‘Tell us about Stone Acre Farm,’ said Don Martin. ‘What did you find there?’
Francis swallowed. His mouth was dry. ‘We came across a locked barn. The appalling smell coming from the building suggested we should investigate further.’
‘Did you get a warrant to open this barn?’
‘We did.’
‘What did you find inside?’
‘What we saw inside the barn was horrifying – and will haunt me for the rest of my life.’ Sam Kirby interrupted him with a bark of laughter. ‘The place had been set up as a tannery, a small workshop for curing skins into leather. There were a number of plastic vats containing mixtures of chemicals and when we looked inside them, we saw pieces of tattooed human skin, which were in the process of being cured.’
Don Martin paused to let the full horror of the crimes sink in. The memories of Kirby’s tanning studio made Francis’s flesh crawl. Several members of the jury and a number of people watching in the public gallery looked repulsed. But Francis saw Tom Fitz, the crime reporter from the Argus, keying frantically on his mobile, filing his copy on what would be, without doubt, the year’s most spectacular trial.
Sam Kirby grinned as a woman on the jury leaned forward, putting her head in her hands.
‘Do you have images of what you found there?’
‘Yes, we took lots of photos. You’ll find a selection of them in the evidence file, for the jury to see.’
The clerk of the court took his cue and handed a package of photos to the jury foreman to pass around. Francis and Don Martin waited in silence, giving them a chance to look at the full horror of the Tattoo Thief’s work. The people watching from the public gallery became restive. They wouldn’t get to see the gruesome images and they speculated in low murmurs about what they might show.
The woman juror who’d looked distressed was handed the photos. She gave them only a cursory glance before passing them on to the man next to her. When they handed the sheaf of photos back to the clerk of the court, the judge cleared his throat.
‘I’m sorry, members of the jury, that you had to look at those images, but it’s important for your understanding of the crimes in question. However, I think now might be the right time to take a short break. We’ll reconvene in fifteen minutes.’
Out in the corridor, Francis gulped down a bottle of water and checked his phone. Two messages from Rory, one from Rose – hopefully updates on the Sally Ann Granger case. He was about to listen to them when Don Martin appeared, his black gown flowing behind him as he strode purposefully towards Francis.
‘Don,’ said Francis, dropping his phone back into his pocket. ‘Went okay, didn’t it?’
‘We’ve still got a problem,’ said Martin. His expression was grim.
‘Yes?’
‘None of this mitigates the defence team’s plan to argue diminished responsibility.’
‘She’s as sane as you or I,’ said Francis.
‘Not sure the jury will see it that way, not once Elphick has put his little spin on it. A young woman, betrayed and deserted by her family, ends up cutting tattoos off other people’s backs. Not exactly a picture of rational behaviour. Easy to argue she’s got a screw loose.’
Francis sighed.
A diminished responsibility verdict meant no conviction for Kirby – just an undetermined spell in the cushy surroundings of a high-security mental hospital, rather than a fixed tariff in prison. And no conviction would see his own career on the skids. A lot of people had felt he’d got his promotion to DI far too young, and if this case got ballsed up, they’d feel justified in that thought.
‘How are you going to counter? What about the fact she killed them for money?’
Martin shrugged. ‘Most people wouldn’t do that for money . . .’
‘Can I quote you on that?’ said someone behind him.
Damn!
Recognising the voice, Francis whipped round to see that Tom Fitz had crept up on them. He was holding up his phone at arm’s length, as he closed in.
‘Are you recording?’ snapped Martin. ‘Switch it off now and piss off.’
Fitz scurried away. He knew what he’d been doing was uncountenanced, but as Francis was all too aware, he always worked close to the line. And crossed it more often than not.
Francis went back into the court, frowning as he thought about what the next morning’s headline would be. At the same moment, Sam Kirby was being led back into the dock. When the policewoman at her side motioned for her to sit down, Kirby ignored it. She gripped the wooden rail across the front of the dock and Francis could quite clearly see the dripping, bleeding human hearts she had tattooed on the back of each hand. She was showing them off – for the jury’s sake or for his? As if she felt his eyes upon her, she turned to face Francis and fixed him with a steely stare.
The muttering and general clamour in the courtroom prevented most people from hearing what she said. But Francis could lip read.
‘Francis Sullivan.’
When she opened her mouth, he could see blood on her lips and teeth. He wanted to look away but he couldn’t.
‘You’re on my list.’
Francis crossed the floor to stand directly in front of her, hands on his hips. Close up, he could see she was chewing at her bottom lip.
‘What list would that be, Kirby?’ He shouldn’t be baiting her. He ought to know better.
She leered at him, blood running down her chin.
‘You’re in my sights. It’s not over till it’s over.’
It’s not over till it’s over.
Words he’d heard her say before, more than once.
‘It’s not over till it’s over.’ Her voice had risen to a shout.
Then she spat at him. A globule of bloody spittle landed right in his eye. And as he wiped it away, a flash of light made him blink, and he saw Tom Fitz holding up his phone again.
Now he had no doubt what tomorrow’s headline would be.
26
Monday, 21 August 2017
Francis
When he got back from Lewes, Francis skulked into his office, leaving Rory to manage the team. The day in court had exhausted him, and perhaps Rory was right that he shouldn’t be back at work yet. But staying home and giving in to his grief was out of the question. And he couldn’t sit with Robin – watching her even more acute suffering was too painful.
Nor could he afford to let things drift. He would be giving more testimony tomorrow and, once he’d finished, Marni Mullins would be called. He needed to see her and go through the barrister’s list of questions.
He was about to head off to Great College Street where she lived, when Rory came into his office. He dropped heavily into the chair opposite Francis’s desk, uninvited. He didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked around the scruffy office with pursed lips.
‘What’s on your mind, sergeant?’
‘Just wondering. Bradshaw told you to pull Alex Mullins in for further questioning. But you haven’t given the instruction.’
Francis nodded. He’d wondered how long it would be before someone – in fact, Rory – commented.
‘Marni Mullins is due to give evidence in the Kirby case tomorrow. If we bring Alex in again, she’ll go ballistic. I need her evidence in the bag before I can afford to let that happen.’
Rory pulled his vape out of his pocket and fidgeted with it nervously.
‘It’s not right, boss. If Mullins is involved in these attacks, we need him off the streets. I mean, what if Marni’s evidence gets delayed?’ This wasn’t at all unusual with the slow pace of the criminal justice system. ‘Just how long would you leave him out in the open? And what if there’s another attack?’
‘Put him under surveillance for the time being.’
‘Have you okayed it with the chief?’
‘No, of c
ourse I bloody haven’t. He wants Mullins charged – but you know perfectly well we don’t have enough evidence for that.’
‘I suppose you know what you’re doing.’ Rory stood up to go.
‘Yes, I do. I can’t afford to have the Kirby case messed up by this one. As soon as Marni Mullins steps off the stand, I’ll let you know and you can pick him up.’
‘What if there’s another attack? You’re dealing with the trial, with your mother’s funeral . . .’
Francis’s head snapped up. Rory was angling to be put in charge and that was below the belt.
‘Let me look after things for you, boss.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Rory.’
Francis still wasn’t sure how much he could trust Rory when it came to Bradshaw. This would be a good test.
It was only a ten-minute walk to Great College Street, but Francis drove, not least so he could find five minutes of air-conditioned relief from the oppressive heat. He felt crumpled and sweaty after his day in court and couldn’t face the hot pavements, jostling tourists and pub overspill the walk would entail. It also meant he could sit in his car and compose himself until he felt ready to face Marni.
She was expecting him. He’d messaged her earlier in the day to let her know he’d come round, and Don Martin had been updating her on the trial progress and when she was likely to be called. But that didn’t mean she’d be pleased to see him.
She opened the door as soon as he rang the bell, then turned and led the way to the kitchen without saying a word. He understood. The police were hounding a member of her family, again. What did come as a surprise to him was to find Thierry Mullins, propping himself up against the kitchen counter, drinking a beer as if he belonged there.
Francis gave him a nod as he came in. ‘Thierry.’
He and Thierry had together rescued Marni when Steve Harrington had tried to kidnap her after Sam Kirby’s arrest. But they’d never been on easy terms, and Francis wondered what Thierry knew about him and Marni. He felt his face turn red as Thierry replied with a surly, ‘Hello.’
‘Beer?’ said Marni.
‘Sure.’ It was hot and just the thought of holding a cold glass appealed.
Thierry finished his beer and thrust the bottle into a crate of empties by the back door. ‘I’m going to the pub.’
Marni frowned. ‘I won’t wait up.’
The front door slammed as Thierry left and at least some of the tension drained from the air.
Francis took a sip of the beer Marni handed him. Did he dare? ‘You and Thierry . . . are you?’
‘Back together?’ Marni glared at him. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, Frank, but, yes.’ She didn’t sound thrilled.
They sat out in the garden and when Pepper excitedly reacquainted himself with Francis, Marni’s mood seemed to soften a bit.
‘No, Pepper, you can’t sit on Frank’s lap.’
The dog barked and licked his hand. Francis ignored it.
‘I’ve got a copy of your witness statement here – I thought you might want to refresh your memory before going on the stand tomorrow.’ Francis drew a folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to Marni. It covered how Marni had discovered the Tattoo Thief’s first victim in a dumpster, to how she’d been instrumental in Sam Kirby’s arrest, and what had happened after that when Steve Harrington had kidnapped her.
‘How long do you think I’ll be giving evidence for?’ she asked, when she’d glanced through the statement.
‘Most of the day, maybe even into Wednesday. You’re our key witness and your testimony will be absolutely critical to getting Sam Kirby convicted.’
Marni drained her beer bottle. ‘No pressure then. If I fuck up, Kirby goes free?’
‘Not quite,’ said Francis. ‘She doesn’t deny the killings – it’s just a matter of whether she goes to prison or to a psychiatric hospital.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Absolutely. I need to secure a prison sentence or Bradshaw will do his best to get me downgraded.’
‘Really, Frank?’ Marni got up to deposit her empty bottle just inside the door. ‘This is just about your career then, is it?’
‘Of course not.’
Her eyebrows shot up. ‘And what about Tash’s murder? How’s your career faring there?’
Francis stood up. He’d wanted to avoid discussing the current case with Marni for obvious reasons.
‘I’d better be going.’
‘Are you still looking at Alex in relation to Tash and Sally Ann?’ Her tone was downright hostile now.
She blocked the doorway back into the kitchen. Even when she was angry he found her attractive, but why had he ever thought they could have made a go of it?
‘You don’t have a single thing on him, do you?’
‘Is he here?’ said Francis.
She shook her head, but didn’t move from her position in the doorway.
‘You know he and Tash had a fight in The Haunt. Tash slapped him before she left.’
Marni’s eyes widened for a split second. ‘I knew that. It means nothing – they’re teenagers.’
Francis wasn’t at all convinced she had known.
‘So I suppose you know that he hit her a couple of months ago, too?’
This time Marni couldn’t hide her shock, and Francis regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth.
What an idiot.
‘I don’t believe you.’
Francis shrugged. He felt terrible, but he couldn’t discuss the case with her.
Marni stepped back so he could pass by her into the kitchen.
He turned to face her, looking down into her brown eyes. She avoided eye contact by turning her head to the side.
‘My son had nothing to do with Tash’s death,’ she said, through teeth clamped tight.
‘The investigation’s far from over, Marni. Let’s just get Kirby’s case out of the way first.’
Back in his car, he wished Rory was there with him. Not because he wanted to confide in the sergeant or ask his opinion on what had just happened. Simply because he felt he could do with a cigarette. He might have, in a single sentence, destroyed all the good will he’d built to get Marni to testify willingly. And if Marni didn’t give her evidence against Sam Kirby, he could probably assume his career was as good as finished.
Instead of turning out of Great College Street and heading for home, he drove in the opposite direction to the Esso petrol station on Eastern Road, where he bought a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
Damn!
27
Monday, 21 August 2017
Alex
Alex heard the front door slam and scooted across to the window on his desk chair to see who’d just left the house.
Francis Sullivan? What the fuck was he doing here?
He watched the policeman walk down the street and get into a dark blue Golf. He sat for a moment, then revved the engine aggressively and shot out of his parking space, practically clipping the rear of the car parked in front of him.
The bedroom door opened and his mother came in, without knocking first as she habitually did. He ripped his headphones off.
They both started speaking at once.
‘What the hell was he doing here?’
‘Alex, did you ever . . .’
‘What? Did I ever what?’
Marni sank down on the side of his bed with a sigh. She looked around his room and he became conscious of how untidy it was – clothes all over the floor, wardrobe doors open, drawers open and overflowing. Bed unmade. Pretty much as usual. But she hadn’t come in here to nag him.
‘Mum?’
‘The police are saying that you hit Tash.’
‘No. No way. She slapped me, then she stormed off. Loads of people saw that.’
‘Not at The Haunt. Some other time.’
Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘I never hit Tash, ever. You can’t believe that, Mum.’
‘Of course I don’t want to believe it. But why would the police be saying that?’
Alex spun on his chair, knuckles gripping the arms. His world was spinning out of control.
‘Mum! You know they tell lies. They told me you’d stabbed someone. That you’d been to prison. That’s bullshit, isn’t it?’
‘Jesus,’ said his mother, shaking her head. She looked at him and her eyes were shiny. ‘So you didn’t hit her?’
‘It’s a lie. If someone told them that, they were lying.’ Alex stopped his chair and leaned forward to rest his head on the desk, cradled in protective arms.
‘Why was he here anyway?’ he said, speaking into the crook of his elbow.
He heard the bedsprings creak, then felt one of Marni’s arms snake around his shoulders. He raised his head and returned her embrace.
‘I promise you, Mum, I didn’t do anything to Tash.’ She had to believe him.
‘I know you didn’t, bug.’ She hadn’t called him that in years.
Alex disengaged himself.
‘Someone’s been telling lies to the police,’ he said. ‘Someone they’ll believe more than they’ll believe me.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘You don’t think Francis Sullivan made that up, just grabbed it out of thin air?’
She shook her head. ‘No . . .’
‘Right. Someone told them that.’
‘Who would do something like that?’
‘One of Tash’s stuck-up friends.’ He stood up. Anger rose like bile in his throat and he kicked a bag of books out of his way.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To find out who’s shafting me.’
He grabbed his hoody and left Marni behind in his room.
Her Last Breath: The new crime thriller from the international bestseller (Sullivan and Mullins) Page 14
