Heartbreaker (Brennan and Esposito Series)

by Tania Carver

  ‘I think I’ve come up with a shortlist of other potential victims. Women who’ve gone missing under similar circumstances.’

  Marina felt that thrill she always felt when a discovery was about to be made. ‘Show me.’

  Elli pointed to the screen. ‘Okay. I started on the list of missing persons, narrowed down by the parameters you gave me. Age, background, marital status. Missing in the last few months. That was a start. Then I narrowed it down further. Had these women ever been for marriage guidance counselling? Had they ever been involved in incidents of domestic violence, even if it was only reported and not taken any further? Then I checked the geographical area. And this is what I came up with.’

  She pointed to the screen. Marina saw several files, all profiles of missing persons.

  ‘Five matches,’ said Elli. ‘Here we go. Bethany Worth. Known as Beth, it says here. Twenty-nine, married with two kids. Lived in Stirchley with her husband, Peter. Been missing for seven months now.’

  ‘Domestic violence?’ asked Marina.

  Elli nodded. ‘Police called to reports of a disturbance last April. She was found on the kitchen floor, bruising about the face, holding her ribs. An ambulance was called, taken to A and E. Patched her up, let her go. Tried to take the husband in for assault but she refused to press charges.’

  Marina nodded. ‘Right. And she’s been missing since then?’

  ‘Shortly afterwards. May. I’ve managed to get hold of her file. The husband was questioned but had an alibi. Cast-iron. Away in Glasgow for work. The investigation got nowhere. Still open but on the back burner. Apparently she had relatives in the north. The supposition was that she’d gone to stay with them.’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘Left behind. Lot of name-calling, bad mother, all that.’

  ‘Right. She fits. Next one?’

  ‘Ludwika Milczarek. Polish. No children. Lived with her boyfriend, Marek Chociemski. Both immigrants. Had a flat in a high-rise in Handsworth. She worked as a cleaner and barmaid in a local pub. Doesn’t say what he did.’

  ‘Working off the books, probably.’

  Elli nodded. ‘Apparently Chociemski didn’t like Ludwika working in the bar. Accused her of flirting with other men, according to the police report. When she came home, he used to question her then beat her.’

  ‘That’s all on the report?’

  ‘It’s what she told the investigating officer. Said she didn’t flirt with anyone. That he was out drinking nearly every night and God knew what he got up to.’

  ‘Did it go any further?’

  ‘She was given information about refuges by the uniforms, and that was that. Said she didn’t want to take things further because she was scared of being deported.’

  ‘And then she disappeared. Nearly a year ago.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And the boyfriend?’

  ‘He kind of disappeared too. For a bit. Came back on to our radar a few months later, living with another girl, causing another domestic disturbance. Didn’t seem too upset at the loss of Ludwika.’

  ‘And of course the police didn’t exert themselves looking for her?’

  Elli shook her head. ‘Says here they did everything possible. Checked the airports, ports, all of that. Released a description in the Polish community. But no. I doubt they knocked themselves out on it.’ Her hands played over the keys. ‘Right. Next one.’

  ‘Just a minute. Thinking.’ Marina looked at the screen. There had been photos attached to the reports and she was scrutinising them, trying to see if there was any common factor between them, any similarity that would trigger something in the killer’s mind. She couldn’t see it.

  So what did that mean? There was a trigger, there must be. Had to be. She looked at the pictures again. Nothing. Young women. Some white, some black. Hurt, vulnerable young women. That was his trigger.

  ‘Go on,’ said Marina.

  Elli put the next one up on the screen. A young black woman. Pretty, Marina thought. Hard eyes. But looked nothing like the first two.

  ‘Elizabeth Thompson. Thirty-one. Three children. Used to stay with their grandmother a lot. She went out. Had a number of gentleman friends.’

  ‘A prostitute?’ asked Marina.

  ‘Doesn’t say so, not in so many words,’ said Elli, ‘but that’s the implication. Had a boyfriend, though.’

  ‘For that I think we can read pimp,’ said Marina.

  Elli nodded. ‘He’s the one that beat her up. And then she disappeared.’

  ‘I bet the boys in blue went to town on him.’

  She scanned the report on the screen in front of her. ‘Oh, yes. Or at least they tried. Turned up nothing. Had to let him go. Now.’ She pressed more keys. ‘Number four. Gail Simpson.’

  Another pretty black girl appeared on the screen.

  ‘Different kind of background. Kings Heath. Middle class. Husband’s business went bust, started drinking.’

  ‘And got a bit handy with his wife.’

  ‘Looks like it.’ Elli gave a grim smile. ‘But you know one of the golden rules of policing? Or at least one of the great unspoken ones.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Don’t fuck with the middle classes.’

  ‘So nothing was reported.’

  ‘No domestic violence reports, no. Or if there were, they’ve been dropped. No trace. But they went for marriage guidance counselling. Seemed to be doing pretty well, according to the husband’s statement. And then she disappeared.’

  ‘Anything from marriage guidance about them?’

  Elli nodded. ‘Apparently Gail was scared of her husband. Wanted a list of refuges. Case is still officially open, but…’ She shrugged. ‘And the last one that fits the profile. Jusna Kamdar. Originally from Pakistan, but had been living in the UK for ten years.’

  Marina nodded. All vulnerable women with low self esteem. All isolated in some way. Her hypothesis about what his triggers were was strengthened.

  ‘Disappeared three months ago. Recently married. But apparently unhappy. Her husband was a distant cousin who came over from the old country.’ Elli looked up. ‘We know what that means.’

  ‘Arranged marriage?’

  Elli nodded. Shuddered. ‘Hateful. And she was having marriage guidance counselling. But not her husband. He wouldn’t go.’

  Marina frowned. ‘Was she Muslim? Wouldn’t she try to go to a Muslim refuge?’

  ‘By all accounts she didn’t want to be Muslim. Hated it. Saw herself as a Western girl. Went to university. But couldn’t escape her family’s clutches. Poor girl.’

  ‘And disappeared,’ said Marina.

  Elli nodded. ‘All of them.’ She pressed another button. Another screen appeared. ‘These are the notes from Safe Haven. Phone calls corresponding to the dates these women went missing.’

  ‘So they all called Safe Haven and then all disappeared? And no one noticed because…’ She shrugged. ‘How can you? What are you looking for?’

  ‘Seems that way.’

  Marina straightened up. ‘Brilliant work, Elli. Really, really brilliant.’

  Elli smiled.

  ‘I’ll go and tell Cotter. Confirm her worst fears for her.’

  ‘Rather you than me,’ said Elli.

  But Marina was already out of the door.

  67

  Marina didn’t reach Cotter. Not straight away. She went barrelling round a corner and ran straight into the last person she wanted to face.

  Phil.

  They both stopped dead, stared at each other. It seemed as if all those around them in the building, the building itself, the brightly lit corridor, the hubbub of voices and clacking of computer keys, echoing footsteps and ringing laughter, just melted away. There was only the two of them. Alone.

  No running away now. Marina felt her body go into fight-or-flight, adrenalin pumping round her system. She couldn’t help it: it was a physiological response. But even as it happened, she allowed her mind to take over and tried to over
ride her body’s response. After all, here was a man she loved, a man she had pledged the rest of her life to. A man who had seen her naked on every possible level.

  And from the look in his eyes, she was certain that Phil was experiencing something similar.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, for want of anything else.

  ‘Hi yourself,’ he said, trying for nonchalance, attempting a smile. It died on his face.

  ‘So,’ she said, after an expanse of silence that seemed to last years, ‘how are you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Fine,’ he said, voice aiming for lightness, missing.

  She nodded. ‘Good. I…’ Should she tell him? Admit it? She didn’t know. But she couldn’t stop herself. ‘I saw you. In the interview room. From the observation suite.’ She gave a laugh, forced and high. ‘God, whoever named it that had a sense of humour. Cupboard, more like.’

  ‘You saw me?’ he said, not joining in with her brittle laughter.

  She stopped laughing. Her face became serious once more. ‘I… yes. I watched you.’

  He nodded, head down, eyes averted. Said nothing.

  ‘You were… good.’

  He gave a smile, a short laugh, as if he had just won a pointless, pyrrhic victory. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You…’ She didn’t know what to say next, felt she was talking for talking’s sake. Just to be saying something, just to be communicating. ‘You really nailed him. Good work.’

  Phil nodded once more. Then he stared at her. And in the moment of their eyes connecting, she felt naked all over again.

  She quickly looked away.

  ‘Just what I do,’ Phil said, distractedly. Like his words no longer mattered after looking into Marina’s eyes. Like he had seen something there that made more sense than words.

  She looked at him once more. Really looked at him this time. Saw beyond his usual battle armour of leather jacket and plaid shirt, took in the stubble, the messed hair, the black rings round the reddened eyes.

  ‘You look terrible,’ she said, the words out before she could stop herself.

  His eyes widened slightly, as if he was taken aback a little. But only a little. She felt like he agreed with her.

  ‘You don’t,’ he said, gulping the words like a drowning man struggling for air. ‘You look wonderful.’

  Her hand went instinctively to her hair and she smiled involuntarily. She felt herself blushing. ‘No I don’t. I’m… I’m at work…’

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, filling the void so she didn’t have to respond further, ‘you’re not the first person to tell me I look terrible today. Getting used to it now.’

  She looked like she was about to ask him who else had said it, so he continued talking, silencing her.

  ‘You’re back, I hear.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘On my case.’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Well, what was my case. Until recently.’

  ‘That one, yes,’ she said, as non-committal as possible, not going into detail, not picking up the thread from his words.

  They stood in silence again. Staring at each other, looking away.

  ‘How’s Josephina?’ asked Phil eventually.

  ‘She’s… good. Yeah. She’s safe.’

  ‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘I’m glad. Safe. No, really, I’m glad. And you’re safe? You feel safe? You can do this?’

  Marina sensed something building within Phil, and while she couldn’t blame him, she didn’t want to go into it. Not here, not now. ‘Please, Phil. Time and a place.’

  He moved closer to her. ‘Is there?’ he said, voice a ragged whisper. ‘When? Where?’ As though everything he had stored inside, kept bottled up, was threatening to spill over. ‘You tell me, because…’ He sighed, stepped away from her once more, shaking his head, face twisted.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Marina said. ‘I really am.’

  No response from Phil.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘we need to talk. Properly talk.’

  He looked up. ‘You didn’t want to talk a couple of days ago. What’s changed?’

  Marina sighed, shook her head. ‘Look, Phil, we can’t go into this here and now. I’ve got work to do.’

  Phil nodded, composing himself. Glancing round to see who was walking past, suddenly aware that, no matter what they might be feeling, they weren’t actually alone.

  ‘Right,’ he said, nodding once more. ‘How’s… how’s it going?’

  Marina frowned. ‘How’s what going?’

  ‘The investigation.’ Phil’s voice small, his eyes blinking, unfocused.

  Marina was glad to be on safer ground, to have something she could actually talk to him about without him getting angry or upset. Well, not too angry or upset. ‘It’s bigger than we thought. We may have found more potential victims.’

  ‘Confirmation that we’re dealing with a multiple murderer?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  She looked at him again and she could see it in his eyes. That hunger. That need to be there, to be involved. It was part of him, a defining part. It was who he was.

  But there was more to it that that. Yes, he wanted to be back on the team, leading the team, involved, in the thick of it. But there was something more crucial. He wanted to be doing it with Marina. She could see that in his eyes, and it was a whole other level of pain for him.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’d… I’d better go. I’ve got to…’ She gestured down the corridor.

  He nodded, as if in acceptance of the situation. ‘Yeah. Good… good luck.’

  She didn’t know what to do. Kiss him, hold him, touch him… She did none of them. She just gave an embarrassed half-smile, turned and walked off.

  She knew, as she went, that he was standing there watching her.

  68

  ‘You ready? You know what to say and how to say it?’

  Imani nodded. ‘You coached me well, master.’ She was aiming for levity, but the tightness in her throat, round her chest, betrayed her.

  Marina took her hand from the other woman’s shoulder. Looked down at her, then stood back.

  Night had fallen. The incident room felt overlit, a lighthouse against the darkness outside. Imani had asked to be alone, or as alone as possible, when she made the call. She had Marina with her. Cotter, Sperring and the rest of the team were waiting nearby, out of earshot.

  Imani had practised all afternoon. One-to-one sessions with Marina, getting the words right, and more importantly, the inflections, the sense of what she was saying. The emotions behind the words.

  They had found a room, just the pair of them. Closed and locked the door. Marina had looked tense, shaken even, Imani thought. But then she had just discovered five other potential victims of the Heartbreaker, so in Imani’s mind she had every right to be a little distracted. A little upset.

  ‘Okay,’ Marina had said. ‘How d’you feel?’

  ‘Good,’ said Imani, feeling anything but. Trying to take it one step at a time, not think about what she was about to face, just make sure she got through things as they presented themselves to her. Not rushing.

  ‘Really?’ said Marina. ‘If it was me, I’d be terrified.’

  Imani laughed then. ‘Yeah, that too.’

  They went to work. Going over the words, using the script Marina had written for her.

  ‘You have to sound like who you are,’ said Marina, ‘who they want you to be. You have to be convincing. You ever done any acting?’

  ‘Nativity plays at school,’ said Imani. ‘I think I was a shepherd once. Wore a tea towel and a dressing gown.’

  ‘Well, this is a bit different. Let’s do it again.’

  They did it again, Marina playing the person from the refuge. And the more they did it, the harder Marina tried to make it for her. At first Imani just stopped talking, said that what she was doing wasn’t in the script. But as Marina explained, there wasn’t a script for the person on the other end of the phone. All she had was I
mani and her voice. And that had to be convincing. ‘You have to know who you are and why you’re calling. You have to be desperate. You have to be in fear of your life.’

  That was the part Imani had found the most difficult. She spent such a large part of her life trying to be in charge, to make sense of things, to appear competent and commanding, that to behave in the opposite manner was totally against her instincts. She said so.

  ‘Lie,’ said Marina. ‘Come on, Imani, you encounter liars every day. You sit there looking across the interview room table knowing the person opposite is lying their arse off to you. So all you have to do is take a bit of that on board.’

  ‘I know, but…’ She hadn’t found the right words of encouragement from Marina yet, the one phrase that would unlock her reticence, show her the way forward.

  ‘Be weak,’ said Marina. ‘Or appear weak. When he goes for it, when you’re out there confronting him, bringing him in, you’ve got all the time in the world to be strong.’

  That made sense. That was it. A couple more run-throughs and she was ready.

  Now she sat in front of the phone, Marina at her side.

  ‘Ready?’

  Imani nodded.

  ‘Go.’

  Imani picked up the phone, made the call.

  ‘Safe Haven.’

  She hesitated as she had been coached to do. ‘Hello? I…’ She brought a quaver into her voice, her breathing, like she was fighting tears. ‘I need help.’

  ‘I’m Alice. What can I do to help you?’

  ‘My… I… my husband, he…’ And then she broke down. To her surprise, she found that she was actually crying real tears. This buoyed her. She kept going. ‘My husband, he’s… I think he’s going to kill me.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Alice. ‘What makes you say that?’ Her voice calm, professional, yet warm too.

  ‘He… hits me. For the slightest thing. When I’m late, when I’m… out. He says things to me, he’s always angry with me…’

  And on she went, finding her strength, her voice. Or the voice she was pretending to have. The more she talked, the easier it became. And the more convincing she felt she was.