals?’ DS Nathan Wright queried.
‘Spot on. Maggie and I are heading out there now to speak with the responding officers. I’d like you and Bethany to start interviewing the witnesses.’
Maggie grabbed her coat and followed the DI to her car. ‘Why now, guv?’
‘What do you mean?’ DI Rutherford unlocked the doors and adjusted the seat, then started the car and reversed out on to the road.
‘Let’s say Raven wasn’t involved. Why would the killer all of a sudden start dropping body parts where they can be found?’
‘That’s what we’re going to find out. If Raven’s guilty, we need to prove it.’ She overtook a car, her foot hard on the pedal. ‘Even if this is all just a sick game, we need to keep talking to him, let him think we’re on his side. He could slip up and we could learn something.’
Maggie frowned out of the window but stayed silent.
‘I don’t like it either, but he’s all we’ve got. I need you to process whatever information he gives us. But be careful: Raven is highly manipulative and deceptive. We’ve been warned not to harass him, so play everything by the book.’
A knowing smile formed on Maggie’s face and they lapsed into silence for the rest of the journey. When they arrived at the crime scene, they suited up. The pub backed on to the canal. The water was as black as ink. Buildings surrounded them, each one with a walkway separating them and allowing pedestrians to come through to stroll along the path that seemed to stretch for miles along the canal. She imagined this was where the killer came through to deposit the human remains. Maggie noticed the crime scene tent a few feet away from the pub’s patio. She and Rutherford walked over to where the body parts were laid out, away from the eyes of nosy onlookers and the general public. The Home Office pathologist, Dr Fiona Blake, greeted them both with a smile.
‘Good to have you back, Maggie.’ She gestured at an open bin bag on the floor with several bloody lumps inside. A metallic smell teased its way up Maggie’s nostrils. She rubbed her nose and listened as Dr Blake continued. ‘Another arm and two legs; the legs have been cut into two pieces, so in total we have five separate pieces here. Look at the indentation on the wrist and ankles – look at the muscle deterioration – this person has been tied up for a significant period of time. The skin is translucent and tight. There is a combination of old and new track marks, so again, I’d say drugs were definitely a significant part of the captivity. I can’t yet confirm whether the victim is male or female, or whether the different pieces come from the same body. However – speaking hypothetically and off the record – the feet do appear to have similarities and I would hazard a guess and say that at least they came from the same person. You’ll have to wait until I get back to the lab for more details.’
‘Thanks, Fiona. Do you think there is a possibility that the person or persons that these parts came from could still be alive?’ DI Rutherford pointed at the bags on the ground.
The pathologist stared at them for a long moment. ‘I’d say it is highly unlikely. They would need serious medical attention. If these parts came from more than one individual, there is a slight possibility, but unless the killer has medical knowledge, the victim would eventually bleed out.’
When Maggie had arrived at the scene, she had noticed a bloodstain a few feet away from the tent. There had also been a damp patch resembling a puddle of water nearby. ‘Were the bags found in the canal, do we know?’
‘They were found by that rubbish bin at the end of the canal. The owner of the pub spotted them this morning, as he was getting ready to open. Thought someone had tried to dump them in the canal. He picked them up and carried them to this location. When he felt their weight, he tore a small hole, looked inside and contacted the police. First responders confirmed it was an arm, cut from the elbow down. Forensics are still searching the surrounding area.’
‘Right. Maggie, why don’t you go and speak to the owner? I’m going to finish here and head back to base. Catch a lift with someone and we’ll meet up later.’
Maggie wondered if the DI had just attended to babysit her. She looked across to the patio area and saw a man sitting engrossed in conversation with a few members of the public. He was pointing at the tent and gesticulating. Maggie took in his pale complexion, the beer belly and stained apron, the tea towel over his shoulder.
She walked towards him. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Maggie called over. ‘Can I have a word?’
He made his apologies and headed towards her. ‘Hi, officer. I’m the owner of this pub and can’t believe what I found! Is this part of that Chopper Investigation?’ The landlord was animated, his eyes wide with shock.
‘I’m not at liberty to confirm or deny that information, sir. I’d just like you to talk me through what happened.’
The landlord relayed a similar story to what Dr Blake had said. He confirmed that he was going to take the bags to the industrial bin at the side of the building, but when he felt how heavy they were he wanted to know what was inside.
‘What time did you close last night?’
‘Midnight. I didn’t look around outside before I left, to be fair, I rarely do. I just did the basic clean up, locked the tills and headed home. I used the side door as it leads to the parking lot.’
‘So, you didn’t see or hear anything unusual?’
‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘Thanks for your time. Here’s my card. If you do think of anything, or anyone mentions something to you, no matter how insigni
ficant – give me a call.’
Maggie left the landlord to return to his audience.
She walked the scene and mentally took snapshots in her head of the area, looking for where the killer could have arrived, any CCTV cameras, dropped evidence or potential witnesses. To her left, she noticed a more secluded alley, a good entry point to the canal with no CCTV in the vicinity. The only camera seemed to be attached to the pub and overlooking the patio area. Maggie called Bethany over.
‘Have you seen any other CCTV cameras?’
‘Oddly – no. Just the one and I’ve asked the manager for access to it. Think someone should get on to the council. I mean, even without the body parts, this area is poorly lit and could become a crime hotspot.’
‘To be honest, I’m surprised it’s not already. I’m going to go back now and see if I can piece together some things.’ When Raven had confessed to the crimes, he had told the police that he cut up his victims, wrapping the bodies in plastic and then disposing of their remains in various areas across Staffordshire, hence the media dubbing him The Chopper. Each crime scene so far resembled exactly how he had described it – this couldn’t be a coincidence.
Maggie watched as Bethany walked over to speak with the remainder of the witnesses. She asked one of the forensics team to drop her back at the station.
Is there a new Chopper at the cutting board?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dr Kate Moloney was looking forward to today’s training course. She had a specific interest in geographical profiling and believed it would be beneficial to the work she did with the police. Thankfully, they agreed and funded her spot on the popular course.
Kate set off towards her kitchen for a caffeine fix. While she waited for the kettle to boil, she watched the morning news on her iPad. Bill Raven’s face grinned back at her from most of the channels. It seemed to be an everyday occurrence, him complaining about being bullied or moaning about losing two years of his life. She wondered how Maggie was dealing with his appeal. The papers were taking every opportunity to slate Maggie and the police. What Raven and the news never seemed to touch upon was the fact that during those two years he addressed his alleged mental health issues and got clean from class A drugs. Kate figured he would get bail while the appeal was pending but there had been no movement on that front. Clean of substances, medicated and safe to be released into the community – all of which would surely get him released pending further enquiries.
The Other Killer Page 6
