As did Daniel’s mother, whose look might have turned her ex to stone had her head been infested with a mass of writhing asps.
‘Details, Drake.’ Carver tried to ignore the hole in his belly. On hearing the news, he’d lost his appetite and binned the junk. But now, despite the sight in front of him, it was making a comeback.
‘Property lawyer at Blackfields Symes. Firm near Tower Bridge, Sir. Lisa Ryland …’
‘Ryland?’ Carver cut in, his interest elevated. ‘Why does that ring a bell?’
‘She was one of the women I highlighted on the list I showed Kramer. Kramer mentioned Ryland when we interviewed her. They were in the same tutor group, and she thought she’d had a fling with Stirling. I only spoke to her on the phone last week.’
Carver massaged his chin. He hadn’t shaved for a few days, and the stubble was already thick and coarse. And very tempting to scratch. ‘She denied having an affair with Stirling?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Kramer’s theory is looking more and more plausible.’
‘She was twenty-six,’ Drake continued. ‘Lived alone and was supposed to be meeting a girlfriend – Marcia Devereux – at the cinema earlier this afternoon. When she didn’t show up, or answer her phone, the friend got worried and popped round. She’s got a key, apparently, and lives close by in Chalk Farm.’
Carver stepped back as the photographer did his job. It was clear she’d been dead for some time. Stiff, white-faced, her lips lavender blue. “Land” carved into her chest.
There was a strong stench in the air, the bathwater in which she lay contaminated with her urine and faeces as well as her blood. Clearly, she’d lost all bladder and bowel control on death.
‘Looks like the killer drowned her first, then started cutting,’ Drake observed.
‘In which case, it’ll be trickier estimating time of death based on rigor mortis.’
Carver noted Drake’s puzzled expression and explained. ‘Rigor mortis can set in immediately in drowning cases where a victim struggled hard against their attacker. As Ryland struggled, her muscles would have gone rigid.’
Drake nodded, inwardly hoping that one day he’d be a fountain of knowledge like his boss.
‘Where’s the friend?’
‘Being treated for shock. She did say that when she arrived, Classic FM was playing loudly on the radio.’
‘Did she mention whether the victim was a fan?’
‘She said she was surprised because Ryland hated classical music.’
‘Which indicates it was the killer’s choice.’
‘Yes, sir. The friend also studied with Ryland and Kramer at the academy. But she dropped out after the first year and became a clinical psychologist.’
‘She’s probably safe from the killer’s clutches then. I’ll call Kramer later from the office. Once the friend’s calmed down, question her thoroughly. Same drill. How well she knew Ryland, as well as the other two. Was Ryland popular, did she make any enemies?’ Carver sighed heavily. ‘The public are going to get fidgety, Drake. We need a breakthrough. We should pay Stirling another visit. Pin him down on whether he did sleep with Ryland, and where he was last night. The wife too. There’s something not quite right about her. Something that sets me on edge.’
***
Drake offered Marcia Devereux a clean handkerchief. They were seated in a discreet corner of a small coffee house on Camden Road. Forensics were all over Lisa’s flat, and it was not the right environment for questioning. Besides, she was still in quite a state. The last thing she needed was to be in the same place where her dead friend’s body lay. It was early Sunday evening, and the café was quiet.
‘You sure?’ she asked.
‘Yes, keep it.’ Drake smiled kindly.
Marcia blew her rather large nose with some force. With few people about, the noise seemed to echo around the room, only some innocuous background music and the intermittent whirr of the coffee machine breaking the silence. Drake felt sorry for her. He could see she was still in shock. She was a tall, ungainly woman, with dark brown pixie-cut hair, and a face that appeared older than her twenty-six years. Her eyes were small and out of proportion to her nose, while her flat top lip looked odd compared to her fuller lower one, almost like she was upside down. He watched her dab the corners of her eyes, quickly replaced by fresh tears.
‘You and Lisa were close?’
‘Very,’ Marcia replied between sniffs. Her voice was low and hoarse. Probably all the hysterical crying, thought Drake. ‘From the first, we were inseparable. It didn’t matter that we went on to pursue different careers, we still saw each other regularly. And despite her hours, she always made time for me. I can’t believe she’s gone. She was my best friend. I keep seeing her in that grim pool of water.’ She shuddered, blew her nose again. ‘What a way to die.’
‘Marcia, we suspect Lisa was killed by the same person who killed Sarah Morrell and Paige Summers.’
‘Because of the inscriptions on their chests?’
‘Yes. All three studied at the academy. A crucial link. Did you know Sarah and Paige well?’
Marcia shook her head. ‘Not well, no. I mean, Sarah and Paige were in my tutor group, but I wasn’t particularly good friends with either of them. Not like I was with Lisa. Sarah could be a bit standoffish, but as far as I can remember, Paige was a nice girl, and popular with the boys.’
Her answer was consistent with everything they’d learnt so far. ‘I see,’ Drake said. ‘Even so, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt these women? Being in the same tutor group as them, you must have seen them daily, noticed who they talked to, were close to? Maybe they fell out with someone? Someone who might therefore bear a grudge against them?’
‘I was only there a year but …’ Marcia took a moment, her large brow furrowing as she pondered the question. ‘I can think of one person.’ She bit her lip nervously and sipped from her mug which was now empty, but an obvious means of distraction.
‘Who?’
‘Professor James Stirling.’ Drake’s interest immediately cranked up a level. ‘He taught Contract. He was our tutor group leader.’
‘Why him?’
Again, Marcia appeared to struggle to reply. She looked around the café twitchily, even though it was practically empty.
‘It’s okay,’ Drake urged, ‘you can tell me. You have to tell me, for the sake of other women who might be in danger.’
Marcia nodded. ‘He had a fling with Sarah; that was common knowledge. And I’m pretty certain he slept with Paige, at least once.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of the way she looked at him.’ Exactly Kramer’s point. ‘And because one time, during a tutorial, I noticed the way they looked at each other. It was a look of lust, unmistakable. And …’
‘And what?’
‘Lisa had sex with Stirling at the summer party.’ She blurted this out as if it was a difficult truth she needed to say, and the best thing was just to go for it. But then hesitated again.
‘And?’ Drake asked, still processing this latest revelation.
‘I don’t know about Sarah and Paige, but he threatened Lisa when she joked about telling his wife.’
‘She joked about that?’
‘Yes. That was just Lisa. She was a bit of a flirt, a bit of a tease, definitely not the commitment sort. But she wasn’t malicious.’ She sniffed and dabbed her eyes again. ‘Just messed around sometimes. Wound people up for the fun of it.’
‘How do you know Stirling threatened her?’
‘Lisa told me. Like I said, we were best friends. We told each other everything. She blew her nose once more, folded the hankie over, then wiped her bloodshot eyes. ‘And now I’ve lost her.’ Her face became hard. ‘Find this maniac, DC Drake. Find him and make sure he pays for what he’s done.’
Chapter Twelve
The killer looked down at the list of possibilities. Four more to go, and only one marked as a definite. The oldest, least attractive. And
the largest. She has way more insulation than the others. It will take longer for her flesh to stiffen. Thinking about it, she should be last. She was the neediest one of all. She, who after all these years, still clung to some desperate fantasy, too deluded to realise it could never come true.
But which other three ought it to be? And in what order? It didn’t really matter. There were several options, and whichever three were chosen would suffer the same fate. Although these would require more planning.
Still, it was getting too easy. It was time to accelerate the plan, have a little fun.
The killer picked up the phone, dialled a number and listened to it ring. Finally, the person at the other end picked up.
‘It’s me. I need you to do something. I need you to write a letter to Detective Chief Inspector Jake Carver.’
***
Elizabeth Stirling sat at her pottery wheel, moulding the clay into the face of a beautiful young woman. A Christmas present for her “beloved” husband. As she gently swayed her head, she allowed her mind to get lost in the accompanying music: Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus – spectacular, moving, triumphant; a fitting accompaniment to her current work.
She loved the sensation of using her hands for some artistic purpose, whether that be playing an instrument, or sculpting a piece of art. Or anything really …
It was the only time she felt alive … free ... happy.
She glanced at the photograph lying to the side of the wheel. The first victim had been so beautiful. Elizabeth recalled the day she’d confronted Sarah in front of the beefcake she’d moved on to. Connor? Yes, that was his name. She’d denied it, of course. Even after Elizabeth had explained how she’d followed them that weekend and confronted her husband in the car park. The bitch had been so smug. Made Elizabeth feel pathetic, desperate, no better than a shrivelled-up prune of a woman. Elizabeth would have been tempted to kill her there and then if it hadn’t been for the boy. It had taken all the will she could muster to walk away.
But now who was having the last laugh?
She understood why her husband had fallen for Sarah. Beautiful, smart, feisty. But the others? What was it about them? Pretty, yes, but not exceptional. Why had he needed to stray so many times? She hadn’t been a bad lover. Was it purely because she couldn’t bear him children that he’d grown so cold towards her? She was the way she was because of him. He’d turned her into a vengeful, hard-hearted machine.
And because of that, she’d make him suffer.
As she worked her fingers into Sarah’s eyes, imagining them to be real, Elizabeth hoped her husband would appreciate her last gift to him. Because before long, he’d be inside, and this sculpture would be the closest thing he got to female company.
***
9.05 pm. Maddy looked over her shoulder as she turned left off Whitechapel Road onto her street. Only a few minutes’ walk from Bow Road underground. She’d gone to see her grandmother again after a particularly stressful week. Paige’s funeral had drained her, plus she was feeling frustrated with the lack of leads and her inability to foretell where and against whom the killer might strike next – despite reason telling her it was an impossible task.
Recently, she’d been having nightmares, similar to the ones she’d had as a little girl. Seeing her parents’ faces, at first smiling at her with such love, it took her breath away. And then suddenly, they became sad, almost terrified, edging backwards, further and further away from her, into a dark abyss, before disappearing altogether. Now Paige was appearing in her dreams. Taking the same ominous route into the unknown. Twice she’d woken in a cold sweat; once she’d screamed out loud and Paul had come rushing in, reassured her it was just a bad dream and that she’d be okay. Rose had done the same over the weekend, and having had every intention of making tracks before it was dark, Maddy had been reluctant to leave. Rose was the one person, aside from Paul, who made her feel safe.
Eventually, just before eight, she’d decided she’d better head off. There was no avoiding work in the morning. Plus her grandmother was getting anxious about the time, and Maddy didn’t want to inflame her anxieties. She may have been in her eighties, but she watched the news and read the papers. She knew who the killer was targeting, and that her granddaughter could easily be next.
A car door slammed, and Maddy nearly jumped out of her skin. A stray cat scurried across her pathway, pausing to shine its luminous eyes at her before moving on. It seemed like the night was trying its best to unsettle her; making her aware of every noise, every shadow, every unexpected movement.
Maddy’s natural confidence was waning. And tonight’s news had made things worse. She could scarcely believe it when Carver had called as she’d sat on the train from Barnes to Waterloo, informing her of Lisa Ryland’s death. He’d wanted to know if she remembered a girl from law school called Marcia Devereux. Maddy did. She’d been on Drake’s list. She hadn’t been especially good friends with her, but she remembered Lisa had been, and wasn’t surprised to hear they’d remained close.
Lisa. Another female victim from her year at the academy. Again, Maddy wondered if she was next. Whether it was only a matter of time?
Her street was quiet and dimly lit, no human soul about. Maddy’s heart kicked as she turned the key in the door and stepped inside her building. She shut it quickly, almost as if death was chasing her, and let out a sigh of relief. Relieved to have made it back in one piece. Relieved to be safely home.
Still, Lisa must have thought she’d been safe inside her flat. But there was nowhere guaranteed safe. Not until the killer was found and got off the streets.
‘Hello,’ she called out as she entered her hallway. The temperature was warm and toasty, a stark contrast to the outside. All at once, she felt calmer. She removed her coat, placed her keys on the ledge. Atticus was suddenly there at her feet, welcoming her home with a soft meow. Maddy picked him up. ‘Hello, my favourite little man. Have you been good?’ She kissed the side of his face and received a contented purr in return, then placed him back down on the floor.
‘Thank God you’re home.’ Paul suddenly appeared in the hallway. He gave Maddy a fierce hug. Then stepped back, his eyes awash with sadness. ‘You heard about Lisa?’
‘Yes, Carver called me. How do you know?’
‘It’s been on the news. I can’t believe there’s been another one. It’s almost as if it’s too easy. What the hell are the police doing?’
‘It’s not that simple. The killer’s obviously very smart, as well as being a complete psycho. On the plus side, we can safely say he’s killing to a pattern, and therefore try to predict who’s next. Judging by the syllabus, we can expect four more murders to make it complete, corresponding with the four remaining subjects: Equity, Public, Tort and EU.’
‘Yes, but second-guessing who the victims are, or where they’ll be killed is like finding a needle in a haystack.’
He’d voiced her own misgivings. ‘I know, that’s the worrying bit.’
Paul’s face grew serious. ‘You’re wondering if you’re one of the needles, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I can’t help it. That’s why we need to keep trying. We need to break things down logically. It’s the only way. For example, I’m thinking with Equity – which, as you know, is all about making wills, establishing trust funds, et cetera – the killer might target a probate or trusts lawyer. And then, in the case of Tort – which, as you also know, concerns a civil wrong that unfairly causes someone else to suffer loss or harm resulting in legal liability – the victim could be a litigator. Like me.’
Paul raised his eyebrows in awe. ‘The police are lucky to have you on their side. Seems to me like you’re the one coming up with all the ideas.’ His expression became solemn again. ‘Your gran must be worried sick.’
‘That’s an understatement.’ Maddy gave Paul a faint smile, but it quickly faded away. ‘So am I, if I’m being honest. For the first time since Mum and Dad died, I’m scared.’ As she said this, her heart thumped hard in her c
hest. She couldn’t help imagining the worst-case scenario.
Paul pulled Maddy towards him, burying her head in his chest. ‘Don’t worry, Mads. I know you’ll be okay. You have to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.’
***
Friday, 25 June 2010
He’d had a few. Not enough to lose control of his senses. But just enough to work up the courage to make his move. He’d fancied her for some time. Particularly since he’d called it a day with Paige.
Paige had been the brief interlude he’d needed after Sarah. Patently gagging for it, he’d swiftly rebounded into her, and his badly deflated ego had been pumped back to its full capacity. But he’d quickly grown bored with her. She was pretty, but not exciting like Sarah, and after a couple of months, it had been time to move on.
And right now his next catch was standing in full view.
Wearing a low-back scarlet dress which traced every curve of her shapely frame, she was a sight for sore eyes. But he knew he also looked good. Dressed in a slick black tux for the academy’s end-of-year party, his confidence was flying high. He was on fire.
He grabbed another glass of Champagne from a circling waiter and went up to the bar. She was standing there with Marcia Devereux, probably the most unattractive girl in the year. Fat, geeky and as plain as they come, she was also incredibly shy; a trait which didn’t bode well for her future career as a lawyer, although he hadn’t had the heart to say it to her face. Hopefully, she’d realise of her own accord and move on. Marcia smiled shyly at him, but he didn’t want to send the wrong signal and returned the gesture with a grim-faced nod.
‘Having a good time?’ He directed his question at the hot one, not giving Marcia a second look. She recoiled with humiliation, but he didn’t notice.
The Scribe Page 11
