Strange Blood

by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

  ‘No, we don’t actually.’ Steve Foy was being bloody-minded now. ‘Surely you don’t mean those nice people at Saint Paul’s church?’

  ‘If you’re trying to wind me up you can forget it!’ Mariel gave him a withering look. ‘They’re pathetic. Misguided, blinkered but ultimately pathetic. Certainly wouldn’t have the balls for anything like that.’

  ‘Even if they discovered that one of their new converts had been dabbling in witchcraft?’

  ‘Don’t ask me!’ she replied indignantly. Foy shrugged. There was a long pause.

  ‘Ask her if she owns a bicycle.’ Megan’s voice was deadpan. She watched Foy shift in his seat and felt a surge of adrenalin.

  Kate O’Leary looked at Foy. Neither spoke. Foy glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Interview terminated at twenty-two thirteen,’ he growled.

  *

  Delva couldn’t understand why Megan hadn’t called back. She had left two messages on her mobile and one on her answerphone at home. She wondered whether to try her office but decided there would be no point. The university’s switchboard would have closed down for the night by now.

  Her head felt as if it was going to explode. The image of Richard Ledbury and that policewoman sizzled as if it had been branded on her brain. Questions flew like sparks. What the hell were they playing at? Was it Richard who had killed Tessa because he was in love with Kate? But how could he have killed her if he was at work all day? Had someone done it for him? Had the policewoman done it?

  Delva was desperate to tell Megan what she had seen. She was within a couple of streets of her own house when she suddenly steered the car sharp right. Megan’s house was only five minutes away. There was just a chance she had arrived home and forgotten to check the answering machine.

  There were no lights on but Delva rang the bell anyway. When nothing happened she stepped back onto the pavement, looking up at the bedroom windows to see if the curtains were drawn. Delva walked over to a streetlamp and peered at her watch. Twenty past ten. Surely she wouldn’t be in bed?

  She rang the doorbell again, pressing her face to the glass like an impatient child. After a couple of minutes she got back into her car, slamming the door and striking the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. She sat for a while in the darkness before snatching up her mobile phone and punching out Steve Foy’s number.

  *

  Steve Foy sat down next to Megan in the video room. She was waiting for him to speak. Apologise or come out with some excuse. But he said nothing.

  ‘Why didn’t you ask her about the bicycle?’ She fixed him with a hard stare.

  ‘Sorry?’ His forehead creased in puzzlement like someone waking up in a strange bed.

  ‘Before you ended the interview I asked you to ask Mariel Raven if she owned a bike.’ She cocked her head, waiting for a reply.

  ‘Oh,’ he shrugged. ‘Didn’t hear that. Must’ve been the audio link. Plays up sometimes.’

  Megan leaned back in her chair, arms folded. Did he really expect her to swallow that? ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the cyclist seen outside Tessa’s house?’ she persisted. ‘I only found out by accident.’

  ‘Sorry!’ He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand.’ Must have slipped my mind with all the kerfuffle over Raven.’ He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘I’m a bit knackered, that’s the problem. Haven’t had much sleep since all this kicked off.’

  Before Megan could reply Kate O’Leary walked in to the room followed by Dave Todd.

  ‘What did you make of her, Kate?’ Foy said. Obviously glad of the interruption, Megan thought.

  ‘Well, she certainly had a motive, Guv.’ Kate pushed a stray lock of hair back into the French plait. Over the course of the day Megan had watched the plait slowly loosen from a severe, schoolmarmish creation to something wispy and quite vampish.

  ‘Yes, I suppose there’s no reason why the pair of them couldn’t have done it,’ Foy nodded. ‘What do you think Megan?’

  Megan’s eyes narrowed. She was still not sure he was being straight with her. ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘I have to admit she’s the sort of person who could act her way out of anything if she chose to.’ She reached across the table for the coffee. ‘But I wouldn’t like to jump to any conclusions until I’ve had a word with the woman who shopped Sean Raven.’

  Foy nodded. ‘Carole-Ann Beddowes. You taken that statement off her yet, Dave?’

  ‘Yes, Guv.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘Still in the interview room. Hollis was fetching her something from the canteen.’

  ‘Does she know about the tip-off?’ Megan asked.

  ‘No,’ Foy replied, getting to his feet, ‘When Delva Lobelo gave us the car registration and mentioned the name Raven we put two and two together. Didn’t actually need to talk to the woman before we lifted him. We hauled her in a couple of hours ago. Told her we’re questioning everyone with a known connection.’ He stepped back, holding the door open for Megan. ‘Dave,’ he said, ‘can you take Doctor Rhys to the interview room? I want to have another go at our mate Sean. You coming, Kate?’

  As she followed Dave Todd along the corridor to Interview Room Number 3 Megan caught sight of Mariel Raven through an open doorway. She was leaning back in a chair, the spike heels of her black leather boots resting on the formica table and a steaming polystyrene cup in her hand. She glanced up at the sound of footsteps, clocking Megan. Her lip curled in a look of pure hatred. Megan looked quickly away. Had Mariel Raven recognised her from the TV documentary she’d appeared in last year? Guessed she was in on the case? Far more likely, Megan told herself, that the woman gave such looks to anyone and everyone in the building; anybody remotely connected with the criminal justice system that had put her husband behind bars and now seemed hellbent on doing it again.

  There was was a strong smell of steak and kidney pie as Megan pushed open the door of the room Carole-Ann Beddowes was in. An empty plate had been pushed to the edge of the table and the woman Megan had last seen at the wheel of the the red Fiesta was flicking ash onto it from her cigarette.

  She looked less intimidating than she had appeared at the café, but the harsh fluorescent lighting did her face few favours. A year younger than Mariel Raven, she looked old enough to be her mother. The blonde hair had a straw-like quality, the legacy of years of bleaching and perming. And her skin reminded Megan of the tights everyone had worn at school in the ’seventies, the orangey-brown shade called American Tan that had borne no resemblance to the colour of her own legs and had looked even more ridiculous on her pale-skinned friends.

  There was no flicker of recognition as Megan introduced herself. Obviously the woman had been so focussed on Delva this morning she hadn’t taken much else in.

  ‘I know you’ve already given a statement to the police,’ Megan began, ‘And I’m not here to ask you about Sean Raven.’ She sensed Dave Todd shifting slightly in his chair a few inches from her own. He wasn’t going to approve of what she was about to do but the time had come to fight dirty. ‘What I want to know,’ she said, ‘is more about Tessa Ledbury. I’d like you to tell me what she was really like.’

  ‘Don’t know why you’re asking me. I didn’t know her that well.’ There was a faint sizzle as the woman’s cigarette ash dropped into a blob of gravy.

  ‘Really? That’s not what I’ve heard.’ Megan leaned forward slightly, her elbows on the table. ‘Sean Raven’s wife’s just been telling me that you and Tessa were bosom buddies.’ She held her breath, looking her straight in the eye, willing her to take the bait.

  ‘That cow! Well if you believe her you’ll believe anyone!’

  Megan allowed her eyebrows to rise slightly in feigned surprise. ‘Oh, so it’s not true, then?’ She paused for a moment, choosing her next words like an archer selecting an arrow. ‘Only she told us you’d got some very explicit photographs of Sean and Tessa together. Said Tessa had probably given them to you because you get off on that sort of thing…’


  ‘Frigging bitch!’ Carole-Ann Beddowes was out of the chair, making for the door, ‘Where is she?’ she screamed, ‘I’ll fucking kill her!’

  ‘Sit down, please, Mrs. Beddowes.’ Dave Todd took her arm and managed to get her to sit down, shooting an anxious look at Megan before moving his own chair closer to the table.

  ‘You know her bastard husband bloody raped me, don’t you?’

  ‘I know that he was charged with raping you but was acquitted for lack of evidence,’ Megan replied in an even voice. ‘I’m not here to discuss the rights and wrongs of that. But that’s another thing Mariel Raven said.’ She paused again, watching the expression on the woman’s face. ‘She said the reason you accused Sean of raping you was because you were jealous. Of Tessa.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Carole-Ann Beddowes mouth was the only part of her face not covered in a thick layer of makeup. Her lipstick had rubbed off with the meal and now Megan could see that her lips, pressed into a tight ball, had turned white with rage. ‘If anyone’s jealous it’s her! Do you want to know how I got hold of those photos?’ Her head quivered as she spoke. ‘Sean gave them to me. Said Mariel was so angry when she found them in the house he’d had to promise to get rid of them. But he didn’t want to, so he asked me to keep them for him.’

  ‘And was this little favour granted before or after you accused him of raping you?’ Megan asked in a deadpan voice. The woman didn’t bother replying.

  Foy listened to her account of what Carole-Ann Beddowes had said, rubbing his chin and saying nothing.

  ‘I’m really not convinced, Steve,’ she said. ‘I mean, if you’re wrong about Raven – if Tessa’s died at the hands of a stranger – he could be out there stalking another victim while you’re stuck here trying to get blood out of a stone.’

  Foy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I think we’ll let our friend sweat it out a bit longer.’ He gestured to a set of clothes and a blonde wig lying on a table at the side of the room. ‘Let’s wait and see what the reconstruction throws up before we make any hasty decisions, eh?’

  Megan sighed in exasperation. ‘Well, I hope you’ll have that precinct crawling with plain clothes people tomorrow. Because if you’re wrong and I’m right…’

  ‘I know, I know!’ Foy held up his hands, palms out. ‘Don’t worry – I’ve got it covered.’

  She shook her head as she walked across the room to inspect the outfit Kate O’Leary would be wearing in a few hours’ time. A pair of cream Armani jeans, a patterned blouse and a pair of cream leather pumps lay beside the wig. ‘You found out what shoes she was wearing, then?’

  ‘No, we didn’t. None of the people who saw her could remember, so we figured it would probably be the ones that blended in with the trousers.’

  Megan looked at the blouse. It too was mainly cream, with a pattern of small swirls of black, red and brown. Hard to say what shoes Tessa would have selected to go with that, but yes, Foy was probably right to go with the cream ones. Still, it irritated her, not knowing. In her experience it was often the smallest details that yielded the biggest insights. She wanted to know more about this woman and if Foy was determined to stick with his theory she was just going to have to dig it out for herself.

  It was nearly midnight when she left the police station. She’d left her car in the street because the carpark had been full when she arrived. She didn’t notice what had been done to the windscreen until she was about to drive off. Turning the key in the ignition, she looked up to see a pattern of thick lines obscuring her view.

  ‘What the bloody hell…’ she said aloud, scrambling out and peering at it in the weak orange light of the streetlamps. It was a pentagram. Someone had scrawled a crude imitation of the same five-pointed star she had seen on Tessa Ledbury’s head. Reaching out a finger she touched one of the points. It felt greasy and as she pulled her finger away a smear was left behind. The tip of her finger was stained dark red. She sniffed it. Lipstick. Someone had lipsticked a pentagram on her car. Her hand dropped to her side and she realised she was trembling. The memory of Mariel Raven’s face flashed before her eyes. The look of pure hate she had given her. Had she done this? Who else could it possibly be?

  *

  Patrick van Zeller slumped back onto the hard bed, stunned by what he’d just heard. He lay there staring at the ceiling, studying the cracks and the dirty gobs of blue tack left behind by some former occupant of this miserable cell of a room.

  The mobile phone was still in his hand. He should have changed the number. She would never have been able to get hold of him then. She’d have tried the flat in Birmingham and found the phone disconnected. Then she would have phoned Heartland and been told that he was no longer registered as a post-graduate student. Would they have told her he’d transferred to Liverpool?

  He sighed. It was stupid, trying to think of ways he might have avoided it. She would have tracked him down sooner or later. He went to dial a number but paused, his finger hovering over the buttons. He couldn’t tell Megan over the phone. She would go absolutely apeshit. No. He was going to have to break this to her face to face.

  Chapter 8

  Megan was awake at 5.30 the next morning. Unnerved by what had been done to her car, she had been tempted to spend the night at Ceri’s rather than go home to an empty house. But it had been too late to disturb her sister. A large slug of whisky in a mug of hot milk had helped her get to sleep, but after a series of nightmares she had woken up bathed in sweat, her heart thumping.

  Stumbling out of bed she peered through the curtains at the street below. In the grey morning light she could see her car. There was still a faint red smudge in the bottom corner of the windscreen on the driver’s side. She must have missed it in her frantic effort to obliterate the lipsticked pentagram.

  She shuddered at the memory. The duty officer at the station told her Mariel Raven had been released half an hour before. And so had Carol-Ann Beddowes. Either one of them could have done it. The Heartland University parking permit stuck inside her windscreen would have been a dead giveaway to anyone with half a brain.

  By seven o’clock she was ready to leave the house, having breakfasted and showered and applied twice the usual amount of make-up to conceal the dark rings under her eyes. She set off for Wolverhampton, knowing she was going to get to Pendleton precinct a good hour before the police. Never mind. It would be useful to hang around and watch before the media circus began. Reconstructions were like funerals. If the killer was the type she believed him to be, she was sure he’d be unable to stay away.

  It was just before eight when she pulled into the carpark. There were quite a few people about. Mainly delivery men unloading at the back of the shops. She sat in the car watching for a few minutes. She noticed a bleary-eyed couple emerge from a doorway and realised there must be flats above the shops. Five minutes later a girl emerged from another doorway. She looked no more than eighteen and was dressed in a baggy sweater and jeans, carrying what looked like an art portfolio case under her arm. A student, Megan thought. These flats would be very handy for students, being a few minutes’ walk from the college. She looked up at the windows of the flats, thinking how easy it would be for the occupants to watch people coming and going in the precinct below. There were so many possibilities. What she needed was a caffeine injection to kick-start her brain.

  On her way to the café she spotted Delva. She was standing in front of the chemist’s, sorting out equipment with a cameraman. She bounded across the precinct in response to Megan’s wave.

  ‘Megan! I was trying to get hold of you all last night!’

  ‘Were you? I was at the police station in Wolverhampton until gone midnight.’

  ‘The bastards! I phoned them about half ten and they said you weren’t there.’

  ‘Well I was holed up in an interview room most of the time so they wouldn’t have been able to get me anyway. I had to switch the mobile off. What’s happened?’

  ‘Something pretty mind-blowing, actually.’ Delva gla
nced around. ‘Can we talk in the café?’

  The man behind the counter brought their coffees over, beaming at Delva as he set them down. ‘Keeping you busy?’ He cocked his head at the police car nosing slowly into the precinct’s main square. Delva nodded and smiled pleasantly. A practised smile, Megan thought. She must get fed up of being recognised everywhere she went.

  ‘You don’t think there are any plain clothes people in here, do you?’ Delva whispered when he’d gone.

  Megan glanced over her shoulder and gave a quick shake of her head.

  ‘Only I wouldn’t want any of them hearing this.’

  Megan listened in silence as Delva told her what she’d seen.

  ‘So you see,’ Delva said, ‘I was totally confused. I mean, when I interviewed Richard I was convinced he was a thoroughly decent bloke who was completely devastated by his wife’s death. But when I saw them kissing I suddenly had this horrible feeling that Kate O’Leary could be the killer. That she and Richard somehow cooked it up between them.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ Megan thought for a moment, more troubled about Delva’s revelation than she cared to admit. There was a sinister flicker of a possibility in what Delva was suggesting. Kate was an expert in the occult. A policewoman familiar with murder. It would be frighteningly easy for a person with that kind of knowlege to fake something like this. And if the motivation was there …

  ‘I can’t believe they would have been stupid enough to be seen kissing in public if there was anything sinister going on, can you?’ Megan said. ‘Was it an actual snog, would you say, or more of a peck on the cheek?’

  ‘Oh, definitely not a snog,’ Delva said, ‘It was hard to tell, really, from where I was sitting, but it looked like a quick kiss on the lips.’

  ‘And did it look as if he was the one making the running?’ Megan asked. Did he move towards her or was it the other way round?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Delva thought for a moment. ‘It happened so quickly it’s hard to tell. They both seemed to move at the same time, I think.’