by Mark Roberts
‘…motherfucker!’
114
8.30 am
‘When Daniel’s not here, I open up,’ said Carolyn Wilkes as she led Hendricks up the stairs to Norma Maguire’s office. ‘Norma should be here at some point this morning if you need to talk to her. She tends to come and go a bit on Saturdays.’
Carolyn opened the door to the office and Hendricks followed her inside. She closed the door and, although they were the only two people in the estate agency, she dropped the volume of her voice a couple of notches.
‘Is this to do with Francesca Christie?’ she asked.
‘It is, yes.’ Hendricks indicated the seat at the desk to Carolyn and, grabbing a nearby chair, sat in Norma Maguire’s place.
‘Norma won’t be happy if she bowls in here and finds us sitting at her desk.’
‘That won’t be happening, Carolyn. Norma’s currently in police custody.’
Carolyn looked as if she’d been hit on the head with a blunt object.
‘What’s she in police custody for?’
‘I’m not at liberty to tell you.’
Hendricks gave her a few moments to absorb the information.
‘There’s an unmarked police car outside your office. As soon as we’re done in here, the officers in that vehicle will start searching Norma’s office and taking away evidence.’
‘It’s Francesca, isn’t it? Has she done something to her?’
‘I don’t know. Is she capable of doing such a thing?’
‘I don’t know. She was furious with her.’
Hendricks took two pieces of paper from his pocket.
‘I’d like you to look at these two lists for me, Carolyn.’
He passed her the first paper, a copy of the six names of former employees supplied by Norma Maguire.
‘We asked Norma to give us the names of six people who had resigned from Maguire Holdings.’
He read his own writing, upside down on the desk.
Francesca Christie
Max Rodgers
Peter Gould
Eric Smith
Richard Ezra
David Ellis
As she looked at the list, the lines in her brow deepened.
‘You recognise these people?’
‘Yes.’
Hendricks passed her the second list and asked, ‘How about this?’
Francesca Christie
Geoff Campbell
James Griffiths
Thomas Saddler
Richard Ezra
Michael Towers
‘They all worked here in the past?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s the difference between the two lists, Carolyn?’
She turned the first list round and passed it back to Hendricks.
‘With the exception of Francesca and Richard, these were temporary members of staff, agency workers covering short-term illnesses and maternity leave. Max, Pete, Eric and David didn’t leave as such. Their time here came to a natural end. Norma didn’t care about them leaving.’
She passed the second list back to Hendricks.
‘These were all full-time, permanent members of the team. When they walked out, Norma felt betrayed by them. They all went on to better things with other estate agents and that really was the icing on the cake. There was a pattern in Norma’s reaction. Anger and hurt were followed by barely concealed rage. The rage calmed down but didn’t go away, it smouldered beneath the surface. And no one dared mention their names.’
‘Why?’
‘Just after he’d left, she overheard one of the juniors talking favourably about Richard Ezra. She went mad at him and fired him two days later on a trumped-up pretext.’
‘She hated them that much?’ Hendricks checked.
‘Norma spends a lot of time on her own when she isn’t here. Alone in that big old house with too much time on her hands. In my view, she festers there. In her head, she demonised them.’ Tears welled up in Carolyn’s eyes. ‘She’s done something to Francesca, hasn’t she?’
‘I hope not. But we don’t know where Francesca is and that’s worrying. How would you describe Norma Maguire’s feelings towards Francesca Christie?’
She looked extremely uncomfortable.
‘I need to know, Carolyn.’
‘She was absolutely head over heels in love with Francesca from the moment she walked over the threshold. The way she acted around her was farcical and embarrassing. She was like a schoolgirl around a pop star.’
Hendricks said nothing but then asked, ‘Are there places that are special to Norma Maguire? Places she goes to when she’s sad or needs to think?’
‘I’ll think about it, DS Hendricks.’
‘Please do.’ He handed her his contact card. ‘And ask around the office. Ask if Norma had any favourite haunts. Please keep our discussion absolutely to yourself and thank you for your co-operation. My colleagues will come in now to search the office.’
***
On the pavement outside Maguire Holdings, Hendricks’ curiosity about Norma Maguire was spiked and he called Riley on his iPhone.
‘How’s it going, Gina?’ asked Hendricks.
‘So far we haven’t found anything in the house to incriminate Norma Maguire. I don’t know what Poppy’s going to pull from the laptop and iPhone that Eve took from her. It’s like an old lady’s house. I can imagine a person dying of boredom between these walls.’
‘Interesting. Anything in the loft?’
‘A box with a couple of old scrapbooks. I haven’t seen it myself, but I heard it’s newspaper cuttings, reviews of plays her mother, Cecily Levin, was in. It’s on its way to Trinity Road, along with boxes of receipts and bills. There’s no evidence of her having relationships with anyone except the people she paid to work for her.’
‘What about the basement?’
‘Two rooms and a massive anomaly. One room’s empty. The next room’s got a huge mirror on the wall. I’ve been in every room in the house, including the bathroom, and that mirror in the basement is the only mirror in the house.’
Hendricks recalled the first time he saw Norma Maguire, when he knocked on her door. She had appeared painfully shy and had physically done everything she could so that he couldn’t see her face.
‘Keep me posted, Gina.’
Hendricks clicked on his Messages icon and picked out Clay on his list of contacts.
Eve, Norma Maguire has massive self-loathing issues. Catoptrophobia. I’ll tell you when I see you.
115
8.35 am
Detective Chief Inspector Eve Clay noticed that as he watched her walk past, the contempt Edgar McKee had worn on his face on their first encounter had returned, but was bigger and deeper than ever.
She maintained eye contact with him as Winters formally opened the interview.
‘Tell me about your mother.’ asked Clay.
‘Jesus, you really are clutching at straws.’
‘Humour me, Mr McKee. I know where this is going.’
McKee looked at his solicitor, who smirked. Go on. Humour her.
‘I never knew my mother. But I know things about her. She was a single mother when she gave birth to me in the 1970s. She had no way of keeping me. She was forced to sign me over for adoption. I was a sickly baby and I grew into a sickly child. So I didn’t get adopted. Everyone wanted a healthy kid. The home I lived in literally couldn’t give me away.’
‘Where was this house?’
‘Russell House. Near Wrexham, in Flintshire. I went looking for her when I was in my thirties but I was too late. She died in 2001.’
‘When was she born?’
Edgar McKee rolled his sleeve up and showed Clay the tattoo on his wrist.
‘She wasn’t a kid when she had me but she was a single woman. It wasn’t like nowadays when no one gives a fuck about anything much. Everyone had too much to say for themselves in the 1970s.’
‘Where’s her grave?’
‘I don’t know. The mom
ent I found out she was dead, I got the tattoo and gave up on the job. What’s your point?’
‘Is it possible she’s buried in Springwood Cemetery?’
‘It’s possible. Or Anfield Cemetery. Or she could be in Graceland with Elvis. Seriously, how the fuck do I know?’
Edgar McKee looked at his solicitor with an expression of extreme frustration that begged an essential question.
‘Are you going to charge my client or let him go?’
‘We will be charging you before the twenty-four-hour time window closes.’
Clay pulled up a series of images from her gallery.
‘Our Scientific Support officers found something odd in your DVD collection. It was ninety-nine per cent hard-core pornography…’
‘…Which is perfectly legal and advertised in national tabloid newspapers.’
Clay turned her iPhone towards McKee.
‘They found some Hammer Horror films. Not that many but enough to stand out from the rest of your collection. Look!’
‘What do you want me to say, Clay?’
‘Why are they there?’
‘Because I was into them when I hit puberty. I fancied the actresses in them, when I was becoming sexually aware. It’s the only sentimental thing you’ll find in my life, I’m telling you.’
‘Who were the actresses in them?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Cecily Levin was in Twins of Evil, Lust For A Vampire, The Vampire Lovers, Dracula AD 1972. Ring any bells?’
‘No.’
‘Really? Sex is clearly of great importance in your life. As you know, we’ve been talking to Marlene Black. She’s one of three sex workers you go and visit on a regular basis. That’s not cheap. How do you pay for it?’
‘I live a frugal life. It’s the only joy I get.’
‘I went to Marlene’s house,’ said Winters. He turned his camera towards Edgar McKee. ‘This is her in her kitchen at home.’
‘So that’s what she looks like without make-up,’ observed Edgar McKee.
‘How many women have you had sex with in your life?’ asked Winters.
‘Thousands.’
‘You must be very proficient in the bedroom. Experienced. You have a powerful gym-honed body. You’ve been round the block and back many times.’
Clay saw a glint of pride and a sheen of machismo in McKee’s eyes as Winters spoke.
‘How do you think women perceive you?’
‘Let’s just say the women I pay for sex don’t fake their orgasms. I’m better than good in bed. They tell me all the time. I know when people bullshit me. These women aren’t bullshitting me.’
‘Ever been in a permanent relationship with a woman?’
‘You’re kidding me. No. Of course not. What’s the point?’
‘After we’re done here, Mr McKee,’ said Winters. ‘I’m going back to see Marlene. Do you want me to pass on a message to her?’
‘Tell her I’ll be calling her as soon as I get out of this swamp.’
‘Mr McKee?’ Clay drew his attention. ‘Have you ever had sex with a woman called Norma Maguire?’
Clay showed him Norma Maguire’s picture, a blown-up image from the most recent framed staff portrait.
‘I wouldn’t have sex with her if she was the last woman on earth.’
‘Do you know Norma Maguire?’ suggested Clay.
‘Never seen or heard of her.’
She picked out the image on her iPhone of Cecily Levin as Jocasta in Oedipus Rex and showed it to Edgar McKee.
‘Who’s she?’ asked Edgar McKee.
‘Cecily Levin was Norma Maguire’s mother. She was a successful actress. She was in the Hammer films I named that we found in your DVD collection.’
He scrutinised the screen of Clay’s iPhone.
‘She had all the good-looking genes in the world. I guess she didn’t pass them on to her daughter.’
‘You sure you don’t know Norma Maguire?’
‘Fucking certain!’
‘It’s just we’ve got Norma Maguire in custody on the same investigation that’s keeping you here. Do you want to get ahead of the game and tell me exactly what’s been going on between the two of you?’
‘Sefton Park,’ replied Edgar McKee, his face passive to the point of death.
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Clay.
‘Because there’s a lake there. If it’s a fishing trip you’re looking to go on, go there and leave me alone.’
‘OK. Here comes the very bad news for you, Mr McKee. Wren’s changed his story from I don’t know. He’s given us an in-depth description of what happened on the footpath. You were out of the van for four minutes and nine seconds exactly. He counted. We’ve got a witness whose dog found Amanda Winton’s body and saw you running away with a torch in your hand. What do you say to that, Mr McKee?’
Edgar McKee turned to Detective Constable Clive Winters.
‘I say, when you go and see Marlene, do yourself a favour and fuck her brains out. She’s soooooo good!’
116
9.05 am
‘Where’s Terry Mason?’ asked Stone as he looked around the shell of Norma Maguire’s office and the evidence bags lined up at the door.
‘He’s back at the ranch, running DNA tests on hairs found on Edgar McKee’s hairnets from the abattoir,’ replied Sergeant Paul Price, taking photographs of the empty drawers of Norma Maguire’s desk.
Riley looked at the three filing cabinets mounted on trolleys at the door to be transported back to Trinity Road police station.
Stone looked around the room at the Scientific Support officers drafted in from Admiral Street and was touched by the quiet confidence swelling in Sergeant Paul Price as he orchestrated his colleagues in the manner of his mentor, DS Mason.
Looking around Norma Maguire’s office, he saw the last thing to be done. He snatched up a handful of evidence bags and walked to the line of framed staff portraits on the wall facing the door.
‘I’ll get this one, Pricey,’ said Stone, as the filing cabinets were wheeled to the lift and evidence bags were piled on to trolleys.
He started with the oldest image, the first in line where Norma looked her youngest, and slipped it from the wall into a bag. Sticking the next frame into a bag, Stone noticed the clean rectangle where the picture had been beneath the four-cornered lines of grime on the wall.
Stone stopped at the third picture, his eyes drawn to the face of Richard Ezra, smiling at Norma’s side. As he bagged the picture, the image of him that The Ghoul had falsely circulated to his victims danced through his mind.
Lifting the next picture from the wall, he saw a pattern of sorts emerging. The disappearance of individual men from the photographic timeline, and he realised that they were the ones who had resigned from Maguire Holdings, and whose names had been plundered by The Ghoul, hunting down women on the internet.
‘Do you want me to take the bags from you?’ asked Sergeant Price.
As Stone handed the bags to Price, he said, ‘We can easily work out what the real James Griffiths and Geoff Campbell look like. It’s a process of photographic elimination. They just disappear one by one on the photographic timeline.’
‘There’s only one part of Norma Maguire’s body that’s more fucked up than her legs. Her brain.’
Stone took down the last two portraits and noticed that the only person not looking directly at the camera in every shot was Norma Maguire.
He focused on the last portrait, his eyes drawn to Francesca Christie, seated centre front next to Norma, the smile bleeding from her lips, her eyes lost and bewildered, the back of Norma’s hand drooping from the side of her wheelchair and resting against Francesca’s thigh.
Taking it from the wall, the glass moved within the frame, unstable in the wood as it sank into the darkness of an evidence bag.
Stone handed the bag to Price, the look in Francesca Christie’s eyes melting into his brain, and he wondered what the young woman was looking at now,
if the act of looking was still a reality for her.
117
9.15 am
Norma Maguire gripped the metal hand rims of her wheelchair as she rolled herself towards the desk in Interview Suite 1.
Clay sat in front of two photographs face down on the table and two folded papers. She formally opened the interview, staring into Norma’s eyes with each word.
‘Have you had any thoughts since our last discussion?’ asked Clay.
‘When can I go home? The same thought, over and over.’
‘You can’t go home,’ said Clay. ‘Your house is being treated as a crime scene. Your personal laptop and phone are being explored by our IT specialist. Anything you’ve deleted can be easily undeleted and anything you’ve tried to hide will be found.’
Norma Maguire looked at her solicitor as if she’d woken from a nightmare.
‘DCI Clay,’ said Ms Rice. ‘Would you describe Ms Maguire as a prime suspect in the abduction of Francesca Christie?’
‘Yes.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Look at me, Ms Maguire, not the backs of your hands.’ She noticed the veins bulging beneath the skin of her hands and the power in her wrists. Her lower forearms were riddled with muscle and her fingers were thick and meaty.
Clay slid a piece of paper across the desk.
‘Recognise the handwriting?’
‘It’s my handwriting.’
‘And what’s on it?’
‘The names of the last six people to leave my employment.’
‘Read it back to me.’
‘Francesca Christie. Max Rodgers. Peter Gould. Eric Smith. Richard Ezra. David Ellis.’
Clay looked at the second list of names.
‘So that’s definitely the last six people who walked out on you?’
‘Yes. I told you that earlier when I gave you the list.’
She presented Norma Maguire with the second list.
‘Read that list to me.’
‘Francesca Christie. Geoff Campbell.’
‘Carry on, Norma.’
‘James.’ There was the catch of rising tears in her voice. ‘James Griffiths. Thomas Saddler. Richard Ezra.’
