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

by Sarah Hilary

  Christie went to the barrel, working the tap to fill each cup in turn, remembering rain slicking off plastic sheeting, the man with the copper coins, the one Harm had saved her from just like he’d saved her from going back to Emma Tarvin, who sold girls more cheaply than she sold smack, who’d sneered when Christie bled all over her bathroom floor before telling her to get out.

  Harm had saved her twice over.

  The barrel boomed as the water reached its new level.

  Candlelight wavered in the cups as she brought them to the table.

  ‘Here.’ Harm pulled out a chair for Loz, and she sat.

  He looked her over, his expression serious. Her hair was a scrawl around her face, like Grace’s but black not red. No make-up, no jewellery, no polish on her nails. No tits, either. There wasn’t much to be done to her, not much that needed changing.

  Harm’s eyes met Christie’s over the girl’s head. Not seeing, not yet, what she’d done. Just seeing his new girl. The one he’d told her to bring back here.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It’s good to meet you, Loz.’

  56

  ‘Yes, there were tunnels under Battersea,’ Aaron Buxton said, ‘but there’s no way into them from the site. Not here and not on the other side of the river. They sealed everything off years ago.’

  ‘The tunnels ran from the power station under the river into Pimlico. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Buxton was working; Noah could hear the site traffic in the background of the call. ‘It kept the boiler house from overheating, sent the steam where it could save money. Smart thinking, you might say. But the tunnels have been shut off since the early eighties.’

  ‘I’ve seen photos online. Recent photos. People are getting into the tunnels.’

  ‘You mean trespassers, hackers, whatever they call themselves. They might be finding a way in, but they’re not coming out over here. Not unless they’ve found a way through ten feet of concrete.’

  ‘You’re absolutely certain? We’re in the middle of a murder investigation …’

  ‘Save yourself some time and take my word for it. I’ll take a photo of the concrete if you need convincing. That’s not how he got her on site. I wish it was. Then I wouldn’t need to be double-checking everyone on the security detail in case one of them’s not doing his job properly.’

  ‘Or more than one of them.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Buxton said gloomily. ‘That’s made my morning.’

  Noah ended the call, knowing how the man felt. But, ‘Good news,’ he told Ron. ‘The hunting ground just got halved again. We’re back where we started.’

  ‘We’re owed a break.’ Ron rubbed his eyes. ‘In the case, I mean. It’s an all-nighter for sure.’

  Noah worked the crick out of his neck, walking over to the whiteboard.

  The killer wasn’t underground. He worked in the open. They’d thought that as soon as they saw May’s body. This wasn’t someone who was hiding, not in any usual sense. He was happy to be found by the right people. By lost girls like Ashleigh, and Loz. Maybe even by the police. He’d made a mistake with Eric Mackay, which meant he was fallible. It also meant he wasn’t abusing these girls, not physically. So what was he doing, and why had it ended – twice – in murder?

  ‘Grace calls it home,’ Marnie said at his shoulder. ‘This place where he’s keeping them. She wants to go back there, even now. She’s scared of the alternative, but it’s more than that. Even knowing what Harm’s done, she wants to go back.’

  ‘But she didn’t on the night of the crash. Only May went back.’

  ‘For Aimee’s sake. That’s what Grace said. May couldn’t leave Aimee there.’ Marnie was looking at the faces on the board. ‘She knew, didn’t she?’

  ‘That Aimee was Eric? I think so. It’s in her sketch … I’m wondering if Eric was the father.’

  ‘I’d say there’s a good chance of that.’ Marnie’s blue eyes darkened. ‘What’s wrong with our killer that he can’t see a teenage boy when he’s right in front of him? And if May and Eric were having sex, he missed that too.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not looking too closely. The uniforms, the rules … Maybe they’re all the same to him, like dolls. Ultimate objectification.’ In which case, he was in for a shock with Loz, who was the least doll-like girl Noah had met. ‘That would explain what he did to May after she was dead, the neat way he laid her out, tidied her away.’

  ‘But not Ashleigh.’ Marnie’s stare worked the board for clues. ‘Grace says Ashleigh was a flirt, and we know Harm doesn’t like that. He likes good little girls, sexless, no make-up, no jewellery. If he found out May was pregnant, and if Ashleigh was flirting with him … They both broke the same rule. By being women instead of girls, instead of children.’

  ‘And Christie? Where does she fit in? She’s a woman, by any standards.’

  ‘One woman’s allowed, if she’s playing mother. From what Grace said, that’s the role Christie self-assigned.’

  ‘Some mother. She’s hardly keeping these girls safe … Do you think Loz is still alive?’ He asked the question quietly, then wished he hadn’t. Afraid it was stupid, optimistic.

  Marnie said, ‘I hope so. We have to hope so.’

  ‘I thought we’d found a lead. Tunnels under Battersea. But it’s a dead end.’

  ‘So we keep going forward.’ Marnie touched a hand to his elbow. ‘Take a break if you need to. Call Dan, or Sol. Remind yourself of what’s important. I need you on this.’ Her phone rang in her office and she went to answer it.

  Noah speed-dialled Dan’s number, but got voicemail. ‘I’ll be late, sorry. Love you.’

  He tried Sol’s number, because Marnie was right, and because the whiteboard was starting to look like a brick wall. ‘Hey,’ he said when his brother picked up. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’m cool.’ A beat. The sound of Sol scuffing a foot at the floor. ‘I messed up, but it’s sorted.’

  ‘Is it?’ Noah walked to the window, needing a change of view. ‘I’m not on your case, just worried and wanting to help if I can. If you need my help.’

  ‘Thanks, but it’s cool. I was getting free, you know? Just … trying to get free.’

  ‘A gang?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Sol gave a long sigh. ‘But I’m cool. I think … it’s gonna be okay.’

  ‘Good. Look, I’ll be late home. Dan knows. Don’t wait up for me. And take care.’

  ‘Yeah. Noah? Thanks.’

  ‘Sure.’ He rang off. He was going to have to talk with Sol properly. Bite the bullet and have the conversation neither one of them wanted, about how much trouble he was in and how hard he was trying to get out of it. Sol would never ask for his help, Noah knew that. But if he needed it, then Noah was going to have to make the first move.

  Loz’s face looked at him from the whiteboard, next to her sister’s. A missing girl, and a dead one. Why hadn’t Loz asked for their help? Why had she given up so quickly? Going to that subway was an act of despair, or worse, of suicide. She hadn’t trusted the police to find May’s killer. Noah’s laptop was open at her Tumblr, photos she’d taken of road signs. Arrows mostly, as if she was making a point, subconsciously perhaps, about her life lacking direction. Or just searching for a way through her grief and loss.

  In the days since May’s death, she’d researched police procedure and the CPS, statistics on sentencing, the Forgiveness Project, prison overcrowding. She’d found the names of the girls who were missing in London, seen photographs of Ashleigh and the others. Researched the traffic accident, followed the news of Logan’s injuries and his death, remembering the questions Marnie and Noah had asked her parents about a red-haired girl who might live on the Garrett estate. Loz had investigated everything she could, and then she’d gone offline, to search for real.

  Colin had been through her browser history. No clues there. Just a record of how hard she’d worked to arm herself with knowledge, everything from the evidence needed to secure a murder conviction to the tributes paid on Logan’s F
acebook page. Noah’s eyes snagged on the messages of condolence. Kenickie was right, Logan had been a local hero, running marathons to raise money for charity, building schools overseas, volunteering at homeless shelters and drop-in centres—

  He stopped, scrolled back. Double-checked what he was seeing.

  Shit.

  ‘DC Tanner, you took a message from Gina Marsh, Logan’s mum.’ He was on his feet. ‘Do you have her number?’

  ‘Somewhere.’ Debbie searched her desk. ‘Why?’ She handed up a sheet of paper.

  Noah took it. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  57

  ‘News?’ Marnie read Noah’s face when he came into her office.

  ‘Something, maybe. Yes.’ He brought his shoulders up, making himself narrower. He’d found something but he wasn’t sure of it, not yet. ‘Logan was working as a volunteer at drop-in centres and homeless shelters. One of them was Paradise House.’

  ‘Ledger’s old address.’ Marnie nodded for him to sit down. ‘I don’t remember his name being on the list we were given by Welch.’

  ‘It wasn’t, but Logan was eighteen, a part-timer. Maybe Welch only kept a record of the full-time volunteers.’

  ‘So … Logan might’ve known Ledger?’

  ‘I think it’s closer to home than that.’ He was tense, with doubt or excitement.

  ‘How much closer?’

  ‘I spoke with Gina Marsh. She says the volunteering was Calum’s idea.’

  ‘He mentioned it, didn’t he, when he came here?’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t tell us he was often at homeless shelters. Helping out, fixing stuff. He’s an electrician, but he can turn his hand to most things, that’s what Gina says.’ Noah stopped.

  Marnie studied the thinness in his face. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I thought … an electrician?’ He rubbed at his temple. ‘His name wasn’t on the lists we got from Battersea. But the company that hires him, Resa Electrical? Their name was on the list. I’m waiting to hear who they sent on site in the last six weeks.’

  The skin tightened at Marnie’s wrists. ‘And you think …’

  ‘The twitching,’ Noah said. ‘When we interviewed him at the hospital, d’you remember? He was twitching. I thought adrenalin, shock. But it was in his face as well as his feet and hands. Tremors just like the ones Fran described. And Kenickie said it was pure chance he was on that road that night. It wasn’t his usual route. What if he was out searching for Grace? Because he knew she’d run from wherever he was keeping her.’

  A phone rang somewhere in the station.

  Two, three rings before someone answered it.

  ‘Calum Marsh,’ Marnie said. ‘You think Calum Marsh is Harm.’

  Logan’s dad. The man who’d sat in this station with his head in his hands. Their killer.

  ‘It makes sense, doesn’t it?’ Noah was waiting for her to push back, needing her to try and pick his theory apart. ‘Even his coming here makes a kind of sense. We knew this was someone who wanted to be seen …’

  ‘He had Logan with him that night. Why?’

  ‘Coincidence. Gina says she phoned him at short notice, asked him to collect Logan as a favour because she was held up at work.’

  ‘An eighteen-year-old? Why couldn’t Logan take himself home?’

  ‘He’d come off his bike a week earlier, was only just off the crutches. She’d promised to collect him, he had no money for a taxi, so she called Calum. He said he’d do it, no problem.’ Noah drew a short breath. ‘Gina said they shouldn’t have been on that road that night, it wasn’t on their way home. They shouldn’t have been anywhere near York Road. When she asked him about it, Calum said there were roadworks on their usual route. I checked. There were no roadworks. So why was he there?’

  Noah’s tension was infectious. Marnie’s pulse skipped. ‘Where’s Calum now?’

  ‘He’s been missing since that day he came here. Gina can’t get hold of him. She’d assumed he was feeling guilty, couldn’t face talking to her. She says he blamed himself for Logan’s death. Not Joe Eaton, who swerved into him, not Grace for walking out into the road. He blamed himself.’

  ‘He denied seeing Grace,’ Marnie remembered. ‘When we spoke with him at the hospital, and here, at the station. He said he never saw a girl walk into the road.’

  ‘That might’ve been true. He was driving the other way. But if he was out looking for her … He could have lied to us. He could’ve been trying to undermine Joe’s version of events.’ Noah leant forward, his wrists on his knees. ‘I called his work, his home. No one’s seen him since the accident. Gina spoke with him, just one call, the afternoon Logan died. I checked the time. Logan died on the day we found May’s body, at just about the time Fran said she was killed. What if losing Logan pushed him over the edge? Gina said he sounded insane, out of his mind with grief. It’s not the first time he’s lost someone, either. His parents died two years ago, and there was something about a sister. We thought our killer had been through a trauma of some kind—’

  His phone rang.

  ‘DS Jake. Yes. If you could …’ He listened, his face fierce with focus. ‘Got it. Thanks.’

  He ended the call and looked at Marnie. ‘That was the hospital. I asked them to check the records from the night of the crash. Calum Marsh was hypernatremic.’

  ‘We need to speak with Gina.’ Marnie got to her feet. ‘Put out an alert for Calum. His SUV was a write-off after the crash, but find out what other vehicles he drives.’

  58

  Gina Marsh answered the door in a dark suit, no shoes. Her face was puffy with grief and she was holding an iPhone, its screen shattered in one corner. ‘I was looking through his phone for photos. I just … wanted to see his face.’ She held it towards Marnie and Noah. ‘It’s the girl on the news. The dead girl.’

  ‘May Beswick?’ Noah took the phone, tilting the screen until the light stopped running into the cracks across the display.

  ‘The other one. The girl you found on the estate. Ashleigh Jewell. It’s her, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ In the photo, Ashleigh was grinning, lips pouting. Flirting – with Logan?

  ‘Logan knew her.’ Gina shivered, sounding numb. ‘He must have known her, to take that. He never mentioned her, but he had so many friends.’

  The photo had been taken on 20 October, just before May went missing. Noah scrolled through the other photos taken around the same time. More faces, boys mostly. A couple of selfies, Logan grinning at the camera.

  ‘That’s the only one,’ Gina said. ‘The only one of her.’

  She held out her hand for the phone, taking it tenderly when Noah surrendered it, her fingers snagging on the shattered screen.

  ‘Where was the photo taken,’ Marnie asked. ‘Do you know?’

  ‘On the news they said she’d been living on the streets, so I’m guessing a homeless shelter? Logan was volunteering at shelters … You’ll want to come in. Come through.’

  She led the way to a living room where all the lights were on, taking an armchair and waiting for Marnie and Noah to sit on the sofa. Photos of her son on the walls. None of his dad. They’d have to ask her for a decent photo of Calum.

  ‘Can you remember which homeless shelters Logan was volunteering at?’ Noah asked.

  ‘His dad organised all that. Lately it was somewhere in Stockwell, I think.’

  ‘Paradise House?’

  ‘Paradise – yes, that sounds right. Before then he was working with younger people. He was out two or three evenings a week, and at weekends. His dad’s idea. Character-building, Cal said. He wanted Logan to be responsible, was always lecturing him about that.’ She strained her eyes at the photos on the wall. ‘Both of us, in fact. Cal … likes to lecture.’

  ‘We’d like to speak with him. Can you think of anywhere he might have gone?’

  ‘I’ve tried everywhere. I’m organising the funeral and he’s … gone. I don’t know where.’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke w
ith him?’

  ‘The afternoon Logan died.’ Her face clenched. ‘I couldn’t get any sense out of him. Going on and on about his mum and dad, that madhouse he grew up in. He hardly mentioned Logan.’ She opened her hands, nail marks in her palms. ‘You have to understand something about Cal. He’s not … he’s never been with us. Me and Logan. Not properly. He was reliable, responsible, all the obvious things. Didn’t drink or have affairs, was always here when we needed him. In the house, I mean. But at the same time, he … wasn’t.’ She closed her hands again. ‘I think he’d have preferred a daughter, someone to protect, you know? He did all the things a dad’s supposed to do, taught Logan to fish and ride a bike. Brought him up to respect girls, and women. Earned a living so I didn’t need to work when Logan was small. He wanted me to stay home and be a mum. He was scared Logan would get sick.’ She gave a small smile. ‘Logan never got sick. He was a happy baby, but Cal couldn’t stop worrying. I suppose because of what happened with his sister. It took me ages to see how he was, how little he cared. I know that sounds … He did everything right, ticked all the boxes, never put a foot wrong, but it was all about out there. The dangers out there, all the things wrong with the world …’ She stopped. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry, you have a job to do, better things to worry about than my ex-husband and his hang-ups.’

  Right now their job was her ex-husband’s hang-ups.

  ‘What happened with his sister?’ Marnie asked.

  ‘She went missing when she was seventeen. Ran away from home. Cal was a couple of years younger. They never found her.’ Something moved behind her eyes and she stiffened fractionally, sitting tighter in the chair. ‘Why are you asking all these questions about Cal?’

  She knew, Noah thought. Even if she hadn’t made the connection between Ashleigh and her son, between the homeless shelters and her husband’s strange absence from his family, his missing sister. She knew why they were asking the questions.

  ‘His parents died a couple of years ago,’ Marnie said. ‘Is that right?’