He put his head in his hands. "I think someone kicked me in the head when I wasn't looking. Do you have any painkillers?"
"I'll give you some ibuprofen in the morning when the wine's worn off. You need to sleep."
By the time she'd finished in the kitchen, he was lying on top of the bed, too exhausted to climb underneath. She covered him with the duvet. It was going to be a cold night; she could feel it in her bones.
Chapter Ten
Too restless to sleep, Elizabeth jumped in her car and started to drive. The roads were quiet, and before long, she was at the coast where the road followed the curve of the bay. She drove with the city on one side, while the black water glittered under the moonlight on the other. Ballycotton Lighthouse rose out of the darkness as a ship wound its way in across the Celtic Sea. She often went there to pause for breath.
She got out and smoked a rare cigarette, trying to tune her thoughts to the unhurried beat of the lighthouse. The cold night air froze any lingering self-pity out of her. Resisting a second cigarette, she climbed into the Range Rover, turned the heat up, and drove slowly back to the city.
She drove a circuit of the streets and paths where the prostitutes usually lingered, searching for a familiar face. She hadn't seen Darcy Timmons in months, and she felt guilty, especially after what had happened to her. Elizabeth knew she'd still be out there. This was her beat, her domain, just like Amber.
Panic gripped Elizabeth when she couldn't find her. She had a flash of what might have happened to her, but she brushed the thought away; Darcy was out there every night on her own.
Elizabeth wanted to talk to her, if not for her own sake, then for the next Amber Foley, and the one after that. Eventually, she saw Darcy sheltering in the pale light of a doorway, dressed in her usual miniskirt, fishnets, and leather coat: the prostitute’s standard international uniform.
Darcy wasn't much more than twenty-six, but she could have passed for forty on a bad night, and this was one of those nights. Her pale skin was stretched and parched, her eyes wide and heavy-lidded under thick black mascara, her hair as dry and dead as straw. Elizabeth pulled up alongside her and wound down the window. "Darcy. Long time no see."
"Hey there," Darcy grinned. "What can I say? I've been busy. People to see, places to be, you know how it goes." She put on a Cockney accent; she always did whenever they spoke. She thought it was hilarious, and Elizabeth always smiled, as she would with a child. "Got any fags?"
"I just ran out. Hop in, I'll get some."
"I can't. It's been a slow night."
"Darcy, get in. I'll make it worth your while." Money always sweetened relationships in that part of the city.
"Heated seats!" Darcy exclaimed, slamming the door against the cold. "This is one fancy motor."
"It's the same one."
"The last time I saw you it was summer. Everything looks different in the summer." She shivered as her bones began to thaw. Elizabeth could see the bruises festering under her makeup.
"Have you been out here long?"
"About two hours, maybe a little longer."
Words of sympathy sprang to Elizabeth's lips, but she stopped them; she refused to sympathise with her for not finding any strangers to abuse her. No strangers meant no money, maybe then she'd be forced to sort her life out.
"The clients are staying away because of what happened last night. Most of the girls are too scared to come out. They think the police will be everywhere, scaring the cars away. It was okay earlier this evening, but now it's dead." She stopped short. "Do you think there'll be more murders?"
"There'll always be more," Elizabeth replied.
"If it really is Teardrop, there'll be more," said Darcy. "They reckon he's the killer, don't they?"
Elizabeth kept her eyes on the road and didn't reply. She pulled into a garage forecourt, grabbed a packet of cigarettes and a sandwich, and handed them to Darcy along with a fifty-euro note.
"You don't have to do this." She made a half-hearted attempt to give it back.
"Take it, please. It makes me feel better."
Darcy glanced at the sandwich in embarrassment and turned it over a few times in her hand before placing it on the dashboard.
Elizabeth kept the car running, but made no effort to drive away. "I heard about what he did to you. I'm sorry."
"Really?"
"I only saw the incident report this evening. I had no idea."
"Don't worry about it. That sort of thing goes with the territory. At least he didn't take my money. Have they caught him yet?"
"Not yet."
"Are they trying?"
Elizabeth avoided the question, remembering how thin the incident report was. "Has Victim Support contacted you?"
She shrugged.
"Here's my number. You can call me any time."
She nodded, but she wasn't paying much attention. The appeal of the heated seats seemed to be wearing off, and she didn't want to discuss what had happened to her.
"I'd like to clarify a few points," Elizabeth said.
Darcy sighed. "Why? What good will it do?"
"Maybe I can help the police find who did it. The Chief Super has asked for my help with Amber Foley’s murder. There could be a link."
"You think the creep who murdered Amber was the same one who raped me?"
"It's a line of inquiry. Have you ever before seen the man who raped you?"
"I don't know. I might have."
"Can you describe him?"
"I dunno. I was off my head. I wasn't even sure what time of day it was." She raised her voice to hide her embarrassment. "He walked up to me. It was dark, and he was wearing a hoodie. I didn't get a good look at him. We went down to the river, and then he went mad and attacked me."
"Near where Amber died?"
"It was the same place."
Elizabeth struggled to keep her voice level. The report didn’t state exactly where she had been attacked. "Did he suggest going there or did you?"
"He suggested it. I hate it there. The rats are everywhere. I hate going under the bridge, but he offered me another tenner if I'd go. A tenner's a tenner."
"Did he say anything to you during the rape?"
"No."
"Afterwards?"
"He said I should repent my sins." She snorted.
"Those were his words?"
"Yep."
"I read in the report that he claimed to know where you live. Can you recall? Did he tell you where you lived, or did he just say that he knew where you lived?"
"He said he knew I lived alone, and that I moved in a few weeks ago."
"Was that it?"
"I don’t know. I've been taking sleeping tablets as well as everything else. The doctor said they’d make me feel confused." She shrugged.
"Would you mind looking at a photo? Maybe you'll recognise the face."
"I doubt it."
"Have a look at it, please."
"Is he the guy who did it?"
"I’m not sure."
"If you’re not sure, why do you want me to look at it?"
"Please." Elizabeth opened the glove compartment before Darcy could think of any more excuses not to help. She pulled out a photo of Oscar Kelly. She'd cut his father out of the picture. The photo was almost ten years old, but it was all she had.
"Who is he?" Darcy asked.
"Someone I'm looking into. Do you recognise him?"
She glanced at the photo and shook her head.
"Can you look a little closer?"
She took the photo and peered at it. "There's something about him."
"What?"
"I dunno. Sorry." She handed the photo back.
"Thanks for your help." Elizabeth tried to hide her disappointment.
"It's not going to make any difference. The cops aren't going to bother finding out who raped me, any more than they'll bother trying to find out who killed Amber."
"Did you know Amber?"
"Of course I knew her. All the gir
ls knew her. She crashed at my place a few times when she had nowhere else to go. She stayed with me the night before she died."
"Did she seem worried?"
"Why would she be worried? She had no idea what was going to happen."
"Did she give you any inkling that she might be in danger? Was she followed or threatened recently?"
"She was her usual self, but we did have a laugh about her Sugar Daddy." She smiled at the memory.
"Sugar Daddy?"
"That's what she called him. It was a joke. He was a regular client. He picked her up a few times a week. He said he's been lonely since his wife died."
"Did she mention his name?"
"I don’t think so."
"Did you tell Delaney?"
"Who?"
"Detective Derek Delaney from the Murder Unit; he spoke to a few people who knew Amber Foley."
"He didn't speak to me." She sighed and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "It's getting late. I need to go."
"I'll drop you off."
Darcy peered out the window, searching for her boyfriend. Now that she had fifty euro, they could afford to get high. Elizabeth wished she'd had the courage not to give her the money.
"Anywhere around here's grand, thanks."
Elizabeth pulled over and Darcy jumped out. A man was standing in the same doorway where she'd picked her up earlier. He was waiting for her. He hopped from foot to foot in his designer jeans when he saw her coming, sensing the smell of money. Elizabeth wondered why Darcy was so afraid of rats when she chose vermin like him for company. There was no chance of him turning up dead on a riverbank.
Teardrop Writes Again.
Elizabeth slammed on the brakes and jumped out. A fresh poster for the early morning edition of The Examiner hung outside a shop. She'd glimpsed it from the corner of her eye as she drove past.
Teardrop Writes Again.
Again?
Day Three
Chapter Eleven
There was no sign of Harold Preston when Elizabeth arrived at the university to drive him to the crime team meeting. She was already irritated and running late because she had stopped off at The Examiner's office to confront Brendan about the new letter. Fortunately, for him, security had stopped her at the door.
Brendan said he'd received a call around 11p.m., shortly before they went to press. The voice was muffled and low, as if the caller had placed a device over the mouthpiece. The caller told him to go to the park beside the church, where the next letter was taped under a bench. He claimed that he hadn't been able to contact Frank, so he'd gone ahead and sent the story to print.
Elizabeth waited impatiently for Preston, but after five minutes, she drove to the Station without him. She was already anxious about the team meeting and didn't want to be the last to arrive. By the time she found a parking space, she was ready to kick something with frustration.
She stood irately at reception while the desk sergeant tried to find the pass that Frank had organised for her. Then she followed him upstairs to the room on the second floor where the team meeting was being held, relieved that it hadn't begun. The room was still filling up with detectives from the Murder Unit, and others from Vice and Forensics. She slipped in quietly and took a seat in the back row.
A few curious glances came her way, but no one bothered speaking to her. The pass pinned to her coat marked her out as an intruder, causing them to lower their voices. She tried to ignore them by picking up the newspaper that had been abandoned on the seat beside her. She had read it online earlier, but she gratefully hid herself behind it until pair of scuffed black shoes appeared in her line of vision.
"Detective Holland," she said, lowering the newspaper. "It’s good to see a friendly face.''
"Is it my overactive imagination, but did the temperature drop several degrees when you walked in here?"
"It's karma," she grinned. "Now I understand how outsiders felt when they were brought in on investigations at The Met."
"They won't be long getting used to you."
"I'm not here to make friends, but I wish they'd stop staring at me as if they're considering dragging me to the cells to be interrogated."
She glanced around the room and wondered what she was doing there. Over by the tea machine, Delaney and Hayes were sharing a joke. Paranoia made her assume it was at her expense.
On the far wall, several photos of Amber Foley and the other woman were pinned to the whiteboard. It was the first time she'd seen the body. A map of the city hung between the photos with two black pins to mark the spots where they had been discovered. A red pin had been placed immediately to the left of the black pin for Amber Foley. Elizabeth realised that the pin represented Caroline Marsh, Campbell's third victim. Her eyes tracked across the map, following Campbell's co-ordinates; whoever was killing in Cork, was following the coordinates of Campbell's murders in London.
"McGovern's orders," said Holland.
Elizabeth realised that McGovern would send the investigation completely awry if he was left unchecked. "There's no evidence that Amber Foley's death has any connection with Campbell. Since when was an anonymous letter in the tabloids accepted as evidence?"
"Hey, don't get annoyed with me," Holland said. "McGovern said that all possibilities should be explored."
"Is that what he said: explore the possibilities?"
"Those were his exact words."
"Dickhead."
She would have continued, but the door opened and Frank walked in, looking better than he had any right to look after the night he'd had. His eyes roamed the room, checking that everyone was there, gliding over her without stopping. She wasn't sure how many knew about their relationship, but he was clearly determined not to give them any reason to gossip. The investigation would be tough enough without the detectives being distracted by their boss's budding romance.
"Can I have your attention, please?" he said, as he perched on the desk beside the whiteboard. "This won't take long. Charles Kennedy has kindly given us some of his precious time this morning so we can get the second autopsy done, which means we'll have to keep this short. Delaney, I want you in attendance for the autopsy. Holland, you too."
"I have an interview at half ten with Amber Foley's dealer," said Delaney.
"Hayes can do it," Frank said. "Do you think you can manage that without Delaney tagging along to hold your hand?"
"I'll try my best, Chief,'' said Hayes.
"Good. I'm sure everyone saw this morning's edition of The Examiner. The killer isn't hanging around. There isn't a lot to go on at the moment, but let me know if anything springs to mind.
"I'm sure you've noticed that there’s a new face among us. Anyone who hasn't noticed is clearly in the wrong job. Elizabeth Ireland, please say hello."
She nodded coolly, not wanting to seem too eager.
"Try to make her feel welcome. I'm sure you're well aware of her background. She has a lot of experience, so make use of it. The killer has given us seven days to find him before he disappears again, so we need to pull together."
He lifted his head sharply as Delaney laughed at some remark by Hayes. Elizabeth’s paranoia escalated.
"Delaney, do you have something to add?" asked Frank.
"Just clearing my throat, Chief."
"Maybe you can show us what a good little detective you've been, and tell us what you've got on Amber Foley."
And so it began. Elizabeth had been in similar situations many times before. It didn't matter what city it was, or who the victim was; the routine was always the same. There was the same tension and excitement, especially in a case where time mattered, where the clock counted down to the next death; the same patient collating of every fragment of evidence; and the same slow amassing of detail in the hope that everything would eventually fall into place.
According to Delaney, the last known sighting of Amber Foley was at 11.45p.m. near the quays on the night of her death. Her body was found at 12.30a.m.
"We need to e
stablish where she was between 11.45p.m. and 12.30a.m.," said Frank. "Are we making any progress there?"
"In a word: no," said Delaney.
The detectives had spent the first day trying to track down and isolate witnesses, but they hadn't come up with anyone who would admit to seeing Amber after 11.45p.m. People were used to not noticing other people in a city.
CCTV footage from businesses in the area would take weeks to plough through. They already had a list of more than a hundred registration plates to follow up. Some drivers who had been in the area at the time had already come forward, but it would take longer to track down and eliminate everyone else. Lone walkers were proving more difficult to trace. A hotline had been set up to gather information, and Frank was planning to make a televised appeal for witnesses.
"Did you get any information from Amber's family and friends?" Frank asked.
Delaney shrugged. "Most of them are off their faces on drugs and alcohol, and the others don't want to get involved."
"What about Darcy Timmons?" Elizabeth piped up.
Delaney glared at her. "Who?"
"Darcy Timmons," she repeated. "She's a prostitute who works the same beat as Amber Foley. They were friends. Darcy was raped a few weeks ago in the same place where Amber died. She says that Amber spoke about a man who'd picked her up a few times recently."
"Do you know anything about this?" Frank asked Delaney.
"It's the first I've heard of it.''
"Have you even spoken to Darcy Timmons?"
"Her name hasn't come up."
"This is a new angle," Frank said. "Delaney, I want you to interview everyone again, and find out what they know about this mystery man. Maybe someone saw Amber with him, or at least spotted his car. Maybe Amber confided in someone. Try not to miss anyone else who knew her this time, okay?"
Delaney nodded, his expression telling a story that his voice wouldn't dare.
"What did you find from the fingerprints, Holland?" Frank asked, moving on.
Holland quickly ran through what he had found. "The same dead ends, Chief. I spoke to the staff at the sorting office who confirmed that the first letter was sent from the city-centre, addressed to Brendan Mahon, and posted three days before Amber Foley died. It was posted near the university, but only the staff's fingerprints were found on the envelope. The results from the letter taped under the park bench aren't back from Forensics yet."
Tear Drop: Serial Killer Thriller (Detective Elizabeth Ireland Crime Thriller Series Book 1) Page 5
