Class Murder

by Leigh Russell

  53

  She woke abruptly in the night and lay on her back, rigid with fear. Now that she was awake and consciously listening, everything was silent. She told herself she must have imagined hearing noises. Even before Beth had been killed, she had hated being in the flat on her own. Making an effort to breathe slowly, she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

  A creak, followed by a soft grating sound. Someone had crept across the loose floorboards in the living room and opened the door.

  Feeling tears trickle down her cheeks, she gritted her teeth and suppressed a whimper. Every muscle in her body tensed. Once her ordeal was over she could collapse in hysterics, but right now she had to remain calm if she was going to have any hope of surviving. She stretched her eyes wide open, as though that might help her to hear better. In the darkness she could make out the shape of the window in her room, almost completely blacked out by the curtain. Cautiously she turned her head towards the door and waited, her breath a series of mute gasps.

  The silence should have been reassuring. Perhaps she had only imagined hearing an intruder in the flat. Nevertheless she lay motionless and terrified, gripping the edge of the duvet so tightly, her fingers hurt. Gingerly she relaxed her hands and forced herself to breathe slowly. She did her best to persuade herself she couldn’t have heard anyone walking around. It must have been gurgling pipes, or a car revving outside, that had disturbed her sleep. During the night there were all sorts of strange noises in the flat. None of them meant anything.

  Another faint creaking. This time she wasn’t mistaken. There was someone else in the flat.

  She had a pressing need to pee. Weighing up her options as calmly as she could, she resigned herself to wetting the bed if she had to. In the meantime, she would have to try to hold it in. Sometimes the urge went away if she took no notice of it. Doing her best to ignore her physical discomfort, she listened. There were only two possible reasons why an intruder might be wandering around in the flat at night. The first was that a random thief had broken in and was searching the place for valuables to nick. That would be terrifying enough. The burglar might become violent, or be off his head on drugs. But the second possibility was even more alarming. Because this might be no random burglary, but a carefully planned intrusion. She had already been warned that someone might be looking for her, and she thought she knew why. The anonymous letter had told her that she could be next to die.

  Silently she reached for her phone before scrambling across the mattress, away from the door, and lowering herself down off the bed. After the soft warmth of her duvet, the carpet felt scratchy against her cheek, and the room was chilly. Careful not to make a sound, she dragged herself across the floor. It was awkward squeezing under the metal rim of the bed base. For a horrible moment she was afraid she might get stuck. She pictured the intruder coming in and sitting down on the bed, lowering it so that she was well and truly wedged. Some of the springs in the bed base were broken and the weight of a man’s body on the mattress might crush her if he decided to lie down and wait for her.

  Squirming, she wormed her way right underneath the bed and lay there listening, trying to breathe silently. She couldn’t hear anything. As long as the intruder didn’t come in the room she might be able to call for help, but it was awkward trying to use her phone when she couldn’t turn her head to see what she was doing. Although she felt as though hours had passed since she had woken up, in reality it couldn’t have been much longer than a few minutes. Even so her arms and legs were stiff. Aching all over from lying in an uncomfortable position unable to move, she strained to listen while she fiddled blindly with the phone screen, trying to guess where the different numbers would be on the keypad so she could turn it on without looking.

  The door of her room must have opened silently, because there was an unexpected click. She nearly cried out in surprise as the light came on. Faint footsteps on the carpet were accompanied by the sound of soft breathing. She saw a pair of black trainers approach her hiding place. Whoever was there, was standing right by the bed. She stared in horrible fascination at feet that looked enormous from that angle. She could see the bottoms of faded jeans, but that was all. A person, probably a man, in black trainers and old jeans was hardly a useful description to give the police if she managed to escape alive, but there was no way she was going to stick her head out for a better look.

  Without warning the bed quivered and jolted and a man’s voice let out a curse. She hardly dared breathe for fear of being heard. She supposed he must have pulled the duvet back expecting to find her cowering beneath it.

  ‘What the fuck!’ he cried out.

  She didn’t recognise his voice.

  A few seconds elapsed before the feet turned and walked away. A moment later, she heard the door close. She waited, wondering what was happening. Her left arm and leg felt completely numb, but she didn’t dare stir. She waited. At last she felt she would go insane if she stayed there another moment, trapped in the narrow space beneath her bed. Unable to turn her head, cautiously she slid her phone across her body, from one hand to the other, so that she was holding it on the side she was facing. At once she saw the ‘Emergency’ icon at the bottom of the screen. She wouldn’t need to turn the phone on in order to summon help.

  ‘I need the police,’ she whispered urgently. ‘There’s an intruder in my flat. My name’s Leah Rutherford.’ As she gabbled through her address, her self-control vanished. ‘Please hurry! He’s going to kill me!’

  With the police on their way she had only to wait, but she wasn’t sure she could stay under the bed much longer. Besides, she was desperate for the toilet. Knowing the police would be there very soon gave her courage. Careful not to make a sound, she dragged herself sideways. Peeping out, she squinted all around, but could see no sign of the black trainers. Holding her breath, she dragged herself out from underneath the bed, on the side opposite the door. She didn’t stand up straight away, but raised her head gingerly, craning her neck to peer over the bed. She was alone in her room with the door closed. She could have cried with relief. She glanced at her phone. It was half past three. She had no idea how long she had been hiding under her bed. Her hips gave agonising stabs of pain when she tried to move her legs, and her shoulders ached. Finally she managed to pull herself upright. Hobbling over to the door, she put her ear against it and listened.

  Silence.

  She wondered whether it would be suicide to open the door when the intruder could be standing just the other side of it, waiting for her, but she was desperate for the toilet. She cast about for a weapon. If the intruder had left the flat, so much the better. If not, she would just have to fend him off until the police arrived. She opened the door a crack and peeped out. The overhead light had been switched on in the living room, but there was no sign of anyone there. While she stood prevaricating, there was a very loud banging and a voice called out, ‘Open up! Police!’

  Before she could stop herself, Leah felt a warm sensation trickle down her legs, quickly turning chilly. As she shuffled to the front door, she hoped no one would notice she had wet herself. But she didn’t really care. She was alive and safe, at least for now.

  54

  ‘This whole situation is getting out of control,’ Eileen fumed, her square face flushed beneath her lowered brows.

  Geraldine shared the detective chief inspector’s agitation. If Leah was telling the truth, someone had entered her flat unlawfully during the night. With the chain on, no one could have entered through the front door. Damage to a window frame suggested it could have been jemmied open. The window was at the back of the block, out of sight of any security cameras. Although there was no sign of anyone turning up in the night carrying a ladder, they already knew this killer was cunning. Window cleaners had been there the previous week, and it was possible a ladder had been hidden in nearby bushes in preparation.

  Nothing had been stolen, which seemed to sug
gest that if there had been an intruder, he had been looking for Leah herself. Admittedly the story sounded quite far-fetched not least because, according to Leah, she had found the presence of mind to hide. Not only that, but she had managed to squeeze her ample frame right underneath the bed. Geraldine went straight round to the flat where Leah related everything that had happened to her during the night at great length.

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ she concluded tearfully. ‘I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I’ve never done that before.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call the number I gave you? This was exactly why I gave it to you.’

  Sobbing, Leah explained she had been under the bed in the dark, unable to use her phone properly. She had struggled to find the emergency number.

  ‘I couldn’t hang around. I wanted the police to get here straight away.’

  Geraldine nodded. Leah’s account made sense. Afraid for her life, she hadn’t wanted any delay while she fiddled about with her phone, barely able to move in a cramped space. Given her emotional nature, it was surprising that she had managed to think at all. Having learned all she could from Leah, Geraldine handed her to a scene of crime officer. By establishing which surfaces the intruder might have brushed against, they would be able to identify what he had been wearing. Wherever he had been standing, he would have left traces of his presence impossible to spot with the naked eye. Once they had eliminated any known DNA, they should be able to isolate that left by the intruder. They had plenty to work on. Even so, the possibility that the killer had been in Leah’s flat the previous night, and they had missed him, was almost unbearable.

  Leaving Leah with her colleague, Geraldine went to see Ashley. DNA had been obtained from everyone still in the UK who had been at the school at the same time as the victims, but a match for the killer had not yet been found. It was beginning to look as though they would have to start looking elsewhere.

  Checking through her records, Geraldine spotted something that she remembered had troubled her at the time. It had only been a passing comment, but when Geraldine had first spoken to her, Ashley had mentioned that she and Stephanie had once compared notes about violent ex-boyfriends. No one had managed to unearth anything about a violent ex-boyfriend of Stephanie’s. Then Leah had mentioned an older man Ashley had been seeing when she was at school. Putting these two random comments together, Geraldine wondered if perhaps it was Ashley, not Stephanie, who had been in a relationship with a violent boyfriend. Ashley had denied that she had been seeing an older man. Now, with Stephanie gone, and Leah ignorant of the details, only Ashley could reveal the truth.

  Three weeks after Stephanie’s murder, Ashley had finally left Gloria’s flat. Geraldine wasn’t sure whether she had volunteered to find alternative accommodation or had been asked to leave. Whatever the circumstances leading to her move, she had found herself a room in a house in Bootham Row in York.

  ‘It’s not much,’ Ashley apologised, as though Geraldine might care about the size of her room. ‘But I can’t go back to the flat where Stephanie was killed, and Gloria’s daughter was due home, and I have to live somewhere. What do you want?’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Entering the room, Geraldine could see why Ashley had described it as small. There was barely space for the two of them to sit side by side on the single bed, which made it more difficult for Geraldine to observe Ashley’s expression as she questioned her. Twisting herself sideways, she began.

  ‘Ashley, we know you had a boyfriend while you were still at school.’

  ‘So do most girls.’

  Geraldine nodded. ‘He was older than you, wasn’t he?’

  Ashley didn’t respond.

  ‘He was white, with dark hair and brown eyes,’ Geraldine went on.

  Once again Ashley didn’t react in any way but stared straight ahead, stony-faced. Gently Geraldine explained that a man’s DNA had been discovered on the body of Ashley’s dead school friends.

  ‘We need to speak to that man, to eliminate him from our enquiries if he’s innocent.’ She paused to allow the information, and its implications, to sink in. ‘The problem is, there’s no match for this individual’s DNA on our database.’

  ‘Well, there wouldn’t be, would there?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  Ashley had spoken bitterly. Now she looked flustered. ‘I just meant that if you knew who it was, you’d have caught him by now.’

  ‘You do understand that it’s vital we find this man, don’t you? There’s a chance he could be the killer. And if he’s not, at the very least he’ll be able to help us with our enquiries. What’s his name, Ashley? It’s time for you to start co-operating with us, before someone else is killed.’ She paused, waiting. ‘You do know it’s a very serious offence to withhold information from the police during the course of a murder investigation?’

  For the first time, Ashley turned to look directly at Geraldine. All the colour had drained from her face and there was a strange haunted expression in her eyes.

  ‘I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him for years, not since we left school. I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘You can start by telling me his name.’

  Ashley shook her head.

  ‘If he’s innocent he has nothing to fear, but if he’s guilty and you’re deliberately protecting him…’

  Geraldine broke off, startled, as Ashley spun round to face her, eyes blazing.

  ‘I’m not protecting him,’ she hissed.

  ‘Why won’t you tell me his name then?’

  ‘Because I don’t know it. I never knew his full name.’

  ‘You must have had a name for him. You must have called him something.’

  ‘We weren’t together very long.’ She hesitated. ‘He told me his name was Tom.’

  Geraldine wasn’t sure whether she believed her.

  ‘What do you mean, he said that was his name? Was it his name or not?’

  Ashley just shrugged. ‘I’ve told you everything I know.’

  Geraldine questioned her further but she was unable to learn anything else. Dissatisfied, she left with next to nothing to go on, convinced that Ashley knew more than she was prepared to say.

  55

  It was curious how Geraldine’s personal and professional lives often seemed to mirror one another. Having reached an impasse in the investigation, she decided to spend the rest of the day on trains, travelling to London and back, to check that her twin sister was coping on her own. But when she called Helena there was no answer. She tried several times before giving up. It looked as though Helena had forgotten to charge her phone. It was too far to travel on the off chance that she would find her sister at home. It wasn’t as if Geraldine was at a loose end, exactly. There was always work to be done when a murder investigation was ongoing. She spent the afternoon rereading notes, tidying up her reports, and attempting to research a man called Tom. It was a futile task.

  The mood at the Monday morning briefing was edgy. DNA matching the sample found on Stephanie’s body had been identified in Leah’s flat, which seemed to confirm her story, and suggested her intruder was in fact the killer they were hunting for. But for all that, he had slipped away unseen. Examination of CCTV from the entrance to the flats showed a shadowy figure making his way to the back of the building at three in the morning, twenty minutes before Leah had summoned the police. The picture was indistinct, visual image enhancement revealing only that the intruder’s features were almost completely hidden between a hood pulled low over his eyes, and a scarf that covered the bottom part of his face.

  ‘He made sure we couldn’t recognise him,’ Eileen grumbled.

  They stared at the blurred image for a moment. Leah had been lucky to survive the break-in. Next time she might not be so fortunate. In the meantime, her
flat had been placed under police surveillance.

  ‘He won’t get away again,’ Eileen vowed. ‘But he’s a slippery customer.’

  They all knew what she meant. It was unlikely they would be given a second chance to catch the killer breaking into Leah’s flat. He was too clever for that.

  The remainder of the meeting was spent discussing reports about the progress of the team gathering DNA samples from anyone who had been associated with Saddleworth School during the victims’ time there. It had been a massive undertaking, but everyone they had been able to trace who had attended the school in the relevant period, either as a pupil or on the staff, had now been tested and eliminated from the list of potential matches.

  ‘We’ve managed to contact all the ancillary staff, as well as the teachers,’ Naomi concluded her report.

  ‘Without finding a match,’ Eileen pointed out.

  ‘I have a possible lead,’ Geraldine said, speaking up for the first time that morning. ‘It’s extremely tenuous.’

  ‘Tom?’ Eileen repeated, frowning, when Geraldine had finished. ‘It’s not much to go on. A man called Tom, who was living in the area, and seeing a school girl.’

  ‘She probably wasn’t underage,’ Geraldine said. ‘At any rate, Leah said Ashley was seeing this man when she was in the sixth form so she would have been over sixteen, possibly even eighteen, and he might only have been a couple of years older than her. At that age even two years can seem like a lot, especially if he was working and they were still at school. Leah described him as “an older man” but she didn’t know how much older. She said it was only a secret because Ashley didn’t want her parents to know about the relationship.’