Her Last Breath: The new crime thriller from the international bestseller (Sullivan and Mullins)

by Alison Belsham

  ‘A word?’ he said, nodding his head towards the door.

  Francis stood up.

  ‘Can you just wait here until we’ve got a statement for you to sign,’ he said to one of the two girls.

  She nodded. There were black smudges of mascara down her cheeks and her eyes were bloodshot.

  Francis followed Rory out of the room.

  ‘What’s happening?’ said Rory.

  ‘That’s Sarah Collins,’ said Francis. The name rang a bell – the girl Angie had interviewed, who’d said Alex Mullins had hit Tash Brady. ‘She’s just retracted her previous statement.’

  ‘Because Marni Mullins got to her?’

  ‘Because Kath Brady asked her to lie.’

  ‘You believe that?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I do.’

  ‘And now you want to let Mullins go?’

  ‘We don’t have much choice, Rory. We didn’t have much on him to start with and now we’ve got even less.’

  Rory shook his head. This was wrong. They were going to be releasing a killer out onto the streets.

  Francis looked at his watch. ‘Process him out. King, too. Put eyes on both of them.’

  ‘Both of them? That’ll need overtime. You gonna square it with the chief?’

  ‘Enough, Rory.’ He took a step forward and for a second Rory thought he was going to lose it like he had in Fitz’s office. ‘This is my bloody investigation and I know exactly what I’m doing. Now get out of my sight.’

  Rory went back to his desk. The boss was cracking up over this case. But if that was the way he wanted to play it, more fool him. It wouldn’t be his problem when Bradshaw blew a gasket.

  Rory fingered his mobile, opening the list of contacts at ‘B’. But he didn’t dial.

  Instead, he got on with the paperwork to release Mullins and King from custody.

  He organised a surveillance roster.

  He wondered what Sullivan was up to. Was he playing the most dangerous game of all? Was he going to try and catch the killer in the act?

  At five to five, Rory led Alex Mullins from the custody suite to the reception area of John Street Police Station, where Marni Mullins was waiting impatiently for his release.

  Alex stood sullen and silent as Rory took his handcuffs off. Behind him, the heavy security door that separated the reception area from the rest of the station opened.

  ‘Mackay, what are you doing?’ It was Bradshaw.

  ‘Releasing this man,’ said Mackay.

  ‘Couldn’t you get an extension?’ said Bradshaw, ignoring Marni who was now stepping forward in protest.

  ‘Sir, we’ve been holding him for ninety-six hours.’

  ‘Can’t you charge him?’

  ‘No grounds. DI Sullivan instructed his release.’

  ‘Where is Sullivan?’

  ‘In his office, I believe.’

  Without another word, Bradshaw stormed back the way he’d come. Rory pulled out his phone to text a warning to the boss, then thought better of it.

  He got the cuffs off Mullins and handed him the paperwork.

  ‘Released under investigation,’ said Rory. ‘You’re to stay in Brighton and remain available to us if we need to talk to you again.’

  Mullins nodded.

  ‘Come on,’ said Marni, stepping towards Alex to give him a hug. ‘Let’s get home.’

  For the first time since coming out of the custody suite, Alex Mullins looked up at his mother. His expression was cold and hard.

  ‘Get lost,’ he said. ‘I’m not going home.’

  43

  Sunday, 27 August 2017

  Lou

  Lou Riley huddled in the doorway of the empty shop, shivering as she lit her last cigarette. She was coming down hard and fast, and she had no more caps to take and nowhere to go. There was no way she was going back to her mum’s, not with Derek in the house. Last time she’d snuck in after a night on X, he’d been getting up for his early shift – and while her mum lay snoring upstairs, he’d pinned her up against the kitchen wall and put his hand down her knickers.

  She gagged at the memory of his stinking breath.

  St James’s Street was quiet. It was gone three, so nobody was around. But she was out on the street alone. She didn’t want to think about the stories going round, of a maniac grabbing women off the street. Girls from college, though she didn’t know them. Mostly people were staying in. Scared. Fear, seeping through the town like poison. Stupid really. If she tucked up small in the corner of this doorway, she could hunker down until it was light. No one would see her. Then, when it was past the time that Derek went on shift, she could go home. What did her mum see in him?

  She took a last drag of her cigarette. She’d smoked it right down to the nub, and the smoke burned the back of her throat, setting off a coughing fit. She tossed the filter across the pavement to the gutter, then checked her pockets for her fag packet.

  No, that had been the last one.

  Was she going to go home? She wanted her bed desperately, wanted to be warm and asleep. Cramp clenched her lower bowels and she pushed herself further into the corner of the doorway, wrapping her arms around her knees. No one could see her here. The stone step was cold to sit on, and it crept slowly through her, but she was too lethargic now to move.

  The headlights of a passing car woke her with a jolt. Every bone in her body ached. She hunted for a cigarette and then remembered.

  Fuck!

  ‘Hey, you okay?’

  Her eyes snapped open and she pulled her cardigan defensively against her body. There was a man looming in the doorway above her. He blocked the light from the streetlamps so she couldn’t see his face. But he seemed to know her.

  ‘It’s fine, don’t be frightened.’

  She struggled to her feet. It only made her feel marginally less vulnerable.

  ‘Have you got a cigarette?’ she said. ‘Got any E?’

  He moved back and the light caught the side of his face. No, he wouldn’t have any E. She knew him – she’d seen him round college.

  ‘You don’t want E, not now. What are you doing out here? Can I take you home?’

  ‘I can’t go home.’

  He didn’t ask why. Maybe it was obvious. Maybe he could see how worthless she was.

  ‘What time is it?’ she said.

  ‘Do you want to stay somewhere dry?’ he said.

  Lou stiffened and shook her head.

  ‘Don’t get the wrong idea,’ he said quickly. ‘Nothing like that, believe me.’

  ‘Where?’ she said. Could she trust him? His voice had a friendly quality. Reassuring, not threatening. She virtually knew him.

  ‘Just a few minutes’ walk from here,’ he said. ‘There’s a cricket pitch round the corner, with a pavilion. I’ve got a key for it, and I could let you in. You could stay there for a couple of hours till it gets light.’

  She thought about it for less than a minute. Anything had to be better than being out here in the cold.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said awkwardly. She wasn’t used to people being nice to her.

  ‘This way.’

  They walked east along St James’s Street, away from the city centre. The man was carrying a heavy black bag. Neither of them said anything for a while, but she felt warmer just walking by his side. Then Lou said, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Lou,’ she answered. ‘D’you live around here?’

  ‘Not far,’ he replied.

  His monosyllabic answers discouraged further conversation and they continued in silence. After a few minutes, they turned left up Montague Place and then right along Eastern Road. Lou wondered how much further it was. Her whole body ached and her mouth felt dry. Comedown hell.

  ‘Just another couple of m
inutes,’ he said.

  They passed the posh boys’ school and turned left. Fifty yards up the road, an open gate led onto a sports field. It stretched away into inky darkness, but the streetlights along the right-hand side illuminated a small building set halfway down the side of the pitch.

  ‘That’s it,’ said the man. ‘You’ll be out of the wind in there.’

  She followed him towards the pavilion and waited as he unlocked the door. He led her inside without turning on a light. They wouldn’t want to attract attention from the houses across the road.

  ‘You can even grab a shower, if you like,’ he said, ‘though I don’t know if the water will be hot.’

  The thought of a warm shower was like a balm.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Lou was still smiling as the first blow came out of nowhere. A smash with his fist to the side of her head, and she dropped to the floor. Pain cut through her like a knife. And hindsight. She should have known better. He’d taken her for the fool she was and now . . . oh, shit! What was he going to do to her now?

  She wasn’t the girl that people were kind to, that people took pity on. She was the girl they hurt. Because she was stupid.

  Blinking back tears of pain and anger, she tried to get away. But he bent over her and slammed his fist into the same side of her head again. Her skull smacked back onto the wooden floor and consciousness spun away.

  She woke up in agony, and she didn’t know where she was. She wasn’t in her own bed. She wasn’t in a bed at all. Pain bit deep into her side, as if her guts were on fire. She could smell blood. She could taste it, too. She must have bitten her tongue. She panicked and screamed, opening her eyes, but it was too dark to make out where she was.

  Someone moved in the shadows.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  Memory flooded back. Crouching in a shop doorway. A man looming above her. Then what?

  A bright white light blinded her and she put a hand across her eyes.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ she said.

  Something was terribly wrong. Her body shook and her mouth went dry. The light moved. It was coming at her. Her bowels turned to water and she started to retch. She had to get away but she was paralysed.

  ‘Relax. It won’t hurt much.’

  A hand grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over onto her front. She felt him pulling at her cardigan and her top to expose her back. She tried to crawl away but he hit her again. Her head spun and she lay, panting, still. Somewhere behind her, a sharp metallic buzz started in the darkness. She’d heard that sound before. She remembered it, thought of the little image of a strawberry on her ankle.

  It was daylight outside when Lou opened her eyes, but the small room she was in remained gloomy. She tried to sit up but felt a stab of pain when she pushed up on her right hand. She looked down and, in the half-light, she saw that it was covered with blood. Both hands. A burning sensation on her left side made her gasp and, as her eyes got used to the light, she saw more blood. Everywhere. Her head spun and for a moment she couldn’t draw breath.

  Then she screamed for help, terrified and confused. What had happened to her? What was this place? She felt dizzy and sick. She called for help again.

  The door swung open. Three little boys in cricket whites jostled for position at the threshold. Then, taking in what he was seeing, the first boy, probably no more than twelve years old, let out a scream as long and as loud as any that Lou had managed. Memories jostled for space in her addled brain. The man. The dark pavilion. Blows to her head. The electric whine in the shadows.

  The familiar burning pain of a fresh tattoo on her back.

  She’d heard the stories. She’d read about what had happened to Tash Brady and Sally Ann Granger. About the man taking girls. Tattooing them with poison. She knew what it meant.

  Now it had happened to her. She knew she was going to die.

  44

  Sunday, 27 August 2017

  Rory

  The head of the sports department at Brighton College was scowling and it was easy to see why. His pristine cricket pitch was being chewed up by a fleet of emergency vehicles. An ambulance, three police cars – and now the forensics team were spilling out of a van, as Rose parked carelessly across one of the creases. Rory had parked his own car on the street for an easier getaway, and he and Angie had walked in past a gaggle of boys being escorted off the pitch. They were overexcited by the sudden police presence, craning their necks to see what was going on and showing off in loud voices. All of them, apart from one boy, walking by the teacher’s side, who looked like he’d been crying.

  Rory flashed his warrant card at the master.

  ‘I’m DS Rory Mackay and this is Detective Burton. Are you the person who called this in?’

  ‘I am,’ said the man. ‘I’m Dale Gillingham, Head of Sports.’ He didn’t sound local to Rory. Sounded like he’d spent his whole life in the bastions of the public school system, never having to step outside into the real world. Well, this would be a rude awakening then.

  ‘Could you tell us what happened?’

  ‘Of course, though one of your PCs has already taken it down.’

  Rory tilted his head. ‘We’d prefer to hear it for ourselves, if that’s okay.’ He wasn’t really giving the man any choice.

  ‘Right, sure. Three of my boys heard a woman’s voice, screaming, coming from the pavilion. The door was open and they looked in.’ He shook his head. ‘I wish to God they hadn’t. They called me over and I went in. There was a woman in there, covered in blood. Horrifying injuries.’ For a moment, it seemed like Dale Gillingham was going to vomit. He battled for control, then carried on. ‘God knows what she was doing in there, or what happened. Blood everywhere.’

  ‘Was she still conscious when you went in?’

  He nodded. ‘She wouldn’t stop screaming, “I’m going to die. I’m going to die.” I dialled nine nine nine straight away but she wouldn’t calm down. I asked her what her name was but she never told me.’

  ‘What did you do to help her?’ said Angie.

  ‘What could I do? I’m not a doctor.’ There was no blood on Gillingham’s clothing – evidently his had been a hands-off approach. ‘I rang the office and asked them to send the school nurse out with some towels.’

  ‘That’s all?’ said Angie.

  Gillingham gave her a sharp look. ‘My responsibility is to the boys in my care, not to some random woman who got herself into a fight. She looked like a druggy. The boys who found her were shocked and upset. They were my priority.’

  Rory could sense Angie’s fury at the man’s attitude, but he wasn’t surprised by it. His type were incredibly tribal when it came to looking after their own.

  ‘Any idea how she got in there? I take it you normally keep the place locked?’

  ‘No idea,’ he said. ‘The door must have been left open. It only had a single Yale lock – there’s nothing of any real value kept in there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rory. ‘We might need to talk again, and DC Burton will need to interview the boys who found her.’

  ‘Will that really be necessary? It’ll only upset them more, and they won’t be able to tell you anything useful.’

  ‘Yes, it’ll be necessary. And in the meantime, if you remember anything else that could be relevant, please call me.’ He handed Gillingham a card.

  They walked over to the pavilion and watched as the stretcher team loaded a woman into the back of the ambulance. Rory caught one of the paramedics by the arm.

  ‘Is she lucid? Did she tell you anything?’

  The woman mopped her brow with a forearm. Her green uniform was stained with blood – patches on her knees where she must have knelt in it, and other smudges on her front and arms.

  ‘She’s in shock. She was hysterical when we arrived, so we immediately gave her a sedative. I didn’t ca
tch anything coherent from her.’

  ‘What about a name? Any ID?’

  ‘Nothing on her. From what she was wearing, it looks like she was out partying last night.’

  ‘How bad are the injuries?’ said Angie.

  ‘She’s got a knife wound on the left side of her torso, and injuries to her hands and feet . . .’

  ‘Shit!’ Rory interrupted her. ‘That’s not a random attack – that’s the guy. What about tattoos?’

  The paramedic gave him a puzzled look but then realisation dawned across her features.

  ‘You mean like those girls in the paper?’

  ‘We need to check if she’s got a tattoo,’ said Rory.

  The woman started to shake her head.

  ‘Yes,’ said Rory. ‘Right now. This could be the work of a serial killer.’

  The paramedic’s eyes widened, but she climbed up into the back of the ambulance. Rory stood in the doorway, craning his neck to see inside. She spoke hurriedly to her colleague. Having been sedated, the woman – or as Rory could now see, the girl – was barely conscious. Gently, the two medics turned her onto her side and pulled up her top.

  Rory heard a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Yes, she’s got a tattoo,’ said the paramedic they’d been talking to.

  ‘Oh God!’ Angie clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘She knew. That’s why she was screaming that she was going to die.’

  Rory thrust his phone at the paramedic. ‘Take a picture.’

  It only took a couple of seconds. Then the paramedic climbed out of the back of the ambulance and went towards the driver’s door. ‘I’ve got to go. We need to get her to theatre.’

  Rory and Angie watched as the ambulance chewed up more of the pitch making a three-point turn, and drove off, blue lights flashing. Then Rory checked the picture the paramedic had taken.

  Even though it was smeared with blood, there was no mistaking what they were looking at. Three lines of ornate script. Latin verse, just like the others.

  ‘Fuck!’ said Rory, letting out the frustration he’d held under check in the presence of the medics. ‘Same MO. She’ll be dead within twenty-four hours.’