Lisa Ryland turned to Stirling and smiled. She was smashed. He could tell from her eyes. ‘Yes, thank you, Professor Stirling. It’s a relief to let loose after such an intense few weeks. I’ve never studied so hard in my life. It’s going to be torture waiting for the results.’ She glanced at her friend, while he took in her tempting neck, prominent cheekbones, fulsome breasts teasing him from under her halter-neck bodice. ‘Isn’t it, Marcia?’
A far soberer Marcia nodded, looking both embarrassed and put out. Feeling like a giant gooseberry, she said, ‘I need the loo. Be back in a sec.’
Thank God, thought Stirling. With Marcia out of the way, he leaned back against the bar next to Lisa, their bodies almost touching, the air fizzing with wanton desire. ‘You did well in the mocks. I have no doubt you’ll be fine.’
She flashed him a smile, her glazed eyes lingering on his. Shameless. Lustful.
He read her mind. He’d triumphed again. She was his for the night.
***
They didn’t make it out of the hotel. Highly dangerous, but goddamn electrifying all the same.
Getting the lift. Pressing the emergency button. Hitching her dress up high above her waist. Sliding his hand inside her thong, pulling it down, then launching himself between her legs, desperate to be inside her. So exciting, so delicious. Breathing heavily, he ground himself into her, hard and furious, grunting as he came, delighting in her panting, her gasps of ecstasy, in his own triumph and release. A world away from his stifled home life and passionless marriage. She was like his whore, so dirty, so filthy. But not illegal. And she didn’t cost him a penny. Life didn’t get any better.
But then she surprised him. Put her index finger over his mouth and said with a grin, ‘Why, Professor Stirling, that was quite something. What would the board of governors say? What would your wife say?’
She’d said it in jest, because that was how Lisa was. But it had enraged him all the same. He placed his hand around her neck, their bodies still pressed up against each other. Hot, sticky.
‘They won’t say anything, because no one’s going to tell them. Right?’ He grinned at her, but his eyes weren’t laughing.
She chuckled uneasily, felt his hot Champagne breath, smelled herself on his fingers, saw the venom in his eyes. ‘Please remove your hand. I was only joking.’
He slowly released his grip, then smiled. ‘Make yourself decent. We should get back to the party before anyone gets suspicious.’
Chapter Thirteen
Monday, 17 November 2014
‘Sir, I’ve got something.’
8.30 am. Carver had slept badly. His head hurt, and his muscles felt tight. His chief was piling on the pressure. Demanding to know what his team were up to, whether Carver had any frigging clue who was behind the murders. The press was also closing in for the kill. Ready to take a bite, place blame, stoke up public hysteria and resentment.
‘On Ryland?’ Carver looked up at Drake, an impatient look on his face. Drake was holding a plastic evidence bag at his side, although Carver couldn’t quite make out what was in it.
He was growing quite fond of the boy: hard-working, proactive, respectful. And, in the last few weeks he had proved he had the mettle for the job. He’d go far, so long as he didn’t get too big for his boots.
‘Still waiting on that. But this was found at Summers’ flat.’ Drake unsealed the bag and removed the contents. ‘Her diary for 2014. It was tucked inside the fold of a suitcase.’ Carver’s spirits lifted at the sight of the pale blue leather-bound journal. ‘Please tell me some good news.’
‘Look at Wednesday, 29th October, sir.’
Carver took the diary from Drake, opened it up at October 29th, and read the neat scrawl:
Feel guilty for not caring Sarah’s dead. She was the reason James could never love me. When he was making love to me, she was always there. I can’t help wondering how he’s feeling. Whether I should give him a call. I can’t get that last night with him out of my head. All I ever wanted to do was love him. I never thought he’d hurt me the way he did. I close my eyes and can still feel his hands around my neck. Was it just me? Or is he like that with all of them? With his wife?
Carver shot up from his desk, recalling Drake’s report of his conversation with Marcia Devereux. She’d said Stirling had behaved aggressively towards Ryland, and now they had proof from the horse’s mouth that he’d been violent towards Summers. ‘Let’s go see Professor Stirling.’
***
Stirling had just finished delivering a lecture when Carver and Drake arrived at the Bloomsbury Academy of Law. It was a large, expansive edifice, overrun with droves of wannabe lawyers who looked at Carver and Drake as if they’d arrived from Mars as they waited for Stirling in reception.
It wasn’t long before Stirling appeared. He looked harassed, his eyes darting all around – presumably fearful of drawing attention to himself – as he ushered them into his office. Is it a guilty conscience, or merely a question of his professional reputation? Carver didn’t know.
Stirling shut the door, sat behind his desk and gestured for Carver and Drake to take a seat opposite. Carver’s eyes scoped out the room. A person’s desk spoke volumes about its owner in Carver’s mind. His own desk wasn’t so overrun with clutter that he couldn’t see the wood for the trees, but neither was it all shipshape. A bit like his personal life; it wasn’t the best – there was certainly room for improvement – but his son ensured it wasn’t a lost cause.
Stirling’s desk, however, was meticulous. Every item, every bit of stationery neatly arranged in separate compartments. The man was scrupulous. Clearly not one for mess. Carver noticed the framed photo of Elizabeth on his desk. There for show, or because he wants it there? His cynical side plumped for the former. The bookshelf set against the wall to Carver’s right was stacked with various legal textbooks, lever-arch files and interestingly, classical music CDs. He noticed a CD player in the corner of the room to the left of Stirling’s desk.
‘You really are into your classical music, aren’t you, Professor Stirling?’ Carver gave Drake a quick nod of the head to fish out his notepad.
‘Yes, yes, I am.’ Stirling was obviously unsettled, despite his efforts not to show it. ‘It calms me down, allows me to think.’
‘Maybe I should try it,’ Carver half-smiled.
‘What can I do for you, Chief Inspector?’ Stirling was done with the small talk.
‘You’ve heard about Lisa Ryland?’
‘Yes. Another tragedy. And only a couple of weeks since the last. Do you have any leads?’
‘Hard to say,’ Carver replied cryptically. He studied Stirling’s face, trying to read his mindset. ‘We did find this, however, at Ms Summers’ flat.’ He threw Paige’s diary on the desk in front of Stirling.
‘What’s this?’ Stirling asked nervously.
‘Ms Summers’ diary for this year. Take a look at October 29th.’
Stirling’s fingers quivered as he turned to the relevant date. As he began to read, his face turned ashen. Eventually, he looked up, gave an uneasy chuckle. ‘But this is preposterous. I don’t know what Paige was thinking. She was clearly a little unbalanced. Always struck me as a bit unhinged, come to think of it.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes. You see, Chief Inspector, as much as it embarrasses me to say so, Paige was obsessed with me. She was a bright, attractive girl, but we had our fun, and when I ended things, she took it badly. Between you and me, I don’t think her father gave her much time as a child. Rich as hell and work-obsessed. She was looking for a sugar daddy, and that just wasn’t me, I’m afraid.’
Carver wasn’t buying it. The man was talking shit to save his skin. ‘This is Ms Summers’ diary,’ he said, glowering at Stirling. ‘Why would she make things up in her own diary? People don’t intend for others to see their diaries. It’s a vehicle for their own personal thoughts and feelings.’ He raised himself up to full height, a tactic designed to put Stirling on the back foot.
It worked. Stirling sat back in his chair, at the same time briefly glancing at Drake, the good cop. But Drake was learning fast. He stared back at him suspiciously.
‘Did you, or did you not, put your hands around Ms Summers’ neck?’ Carver demanded.
‘No, of course not!’ Stirling’s response was too quick, his voice catching. ‘I would never do a thing like that. As I said, it’s ridiculous. Paige was clearly deluded.’
‘Yes, you’ve mentioned that.’ Carver could see Stirling wasn’t about to change his story, so he moved on. ‘Did you have an affair with Lisa Ryland?’
‘No,’ Stirling said firmly. But his eyes said otherwise.
‘You never had sex with Lisa Ryland, or threatened her in any way?’
‘No.’ Carver saw the sheen developing across Stirling’s brow. He changed course. ‘Where were you on Saturday night, between the hours of 7 pm and midnight?’
Stirling hesitated for a split second, then said, ‘I … I was having a drink with an old friend.’
‘Male or female?’
‘Female.’
Carver raised an eyebrow. ‘Another one of your conquests?’
‘No, nothing like that. We read law together at Oxford. She’s now a named partner at a firm in Putney.’
‘I see. Can I have a name?’
‘Is that necessary?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. It’s Suzanne Carroll.’
‘Thank you. And the firm?’
‘Bryson Carroll. Will that be all? I have a lot to be getting on with, I’m afraid.’
Like making a quick call to Carroll? Carver wasn’t convinced by Stirling’s alibi.
‘Just one more thing. Did anyone who attended the academy from 2009 to 2011 ever strike you as suspicious? Unbalanced?’ He paused, then said with a trace of sarcasm. ‘Aside from Paige, of course.’
Stirling appeared to consider this for a while. Carver couldn’t figure out whether he was genuinely making an effort to think, whether he was trying to concoct some lie, or whether he was considering whether or not to be truthful. Finally, he said, ‘No, not that I noticed. But you may want to question the other tutors. I’m not the only one who taught at the time, you know.’
Yes, but you do seem to be the only one who banged half the intake, thought Carver.
‘We’ve got that covered, thanks.’
They said their goodbyes, then Carver and Drake left.
Stirling exhaled with relief. But the tension was still there, and it was taking its toll.
He was a suspect; that much was clear. He picked up the phone, dialled a number and waited. ‘Suzanne, it’s me. Listen, I need you to do me a favour. If some policemen come knocking asking whether I was with you on Saturday night, say yes. Say we were having a drink at the Durell Arms on the Fulham Road.’ A pause. ‘I can’t explain why. But yes, I’ll come and see you. I promise I will if you do this for me.’ Stirling allowed himself a smile as he got the answer he wanted. ‘You’re my rock. I’ll see you tomorrow night.’
He hung up. He couldn’t see Suzanne tonight. He had other plans, but no one could know. Not Suzanne. Not his wife. And certainly not the police.
***
Carver tapped his dashboard restlessly. He was parked just off Putney High Street, waiting for Drake to emerge from Costa Coffee. They’d left the academy and headed straight for Bryson Carroll Solicitors at the top of Putney High Street, making a quick pit stop for sustenance along the way.
He’d already knocked back five Americanos that day. Small wonder his heart was going like the clappers. What he really needed was to hit the gym and throw some punches, just to release the adrenaline whizzing round him. But time to himself wasn’t a luxury he could afford right now. The killer was making sure of that.
That morning, the Chief had bumped up Carver’s team from four to eight. Normally, he avoided big teams. He preferred to keep things tight. Often, with big teams, lines of communication went haywire and things got missed. But this case was posing too many lines of enquiry (not to mention the usual nut-job callers) for Carver and Drake to pursue single-handedly, and time was ticking.
Two of Carver’s bumped-up team had already spoken to Lisa Ryland’s distraught parents and brother, all of whom had alibis and no idea who might have wanted to murder Lisa. And in the last fifteen minutes, Carver had instructed the same two to question those tutors (other than Stirling) who’d taught at the academy from 2009 to 2011, as to where they’d been on Saturday night. He suspected they’d all have alibis, and so the exercise was unlikely to prove fruitful. But it was a necessary one all the same.
Carver looked down at his iPhone and reread the forensics report on Lisa which Grayson had emailed through to him. Estimated time of death between 8–9 pm. Drowned. No surprise there. Again, no signs of sexual assault, or, more frustratingly, any unknown DNA.
What was the killer’s motive, if not sexual? Just pure crazy? A crime of passion, or revenge?
The way things stood, the common thread between all three women was law, the academy and screwing Stirling.
Perhaps it was time to drop in on Elizabeth Stirling again. But first, Carroll.
***
‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’
Suzanne Carroll was an imposing woman. Tall, neither slim nor fat – statuesque was the right word. She had straight dark hair that fell just below her shoulders, tiny black liquorice eyes, a prominent Roman nose and wide, stretched lips which, when moved, emitted a raspy lilt. She also wore a look as if to say, Don’t mess with me if you know what’s good for you.
But she didn’t intimidate Carver. He’d dealt with all kinds of characters over the years, and he had an uncanny habit of unnerving even the most serene of individuals. He and Drake sat facing Suzanne in her office. It was a world away from the glitzy world of Channing & Barton, almost like something out of a Dickens novel – a small, dark, wood-panelled room, with a tired, musty smell and way too much stuff in it.
Drake got out his notepad and waited for his boss to begin.
‘You’re a trusts lawyer?’ Carver said.
‘A trusts partner,’ Suzanne corrected with a disdainful look. ‘I also do a bit of probate and estate planning.’ She gave Carver a knowing smile. ‘I’m sure that sounds very dull to you, Chief Inspector.’
‘Not at all,’ Carver lied. ‘I assume you’ve heard about the recent spate of murders involving young female lawyers?’
‘Yes, I have. Who hasn’t? It’s shocking.’
‘We’re in the process of following up various leads.’
‘I see.’ Suzanne’s lips twitched ever so slightly. This was followed by an equally twitchy half-smile. ‘I’m not sure how I can be of any help, but you’re clearly here because you think I can.’
‘Did you meet Professor James Stirling for a drink on Saturday evening?’
‘Surely, you don’t think James is involved in some way?’ she responded with almost a snigger. And quickly. Way too quickly. It felt rehearsed.
Carver gave nothing away. ‘As I said, we’re following up several leads. Please answer the question.’
Suzanne didn’t hesitate. Raising her chin, she gave an assertive, ‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘The Durell Arms on the Fulham Road.’
‘And when did you part company?’
‘I should say around 11-ish. I can’t quite remember, but I do know it was well before the last Tube.’
‘He’s a good friend of yours?’
‘Yes. We go way back. Read law together at Oxford.’
‘And you’ve kept in touch ever since?’
‘Yes.’
‘How friendly are you with Mrs Stirling?’
It was a swift change of subject, hitting her out of the blue. Her mouth flapped again, her eyes betraying a glint of apprehension. Or was it malice? ‘I know Elizabeth fairly well. Through James, of course. But we’re not close, if I can put it like that.’
‘Is there some sort of r
ivalry for the professor’s affections going on there?’ Carver kept his tone light, but all three knew what he was getting at. Before she could answer, he carried on. ‘Have you ever had a sexual relationship with Professor Stirling?’ His eyes lasered through her.
‘No, certainly not,’ Suzanne replied, laughing a little too heartily. ‘We’re just good friends. Like brother and sister really. But Elizabeth and I are very different species.’
‘How so?’
‘Elizabeth’s an introvert, I’m an extrovert. I tend to show my emotions, while Elizabeth keeps them in. Chalk and cheese.’
‘I see.’ Carver said. ‘Are you aware that Professor Stirling has had a number of affairs with his students over the years?’
Suzanne flinched. He’d found her weak spot, his way in.
‘That’s absurd. And quite an accusation. I should watch your step, DCI Carver. You don’t want to go accusing an ex-lawyer and top law professor of such things before you’ve got your facts right.’
‘My facts are from the man in question. Professor Stirling has admitted to the affairs.’ Carver’s eyes bore through Suzanne’s again. ‘Not in public, but to me.’
She hadn’t expected that. ‘So, what of it?’ she stumbled. ‘Does that make him a killer?’
‘No, but it makes him a suspect. Particularly as we have good reason to believe he’s behaved violently towards his lovers in the past.’ Silence, then, ‘So tell me, Ms Carroll, did you really meet Professor Stirling for a drink on Saturday night? It’s vital that we know the truth.’
Again, she didn’t falter. ‘Yes. I was with him.’
Carver dropped back in his seat, his gaze still locked on Suzanne. She shifted awkwardly in her own, fiddling with her hair the way people do when they have something to hide. Finally, Carver stood up. ‘Well, thank you, Ms Carroll, you’ve been most helpful. We won’t take up any more of your time.’
He saw the relief on her face as she stood up and walked them to the door.
‘Do you have any plausible leads on the killer, DCI Carver?’ Having regained her composure, Suzanne’s tone was deliberately condescending.
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