‘Not yet. I’m thinking about it.’
He pulls a face that is half smile, half sneer. ‘You will.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘You can’t resist a challenge. And Wolfe’s even prettier than me.’
She doesn’t argue. Lampton might be very easy on the eye, especially now he’s eating properly and working out regularly. He looks younger than his forty-five years, as though prison somehow pickled him. Wolfe, on the other hand, is in a league of his own.
‘Are those highlights in your hair?’ she says, because she doesn’t really want to talk about one of her men, with another of them. In prison, Lampton’s hair was always a dark, dirty blond. Now, even in the dim lights of the pub she can see the lighter streaks.
‘You can talk,’ he tells her.
‘What happened on the thirtieth of October, Steve? In this pub, if my memory serves.’
His face clouds. ‘Misunderstanding.’ His eyes, that haven’t left hers since she arrived, drop to the greasy tabletop.
‘You were cautioned. A woman made a complaint.’
He looks up again, bravado restored. ‘I misread signals. It happens. No harm done.’
‘I disagree. If you get arrested again, I can’t help you. I won’t even try.’
The knuckles of his hand whiten as he tosses back his head and makes a show of polishing off the drink. When he puts the glass down, he’s smiling again. ‘I got something for you,’ he says. ‘Christmas present.’
‘Will I like it?’
He lets his head fall to one side, looking at her appraisingly. ‘I like it.’
She makes a point of peering around the table to look at the carpet beneath his feet, although she already knows he brought nothing into the pub with him. ‘It must be very small. And you must be doing very well if you can afford jewellery for someone whom you don’t even need to keep on side any more.’
‘I didn’t bring it with me. It’s not the sort of thing you open in public.’
‘I’m not giving you my address, Steve.’
He leans forward. ‘Now, you see, that makes no sense to me, Mags. If you think I’m innocent, what reason do you got to be afraid of me?’
She laughs. ‘Remind me, exactly, when I said I thought you were innocent?’
He tries to laugh too, but doesn’t quite make it. He has never, quite, been able to reconcile her refusal to pretend with her willingness to work on his behalf.
He gets to his feet and looks down at her almost-empty glass. ‘Top-up?’ he offers. ‘Or are you racing back?’
She hands him her glass. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I’d love another drink.’
Chapter 47
‘I WANT TO TALK ABOUT JESSIE, Chloe and Myrtle. How do you know how they died?’ Maggie watches Wolfe’s face carefully. Normally, she can spot lies in an instant. It’s nothing to do with the eyes, accomplished liars get very good at controlling their eyes when they’re spinning yarns, but every liar she’s ever known has taken a deeper than average breath before the lie comes out.
‘I don’t.’ He holds her stare. ‘How could I? I didn’t kill them.’
No lie that she can see, but she’s only just got started. ‘My first visit, you were very specific about how they met their deaths. You talked about them being lured into a cave, having their throats slit, being left alone in the cold and the dark, to bleed out. But by the time the three bodies were found, they were largely bone. The post-mortems didn’t come to any conclusions about how the victims died. So, back to my question, how do you know?’
He smiles, a careful, tight smile that doesn’t reveal his teeth. Only his guile. His breathing hasn’t changed. ‘I guessed.’
‘You guessed?’
He lets his forearms rest on the table. ‘Yeah, it’s easy. Let’s try it again. Whoever took them into the caves – and I’m not saying it was me – lured them with some sort of story. Maybe tales of a remarkable rock feature. Personally, I’d have plumped for the romantic angle. Perhaps he offered to show them the place where Arthur and Guinevere’s wedding rings are encased in limestone.’
‘Arthur and Guinevere?’
He’s still smiling, everything about his body language is upbeat. ‘Perfectly plausible. Glastonbury is generally agreed to be the site of Camelot. I can see that appealing to young impressionable women, especially the jeweller. So he leads them to where he wants them to be and he says, “Over there, just where I’m shining my torch, there’s a bit of a slope, so you have to watch your step, lean over a bit” – can you see what he’s doing, Maggie? He’s getting them off balance – then he comes in behind, maybe puts one hand on a shoulder, as though to steady them. He’s being super gallant. He gives them the torch, to free up his other hand. Maybe he wraps that hand around their hair, he figures he can step up the romance factor, and women like that, don’t they? It’s an intimate, alpha-male gesture, reminiscent of cavemen. He makes sure he’s got a nice firm grip then, just as she says, “Where, Hamish, I can’t see anything?” he bangs her head hard against the rock.’
Maggie pushes back against her chair, feels it slide along the floor an inch. Her eyes flick to the nearest officer on duty. He’s on a raised platform, some ten yards away. When she looks at Wolfe again, he is licking some invisible substance off the tip of his thumb. She doesn’t think he’s taken his eyes off her.
‘Is that how you did it?’ she says.
‘I’m guessing, not confessing.’ He leans forward again, more than matching her faint-hearted retreat, reducing the distance between them. ‘The first blow would be unlikely to kill her, so he has to strike again. If he has some medical knowledge – again, I’m just speculating – he’ll know that a hard object, like solid rock, slamming repeatedly into the temporal lobe would kill someone pretty quickly.’
If she becomes his lawyer she’ll be able to record their conversations. For now, she has to remember as best she can. But storing information away is hard when your body has become too hot. When you can feel bubbles of sweat forming on the underside of your skin.
‘There was significant head damage referenced on one of the postmortem reports.’ She wishes she could take off her jacket, but that would send all the wrong signals. ‘Jessie, from memory. But you’d know that, wouldn’t you? You’ll have read it. And the pathologist couldn’t say conclusively whether the damage was incurred post- or ante-mortem. So, given that Jessie’s body was found at the bottom of a fairly steep slope, her skull could have sustained that damage when her body was thrown down it.’
He nods. ‘True. So how would you have done it?’
‘How would I kill three women?’
‘Yeah. Say you want to kill three women, who are bigger and probably stronger than you. You want to lure them into a cave and then kill them, how would you do it?’
‘Firstly, it would be impossible. Second, I wouldn’t want to. And third, I’m not here to entertain you.’
He grins properly, showing those white, rather sharp teeth of his. ‘Doesn’t it strike you, Maggie, that it would take some awesome powers of persuasion to get a woman you hardly know into a cave?’ he says. ‘Even with the promise of mythological jewellery.’
‘I agree. It would take someone exceptionally personable and persuasive. In that sense, you were a gift for the prosecution.’
The grin had been fading, it widens again now. ‘You flatter me.’
‘It’s also possible they were dead when they were taken into the caves. No charm would be needed then. Just brute strength.’ She lets her eyes drop, noticeably, to his forearms. Even in the loose prison sweatshirt, their bulk is noticeable.
His head is shaking. ‘Maggie, when you and the prosecution talk about my good looks and charm, I’ll happily go along with it. When you leap to my ability to manoeuvre dead bodies in confined spaces using ropes and pulleys, you’re slipping into fantasy land.’
‘How so?’
‘The lightest of those three women was one hundred and sevent
y pounds. Myrtle Reid substantially heavier. The closest you can get a vehicle to Rill Cavern – and my car is not an off-road model, by the way – is twenty metres. So I’m supposed to have carried nearly two hundred pounds of dead weight up a one in four gradient and manoeuvred it down two hundred metres of tunnel. There isn’t a rope-and-pulley system in the world that could pull that one off. And a wheelbarrow, trolley or wheelchair couldn’t make the trip either – the police tried it. I promise you, if we’re talking about a lone killer here, those women went into the caves alive.’
‘Interesting point,’ she says. ‘Is it possible we’re looking for a killing gang?’
‘A cult of fat haters?’
‘Or fat obsessives. Which again might point to you as ring leader.’
‘Rubbish. I have no strong feelings on the subject of obesity, other than a general opinion that it’s not terribly good for a person’s health. You, on the other hand, are too skinny. What size are you? Six? Eight? Have you had eating disorders in the past?’
‘We’re not talking about me. Let’s get back to how they were killed. The other two victims had no sign of head trauma, either before or after death, so the same method couldn’t have been used for all three.’
He rubs a hand across his jaw, as though the skin there might still be sore from shaving. His hands are square, his fingers long. Dark hairs cluster between his knuckles. His nails are cut short, are clean. She’s not listening to him, she realizes, has to think hard to remember what he’s just said. Something about how Chloe died.
‘I’d say he definitely used the wedding ring heist for this one,’ he’s saying. ‘She wouldn’t have been able to resist it, but this time he told her the rings were bound in stone in one of the rock pools.’
Maggie thinks back to her research. Most of the caves in the area have water in the form of underground lakes, ponds and dozens of small pools.
‘They get to the pool in question. Its surface is around waist height and it’s deep, maybe four feet. They lean over together; he’s standing behind her, and in the cold cave she’s glad of his body warmth pressing against her.’
‘Chloe Wood wasn’t on a date. It was a business meeting.’
His index finger jabs the air. ‘You’re right. Forget the subterranean cuddle. He shines the torch, points, she can’t see it, he says, “Stand on tiptoe, lean over a bit more.” She does, he puts a hand to the back of her head and dunks her under.’
Maggie looks steadily back, determined to let nothing show on her face.
When he doesn’t get a reaction, he moves on. ‘She’s going to fight, obviously, and she’s a big girl, so keeping her head under for the four or five minutes that drowning requires wouldn’t have been easy. This killer has to be a big or fit bloke, wouldn’t you say, Maggie? Someone who knows how the human body works, what pressure to apply and to where. He’d know all the weak spots, possibly be trained in combat techniques. How’s Detective Sergeant Weston looking these days? He was pretty fit when I knew him.’
The mention of Pete’s name bothers her, as though he has no place in this discussion. ‘I’m not going to dignify that with a response. So you think the killer had a different mode of attack for each woman?’
‘I think he had several methods up his sleeve. He’d have wanted a plan B, possibly plans C and D. Shall I tell you what I think he did with Myrtle?’
‘Oh, please.’
‘He let her take her chances. I think he led her into the cave, took her way down deep, and then, when she was transfixed upon something – probably the mythical wedding rings again – he quietly backed away, switched off the light and scarpered.’
‘Not possible.’
‘Why?’
‘How would he have found his way out? Once he switched the torch back on, she’d see it and follow him.’
‘Fluorescent rocks.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Certain minerals have fluorescent properties, meaning they glow in ultraviolet light. I’d say he dropped a short trail, just enough to get him safely round the bend and out of sight. And that his torch had a normal setting and a UV one. Completely unseen, he followed the rocks out, ignoring or possibly enjoying the sound of Myrtle’s screaming.’
‘Too much of a risk. She could have got out. Someone could have found her.’
‘Without light, Myrtle wouldn’t have had a clue which way was up. The chances of her crawling in the right direction were practically nonexistent. She’d have drowned, if she were lucky.’
‘Stumbling around in the dark, getting bruised and sore won’t kill someone,’ she says. ‘And nobody ever died of fear.’
‘But even if she got out, all she could do was describe him. I doubt he was simple enough to give her his name.’
‘That probably rules Pete Weston off the list of suspects. Any victim who survived would be bound to come into contact with the lead detective on the case.’
‘Ah well, I’m just tossing ideas around. Having a bit of fun.’
And that was the problem. Men in his position weren’t supposed to have fun. ‘Hamish, I brought the papers that will officially appoint me as your lawyer. But what you’re doing is making me question the wisdom of that.’
He isn’t fazed. ‘Oh, Maggie, you’re not that easily spooked. All I’m doing is what every officer on the case will have done a dozen times over. I’m trying to work out how our man did it.’
‘But you seem to take such pleasure in it.’
He looks, unblinking, into her eyes. ‘No, the pleasure is in your company, I promise you. You are such a refreshing change from my mother.’
‘You don’t see anyone else?’ she asks him.
He frowns. ‘My dad, sometimes, but his health isn’t great. And visits are restricted, as you know, for anyone other than my legal team and the police still working on the unresolved part of the case. Detective Pete is coming on Monday.’
She hadn’t known that. The thought of the two of them talking makes her uncomfortable. ‘Do you know what about?’
‘Other than the whereabouts of Zoe Sykes, I haven’t a clue. Actually, I’m quite looking forward to talking about you.’
‘OK, we’re running out of time and there are some other areas I need to cover.’ She looks at her notes. ‘One of the women I met at your mother’s little support group, a homeless woman called Odi, claims to have seen someone entering Rill Cavern one night in April 2014. While you were on remand.’
The news hasn’t surprised him. ‘Mum told me. She was practically spitting feathers. I can’t get too excited though. This Odi woman sounds like a pretty unreliable witness. Plus it was dark and she was some distance away.’
‘I’m going to talk to her again. Away from the group.’
He looks troubled. ‘From what Mum’s told me, Odi’s away with the fairies.’
‘Ten minutes, everyone.’ The guard’s voice cuts above the general conversation. ‘Ten minutes more.’
Maggie pulls on her gloves and puts her coat around her shoulders, conscious of his eyes on her. He’s broken into a sweat in the last few seconds. In spite of his glib words and easy smile, she can feel his anxiety. His heart will be beating fast and hard.
‘Time’s up, Maggie,’ he says. ‘So, million-dollar question – do you believe me?’
It is the hardest thing to look him directly in the eyes. ‘No,’ she tells him. ‘But I think I can get you out of here.’
He is silent. His shoulders are rising and falling with an accelerated breathing that he is no longer able to control.
‘Isn’t that what you want?’ she asks.
‘Of course. But I’d rather it be on the basis of my innocence than your cleverness.’
‘Only one of those is in my control.’ She waits.
He pulls himself together. ‘OK. Let’s find out exactly how clever you are. Here’s what I want you to do. Feel free to take notes.’
For a second she can only stare. ‘What you want me to do?’
�
��Of course. You’re my lawyer now, or you will be when I sign the papers. That means I instruct you.’
Well, technically he is right, but—
‘Time please, ladies and gentlemen. Can all visitors start making their way to the door.’
‘OK, in the interest of speed, tell me what you want me to do.’
‘Shouldn’t I sign those papers first?’
Around them, people are getting up. Couples are embracing. Some are already making their way to the door. She fishes in her bag and finds the contract copies.
‘I hope you brought a pen,’ he says.
She rummages some more. ‘Just a cheap one. I didn’t want to risk anything decent.’
He scribbles his name at the bottom of two of the documents and hands back the black ink biro.
‘My first job is to talk to Odi, the homeless woman, again,’ she says, in an attempt to establish that she is the one in control here.
He gives a quick, sharp shake of the head. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree with her. I think you should find out what happened to Zoe. Find her body, link her conclusively to the other three women and I’m in the clear, because Mum gives me an alibi for the night she went missing.’
‘The police don’t accept that alibi. They can’t just take the word of your mother.’
‘Then, you track down the other people who were in the restaurant that night. Someone will remember me.’
He’s probably right. ‘That won’t be easy.’
‘Of course it won’t. If it were easy, the police would have done it.’
She gets to her feet. ‘I’ll serve you better, I think, by finding the computer the killer used to cyber-stalk those women.’
His eyebrows lift. ‘How would you even begin?’
She takes a step away from the table, just to show willing to the hovering guard. ‘I already have,’ she says, as she turns on her heels.
After a few more seconds, he calls her back. ‘Another thing.’
She stops. ‘What?’
He raises his voice, to reach her across the distance she’s travelled. ‘I need you to find Daisy.’
Daisy in Chains Page 17
