Tastes Like Fear (D.I. Marnie Rome 3)

by Sarah Hilary

  ‘Ashleigh didn’t sound the submissive type,’ Marnie said. ‘Her stepdad thinks we should be looking for someone clever and fast. Three missing girls in three days, two of them dead. He’s certainly moving fast. So let’s up our game. Find the subway in May’s sketch, and our e-fit girl.’

  She nodded at Noah. ‘DS Jake?’

  Noah followed Marnie out to the station car park. The rain had cleared, sunshine lying like litter on the tarmac. ‘Something’s bothering you.’ Marnie unlocked the car. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Sol’s in trouble.’ Noah climbed in. ‘Dan says he had a bloody nose when he got home this morning. I’ll talk to him tonight.’ He fastened his seat belt. ‘Where’re we headed?’

  ‘Back to Battersea.’ Marnie fired the engine. ‘I want another look at the crime scene. And a chat with Romek Malis. What’s new on the Beswicks?’

  ‘Katrina’s car was on York Road half an hour before May’s body was found.’ A muscle stressed in his cheek. ‘It’s her route home, the same route every day. It could be nothing.’

  Or it could be Sean Beswick’s hands around his daughter’s neck, his wife helping to clear up the mess. Marnie didn’t want those images in her head any more than Noah did. She drove in silence until they hit a snarl of traffic. ‘Sean nearly said something when he called to tell us about the sketches. He said, “We didn’t know, we really didn’t. Loz says … but we didn’t. Me and Kat.” I want to know what Loz said. I think she knew about the sketches. Maybe she hid the pad in her room to help May, or when May went missing, because she didn’t want us to find it.’

  ‘She wants to find May’s killer. She wouldn’t hold back anything that’d help us do that.’

  ‘Not intentionally, but it’s possible she doesn’t understand the significance of the sketches.’

  Their fear for Loz was like a solid object in the car – a body on the back seat.

  After a moment Noah said, ‘I can’t imagine them together. May and Ashleigh. Something doesn’t fit. But we know they were in the same place, from the food they ate as much as from May’s sketches. Salted fish and lentils, survival food. Highly preserved, Fran said. Maybe he’s got them holed up off the grid. Somewhere ultra-safe. No access to shops, no need to leave the house. The uniform’s weird. Ashleigh wasn’t attending school, so why was she dressed like that? We’re dealing with a control freak.’

  ‘Who attracts out-of-control girls. Something in our killer appealed to Ashleigh Jewell, and to May Beswick. To the missing girl, too. Maybe other girls …’

  ‘Maybe not just girls,’ Noah said. ‘Plenty of homeless teenage boys out there. We’re assuming he hasn’t taken any of them, but if there’s no sexual element to what he’s doing, if it’s just about control, he could’ve taken boys too.’

  They’d reached the power station. Marnie showed her badge at the barrier, and parked up. When they climbed from the car, the river’s smell came up to meet them, the tide on the turn.

  ‘Ashleigh was left less than a mile from here.’ Marnie checked her phone. ‘I’m betting we find that subway within the same square mile.’

  Noah tipped his head to look at the chimneys, feeling all of London packed into this square mile. Forget an off-grid prison where this man was keeping the girls. He was here. ‘He’s close. Can’t you feel him?’

  ‘The subway is close,’ Marnie said. ‘It must be. We know May wasn’t away from home for any length of time in the weeks before she disappeared. She was sketching at the subway on her way to and from school. That’s a narrow radius.’

  ‘I wonder what it’s like in that house for Loz. Even if our bad feeling’s wrong, Sean and Katrina are very … polite, professional. To us. I wonder what they’re like as parents.’

  Marnie didn’t answer, going ahead of Noah into the heart of the site. She’d asked the same question about her own parents in the weeks after Stephen destroyed her family, wondering whether as foster-parents they’d been different, more patient perhaps. Less quick, surely, to see their faults magnified in him, since there was no blood between them. And Stephen – when had he first known he was going to kill them? Or hadn’t he known until the moment when it was happening, unfurling in him like an alien rush of hormones, of hate?

  Battersea was full of shadows and the charred smell of cut stone, hot metal. The workmen were drilling to the left, the judder of it coming through the walls, getting into her bones. Noah looked up at the remaining chimneys. ‘You know they tried to demolish these once before? From the inside. They stripped out the lining, then they noticed the chimneys were spreading. The lining, all that poisonous black rot inside, was holding them together. It’s how they’d stayed standing so long.’

  ‘You said May loved this place but it scared her.’

  He nodded. ‘It was in her sketches.’

  ‘If our killer saw the sketches, that could explain why he left her here. We’ve been assuming he’s obsessed with this place, but May was obsessed too. Perhaps he left her here because of the way she felt about the power station, not the way he did.’

  ‘Afraid?’

  ‘And in love. She loved it here, but it scared her.’

  Like living, Marnie thought, like life for a teenage girl.

  ‘You have to make friends with fear.’ Noah stared up into the sightless eye of a CCTV camera. ‘That’s what my dad always said.’

  ‘In relation to what?’

  ‘Life in general. Growing up on an estate like the Garrett, staying on the straight and narrow. It was a good speech. About accepting our limitations, respecting our fault lines. Making peace with who we are, and who we’re not. I suppose it was a speech about identity.’

  Had his brother Sol valued that speech? Two boys growing up on the same estate but going in different directions, Noah finding the police while Sol went the other way. Families were hard work. The killer had capitalised on that, picking off the ones who couldn’t live at home, making them into different people, into children. Unrecognisable, in Ashleigh’s case, to her own parents.

  The penthouse was sealed off, forensic tags on the floor and bed.

  ‘Are you police?’ A woman in a tight blue suit had followed them. Late thirties, whip-thin, with a wide face, tired make-up, scuffed shoes, high heels frayed by the site’s gravel. ‘Is there any news?’

  Marnie showed her badge. ‘And you are …?’

  ‘Toni Shepherd, senior marketing manager. Have there been any developments?’ Eyes busy on the bed, where the covers held track marks from the removal of May’s body. ‘Anything positive?’

  ‘We’d like to speak with your security team. Not everyone was on shift when we conducted the first interviews. Romek Malis, is he working today?’

  ‘You’d need to check with the site manager.’ Moving her feet away from a forensic tag, calf muscles clenching. ‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me when we can let the cleaners in here to spruce the place up for viewings. We’ve got a backlog building up.’

  Spruce the place up.

  ‘These are people who’ve booked a viewing since the body was found?’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, but they’re not ghouls.’ She slapped out a smile. ‘We run very thorough checks before we let people in here.’

  ‘What sort of checks?’ Noah asked. ‘To see if they can afford the prices you’re charging? Or to be sure they’re not ghouls? How do you check for that?’

  Toni switched her stare to him, smiling reflexively the way women always did when they saw Noah. ‘The former, as a matter of course. It doesn’t rule out any other motive, but I doubt anyone in the business of buying a flat like this one would waste their time or ours wanting to see a crime scene. There are plenty of cheaper places they could visit if that was their real interest.’

  Marnie’s phone rang and she turned away to take the call. ‘DI Rome.’

  ‘Are you at Battersea?’ It was Colin Pitcher. ‘Ron said you wanted to speak with Romek Malis.’

  ‘We’re on site, yes.
What’ve you got?’

  ‘I was speaking with someone from the media party, Marc Amos, events manager for a local charity. He was offered a guided tour by one of the security crew, behind-the-scenes stuff. He turned it down because the man wanted money and Amos didn’t have enough cash on him. But he was tempted, out of curiosity. The man said he could show him what corners were being cut, implied there were a lot of dodgy dealings on site. Amos says he’s surprised none of the journalists took the man up on his offer. Everyone was sick of the silver lining, looking for the cloud.’

  ‘Did the man have a name?’ Marnie walked away from Toni Shepherd, who was trying hard to hear what was being said over the phone. ‘Was it Romek Malis?’

  ‘No name, but Amos gave me a description. Thirties, tough-looking, shaved head. Tattoos on his fingers. One of the tattoos was a bird of some kind.’

  ‘A hawk.’ Marnie turned to catch Noah’s eye. ‘It was Jamie Ledger.’

  ‘Ledger’s on my list,’ Colin said. ‘We took a statement at the scene. Do you want his address and contact number?’

  ‘Text it to me. I’m going to see if he’s working today. Thanks, I’ll call you back.’

  ‘Developments?’ Toni said, her eyes working hard at Marnie’s face.

  ‘Please stay outside this room, and keep it locked. DS Jake?’

  In the security cabin, two men were drinking tea from a Thermos. Both looked bored when Marnie showed her badge. Neither was Jamie Ledger or Romek Malis.

  ‘Romek’s on nights. Haven’t seen Ledge in a couple of days.’

  The other man agreed. ‘Skipped a shift yesterday. Not like Ledge, but it got me a bit of overtime, so …’ He shrugged.

  ‘Can I see the rota?’

  ‘Help yourself.’ He nodded at a clipboard of pages, tea-stained.

  Signatures, scribbled. Times in and out, illegible in places. ‘J. Ledger’ was printed on the list for yesterday’s shifts, no times or signatures. Earlier in the week, he’d signed in and out for a number of shifts, including the one during which May’s body was discovered.

  ‘Is there an electronic version of this?’ Marnie asked.

  ‘Ask Aaron, he’s in charge.’

  ‘Where can we find him?’

  ‘Riverside,’ a jerk of the head, ‘taking deliveries.’

  ‘Ledger is down for a shift this afternoon. What time would you expect him?’

  ‘Any time now. He eats lunch here, uses the bog before he gets started.’

  Something in the man’s voice made Marnie ask, ‘That’s unusual?’

  ‘He scrubs up here, carries his stuff around in bags like his missus kicked him out.’

  ‘Did she?’

  A shrug. ‘He doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t talk about much. That’s Ledge.’

  The foreman, Aaron Buxton, had a similar story. And a gripe. ‘He dumped us in it when he didn’t show up. We’ve tightened security just like we promised. We need him here.’

  A barge was unloading breeze blocks from the river. Buxton’s broad face was shiny with sweat under a hard hat. He wore a business suit with steel-toed boots. Short, stocky build but his hands were thin, almost womanly.

  ‘Did he call in sick?’ Noah asked.

  ‘No, not a dicky-bird. Walked off site just after you finished questioning him and he’s not been back. I was going to report it if he didn’t show up today, but he still might.’

  ‘Do you have a contact number?’

  ‘In the files, sure.’

  ‘Did you call him when he failed to turn up to work yesterday?’

  ‘Personally? No. I’ve got my hands full. But the agency will’ve chased him for sure.’

  ‘We’ll need a contact at the agency.’

  Buxton took out his phone and thumbed through a list for the name and number. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’ He eyed the barge, shifting his weight between his feet, looking harassed. The whites of his eyes were lemon-tinged, like a drinker’s. ‘Only we’re behind schedule.’

  ‘We’ll wait,’ Marnie said, ‘to see if Ledger clocks on. I’d like a contact number for another of the security crew. Romek Malis.’

  ‘The agency …’ Buxton looked distracted. ‘They’ll have details. At least Malis is reliable. He’s on nights, hasn’t missed a shift yet.’ He slipped his phone back into his pocket. ‘Neither had Ledger, until now.’ Eyeing Marnie and Noah as if they were to blame for his diminishing workforce. ‘A thing like this makes people twitchy. I didn’t think Ledger was like that, what with being in the army. He must’ve seen worse, stands to reason. And he needed the work more than most. Just as well the agency’s got plenty of names on its books. I liked Ledger, but we can’t hold jobs open for long. We need reliable people, like Malis.’

  ‘Why did Ledger need this work more than most?’

  ‘He was in a hostel, trying to get back on his feet. This job was good for him, that’s what he said. But we can’t hold jobs for people who don’t show when they’re expected. Especially not now, with security the way it is and running behind schedule.’ He nodded towards the barge. ‘Sorry, but I’m needed. Stuff to sign. Call me later, if you need to.’ He reeled off a number, which Noah logged in his phone. ‘Let’s hope Ledge shows up for his shift.’

  Marnie and Noah waited another twenty minutes, until it was evident Ledger wasn’t going to clock on. They’d put a call through to the agency and were expecting a message back from the woman who’d chased Ledger when he failed to show up on site yesterday. The phone number he’d given in his police interview wasn’t working.

  ‘He’s gone. Don’t you think?’ Noah turned up the collar of his coat against the wind pushing in from the water. ‘He found the body. He was told to stay in touch. But he’s gone.’

  ‘Let’s wait in the car.’ Marnie walked away.

  Noah followed. ‘You spoke with him on the night. Did you pick up any vibe?’

  ‘Anything to suggest he might run, or have a reason for running?’ Her voice was terse. ‘No.’

  She was blaming herself, Noah thought, but he knew she wouldn’t have let Ledger go if there was even the smallest suspicion that he was their killer.

  Her phone rang as they reached the car. ‘DI Rome. Yes, that’s right … I see. Can you tell me which number you tried to reach him on?’ She unlocked the car and got in. ‘Thank you, and the address you have? No, go ahead. Stockwell. Yes, I’ve got it. No, he didn’t turn up for work. Yes, I’m sure Mr Buxton will. Thank you.’

  She ended the call, and started the engine. ‘They haven’t been able to get in touch with him. They have the same number he gave us. Same address, too. Paradise House in Stockwell.’

  ‘A hostel?’ Noah asked.

  ‘Let’s find out.’

  32

  Paradise House was a converted paper mill with narrow windows repeated at intervals, too many for much privacy inside and each one caked with the city’s dirt. Not a place Marnie would have wanted to call home.

  Noah must have felt the same, saying, ‘Christ,’ as they climbed from the car.

  Marnie buzzed to be let into the hostel, showing her badge to a CCTV camera in case it wasn’t as dead as it looked. After eight seconds, the door opened and they went inside.

  Mould, was the first impression. Creeping green and black patches on the ceiling, and on the carpet tiles. Spores in the air. Her lungs didn’t like it. Somewhere underneath the damp was the dry scent of papyrus from when the building housed paper instead of people.

  A door banged at the end of the corridor and a woman strode out. Blonde hair swept into a French pleat, navy suit, heels. She flashed a smile at Marnie and Noah but didn’t stop, leaving the building by the front door, disappearing up the street. At first glance Marnie had mistaken her for a member of staff, but she was a resident. Her smile was the giveaway: a chipped front tooth and too much breath freshener. How many more of the residents could pass for professional people? Jamie Ledger had fooled Marnie during their conversation on the day of Ma
y’s murder. Smoking coolly, scoping her out like a piece of kit. No clue that he was homeless. No chipped teeth or bad breath.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A man in his fifties came down the corridor towards them, his face schooled to an expression somewhere south of helpful. Short and round-hipped, with dishwater-blond hair, fleshy cheeks and lips. In a green body-warmer over a red shirt, bleached jeans, hi-top trainers. His lanyard ID said simply, Staff.

  Marnie showed her badge, introduced Noah and asked if there was somewhere they could talk in private. The man’s expression didn’t alter. ‘Which one is it, Arkinstall?’ He walked them to an office. ‘He hasn’t been here in two nights. We reported it to his probation officer.’

  ‘Did you?’ Marnie waited to see what else he’d say.

  The office was small, smelling as bad as the rest of the place, a black fan of damp on its ceiling. Filing cabinets locked with a vertical bolt, a desk with a computer and a wire tray for post, orange plastic chairs with scuffed seats, moth-eaten carpet the colour of bile. The man sat behind the desk, pointing Marnie and Noah at the other chairs. ‘Residents are issued with a tenure agreement and a set of house rules. The rules are there for a reason, not for our amusement.’

  ‘Which rule did Arkinstall break?’

  ‘No smoking except in their own bedrooms.’ He pointed a finger to where a laminated copy of the house rules was pinned next to a poster for an addiction support group.