For a split second nobody moved. The room and the people in it were like freeze-frame images from a film. Suddenly a scream filled Megan’s ears. Ceri’s body began to writhe on the bed.
‘Justin!’ Ceri screamed, her back arching as she struggled against her bonds.
‘Let him go! Bastards!’
*
Mariel Raven was lying low at the house of a friend who lived ten miles from her Pendleton home. She had driven off at high speed last night, pursued by reporters from the tabloid press, and had only managed to shake them off by driving into a multi-storey carpark in Wolverhampton town centre. Abandoning her car she had hidden in the ladies’ toilets while phoning her friend, who had picked her up in a dimly-lit back alley a few streets away.
She was glad Justin had friends he could stay with. She wouldn’t have wanted him going back to the house. She wondered how long it would be before the vultures gave up. Her hand shook as she picked up the newspaper lying on the coffee table. It was open at the photograph of her husband’s head grafted onto a figure in a black cloak. Sean Raven as he would look at a witches’ coven. What bollocks! How dare they do that to him! Seizing the paper in both hands she screwed it into a ball and stamped on it with her spike heels.
*
‘My name’s Justin Preece. I’m a Media Studies student at Pendleton College.’ The boy looked barely out of his teens. He was on his feet now, his wrists handcuffed. ‘She’ll tell you! Tell them Ceri! You invited me here, didn’t you?’
Megan cringed as she watched her sister struggle into jeans and a sweater. Ceri wouldn’t even look at her.
‘Is he telling the truth, Mrs Richardson?’
Dave Todd’s use of Ceri’s surname just rubbed it in. ‘Yes! Of course he’s telling the truth!’ Her eyes had narrowed to kohl-rimmed slits and her nostrils flared. ‘Would you mind telling me what the hell’s going on?’
‘We’re investigating the murders of Tessa Ledbury and Joanna Hamilton, Mrs Richardson,’ Todd said, voice matter-of-fact. He turned his attention back to the boy. ‘Your address?’
‘One-seven-one Linden Close, Pendleton, Wolverhampton WV30 1QR.’ He recited it robotically, staring at the ceiling. Megan blinked. Linden Close? That was the name of Sean and Mariel Raven’s road. She saw Dave Todd exchange glances with the officer making notes.
‘Mr Preece,’ Todd said, emphasizing the title with a hint of sarcasm, ‘are you related to a Mr Sean Raven?’
Justin’s lip curled. ‘You know damn well I am,’ he snarled. ‘What is this? Some bloody vendetta? First my stepfather, now me! Why don’t you go and lift my mother while you’re at it?’
Megan stared from the boy to Ceri. The look of confusion on her sister’s face told her that the name Sean Raven meant nothing to Ceri. Unless she had seen the morning papers there was no reason why it should.
‘Where were you between nine-fifty and eleven o’clock on the morning of Thursday the twenty-fourth of May?’ Todd was standing in front of Justin now. Megan couldn’t see the expression on the boy’s face.
‘He was with me!’ Ceri’s voice was shaking. ‘He was in my lecture at Pendleton College! Satisfied?’
Todd glanced at her then turned back to the boy. ‘Can you account for your whereabouts between the hours of 2.30pm on Wednesday May the sixteenth and 11am on Thursday the seventeenth?’
There was a moment’s silence. Megan saw that her sister’s head was shaking in disbelief. ‘He was at college, weren’t you Justin?’ There was a note of hysteria in her voice now. ‘He’s always in my lectures on Thursday mornings! He’d have been in another class on the Wednesday afternoon!’
Todd nodded an acknowledgement without turning his head. ‘And the Wednesday night?’ he said to Justin. ‘Where were you that evening?’
‘I was at home with my mother and stepfather.’ The tone was defiant. ‘But I’m sure you’re not going to believe me when you haven’t believed a single word they’ve told you!’
‘Justin Preece,’ Todd said, ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder.’ He recited the standard clause about the boy’s right to remain silent before ushering him out of the room.
‘No! Justin!’ Ceri reached out to grab him but was held back by the WPC and another officer. Megan could have wept at the sight of her. She looked completely bereft, as if the bottom had fallen out of her world.
‘Please,’ Megan said, ‘let me talk to her.’
Ceri turned her face away.
‘We’ll have to take a statement first,’ the WPC said. ‘But we can do it here if you’d prefer, Mrs Richardson?’ Ceri nodded dumbly. ‘You’ll be free to talk to your sister as soon as we’ve finished, Dr Rhys.’
Megan walked out of the bedroom in a daze. She went outside to see the squad car pulling away, Justin Preece in the back between two police officers.
Dave Todd was standing on the pavement with his back to her, talking into his mobile.
‘She’s his lecturer, yes,’ Todd was saying. No doubt he’d been telling Steve Foy all the gory details. She felt numb. Could Justin really be the killer? Had he and Sean Raven carried out the murders together? Or had she just subjected her sister to a terrifying, degrading experience for nothing?
Ceri had invited Justin into her house. She was having an affair with him. That in itself was devastating enough for her family, but it didn’t mean he was capable of murder. She thought about Tessa Ledbury. Tessa had once had an affair with Sean Raven. What if it had started up again? What if she’d been involved in some sort of bizarre threesome with the stepfather and the stepson? But what about Joanna Hamilton? Yes, she had a connection with the college and could possibly have met Justin there. But she was a lesbian. She had been trying to persuade Vicky Tomlins to move in with her. No, Megan thought, it just didn’t add up.
‘Yes, Guv,’ she heard Todd saying, ‘I’ll ask Dr Rhys if she’ll come.’ He shoved the mobile in his pocket and swung round. Behind the gold-rimmed glasses his eyes were full of concern. ‘This must terrible for you,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Megan nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
‘I don’t know how you feel about coming to the station, but the Guv would like you there if you feel up to it.’
She swallowed hard. ‘I could come later.’ Her voice was hoarse with emotion. ‘I’d like some time with my sister first.’
‘Of course,’ Todd said. ‘Take as much time as you need. Would you like one of the officers to stay with you?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d just like to be alone with her, if you don’t mind.’
Half an hour later the other officers had gone. Megan sat on a chair in the living room, her sister on the sofa. The room was unusually tidy. No toys lying on the rug or clothes draped over the radiators. Ceri must have wanted the place spick and span for entertaining her boyfriend. Megan wondered how old he was. She couldn’t believe her sister had risked her marriage, her home, everything for a fling with one of her own students. She opened her mouth to speak but checked herself. Who was she to stand in judgement?
‘I know how you must be feeling,’ she began. It sounded lame. As far as Ceri was concerned she had been violated. Violated and humiliated. She probably felt that being murdered would not have been much worse than the experience the police had put her through.
‘I don’t know how you can say that.’ Ceri’s voice was full of bitterness. ‘And I don’t want to talk about it – to you or anyone else!’ She rose to her feet. ‘I need to get the children.’
‘Where are they?’
‘At the nursery, of course!’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘Did you think I’d abandoned them somewhere? Terrible mother as well as a tart?’
‘No, of course I didn’t,’ Megan said. ‘I thought that Neil…’
‘He’s at a conference in Brussels,’ Ceri cut in. She paused in the doorway. ‘If you want to know why I didn’t tell you it’s because I knew you wouldn’t approve!’
God, is that
what she thinks of me? Megan looked away, tears blurring her vision. There was a silence. She waited for the door to slam. Instead she heard a strange, muffled, sighing sound. Running into the hallway she saw Ceri slumped against the coat rack, her shoulders heaving with sobs.
‘Oh Ceri! Please don’t cry!’ Megan hugged her sister to her. ‘I never meant for you to get mixed up in all this, but when I saw him following you…’
‘I … know!’ Ceri stuttered through her tears. ‘I … do understand.’
Megan led her back into the living room and sat down on the sofa beside her. ‘Shall I get you a cup of tea? Or could you do with a brandy?’
Ceri shook her head. ‘The way I feel, I’d just end up drinking the whole bottle.’ She reached for a tissue and blew her nose.
‘I’ll make some tea, then,’ Megan said. ‘What time are you supposed to be picking the kids up?’
‘Well, not until half past three, really,’ Ceri sniffed. She followed Megan into the kitchen. By the time the kettle boiled she had begun telling the story of her affair with Justin. She described how miserable things were between her and Neil. How much more attractive she had begun to feel in the new clothes she had bought for work. The admiring glances from some of her students and her irresistible attraction to Justin. ‘I knew it was mad,’ she said. ‘But I couldn’t stop myself. It was like a drug, Meg. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.’
‘How old is he?’ Megan tried to keep her voice neutral.
‘Twenty-one.’ Ceri tapped the side of her head. ‘But he’s much older than that in here.’ She looking pleadingly at Megan. ‘You don’t believe he’s a murderer, do you?’
‘I don’t know, Ceri.’ Megan sighed. ‘I don’t know what to think.’ She looked at her sister, dreading asking the question that had been on her mind since the moment she’d seen Ceri on the bed. ‘There’s something I need to know,’ she began. ‘Please don’t hate me for asking you, but those shoes – the ones you had on when, you know…’ she tailed off, gauging her sister’s reaction.
‘Oh God!’ Ceri buried her face in her hands. ‘I can’t bear the thought of all those people seeing me like that!’ She rocked back and forth in her seat and Megan reached out to touch her shoulder. ‘He wanted me to dress up for him.’ Ceri’s voice was muffled by her hands. ‘It was all part of the excitement. I bought stockings and suspenders and those tarty shoes and he…’ She broke off, wiping away the tears that were now streaming down her face.
‘He what, Ceri?’ Megan held her breath. She was thinking about the red suede shoes in Joanna Hamilton’s wardrobe. The ones she might have been wearing when she was murdered. ‘Did he ask you to wear red shoes?’
Ceri stared at her, her eyes puffy with crying. ‘Why? Is that what the other women were wearing? Tessa Ledbury and that Joanna woman?’
Megan bit her lip. She mustn’t allow Ceri the opportunity to cover for Justin Preece if he was guilty. It was obvious her sister was besotted with him; that she would defend him to hell and back. ‘They weren’t wearing any shoes,’ she said, ‘but the police have a theory the killer might go for women who wear red.’ This was a lie, but it took attention off the shoes. She felt bad, doing this to her sister, but she had to get to the truth.
‘He wanted me to wear black, actually.’ Ceri cupped her hands over her nose and mouth, as if to keep the next sentence from Megan. Megan waited. Eventually the hands dropped and Ceri began to speak, her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘He said he’d fantasised about me giving my lectures in a black mini skirt. He said he’d imagined what it would be like if I was wearing stockings and suspenders; getting a glimpse of them when I reached up to write something on the board.’ Ceri closed her eyes and pressed her lips together until they turned white.
‘And the shoes?’ Megan’s voice was barely more than a whisper. It was like walking on eggshells.
‘They were my idea.’ Ceri took a deep breath and tipped her head back. ‘I got them off e-Bay,’ she said to the ceiling.
*
Patrick pushed open the door and picked up the letters that lay on the mat. He had half-expected Megan to be at home, but the place had a neglected look that suggested she’d been far too busy to spend much time there. There were dirty dishes in the sink and the pedal bin in the kitchen looked as if it could do with emptying. As he carried the rubbish through the hall the phone rang. He hesitated a moment before going to answer it. He was almost certain it would be Megan, ringing to see if he was back. It rang five times before the answering machine cut in. He stood there listening to the recording of her voice, his stomach tying itself in knots. He knew he should pick it up. But if it was Megan he knew he would be unable to speak without giving himself away.
The machine beeped. There was no message.
*
Megan was worried about leaving her sister. They had driven off at the same time, Megan heading for Tipton Street and Ceri for the nursery. Megan had suggested she take the children over to her house for the night. She would have to let Patrick know. She glanced at her watch. He probably wouldn’t be back yet. She must remember to phone later.
As she negotiated the Friday afternoon traffic in Wolverhampton town centre Megan wondered what on earth her sister was going to do. Neil wasn’t due back until next Wednesday. That meant plenty of thinking time. But Megan couldn’t see how Ceri was going to avoid coming clean about Justin. Even if she decided to try to make a go of it with Neil, there was a good chance he’d find out what had happened. If Justin Preece was charged with anything Ceri would probably end up in court as a witness. And even if he wasn’t, the college would be bound to find out that Ceri had been caught in flagrante with one of her students. She would almost certainly lose her job. How would she explain that to Neil?
Megan shuddered. She couldn’t help thinking of the children. Their little world was about to come crashing down around their ears and she desperately wanted to protect them. But there was nothing she could do. It was all down to Ceri.
At Tipton Street Dave Todd came to meet her in the foyer. ‘Guv’s got Sean Raven in Number One,’ he said, ushering her along the corridor to the suite with the two-way mirror. ‘I thought you’d like to sit in.’
In silence she seated herself at the table placed up against the mirrored window. Foy and Kate O’Leary were in the next room, sitting opposite a haggard-looking Sean Raven. She glanced at the clock on the wall. He had been in custody for more than forty-eight hours, during which time he probably hadn’t slept. No wonder he was looking so rough.
‘We’ve got your stepson in the cells downstairs. Young Justin.’ Foy had his back to Megan but she could hear the sarcasm in his voice. ‘He’s been telling us all about your nasty little habits.’ There was a pause. ‘About the sick things that turn you on!’
Megan glanced at Dave Todd, her eyebrows raised. He gave a quick shake of his head. Rising to her feet, she walked out of the room. Todd followed.
‘I’m sorry, Dave, I’m going. I can’t listen to any more of this.’ Foy had gone too far, trying to play the man and the boy off against each other with blatant lies. It was one thing fighting dirty with the likes of Carole-Ann Beddowes, but when it was someone facing a murder charge …
‘Keep me posted, will you?’ she said. ‘And tell your boss I won’t be available for Crimewatch tomorrow night.’
Megan battled her way through the worsening traffic, tapping out her home number when she came to a standstill in one of the inevitable jams. All she got was the answerphone. Perhaps Patrick’s taxi from the station was stuck in traffic too. She hoped he hadn’t missed his train. As she pressed the ‘off’ button her mobile rang out. It was Ceri, saying that she was going to have to stay at her own house because Emily had been invited to a party. Megan suggested they came over later but Ceri said the children would be too tired. She would come tomorrow instead.
As the traffic began to move Megan flexed her shoulders, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand. She felt worn out. Her mind was
in a turmoil, running through endless scenarios. She needed to talk it all through with Patrick. Perhaps in the morning she would have a clearer idea of what to do. Her stomach rumbled and she realised she’d had nothing to eat since the slice of toast she’d grabbed for breakfast. And there was no food in the house. She groaned. Never mind. She would stop off for a takeaway and a bottle of wine.
*
The pages of the newspaper fluttered in the breeze from the open window. Black Magic Killer. In letters four inches high. And on pages three, six and seven, a storyline and a cast of characters to fool a gullible world. The photograph of the witch was laughable. Is that what those idiot journalists thought a witch looked like? How ridiculous they would look when the next one was found. Then they would realise they were dealing with a far higher intelligence.
‘Oh, am I glad to see you! I thought maybe you’d missed the train.’ Megan flung her arms round Patrick. He had been coming to the front door, hearing her scrabbling with her key in the lock.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered.
‘Me too. I’ve had the most god-awful day.’ She had a bulky white plastic carrier hooked over her elbow and as he drew her to him it jabbed his skin.
‘Ow,’ he said, flinching.
‘Oh sorry. It’s the takeaway. I didn’t have chance to do any shopping so I called for a Chinese on the way home.’
Patrick looked into her eyes and saw that they were filled with tears. ‘Meg! What’s the matter?’
‘I … I’m sorry,’ she stammered, ‘It’s just that … it’s Ceri … something terrible happened…’
‘What? Oh my God! She’s not…’
‘No, no … she’s not hurt or anything,’ Megan sniffed.
‘What then?’
‘It’s a long and very depressing story,’ she said, pulling a tissue from her pocket and dabbing her face. ‘And I’m going to need a large glass of wine.’ She glanced at the carrier bag in her hand and held it out. ‘This is probably stone cold. Will you stick it in the microwave while I open the wine?’ Her voice trailed off as she headed for the kitchen.
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