But Danny Smedley was not the only one to blame; the authorities deeming him at no risk to the public would be forced to take responsibility. Whatever happened now would only provide a droplet of comfort to Lisa Caldwell’s mother as she fought for breath in a tide of grief.
Ruby’s satisfaction with her team’s efforts was short-lived as DI Downes approached her outside his office door. Bar of chocolate in hand, he was looking a lot better these days and seemed to have got over the worse of his grief since his wife’s death the year before. For once, his steel grey suit was neatly pressed, the silver-flecked tie appeared new, and instead of whiskey lacing his breath, his skin carried the hint of Safari, a fragrance fitting for a man of his maturity.
‘That helicopter we sent up, they’ve found something,’ he said, as they both slid into his office.
But she knew by his expression that this was not good news. Biting off a chunk of chocolate, he clicked on his mouse and brought his computer screen to life. The image was streaming live, and Ruby inhaled a sharp intake of breath. For there, as they flew over a graveyard close to the original murder scene, was the body of a young woman laid out on what appeared to be a tomb. For a few seconds, the scene took on a surreal tone. Ghostly pale, the corpse had an ethereal quality as it lay over the cold unforgiving stone. Unlike Lisa Caldwell, she was fully dressed, wearing a full-length gown which flared in the violent wind.
‘That’s St Thomas’s recreation ground,’ Ruby said, rooting in her pocket for car keys. ‘It’s no distance from Lisa’s dump site.’
Eyebrows raised, they shared a glance. She knew they were both thinking the same thing. Depending on the time of death, their suspect may have killed more than one girl.
Chapter Nine
Ruby was silent as she negotiated traffic, taking shortcuts only known to taxi drivers and those well versed with the maze. A former burial ground, St Thomas’s recreation ground was overlooked by high terrace Victorian houses. As they reached it through the archway of Mare Street, Ruby’s mind was working double time as she tried to second-guess what lay before her. Officers had conducted door-to-door checks in this area already. If Danny Smedley was responsible for this crime, how would he have dumped the body in such a public place without being seen?
* * *
Crime scene tape flapped around the borders of the park, attached to the trees, which had long since shed their leaves. Their bare branches shuddered left and right in the twilight breeze as if they were warding off the evil within. Ruby fingered her long dark hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her earlier jubilance had disintegrated replaced by a dark sense of foreboding. The setting seemed to add to her unease. Moss-covered headstones, once plucked from their original resting place, lined the walls on one side. What was once a graveyard had now been converted to an open space, although some of the original headstones and resting places still remained, along with some tombs.
On one of the tombs lay the body of their latest victim. Stepping into a forensic suit and overshoes, Ruby felt heaviness descend on her shoulders as she walked towards the crime scene investigators. They had got here in record time, and were already planning to erect a tent to assist them in their harvesting of forensics at the scene. A fourteen-year-old boy, pale-faced and shaking, was being led away.
She drew in a breath as she approached the body, tiptoeing through the dying nettles lining the single point of entry. The last thing she expected was another body turning up so soon. The job still managed to surprise her, even after all this time. The young woman, who looked in her early twenties, was carefully positioned but, unlike Lisa Caldwell, she was fully clothed.
Ruby listened as officers at the scene briefed DI Downes. At first, residents thought it was a shop window dummy, which someone had dressed up and left as a sick joke. The fourteen-year-old informant had got there the same time as the helicopter and, realising he had an audience in the sky, dialled 999 to report his findings. Most people in that area knew about Lisa Caldwell’s murder, and most likely the boy did not want to be put in the frame.
It was as if Ruby had stepped into a scene of a fairy tale. The girl was positioned in a state of permanent sleep, eyes closed, the shock of her red ruby lips a contrast against her pale skin. Ruby took in the full-length yellow satin skirt, the blue and red velvet bodice and the dramatic white collar, which rested beneath her bobbed black hair.
The words left her voice in a whisper. ‘Snow White.’
She touched the grey, weathered tombstone as if to remind herself that she was not caught in a dream. ‘It’s all so surreal,’ she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Unlike the girl who had been found staring up at the stars, this victim was not a natural beauty, but someone who had been tampered with to produce a shocking wax-like effect.
There was something about the lie of her chest that made Ruby look again. She itched to remove the outer clothing to see what lay beneath. This was nothing like the frenzied attack where the killer had fled the scene of the previous victim. This was a careful, deliberate killing, a crime scene, which had been carefully prepared. She frowned as her investigator’s mind warned it was too early to discount a connection between this victim and the last one. She thought about the delay in arresting Danny Smedley due to Worrow’s hesitation. Did this grant him enough time to find and kill another victim? They were no distance from the park where Lisa Caldwell’s body was found.
She could feel the eyes of the nearby residents boring down upon her as she surveyed the area. The girl needed to be shielded but, with night closing in, time was not on their side. After photographing the scene from every angle, the tent was being erected to protect crime scene investigators as they worked inside. The light was fading, much to the hindrance of the fingertip search, which would also be organised with haste. Public parks were incredibly difficult scenes because of the amount of transient evidence. Chewing gum, cigarette butts and even condoms were often found. It would all need to be seized and bagged, but, given the amount of people trampling through the park, its value would be questionable.
Ruby stepped aside to allow CSI to get to work. One last glance at the victim’s face made her blood freeze. ‘I think I know this girl, our Snow White,’ she said, the words cold on her breath, ‘but I need to get closer.’
She felt Downes’s firm grip on her arm. ‘No rush, best we let Bones get on with it. That poor wee lass isn’t going anywhere just yet.’
Bones was the head crime scene investigator, and Ruby knew him well enough to agree that he would not appreciate her interference. She drew back, impatient. Downes was right: she was always moving too fast, and the scene had to be treated with slow and steady deliberation. But she could not bear that somewhere out there was a family waiting for their girl to come home; a girl now lying on a cold slab of weathered stone.
Chapter Ten
Ellie
Two Days Previously
Ellie Mason nursed her cheekbone as she sat at her dressing table preparing to disguise her bruises for her evening shift. She wished she was back working for the Crosbys, with nice clients who granted them a little bit of respect. No one ever hit a Crosby girl. Lenny once said that hurting one of his girls was the same as keying his car. At first, she had not been impressed at being compared to a piece of property, but now she longed for the old days because at least it showed he cared in some way. Sleeping with Lenny had been something all the girls strived for because they got treated better than anyone else. He had a steely coldness about him, and wasn’t as handsome as his brother Nathan, but he valued the girls in his own way. The only time she saw Nathan was when he gave her her marching orders, and that had been her own stupid fault – playing in the snow during working hours. It was hypocritical, she had told him, providing the clients with cocaine and not being able to take it herself. And now look where she was, about to stand on the streets and freeze her arse off for a few lousy quid. But her mum relied on the income, and there were no proper jobs for people like he
r anymore. She sighed at her reflection in the mirror, picking up her make-up brush to swirl concealer onto her cheekbone. She had been beaten up by pimps in the past, but Frankie enjoyed inflicting cruelty.
It was all because she had taken a liking to one of the clients. He had called himself John and made a change from the usual type: fat and sweaty with a paunch hanging over their nether regions. Finding their cock was like a game of hide-and-seek. At first, she thought John was a cop, but Frankie was always careful about things like that. Nobody pulled the wool over Frankie’s eyes, and heaven help them if they tried. He ruled the underbelly of his portion of East London. Sure, he would bow down to people like the Crosbys, who were at the top of the chain. He looked up to them, and in his eyes they had achieved God-like status.
It was due to her spark of defiance that Frankie picked on her more than the other working girls. He had broken their spirit within weeks, but not hers. He could see she was trying to get off the gear, and she had confided to John that one day she would meet someone nice enough to encourage her to get out. Maybe Frankie had seen that hope in her eyes, or perhaps John had let it slip. A flicker of optimism was something Frankie would enjoy stamping out. That morning, he had set her up with Lorenzo, a man who wore his dinner in his beard, his breath carrying the remnants of his garlic lunch. She had seen him before but had always managed to wriggle out of having him as a client. His yellow-stained fingers were usually found burrowed halfway up his nose, and his body was covered in thick black hair that would give King Kong a run for his money. While personal hygiene meant nothing to him, he was a big player in the drugs industry and Frankie felt he had been holding out on him about a future deal.
The private session was a way of killing two birds with one stone. It would leave Lorenzo indebted to him because Ellie was so good, one meeting would never be enough. It would also serve to teach her a lesson for her continued defiance. She had masked her repulsion, telling herself that this method of punishment was preferable to the threat of physical violence. Or so she thought.
Wearing a broad grin, Lorenzo had left and, as Ellie gathered up her clothes, Frankie had entered the room. She expected him to say that she was off the hook but she had been wrong. Frankie had pinched her jaw tight between his fingers, telling her that he wasn’t finished with her yet.
‘Don’t think you’re above punishment just because you’ve done your job,’ he said, his eyes fiendish as he reached for a bottle of nail varnish remover from his back pocket.
Today he had excelled himself by making her choose between having acetone in her eye or shaving off all her hair. He had shaken the bottle of remover while counting down the seconds as he awaited her response.
Ellie knew nothing of the effects, but she believed him when he claimed it could cause permanent damage to her sight. It was a no-brainer – she had to choose the loss of her hair over her eyesight because her hair would grow back, right? But her naturally highlighted blonde hair was the only thing about herself that she loved, which was why Frankie wanted to shave it all off. No amount of pleading or crying would sway him from his decision. As he pointed out, he owned her, and she should be grateful that he was giving her a choice.
‘Now, what’s it going to be? Because if you don’t give me an answer in the next ten seconds, you’re losing both eyes. Acetone eats into your cornea. Burns like hell, so I’m told.’
‘Alright!’ Ellie jerked back her jaw as she screamed. ‘Take my hair, as long as I can wear a wig.’
Frankie’s smile grew wider, his voice curling in mock sympathy. ‘Of course you can, baby, I’m not cruel. Besides, who would want to fuck you bald?’
He laughed as he handed her the clippers, preferring to watch as she did it herself. Ellie sobbed as her hair fell to the ground, along with the last of her dignity. She retreated inside herself, masking the horror she felt as the final strands of hair fell to the floor.
But Frankie had taken it as another look of defiance, and slapped her hard across the cheek. Ellie recoiled, her heart plummeting as he reached for the nail varnish remover after all. Surely not after all he had put her through?
But as he threw the contents over her she realised he had been playing her all along.
‘It’s water, you stupid whore! Next time you think about leaving, it’ll be the real thing.’
He left the room as she picked up her hair from the ground. Pulling a bobbin from her wrist, she tied the long blonde strands into a ponytail, sobbing for what she had lost. She would never be free. One day she was going to end up dead. If the punters didn’t kill her then Frankie surely would.
Ellie realised she was sobbing. Puffy-eyed, she wiped away the trails of mascara running down her face. Her scalp itched underneath the blonde wig. Her hair would never grow the same again. She wanted to die. Anything was better than the life she led now.
She sat on the bed, the tears flowing freely along with her pent-up anger and frustration. Sliding her hand under the pillow, she curled her fingers around the ponytail she had fashioned, stroking the silky softness. She was not ready to touch her scalp and feel the nothingness. The power had gone to Frankie’s head. He was fucked up. Snot bobbled from her nose and she wiped it away. Too scared to live and too afraid to die, she was in limbo. More tears fell, blurring her vision. All she could make out was the glint of blonde on her lap. But she had to clean herself up, she had an appointment with one of her regulars.
He was too embarrassed to attend because of his disfigurement, which was why she always went to him. He smelt of pee, but paid well, always making sure she kept some money aside for herself. It was easy money, and he took fifteen minutes of her time at the most. The extra cash would count towards her escape fund. Frankie may have won today, but she wasn’t giving up.
She felt a pang of guilt as she thought of her mother, but she could not live this lifestyle to support her anymore. Pulling on her jeans she knew there was no need to dress up for the doctor, he had costumes of his own.
Chapter Eleven
Ellie Mason lived in humble accommodation. It reminded Ruby of the flat she used to squat in with Nathan before it was demolished, back in her teens. Situated over a newsagent’s, it contained a small square living room-cum-diner, and two matchbox-sized bedrooms, which barely afforded room for their single beds. All the flats on that road were laid out much the same way, and the occupants were no strangers to the police.
Mary Mason was a diminutive woman. Years of worry were evident, having emerged as frown lines furrowing her face – a face that carried expressions of both fear and hope as she waited for answers. Ruby had come to see these expressions many times in her job. It was amazing how the human face could contort itself to simultaneously produce dual emotions. As Ruby introduced herself, Mary stepped back, almost tripping on her threadbare dressing gown as she silently allowed her inside.
‘It’s not good news, is it?’ Mary’s voice was thin and shaky as they entered the living room. ‘I’ve had a bad feeling all day.’ Picking strewn clothes off the tattered sofa, she indicated to Ruby to sit down.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ruby said. She hated platitudes, but today she meant the words.
She took a seat, trying not to imagine herself in Mary’s place. It could so easily have been her, had her life not turned itself around. Mary had grown up on the street across from Ruby’s home and had her fair share of problems, which she readily transferred to her daughter. Ellie was no stranger to trouble but always found her way back in one piece. But Mary seemed to realise that today her daughter’s luck had run out. How sad it was, Ruby thought, that a bright young girl such as Ellie would end up on the streets. She was far from stupid, having done well in school. The certificates on the wall and numerous swimming trophies were a testament to that. But the boyfriend she had long since broken up with had introduced her to a dark pastime. With a father in prison and an alcoholic mother, it was easier to accept the promise of happiness gifted by narcotics than believe that she would ever get any
where in life.
Ruby drew in a deep enough breath to accommodate the words she had not expected to repeat so soon. ‘Today we found the body of a young woman. Fingerprint analysis has suggested it’s your daughter, Ellie.’ Ruby continued to echo the same words she had used in Lisa Caldwell’s house: how Mrs Mason would be given the opportunity of a formal identification, and how a family liaison officer would be assigned to assist her with the process that lay ahead.
Mary Mason just nodded silently, her face stony grey. Numbed by a steady diet of alcohol, perhaps she was able to keep it together better than her counterpart, Mrs Caldwell.
‘How long was she there?’ Mary said. With a shaky hand, she lit a roll-up cigarette, leaving Ruby in a cloud of smoke as she exhaled.
‘Not very long, we’ll know more after the post-mortem.’
‘Three days she’s been gone. Three days.’ Mary’s eyes narrowed as she sent Ruby an accusing glare. ‘This is your lot’s fault. If you found her after I reported her missing, she’d be alive now.’
‘Police took your report, which meant they looked into it,’ Ruby said, knowing her words were of little comfort. It was no surprise that Mary was turning the blame onto her. After a lifetime of shrugging off her responsibilities, she was hardly going to accept her part in her daughter’s death now. If she had been a better mother, taken care of them both instead of sending her out to work for some pimp. . . Ruby sighed. Who was she to judge? She had delivered the news, and now she was needed back at the station.
Sleep Tight Page 4
