A Cold Cold Heart

by John Nicholl

  She tried to pull away as the warm blood ran down her chin and dripped on to her bare chest. ‘She m-must have had her r -reasons.’

  He began pacing the room. ‘Ah, so she had her reasons, did she? That’s your considered hypothesis? Are you suggesting that any mitigation she could claim would justify abandoning her only child? Is that what you’re trying to say? I really hope it’s not, for your sake.’

  Zoe searched her troubled mind. ‘I’m sure she m-must have loved you.’

  He stopped mid-step, turned, and glared at her with a reptile like coldness. ‘Oh, you think so, do you? I can’t see things going well for you, if that’s the best you can come up with. I suggest you think again. Do you hear me? Think again.’

  ‘Maybe she h- had no choice.’

  He nodded. ‘Interesting, one of my previous guests suggested much the same thing before she died. Perhaps you can come up with something a little more original. Something worth my time and effort; something meaningful.’

  ‘Water, please, c-can I have s- some water. My throat’s so d-dry.’

  Turner walked towards her and began stroking her face. ‘We’ll need to leave the dye on for about half an hour, that should suffice. We can decide if we need to repeat the process after we’ve washed it off. The final results are sometimes affected by the base colour. Frustrating, but that’s the way it is. Such things are sent to try us.’

  ‘Please can I h -have a glass of water. My head’s p pounding, and my throat’s s-so sore. I’m begging you.’

  He held out his hands in front of him and mimicked a panting dog. ‘Oh, poor you. That’ll be the effects of the drug, I suspect. But, not to worry, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll be heading off to work once we’re finished here. There are things I need to do, tasks that require my attention. That should give you more than enough time to come up with something that’s worth listening to. If you please me, you can have some water; if you don’t, you can’t.’

  Zoe pulled on her chains in a further hopeless attempt to free herself. ‘Let m-me go. Please l let me g-go.’

  He laughed as he approached the door. ‘Don’t bother trying to escape. No one ever escapes. Save your energy. If you have something worthwhile to say on my return, I’ll consider giving you something to eat and drink. How does that sound? I think it’s more than reasonable, don’t you?’

  Zoe gagged, swallowed, and gagged again.

  ‘Aren’t you going to thank me? I’m sure Mummy would thank me, were she in your place.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Where are your manners? You need to say thank you before I go.’

  She looked up at him. ‘Thank y- you.’

  ‘Again.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Louder.’

  ‘Thank y-you.’

  ‘Louder.’

  ‘Thank you!’

  He broke into a smile that unnerved her further. ‘Now that was much better. I do like a cooperative guest. Use your time productively. Think hard about what I’ve asked you.’

  ‘Please l- let me go.’

  He turned away and entered the bathroom, filled a plastic bucket, and returned to his makeshift prison to pour it over her head. ‘I’ll see you later in the day, Zoe, lovely Zoe. You’ll no doubt be pleased to hear that we can talk more then. Hopefully, you’ll come up with some answers that satisfy me; something original, something inspired. Think of it as an exam you have to pass with flying colours. Succeed, and I may let you live for a time. Fail, and you die.’

  20

  Grav knocked on Detective Chief Superintendent Hannah Davies’ door and walked into her roomy office without waiting to be invited. ‘All right, ma’am, I thought it was time for a catch -up.’

  ‘You took your time.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘Didn’t Laura give you my message?’

  He shrugged. ‘Yeah, she said something, but there was a lot of background noise. I must have got the wrong end of the stick. It’s easily done.’

  ‘Take a seat, Grav. And you can drop the bullshit. I might not have your years of frontline experience, but I’m not a complete muppet. I suggest you remember that. You’re on very thin ice as it is.’

  Grav sat as instructed. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘The chief constable’s had the Home Secretary on the phone. He’s not a happy man, and that’s putting it mildly. He wants the killer caught, and quickly.’

  ‘What does he think we’re all trying to do twenty- four hours a day, seven days a fucking week? I’m practically living here.’

  ‘It’s results that matter in today’s world. You know that as well as I do. We need something positive to say. Have you made any significant progress?’

  ‘I thought we’d cracked it for a time, but, no, we’re back where we started.’

  ‘But you’ve identified the four victims, yes?’

  He nodded. ‘Three with certainty, the fourth maybe. We’re still trying to track down a relative or someone who knew her well.’

  ‘What about dental records?’

  ‘The Manchester force has been making some enquiries for us, but no joy.’

  ‘Have the victims got anything in common? Any links that could point us in the right direction?’

  ‘Well, two of them were sex workers; you know that. Girls who’d had problematic childhoods, spent time in local authority care, and become addicts as teenagers. But our local girl had no history of drug use or prostitution, not a hint. They’re young women, unlucky enough to be targeted by a predatory killer; that’s the common factor. He’s casting the net wide, hunting in various parts of the country and killing them on our patch. Unless we get a lucky break, it’s not going to be easy to identify him.’

  ‘Do you think he’s a local man?’

  Grav nodded. ‘He knows our area well, that seems obvious enough. He either lives here, has lived here, or comes here on a regular basis. We’ve got to consider itinerant men who move from place to place; men whose employment lends itself to travelling around the country, such as lorry drivers, salesmen, or those in military service. There’s the bases in Pembrokeshire, and the Irish ferries. We’re not short of military personnel and HGV drivers passing through the force area. It could be any of them.’

  ‘What’s your gut feeling?’

  ‘Profiling suggests it’s likely that we’re looking for a local white man in his twenties or thirties of average intelligence.’

  ‘Yes, I appreciate that, but what do you think? You’ve been a detective for a long time. This isn’t the first murder case you’ve dealt with. You must have your own opinions?’

  ‘Profiles are a starting point, nothing more. They’re not always as helpful as you’d want them to be.’

  Davies sighed. ‘Yes, I was thinking along the same lines… Have you got time for a coffee?’

  He glanced at the wall clock to his right. ‘Yeah, why not?’

  She picked up her phone and dialled her secretary’s number. ‘Two coffees, please, Abby; my usual, and white for the inspector. And bring the sugar bowl.’ She turned back to him. ‘Tell me, Grav, did you read my latest press release?’

  ‘Yeah, no problem, it said everything it needed to say.’

  ‘It’s been all over the media. Has anyone contacted us?’

  ‘We’ve had the usual nutters ringing in – confessing to being Jack the Ripper and the like.’

  ‘But nothing useful?’

  Abby Fairbrother suddenly appeared from an adjoining office, carrying a silver tray laden with two overly fussy porcelain cups, a matching cream jug and sugar bowl, and a pot of steaming coffee. ‘Shall I pour it, ma’am?’

  ‘Just leave it on the windowsill, please, Abby. I’ll manage from there. How’s your little girl? Is she feeling any better?’

  Abby spoke as she walked. ‘She’s on the mend, thank you, ma’am. She’ll be back in school next week.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. If you could close the door on
your way out, that would be marvellous.’

  ‘Will do, ma’am.’

  The chief superintendent rose to her full five feet ten inches and glided across the room on her heels. ‘How do you take your coffee?’

  ‘Half and half with five sugars, please.’

  She looked back at him. ‘Five? They’re only small cups.’

  ‘Make it four, then. I’ve been meaning to cut down.’

  She handed him his cup and returned to her seat. ‘You’ve put on a bit of weight, Grav. When was the last time you had a medical examination?’

  ‘Just a couple of days ago, as it happens.’

  ‘Any problems? Anything I need to know about?’

  He took a gulp of coffee and smiled. ‘A- one, no problems at all. I’m as fit as I’ve ever been.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Apparently, I’ve got the blood pressure of a man in his twenties.’

  She was less than persuaded but decided not to pursue the matter. ‘Right, back to business; I think it’s time for a full-blown press conference. One of the chief’s golfing friends is offering a £20,000 reward for any information resulting in the killer’s arrest. I think we need to take full advantage of the opportunity. I suggest we go for maximum publicity. Let’s recirculate photos of all the known victims, details of what they were wearing when found, and ask for the public’s urgent help. What do you think?’

  ‘The bastard’s going to love the attention, but we’re short of options. Let’s go for it, and I think we need to consider making an appeal direct to the killer. Ask him to contact us. It’s worked before. Why not again? Maybe his ego will get the better of him.’

  Davies drummed her desk with a polished fingernail. ‘I’d need to sound it out with the chief.’

  ‘Fair enough. What sort of timing have you got in mind?’

  She sipped her coffee and placed her cup back on its saucer. ‘The end of next week. That should give you sufficient time to make the necessary arrangements.’

  ‘Why not sooner?’

  ‘I’d rather we take our time and get it right, rather than rush things.’

  ‘We’re not going to need that long.’

  ‘I’m going to be out of the country for a few days. It’s a personal matter. It’s not something I can cancel.’

  ‘I could handle it myself. Just leave it with me.’

  ‘The chief constable wants me there. The decision’s made. I’m in regular contact with the press. It’s not an issue. There’ll be no surprises on the day.’

  He rolled his eyes and nodded. ’Do you want the victims’ families involved? It would take some coordination and management.’

  ‘No, I think not, but keep them fully informed.’

  Grav tilted his head back and drained his cup, savouring the intense sweetness at the bottom. ‘Are we done? I’ve got things to get on with.’

  ‘We are, Inspector. I want to be kept fully informed of any significant developments as and when they happen. No surprises. Am I clear?’

  He rose slowly to his feet, silently cursing his chronically painful knees. ‘Message received loud and clear, ma’am. Your word is my command.’

  ‘I could do without the sarcasm.’

  ‘I’ll keep you informed.’

  ‘I hope that’s true this time. If this goes awry, you’re going to need me to cover your back. I’ll only do that if I’ve learned to trust you.’

  He reached out and shook her hand firmly. ‘I’ll keep you in the loop from here on in, that’s a promise.’

  21

  Emily looked up from her paperwork as Charles Turner opened the door to her claustrophobic office and smiled. ‘Hello, Charles, did you have a good weekend?’

  ‘Not bad at all, thanks. A friend came to stay. Someone I was happy to entertain. What about you?’

  ‘Yeah, pretty good, all considered. I was house hunting.’

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Yeah, I did see one I liked. A two bedroom flat overlooking the river. It’s a little expensive, but Dad’s offered to help with the deposit.’

  He stood and stared at her, meeting her hazel eyes with his head cocked and lingering. ‘Have you done something different with your hair?’

  She looked away and shuffled some papers. ‘Oh, just a quick cut. I fancied a change.’

  The fool was as malleable as warm putty. ‘And a subtle change of colour, if I’m not mistaken. I’m sure it’s a little lighter than it was.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a different shade.’

  ‘Ah, I thought so. It suits you perfectly. My mother favoured a very similar style as a young woman.’

  Emily picked up her desk diary, keen to change the subject. ‘Can you spare some time this week to discuss my caseload? There’s one or two things I’d like to clarify.’

  ‘Yes, why not? Come into my office; I’ve got a few minutes, we’ll do it now.’

  She picked up a pile of files and followed him into reception, where Helen was watering the various potted plants from a white plastic jug.

  Turner smiled at his young secretary as he approached his office door. ‘We’ll be in conference for about thirty minutes. Please ensure there are no interruptions, unless it’s the call I mentioned. That’s the one thing that can’t wait.’

  ‘Understood, Mr Turner. How about some coffee?’

  The pleb bitch was so desperate to please; it was fucking pathetic. ‘What would we do without you, my dear girl? Coffee would be marvelous. You know how we like it.’

  ‘And a biscuit?’

  If she forced her nose any further up his arse, she’d need a miner’s lamp. ‘What do you think, Emily, shall we indulge?’

  ‘Not for me thanks. I had one of Dad’s cooked breakfasts.’

  He pictured his hands on her throat and stifled a laugh. ‘Come on, in you come. Just a coffee will be fine, thank you, Helen, but kind of you to offer.’

  Turner sat at his desk and invited Emily to sit in the only other available chair, directly in front of his own. ‘Look, before we make a start, I was wondering if you’d like to come to the Law Society dinner with me on the twenty -sixth of this month? It’s a somewhat pompous affair, to be honest, but there’ll be a three-course meal and dancing. I’m sure we’d find a way to enjoy ourselves.’

  She didn’t reply nearly quickly enough for his liking.

  ‘You were about to tell me if you’d like to come to the dance. I’m very much hoping you will.’

  ‘Um…I don’t know.’

  What a fucking bitch! ‘We had a rather enjoyable time on our adventures in Laugharne, didn’t we, despite the snow? I thought you enjoyed yourself in the end?’

  ‘Oh, I did.’

  ‘So, what’s the problem?’

  ‘Maybe mixing work and pleasure’s not such a good idea.’

  He shook his head as it began to ache. ‘Oh, come on, we’re both grown -ups. I’m sure it wouldn’t pose too much of a problem.’

  Emily sipped her coffee and considered what to say next. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you.’

  ‘What’s that exactly?’

  ‘My ex boyfriend’s been back in touch, Richard, the one I told you about. He’s been attending a sex addicts group run by a psychologist in Cardiff. He’s made good progress, apparently. He wants us to get back together.’

  Was she really that fucking gullible? ‘Oh, come on, you’re not going to fall for that crock of shit, are you?’

  She smiled, touched by his apparent concern. ‘Crock of shit? I’ve never heard you swear before.’

  Focus, Charles, focus. Stay on plan. ‘I’m fond of you. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt again. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?’

  ‘I still love him.’

  He scowled as another obstacle raised its ugly head. ‘Really, after everything he did?’

  ‘I can’t help my feelings.’

  ‘Well, remember, I’m here if you need a shoulder to cry on.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Charles,
I will, and thank you for being so very understanding.’

  He paused before speaking again, weighing up his options. ‘So, tell me, has your father made any further progress with the murder investigation since we last spoke?’

  ‘I don’t know how much I can tell you. Dad shouldn’t really be talking to me about it as much as he does. He said that himself.’

  He smiled broadly. ‘We’ve all got to talk to somebody. It’s what keeps us sane, and for him, that someone’s you.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so. He used to confide in Mum before she passed. They were so very close, inseparable.’

  Turner paused for a beat as his blood pressure began to spiral. ‘For me, it was my mother. She was a wonderful woman, my rock. I miss her terribly.’

  Emily appeared touched by his apparent honesty. Surprised by his seeming vulnerability. ‘You said was. Is she no longer with us?’

  Was she suspicious? Was his mask slipping? ‘She died. I’m still grieving. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over my loss.’

  ‘Time’s a great healer. It sounds like an empty platitude, but it’s true. I still miss my mum, but the pain’s less intense than it once was. It fades as the years pass. Yours will, too, given time.’

  Turner lowered his eyes. ‘I’m really glad we’ve had this heart- to -heart, Emily. If we can’t date, I do at least like to think we can be good friends – as well as workmates. We can, can’t we? We’ve got a lot in common after all.’

  She wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her satin blouse, leaving a small damp patch on the cuff. ‘Of course, we can. If it wasn’t for Richard, well, you know what I’m saying. I’m sure we’d be more than friends.’

  Richard, fucking Richard, blah -de- fucking -blah. ‘You trust me, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course, I do.’

  ‘So, tell me about the case. I shared some information with your father when we met; it’s not something I’ve ever done before. I’m wondering if it came to anything.’

  ‘They had a suspect, but he’s got an alibi for one of the relevant dates. Dad was so sure, I’ve never seen him as gutted. He really thought he had him.’