‘No, not yet. Whoever it is covers his tracks very well.’
Once Carver and Drake had gone, Suzanne didn’t waste any time in picking up the phone. ‘They were just here, as you predicted.’ A pause. ‘Yes, I told them I was with you. James, should I be concerned about you?’ Another pause. ‘Okay. So I’ll see you tomorrow night?’ Pause. ‘Great, please be careful, darling.’
She rang off, feeling slightly calmer. But still with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
And still racked with jealousy having learned of Stirling’s disclosure. It wasn’t news to her. But it was still something that made her skin crawl every time she heard it out loud.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
‘Where were you last night?’
‘I told you. I was meeting Guy for a drink. Jill’s run off with someone, and he needed a sounding board.’
Bollocks, thought Elizabeth as she watched her husband struggle to fix his tie. ‘How kind of you, dear,’ she said sarcastically.
She went up and fixed it for him. Securing the knot a little too tightly around his neck.
She knew his explanation was bullshit. Not just because she’d long stopped believing anything that came out of the lying cheat’s mouth. But because an old friend of hers – who’d never liked him and was always on at her to leave “the fuckwit” – had watched him chat up an attractive young woman all night in Duke’s Hotel, one of Mayfair’s most chic hotspots. Stirling had been so engrossed in the girl, he hadn’t spotted the friend, who’d been having a drink with a work colleague. Elizabeth’s friend knew all about Stirling’s sex addiction, and she’d surreptitiously taken a few snaps of the couple with her phone before sending them to Elizabeth.
She’d heard her husband stumble in around 12.30, no doubt half-cut and revelling in his latest conquest. She couldn’t help but smile to herself, picturing the look on his face when he realised what was missing from his office drawer.
And later, when he discovered who Elizabeth had sent the missing item to.
***
The doorbell rang, and her heart leapt, her insides charged with the anticipation of seeing him again after what seemed like an eternity. She’d blow-dried her hair straight and smooth, enhanced her eyes with black mascara and eyeliner, but left her lips nude and glossy – the way he liked it. She’d swapped her staid black suit for a figure-hugging red dress, beneath which he’d soon discover her red lace underwear and matching stockings.
Her hands trembling with excitement, she undid the latch and opened the door of her swish Fulham flat.
‘Hello, Suzanne.’ He was looking as gorgeous as ever, dressed in a tan leather jacket and dark blue jeans, smooth-shaven, and wearing his favourite designer glasses. And, judging by the smell of him, his favourite Paul Smith cologne. His dreamy dark eyes, which creased up at the sides as he smiled, delved into her, and she thought she might melt on the spot.
He handed her a bouquet of roses. ‘For you.’
She blushed like a shy schoolgirl. The successful trusts partner of a prominent family law firm no longer visible. ‘Thank you, James. Come in.’
He’d always had the ability to reduce her to a tongue-tied teenager. Right from when she’d first set eyes on him at Oxford. He’d caught her eye, held her gaze until she’d turned crimson. And from that moment she’d become his. After chatting her up in the student union, he’d taken her back to his digs and shagged her senseless. It was the best sex she’d ever had.
Suzanne knew she wasn’t the most beautiful of women. She was big-boned, with hips that bordered on cumbersome, rather than curvy. Her eyes were small, her lips, though wide, were too thin for her liking, while her nose seemed to overshadow the rest of her face.
But Stirling made her feel irresistible. And when she was with him, she forgot about her insecurities. The fact that growing up, she’d always been the plain one. The one men made their sister, rather than their lover. The one they turned to for advice on how to make a move on her hotter, skinnier friends.
She was only too aware of Stirling’s kinky fetishes; the fact that he’d slept with most of the girls in their first year at Oxford and continued to screw his pretty female students at the academy. Although it wasn’t easy, she’d accepted it. Accepted that she could only have him on his terms, when he wanted to see her. She was the one he always came back to when another of his steamy affairs fizzled out. It made her feel special, rather than sad. She was the one he’d never cut loose. She would always have a part of him. Until the day she died.
But the one person who had always, and who continued to drive her crazy, was Stirling’s wife. She loathed Elizabeth. What was it about her that was so special he’d put a ring on her finger? She, with her fucking classical music and ice-queen act.
Sometimes, she wanted to kill the bitch. Her only comfort was knowing how abysmally unhappy Elizabeth made her true love. And that the cold fish no longer shared his bed.
Stirling closed the door. He kissed Suzanne on the mouth and handed her the wine he was holding in his free hand. After she’d poured two glasses, he beckoned for her to join him on the sofa. ‘Thank you for covering for me,’ he said, his gaze intense.
Suzanne sipped her wine. She knew him better than most. But he still made her feel nervous, even after all these years. He was just so intoxicating, so masterful in bed. She needed the alcohol to loosen her inhibitions, wanting more than anything to please him.
‘Of course, James. You know I’d do anything for you.’ She hesitated. ‘But what, if you don’t mind me asking, is it all about? Why do they seem to be treating you as a suspect for those girls’ murders?’
‘Because they have nothing else to go on, that’s why!’ Stirling angrily threw back his wine. ‘All three were my students.’
‘Who you slept with?’ Again, Suzanne spoke tentatively, nervous of his reaction. Her jealous side also dreaded his answer.
‘Yes.’ Stirling grinned. The grin became a smirk. ‘You’re not jealous, are you, Suzanne? We’ve always had a good arrangement. You know I have my needs.’
There were times when an almost insane look flickered through her lover’s eyes. Now was one of them.
‘I know,’ she said apprehensively. But can’t you tell me where you were that night?’
Stirling leaned in closer, his familiar cologne invading her nostrils. ‘I was with another woman, if you must know.’
His tone was cruel. Mocking. He knew it would hurt her. It felt like he’d wanted to hurt her. She felt small, pitiful. Every fibre in her body bristled with pain, rage and jealousy. She should have been relieved. Relieved that he’d answered her truthfully. Not given her cause to wonder whether the police had good reason to suspect him.
But her pain was raw, envy eating away at her like acid. ‘Another one of your students, James? Tell me, what do you see in those brainless bimbos? It’s a wonder you don’t get fired. One phone call, and that’s you out.’ She chuckled to herself, clicked her fingers as she said this – not anticipating Stirling’s next move. His hand was suddenly around her neck, not tight enough to suck the air out of her, but enough to make breathing difficult. Fear gripped her, her eyes awash with alarm as she stared into his – almost homicidal.
‘Don’t you even think about blackmailing me, Suzanne!’
‘I … I didn’t mean …’ she spluttered, but he cut her off sharply.
‘Don’t play games with me, you pathetic moose of a woman.’
Of all the hurtful things he’d said to her, this wounded her the most. He’d never, in all their years together, had a dig at her plainness. Why was he doing it now? What had got into him?
He loosened his hold on her. Got up, grabbed his jacket and made for the door.
‘James, don’t go,’ she begged. ‘I need you.’ Even as she said the words, she could hear how pitiful she sounded. But she couldn’t help herself. Driven by her crazy obsession for a man she knew didn’t love her back – a
man who used her for his own devices when he saw fit. She went after him, attempted to grab his hand.
‘Get off me,’ he snarled, yanking his hand away. He eyed her with contempt. ‘You’ve achieved a first tonight, Suzanne. You’ve reduced my sex drive to a flat zero. Guess you’ll be reaching inside your bedside cabinet when I’m gone. Like I imagine you do most evenings.’
Suzanne felt the tears gather. His words wrenched at her heart, echoed in her mind. Before she could respond, he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
She sank down to her knees, buried her head in her hands, and cried like a baby. And then she got up, reached for her wine glass, and hurled it across the living room, watching it smash to smithereens against the far wall, shards of glass littering the cashmere rug beneath it, where she and Stirling had once made love.
***
Stirling walked purposefully towards Parsons Green Tube station.
He shouldn’t have let his temper get the better of him. Suzanne was his ally; his only reliable ally whom he could trust to cover for him. But he was still smarting from last night.
He was losing his touch. Natasha Coleridge had been giving him the eye all term. She’d agreed to meet him for a drink last night at Duke’s Hotel in Mayfair. He’d thought they’d had a good time, but at the end of the night, she’d rejected him outside Green Park Tube station. It infuriated him that she’d led him on, made him think she was interested. Made him rack up a seventy-quid cocktail bill, but then failed to follow through with her “come-to-bed” eyes.
He wouldn’t let her get away with playing him for a fool like that. The girl deserved a lesson in life. He didn’t care who her father was.
She’d made a grave mistake in turning him down.
Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday, 25 November 2014
4 pm. Carver was headed for his office when Sergeant Matthews stopped him. ‘This came for you.’
Carver examined the brown envelope Matthews was holding. It had a sticky label with his name typed on it, but no address. ‘Who brought this in?’ he asked Matthews, taking the item off him.
‘I dunno. Was put through the door with no explanation. One of the boys picked it up. Very unusual.’
‘I’ll say,’ Carver muttered as he turned on his heel.
Inside his office, he shut the door, sat down and used a letter opener to carefully unseal the envelope. Inside was a one-page typed note. A4-sized. He recognised the font as Times New Roman 11 point, and it looked like 1.5 line spacing. As he began to read it through, his back went rigid.
Dear DCI Carver,
I hope my note finds you well, and that you aren’t feeling too frustrated. I know that you’ve spoken to many people lately, but with little to show for it. So, as a goodwill gesture, I’m going to give you a little help with my next victim. For one, it’s been too easy for me so far, and I could do with the challenge. Killing is much more fun when it’s preceded by a little game of cat and mouse. So here goes, pay attention to this famous saying which holds a deep personal resonance for me:
“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”
And here’s another parting quote for you, Chief Inspector:
“The most important asset of any library goes home at night.”
Until next time. Good luck.
‘What the …?’ Carver hissed. Was he going to kill a librarian? If so, it didn’t fit the pattern so far.
‘Sir?’
Lost in his thoughts, Carver looked up to see Drake eyeing him curiously. He’d been so engrossed in the note, he hadn’t heard him walk in. He passed it to him. Drake’s face spoke volumes as he read it through.
‘Bloody hell, sir.’
‘Exactly. Any ideas? Allegedly, the first quote’s famous.’
‘I’ll Google them, sir. See if I can come up with anything.’
‘Good. I’ll call Maddy Kramer. See if she’s got any clue what this headcase is getting at. It’s got to have some legal connection.’ He pounded his desk in frustration. ‘We need to think fast, Drake. I’ve got a feeling this fucker’s gonna strike again soon.’
***
To add to Carver’s frustration, Maddy wasn’t picking up. He left a message for her to call him ASAP.
It had just gone 5.30 when Maddy finally got back to her desk and saw the red light flashing. Hearing the urgency in Carver’s voice, she called him immediately. ‘DCI Carver, I’ve been tied up in court. Has there been a development?’
‘Yes, of sorts. The killer sent me a typed note, claiming to offer a clue as to the next murder.’
Maddy’s stomach frothed with both terror and excitement. ‘What sort of clue?’
‘A riddle. I’ve scanned you a copy of the note. Check your emails, have a look, and get back to me as soon as you can. I don’t think we’ve got long.’
Maddy hung up, found Carver’s email and clicked on it, itching to see what the note said.
As she read it through, the killer was suddenly more formidable. Not content with murdering in cold blood, he was prepared to indulge in some sick game, and in doing so, risk exposure. It was cocky beyond belief.
She was about to Google the quotes when the phone rang. Damn! Her team was convening for a meeting in exactly two minutes. “Be late and expect to face the music” was the gist of the message.
As much as it irked her, she had no choice. This was her career, her bread and butter. For now, it had to take priority. She closed Carver’s email, promising herself she’d get back to it as soon as her meeting was over.
***
‘The first quote’s by Sun Tzu, sir …’ Drake came rushing up to Carver’s desk, notebook clutched in his hand, ‘… a Chinese military general and philosopher who wrote The Art of War.’
‘Okay, and how does that help us?’ Carver asked anxiously.
‘Not sure, sir.’
‘Damn it, Drake!’ Carver pummelled his desk for the second time that day. ‘I could have found that out myself, but it’s of no use to me if I don’t know what the fucker means!’
Maddy had yet to get back to them. She struck Carver as the conscientious type. He even thought he’d detected a drop of excitement in her voice when he’d told her about the note. The kind of excitement he felt when faced with a challenge in the shape of a cold-blooded killer.
He knew her work was demanding. But all the same, the delay was frustrating. He looked at Drake, saw the offence in his eyes.
‘Sorry, Drake, that was unfair. I realise you’re trying your best. Sit down. Let’s put our heads together on this.’
Drake’s expression softened. He took a seat across from Carver, who turned the killer’s note on its side, so they could both read it.
‘Who’s the second quote by?’
Drake referred to his notebook. ‘The Reverend Timothy S. Healy, a Jesuit priest, who was once in charge of the New York Public Library.’
Carver scratched his head. ‘Jesus. So is he going to strike at a library? He’s certainly well read. Your average Joe Bloggs wouldn’t have come up with something like this.’
‘Points to Stirling again, doesn’t it, sir?’
‘Not necessarily, Drake. There’s a lot of smart people out there.’
They examined the note again. ‘There must be a key word in here. Is it “art”?’
‘Could be, sir. Maybe he plans on striking at a museum. We’ve certainly got plenty of them in London.’
‘Fair point.’ Carver smoothed the hair on his chin, now a proper beard. Cases like this, the sort that consumed him, made him superstitious. He was scared to pick up a razor until it was solved. ‘But where’s the legal connection? That’s the crucial element we’re missing. Or is all this talk of librarians just a red herring to throw us off guard?’
The phone rang and Carver jumped to pick it up. As he listened to what Maddy had to say, his face brightened. ‘Thank you, Ms Kramer. Sit tight. I’ll be in touch.’
He hung up, looked at Drake. ‘Let
’s get going.’ His voice sounded energised.
‘Where, sir?’
‘The Supreme Court, Parliament Square.’
Chapter Sixteen
Maddy’s meeting had lasted over an hour. As she’d sat there, trying her best to pay attention, she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering. Desperate to get back to her desk and have a crack at solving the killer’s riddle. When she’d eventually escaped, she’d locked herself inside her office and stared long and hard at the note, highlighting the key words, willing herself to come up with an answer. And then, when she’d fished out the table she’d sketched in front of Drake, it came to her.
The killer talked about subduing the enemy without fighting. That had to mean through words, diplomacy, strategy. And where and in what context does that happen? Through negotiation, reasoned argument and debate. In court cases. And then, as she’d continued to stare at the first quote, the key word had jumped out in front of her. Supreme. She was almost sure that “Supreme” referred to the UK Supreme Court, based in Parliament Square in the heart of Westminster.
Under the Constitutional Reform Act 2005, it had replaced the House of Lords as the highest court in the land, hearing civil cases from all over the UK, and criminal cases from England, Wales and Northern Ireland. On the GDL course, they’d studied constitutional law, amongst other areas, under the guise of “Public Law”. She was therefore certain that this was the subject the killer planned on inscribing next.
As the riddle implied, the Supreme Court was a place where battles were resolved through articulate legal arguments in a setting conducive to reasoned debate, and not through bloody physical combat on the battlefield.
The second quote had puzzled her more. She’d swigged more coffee as she’d scribbled down notes. The killer seemed to be implying that the next victim was a librarian. Is she therefore one at the Supreme Court? Maddy knew it housed an impressive law library, which she’d toured herself as a trainee. But if that was the case, her theory about all the victims having gone on to practise in a field related to one of the GDL subjects was blown apart. As was Drake’s list. It meant the killer wasn’t only targeting qualified lawyers – which made ex-students like Marcia Devereux a possible target.
The Scribe Page 13
