‘Wait here,’ the nun said. ‘Hopefully, your friend’s just around the corner.’
Suzanne watched the nun disappear round the bend and heard the gentle shuffle of her footsteps fade away. She continued to lean against the trellis, her hands clasped together, her eyes shut tight as she said a prayer. She was by no means a pious person, but there was something about her encounter with the nun that brought out the religious in her. It was as if she’d been sent a guardian angel to help her. She lowered her head down to her clinched hands and said a prayer for James; that Janis held the key to his freedom, and that before long, they’d be together again.
After whispering ‘Amen’, she raised her head up. But not long enough to open her eyes and re-orientate herself with her surroundings. She felt the most searing pain across the top of her head, and then fell to the ground. She wasn’t out cold, and through blurred eyes, she just about made out the face of her attacker. The nun. Standing over her, eyes wild and devilish, a wooden crucifix in her right hand, which was encased in a black leather glove.
‘Wh-y?’ she just about managed to get the word out, too dazed to say any more.
‘Because you sicken me,’ was all her attacker said before raising the cross high above Suzanne’s head, then driving it down into her skull.
This time, everything went dark.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was essential to be quick. There wasn’t much time. She knew she was playing with fire, that anyone could appear at any moment. But that was part of the thrill; the thrill of committing the crime without being caught; of carrying out the most daring of murders, escaping capture by the skin of her teeth. It was a fitting end to her crusade. Although how she was going to carry on living, as if nothing had changed, she didn’t know. Back to her tedious day-to-day existence, and her equally dull clients.
All except one, of course.
Taking lives had made her feel almost God-like. She’d never experienced such a supreme sense of power and control. It was addictive, and she was sorry it had come to an end with Suzanne. But it had always been the plan to follow a pattern, and the pattern was almost complete. She wasn’t sure how, but she’d have to nurture her needs in some other way.
She grabbed her rucksack from behind the wrought-iron sculpture standing in the centre of the maze where she’d left it earlier and pulled out a pair of latex gloves; she quickly removed the leather pair and put them on, then delved back inside for her blade. Hauling her victim onto her back, she ripped open her coat, jacket and blouse until her white flesh was exposed. Suzanne was a heavy-set woman of forty-four, her skin a little looser, more damaged by time, than the others. The killer pressed the point of the blade into her chest, then started to carve.
As she did, she remembered all those times she’d gone hunting with her father. How she’d hated it: skinning those poor, defenceless foxes and rabbits; watching the blood drain out of them as her father looked on – always with critical eyes. He had cursed her for being too soft, for not being enough of a man about it; cursed her for not being the son he had wanted; what’s more, for having turned out to be a girl, for being so damned unattractive – for being a constant disappointment. But all those years of practice had come in handy. She cut quickly, deftly, precisely.
Six letters, and then she’d have justice. If only her father had been alive. He’d have seen that she was more of a man than any son of his could have been; just as she’d proved to all those whores that there was more to life than good looks and being popular with men. That guile and brutality was what took a person far in life.
She heard voices, footsteps getting closer. Sprinting to the opposite hedge wall, she spied two groundsmen making their way to the centre. It was closing time, and they were checking that no one was left in the maze. Fuck. She’d got her timing wrong. She hadn’t been quick enough. Now there was no time to push the body through the gap she’d found around the corner. A space in one of the yew walls of the maze big enough to squeeze a body through and dump amongst the foliage. She’d have to leave it where it was. The plan she’d spent so long fashioning was ruined.
She quickly grabbed the crucifix, along with her rucksack, and went back into the maze. She could feel her heart beating manically inside her chest as the voices grew closer still. She managed to gather her thoughts and found the same gap in the wall where she’d planned to leave Suzanne’s body to rot. She squeezed herself through it, cutting her gloved hand on a sharp bramble as she did so. Blood trickled through the synthetic material. ‘Shit,’ she quietly cursed, licking it away.
She lay as still as possible, clutching her rucksack tight against her chest, trying to keep her breathing steady and quiet. She was still close enough to the centre of the maze to hear the men’s voices. She began to count in her mind, thinking she’d be lucky if she got to five before they spotted the body: one, two, three … She was right.
‘Jesus Christ,’ one of them said. ‘Call for an ambulance, Joe. There’s a faint pulse, be quick.’
Fuck. Surely, he’s mistaken? There’s no way she could still be alive. She was sure there’d been no pulse after the second blow. She told herself to calm down. Even if she was alive, the force of the blow would surely have smashed her brain to a pulp, reduced her to a vegetative state. Plus, she was slowly bleeding to death.
‘We don’t have time to wait, we need to get her out of here,’ the man named Joe replied. ‘I’ll make the call if you think you can carry her out.’
She heard groaning. Presumably the other man had lifted the body off the ground. ‘Let’s head for the first aid room and wait there for the ambulance and police.’
After a few seconds, the killer heard footsteps trail off. She was sweating profusely now, despite the arctic temperatures – sweat across the back of her neck, her brow, her lower back, her chest. When she was sure she was alone, she squeezed herself through the gap, back onto the narrow path, and stood up and swung her rucksack across her shoulder. She recalled that there was blood smeared all over the ground where Suzanne had lain. There was no time to go back and clean it up now. But in any case, she was safe. She’d been wearing gloves as usual, and they wouldn’t find any trace of her DNA on Suzanne’s body or in the area where she had fallen. And surely they wouldn’t think to search the hole where she’d hidden and cut herself?
She prayed that the men had been too preoccupied with getting the body to the first aid room to think about closing the exit gate. As she ran through the maze, trying to keep her head and remember the exit route she’d memorised, eyes whizzing in all directions to make sure the coast was clear, she could already hear a siren approaching from somewhere in the distance. She blocked it out. Ran faster … faster and faster until she reached the exit. Thankfully, it was still open. She quickly peered her head out left and right, to make sure no one was watching, then strode purposefully through it, turned left onto the path and headed for the Lion Gates exit, only a short distance away. Having reached it, she slowed to a casual walk, ambled out of the grounds onto Hampton Court Road and headed for the nearest bus stop.
***
‘What is it, Drake?’ Carver drove kamikaze-style through the crawling traffic, siren blaring on top of the car.
Drake’s phone was pressed against his ear. ‘Thanks. Call me when you know more.’ He hung up. Turned to Carver. ‘A body’s been found, sir.’
‘Shit!’ Carver banged the steering wheel.
‘But she’s still alive. Just. They’ve taken her to Kingston Hospital.’
‘Yes!’ Carver smacked the steering wheel again, this time triumphantly. ‘Is it Carroll?’
‘Just waiting on that.’
‘So now we know for sure. Stirling’s not our man. He can’t be if the victim was only attacked this afternoon.’
‘But what about the evidence, sir?’
‘He’s being framed, Drake. We know he was seeing Williams, but so did the killer, it seems. We also know that the killer’s technically gifted. He must
have hacked into Stirling’s account and written the letters remotely. Call Turner in computer forensics for an update. We need to find out ASAP if I’m right about that.’
Drake’s phone rang. He answered it. ‘Okay, thanks,’ he said, then rang off. ‘You were right, sir. The seventh victim is Suzanne Carroll.’
Carver pictured the riddle in his mind. Unrequited love. He realised what it meant. She’d covered for Stirling the night of Lisa Ryland’s murder. She loved him, but she wasn’t loved back in the same way.
The killer had framed Stirling, but why? And what had been the plan with Carroll? To conceal her within the walls of the maze on the premise that she would never be found? His final, cruellest kill yet – knowing that Stirling would never be able to lead them to Suzanne simply because he didn’t do it. And why wouldn’t the world believe that Stirling was responsible for this murder, just as he’d been responsible for Bethany’s, for all the others?
‘And her chest? Was it obvious what he’d written?’
‘Yes. It was—’
‘Equity.’
‘Yes, sir. Her head had been smashed with something heavy. Groundsmen found her around 3.40, lying in the centre of the maze. They claimed to have seen nothing and no one suspicious, only a nun, who’d been praying in the royal chapel.’
‘We’ll have to wait and see if she comes round. If her head’s been smashed, there’s a good chance she’ll be in a coma. Even worse, she’ll be a vegetable. Meantime, get forensics all over the maze and surrounding area. This is the first time the killer’s let his guard slip. We can’t afford to miss anything.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Maddy couldn’t open her front door fast enough. She flung off her coat, kicked off her heels and raced into her bedroom. Paul was home. She heard the shower going, the radio blaring over it.
Ever since her meeting with Carver, she’d been desperate to get home. But the world of corporate law was almost as cut-throat as the serial killer she was hunting, and she’d had several work matters to deal with before she was able to leave the office without raising any eyebrows.
She rummaged through the pile of papers stacked on her desk until she found it: a copy of the killer’s letter to her. Carver’s forensic team had the original. She laid it out flat on the desk. Then set the copy of the killer’s latest riddle next to it.
She was right! The letter to her had faint lines running across the page, whereas the killer’s latest riddle, printed out by Carver’s team, didn’t. She needed another comparison. Paul’s letter. He must surely still have it?
The radio stopped playing. She darted outside, waiting for Paul to emerge from the bathroom. Steam seeped out into the corridor as he did so, a towel wrapped around his waist.
‘Hi, you okay?’ he said.
‘Do you have a copy of the letter the killer sent you?’
Paul frowned. ‘From Stirling, you mean? Er, yes, maybe, why?’
‘Can you look for it please? I need to see it.’
‘Er, sure. Can I just put some clothes on first?’ There was a slight tetchiness to his voice. Maddy felt bad for jumping on him with her demands before he’d even had a chance to dress.
‘Yes, of course. Go for it. I’ll be in my bedroom.’
A few minutes later, Paul appeared at her door, dressed and holding a piece of paper. He handed it to her. ‘Here it is. What’s all this about?’
Maddy took it off him. ‘Thanks,’ she said, then placed it on the desk next to the other letters.
‘I’m right!’
‘Right about what?’
‘Come take a look at this.’
Paul went over, peering at the letters over Maddy’s shoulder.
‘Do you see?’
‘No.’
Maddy pointed to the letters mailed directly to her and Paul. ‘Both of these have faint lines running across the page. Whereas this one, the killer’s latest riddle, which was printed out by Carver’s team, doesn’t.’
‘So, you’re saying Stirling’s printer produced these funny lines when he printed out his letters?’
‘Yes. If it was Stirling of course. I’m betting the police have his printer.’
‘What do you mean if it was Stirling? They have DNA evidence. And he wouldn’t necessarily have used his home printer. He might have used one at work. Or anywhere, in fact.’
‘That’s true. But at least the police can test his home and work printers. If there’s a match with the letters, we’ll know for sure it’s him. If not, it introduces an element of doubt.’
‘Has something happened today? Something you’re not telling me.’
Maddy told him about her earlier meeting with Carver.
‘But that sounds like she’s already dead. That Stirling murdered her before they arrested him.’
‘Agreed. But if it’s Carroll, as Carver thinks, he can’t have done, because she was only seen this morning. Have you listened to the news recently? I’ve no idea if a body’s been found or not.’
‘No, I haven’t. I’ve been out pretty much all day. I went to visit my mother.’
‘Really?’ Maddy stopped short. She took in Paul’s face. He looked a little off-colour. ‘How did that go?’
‘Awful. She texted me, saying she really needed to talk, and I thought I’d better go, seeing as I didn’t see her over Christmas.’
‘Is she still with Philip?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
Maddy heard her phone ring from the hallway. She dashed to answer it. It was Carver.
‘What did you find?’ she asked anxiously.
‘She’s alive. Just.’
‘What? Who? You mean Carroll?’
‘Yes, I was right about her. And you were right about the location. Some groundsmen found her lying in the centre of Hampton Court Maze, bleeding and barely conscious, “Equity” carved into her chest. She’d also been hit hard over the head. They took her to Kingston Hospital. She’s in a coma.’
‘So it’s not Stirling?’ Maddy looked up at Paul, who appeared flabbergasted.
‘Well, he’s certainly not responsible for this attack. Unless he’s in it with someone.’
‘Do you think that’s possible?’
‘Anything’s possible. But I think not on this occasion. The most plausible explanation is that he’s being set up.’
‘Why do you think the killer left her like that?’
‘Maybe he thought she was dead. Or didn’t have time to hide the body when he heard the groundsmen approaching, so took off and hid. Apparently, they were quick to carry her out of the maze to the first aid room. It’s possible, in that short time frame, that he was able to hide from sight until they’d gone, at which point he fled the scene. The riddle made it clear we weren’t supposed to find her. I think he meant to hide her body somewhere in the maze, so we’d have no way of knowing whether or not it was Stirling, but obviously the plan didn’t work out.’
Paul cocked his head at Maddy. ‘What’s he saying?’ he mouthed. She raised her finger up as if to say, ‘One minute.’
‘Let’s pray she wakes up,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you called because I have a theory to run by you.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I compared the letters the killer sent to me and Paul with his last letter to you which your team printed out.’
‘And?’
‘The letters to me and Paul have several faint lines running across the page, which I think indicates a printing error. The one printed by your team does not. You should check the killer’s letters to you to see if they have the same marks.’
‘Great spot, Ms Kramer, I will. And I’ll get one of my team to check Stirling’s home and work printers again.’
‘It may be that he used a totally random printer, but with this latest development, it seems unlikely. He can’t be the killer. Do we know why Carroll was in the maze?’
‘No. We’ve spoken to her office and she didn’t tell anyone where she was going. Her work calendar just said “
private meeting”. It may be that the killer contacted her, pretending to be someone else. We’re unlikely to know if that’s the case until she wakes up. Although her phone log and emails may prove helpful.’
Carver promised to keep Maddy posted, then rang off.
‘They found another victim?’ Paul asked.
Maddy filled Paul in. ‘Stirling’s innocent; I knew it,’ she said.
Paul shook his head. ‘I don’t buy it. It’s him, it has to be. There’s too much bloody evidence.’
Maddy narrowed her eyes at Paul. ‘This has really got to you. You seem determined for it to be Stirling. Why?’
‘Can you blame me? He slept with all the dead girls. Got one pregnant. Has a violent temper. He’s not exactly a victim in all of this.’
‘Point taken. But he still doesn’t deserve to spend the rest of his life in jail for a crime he didn’t commit.’
‘Okay.’ Paul held up his hands. ‘Let’s agree to disagree.’
Maddy’s phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognise. ‘Hello?’ she said gingerly as Paul disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Ms Kramer, this is Elizabeth Stirling.’ Maddy nearly fell back in shock. Stirling’s wife was the last person she’d expected to hear from. ‘Ms Kramer? Are you there?’
Maddy sat down on the edge of the sofa. ‘Yes, yes, I’m still here. Just surprised to hear from you.’
‘That’s understandable. I can’t actually believe I’m making this call myself.’
‘How did you get my number?’
‘That’s not important. What’s important is that, for all his faults – and believe me, he has many – I believe James is innocent. He’s not a murderer. He’s not capable of it.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I know my husband, Ms Kramer.’
‘I’m sure that’s what the loved ones of most serial killers have said in the past. And they couldn’t have been more wrong.’
‘James believes he’s being framed. He thinks you’re in the best position to help catch the real killer.’
The Scribe Page 27
