by Carol Wyer
His reaction was measured and there was no outward sign of distress. Either Raymond didn’t know the men well, didn’t much care for them or wasn’t surprised by the news.
‘How well did you know both men?’
‘Back in the early days we were friends. They helped me realise my dream of owning a genuine private members’ club. They were both investors in this project and provided the funding after the bank refused to lend me the money. In the days when this club was in its infancy, we saw a fair bit of each other. Since then, they’ve been amply repaid for their belief in me.’
‘Did they come here a lot?’
‘They used to visit at least once a month, then both became more embroiled in their work. I’d say, over the last five years, I’ve only seen them on four or five occasions.’
‘You wouldn’t say you were close friends, then?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’ His answer was definitive.
‘Did you fall out?’ Kate was curious why men who’d invested money in the place had not maintained the friendship.
‘We were never what you’d call “close”. We rubbed along well enough. We had a business relationship rather than a friendship. Part of their payment was lifetime membership of the club, although, to my knowledge, they’ve not taken advantage of their perks in a long while. I’m not always on site. I’ve been project managing another site towards Nottingham.’
‘Another club like this one?’
He nodded.
‘There’s demand for such a place? I thought there was a movement towards couples retreats and spa days, not exclusive clubs for men only.’
Raymond’s thin lips resembled a slit rather than a mouth. He thought carefully before responding. ‘Many women enjoy pamper days with their female friends, while many men enjoy other male companionship, sharing interests and having a place they can retreat to. There are women-only spas, gyms and even women-only clubs; why not a men-only club? Do you have a problem with that?’
‘Me? No. I’m trying to understand what it is and who’d come to a private, male members-only club.’
‘It’s more than a coffee shop or a restaurant, or a library. There’s a sense of being part of a small community. A member can dine here, spend a night in one of our rooms or simply pop in for an hour or two, read the newspaper and enjoy a brandy or coffee in the drawing room. It’s a “home from home”, where he will be waited upon and treated with respect.’
‘You don’t hold special events or entertainment evenings?’
‘We do not need to hold events, and if by “entertainment” you’re hinting at strippers and the like, we do not invite them on to the premises.’ His face remained impassive.
‘Who’s in charge when you are not around?’
‘Xavier is the manager. He’s been with us since we opened.’
‘And to recap, you haven’t seen either Alex or Ian for months?’
‘I can’t remember when they last came here.’
‘We believe they phoned the club to make reservations – both in December last year: Ian on the thirtieth and Alex on the thirty-first.’
‘I don’t recall seeing them here.’
‘You say both men invested in this business. Tell me how that came about.’
‘It was years ago. I don’t remember exactly – a party, I think. At the time, I was managing a hotel in Stafford. We got chatting and they began dropping in to the hotel for a drink after work or a meal and the idea of a members-only club was born – a place where men could relax after work or a business trip or a meeting.’
Kate couldn’t think what else to ask, so she thanked him and withdrew from the office back to the reception, where Xavier was taking a phone message. He acknowledged her presence by raising a finger to indicate he’d only be a minute. When he’d finished, he turned his eyes on to her and gave a small bow.
‘Xavier, how well did you know Alex Corby?’
‘As well as I know any of the clients. I knew him by name and would occasionally exchange pleasantries.’ He kept his eyes trained on Kate in an almost challenging fashion she found rather strange.
‘And Ian Wentworth?’
Xavier pouted slightly and his cheeks expanded before he released the air. ‘Pouf! The same.’
‘How often did you see either man?’
He put a finger to his chin, then replied, ‘I’d have to check to see how many times exactly, but it wasn’t often at all.’ He offered a Gallic shrug.
His attitude was perplexing – one minute subservient, the next slightly aggressive, and all his gestures seemed exaggerated to Kate. ‘When did you last see either man?’
He sucked in air between his teeth. ‘I can’t answer without checking the system.’
‘Do members have to sign in?’
‘The system isn’t that antiquated. Each member has a club credit card he swipes on arrival.’ Xavier pointed to the box adjacent to the desk. ‘We then know when a member is present, and if he requires any extras, such as dinner or a massage, those are automatically added to his bill. Let me check for you.’ His fingers danced across the keys.
Kate continued with her questions. ‘Do you have many members?’
He kept his head bowed and answered, ‘About two hundred but, obviously, they don’t all attend at the same time or it would be chaotic.’
‘Do you have any big shots here?’
He looked up and his dark eyebrows furrowed. ‘Big shots? Do you mean eminent people? I’m afraid we can’t disclose any names or professions. Some are certainly distinguished individuals, but we offer discretion here at Maddox. We can’t allow such privacy to be compromised.’ He lowered his head again and said, ‘Ah, here we are. Both men signed in on the second of January.’
‘Did they have any extras?’
‘Dinner, and they booked a suite each. They stayed overnight.’
‘And was Mr Maddox on the premises that night?’
‘If I remember correctly, he was on holiday in the Maldives. Maybe you should check with him.’
‘I shall. Thank you, Xavier.’
Kate made her way to her Audi at the far side of the car park. She climbed in and stared across the gravelled drive, her brow wrinkled. Xavier was lying. She had nothing other than a gut feeling to support her suspicions. Xavier’s reactions to her questions had been distinctly odd. Maybe it was simply his nature, but Kate was sure there was something else behind the fake smile – something shifty. He was withholding something, and Raymond’s reaction to the fates of two of his investors had been strangely calm. Kate wasn’t sure if her judgement was off kilter or whether she was on to something. She hoped it was the latter.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MONDAY, 7 JUNE – AFTERNOON
As soon as Kate returned to the office she contacted someone she hadn’t spoken to for many years: Lionel Gupping, a retired dentist living in the Yorkshire Dales.
‘Good heavens above!’ he exclaimed when she told him who she was. ‘Haven’t seen you since you were fifteen years old. Strongest bite I ever came across.’
Her lips twitched at the memory. As a young teenager, she’d accidentally wounded Lionel’s finger when, after repairing a tooth broken during a game of hockey, he’d told her to bite down firmly on a dental roll. He’d issued instructions before removing his hand, and obedient Kate had pressed hard on what she believed to be the cotton roll, only to watch his face crumple in agony. His finger had survived, but Kate had nipped it well and truly, leaving a mark, and thereafter he’d always joked about her famous bite.
‘I was extremely sorry to hear about your father. I found out some time after he’d passed away. Had I known sooner, I’d have come and paid my respects. The trouble with living in the middle of absolutely nowhere is that news travels at a snail’s pace. How are you doing?’
‘I’m doing okay, thanks.’
‘And what are you up to – married? Children?’
‘Married, no kids, and I’m a DI at Stoke-on-Trent.’<
br />
He sounded delighted. ‘You were always so curious and, as I recall, bright. I’m not surprised you followed in your father’s footsteps.’
She couldn’t play catch-up any longer, and as lovely as Lionel was, she had to get to the reason for the call. ‘Can you help me out with something? As I recall, you had a load of weird and wonderful implements to help with dentistry. You told me about some of them, remember?’
‘Sure, I do. Like I said, you were curious and bright. You were the only youngster I treated who wanted to know all about the tools of the trade. I wondered if you’d gone into dentistry yourself.’
‘Mouths are too small a space for me to work in. I’d be worried somebody would bite my finger off.’ She enjoyed his hearty guffaw for a minute before she continued. ‘Actually, I’m after your expert help.’
‘Certainly. Go ahead.’
‘Is there a type of device in dentistry used to force open a patient’s mouth . . . and keep it open?’
‘Are you thinking of a Jennings mouth gag? We sometimes use those to work on a cavity. You can ratchet the mouth open to the desired degree.’
‘The device I’m looking for produces a leaf-shaped imprint on the inside cheeks.’
‘Leaf-shaped. That doesn’t sound like it then. Want me to send you the technical information on the mouth gag?’
‘Would you?’
‘Certainly.’
‘I’d appreciate that.’
‘My pleasure. Lovely to hear from you again.’
‘Nice to speak to you, too.’
‘If you and your husband are ever up in this neck of the woods, come and look me up.’
‘Will do. Bye, Lionel.’
True to his word, the image arrived in her inbox only moments after she’d spoken to him, but it didn’t appear to be the implement she was searching for. The shape was nothing like the one Harvey had drawn for her. She sent an email and Harvey’s sketch to the school of medicine at Keele University, asking if they’d come across anything like it, and turned her attention back to the Maddox Club.
Kate had begun research on Xavier Durand and typed his name into the general database. Born in Albertville in the Savoie region of France, he’d moved to the UK in 2006 and begun working at the Maddox Club the same year. She was scrolling down the page for more results when she was interrupted by a call from Emma, who was at Raven Cottage.
‘Did you get the photo I messaged across to you?’ Emma asked.
‘I haven’t checked my phone. I was looking into something else.’
‘Take a look and see what you think.’
She waited while Kate examined the image of a trio of paintings, each depicting apples – red, yellow and green – and framed in matching wooden surrounds of the same colours.
‘Are these in his house?’ Kate asked.
‘On the kitchen wall. I don’t know if they’re significant, but since the killer is using apples to murder the victims, I thought it worth flagging.’
‘I agree, although I can’t see their relevance at the moment. There are no pictures like these in Alex’s house.’
‘They might not be anything important, but after I sent it I uncovered something else that definitely is. There’s a fully equipped bondage room upstairs, complete with padded table and restraints, and a travel chest containing S&M equipment: various ropes and mitts, hoods, anal hooks, ball locks. He has a selection of gags, too, including a head harness and ball gag and several pacifiers. There’s no doubt in my mind he used this cottage for sexual gratification. It’s an unremarkable place from the outside, and shabby and uncared for on the inside: peeling paint, threadbare carpets, dingy even. Hardly a “holiday cottage”. It’s the polar opposite of his apartment in Lichfield and, most importantly, it’s alone at the end of an anonymous lane, well away from prying eyes.’
‘No wonder he didn’t want Derbyshire police crawling all over the place when he reported the supposed break-in.’
‘Do you want me to bring back any of this gear?’
‘Leave it in situ. Ring Ervin and ask if he can send somebody over to test for fingerprints and see if there are any matches to people we’ve already interviewed. Have a word with the locals. Find out if any of them spotted Ian with another person the night the jar containing Alex’s eye was left in his house.’
‘Will do.’ Emma hesitated. ‘Have you heard from Morgan?’
‘No news yet.’
‘Just curious to know if he’d called in.’
‘No. He’ll ring when he finds out something or locates Cooper.’ Kate preferred to give her officers free rein to follow up leads without pestering them every five minutes. She trusted them enough to know they’d be pursuing their enquiries, not skiving off. If either was out of contact, it was for a good reason.
Kate didn’t think anything of Emma’s question until she was reading back through Xavier’s history, then she recalled the note of caution in her voice. Something was up between Emma and Morgan: whispers, looks and arguments. She hadn’t the energy to fathom what was bugging the pair and then, in an instant, all thoughts of them drained away. It had been so obvious she’d almost missed it. He’d even given her a clue. Xavier had been a waiter for several years, working throughout the Savoie region of France, including the fashionable ski resort of Courchevel. Her mind flipped back to the photograph she’d seen on Alex’s desk of him with his friends at a skiing resort, and William’s words – Alex had been on holiday with John Dickson when they’d met Ian at a hotel. Could they have also known Xavier from there? Dickson again. How involved was her superior in all this? This could be the opportunity she needed to talk to him face to face. He could tell her if Xavier was working at the hotel at the time he, Alex and Ian had been on holiday. How should she play it?
‘Treat it as you would if you believed Dickson was innocent. He undoubtedly thinks he’s outwitted you and is above suspicion. Play it cool and be wary how much information you give out,’ said Chris.
‘You reckon?’
‘Definitely.’
She rang William. ‘I need to ask the superintendent a few questions regarding the investigation. Do you think he’d see me?’
‘I’m afraid he’s at a conference in London. Can it wait until he gets back, or would you like me to try and get a message to him?’
What should she do? William would expect her to update him on her progress. She couldn’t hide facts from him. She had no option other than to come clean.
‘No, Kate! You don’t want Dickson getting the heads-up.’ Chris’s words were urgent.
‘It can wait until he gets back,’ she said.
‘What’s it about? Maybe I could help?’
‘I doubt it. I’m following up some leads on a couple of individuals who might have known both Ian and Alex. I thought the superintendent might be able to identify them.’
‘Who are these people?’
Chris groaned. ‘Shit! Don’t tell him!’
‘Possible business colleagues.’ She was spurred on by Chris’s voice, and the lie came easily. It was best if she kept William in the dark in case he spoke to Dickson, forewarning the man. She wanted to see Dickson’s reactions herself and judge if he was telling the truth when she questioned him.
‘I’ll try and arrange for you to talk to him when he returns.’
‘Thanks, William.’
Kate rang off, her head thrumming. The effect of the pills was already wearing off, but she didn’t fish for more. Instead, she shut her eyes and thought about Xavier. If he knew Ian and Alex better than he claimed to, he was hiding something, something that might be relevant to the investigation. Her mind wandered. Her father had believed in cop’s instinct and taught Kate to follow suit. On the whole, it had worked for her, and at the moment her instinct was telling her to play her cards close to her chest – very close indeed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MONDAY, 7 JUNE – LATE AFTERNOON
It was late Monday afternoon when the call came
through from the University of Keele. The medical school hadn’t been able to identify any instrument that might have been used to force open a mouth or left abrasions such as those found in the victims’ mouths, but one of the team there had passed over the picture to the history department, where Professor Adam Chalmers, a specialist in medieval history, was willing to talk to Kate.
Adam sounded pleased with himself. ‘I believe I’ve uncovered the object you’re searching for. There was a device used to torture people during medieval times called the Pope’s pear, otherwise known as the pear of anguish or a choke-pear.’
‘A choke-pear?’
‘It was a fiendish device consisting of three or more leaf- or petal-like parts. The whole thing resembled a pear when closed, but when it was inserted into the mouth, or other bodily apertures such as the vagina or anus, and opened slowly using a handle attached to a long central screw, it would force the orifice wide open. Some choke-pears were believed to contain leaves with razor-like edges to mutilate the flesh, for added anguish.’
‘Have you any pictures of this choke-pear?’
‘I can do better than that – I can direct you to a collector called Stefan Gaul who lives in Stoke-on-Trent and has one in his collection.’
‘Thank you. Tell me, Adam, is it easy to get your hands on one of these items?’
‘You might get lucky and find one for sale on the Internet, but most of them will be found in museums or private collections. There’s considerable interest in instruments of torture. I’ll email across Stefan’s contact details straight away and you can talk to him directly. He might know where you can get your hands on one.’
She gave him the email address and before she’d rung off, the details and a photograph of the choke-pear landed in her inbox with a loud ping.
‘It’s arrived,’ she said.
‘Great. Let me know if I can be of any further help.’
The instrument of torture was exactly as described, the leaves corresponding to the markings Harvey had sketched. She wasted no time in ringing Stefan and arranged to visit him immediately. In the stairwell, she bumped into Emma, back from Derbyshire.
