by LJ Ross
When he spoke again, his voice was cool and remote.
“Thanks, Frank. I needed that.”
“Don’t mention it,” Phillips shrugged. “What do you want to do about it?”
“There’s no way he’ll talk otherwise.”
“You sure …?”
“Come on. You know him as well as I do.”
“Aye, I do.” Phillips scratched the top of his wiry thatch of hair then let his hand fall. “We could play it so that you’re in the room, but I still ask the questions?”
“We could try it, but I’m betting he’d clam up all the same. He wants to taunt me, you see. He’s bored, in here,” Ryan looked around the wide, beige-coloured space. “Bored, angry and frustrated that he can’t maraud around the city killing more women.”
“It’s not a good idea to let him use you as his punch bag. He won’t hold back,” Phillips added. “He’ll twist the knife, no doubt about it.”
“No doubt at all,” Ryan agreed. He thought of his sister and how lovely she had been. He thought of his parents’ devastation. He remembered watching as Edwards had killed her, while he had lain injured and immobile on the floor. Pain ricochet through his body, singing through his nerves and along the scar marring his left arm, from shoulder to elbow. Then, he thought of Rose Llewellyn, sunken and small in her home prison, surrounded by the memories of her daughter. He recalled the broken conversation with Claire Burns’ father and how he had begged him to find justice for his child.
It was never easy to face one’s demons, even when they looked human. But he reminded himself that, if he had done it once, he could do it again. This time, for other families, other brothers, other mothers and fathers.
He turned back and squared his shoulders.
“I’m ready.”
* * *
Keir Edwards’ eyes lit up an unnatural, glossy black against his pale face when Ryan entered the room.
“I’m honoured,” he began, his cultured voice trembling only slightly. Ryan judged that to be excitement, rather than nerves.
“DCI Ryan and DS Phillips re-entering interview under caution with Keir Edwards at HM Prison Frankland. Prison guards Fran Foster and Daniel Cramer both present. Time is 18:04.” Ryan’s voice rang out clearly for the tape and not once did he acknowledge that Edwards had spoken.
“Mr Edwards, do you require any reminder of your rights and obligations under caution?”
“So formal,” Edwards mused. “We know each other well, you and I.”
“Let the record show that Mr Edwards understands his rights and obligations.”
Edwards’ eyes continued to roam Ryan’s face. He envied his lightly tanned skin, which spoke of days spent outdoors in the early summer sunshine.
“I think you mean, Doctor Edwards,” he said.
Ryan raised an uninterested eyebrow.
“Last time I checked, you had been struck off the medical register,” he replied without a pause. “Deciding to torture and kill people goes against the Hippocratic Oath, you know.”
Edwards’ mouth twisted into a smile.
“Developed some teeth, have you? Must make you feel strong, knowing that I’m chained,” he rattled his wrists against the metal cuffs and then leaned forward suddenly. “But you and I both know you’d be cowering like a whipped dog, if I weren’t.”
Ryan felt the spittle spray from Edwards’ mouth as he spoke his venom, and with slow movements he retrieved a tissue from his jacket pocket to wipe it from his chin.
“We would like to ask you some questions relating to Amy Llewellyn,” he said.
Edwards continued to stare.
“When did you first meet Amy?”
“I’ve never heard of her,” Edwards lied.
Ryan fished inside the file and found a copy of the image taken from Edwards’ own possessions, last year.
“Do you recognise this picture?”
Edwards tilted his head to one side and ran his gaze over the image of Amy, naked and bound against the bedposts of the bed in his old home.
“I couldn’t say.”
Ryan slapped the file closed and rose from his chair.
“There’s nothing for us here,” he said to Phillips, once again ignoring Edwards. “He’s obviously useless. I told you we’re looking for someone with precision. He doesn’t fit.”
“You think I don’t know that you’re baiting me?” Edwards said, with a hint of irritation.
“Aye, you’re right. It was a long-shot, anyway,” Phillips agreed and then stood up himself.
“Sit down!” Edwards rapped out, eliciting a long stare from Ryan.
“Your manners seem to have rapidly declined, since you’ve been living in a cell,” Ryan remarked. “You’re long past calling the shots, here, Edwards.”
“You want to know about Amy?” Edwards murmured. “I bet you do. I bet you’d love to know about all the girls in those photographs. Only one way to find out, because all roads end here.”
“Did you kill her?”
There was a long pause.
“No, but I wanted to.”
It sounded like an honest answer, Phillips thought, but who could tell with this vermin?
“Why didn’t you?”
“Missed opportunity,” Edwards snapped.
“How did you know her?”
Edwards shrugged.
“She was a student at the university. I was on clinical rounds in the hospital at that time. She was in one of my student groups.”
Ryan nodded. It was only what he had imagined.
“You wanted her?”
“Oh, certainly,” Edwards mused, thinking back. He could picture Amy clearly, as he could picture the fantasies he had only begun to play out. “She was quite memorable.”
“How did this picture come to be taken, and when?”
“Tit-for-tat, Ryan. Why don’t you tell me how you’ve been, all these months? I hear you’ve found yourself a lady,” he rasped. “I hear she’s quite a looker. But then, I did tell you that we’re similar, you and I; more so than you would like to admit.”
Ryan said nothing, but fear gripped him. He didn’t want any trace of Edwards’ filth to taint Anna; he didn’t want her name mentioned here at all.
“It doesn’t work like that, Edwards. The privilege of free movement, you see. I get to ask the questions and then I get to leave. You get to answer them, or not answer them, but then you have to stay here. That’s it.”
“Spoilsport,” Edwards tutted. “Well, if you don’t want to chat, I’ll keep the conversation flowing. For instance, I hear your new lady-love is very much to my taste,” he continued, tracing his tongue along his upper lip. “We like our dark-haired beauties, don’t we?”
Beneath the table, Ryan’s hands clenched into fists.
“I did see a picture of her, in the local news,” Edwards added. “Very nice indeed. I spent a delicious few hours imagining how she would feel. Anna,” he let the name roll off his tongue. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had an ‘Anna’ before.”
“Aye, and never will,” Phillips butted in, sensing that things were becoming too close. “Why don’t you tell us about the women you did have. You met Amy at the university? When was this?”
Edwards stretched his shoulders.
“I met her in September of 2004. It took me a few weeks before I could convince her to become better acquainted, if you take my meaning.”
“You began a relationship?”
“Now, Inspector, you’re not the only one capable of keeping up a pretence, at least for a while. Yes, I took her out, I fed her and I fucked her.”
The casual cruelty lacing his stark words was hard to ignore, but Ryan and Phillips did their best.
“And then?”
“She didn’t like it. Clever girl, really,” He let out a soft chuckle. “Some of them sense what’s coming.”
They weren’t human, not to this man, Ryan realised. They were objects, slabs of meat to be used and disposed of at his w
him. Still, the admission tallied with the information Phillips had found in Amy Llewellyn’s medical history, such as it was. A few weeks before her death, she had attended the GP at the Student’s Union, suffering from injuries ordinarily associated with violent sex. He imagined her family would have no idea. The doctor had prescribed creams and painkillers.
“Did you see her again?”
“Of course,” Edwards answered the question with a trace of boredom. “I saw her once or twice, around the hospital.”
“Then, you killed her?” Ryan finished flatly. “You’ve confessed to the murders of five women, already, so what’s with the sudden shyness? Might as well claim your conquests.”
Edwards grinned like a cat.
“You know me so well, Ryan, it’s really quite flattering that you’ve taken an interest. I would happily claim her, as you so eloquently put it, but sadly, as I said earlier, she was the one who got away.”
“You’re saying you didn’t kill her?” Ryan was bemused. He could not imagine this man investing time in a project and then walking away.
“I thought I had just made that clear. Are you disappointed? Would you like to have listened to the way I might have killed her, like I killed your sister?”
Ryan’s chest contracted and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. There was a roar in his ears as the blood pumped frantically through his veins and his fingernails dug little semi-circles into the palms of his hands.
“We’re the same, you and I,” Edwards whispered. “Deep down, you felt it, I know you did. You felt the incredible rush of power as you watched me, then you felt it again as you had your hands round my throat. How long are you going to deny your true self?”
Ryan could feel his resolve beginning to break, with every word spoken, but at precisely the right time, Phillips stepped into the breach.
“Aye, so if you didn’t kill Amy Llewellyn, someone else beat you to it? Must have made you angry, after all that preparation.”
Edwards said nothing, but the muscle at the side of his eye ticked.
“But then, you didn’t have the balls at that stage, did you? Wasn’t until years later that you plucked up the nerve,” Phillips carried on, conversationally.
“You haven’t got the slightest comprehension of what I’m capable of,” Edwards ground out.
Phillips affected a yawn and looked across at Ryan, whose vision was beginning to clear.
“What time is it?” He looked up at the clock on the wall, not expecting an answer. “OK, so if you didn’t kill her, did you find out who did?”
“If I knew who had taken her from me, he would no longer be alive.”
There was something about the way he uttered the threat that didn’t ring true and it caught Ryan’s attention. It was too smooth; it lacked realism.
“You know,” Ryan said quietly, meeting Edwards’ eyes. “If you’re angry at the coup, why not give him up?”
Edwards sighed a little and leaned forwards. Ryan held off moving backwards.
“There is an order, in all things,” he mused. “Did it never occur to you that it was I who gave her up? Nobody takes something from me that I am not happy to give.”
“Why would you do that, if you wanted her?”
“Respect,” Edwards snapped out.
Phillips snorted a laugh at the thought of a serial murderer claiming to understand the concept of ‘respect’.
“Respect? For whom?” Ryan remained focussed.
Edwards leaned back in his chair and the restraints clanked against the table.
“There’s the million dollar question,” he smiled broadly, enjoying the game.
“Are you aware that somebody has stolen your MO?” Ryan threw the question at him and waited to see the response. A shadow of annoyance spread across Edwards’ face, followed by forbearance.
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” he replied.
Edwards fixed his stare on the Chief Inspector and thought briefly about how he might end him, given the chance.
Then, he spoke again.
“I enjoyed your interview,” he said, eyes racing over the man who, physically at least, could almost have been mistaken for his brother. “How you do enjoy playing the strong policeman.”
Ryan waited for more, and was not disappointed.
“I must say that you wear your heart on your sleeve. If I were you, I might consider talking to someone. I can’t tell you how much lighter I feel, nowadays. The talking therapies here are very good,” he said mockingly.
“Thinking of my welfare?” Ryan bit out. “Don’t bother. You see, the great thing is, if things get a little much, I can take a walk. Go for a run. Feel the fresh air on my face. I can eat whenever I want, take a crap whenever the fuck I feel like it. How does it feel, Edwards, not to be able to do any of those things? To be forced to jump to somebody else’s tune?”
Edwards stared into the grey eyes of his captor and let hate run through him.
“Shall I tell you, Ryan, about all the delicious memories which sustain me? I can promise, you won’t like it.”
Phillips intervened, always right on time. He slapped a picture on the table in front of them and slowly, Edwards looked down.
“Did you give this bracelet to Amy?”
“No, I did not.”
“The shopkeeper remembers you buying the bracelet, Edwards. In fact, she remembers you buying ten of them.”
Edwards’ face remained impassive.
“Then it’s the shopkeeper’s word against mine, isn’t it?”
“No offence, I’m sure, but your credibility isn’t all it could be,” Phillips remarked.
“Ouch,” Edwards sniped and then raised an index finger towards the photograph. “Interesting design, though, don’t you think?”
Ryan took another look at the bracelet and saw nothing new.
“The serpent,” Edwards supplied, with rare indulgence.
One of the symbols of Satan, Ryan thought. It wasn’t Edwards’ style, to dish out symbols to his victims, because to do so would presume a belief system of some kind. Keir Edwards believed in nothing, except himself.
The question remained: did he purchase the bracelets and, if so, why would he now lie about it?
“We’re not here for a cosy chat. You say you didn’t kill Amy, you say you didn’t give her the bracelet and didn’t buy any, though we’ve got a witness who says you did.”
“Well done,” Edwards said with condescension. “You’ve grasped the situation admirably.”
“Tell me, then, what is your relationship with Colin Hart?”
Edwards flashed a grin.
“Now, finally, we’re getting somewhere.” He made to cross his legs, before remembering that his ankles were also restrained, to the thick metal rings drilled into the floor. Anger washed over him again.
“Everybody needs a guide, somebody who can help to nurture one’s talents.”
“You’ve communicated with Colin Hart? You’re claiming to be his mentor?”
“I believe I might have answered a letter, or two. I’m sure you will be asking for copies from the guards – they keep all of them, you know. They’re probably hoping to sell them on eBay.”
Phillips stopped himself from making any obvious comments to the effect that they wouldn’t get much for the ramblings of a murderous psychotic, because the sad truth was that there would be people out there willing to pay good money for letters written by Keir Edwards. It continued to feed the man’s ego, knowing that there was a fan base in the wider world outside his cell.
“Did you instruct Colin Hart to kill?”
Ryan stared into the face of a murderer and thought that it was curious that they, too, could be loyal to their own.
Edwards said nothing, meeting Ryan’s stare with frank contempt. He would tell them nothing more.
“What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Edwards laughed then, a harsh sound in the confined space. “I want your head on a plate in fr
ont of me, Ryan. I want to watch your eyes die. But, since present circumstances prevent it, I’ll settle for wounding you instead.”
“You’ll never catch me unguarded again,” Ryan gritted. “For the rest of your life, you’ll know it was me who put you where you are.”
“And, for the rest of your life, you’ll know it was me who let you.”
“You believe that?” Ryan stood up now, the interview over. “You got sloppy, Edwards. You lost your edge. Maybe you never had it. The man we’re looking for at least has the brains to remain undetected – for now.”
Edwards watched as Ryan and Phillips stood up, preparing to leave. He burned to rise up from his chair and fight.
Instead, he fell back upon the only warfare he could.
“It eats you up, doesn’t it Ryan, not knowing? How many others? How many did you miss?” He chuckled quietly, entranced by his own reflection in the two-way glass opposite. He looked up and into the reflected image of Ryan, as he stood beside the door behind him.
“You wonder ‘how’ and ‘why’, brooding about it until you can’t sleep and you can’t eat, but the answers lie inside you; you have only to look into a mirror. The mind is its own place, Ryan, and it can make a Heav’n of hell, a hell of Heav’n.”
Ryan dragged his gaze away from Edwards’ and burst out of the room.
CHAPTER 14
“There’s nothing in any of these letters except a bunch of navel-gazing,” Phillips pronounced.
Ryan looked up from his inspection of the prison records to meet Frank’s baffled face. They were seated in a small conference room, which had been built to allow inmates to converse with their legal representatives.
“There may not be anything obvious,” he suggested. “Some of his responses could be obtuse, or coded.”
Phillips looked back down at a copy of a letter from Edwards to Colin Hart, dated less than a month after he had been incarcerated.
“Dear Colin,
Many thanks indeed for your kind letter and sincere apologies for the delay in responding to you. I regret that the procedures in place within these walls prevent me from replying to you as soon as I might wish.
I confess myself immensely moved by your desire to understand my evolution and, for the sake of posterity alone, will do my best to enlighten you.
