Cut to the Bone

by Alex Caan

  ‘Is that an official term, DS Harris?’ said Rourke.

  ‘Well, speak to your client. Are you his alibi?’ said Zain.

  ‘No. Dan, tell them where you were,’ said Rourke.

  Dan pretended he didn’t understand, his eyes widening, then narrowing again.

  ‘I wasn’t with Ruby, that’s all they need to know. No comment,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘No comment. To everything,’ said Dan.

  Great, thought Kate. He definitely had something still in his system. And junkies on ‘no comment’ highs were her favourite.

  ‘Fine, let’s just put you in a prison cell. With someone who likes pretty boys,’ said Zain, sneering at him.

  ‘You don’t fucking scare me,’ muttered Dan. ‘This is fucking bullying and harassment.’

  ‘Are you using abusive language to a police officer?’ Zain said.

  ‘No comment,’ Dan said, looking at Kate.

  ‘He didn’t mean to swear, or accuse you of bullying. He is under obvious duress, fresh from a hospital bed. Might still have morphine in his blood,’ said Rourke.

  ‘You mean class A drugs. That’s a criminal offence right there. Who’s your dealer?’ Zain was doing nothing to conceal his loathing, Kate observed. She didn’t believe in playing good cop, bad cop. She believed in intelligent cops using their experience to get results. Harris seemed intent on being a cardboard villain, and stressing out her interviewee.

  ‘Did you realise the amount of drugs you took would lead you to overdose?’ she said.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Guilty conscience?’ said Zain.

  ‘No guilty conscience here. I didn’t hurt Ruby.’

  ‘Let me read you examples of the messages you sent to Miss Day,’ Kate said.

  She read some of his emails and texts. His face was shiny with sweat when she had finished, scarlet patches all over it. Rourke had stopped doodling; he was looking disgusted.

  ‘That’s not me, not from me, no comment,’ said Dan, in a whisper.

  ‘You sent these to Ruby. Are you saying somebody else had access to your email account?’ she said.

  ‘Yes. No comment.’

  ‘They were sent from your computer, you dumb –’ began Zain.

  ‘Shut up, you just shut the fuck up. What? You’re going to punch me now?’ said Dan. He looked at Rourke, who looked back at his screen, fidgeting.

  ‘Was Ruby frightened of you?’ said Kate.

  ‘No, she loved me.’

  ‘Did you threaten her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘These messages are very threatening. If I was Ruby, I would be terrified of you.’

  ‘Conjecture,’ said Rourke, half-heartedly.

  ‘You’re not in court, Rourke. Are you really a lawyer, even?’ said Zain.

  ‘I am a qualified solicitor, yes.’

  ‘Joker of all trades, eh?’ said Zain. ‘Do MINDNET know you’re here?’

  ‘Why did you send her these messages?’ Kate said to Dan.

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Mr Grant, they were sent from your computer, using your private email. Unless someone hacked into your system, or compromised your account . . .’

  ‘Yes, they must have.’

  ‘We know you opened Ruby’s replies to these messages, sent directly to you. Did you not then realise your account had been hacked?’

  ‘Detective, how did you get access to my client’s emails? Have you got a court order?’ said Rourke.

  ‘Yep, check it out, legal eagle,’ said Zain, pushing an envelope across the table to Rourke.

  The benefits of Hope. He had judges on speed dial; they got warrants signed off in minutes. No need for applications to court.

  ‘And your text messages? Saying that you would destroy Ruby if she left you? Is that what happened? Did Ruby leave you? And did you destroy her?’

  ‘No, no comment, I didn’t harm her. I just said it, I was angry, I didn’t do it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Like scaring young girls, do you?’ said Zain.

  ‘No, I didn’t do this. I was just . . . no comment.’

  ‘You look like you’re going to wet your knickers,’ said Zain. ‘All fifty-six pairs of them.’

  ‘What?’ said Dan, alert. He looked even more frightened than he had been, sheer panic all over his face.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  ‘We found your stash. Are they for you? Do you get off on it? Is that why Ruby left you?’ said Zain.

  ‘I’m not a faggot. I don’t wear them. I just . . . they send them to me. My fans.’

  ‘Your fans are teenage girls. You better not have got them to send you any,’ said Zain.

  ‘No, they just send them. I don’t ask them to.’

  ‘We’ll check your YouTube channel. If you have anything on there, I’ll find it. So you better start telling us the truth,’ said Zain.

  ‘My fans send them. I don’t know who they are.’

  ‘How do they get your address?’ said Kate.

  ‘Him. Karl gets them. They send them to his office.’

  ‘That’s true. I used to get sent gifts for my clients,’ said Rourke. ‘Since Dan left, some still send them to my office.’

  ‘Maybe he tells them to send them to you? Maybe MINDNET don’t put up with his perversions? Maybe that’s why he uses you? His old pal, Karl, do anything for a quick buck?’ said Harris.

  ‘Am I being interrogated, detective?’

  ‘Used underwear though?’ said Harris.

  ‘On occasion.’

  ‘So why keep them?’ said Kate, turning back to Dan.

  ‘No comment,’ he said.

  ‘Did Ruby know about them? Is that why she dumped your whiny little backside?’ said Zain.

  ‘She didn’t.’

  ‘We know she was getting closer to James Fogg. Her ex-boyfriend. He told us she had been messaging him, wanting to resurrect their prior relationship. Did you know?’ said Kate.

  Silence.

  ‘Is that what tipped you over? Took you from your angry, vile fantasies, the email descriptions and text messages, and pushed you to turn them into reality?’ she said.

  ‘No. You are setting me up,’ said Dan, flushed and angry.

  ‘Was it jealousy of James? Is that why you did this?’ said Kate. ‘Is he next?’

  ‘James? James is a cunt. Ruby fucking hated him. You’re lying; you’re setting me up. He’s nothing, nobody. He’s scum. Ruby would never choose him over me.’

  ‘I think she did. Her parents preferred him, too. It must have hurt when she left you?’

  ‘She didn’t leave me.’

  ‘Dumped for someone with no subscribers. Ouch,’ said Zain.

  ‘No fucking comment,’ said Dan.

  ‘Is that why you threatened to do him in? You killed Ruby, posted the video, and left a threat for James,’ said Zain.

  ‘No comment,’ said Dan.

  ‘Mr Grant, yesterday, when myself and Detective Sergeant Harris interviewed you, we asked you about Millie Porter. A woman you allegedly pushed from a balcony at your birthday party. Do you remember us asking?’

  Dan stared into her, as though he was imagining what her kidneys would taste of.

  ‘And do you remember your reply? You denied the incident occurred, that any charges were ever pressed. We have access to the police file from then. We know it happened, that a case was opened.’

  ‘Those charges were dropped,’ said Rourke.

  ‘I’m not bringing up the details of the case, but the fact that you lied to us yesterday. Without there being a need to. You were not under suspicion. So can you see how I might decide not to believe you today?’

  ‘Millie, she’s crazy. Just greedy for money, stupid slag. She jumped, that’s why she dropped the case. Why would I tell you that?’

  ‘Lying little prick. I spoke to Millie, I saw what state she’s in. Metal splints in h
er legs. You’re lucky you have her under contract, or I swear that, if she told me to, I would have hunted you down for her.’

  Kate felt a stab of jealousy. It was irrational. It was the devotion Harris displayed for Millie. Why did it matter? A small voice in the back of her head asked if they had slept together after he interviewed her. Why did she even care? She let it pass, allowed her subconscious – the friend with the dagger always to your throat – to subside.

  ‘Mr Grant, how am I expected to believe what you tell me, when you have lied to me already?’ she reiterated.

  Kate’s phone rang. It was Michelle. Kate sent it to voicemail. Zain’s phone rang. They both got text messages. Zain stood up and left the room, went into the corridor. He was back a minute later, came up to Kate, whispered in her ear.

  She looked into Dan’s eyes. The eyes of a psychopath and a killer.

  ‘Mr Grant, do you own a property in Hampshire? A small freehold cottage, between Winchester and Otterbourne?’

  Dan looked between them both, then to Rourke.

  ‘We found the deeds to the property in your flat.’

  Dan stared as though he didn’t understand what they were saying.

  ‘We have officers from Hampshire police heading over there now. Myself and Detective Sergeant Harris will be joining them. I believe this is where you held Ruby, and where you made the videos you posted.’

  ‘Sick fuck,’ said Zain.

  ‘You are still unable to provide an alibi for the time Ruby disappeared?’

  ‘Last chance. Where were you?’ said Zain.

  ‘Dan, tell them – where were you?’ said Rourke.

  ‘No comment,’ said Dan.

  He looked cowed, and put his head down on the table between them. His shoulders started shaking as he sobbed.

  ‘Daniel Edward Grant, I am arresting you on suspicion of abducting and murdering Ruby Day . . .’

  Kate read him his rights.

  ‘I’ll make sure you get a really nice cell, with a nice roommate to keep you warm,’ said Zain. ‘For Millie.’

  Dan looked up, his face covered in tears. He grabbed Kate’s hands. His were sweaty, made her flinch. Zain grabbed his fingers and pulled them back, freeing her.

  ‘No, please, I didn’t do it. Please. Don’t let him do this to me.’

  ‘Suck it up,’ said Zain.

  Kate felt excitement, and foreboding apprehension. What state would Ruby’s body be in when they finally found it? She shuddered as the images ran through her mind. Followed by a whisper of doubt.

  Dan locked up would mean he couldn’t carry out the threat at the end of the video. If the murderer wasn’t Dan, then the real one was still out there. Free to kill again.

  PART THREE

  INTO THE WOODS

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  The cottage was a ninety-minute drive from London. At least, that’s what it was supposed to be, according to the satnav. Nearly two and a half hours later, Rob Pelt finally found the place. It was at the end of a muddy road, down a turning so small you could easily miss it, even if you were aware it was there.

  Rural Hampshire was green, yellow and red. The air smelled of mulch, manure and smoke. Rob kicked at loose conkers, put one in his pocket.

  Dan Grant’s cottage was situated on the edge of farmland, that itself sat on the edge of the South Downs National Park. The nearest neighbour, the farmer who owned the land, was at least two miles away. In each direction, thick wooded areas. It would freak out a normal person, being so cut off.

  Rob checked his phone signal. Nothing.

  The local DS, Helen Lowe, met him by the gated entrance to the property. She was five eight, blonde, petite. Just his type. He thought of Jess. That had been fun. Hampshire was a different county, though, right?

  ‘Thanks for locking this place down,’ he said, shaking her thin but strong hand.

  ‘Easy to lock down when there are no people about,’ she said. Her accent was smooth, Home Counties smooth. It made him conscious of his own rough Manc tone.

  ‘At least we don’t have to worry about crime scene contamination. Are the CSIs inside?’

  Helen nodded.

  Rob hadn’t wanted to bring his crew down from London, so had asked Hampshire police to send their finest. Or their spares, anyway.

  ‘The cottage is quite self-contained,’ she said. ‘Open kitchen-diner, separate lounge. Two bedrooms, a bathroom. It’s built like a bungalow, no second level.’

  ‘Any signs of recent occupation?’

  ‘Plenty.’

  He followed Helen through the thick mud, his shoes squelching, dirty water seeping over the sides and into his socks. Man up, he said to himself. He was a northerner. Bit of mud and water never killed anyone.

  ‘I should have said that it’s been raining this past week. I have spare wellies in my boot, if you want them.’

  ‘I’m great. We’ll be inside soon enough.’

  ‘Put these on,’ she said, handing him plastic booties from Forensics.

  The door to the cottage had chipped wood, with creases in the paint. There was a rusted old lock, just the one.

  ‘Not exactly secure, is it?’

  ‘Crime rates are pretty low round here,’ she said. ‘Too much effort to get to, and the farmers have guns.’

  ‘Sounds like Peckham. Only without the farmers.’

  It was lost on her.

  The front door opened into the kitchen diner. There was an Aga, flagstone floor, wooden table in the centre. Dust and damp filled the air. A microwave sat on top of a work surface, looking out of place.

  ‘Guess Dan doesn’t do much cooking when he’s here,’ said Rob as he pulled open the Aga doors. The shelves were clean.

  A mini fridge sat on top of a side table. There were cans in there, Heineken, but nothing else.

  ‘The important things, right?’ he said.

  ‘The cupboards are empty, not even a pasta packet or can of baked beans.’

  ‘They eat baked beans round here?’

  ‘I do,’ Helen said.

  ‘You live nearby?’

  ‘Yes, in the middle of the forest, in a tree.’

  ‘Nice,’ he said.

  ‘I live in Otterbourne,’ she said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘I came the other way, through Winchester. Didn’t see it. Maybe you could give me a tour later?’

  ‘Through there is the lounge,’ she said, ignoring the question.

  The lounge had various loose-covered sofa chairs, all old and well used. A wood burner sat under the chimney mantle.

  ‘You can smell the wood,’ he said. ‘Recently lit, do you think?’

  ‘Possibly. Forensics will test, see if they can confirm.’

  There was a bookcase containing magazines, mainly computer game tomes.

  ‘The place isn’t very lived in, is it?’ he said.

  ‘He comes here to escape the cluttered London life, maybe.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’d expect something. A TV?’

  ‘TV’s in the bedroom,’ she said. ‘Forensics found some beads in one of the sofa chairs. Turquoise and maroon. Possibly from a broken necklace or bracelet. Do you know if the victim had anything like that?’

  ‘I’ll send the details to my colleague, Detective Sergeant Brennan. See if she can follow up with the parents. Although I’m not sure how I’ll get a signal.’

  ‘You won’t, until you’re closer to Otterbourne or Winchester.’

  ‘Is that an invite?’ Rob was nothing if not persistent.

  Helen moved on to the bedroom. There was a bed, the TV mounted on a cabinet. No wardrobe.

  ‘You got a signal?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s a digital connection, built into the TV set, and a DSL line.’

  ‘Was wondering how he connected to the net; it’s his lifeblood.’

  ‘Mobile signals are an issue, but he has broadband. No wireless.’

  ‘Explains how he posted the videos online, and why he used a web service to
send the messages. His phones wouldn’t work out here.’

  ‘If it’s him,’ Helen pointed out.

  ‘It’s him,’ said Rob.

  The second bedroom had a bed, another set of drawers, nothing else.

  ‘The bathroom is worth a look,’ she said.

  Rob saw it as soon as he walked in. A dark stain, the size of a human head, in the wood of the floor.

  ‘Blood?’

  ‘Forensics tested, said it was. They’re working on a DNA match.’

  Rob saw sploshes of blood in the sink as well, and some in the bath tub.

  ‘Water is ropey. Hot water is on demand only,’ she said.

  Rob felt his toes freeze, the mud from earlier seeping through his socks.

  ‘Where are the CSIs?’ he said.

  ‘In the basement,’ she said.

  Of course. There was always a basement, he thought.

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Zain thought about using police privileges and driving down the emergency lane.

  ‘It is an emergency,’ he said, when Kate objected.

  He tapped his sound system. Ariana Grande.

  ‘My step sisters,’ he said. ‘I downloaded it for them last time they were in London.’

  He tapped again. Puccini, without words. Si, Mi Chiamano Mimi from La Bohème.

  ‘They don’t live in London? Your step sisters?’ Kate said.

  ‘No, Scotland. Dad’s involved in Trident, and my step mother’s from Edinburgh.’

  ‘Your parents’ marriage ended?’

  ‘Yeah. When I was nine. They were a bit doomed from the start, I reckon.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He’s the son of English Catholics from the south – east; she’s the daughter of a Turkish diplomat and an Indian journalist. My parents met by accident in a war zone, fell in love, then found they had nothing in common when I was born.’

  ‘Sounds exotic. How old are your step sisters?’

  ‘Twelve. They’re twins. I have a step brother, too. He’s eighteen. From a different woman, though, not my current step mother.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t have other children?’

  ‘Too busy raising me. Waited till I was twenty-one, then got re-married. Then divorced, then married again. And divorced again. She’s getting married again in a couple of months.’