‘I know, Mamma. Anyway, I heard from Alex today.’
‘Sandro! Ah, when can I see him?’
‘He’ll be back for Christmas. He’s got job interviews lined up.’
‘See, sensible boy, he goes for proper jobs.’
Knowing Alex as I did, there would be nothing ordinary about his choices, but I kept the thought to myself.
‘Listen, Mamma, I need to pick your brains.’ Ever since she got her bus pass, she had become a walking encyclopaedia on bus routes. ‘The number forty-six bus from Fordley?’
‘To Shipley, yes I know it, but what do you want it for? It’s against your religion to take a bus!’
I ignored the dig. ‘If a person got the bus to Shipley and was heading for the salon on Ryan Street, where would the nearest stop be?’
‘Well, the forty-six ends at the Interchange. If you didn’t mind a long walk, you could get off there then walk all through the centre of town. That would take me about half an hour, with my feet…’
I carried on quickly, before we got into a long discussion about her feet. ‘And if you didn’t want a long walk?’
‘Well, if you were stupid enough to risk it in the dark, you could walk along the towpath for about ten minutes, then cross the iron bridge over the canal and come up by the petrol station on the other side. That’s at the end of Ryan Street. Nice salon. You going there, Phina? You have such beautiful hair. Blonde like your papa…but always too busy to take care of it now. I put coconut oil on it when you were a little girl – you’re too busy now for such things. Just a quick comb and then…’
‘Sorry, Mamma, I have to go, but thanks. Have a good night. I’ll catch up with you next week.’
As the phone went dead, I swung the car around and drove out towards Shipley.
4 August
Shipley
At almost 9pm on a Friday night, the streets were almost deserted. The commercial district was already empty as people hurried away to begin their weekend. There were a few cars on the petrol station forecourt as I parked my car. Everyone ignored me as I plunged my hands deeper into my coat pockets, crossing the road to the short flight of stone steps that ran down to the metal footbridge.
It seemed a lot longer than twenty-four hours since Callum and I had been in the shadow of this same bridge, witnessing the brutal handiwork of Julie’s killer.
I stopped and looked across the water to where her body had been. A man with a little dog walked past Julie’s last resting place. The dog stopped and sniffed then cocked its leg and peed on the spot until his owner impatiently jerked the lead to move him along.
So much for dignity in death.
The light was dimming, the sky still grey with unshed rain. The atmosphere was close and oppressive. By the time I stepped off the bridge and walked to the dumping site of Julie’s body, the dog walker was nowhere to be seen.
A jogger padded past me, wired for sound and oblivious. Boats were moored along both sides of the canal, gently lifting and falling on the water. The soft creaking of their mooring ropes carried on a faint breeze. Most of the barges were tightly locked up – hatches padlocked, decks cleared, curtains drawn against curious passers-by.
It took another two minutes to reach the spot where the path snaked up a right-hand turn and onto the road above – opposite the Interchange where Julie would have gone for her bus.
I stood at the bottom of the path and looked around. In my mind, I pictured the young couple the fisherman had seen. Standing on the path, ‘Cuddling.’
Perhaps they were saying goodbye? A girl about to go for her bus, hugging her boyfriend? Wouldn’t he have walked her those last few yards to see her safely onto the bus?
A thought was forming at the back of my mind. My profiler’s database of facts and circumstances providing a possible solution to an inconsistency.
‘Look for inconsistencies,’ my teacher and mentor Professor Geoffrey Perrett used to say. ‘For that is where the answers are found.’
The teenage lovers and the fact that they had suddenly disappeared were inconsistencies my instinct didn’t like.
Ahead of me was the boatyard. A large, sprawling place with the skeletons of dead or dying boats in its graveyard. Massive rusting hulls hauled out of the water like beached whales waiting to be dissected.
The original iron hull of an old Dutch barge had been cleaned and renovated. On the top deck, a new wooden structure replaced the old wheelhouse. The back of the structure was covered by a heavy tarpaulin, fastened down by huge ropes tied onto giant metal rings set into the dock. As I turned back to retrace my steps, something on the houseboat attracted my attention. I looked back.
Nothing.
The corner of the tarpaulin lifted slightly in the warm breeze and I could see a dim light coming from deep inside the cavernous hull. Then the canvas flapped gently back down and the light was gone.
I looked around me. There was no one to be seen in either direction along the towpath. I pulled my coat around me. An instinctive gesture that mirrored the vulnerability I was beginning to feel.
I glanced back at the houseboat. It glowered silently at me across the quickly darkening water, seeming to crouch ominously before pouncing like some giant malevolent beast.
What was it that was so wrong with this picture?
I had the unnerving but very definite feeling that I was being watched. I looked back to the houseboat. Nothing moved except for the corner of the tarpaulin, gently lifting in the breeze. It looked different. Why did it look different? What had changed?
I watched for a few more seconds and my skin began to crawl. The light inside the hull had gone!
I suddenly felt totally exposed and alone. The footpath was deserted and the light was fading fast.
Oh my God! In that instant I knew the answer to the inconsistency. A thousand disjointed facts suddenly crashed together to form the full picture.
My heart began to hammer as I saw it all as the killer had seen it. As he was seeing it right now!
My breath came faster as I debated my next move.
Go up the steps to the main road, to bright lights and traffic. Then face the twenty-minute walk back to my car. Or go along the deserted towpath and get to my car ten minutes faster?
The same choice Julie Lamont had made a few days earlier – a choice that had cost her her life, and if I made a mistake, it might very well cost me mine.
I turned to my right and began to climb the steep path up to the main road. Was it my quickening imagination or did I hear a sound behind me from the towpath below?
A twig cracked behind me and I almost cried out, but I didn’t have the breath.
I willed myself not to look back as I scrambled for the top just a few feet away, certain now that he was behind me. Over my own laboured breathing and the pounding in my ears, I could hear the grunting of someone coming up the steps just inches behind me.
I virtually sprinted the last few feet to the road, anticipating with every step the rough hand that would claw at my ankle and drag me backwards into the darkness below and away from safety.
I fell onto the pavement at the edge of the road, nearly knocking into a jogger going past. I ran a few more steps and then risked a backward glance.
The dark silhouette of my pursuer was there for a fleeting second, then gone. But I could hear a man’s hard breathing gradually getting fainter as he disappeared back towards the dark water.
Suddenly I was surrounded by people getting on and off buses, kids hanging about by Costa Coffee. Sharp, naked neon lights and noise.
I leaned back against a barrier, struggling for breath and drenched in sweat, my whole body trembling. I reached for my mobile at the same time as a white city taxi pulled up at the curb. Without thinking, I pulled open the door and fell into the back seat.
‘Ryan Street petrol station.’
The cabby turned to look at me, puzzled. ‘You new in town, luv?’
I shook my head, irritated to be quizzed at a tim
e like this. ‘No, so don’t make it a twenty-minute round trip – I know where it is,’ I said, acidly.
He turned back and looked at me in the rear-view mirror.
‘I was about to say, it’s stupid to take a cab when you could walk it from here.’ He signalled and began to pull out into traffic. ‘But you just back from charm school, I can see you’re too exhausted to make the walk.’
I dialled a number and almost sobbed when I heard Callum’s voice.
‘Jo?’
‘Cal…’ My voice wouldn’t come.
‘Oh, sorry, I forgot about the flowers. I ordered them in advance so you’d get them on your birthday, before last night and everything. If you got home and found them then…’
‘No… l…’ I hardly registered what he was saying. ‘I’m in Shipley, I’ve been down by the canal–’
I heard the explosion of his breath down the phone.
‘Are you insane! Going down there alone at night?’ His voice had an edge to it I hadn’t heard before.
‘Cal, I…Oh God…’
There was a pause for a fraction of a second as he registered that something was badly wrong. Then his tone became all business.
‘Where are you? I’m coming to get you.’
‘My car’s by the petrol station on Ryan Street. Can you come now?’
‘Lock the doors and stay put. I’ll be there in five minutes.’ His tone softened, ‘Tell me you’re all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ But my voice didn’t sound convincing, even to me. ‘I know how he did it, Cal. I know where he is…’
‘Tell me when I get there. Just keep the doors locked, okay?’
4 August
Petrol station forecourt, Shipley
Callum was staring out of the partially opened passenger window of my car as he listened to what I had to say. I could see the muscles bunching in his jaw, as if he were going to explode at me at any moment.
The whole story poured out like a torrent I couldn’t stop. How I couldn’t face the weekend alone just thinking about Alex and my birthday. I left out the bit about thinking of him and how much of a mess my non-existent love life was. I told him instead that I’d decided to spend the weekend working on the towpath killings.
It was when I got to the part about seeing the light on the houseboat that he finally turned to look at me. His blue eyes were dark with anger and I could see he was having difficulty controlling his temper.
‘It didn’t occur to you to call me before going off half-cocked, playing bloody detective?’ He half turned, putting his arm across the back of my seat.
‘I didn’t have time.’ I was still shaking inside but trying hard not to show it. ‘Besides, I had nothing to tell you – just half-formed theories. Mamma talking about different routes from the bus got me thinking.’
I couldn’t stand the scrutiny of those dark eyes and still concentrate on what I was saying. It was my turn to face away and look out at the passing traffic as I continued.
‘We needed to know where Julie met her killer. She didn’t know him – I was sure of that. I was fairly certain he knew of her. That he’d seen her before or knew her route and had stalked her before.’ I watched my reflection in the glass. ‘I knew the canal was his hunting ground and the route to the bus was the perfect connection between the two of them–’
‘So you decided to go down there? Where you suspected he stalked his victims? Alone, when the place was deserted – are you mad?’
I turned to face him, still feeling the adrenalin surging. My eyes flashing a warning I knew he would see. ‘For God’s sake, Callum,’ I snapped. ‘That’s my job–’
‘To get yourself killed?’ he spat.
‘No!’ I snapped back with equal venom. ‘To walk through the murder – literally! To see events unfold through the killer’s eyes. To imagine his drives and impulses. To work out his motivation to pick the victim he did.’
I was raising my voice and I could see people filling their cars looking over at us in curiosity, probably thinking we were having a lovers’ tiff. The thought made me even more irritated.
‘I breathe the same air he does, see the things he sees and, God help me, I think the thoughts he thinks!’
Suddenly his expression softened and his hand slid down to touch my shoulder.
‘Don’t!’ I snapped, shrugging my shoulder away from his hand. ‘You involved me,’ I reminded him, unfairly. ‘You took me to stand over her. You made me look at her faceless corpse and smell the stench of her death and asked me to get inside this killer’s head, and once that process starts, I can’t switch it off! God knows there are times I wish I could.’
‘Jo–’
I wasn’t in the mood to listen. Besides, I had to tell him everything and I had to do it fast. The clock was ticking if they were going to stop him before it was too late.
‘It’s usual for me to visit the scene–’
‘Jo, I just–’
‘So there would have been no harm in doing that,’ I persevered, ignoring his interruptions. ‘Because usually the killer isn’t still there!’
‘What?’
‘The boatyard,’ I said, simply, as if that should explain everything. ‘He’s in the shell of the houseboat.’
Callum was staring at me, his face as still and hard as carved marble.
‘I think that’s where he took Julie. That’s where he held her, tortured her and killed her before dumping her body on the towpath.’
I waited for him to say something. His jaw tightened again and he breathed out slowly, cranking the window down another inch and taking a deep breath of warm sultry air, as if we had all the time in the world.
I was exasperated. ‘Didn’t you hear what I just said? I think he’s still there!’
‘We searched the boatyard already, and the houseboat,’ he said, quietly, his tone disappointed. ‘I thought when you said he was still there, that you’d seen him–’
‘I did!’
He turned back to look at me. ‘What? But you said–’
‘I saw a light coming from inside the hull. For all he knew, I was the police or maybe a journalist.’
He was listening intently now, his eyes searching my face as I spoke.
‘He turned the light out when he realised I’d seen it and I made a dash for it up the embankment.’ My heart began to beat faster as I recalled it. ‘Callum, it’s him, I know it is.’
‘Why would he stay so close to the scene?’ he asked, wearily. ‘Surely he wouldn’t want to be within a mile of the place with us crawling all over it?’
‘He has nowhere else to go,’ I said, simply. ‘With all the publicity, it would attract more suspicion if he were to disappear. He stays because people would notice if he didn’t. Besides,’ I added, quietly, ‘he gets off on being so close to the fallout.’
‘We went over that boatyard with a fine toothcomb,’ he said, but I could see some doubt creeping across his face.
‘How fine?’
‘If I call in the cavalry and you’re wrong…’
‘And if I’m right?’
I could see the possibilities and strategies running in his head. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. He held my shoulders in his hands, looking at me squarely.
‘Go to the farm, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred pounds–’
‘Cal–’
‘No arguments,’ he said, and from his tone I knew it was useless to try. He pulled me to him and I felt his lips brush the top of my hair. ‘And if you give me any trouble, lady, I’ll have you locked up. So what’s it to be?’
I suddenly felt weary. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll wait for you at the farm – please be careful.’
4 August
Kingsberry Farm
As usual, work was my distraction. My emails downloaded at a crawl as I tapped a pencil against my teeth and cursed the download speed we got. Even though Marissa had arranged for satellite internet to be installed, it still wasn’t brilliant.
> I rarely visited her in London, so email and Skype were our mainstays. My technophobia was a constant source of amusement for her and she ribbed me endlessly. When my book had first been accepted and she’d realised what a technical Neanderthal I was, she’d organised everything, even sending her techie from London to the farm to set everything up and show me how to use it.
I dialled into the Fordley practice to pick up my messages, wondering how I’d ever managed without the ability to do it before. There was a message from Dr Lister. He sounded tired and more than a little irritated.
‘There’s been a development. The changeover staff weren’t aware of Martha’s pending assessment, or that we were considering a move to the secure unit. So they allowed her onto the day ward. Understandable as she wasn’t listed as high risk. And… well, it appears she’s absconded during a shift change.’ I heard the loud exhale and knew he was smoking. ‘We don’t know how it happened…’
I groaned as I listened to his litany of thinly veiled excuses and bullet-dodging logic. If that had happened when I’d been director, I would have kicked his arse all around the grounds.
‘… The Section 2 papers hadn’t gone through. So there’s little we can do. I’ve reported her to the police as a missing person – we can only hope she turns up.’
I was barely listening to his feeble promise to call me if he heard any news and made a note to speak to someone at Fordley nick about it. Perhaps if I stressed that Martha was vulnerable and there was a safeguarding issue, I might get some help finding her.
I worked on some changes Marissa had requested on the manuscript, watching the clock until Harvey suddenly growled softly, lifting his head up from his paws.
I couldn’t hear anything, then the phone rang.
‘I was beginning to think we were on a wild goose chase!’
The Murder Mile Page 7
