‘Don’t rock the boat.’ She steps behind him so that she can more easily pull the jacket up over his shoulders. As their bodies touch briefly, he can smell her perfume. And her sweat. ‘Good luck,’ she tells him.
In the corridor the two men go separate ways: Latimer to the meeting room, Pete downstairs to reception.
Maggie Rose, in a woollen coat the colour of her name, looks up when he is just a couple of feet away. Away from home, dressed to be among people, she looks different. Her lipstick is the same colour as her coat, giving her mouth a fullness he didn’t notice before, and she’s used a softer shade of the same colour on her eyelids, a hint of pink on her cheeks too. The pink contrasts sharply with the blue of her hair and eyes, with the pallor of her skin. She looks like a character from one of his daughter’s storybooks.
‘It was good of you to come.’ They are shaking hands.
‘No it wasn’t.’ Even beneath a leather glove her hand feels cold.
‘Excuse me?’
She takes her hand back, but stays close. ‘I came partly because it’s never a good idea to get on the wrong side of the police, partly because I wasn’t particularly polite to you last time we met and I’ve been feeling a little guilty, and partly because I expect something in return.’
‘Ah, yes, you mentioned. Do you want to talk now?’
She glances round, takes in that the reception area is quiet. ‘OK. Here it is. I’ve got a pretty good idea what this is all about, and I know I’m not going to like it, so you owe me. Agreed?’
‘In principle,’ says Pete, cautiously.
‘Next time I need to talk to a detective, next time I need information, you will take my call.’
He pretends to consider. ‘OK. But once only. Then we’re quits.’
‘We’ll see.’ She pulls back the sleeve of her coat to look at her watch. ‘We’re late. Are you planning on blaming me?’
Pete thinks of Latimer, kicking his heels in MR 3 upstairs. ‘Oh, trust me, taking the blame on this one will be my very great pleasure.’
* * *
‘Miss Rose, DCI Tim Latimer. Very good of you to come in. I’m a big fan.’
She tilts back her head and looks at him curiously. ‘Of what?’
Pete hovers in the doorway, watching the two of them. Maggie is tiny in front of Latimer but, somehow, the physical presence that normally gives the boss such an advantage pales beside hers. It isn’t just her wacky colouring, either. It is her stillness. Her calm.
‘Of yours,’ Latimer says.
She’s getting the benefit of his vigorous two-handed shake now, of the gentle politician-style double-pat on the back of her hand, the one that says, I’m pleased and gratified to be in your presence, but I’m in charge here, let’s not forget that. She still hasn’t removed her gloves.
‘I’ve read all your books,’ Latimer is still talking. ‘Excellent stuff.’
In six months, Pete has yet to see the boss reading a book.
Latimer finally drags his eyes away from Maggie. ‘Come in, Pete, I assume you’re joining us. And can we sort out some coffee?’
‘Not for me, thank you. Where would you like me to sit?’ Maggie’s eyes, a gleam in them now, are making their way around the conference table. They pause on the taut figure of Brenda Sykes, skip over the family liaison officer sitting next to her and fix on Latimer.
‘Why don’t you sit at the end?’ he says.
Pete pulls his chair out noisily and sits opposite Brenda and the FLO. ‘Miss Rose,’ he says, ‘this is Mrs Brenda Sykes, the mother of Zoe Sykes, the first of Hamish Wolfe’s victims.’
‘I know.’ Maggie gives Brenda a gentle smile. ‘I’ve seen your photograph in the papers. I’m very sorry about what happened to your daughter.’
Brenda’s eyes fill. She mutters something that might have been ‘thank you’. The FLO reaches out and pats her hand.
‘I’m not sure how much you know about Zoe’s murder, Maggie,’ Latimer begins, ‘but—’
‘I know that Zoe’s body was never found, but that there were enough similarities between her case and those of the three murdered women for the Crown Prosecution Service to charge Hamish Wolfe with her murder too. Unsuccessfully.’
‘Since Wolfe was sentenced, Brenda has been petitioning him to admit where Zoe’s remains are,’ Latimer says. ‘It will make no difference to him, he can’t be given a worse sentence than a whole life tariff, and it will bring some much-needed closure to Brenda and her family.’
‘It’s probably worth adding that the area around Cheddar Gorge has been searched as much as we possibly can,’ says Pete. ‘We believe she’s somewhere in the cave system, as the other women were, but there are miles of underground tunnels and caverns in that part of Somerset and Wolfe knew them as well as anyone. We have all the climbing and caving clubs on alert for anything unusual but, barring a lucky accident, we cannot hope to find her unless Wolfe gives us a clue.’
‘I understand that.’ Maggie turns her startling blue eyes to Pete. ‘But I am neither caver nor climber, so what does it have to do with me?’
‘Brenda has had a letter from Hamish Wolfe,’ Latimer tells her.
‘Join the club.’ Maggie’s expression is still friendly. ‘I’ve had four.’
‘We have a copy here.’ Latimer straightens the A4 sheet in front of him. ‘Shall I read it?’
He waits for a response from Maggie that doesn’t come.
‘Dear Mrs Sykes.’ Latimer gives up waiting. ‘I liked your daughter. As you may know, she was referred to me for investigation into some cervical cysts that turned out to be harmless. I talked to her at some length about her health. There were a number of issues she was happy to discuss, others she was more reticent about. You might question my discussing her medical history, even with you, and strictly I should not, but I somehow doubt I can ever be in worse trouble with the GMC.
‘I am far from certain that I can help you find her remains, but I promise to do my best, if you can persuade Maggie Rose to visit me here at Parkhurst Prison. She need only visit once, but she must come with an open mind and a willingness to listen. Yours sincerely, Hamish Wolfe.’
‘May I see it?’ Maggie’s hand has stretched out across the table.
Latimer gives her a few seconds to look it over. ‘Obviously, finding Zoe is our top priority and if Wolfe is willing to cooperate, then we have to give this due consideration. But another issue for us is that this note could constitute the first sign that Wolfe is changing his plea. In effect, admitting his guilt.’
‘He isn’t.’ Maggie’s eyes haven’t left the note.
‘Excuse me?’
‘He isn’t admitting his guilt. “I am far from certain that I can help you find her remains, but I promise to do my best”. That could mean nothing other than he’ll look at a map and suggest a few caves you might search based on his previous caving experience.’
‘Even so, we have to try.’
‘Maybe. But I don’t.’
There is a sharp intake of breath from Brenda and a nervous sideways glance from the FLO.
‘I understand that—’
Maggie isn’t cutting Latimer any slack. ‘Hamish Wolfe has no intention of cooperating with you. He can’t without admitting his guilt, and that he’ll never do. He’ll never throw away the chance of getting his whole life tariff overturned one day and he certainly won’t do anything to jeopardize the appeal that I know he will be planning.’
‘Miss Rose, can I ask you something?’ Brenda Sykes’s Somerset burr takes them all by surprise.
‘Of course.’ Her face says something other than her words. Maggie does not want to engage with Brenda Sykes if she can help it. She wants to wrap this up and get out of here.
‘Do you have any children?’
Maggie’s lips press closer together for a second before she speaks. ‘I’m not a mother.’
‘Then you can’t know what it’s like, when something happens to your child.’
Z
oe was twenty-four years old, hardly a child, but no one points it out. Brenda is talking to Latimer now. ‘What about you? Any kids of your own?’
Latimer’s eyes fall to the tabletop. ‘There is a small child in my life,’ he says. ‘A four-year-old girl. She’s becoming very important to me, so yes, I—’
‘I have a daughter.’ Pete hadn’t intended it to come out quite that loud. ‘A four-year-old. If anyone’s interested.’
‘Go on, Brenda,’ the FLO says. ‘You have something to say. You should say it.’
‘I knew something had happened, that Friday night when she didn’t come home.’
‘I’m sure it must have been a very dreadful time.’ Latimer speaks the placating words, but Brenda ignores him, her attention fixed on Maggie.
‘I spent all night imagining what was happening to my baby. I pictured her crying out for her mum, because they all do, when they’re frightened or in pain, they still want their mums, and I couldn’t do nothing. I couldn’t help her.’
She stops to take a breath, to receive another pat on the hand from the FLO.
‘I still hear her. Every night. I wake up and I can hear her screaming. And now, I’m not sure I can face another Christmas without her.’
Maggie’s body language indicates how close she is to getting up and walking out. ‘I’m very sorry for what you’re going through, Brenda, but I can’t help you.’
‘Yes, you can. You can go and see him. You can make him tell you where she is.’
‘He won’t. I know this is hard for you to hear, but this isn’t about you. He’s using you. He’s playing a game. But he’s playing it with me.’
‘You? Who the hell are you that you’re so imp—’
Latimer cuts Brenda off. ‘You could be right, Maggie. But you’re more than capable of dealing with Hamish Wolfe. Isn’t it worth a try?’
Maggie snaps her eyes away from Brenda to Latimer. ‘Let me tell you the worst thing about prison for a man like Hamish Wolfe. It won’t be the cramped, filthy conditions, or the dreadful food or the ongoing threat of violence. It will be the boredom. He has no access to computers, or the internet, he’ll have read everything in the prison library twice over already, the TV is restricted and will be permanently tuned to what he will consider mindless drivel. He’s been in prison just over fourteen months with several months on remand before that, and he will be going out of his mind with boredom. The chance to play a few games with us, to wind us up, will be an absolute gift to him.’
She turns back to the woman on her left. ‘Nothing will bring Zoe back, Brenda. I know you think finding her body and being able to bury her will bring you some closure and, it will, to a point, but the pain and the anger will still be with you. If you’re strong enough, you’ll find a way to deal with them. But letting Hamish Wolfe mess with your head will only prolong the agony for as long as you choose to let it. He’s got all the time in the world. You don’t. You have a life to be getting on with.’
‘You’re a heartless bitch, you know that?’
Maggie gets to her feet. ‘Ignore him. Forget about him.’ She looks round, talking to them all now. ‘That’s the most effective way you can punish him. I’m sorry I can’t help.’
* * *
Pete catches up with her at the top of the stairs and she allows him to fall in step beside her. ‘You’re not angry with me, are you?’ She glances sideways at him. ‘The others are, but not you. You don’t want me to see Wolfe.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Why? Because you think I might get him off?’
He forces a laugh. ‘Wolfe’s conviction is solid. I don’t want you to see him because I agree with you. He’s playing with you, and us, for his own entertainment. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.’
‘Even if there’s an outside chance we might find Zoe?’
Others are coming up the steps, so he falls in behind her, talking to the back of her head. ‘I don’t believe he’ll tell us where Zoe is,’ he says. ‘And, frankly, we don’t need to know. Brenda thinks she does, but we don’t. Zoe’s dead, he killed her, and he’s serving time. Finding her body will make no real difference.’
She reaches the bottom of the stairs. ‘My thoughts exactly. So what’s the male equivalent of a heartless bitch?’
He grins. ‘Probably just a man. Have you heard from him again?’
‘No.’
‘Let’s hope he gives up now.’
It is on the tip of his tongue to ask her about the voices he heard at her house. Before he can open his mouth, Maggie stops a few feet short of the outside door. ‘Why do you and DCI Latimer dislike each other?’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘He’s been at this station, what, less than a year? He played no part in putting Hamish Wolfe away but it’s the sexiest case Avon and Somerset police are likely to deal with this decade, so obviously, he’s going to muscle in every time something comes up. You resent that. It’s your case, you want to call the shots.’
‘Yeah, that must be it.’ He takes a step back, then another, away from the door, away from her. ‘Thanks for coming in. I won’t forget. I owe you.’
‘The four-year-old girl.’ Maggie stands her ground, even raises her voice. ‘The one who’s becoming important to Latimer. She’s yours, isn’t she? Which must mean he’s—’
This is not a conversation to have at volume. ‘Shacked up with my ex-wife. In my ex-house. They met at a police conference. While I was attending lectures, they were finding other ways to pass the time. It was a bit easier to deal with before he got promoted and transferred here.’
‘I’m sorry. That must be very difficult.’
He shrugs, tries to make the it’s no big deal face. ‘We’re being civilized.’
‘Meaning, you’re being civilized, and they’re getting away with it.’
He doesn’t want her feeling sorry for him. He walks to the door and pulls it open. ‘Why don’t you let me know if you hear from Wolfe? Or his gang of crazies.’
‘You’re genuinely worried about Hamish Wolfe and I getting together, aren’t you? That case of yours must be leakier than a sieve.’
‘That case is watertight. To be honest, it’s you I’m worried about. Wolfe is insane. If he’d tried for an insanity plea, he’d have got it, in my view, but that would have meant pleading guilty and he wasn’t going to do that. I’ve spent time with this bloke, Maggie, and I know what I’m talking about.’
She smiles suddenly. He might just have told her a joke. ‘Two thoughts for you, Peter, although I’m sure we’ll speak again before too long. The first: she’ll always love you the most, as long as you let her.’
‘My daughter?’
‘Yes. Your wife’s probably a lost cause. DCI Latimer is very good-looking and quite the charmer.’
‘Thanks. And the second?’
‘If your case against Wolfe is as watertight as you say, then there’s another reason why you’re so edgy about him. Have you considered that, on some level, you actually think he’s innocent?’
Chapter 8
DRAFT
THE BIG, BAD WOLFE?
Note: almost certainly too corny but worth keeping as a working title.
By Maggie Rose
CHAPTER 1, THE VANISHING OF ZOE SYKES
Zoe Sykes is one of our missing. Her death has been assumed, her supposed murderer caught, tried and sentenced, but we do not, and possibly never will, know what happened to her on that Friday night in June, three years ago.
Zoe was twenty-four years old and unmarried, living with her mother, Brenda (forty-nine) and younger sister, Kimberly (sixteen) in Keynsham. She worked at a tanning and beauty salon in the town centre and had a boyfriend, Kevin, of four years’ standing. As anyone would expect, Kevin was the initial principal suspect in Zoe’s murder. For good reasons, as we’ll learn.
Note: actually nothing concrete on Kevin at this stage. Will need to dig something up.
One treads carefully with a physical d
escription of a victim, especially when it comes to the clothes she was wearing, but when serial killers are involved, the victims nearly always conform to a type, making consideration of an individual’s ‘fit’ important. In other words, the need to examine Zoe’s physical presence outweighs the sensibilities of the easily offended.
Zoe Sykes was fat. I’m not going to pander to political correctness or feminist sensitivities by calling her large, sizeable, or plus sized. She weighed, by my best estimate, around thirteen stone, giving her a body mass index (BMI) of 32 and putting her in the obese category.
On the last night of her life that we know about, Zoe met up with four friends at a town centre flat. She was wearing a black leather jacket, a red-and-black floral print dress, black tights and red cowboy boots.
The women shared three bottles of wine before heading out, arriving at the Trout Tavern on Temple Street, Keynsham, at around half past nine.
The pub became busy and the group of five began to talk about going on to one of the town’s nightclubs. Zoe took no real part in the discussion, but that wasn’t exactly unusual. Often, Kevin would meet Zoe in the pub and walk or drive her home.
Zoe’s friends, to a woman, were unanimous in their disapproval of Kevin. He was controlling, too inclined to dictate what she wore, where she went, even how she behaved.
‘Zoe always seemed anxious,’ one friend told police. ‘As though she was looking over her shoulder all the time.’
Kevin claimed not to have met Zoe on the night of Friday, 8 June, to have been in a different pub, in a different town, until well after midnight. He and a friend then went back to the friend’s house where, they claim, Kevin spent the night. At this point, the alibi becomes flimsier. The friend was drunk and fell asleep soon after arriving home. He cannot vouch for Kevin’s movements from midnight onwards.
Zoe was captured on three separate street cameras that night and we can therefore assume she left the pub between eleven o’clock and eleven twenty, some time before her friends. Police were unable to ascertain why Zoe left earlier and alone, and why she failed to tell any of her friends where she was going.
Daisy in Chains Page 4
