‘How did you avoid being spotted on CCTV at the leisure centre?’
Behind him, the door swung open. Standing there was a tall, well-built woman, with short dark hair, jet-black eyes and a nose that swamped the rest of her face. It was not an attractive face by any means, not helped by the resentment imprinted on it. She was wearing a brown mac, secured with a belt which only seemed to accentuate her wide girth.
Although it had been more than four years since she’d last seen her, Maddy knew instantly who it was: Marcia Devereux.
‘I put the ugly mug in your locker. I expect the police weren’t looking for a large, unattractive woman dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a hooded anorak. And as you probably know, there’s no CCTV in the changing rooms.’ Her smug grin made Maddy’s flesh crawl. ‘There’s nowhere to run, I’m afraid.’ Her tone was unnervingly calm.
‘You’re going to kill me too?’ Fear almost suffocated Maddy. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised but hearing as much from the killer standing before her was terrifying. She turned to Paul, looked him in the eye, praying he’d see sense. ‘How can you be a part of this? I thought we were best friends. You saved my life once. How can you possibly want to kill me now?’
She thought she spotted the tiniest flicker of guilt, of doubt. But still he didn’t relent. Maybe it was an illusion, what she’d wanted to see. ‘It doesn’t give me pleasure in having to hurt you, Maddy. We never intended to hurt you. We never had a problem with you. But you meddled, and now you know too much. You’ve brought this on yourself. We have no choice.’
Maddy was scared senseless, but she was also raging inside. Furious for being lied to by the person she’d loved as a brother – the one person she’d never in her wildest imagination have thought capable of such vicious disregard for human life. She was going to die, she realised that, but she wasn’t going to die without a fight; without knowing the whole truth, what had brought him to this point, how he and Marcia had managed to pull it off.
She turned her gaze on Marcia, her eyes blistering with contempt. ‘You evil bitch. You corrupted Paul; you made him do all this. Tell me, how? How could you possibly have convinced him to be a part of something so sick?’
Marcia didn’t respond. Just stood there with the same smug look on her face. Maddy turned back to Paul. Tried to reason with him again. ‘How could you? Paige was your friend.’
He laughed. ‘She was no friend. She was a pathetic, gullible slut like the rest of them. Like my darling mother, using her looks to fuck men nearly twice her age.’
‘You mean Stirling?’
Paul glanced at Marcia, as if seeking her permission. ‘Go on, tell her,’ she said. ‘She might as well know the truth; she’s not going anywhere.’
Paul nodded, then faced Maddy square on. ‘Stirling was a good friend of my father’s. They were at Oxford together, and he’s known me since I was born. My parents used to socialise regularly with the Stirlings.’
Maddy knew all this from Elizabeth Stirling, but she didn’t let on. She pretended to look shocked. ‘Why did you keep all that quiet?’
‘Because I didn’t want it to look like I was getting special treatment. And neither did my father, who instructed Stirling to keep it a secret. You see, I was bullied as a child, even as a teenager, and my father didn’t want me to suffer the same fate at law school. He wanted me to succeed – make it up to him for being gay. But the fact is, I struggled in my first few months at the academy, and Stirling offered to help me, probably because of his friendship with Dad, although I was dumb enough to think he cared for me. He’d invite me to his office for private tutorials on subjects I was finding difficult to get to grips with, and he pretended to be concerned for me when Dad died. I was so grateful, and I loved him. I’d been in love with him for a long time, and I would have done anything for him. But he led me on. Always putting his arm around me, hugging me as if he felt the same way. I really thought he loved me. But he cast me off like some animal.’ Paul’s tone was vengeful. Maddy saw the hate in his eyes, and it scared her. ‘He said the cruellest things. Made me feel like a pariah. And then I found out he’d slept with my mother while they were at university together – when Mum and Dad were already dating. My good-for-nothing prostitute of a mother, who never took any interest in me. Who was never a mother to me. Who spent all her time cheating on my father, screwing any man who cared to look her way. And then it came to me: women like her needed to be stopped. The academy was full of them: Sarah, Paige, Lisa. They needed to be taught a lesson. Flaunting their looks to get what they wanted. Not a second’s thought given to anyone else’s feelings. Bitching about those they considered beneath them. Stabbing them in the back.’
Paul glanced at Marcia, a look of recognition passing between them, then he turned back to Maddy. ‘And Stirling also needed to be brought down a peg. He had a mother like mine. I thought he understood, that we had a connection, that he was different. But he’s just as bad as all those whores; worse, in fact. A disgusting, filthy sex addict who treats love like nothing more than a flimsy piece of paper; something he takes freely then rips apart as if it had meant nothing to him. He needed to be taught a lesson. He needed to pay, to suffer. And fortunately for us, he dug his own grave by being the sex maniac he is. And by letting me into his childhood – a childhood deprived of a mother’s love, scarred by memories of an abusive father.’ He chuckled lightly. ‘Everyone knows the saying: like father, like son. And then there were his other hobbies that proved useful. Anyone who knows Stirling knows how much he loves classical music; all those CDs proudly on display in his office, his house. Not to mention the fact that he actively encourages his students to listen to it. Little clues left here and there just to spark DCI Carver’s interest. Although, to be fair, we hadn’t anticipated extra help from Mrs Stirling. That sex tape was a real bonus, the icing on the cake. And Stirling leaving his DNA all over Bethany Williams’ flat, even better, inside her, was the cherry. You see, we’d been keeping a close eye on his comings and goings for some time. We knew he’d been screwing Williams since the summer. We knew he’d visited her in her apartment on December 29th. Once again, his inability to keep his dick zipped up proved to be his downfall.’
Maddy was dumbstruck. How have I never picked up on any of this? She’d lived with Paul, day in, day out, for four years. She’d been so blind. ‘Did you kill those women, Paul?’ she asked.
‘No, he didn’t,’ Marcia said. ‘It was me. Every time.’ She looked down at her frame. ‘You see, sometimes it pays to be an unattractive, stocky woman. But I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without Paul’s help.’ Her tone was victorious, and then she smiled. It was a crazy smile – Jokerish. The woman was completely insane.
‘How so?’
‘Ever noticed Paul is a whizz with computers?’ Another manic grin. ‘He’s also very articulate, very creative. You must know that. After all, he is a writer.’
Maddy started to understand, the pieces of the jigsaw finally coming together in her mind. ‘It was you who turned off the CCTV at Channings?’ Paul’s self-satisfied smile said it all. ‘You hacked into Stirling’s system. And Williams’ too. That’s how you got Stirling to Waterloo Bridge to make it seem like he’d been with her the afternoon she was murdered. You wrote the letters to Carver, to me, to yourself. You littered Stirling’s internet history with repulsive websites.’
Paul sniggered. ‘The internet sites weren’t all me. Stirling’s internet history wasn’t exactly squeaky clean before I played with it.’
‘So what? That proves nothing!’ Maddy yelled. ‘I’m damn sure he’s not into websites showing women being tied up and beaten black and blue, is he?’
‘No. That was all me.’ He sounded so pleased with himself, and it sickened Maddy. It was hard to believe he was the same person she’d spent Christmas with at her grandmother’s only a couple of weeks ago. She’d been living with a lie.
‘And it was you who trashed our flat? Wrote that message on my wardrobe mi
rror? Made up that bullshit story that you were being followed?’
Paul nodded. ‘I told you, we didn’t want to hurt you. But you had to be stopped. It’s a shame you didn’t listen, Maddy. If you had, you wouldn’t be here, and your beloved Atticus would still be alive.’
‘Paul was my fix-it man,’ Marcia announced proudly, placing her hand on his shoulder. ‘He even rented this studio for us. I couldn’t have done it without him.’ Her face was a canvas of bitterness and hatred.
‘That’s how you knew where Sarah and Paige would be the night you murdered them,’ Maddy said. ‘From Paul. Who knew from me. And Emma Marsden? How did you know she’d be walking through St James’s Park that night?’
‘A little bird told me.’ Marcia smiled at Paul. ‘We’d been watching her for a while. She’d often cut through the park. But that night, a certain fictitious tourist happened to be standing in Parliament Square, taking photos, when darling sweet Emma left work for the night. One quick phone call to me and the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘And the bomb that ripped open Bethany’s stomach? How did you manage that?’
‘Ever heard of YouTube?’ Marcia asked. ‘It’s amazing what you can learn on there. All sorts of helpful DIY tips, including how to make bombs, pick a lock. It also gives you a lot of information about buying pistols and silencers, although they’re generally much easier to get hold of.’
‘And what about Suzanne? How did that pan out?’
‘Paul hacked into Janis Stirling’s system for me, after the old bag helpfully provided him with her username and password over the phone.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘He pretended to be a charming BT advisor, and offered her a much better package than her current one. How could she turn that down?’
‘Go on.’
‘Once he’d hacked into Janis’ system, Paul sent an email to Suzanne pretending to be Janis, asking Suzanne to meet her at Hampton Court Maze on the pretence that she had information proving Stirling’s innocence.’ Marcia hissed. ‘That woman was so gullible, so desperate to please Stirling, I knew she’d fall for it.’
‘But you slipped up, Marcia, didn’t you?’ Maddy said, looking to unsettle her.
It did the trick. Marcia became flustered, not expecting this challenge to her euphoric rant. ‘The last location was slightly ambitious, even for me. I got my timing wrong, that’s all. But I took care of it, and the bitch is dead. They’re all dead, and the syllabus is complete.’
‘Why, Marcia? What the hell had any of those women done to you?’
‘The same thing that’s been done to me all my life. You see, Maddy, I was never wanted as a child. My father was intellectually brilliant, but he was also a cold, violent man, who’d only ever wanted a son. He never me showed any affection. He hunted regularly, engaged in dangerous sports, gambled, drank to excess and played out his sick sexual urges in all sorts of ways – with hookers, and on me from the age of three. I hated him. I would have killed him, but I took more pleasure in watching him suffer when I set fire to his beloved horse.’ She chuckled to herself. ‘You should have seen the tortured look on his face: it was priceless. He made me go hunting with him. I hated every minute of it. And I resented the way he treated his fucking horse and dogs better than he treated me.’ Another pause. ‘He taught me one thing, though: how to use a knife, skin my kill. I have to say, it came in handy.’ She took a breather, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She seemed physically aroused by her atrocities. For the first time, Maddy noticed her hands. Unlike the rest of her, they were slim and smooth, with long, graceful fingers and shaped, clipped nails. It was as if she took tremendous care of them – the only part of her she was proud to show off.
Marcia wasn’t finished. ‘And my mother …’ she let out a scornful laugh, ‘… wasn’t much better. She was exceptionally beautiful, while I turned out to be the runt, the ugly duckling who failed to turn into a swan. Not what she’d expected or hoped for, unlike her darling niece, Gracie, with her cherub-like features and fucking Shirley Temple curls. I used to scratch the chests of my Barbie dolls with my hair grips, all the time imagining it was Gracie’s chest I was cutting.’
Maddy felt nauseated. She swallowed hard, trying to steady her nerves. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you? After what you’ve done? After you’ve murdered and butchered those women?’
‘No, I don’t want pity. I want respect.’
‘Respect?’
‘Yes. They all deserved to die. All seven are symbolic of what’s wrong with this life, this world – what’s been wrong since the beginning of creation. You know, I don’t think Adam and Eve is a made-up story. It has to be true – the truest thing in the Bible – because what it’s about surrounds us, has been with us throughout time, history. All this bullshit about women being oppressed is just plain wrong. It’s beautiful women who are in control, who upset the order of things. Poisonous, cut-throat, scheming women, who manipulate men, treat them like their puppets. Take Sarah and Stirling for example. Sure, he had his eye on her from the start. She didn’t exactly have to hunt him down. But she certainly didn’t play hard to get either. She used him, without any thought for his wife, his reputation, and she got him to wield his influence in the City to bag her a training contract. Then …’ she clicked her fingers, ‘… just like that, she dropped him. Do you think he would have done the same for me? The plain Jane who he barely noticed was in the room? Who he deliberately ignored and made to feel like shit.’
‘You can’t blame Sarah for being attractive,’ Maddy retorted, desperately trying to play for time, her eyes darting around the room for an escape route, a weapon, anything. In her heart, she knew it was futile. The door was locked. There was no way out. It was two against one, and she could only pray for a miracle.
‘No, I can’t. But I can blame her for making a fool of me; for laughing and jeering at me behind my back; for taking pleasure in hurting my feelings; in mocking the fat one, the ugly one, the boring one. I heard the four of you that day in the canteen. You, Sarah, Lisa and Paige. You were all supposed to be preparing for a mock negotiation. Instead, Sarah slagged me off. And Paul. She taunted Lisa for being my friend, ridiculed Paul for his sexuality. Until then, I thought Lisa was my friend. I was waiting for her to stick up for me. But she betrayed me, sold me out to that ruthless she-devil of all people, made a mockery of our friendship, as if it meant nothing. But I never forgot. She was my easiest kill, you know – even gave me a key to her flat. You should have seen the look on her face, the Judas. It was priceless. And Paige was the same – Perfect Paige who wouldn’t say boo to a goose but who screwed Stirling as well. And then Lisa dropped her knickers for him at the end-of-year party. No sense of self-respect, no shame – no thought for anyone but themselves.’
Maddy remembered the conversation in the canteen. Remembered being disappointed in Paige at the time – for being weak; for stooping to Sarah’s level.
‘But you stayed friends with Lisa all this time. Why did you wait till now?’
‘Like Paul, I tried to contain my anger, my thirst for revenge. But it was always there, stewing, desperate to get out. And then, when I met Paul, I realised it was possible. The right moment had arrived, and I had a brother-in-arms to help me fulfil my vision. You know what they say, two heads are better than one.’ She gave another terrifying smile.
‘You didn’t even know the last four victims. Why kill them?’
Marcia sighed. ‘That was all rather random.’ She walked over to the wardrobe, opened it, bent down and picked up the rope lying in the crate. She then gave it to Paul and gestured with her eyes towards Maddy. Paul stepped forward, grabbed Maddy by the wrists and dragged her across the floor to the chair. He pushed her down on the seat, yanked her arms behind her, and tied her wrists to the back of the chair, so tight, she could feel the cord already cutting into her flesh.
She looked up at him pleadingly, hoping he’d see sense, that she could reach the P
aul she knew. But he looked at her blankly, and she realised she was seeing the real Paul now. Like his mother had said, he’d been a strange, reclusive little boy; and strange, reclusive little boys often grew up to be deeply troubled men.
Marcia came closer. ‘Give her the full story, Paul,’ she directed. ‘There’s no harm in that. She’ll be dead soon anyway.’
Paul nodded. ‘After Stirling rejected me, he became my obsession. I followed him regularly, day and night, more so after we left the academy. A part of me wanted to kill him – kill all his whores. It was indescribable, like nothing I’d felt before: an insatiable urge. I moved in with you because I believed you’d act as a check on my urges. You were the only good thing that came out of my time at the academy. You were different from the rest of them. You rejected Stirling, and you made me believe that women could be beautiful and decent. And so I was content with just watching him; watching him leave the office or his house to go and meet his sluts in shady hotel rooms – Emma, Bethany, or in the case of Suzanne, her own flat. But the urge was still there, and the longer I let it go unfulfilled, the stronger it got.’
‘There must have been other women in four years. Why not murder them all? Why stop at seven?’
Marcia shook her head as if she was addressing a naive child. ‘It’s not just about killing for the sake of it, Maddy. Paul and I wanted to make a statement; prove our worth in this shitty world. We were considered second-rate to the likes of you and Sarah at the academy. And we’ve not been as successful in our careers. How then are we to make an everlasting impression on this fallen planet? By carrying out a brilliant, perfectly planned series of murders, targeting women we could match up to an area of law we studied at the academy; throwing the law back in their faces, and in Stirling’s; devising brilliant riddles to test, confuse and drive DCI Carver and his team to distraction – riddles that even you were too late to solve.’
‘What about Natasha?’ Maddy ignored Marcia’s arrogant response. ‘She was only in her first year at the academy. What made you target her?’
The Scribe Page 33
