‘The nets have been removed,’ said Winston. ‘Too many birds were getting caught in them and dying. It’s very expensive to get them removed . . . ’ Winston checked himself and stopped talking.
Peter was one of the few lucid patients, and Winston was a nice bloke. Peter noticed how he sometimes fell into a rhythm of talking to him like he was a normal person. The door opened and Terrell came out of Peter’s room.
‘We’re all good,’ he said. ‘We just need to check you, please, Peter.’
They went back into the cell, where they conducted a strip search, and shone a small torch into all the places where he might hide something.
Peter heard them move on to search the other cells in his corridor.
There’s now no net above the yard in solitary confinement, he thought. This changes everything.
He tore a small strip of paper, and sat down to write another note to give to Enid on her next visit.
Meredith was waiting for Winston and Terrell at the entrance to G Wing. Her meeting with Kate had rattled her, and on her way back to the hospital her concern grew that Peter could be communicating in some way.
‘All rooms are clean,’ said Winston. ‘We found some food stashed away, but that was it. There’s no correspondence. No weapons or anything prohibited.’
Meredith nodded and paced up and down. ‘And you’re a hundred per cent sure that you’ve checked every patient who comes into contact with Peter?’ she asked.
‘The only contact he has with other patients is during group therapy with you each week,’ said Winston. ‘And we watch everything.’
‘What about staff members?’ she asked.
‘My team is straight down the line,’ said Winston, his face clouding over. ‘We go through security checks in and out.’
‘I’d like all staff areas checked and I’d like interviews with everyone who works on G Wing or has worked on G Wing over the past three months. And I want that done now.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Winston. ‘But I’d like to add for the record that I have a loyal, honest team, with strong players. We have to be. I can confidently say that there is no one working for a prisoner, delivering messages or contraband.’
Meredith looked at Winston. He was staking a lot, saying so.
‘That’s noted. Please, I want the search done now. Close down all areas. No one leaves until it’s done.’
CHAPTER 33
Kate and Tristan arrived in Topsham at half six that evening and parked in a residential street on the outskirts of the village. They each had a small lantern and some tea lights and matches, and they stashed them in Tristan’s rucksack and set off down towards the main street in the village. Kate had pushed the events of the morning to the back of her mind. She had attended the AA meeting and sat at the back half listening, but her mind was on the case. Kate knew she had to talk to Myra, but she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to join the vigil and glean new information.
As they got closer to the main street they joined crowds of people, and the BBC and ITV regional news teams had their vans parked up in the market square. There was an energy in the air, and Kate couldn’t put her finger on it. It was as if people who didn’t usually have a voice suddenly had one. Topsham seemed a well-heeled area, and the village was full of traditional shops enjoying a resurgence – a cheese shop, butcher and baker sat next to the usual high street banks and post office. The high street was closed to traffic, and there was a police presence with a small police van and six uniformed officers milling around.
Kate and Tristan were glad they had worn woolly hats and gloves. The air was sharp, and it grew colder as the sky faded from blue to black, and the streetlights flicked on.
The vigil was due to start at the bottom of the high street and go all the way to the church.
‘All of these shops are supposed to close at five thirty or six,’ said Tristan as they passed the butcher and the baker.
‘Staying open for the crowds,’ said Kate. ‘I can’t imagine that any friends or family will stick around afterwards, even if they do come to it.’
Now that they were here, she realised it seemed unlikely they would get the chance to talk to anyone, and if they did, it wouldn’t be appropriate to start grilling people about their alibi.
At the start of the high street, a man and a woman were being interviewed by the local news crew at the centre of the gathering crowd. They were both well dressed, with a haunted, sad look, and they were flanked on either side by a young boy and girl.
Their winter coats were all open and they wore T-shirts with HAVE YOU SEEN LAYLA? CALL 0845 951 237 printed across the chest. Underneath was a photo of Layla smiling into the camera.
‘We want to pay our respects to our daughter, and to keep the investigation alive,’ said Layla’s father. He was handsome and in control of his emotions. ‘We appeal to anyone with information to contact the police on this number.’
Layla’s mother clung to him, unable to speak. Layla’s brother and sister too were equally mute and looked to still be in shock. Kate felt a nudge in her ribs and Tristan tilted his head. Further up the road DCI Varia Campbell and DI John Mercy stood to one side with three uniformed police officers. They stood out because they weren’t lighting candles, and were scanning the crowd.
‘Let’s keep out of their way,’ said Kate, as she retreated behind a tall man and his wife.
Tristan pulled his woolly hat over his eyebrows. The crowds were starting to gather behind Layla’s parents, brother and sister and some other friends and relations, who were wearing the Layla T-shirts and had linked arms to form a line.
Kate cupped her hands around Tristan’s lantern as he lit a tea light before helping her light hers. The procession started off slowly up the hill. It had swollen to several hundred people, all quiet and rugged up against the cold. As they passed Varia she noticed Kate, and looked a little surprised, but her attention was taken by one of the uniformed officers who leaned over to talk to her. It took half an hour to slowly walk back into the village. The roads were closed and everyone was silent. The candles were undeniably beautiful. Hundreds of golden lights.
When they reached the church, the vicar met the crowd at the gates of the church and led everyone in prayer, speaking over a loud hailer.
Then a girl from Layla’s class at school sang ‘Amazing Grace’, unaccompanied. It was a haunting moment. Kate scanned the crowds. Everyone looked sombre – men and women of all ages, a group of schoolchildren, all wearing Layla T-shirts.
The red-haired man, Peter Conway’s ‘biggest fan’, had walked the vigil very close to Layla’s family. It had given him a kick to be among the crowds of mourners in the market square, and to be so close, close enough to almost smell their tears. The cold weather had given him the confidence to attend. Everyone was wearing heavy coats, woolly hats, and scarves over their mouths. It was easy to blend in.
He’d seen the police officers, scanning the crowd so intently. Their vigilance had a sense of theatricality. They didn’t really believe that the killer would show up. And they had nothing to go on. He had been so careful. He’d used different vans with fake number plates to abduct the girls. He’d avoided CCTV. No one had seen him – well, no one that mattered. If they had any kind of e-fit they would have released it to the public by now.
So, in light of all this, why were the police here? Were they hoping to identify the killer because he looked like a ‘bad’ man?
He’d walked right past DCI Campbell and her officers and their eyes had moved over him, past him, searching, searching.
And then he’d joined the prayers amongst the crowd outside the church, keeping his head down as the news cameras filmed everyone. He was amazed at how many people had prayed studiously outside, and then ignored the vicar’s invitation to attend the evening service and surged back to the high street, where the shops and pubs had stayed open.
Perhaps it was only worth praying if people could see you on camera.
So m
any had gone across to the pub, including Layla’s parents.
He queued for a cheeseburger at one of the takeaway vans, and was taking a large bite when he saw Kate Marshall with a tall thin young lad. She wore a hat, but was instantly recognisable, and he gulped down the mouthful of burger, a little starstruck. She was part of the history of the Nine Elms Cannibal. And here she was mingling in public.
He circled the crowd, and moved a little closer. She was older than the photos he’d found online, and a little dumpy in her red winter coat, but he still thought she was attractive. She was edible. He bit into his burger and tried to imagine what it would be like to bite into the soft flesh on the backs of her thighs.
No, he couldn't conjure it. The nasty flesh of the burger was now dry in his mouth . . . The young lad she was with seemed close to her. They didn’t look like they were an item. But she could be a dirty bitch. They might role-play. Would he go home with her and suck on her MILF titties?
Kate looked up, still talking to the boy, and she seemed to look right at him, but she didn’t see him. She looked through him, as part of the white noise of the crowd.
He pushed the last of the burger into his mouth, pretending to enjoy it, and moved off into the crowd.
CHAPTER 34
It was freezing cold by the time Tristan and Kate arrived back at the car. The line of parked cars had cleared, and theirs was the only one left under a row of trees, set back in the shadows from the streetlights.
Kate saw the note tucked under the right windscreen wiper, a square of thick cream paper. For a moment she thought it might have been put there by a person from one of the houses on the street, but then she saw her name written in black ink. The handwriting looked the same as in the note Meredith had shown her. With a shaking hand, Kate slipped the paper out from under the wiper and unfolded it.
KATE, YOU LOOKED POSITIVELY EDIBLE TONIGHT IN YOUR RED COAT.
YOU WERE SO CLOSE.
A FAN
Kate’s head snapped up and she looked along the street, but it was quiet, save for a man and woman walking with a small girl, and an older lady struggling with two bulging bags of shopping. She felt exposed, like she was being watched.
Tristan came around and took the letter from her shaking hand, reading it over. She gripped the side of the car, feeling faint, and he opened the door on the driver’s side.
‘Sit down a second,’ he said. Kate felt all the blood drain from her head. Cars rushed past on the road, their lights dazzling them. Tristan looked up and down the road.
He’s getting closer, he’s writing notes about Jake, and now he’s writing to me, thought Kate. She wasn’t afraid for her safety; what she feared was the power of this individual to disrupt her world. The safe, sane world she had so carefully created in the aftermath of the first case. For the first time, she wished she hadn’t answered that email from Caitlyn’s father. She should have passed it on to the police. It had opened a door that she had stupidly stumbled through.
She looked up and saw that Tristan had flagged down a black car, and Varia Campbell was coming towards her with John Mercy. Tristan handed the note to Varia. She read it with a concerned face and passed it to John, who instinctively started to look up and down the road. Cars were now streaming past, and Tristan and the two officers huddled on the grass verge around Kate sitting in her car.
‘What time did you get here?’ asked Varia, having to raise her voice above the traffic.
‘Five minutes ago,’ said Kate.
‘No. What time did you arrive for the vigil?’
‘We parked here just before six thirty,’ said Tristan. Kate saw that John had the note, and it was now in a clear plastic evidence bag.
‘Did you see anyone suspicious, or anyone acting suspicious around you?’ asked John.
‘No,’ said Tristan. ‘We walked the vigil. It was packed, people were quiet, and just walking with candles.’
‘Whoever left the note did so within the last three hours,’ said Varia, looking up and down the road as more cars roared past. She pulled out her radio. ‘This is DCI Campbell. I’m still here at the vigil in Topsham. Pull all CCTV coverage available from Pulham Road, and everything in the village up to the church between four p.m. and now.’
Varia came to the driver’s door and crouched down beside Kate. She took one of her shaking hands between hers. ‘Are you okay? You look like you’re going into shock.’
Varia’s hands were warm, and she wore several beautiful silver rings on her slim fingers. Kate’s own hands were freezing cold and she was shaking.
‘He knows who I am. What I was wearing. He’s talking about my son,’ said Kate. ‘He sent Peter Conway a picture of my son . . . You need to compare the writing with the letter he sent Peter, and the other letters found at the crime scenes. It looks similar, but you need to check.’
A motorbike roared past, its engine going right through them and masking the conversation.
‘This is not a good place to talk. Can we take you to the police station in Exeter? It’s only four miles away,’ said Varia. Kate nodded. ‘Do you want us to call a doctor?’ Varia added, her forehead creased with concern. She was still holding Kate’s freezing hand and rubbing it between hers. This was a much softer side to her than Kate had seen previously.
‘She could do with a brandy. Always works for shock,’ said John to Tristan.
Kate agreed with him. It would be the perfect excuse to have a drink. To just drink herself into delicious oblivion.
‘No! No alcohol. Let’s get her a strong hot cup of tea,’ said Tristan.
They drove in convoy to Exeter police station, and Kate and Tristan were taken through to an office where Varia and John made them all a mug of tea. Kate and Tristan sat on a large sagging sofa, and Kate took a long gulp of the tea, which she was pleased had been sweetened. She took a deep breath and began to think clearly.
‘Who touched the letter?’ asked Varia.
‘I took it out from under the windscreen,’ said Kate.
‘I had a look. She passed it to me,’ said Tristan.
‘We’ll need to take both of your fingerprints so we can eliminate you when we test the note,’ said Varia.
Kate nodded. ‘My fingerprints will be on file from when I was in the force,’ she said.
‘I was fingerprinted,’ said Tristan.
‘When you vandalised the car?’ asked John.
Varia turned to John. ‘I’m sure our guests would like some biscuits. There’s a packet of Hobnobs in the staff kitchen,’ she said.
John scowled and left the room.
Kate explained that she’d met Dr Meredith Baxter from Great Barwell, who showed her the note addressed to Peter on the picture of Jake, which the hospital had intercepted.
‘I’ll check to see if this information has been shared with us yet,’ said Varia.
‘I think this person who signs themselves “A Fan” is communicating with Peter Conway,’ said Kate.
‘But you said this letter was intercepted. Peter Conway never received it?’
Kate’s phone rang in her pocket. She pulled it out, fearing that it was her mother to say something had happened to Jake.
‘Oh. It’s Meredith Baxter calling,’ she said. She answered and listened for a moment. ‘Meredith, I’m here with Detective Chief Inspector Varia Campbell. Yes, the lead officer on the case.’ She held out her phone to Varia. ‘She wants to talk to you.’
‘What did she say?’ asked Tristan as Varia moved away with the phone.
‘She says they searched the whole wing at Great Barwell. All the cells, including Peter’s, and all staff too. There was nothing. No hidden letters.’
‘That’s a good thing,’ said Tristan.
‘I don’t like it . . . Something is going on. I can feel it in my gut.’
Varia came off the phone and handed it back to Kate. ‘That was useful to talk to her. Dr Baxter is going to send over this letter, and anything else she intercepts. If anything else happen
s, you’ll be the first to know.’
‘I hope you can get his DNA from the letter he left on my car,’ said Kate.
‘It wouldn’t prove conclusively that it’s from him,’ said Varia.
‘It must be from him,’ said Tristan. ‘You haven’t released any information about the letters to the press? Have you?’
‘No, we haven’t. But plenty of people sign letters from “a fan”,’ said Varia.
‘Come on, it’s more than a coincidence,’ said Kate.
Varia got up, signifying their meeting was over. ‘Kate. I’m going to have a patrol car stationed outside your house for the next few days, and we are going to study any CCTV we can get from Topsham. Although it’s a small village.’
‘They’ve already stationed an officer and squad car outside my mother’s house where my son lives in Whitstable,’ said Kate.
‘I’ll make sure we coordinate with them, of course.’
When Kate and Tristan left the station and headed for the car park, a local TV news reporter and camera crew were waiting. They hurried over, a bright light shining, and followed Kate and Tristan to the car.
‘We’ve had information that a note was left on your car from the murder suspect?’ said the news reporter, a woman with very short black hair. She thrust the microphone under Kate’s nose. Kate ducked around them and made it to the car, while Tristan pushed a man with a sound boom who was blocking the passenger side. ‘Can you confirm what the note says, and if this is linked to the Nine Elms Cannibal case you solved in 1995?’
Kate pressed the central locking button and tried to open her door. The news reporter put her hand on it.
‘Do you visit Peter Conway? You have a son with him. Does Jake visit him too?’
It felt like a low blow, the news reporter naming Jake.
‘Why don’t you fuck off?’ said Kate, yanking her door open, knocking it into the news reporter, who lost her footing and fell. ‘Tristan, get in.’
When they were inside, she activated the central locking and started the engine. The news reporter was being helped to her feet as Kate honked the horn and drove towards the crew, forcing them to part. As they sped out of the car park, they saw a van with ‘BBC Local News’ written on the side.
Nine Elms: The thrilling first book in a brand-new, electrifying crime series (Kate Marshall 1) Page 20
