A Perfect Likeness

by Roger Gumbrell

  ‘We also know that you went to Moscow for a couple of days,’ said Fraser. ‘What was the reason for your visit, Sir?’

  ‘The Moscow Boat Show.’

  ‘My turn to say absolute rubbish,’ said Deckman. ‘Let me tell you who I think you really are and why you went to Moscow. I have a strong suspicion your real name is Yaroslav Androkov and I believe you went to Moscow to seek revenge against the man who killed your wife.’ He slid a copy of the English version of the Moscow Times which had the murder of Anton Chernov as its headline story.

  ‘Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish,’ Page repeated pushing the paper away. He was agitated, his fingers drumming on the table top. ‘Get me that solicitor so we can get this nonsense sorted out. I’m not saying anything else.’

  ‘Yes, Sir, of course we will. But, just to let you know, we have spoken with Moscow police headquarters and informed them we are interviewing a suspect who may also be the man they are looking for in connection with the Chernov murder. They have already matched finger prints found in Chernov’s flat to those on your military service records and we have sent yours over for matching. I’m sure they will match perfectly. Aren’t you, Mr Androkov? Take him back to his cell, Sergeant, and do what we normally do under these circumstances. We wouldn’t want to allow him the opportunity to do something silly now, would we?’

  *

  ‘Yes, Inspector,’ said Sylvia Page, her eyes burning with anger and hatred. ‘I am perfectly aware of who you are. You are the person who forced his way into my home, forced me here at gunpoint with ridiculous allegations and then left me smouldering in one of your dirty cells. Oh yes, Inspector, I do know who you are and let me tell you something, by the time this is over you’ll be sorry you harassed me in this way. I will make sure you pay for this humiliation.’

  Fraser looked across at his superior, and raised his eyebrows. ‘I reckon she’s got it in for you, Guv. Seems like you’ve got some explaining to do. Why don’t you just clarify to Her Ladyship exactly why she is here and she may then be a little less bolshy, if you’ll pardon the pun.’

  Sylvia Page glared at Fraser. ‘And another thing,’ she said, turning her attention back to Deckman, ‘I refuse to sit in here, alone with two men. I demand to have a woman present.’

  ‘You’re hardly in a position to make demands, Miss Page, but I’m sure DS Fraser will see if there is a WPC available.’

  ‘And a glass of water as well,’ she shouted as Fraser reached the door.

  ‘He turned and bowed his head. ‘Yes, Ma’am, right away.’

  ‘Huh, this is a horror movie.’ She thumped the table top with clenched fists. ‘Where’s my father?’

  ‘Mr Page, if that is who you mean, has been returned to his cell. We’ve had a long chat and he’s gone away to think about it. I think he was quite surprised at what we have told him.’

  Fraser returned with a young WPC who sat on the chair by the door. He took the chair at the end of the table and pushed the mug of water across to Sylvia Page, spilling a few drops as it caught a torn section of the leather inlay. Deckman sat opposite Sylvia Page.

  ‘We have such a lot to talk to you about, Miss Page,’ began Deckman, ‘and we could be here for quite a while. May I suggest it would be a lot quicker if you were to cooperate fully and honestly with your answers.’

  Sylvia Page made no comment.

  ‘Your full name, please?’

  ‘You have it.’

  ‘All right, do you have a middle name?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your address?’

  ‘You know it.’

  ‘Okay, let’s try it another way. You live at the address where you were arrested?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Miss Page, you say you are innocent of any wrong doing, so may I suggest you respond in a more civilised way. Date and place of birth, please?’

  ‘Err …’ What was on my passport , she thought. ‘It was Reading, but I can’t remember the date. I always forget it. It’s on my passport.’

  ‘You were brought up in America, I understand. You attended school there and had lots of local friends?’

  ‘Yes, to all. Are all these questions really relevant, Inspector?’

  ‘Very, Miss Page. Before we go any further, let me just remind you that you have already received you official caution and I will again confirm your right to have a solicitor in attendance during your interviews.’

  ‘Innocent people do not need solicitors. Let’s get this over with so I can get out of here. You need good cause to detain me and you do not have the slightest reason.’

  ‘I am sure you will change your mind within the next few minutes. We have been watching the movements of you, your father and Mr Rawston for several weeks now, so I can tell you we know a great deal about you all. And your activities.’

  ‘I knew my father was here, but I didn’t know you had Tom as well. He’s done nothing.’

  ‘That’s strange, Miss Page, a matter of minutes ago your father seemed to think if there was anything illegal going on, then Mr Rawston could be involved without either himself or you knowing anything about it.’

  ‘He wouldn’t say that, he thought too much of Tom. Why is he here?’

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t have him here, Miss Page,’ said Fraser.

  Sylvia Page smiled as she responded. ‘Managed to avoid you, did he? A bit more clever than you gave him credit for.’

  ‘Why would he wish to avoid us if he’s nothing to hide?’ Fraser continued.

  She knew she’d made a mistake. She fidgeted in her chair, changed her position. A little less relaxed. ‘Umm… where is Tom then?’ she asked, desperate to know what had happened but not wishing to make any more errors.

  ‘Regrettably, Mr Rawston didn’t wish to come along with us, Miss Page,’ said Fraser. ‘And, to make matters worse, he did some rather silly things. Actions that proved to us he was far from being an innocent man.’

  She became aggressive. ‘Why did you say ‘was’? What have you done with him,’ she shouted, standing up as she slapped the desk top with the flats of here hands. The WPC stood up, anticipating a possible problem.

  Fraser noticed Sylvia Page flexing her right hand, just as Trish Lister had told him.

  ‘I demand to know. We would be married by now if, if …’

  ‘If what, Miss Page?’ asked Deckman

  ‘Not important.’

  ‘Guv, shall I?’

  ‘Go ahead, Sergeant. She ought to know.’

  ‘Tom Rawston resisted arrest, Miss Page. He smashed one police officers jaw, shot another and took a woman hostage before crashing Blue Star into the marina breakwater at full speed. It exploded on impact. I’m afraid he’s dead, Miss Page.’

  Her face twisted in anger. ‘You’ve killed him, you bastards.’ Her eyes aflame with hatred. Her right hand flexing as it grasped the wooden handle of the killing knife she wished that she was holding. ‘The only man I’ve ever loved and the only man who’s ever loved me. And you have killed him.’ She stood again, smashing her right fist on the desk top, knocking over the mug and wetting Deckman’s trousers with the spilt water. He didn’t react.

  She smashed her fist down again, as if thrusting her knife into the now, lifeless body of one of her victims. She stopped, sat down and cried.

  Deckman nodded towards the WPC who had got up and was standing next to Sylvia Page. She placed her right arm around her heaving shoulders and offered a tissue.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Miss Page,’ she said. ‘Here, take this.’

  Sylvia Page’s left arm swung out at full force, her elbow hitting the WPC in the stomach and sending her groaning to the floor. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she screamed. ‘Don’t touch me, you are murderers, all of you.’

  ‘I’m okay, Sir,’ said the WPC as Deckman helped her up. ‘A bit winded, but nothing else.’ She retook her position on the chair by the door.

  Sylvia Page became quiet, staring
vacantly in the direction of Deckman.

  ‘Any more of that, Miss Page, and you’ll be charged with assault of an officer,’ said Deckman. ‘I’ve made you aware we have had surveillance on you for some time, so do you wish to help yourself by making a full confession of your criminal activities?’

  ‘No. I’m guilty of nothing.’

  ‘In that case, allow me to inform you just what we know you have been up to. Firstly, drug smuggling and distribution. Secondly, the operation of a prostitution ring and illegally importing women for that purpose. We know who all the women are, where they carry out there trade and we have photos of you speaking to them. We also know that they all live in houses owned by your company, Blue Tree Properties. Now it gets more gripping, Miss Page, because we have sufficient evidence to associate you with the murder of two women we believe were made to work as prostitutes. And it is my belief you murdered a woman named Victoria Campbell and used her identity during a trip to Spain. Now do you have anything you wish to say?’

  ‘No.’ She continued her unblinking stare at Deckman.

  ‘That …’ began DS Fraser before he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  WPC Gabby Gale entered holding the black book found in Sylvia Page’s safe. She handed the book and the translation to Deckman. ‘Sorry to burst in, Sir, but felt it important for this interview. The final page referring to Miss Lister makes interesting reading.’

  On hearing Trish’s name, Sylvia Page snapped out of her trance, looked at the book being handed to Deckman. It was her book. ‘Trish,’ she screamed. ‘It was her was it? She has done all this. I should have killed her on the boat.’ She grabbed the empty mug, smashed it against the desk and slashed out at WPC Gale with the broken piece of the pottery. She moved too fast for anyone to stop her. A jagged edge sliced deep into her throat and remained there as Sylvia Page let go. ‘That’s for you, Tom. That’s for you. You were right about her.’

  WPC Gale dropped to the floor, her attempted scream sounding more like a last gasp for air.

  ‘Ambulance with paramedics, urgently,’ ordered Deckman from the open door. ‘And two officer’s, in here, now .’

  Fraser had handcuffed Sylvia Page who had returned to her near trance like state, but now displaying a hideous, twisted smile of satisfaction.

  She looked down at the still body of WPC Gale, let out a high pitched shriek and attempted to get out of the chair, but was forcibly restrained by DS Fraser standing behind her. ‘There you are, Inspector,’ she shouted with the full force of Fraser needed to keep her seated, ‘that should have been that bitch Trish Lister lying there to complete the final page of the book. It doesn’t matter, this one is just as good. You are all the same.’ She spat on the body of WPC Gale.

  Fraser raised a clenched fist and was about to strike Sylvia Page.

  ‘No, Sergeant, don’t do it. I know how you feel, but no,’ said Deckman.

  ‘Sorry, Guv. Get this creature out of my sight,’ shouted Fraser to the two uniformed officers, ‘before I lose control altogether. Take her back to her cell and throw away the key.’

  ‘Help is on the way, Gabby,’ said Deckman, kneeling besides her. Try and relax, you’re going to be fine.’

  She tried to speak, but couldn’t. She tried to raise an arm, but couldn’t.

  ‘No, Gabby, don’t try. Just remain perfectly still.’ He turned to Fraser and quietly told him to contact Gabby’s husband and get him to go straight to the hospital.

  The paramedics arrived within minutes and worked around the WPC who’s hand Gabby refused to let go of.

  ‘We don’t have much time,’ a paramedic informed Deckman after taking him aside, ‘but cannot risk speed. Any jolt, bump, harsh braking etc. could be fatal for her. Can you lay on a lead car, Inspector? Would help clear traffic out of the way.’

  ‘Colin, get a car please.’

  ‘Guv.’

  ‘Er… Sir,’ said the WPC, indicating she was still holding Gabby’s hand.

  ‘Go with her to the hospital and keep me informed.’

  Deckman sat alone in the interview room. He looked down at the sticky pool of blood lying in the centre of a well worn plain blue carpet. It was Gabby’s blood, a respected colleague. He picked up the translation that she had brought in. He opened it to the last entry and read:

  Trish Lister ( ‘Date pending’ )

  Marine security. Seems like a nice lady. Got on well. Good to talk to another woman, but that feeling comes back when I’m with her or when I see her around the marina. I am afraid I am not able to let her live and Tom is not sure about her anyway. Sorry, Trish, you are to be my next victim. Very Soon.

  Deckman shivered. ‘Please, God, don’t let Gabby die.’ He turned to the first page and began reading Sylvia Page’s diary of murder. It was, he thought, the most horrific and graphic description of murders he’d ever come across. He turned to the page headed:

  Victoria Campbell ( 28. 02. 08)

  I was shocked when I first saw Victoria. It was as if I had looked in the mirror. It was me. And she was the me I’d always wished I could have been. I made sure we became friends. Secret friends. Met for coffee, shopped in Maxfords. I knew I had to kill her. My first female victim. I was excited, but how would it feel, actually doing it. It would be like killing me – committing suicide! I couldn’t wait any longer, the urge to kill was with me. I hate it, but I love it. I decided to kill her husband as well, just in case she had said something, but he was not there. It was good because I could then use their kitchen knife. She’d said he had used it to prepare vegetables for dinner. I thought his finger prints must be on it. I put on my latex gloves and waited for her to return with her passport and driving licence. We were going to compare photo’s. I gave her no chance. I struck hard and without warning. Oh, that feeling as I felt the knife go in. It was beautiful. Her eyes stared at me, asking me why? I told her it had to be, because she was the other me. The good, me. The me I wanted to be but never would. She dropped to the floor and I took her passport and driving licence. I left feeling satisfied once more.

  Note 1:I felt good when her husband was found guilty of her murder. Just like I’d hoped.

  Note 2:I so wanted to be Victoria. The chance came when I had to visit Spain for the girls. I booked in the name of Victoria Campbell and used her passport. No one knew, not even Edward. It was wonderful being a nice person, even if it was only for a short time. Thank you Victoria for letting me see what it was like to be a good person, rather than the horrible, vicious creature I turned out to be.

  Deckman couldn’t move. Shocked, unable to comprehend the absolute evil that had plagued the mind of Sylvia Page since she committed her first murder as an eighteen year old Moscow student named Natasha Ramirova. He knew she would not be sent to prison. She would be dealt with under the Mental Health Act .

  Fraser returned to the interview room and sat, without comment. He waited for Deckman to speak. A mood of melancholy had spread throughout the station.

  ‘Take a look at this, Colin, but beware, it’s not pretty reading. Our Miss Page has been a busy girl. Any news on Gabby?’

  ‘Not yet, Guv.’

  ‘Bring it up to the office when you’ve read it. I’ve got the original.’

  ‘Guv.’

  Deckman briefed Chief Inspector White before returning to his office. He checked his watch as he closed the door. He needed a few moments of quiet. It was almost one hour since Gabby had been rushed out of the station and just three minutes since he’d last checked the time.

  His hopes were immediately dashed when Sergeant Rexton opened the door and walked straight in, on this occasion without even bothering to knock. Deckman glared.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant, what do you want?’

  ‘Sorry to hear about the, er… little incident, Sir. Any news on WPC Gale?’

  ‘No, Sergeant, not yet. And, for God’s sake, it was a major incident. Your colleague is fighting for her life.’ He checked his watch
again. Sixty-five minutes and still no word. ‘Was there anything else you wished to say, Sergeant?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. We’ve had a response from the Moscow police HQ.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, Sir, I don’t know. It’s in Russian and I er …’

  ‘You don’t speak Russian, Sergeant? Neither do you know someone who does?’

  ‘No, Sir, on both counts.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation I don’t speak it either, but we do have the translator here at the moment. I think he’s grabbing a coffee in the rest room. Get him to take a look at it now.’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Right away.’

  The phone rang and Rexton waited by the door. Deckman placed his hand on the receiver but didn’t raise it.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant, you can shut the door as you go. The translation is urgent.’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Right. Thought it might have been the hospital.’ He still hesitated.

  ‘The translation, Sergeant, now.’

  Rexton closed the door behind him and Deckman picked up the phone, hoping that it was news of Gabby.

  ‘Hello, Sir, it’s WPC Stockridge at the hospital.’

  ‘Hi, Judy. How is she?’

  ‘Not good, Sir. By the time we had reached the hospital, Gabby had lapsed into unconsciousness. The ambulance crew were wonderful, working on her all the time. She’s now in theatre. The surgeon says it’s fifty-fifty as to whether they can save her, and if they can there is a strong possibility she’ll never speak again. The operation could go on for two, three or four hours, depending upon what they find. Mr Gale is here, very distressed, understandably. Can I stay here, Sir?’

  ‘Of course, Judy, for as long as is necessary, but keep me informed.’

  Fraser knocked once.

  ‘Enter, Colin.’

  ‘You’re not going to be too amused at Page’s solicitor, Guv. It’s old JC himself.’

  ‘Just who we didn’t want. Luck of the draw and the straws don’t get any shorter.’