by Jane Adams
‘What have you told your parents?’
‘That I’m going out with Maddie and the rest of the crowd. I mean it’s not really a lie, is it? Most of them will be at the party.’
He shrugged, but said nothing. The bus was coming and they had to run to make it to the stop in time.
* * *
From the window of the flat Judith watched her son walk down the street and pause at the corner of the road.
Terry was old enough to get his own breakfast, but she got up and had coffee with him, needing some kind of kick to get her started on her day. She waited till he’d gone to have her first cigarette. She knew it was stupid, but somehow hated him to see her doing anything that she felt was slightly wrong. He’d had such a rough time, been away from her so long . . .
Sighing, Judith moved away from the window. She made herself a second cup of coffee, took it and her early morning cigarette into the bedroom and turned on the radio. She listened with half an ear to the morning news as she smoked her cigarette and sorted out her clothes for the day. A staff uniform for the local supermarket hung behind the door. Four nights a week, Judith spent three hours stacking shelves. Another five mornings she acted as receptionist for a wood merchant’s across town. It was a family business, and the daughter-in-law took over in the afternoon when her kids went to nursery school. Judith was dreading them starting full-time, knowing it would probably mean the end of her job. Piss poor though the pay was, it was something. Family credit topped up a lousy wage and made sure she got help with paying rent on the two-bedroomed flat, so they managed. Just. Though she dreaded every new expense that came along.
She fished a dark skirt out of the wardrobe and went to fetch the iron, pausing by the bedroom door. Unhooking the uniform from the back of the door revealed a cheap, distorted mirror.
‘My God, just look at yourself,’ Judith muttered, leaning forward to examine the dark shadows beneath her eyes.
8.30 a.m.
Stacey was dressed and ready to leave. She sat beside the hospital bed in a high-backed chair. Her long blonde hair was drawn back from a pale bruised face, and the marks from the attack showed clearly on her throat.
Mike sat down on the bed. ‘Hello, Stacey,’ he said. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Mike Croft. I was here last night.’
She looked at him and managed a weak half-smile. ‘I don’t really remember,’ she said. Then, ‘They say I can go soon. I’d like to go home if that’s all right?’
He saw her swallow nervously and nodded. ‘Of course. I’ll keep this short. Is someone going to pick you up?’
‘My mum and dad. They’ll be here soon. Look, I told everyone everything I could last night, do I have to go through it all again?’
Mike shook his head. ‘If you want me to go away and leave you alone, I will,’ he said. ‘If you want someone with you while you talk, then that’s fine too.’
She stared at him for a moment, then took a deep breath and nodded her head. ‘I’ll be all right,’ she told him. ‘I’m sorry, it all happened so fast. I never thought I’d fight like that, but I just knew that I was going to die and every time I close my eyes I’m there again, with his hands round my throat and his breath on my face and . . . They gave me something to make me sleep last night and it was worse than if they hadn’t. He kept chasing through my dreams, his hands all over me and I couldn’t wake up enough to get away.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mike said softly.
They both fell silent for a moment, Stacey biting her lip and staring at the floor. A nurse hovered discreetly in the background, folding the sheet corners of another bed and smoothing the covers.
Mike began again. ‘Is there anything more you can remember, Stacey? Something really small maybe that came back to you?’
Still staring at the floor, she shook her head. ‘No, nothing. I told them all I knew last night.’
Mike decided that he would get no further. He could see her parents walking down the ward, anxious looks creasing their faces.
‘You’ve been given the numbers to call if you need anything or if there’s anything you want to add?’
She nodded again. ‘You’re the one investigating?’ she asked. ‘It is you?’
‘My boss, Superintendent Flint, he’s the one in charge,’ Mike told her. ‘But . . .’ he smiled.
‘You’ll be the one doing the work,’ she finished for him, trying to smile properly this time.
Stacey’s parents had reached the bed. Mike introduced himself again, but they remembered him from the night before.
‘We can take her home now?’ Stacey’s mother asked. ‘She’ll be better off there.’
‘Of course.’ Then a thought struck him. ‘Stacey, the man who attacked you. How did he smell? I mean, was he wearing aftershave, anything like that?’
She looked puzzled, frowned, really trying to think.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I’m certain of it. He smelt kind of clean, if you know what I’m saying. Not over-scented or anything, just kind of soapy and clean.’
Price had waited for him in the corridor. When Mike got to him he was leaning against the wall, gazing out of the opposite window, a plastic cup of coffee in his hand and an expression of complete boredom on his face. He was trying to ignore the sound of Christmas carols drifting out of the children’s ward.
He brightened when he saw Mike. ‘She remember anything more, guv?’
Mike shook his head. ‘She looks like the others, small and blonde.’
‘She’s the first one you’ve met, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, but I’ve had a good look at the pictures.’
They left the hospital and walked across to where they had parked the car. ‘So, what do we have?’
‘Six victims,’ Price said. ‘Age range fourteen to twenty-two, though the youngest was all made up to go on the pull and could have looked older and the eldest could easily have passed for seventeen. This one had her eighteenth birthday just last month. Make of that what you like.’ He frowned. ‘We’ve got an eighteen-month span timewise.’
‘As far as we know.’
‘As far as we know, and the attacks have been more violent as time’s gone on. The fourth and fifth girls could have died.’
‘So could this last,’ Mike observed.
‘True. But it seems to me he only got really vicious when she tried to fight him off. She hurt him, he retaliated.’ He paused. ‘Look at it the other way, mind, girl number four, Tracy Wilding, she didn’t fight. She stayed passive, tried to keep him calm and got her head caved in for her trouble.’
They reached the car. Price slid into the driver’s side and started the engine.
‘No sign of him using a weapon this time,’ Mike observed. The two previous victims had been hit with something hard and blunt-edged.
‘Just his hands. No, but it’s not the first time we’ve seen that. Tracy Wilding had choke marks round her neck, if you remember?’
Mike nodded. ‘Then we’ve got two of the victims mentioning some kind of scent or aftershave. This one described him as clean and soapy.’ He paused, picturing in his mind the street map pinned to his office wall and the six pins marking the places where the attacks had taken place. ‘All open, public places,’ he continued. ‘Four parks, one common and one multi-storey car park. We know each time the attacker went some distance on foot, but there’s nothing to say there wasn’t a car parked close by, or that he hopped on a bus.’
‘Not after attacking Tracy Wilding and Debbie Hall, he didn’t. There’d have been too much blood.’
‘OK, so it’s likely he used a car. So he’s fully mobile.’
He waited thoughtfully before continuing. ‘So, what does he do? Cruise around looking for small, blue-eyed blondes or does he pick his victims first and wait for an opportunity?’
‘Not very likely, guv. Way I see it, he gets the urge and goes hunting.’
‘How many hunts before a strike? And if he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, what then?’
P
rice glanced at him. ‘You reckon the more violent attacks came after a few failures?’
‘I think it’s possible, yes. And then, then we have the letters. IF they’re genuine.’
‘If they are, it could be the one thing we really have going for us. This need to show off, laugh in our faces.’
‘He hasn’t fallen over his ego so far,’ Mike commented.
Chapter Seven
8.30 a.m.
DCI Charlie Morrow rubbed his hands together. ‘Right, boys and girls, and what do we have on our fire this bright morning?’
‘We totalled twenty-seven calls following the radio news this morning. Mostly missing persons. Two from drivers on the Devizes road last night, saw someone trying to hitch a lift.’
‘Heading which way?’
‘Back towards Malmesbury. About three or four miles from Kennet.’
‘Description? Or is that too much to hope for?’
Sergeant Cooper shrugged. ‘Male,’ she said, ‘average height, slim build.’ She grinned. ‘Apparently looked very wet.’
Morrow grunted what might have been a laugh. ‘Well, he bloody would be, wouldn’t he? What we have to hope is he looked wet enough for someone to take pity on him and pick him up.’
‘We’ve got the same name coming in twice on the missing persons.’ DC Stein had spoken this time. Morrow turned to fix the officer with his usual malevolent stare. ‘And?’
‘Well, sir . . .’ The younger man was starting to blush, Morrow noted. ‘Well, sir, it seems a bit odd, sir.’
‘Well, sir, it seems a bit odd, sir,’ Morrow mimicked viciously. ‘Well, constable, maybe you’d like to do follow-up on that one.’ He turned back to Sergeant Cooper who was eyeing him with open disapproval. ‘Any “Mispers” we don’t already have on our list, Beth?’
She nodded. ‘Twelve, all from outside our area. Five of those known or thought to have been headed in this general direction. Usual mix, couple of New Age sorts travelling together. Teenager who had a holiday down here last year. Ran away from home and her parents are trying every direction. One mental patient, known to be suicidal. That one looks promising actually, sir; same age range, height and blood group as our victim. The fifth is a woman reported missing by her husband. Says she disappeared after a row and he knows she had relatives someplace hereabouts.’ She paused. ‘But he doesn’t know where or what their names are.’
‘Well, get on to his local plod station and tell them to go dig up his garden! Next?’
‘The other Mispers are the usual “hoped-fors” I’d guess,’ Beth Cooper continued unperturbed.
‘Hoped-fors?’ This from Stein, who was obviously trying hard to stand the Charlie Morrow test.
‘Hoped-for result,’ Morrow told him abruptly. ‘Hell of a lot of folk out there would rather know for certain someone’s dead and gone than spend the rest of their lives waiting for them to walk back through the front door.’
‘But surely, sir . . .’ Stein began and coloured red again.
‘But surely, nothing,’ Morrow told him. ‘Now stop blushing like a frigging virgin and get some checking done. Start with that twice-reported Misper.’ He glanced across at Beth Cooper once again. ‘I take it she’s one we’ve already got on our list.’
Beth nodded. ‘Yeah, name of Marion O’Donnel. Funny thing though, the new report comes from a name we didn’t have as a contact before. I checked.’
‘Interesting,’ Morrow said. ‘Well, you’d better go along with Stein. Hold his hand for him while he talks to these newly concerned friends.’
‘Sir.’
‘Any questions?’ He glanced around the room at the dozen or so people he had allocated to him. He looked from the assembled officers to the stack of paperwork on his desk, the lines of enquiry that needed following. Callers that needed talking to, names to be checked and dead ends to be weeded out. Not enough bloody resources, he thought grimly, as bloody usual.
‘OK, back at sixteen hundred hours. Bear in mind if you please that the Chief Super’s yelling for results and after my backside.’ He paused, fixing Stein with his discomforting gaze once more. ‘That’s supposed to be incentive to succeed, blushing boy, not to let things slide.’ There was brief laughter and Stein coloured again. Beth Cooper awarded Morrow a look that would have burned ice before guiding the embarrassed constable towards the door.
It was cruel, Morrow knew, but some people were just made to be wound up.
He watched them go, then crossed to the white board on which was pinned the photographic record of the case so far, staring hard at each of the stark and brutal images.
‘Who are you?’ Charlie Morrow asked the dead woman. ‘And who hated you so much that you had to die that way?’
* * *
Stein looked uncomfortable out of uniform. He was one of those people, Beth found herself thinking, who was happiest when he had an appearance of authority to hide behind.
Their destination was a neat terrace in Devizes itself, not far from the brewery. Beth got out of the car and glanced up at the house. Weak sunlight was trying to battle through thick grey cloud. Light caught the edge of the open transom window in an upstairs room.
‘Well, looks as though someone’s in,’ she said. ‘Hopefully, they’re up and dressed.’
They were. Moments later she and Stein were introducing themselves to two neat, grey-haired women — ‘The Misses Thompson’ — who examined their IDs before ushering them both inside.
‘So she was a regular visitor?’ Beth checked as she took her cup of tea from the low coffee table that occupied most of the centre of the room.
She was conscious that they had been shown, as potentially important visitors, into the front parlour. Tidy with disuse and slightly chill, until the fire had been on for several minutes.
‘Regular? Yes, I suppose so, since she moved back this way. We’d always kept in touch, you see. One of my best students. It took a lot of persuasion to get her father to agree to university. I know it seems funny in this day and age, but he was an old-fashioned man and couldn’t see the point of girls having that sort of education. Always argued that all they did was get married and have babies whatever you taught them, so why waste time?’
‘But he agreed in the end.’
‘Oh yes, and he was there — we both were — the day she graduated. Dear Lord, I thought the man would burst, he was that proud.’ She shook her head, laughing. ‘People can say what they like on a general level, you know, but when it’s their own — oh well, that’s very different.’
‘She was Dolly’s final year,’ her sister put in. ‘Dolly went back, you see, after she’d officially retired. Taught part-time for another seven years.’
Edith, the younger sister, sounded more than a little in awe.
‘Oh, do give over, Edie dear,’ her sister told her. ‘I enjoyed every blessed minute of it. But yes, Marion was one of my last students.’
‘Is this her, Miss Thompson?’ DC Stein was asking. He’d got up and was examining a graduation picture of a pretty, curly-haired girl dressed in gown and mortarboard.
Dolly Thompson nodded. ‘Yes, that’s Marion.’ She sipped at her tea and then looked hard at the young woman opposite. ‘You think it might be her, don’t you?’
‘Oh, Dolly,’ her sister began. She fell silent as Dolly raised a hand to silence her.
‘You think it might have been her in that car.’
Beth Cooper set her cup carefully on the edge of the table before replying. ‘Why did you call this morning?’ she asked. ‘Had something happened to make you suspect it might have been Marion in that car?’
The older woman continued to regard her in silence for a moment longer, then she said, ‘I suppose you’d call it instinct. Intuition, perhaps. I knew, we both knew. Oh yes we did, Edie,’ — this as the sister began to protest — ‘that there was something not quite right the last time Marion came. She seemed distracted, anxious, and when she left her bag behind I began to wonder.’
‘She left some things behind?’
‘People do that all the time,’ DC Stein put in.
‘Yes, but generally they go back for them, especially when the things are so obviously personal.’
‘What was in the bag, Miss Thompson?’ Beth asked her.
‘Just a few things. Letters, a cardigan, some keys I think and a poem. It was rather pleasing as I remember. Don’t worry, dear, you won’t have to ask. I’ll give you her things before you leave. And her address too and that of her aunt. Her father passed on some two years ago now. Not an old man. It was very sad. But she has an aunt still living, sister of her mother’s. And a small flat of her own in Malmesbury, if the landlord hasn’t assumed she’s done a moonlight and let it again.’
‘Miss Thompson,’ Aiden Stein was asking, ‘why did you take so long before you reported her missing?’
‘We didn’t, dear, not really. You see, as I was about to tell you, Marion called on us about once a month. Usually the second Thursday, her day off, you see. When she left the bag behind I called her. She’d come and fetch it, she said. But there was nothing that couldn’t wait and they had a rush on at work. Oh dear. I forget what it was.’
‘Stocktaking or something,’ Edie said helpfully.
‘Yes, yes, well, whatever. So it wasn’t until she didn’t arrive on her usual day. And she hadn’t called us to change her plans. We kept the day clear for her, you see, so she always called if she couldn’t come.’
‘Marion was like that,’ Edie said. ‘Always thoughtful.’
‘So we left a message on her machine. In fact we left several messages. And called her aunt as well, but she seemed to think that Marion had gone away for a few days. Something about a new man in her life. When Marion didn’t get in touch and she couldn’t reach her, she did finally talk to the police. But your people just told her Marion was an adult, there was nothing they could do.’
She hesitated as though uncomfortable about something. It was Edie who said, ‘She wasn’t that good a judge of men, you see. Always did pick the unreliable ones. Her aunt was worried. We were worried. It was the way she didn’t like talking about the man that concerned us.’
