Nine Lives

by Anita Waller

  Frannie heard the bathroom door close, and a minute later Erica joined her.

  The evening was uneventful; Erica wouldn’t have had it any other way. She felt she needed time out, time to stop thinking, to make her journal entries that were more relevant to home life than work life, to enjoy her book. Together they finished the bottle of wine, and Erica felt almost normal by the time they went to bed. A lie-in was on the cards, and a full day of doing little, before Monday and the interviews and follow-ups.

  The river flowed, the rain fell, and Beth remained in a coma. Evan Yeardley didn’t sleep much – the pain from the beating of two hours earlier was overpowering, and he was hoping to God that the bitch would die, then it might make all this worth it.

  22

  Frannie woke Erica with tea and toast for both of them, then sank back into bed. ‘The way I see it, we can stay in bed for the day, or we can get up, put on our boots and go for a walk in the rain.’

  Erica looked at her, horror etched into her face. ‘You don’t think I’ve been wet enough this week? You ever seen underneath the Midland Station?’

  Frannie thought for a moment. ‘No, but I’d like to. We need permission?’

  ‘I understand we don’t, and I definitely don’t with my magic wand of a warrant card, but as it’s still cordoned off with crime scene tape that might be a warning not to go there. However, crime scene tape notwithstanding, my lovely wife, anybody can go. You walk through the culverts, which on a bright summer day would be something to explore, but it’s early November, it’s been flood conditions for over a week, and it’s simply not advisable. Now eat your toast and let’s think of something else to do.’

  The something else proved to be a shared shower followed by a drive to the local supermarket to stock up on everything in one go, instead of the haphazard corner store shopping they’d been doing all week. Frannie had pointed out they were running out of Haribos, and might need more normal food.

  The rain fell all day and eventually the two women gave in, returned home after a short half-hour walk, dried off and settled down for the evening. A Chinese takeaway was the general consensus, and duly ordered, and by the time the two of them retired for the night it was agreed the day had been exactly what they both needed.

  Monday the third of November began shortly after six for Erica. She left a still-sleepy Frannie in bed, and was on her way into work by half past six. The weather forecaster on the radio told her it was likely to be a dry Bonfire Night and she sighed. Bonfire Night. Every fifth of November was a nightmare for all the emergency services, and yet the British people loved it.

  Her first job on reaching her office was to ring the hospital for an update on Beth; her team would want to know how she was doing. The news was neither good nor bad. Beth was still heavily sedated, with no visible changes, but tests would be performed later in the week. Erica thanked the nurse and said she hoped to be able to call round later.

  She put down the phone and rubbed her arms. Tests being performed had sounded ominous to her, and she decided not to mention that. It was enough to say there was no change and she was still under sedation. But the mention of tests being performed worried her. Brain stem?

  Erica gathered her papers together and walked into a full briefing room. ‘Is everybody here?’ she quietly asked Flick.

  Flick nodded. ‘Yes, boss. You’re good to go.’

  Erica tapped on a desk, and the room became quiet. ‘Okay, this is a briefing session, but I want all bums on a chair or a desk, we’re not here for two minutes and then out. I want to hear thoughts, I’m going to give you new information, and by the end of this week I’m hoping we’ll be moving on to the next case.’

  She waited through the clatter of chairs being moved, and once everybody was settled she moved across to the whiteboard. She pointed to the pictures. ‘We let these four girls down. In twenty-fourteen we didn’t catch the killer who has ultimately moved on to killing these four beautiful young women. As you already know, it’s definitely the same person. The roman numerals carved into the palms was never revealed, neither was the removal of the little fingertip and yet it has carried on with this new set of murders. Even without the presence of DNA it is unquestionably the same person. There are too many similarities to even doubt that.

  ‘However, things are moving on apace. We received a valuable clue on Saturday which is a kind of confirmation that the black car used to pick up Susanna Roebuck was driven by the killer. That same car, an older-type Fiesta, was seen around ten o’clock in the car park adjoining the pocket park on the banks of the Porter where we have DNA evidence of Susie being left there by the killer. When Ian went to the park on Saturday he was offered help with putting on his waders by a young woman.’ She waited while the laughter and claps for Ian died down before continuing, and trying to hide the grin on her own face.

  ‘Ian being Ian, he declined the offer, but talked to the young woman and her partner, who, it appears, have been in a cottage in the New Forest for a few days. They’ve only caught up with the news since Friday night when they returned home, so went down to the pocket park on Saturday to see if there was any police presence still there. And there was our Ian. They told him on that Sunday night, when we know Susie was positioned in the park, they had a walk to the park to look at the river.

  ‘They decided not to go down to it as it was dangerously high, so remained at the top and then set off back for home. They saw the car in the car park, and watched because the driver was sitting in it removing clothes. The driver had breasts in a black lacy bra apparently. They stopped, figuring the person needed privacy, but it was only with hindsight, after they returned home from their break, that they realised the significance of what they had seen. She was most likely removing wet clothes, because she pulled on a red jumper after taking off the black one.

  ‘She drove off immediately after putting on the red jumper. They’re not convinced they could identify her because it was dark, but the man said he could identify her breasts. I think he was joking. What this means, of course, is I think we can start saying her instead of him/her, and it also confirms Will’s query of why no evidence of semen or condom use on any of the eight bodies. I’m aware one or two of us thought it was more likely that it was a woman. Any comments?’

  ‘They’re reliable, this couple?’ Will asked.

  ‘Yes, I spoke with them over the phone on Saturday. They’re both chartered accountants, work for the same company, and although both of them have a sense of humour they were quite serious about what they saw. They’ve written everything down, and they’re coming in on Wednesday to give a statement. Nice people. They were telling me that during the summer they use the pocket park most days, at lunchtime, and they litter-pick it before returning to their offices. The red jumper may not be totally accurate, but it was the impression both of them got. It was definitely a different, lighter colour than the black top she took off.’

  Will nodded his thanks. ‘So you think when they saw her she had already placed Susanna on those steps?’

  ‘I do, but I think Susie had already been washed away, and that’s possibly why our killer was so wet. It also explains why our couple saw no trace of a body when they first went to look at the river before deciding it was too dangerous to go down to it. Our killer was out of practice with the first killing for five years, wasn’t she? The next three were all positioned away from the pocket park, and on banksides.’

  There was a brief moment of silence while everybody digested the information, and Erica turned back to the whiteboard. By Susie’s picture she wrote ‘member of gym’, then ‘on way to gym’ by Clare’s photo, and on Imogen and Tanya’s pictures ‘at gym on night of abduction’. She tapped the board and turned to face her team.

  ‘We have a second link apart from the river. All four girls have a membership with the same gym, the Starlite. I’ve made some notes,’ she said, waving sheets of paper in the air. ‘Please take one when we’ve finished. I’ve listed all atten
dees on the nights the girls were killed, the times they were there and the times they signed out, although most of them apparently forget to sign out. Everybody has to sign in, however, or they don’t get anywhere near the equipment. All of these people have to be interviewed, and I want them all seeing today. I’ve allocated them by area to all of you, and that list is on the back of the sheet. You’ll be interviewing in pairs. Nobody goes anywhere without accompaniment from a colleague. This woman has killed eight times, give that fact the respect it merits and be constantly aware. Thoughts?’

  Flick held up a hand.

  ‘Flick?’

  ‘Were the first four girls members of gyms? Or were we led by the nose because they all had Christian names beginning with L? This woman is strong, we know that, she carries dead bodies considerable distances. Is she strong because she trains constantly? Did we miss this link in twenty-fourteen?’

  ‘My answer to that is I don’t know. So here’s my gift to you, smart arse, I’ll leave you to find out all about that.’

  Everyone laughed, and Flick held up a finger in the general direction of her boss.

  ‘Insubordination,’ Erica called out, over the laughter. ‘Okay, on doorsteps by nine o’clock, so I’ve requested early availability of breakfasts in the canteen if anyone wants one, my treat. You have to say my name to whoever’s on duty.’ She watched in amazement; the room emptied as if a switch had been used.

  Flick laughed. ‘I’ll stick to my breakfast bar and a coffee, boss. Want one?’

  ‘Thanks, I will. Come into my office when you’ve got the coffees, will you.’

  ‘Good briefing, boss,’ Flick said as she placed the coffee and a granola bar in front of Erica. ‘I’ll get straight on to checking the L girls out when I’ve had this.’

  ‘Thanks, Flick. Back in twenty-fourteen there was never a hint of gym involvement, but quite honestly, there was never any hint of anything. It was almost as if we were waiting for the next body in the hope something, anything, would be revealed as a new clue. That’s a bad place to be in. But forget the case for a minute.’

  Flick took a sip of her coffee. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I rang the hospital before the briefing in the hope that I could tell the team there was some improvement with Beth. I thought it would send them off on a high. However, there was no change, she was still in a deep coma, and they would be doing tests later in the week.’

  ‘Shit.’ Flick said the word quietly.

  ‘I couldn’t tell them that, but if anyone asks you, you can give them the truth. I will. As it stands at the moment, we’re the only two that know that, but I’m hoping to go to the hospital and see her parents later.’

  ‘You want me to go with you?’

  Erica shook her head. ‘No, I’ll leave you here to co-ordinate what’s happening with the interviews in case anybody needs help. You can cope?’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘And at tomorrow afternoon’s briefing I’m going to tell them that in view of your upcoming sergeant’s exams, I’m making you acting sergeant until Beth returns. Maybe that will make Ian pull out his finger and put in for his promotion.’

  23

  Flick pulled her keyboard towards her, and with a couple of keystrokes began the job of rereading statements, and in particular looking for the word ‘gym’ in any document pertaining to the twenty-fourteen investigation.

  There was nothing. She then tried looking at the timeline as far as they knew it for the day of death for each individual girl, to see if anything at all was common to them beyond the L name. All four had been at work, although none of them had any connection with any other of the victims, and Flick realised how frustrating this must have been to the investigation team. They all worked in different industries, again with no obvious connection.

  The weather, she knew from her earlier work, was the only other connecting link. Every victim had been killed during a rainstorm. Either the killer was a meteorologist, or one who didn’t plan too far in advance. She took advantage of promised rainfall, offered the girl a lift home because of the weather, and had a handy prepared syringe in the car, ready and waiting. But still there was a degree of obsessive compulsive disorder about her. She had to have known the girls, she knew their names. She had to have been familiar with their working routine, and she had to have known where to take them to pose them for the unfortunate walker who found them. They weren’t random girls; once she had set them into her mind, they were as good as dead. And then she had stopped.

  For five years, nothing. What had retriggered the psychopathic tendencies? What had changed in her life that would make her seek the satisfaction that murder gave her? The death of someone close to her? A marriage breakdown? Had she suddenly become happy five years earlier, but the happiness was evaporating? Maybe routine and boredom had set in?

  Flick sighed and opened up the files for the current case. She began with Susanna Roebuck, checking what the other three housemates had said in their statements about Susie’s activities prior to her visit to the theatre.

  It had seemingly been an ordinary day. She had got up around eleven after watching a film on Netflix with Clare. They had made cheeseburgers for lunch for all four housemates, taking Becky’s lunch to her room because she was working on an essay to be handed in before the evening was over.

  In the afternoon Clare and Susie had snuggled on the sofa under a quilt, both reading Macbeth and making notes, waiting until the play started at half past five.

  Flick sat back for a moment, thinking about the two girls. Within forty-eight hours they would both be dead, along with whatever relationship had been growing between them. It was an horrific thought, and Flick shivered. She wondered if their removal of Becky and Katie had thrown a firework of immense proportions into the plans of the killer, or if she had merely shrugged off the inconvenience and chosen somebody else – Imogen Newland.

  How had she known Becky and Katie were out of her reach? Maybe she had guessed what would happen after the death of the second housemate, maybe she was one hell of a smart cookie who was one step in front all the time. But Flick would bet everything that the killer didn’t know about having been seen in the pocket park area on the night Susie was killed. Was this the only fact they had but she didn’t? If so, how could they use this to their advantage? Announce it to the world?

  Flick rubbed her forehead. An irritating little headache was starting, and she knew it was because her mind was rioting. Was the way forward to push her, to tell her that she had been seen and identification was close? Which way would she go? Back down or try for a ninth victim…

  Erica walked onto the ward and immediately saw Beth’s parents, huddled together and holding each other tightly, crying. Her immediate reaction was to turn and run in the opposite direction; she didn’t want to know why they were in tears.

  She walked slowly towards them.

  ‘Erica, she moved!’ Mr and Mrs Machin spoke in unison, and Erica immediately understood the reason for the tears.

  ‘Thank God.’ She looked through the tiny window in the door of Beth’s room. The staff were pulling her up the bed slightly and her ventilator had been removed.

  Erica’s smile was huge as she turned back to the elderly couple. ‘Has anybody said anything?’

  ‘Not yet, they sort of threw us out. She moved her head and tried to take the tube out of her throat and the nurse hit the alarm button, then asked us to leave while the doctors attended to her. We cried.’ Norma Machin turned to her husband and clutched at his hand.

  ‘I feel like crying too,’ Erica confessed. ‘I thought…’

  ‘So did I,’ Owen said, ‘but Norma here never gave up hope.’

  The door opened and a doctor came out, moving towards them with long, easy strides. ‘You can go in to see her, but be gentle. She’s still fragile, and she may not be awake for long, but now we have hope.’

  Beth had little colour, but she did have the tiniest of smiles. Her voice sounded raw, as if she had smoked
twenty cigarettes before speaking, but she managed to say, ‘Mum.’

  Norma promptly burst into tears again, and Beth turned her eyes to Erica.

  ‘Erica.’

  ‘I’m here, Beth. Don’t talk, gather your strength first. You’re safe now, and we’re all batting for you.’

  Norma reached forward and grasped her daughter’s hand. ‘We’re here for you, sweetheart. Sleep when you want, we’ll still be here when you wake. I don’t think Erica will be, she’s a killer to catch now you’re slacking.’ Norma smiled.

  Beth gave the smallest of nods, and closed her eyes.

  There was jubilation that afternoon in the briefing room when Erica gave them the news. It appeared that everybody had avoided asking after Beth, because they didn’t want to know if it was a bad prognosis.

  Erica let them talk amongst themselves for a few minutes – it was rare to have something good to pass around in the briefing room, but she eventually tapped on the desk and there was silence.

  ‘Reports from interviews yesterday. Ian, can you collate them all and have them on my desk by noon, please. In the meantime, was there anything significant from anyone?’

  Ian waved a bundle of papers. ‘Already done, boss. Only Sam had anything significant. Sam?’

  ‘Yes, boss. It’s in my report. One of the men I interviewed said he’d seen the car before, recognised it because it was the same model as his son’s, and he’d seen it outside the gym. He’d actually made a move to go towards it, thinking it was his son stopping by to pick him up, but then realised it was a different number plate. But that’s as much as he could tell me. He’d no idea who was driving, or even what the number plate was. Other than that I got nothing. Sorry, boss.’