Cross and Burn

by Val McDermid

  For the first time in months, he actually believed it might be possible.

  55

  Marco would save her. Marie kept repeating the words like a sacred invocation. Marco would save her. She whimpered and shifted her position. It didn’t matter how often she rearranged herself, some part of her body complained. How could anyone do what he’d done to someone they knew? She wasn’t some stranger he’d dragged off the street. She was a person with a name and a place in his world. It made no sense in Marie’s universe, where life was comfortable and people behaved in predictable, conventional ways. She wasn’t stupid. She knew there were lots of people who lived in chaotic, illogical, even violent ways. But until today, she thought people like that were safely contained outside the neat borders of her life.

  After this, nothing would ever be the same for her again. She’d look at the world in a different way once Marco had saved her from this hell. Right now, he’d be talking to the police. They’d be looking for her. They had all sorts of ways of tracking people down these days. There was CCTV everywhere. They’d be talking to people from work, people who got on the same tram as her morning and evening. The newsagent. Someone must have seen something. Or else he’d crack, this madman. He’d give something away without even realising it. And then they’d be on to him.

  She wasn’t going to think about what he’d done to her. The way he’d slapped her and dragged her across the concrete floor, ripping her skin in a painful graze from hip to knee. The kicks and punches he’d aimed at her when she’d tried to explain in as placatory a way as she could that she had no idea how to cook a steak because Marco was the cook in their house. He’d laughed incredulously then he’d gone mad with his fists and his feet.

  But she wasn’t going to dwell on that. She was going to hold fast to her hopes. Marco would save her. He wouldn’t rest till she was home. And there would be no need to tell him about what had happened after the beating. He wouldn’t press her for details. She’d never have to relive that horror. The pain, the humiliation, the things Marco had never dreamed of asking her to do – she would make herself forget them. She would be strong, because that’s who she was. She wasn’t whatever this beast wanted to make of her. She was Marie Mather, wife of Marco. Who would save her.

  A moan escaped from her bruised lips. She had to be strong. She couldn’t give in. She had to be the woman Marco loved. She had to be worthy of him. Because Marco would save her.

  Then the lid was thrown open and her resolve wavered at the sight of him looming over her again. ‘What was it you said earlier? Something about your useless wanker of a husband coming to save you?’

  Although she was so scared she thought she might throw up, Marie managed to choke out, ‘He will.’

  He leaned forward and laughed viciously in her face. He produced a tablet computer and turned it to face her. At first, she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. And then it dawned on her that this was Marco. Sprawled over their garage floor. It made no sense. The beast leaned into the freezer and held it closer so Marie could see it more clearly.

  Her mouth dropped open in horror. ‘No,’ she said, disbelief raising the volume.

  He dragged his finger across the screen to bring up the next photo. ‘Oh yes. Like I said, you used to have a different husband. But now he’s dead.’ As he spoke, he eased the taser out of his pocket. If he was going to need it, now was probably the time.

  ‘You killed him? You killed my Marco?’

  ‘I didn’t have to. His cooking killed him. Your demands killed him. I’m not going to let you do that to me.’

  She was oblivious to his words, completely focused on the image on the screen in front of her. ‘No,’ she said, this time more loudly still. ‘No.’ It was a shout now, suddenly deadened as the freezer lid slammed back down and plunged her into darkness.

  Marco wasn’t going to save her after all.

  56

  It was almost like old times, Carol thought. Sitting round a table at midnight with Paula and Stacey, drinking coffee and going over a live case, trying to come up with a line of inquiry that would do the business for them. Except it wasn’t. She was kidding herself. Old times had never included Tony in jail, Chris in various kinds of therapy, a teenage kid upstairs and Elinor Blessing in the kitchen making the coffee. Kevin and Sam, the other members of the MIT, had moved onwards and upwards too; she had no idea where they were or what they were doing. This, she had to accept, was a new chapter with scant connection to the past.

  ‘Thanks for joining us,’ she said to Stacey.

  Stacey flipped open a slender laptop. ‘Paula explained about Tony. I wanted to help.’

  I deserved that. ‘Of course. He was always ready to put himself out for us.’

  Elinor came through with a tray of steaming mugs. ‘Coffee all round. I’d worry about it keeping you awake, except that you’re all cops and it has as much effect on you as on doctors.’ She handed out the drinks and put a plate of chocolate digestives on the table. ‘Lucky for you I got fresh supplies of biscuits in. Torin seems to inhale them.’

  ‘How is he doing?’ Carol stirred milk into her coffee and reached for a biscuit.

  ‘I don’t know him well enough to be certain,’ Elinor said. ‘He’s obviously deeply upset but I think he doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to react. He’s got no experience of grief to draw on. It’s like he’s not sure what he’s feeling.’

  ‘Still in shock,’ Paula said, keeping his secrets. ‘I don’t think it’s begun to sink in yet.’

  ‘Poor boy,’ Stacey said.

  Carol tried not to show her surprise at Stacey displaying empathy with a carbon-based life form. Then she remembered Paula’s revelation that their former computer guru had been seeing Sam Evans socially. Maybe even romantically. Yet another reminder that this was not old times. ‘Arresting the wrong person’s not going to help,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve already said I’m sorry about that. I did try to persuade Fielding to wait, but I think she’s got one eye on the brass. Trying to make an impression.’ Paula shook her head. ‘And Tony doesn’t help himself.’

  ‘I never thought I’d be grateful for Bronwen Scott,’ Carol said. ‘All we have to do now is demolish your case, Paula.’ She held up a hand as Paula opened her mouth to protest. ‘I’m not blaming you, I know it’s DCI Fielding who drove this. I just said “you” because you’re the only one here officially involved.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Stacey said. ‘I’m not actually here.’

  ‘And I’m not either,’ Elinor said. ‘Someone has to do the sleeping.’ She kissed Paula on the cheek. ‘I’m going to leave you to it. Don’t stay up too late, ladies.’ She patted Carol on the shoulder as she passed. A day ago Carol would have flinched at the contact. Now, it felt good.

  They all waited politely till Elinor left the room, then Carol said, ‘I take it as a given that none of us believes Tony could be responsible?’ Paula looked outraged, Stacey rolled her eyes. ‘OK, I had to ask. So I’m tasked with undermining the case against him enough to make Fielding back away from charging him.’

  ‘And you don’t have much time. She’s going to want to reinterview him first thing and my guess is that unless Bronwen Scott gives her a very good reason not to, she’s going to charge him at the end of that interview.’

  ‘Would demolishing your DNA evidence be a good enough reason?’ Carol asked sweetly.

  Paula sat up straight. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s remembered how it got there.’ Carol revealed what Tony had told her earlier, leaving them both shaking their heads in disbelief. ‘Stacey, Paula told me you’ve found your way into Nadia Wilkowa’s data. Is that right?’

  Stacey nodded. ‘It wasn’t hard.’ She tapped a couple of keys and angled the screen so they could both see a diary page. ‘I merged the data on her laptop and her phone so we have as full a picture as possible of her day to day life. So…’ She clicked on something and the display changed. ‘On any given da
y I can tell you what her business appointments were, whether she had any personal appointments, what texts she sent and received and her emails.’

  ‘Did I ever tell you how much you scare me?’ Carol gave Stacey a thumbs-up.

  ‘Just make sure you stay on her good side,’ Paula muttered.

  ‘So can you pull up dates she had appointments at Bradfield Moor?’

  Stacey reclaimed the laptop. They waited while the keyboard whispered under her fingers, then she turned it to face them. ‘Five times since she started the job. She had meetings with Joanna Moore, the Medical Director.’

  ‘Can you email me those dates? I need to compare them with the incident log at Bradfield Moor. One of those dates should correspond to an occasion when Tony was punched in the face by a patient and had a nosebleed.’

  Stacey snorted. ‘Nothing changes, does it?’

  ‘The thing is, I do actually remember that incident,’ Carol said. ‘His nose was swollen like a strawberry for a few days. It was last year some time. I can’t be more precise than that.’

  ‘I swear to God, you couldn’t make him up,’ Stacey muttered.

  ‘Will they let you see the log?’ Paula asked.

  ‘If I have authorisation from Tony, I don’t think they can refuse. I’ll get on to that first thing tomorrow. On the downside, he was at a meeting with Will Newton in Bradfield Cross on Monday. He stomped out at the end because he was so pissed off. He walked home to work off his bad mood, so he’s not got any kind of alibi for when Bev went missing.’

  Paula groaned. She gave Carol a direct look. ‘The “no alibi” isn’t exactly a surprise. He misses the life he had when the MIT was still running. He doesn’t really have much social contact without us.’

  Carol knew the true opinion lurking behind Paula’s words but she wasn’t willing to engage with it. ‘See what you can do.’

  Paula dipped her head, acknowledging her failure to get Carol to open up with a wry twist of her mouth. ‘You want me to get one of my firm to check the hospital CCTV and the street cameras?’

  Carol nodded. ‘You’ll get a better response if you do it officially than I will if I try to get anything out of hospital bureaucrats. Meanwhile we’ll be finding expert witnesses to knock down your fingermark evidence. Because obviously, it’s not Tony’s.’

  ‘This isn’t enough,’ Stacey said, twirling a strand of her sleek black hair round her finger. ‘Explaining the blood and the thumbprint would probably convince a jury there was reasonable doubt, but it’s not going to hold Fielding back from charging him.’

  Paula’s expression was grim. ‘I’ve barely got my feet under the table, but I’d say you’re right. If we’re going to get Tony off the hook before she charges him, we’re going to have to find a stronger suspect.’

  Carol leaned forward, hands flat on the table, intense and focused. ‘Tony has a theory based on the way the killer treats his victims.’ She looked at Paula. ‘You know how Fielding has this mad idea that Tony’s killing women who look like me because I walked away? Well, Tony suggested that he’s not killing women because they look like me. It’s that we all – me and the two victims – we all look like the woman he actually wants to kill.’

  ‘So what’s stopping him killing the woman he really wants to kill?’ Stacey drummed the pads of her fingers softly against the laptop casing, alert and interested now there was some fresh meat on the table.

  ‘Tony thinks she cheated him out of it. Suicide, accident, whatever. But she might be dead already. And quite recently. He thinks if we can find her, we find the killer.’

  Paula stood up abruptly and lit a scented candle that immediately filled the air with the festive scent of cinnamon and cranberries. Then she flipped open her cigarette packet and sparked up a cigarette from the candle flame. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said at the top of the in breath. ‘And how does he propose we do that?’

  Carol pulled a face. ‘He didn’t get that far.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise.’

  Stacey frowned. ‘That’s an interesting challenge. It’s not like you can google “dead blonde Bradfield” and expect anything useful.’

  ‘A few tasteless blonde jokes maybe,’ Paula sighed. ‘But that doesn’t help us any.’

  ‘I thought I might trawl through the Sentinel Times archives. The hard copies, not the online version,’ Carol said. ‘I think they still keep them on file at the central library.’

  ‘If that hasn’t gone in the local government cuts,’ Paula said gloomily.

  ‘It’s not exactly exhaustive,’ Stacey pointed out.

  ‘Maybe not, but funeral directors recommend a death notice as part of the package and the overwhelming majority of people still go for it,’ Carol said. ‘It’s the best we can do.’

  ‘And I’ll try and persuade Fielding not to charge Tony in the morning.’ Paula cracked a yawn and rolled her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, girls, but I’m going to have to go to bed.’

  Carol stood up. ‘Lucky you. I’ve got the best part of a forty-minute drive before I get to sleep.’

  ‘There’s a sofa bed here,’ Paula said. ‘We seem to be the unofficial home for waifs and strays.’

  Carol smiled and shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got to get home for the dog. I’m new to this game. I don’t know how long you can leave them alone without them freaking out.’

  ‘Where did you leave her?’ Paula looked worried.

  ‘In the main barn. There’s nothing to chew except saw-horses and scrap wood.’

  ‘Probably just as well.’

  ‘I’ll bring her with me tomorrow. She can sleep in the Land Rover and I can take her for a walk at lunchtime.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s legal?’ Stacey asked, looking concerned.

  ‘I don’t see why not. The weather’s not exactly warm and I’ll obviously leave a window open. And I’ll walk her whenever I can.’

  Paula pushed herself to her feet. ‘It’ll be fine. I’m glad you came, Carol. Tony needs you on his side.’

  All the relaxed bonhomie drained from Carol’s face and her shoulders tightened. ‘I’m not on his side. I’m on the side of justice being done. That’s all. And when it’s done, I’m going straight back to my own life. I’m done with him, Paula. I’m done with Tony.’

  57

  Day twenty-seven

  It was infuriating. Why were women so stupid? You didn’t have to be Einstein to work out that, if your husband was dead, you’d better make a good impression on the man who was willing to take his place. But that didn’t seem to have penetrated her thick skull. He’d left her in peace all night so she could get Marco out of her system and get used to her new reality, but he might as well not have bothered.

  He’d set his alarm especially early so he could provide her with her first lesson before he set about the business of the day. But when he opened the lid of the freezer, she barely reacted. No panic, no terror, no offer of obedience. She remained huddled at one end of the freezer, knees against her chest, arms wrapped around her head. He shouted at her but she didn’t flinch. It didn’t seem to register at all. He’d heard about catatonic states, but he couldn’t believe he was seeing one for real. He was convinced she was putting on an act, so he slapped her a couple of times to snap her out of it. But all he achieved was to sting the palm of his hand. She made no attempt to protect herself or to fight back.

  He tried tasering her and throwing her on the floor of the garage but she remained where he dropped her, sprawled in an ungainly way across the concrete. He shouted at her to get up, but she stayed where she was. He booted her in the midriff; she rose and fell like a sack of meat. She made no protest, not even a whimper.

  He didn’t have time for this. Not now. So he tasered her again and threw her into the freezer. ‘You need to buck up your ideas,’ he said. ‘You could have a great life with me. Or you could end up in the mortuary like the other ones. It’s your choice. When I get home tonight, I expect you to have had an attitude readjustment. Marco�
�s dead. Get used to it. You can join him or you can join me. I’d say it’s a no-brainer. But people make shitty choices all the time. Still, you’re supposed to be a clever bitch. Show me how smart you really are. Choose life, bitch. Or pay the price.’

  Then he’d slammed the freezer shut. Rage burned like acid in his throat. Who the fuck did she think she was? Failure was one thing, but defiance was another. That’s where the first one, the original, had gone wrong. When things came to a head between them and he made it clear her behaviour was unacceptable, she’d flouted his instructions to improve herself. She’d thought she could go against him. Take his children and walk out the door. She’d thought she was escaping.

  Instead she’d driven so bloody badly that she’d ended up in a pile-up on the M62. That she was dead was fine with him, even though there would have been more satisfaction in dealing out death himself. But she’d destroyed his kids with her treachery. His kids. His son and his daughter, still in the process of being moulded into a pair of children anyone would be proud of. And she’d taken herself beyond revenge at the same time. He’d cheerfully have killed her again and again and again for the affront of leaving him. The outrage of taking his children from him was worse; for that, he’d have tortured her slowly, grimly, gruesomely for as long as he could possibly make it last.

  Well, this one would discover the price of defiance soon enough. First, though, he had to go to work.

  58

  The dog had greeted her so rapturously on her return that Carol felt obliged to take her for a walk. She hadn’t fancied stumbling over the rough pasture in the dark, so she’d stuck to the margin of the field where the ground was relatively even. Flash didn’t seem to mind. She raced off in random directions before returning at regular intervals to make sure Carol hadn’t lost her way. ‘A bit like my brain,’ Carol said once she’d recognised the pattern.