Cold Sacrifice

by Leigh Russell

  57

  THERE WAS NO SOUND in the flat. Ian hoped the tremor in his voice wasn’t noticeable as he muttered softly into his phone, summoning back-up. His message delivered, he switched the phone off completely. Even on silent it had buzzed a few times. He couldn’t risk discovery. There were several voicemails from Bev, but they would have to wait. For a moment he stood perfectly still, muscles tensed, listening. At any second he might be attacked, his assailant possibly armed. It was slight relief to recognise that the only sounds came from above his head. Meanwhile, with reinforcements on their way, he couldn’t justify hanging around in the kitchen any longer. It was possible someone was in need of urgent medical attention. Faced with the likelihood of a violent intruder skulking in the flat he would have waited for back up to arrive before investigating, had Candy lived alone. But she had a young son who might be hiding in the flat, terrified. It shouldn’t make any difference whether it was a child or an adult whose life might be threatened. But remembering the small boy, Ian trembled with a primal fear. The child might be in danger, or dying for want of medical attention, while Ian stood in the kitchen, dithering. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time before checking the rest of the flat.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he muttered a quick prayer to a God he didn’t believe in, before creeping out of the kitchen. His back to the wall, he edged sideways along the passageway. Above him, music played for neighbours oblivious to the drama taking place beneath them. Reaching the door to Candy’s room, he pushed it open and slipped inside. It was very quiet. Even the rhythm of distant music was muffled. The light from his torch illuminated a woman lying motionless on her back on the bed, her face concealed beneath a pillow.

  ‘Candy, Candy!’ he whispered urgently.

  Gently, he lifted the pillow off her face. Placing it on the bed beside her, he put down his torch and examined her for any signs of life. She was staring up at the ceiling, her bloodshot eyes further evidence of suffocation if any more was needed.

  Sure she was dead, he turned and looked around the room. There was a kind of temporary nest in one corner: a tattered sleeping bag spread on top of a long cushion that must have belonged to an old piece of furniture that had seen better days. The little boy must have slept there. The sleeping arrangement hadn’t been in place on Ian’s previous visit. On that occasion the sleeping bag and cushion had been rolled up and stowed on top of the wardrobe. He wondered where Candy’s son was now, and if he had been in the flat when his mother had died. Her death could have been the result of an accidental overdose, but the likelihood was that she had been murdered. Whatever the truth, the homicide team had to be summoned straight away. As he took out his phone, he heard voices in the hall. Back-up had arrived.

  ‘Stay right where you are!’ he shouted, ‘this is a crime scene!’

  He hurried out of the room to intercept them.

  The sight of two sturdy officers in uniform was reassuring, but they had arrived too late to save Candy. Flicking on the light in the hall, Ian sent the pair of them straight out again to make sure no one else entered the flat, while he summoned the Homicide Assessment Team. The last thing forensics would want was multiple sets of footprints traipsing through the flat, contaminating any evidence the killer might have left behind. It was damaging enough that Ian had shuffled along the hall to the kitchen, and then into Candy’s room. He had been wearing gloves when he entered the flat. No doubt the killer had done the same. Apart from DNA, possible footprints in the kitchen could provide crucial evidence.

  ‘You might as well bring a forensic team with you,’ he told the Homicide Assessment Team. ‘A woman’s been murdered. Don’t worry, you won’t have to take on the case, she was a witness in an existing murder investigation. That is, she would have been if someone hadn’t got to her first,’ he added bitterly.

  While he waited for the HAT car to arrive, Ian quickly glanced in the other rooms. There was no sign of Candy’s little boy anywhere in the flat. Ian was relieved, but apprehensive at the same time. The constables were outside watching the front door, the assessment team were on their way to make an initial report on the scene. There was nothing else that Ian could do now. He would have liked to take another look around for any evidence to link Candy with Henry, but was reluctant to move around the flat any more in case he disturbed anything the killer had left behind.

  ‘One stabbed, one strangled, and now this victim’s been suffocated,’ he muttered to himself. ‘What the hell next?’

  The methods of killing had been different and the victims had met their deaths in different locations, yet there was no doubt the three victims were linked. Caught up in a macabre game the killer was playing, Ian had no idea what the rules were.

  58

  THIS TIME POLLY DIDN’T chatter cheerfully as she drove. When he glanced over at her she was staring straight ahead, her face rigid. He knew her well enough to understand she was troubled by their third visit to the morgue in little more than two weeks. It wasn’t the post mortem itself that bothered her, but the fact that they were investigating yet another death and were still no closer to making an arrest. At last Polly broke the oppressive silence.

  ‘What if we never stop it?’

  ‘We’ll get him,’ he assured her.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He’s bound to slip up sooner or later.’

  ‘Later?’ she burst out. ‘How many more women is he going to kill before we finally catch him? It could take years. He’s already killed three women in two weeks, that much we know. And that’s all we know. Three victims in two weeks is seventy-five victims in a year, if he carries on at this rate.’

  ‘He won’t.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because we’re going to catch him.’

  In an investigation that was spiralling out of control, Ian struggled to suppress his memories of two women who had been brutally murdered shortly after he had met them. He had established no particular rapport with either Jade or Candy, but he had heard their voices, and gazed into their living eyes. He had witnessed Jade’s vulnerability, and Candy’s affection for her child. The last thing he wanted right now was to allow Polly’s fears to undermine his confidence. They had to find this killer. He told her so, in as forceful a voice as he could muster.

  ‘How can you be sure?’ she asked again.

  ‘We have to be sure. We have to proceed on that basis. We can’t contemplate it not being the case.’

  ‘OK, I get it. You’re scared as well, aren’t you? But we have to be brave. Failure is not an option.’

  He wondered if she was mocking him.

  It was so difficult to understand what women meant. He was failing in so many aspects of his life right now, he couldn’t afford to fail in his career as well. As if all that wasn’t worrying enough, he had to prepare himself to view Candy’s sliced up corpse. As far as he had been able to tell, the murderer had left her physically intact. The pathologist would hack her open and expose her innards to a group of gawping strangers. Ian felt sick and they hadn’t even reached the morgue yet. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and tried to focus on something else.

  ‘Have you got any plans for the weekend?’

  To his relief, Polly didn’t appear to find his question incongruous. He wished he could switch off from work as easily as she did; but perhaps she was just making a better job of hiding her feelings than he was. It was hard to believe she was completely unmoved at the prospect of seeing another body.

  ‘A friend of mine’s having a hen night,’ she announced cheerily, dispelling his doubts about her composure. ‘I’ve booked tomorrow off. We’re going to get so wasted tonight, I can’t wait.’

  She laughed. Glimpsing his expression, she added quickly, ‘I would have said I can’t go but she’s my best mate and there’s a group of us who were at school together. The trouble is, we’re meeting in Central London and I don’t know how I’m going to get home again at that time of night so I’m thin
king I’ll probably go home with one of the other girls. They all live near each other. It’s only me that’s moved away, and if I got a cab home by myself it would cost a fortune.’

  She prattled on about her friend’s hen night until they arrived at their destination.

  The post mortem revealed nothing they didn’t already know. Candy, born Caroline Clare, was thirty-one when she was killed. Brought up in care, she was on the street at fifteen, working in South London. When her pimp died, she moved to Central London where she found work as a pole dancer. She had three abortions before giving birth to a son when she was in a relationship with a man who subsequently died from an overdose. That much they knew before they heard the medical details confirmed by Dr Millard.

  ‘Perforations here,’ he pointed up her nostrils, ‘and the nasal septum is about to collapse. Cocaine’s probably also the cause of a developing stomach ulcer. Her liver is in a bad state from alcohol, probably binge drinking, and she certainly didn’t eat a healthy diet. Far from it. Fatty fast foods and not much else, I’d say.’

  He sounded fleetingly outraged, as though the victim’s poor diet was the most repulsive finding of his entire examination.

  Having described the victim’s generally poor state of health while she was alive, he moved on to the cause of her death. It was clear from the outset that she had been suffocated. All he could do was confirm what they already knew.

  ‘The killer must have taken her by surprise,’ he concluded. ‘There are no defence wounds.’

  Ian swore. All they needed was one speck of DNA that would link the victim to Henry, one cell of his skin under her fingernails, or on her face, and they would have him. They didn’t stay long at the morgue as Millard was clearly in a hurry to leave. There was nothing more he could tell them until the toxicology results came back.

  Polly dropped Ian back at the police station and went straight off without stopping.

  ‘I would come in, but I’ve got this hen party,’ she explained. ‘You ought to go home and get some sleep too. You look terrible.’

  Ian nodded. She didn’t have to apologise for having a life. He remembered when he had been a constable, keen on his job, enjoying his social life, in love with his girl. Life had been good back then. But he was only in his thirties now, too young to have lost the joy of living. At any time he might end up like Martha, Jade and Candy, denied any further opportunity to enjoy life.

  ‘I’m going to take my wife out this weekend,’ he called out after Polly’s car, as it disappeared through the gate. She couldn’t hear him, but he wasn’t saying it for her benefit anyway.

  Pushing the thought of Candy’s son to the back of his mind, he went to his car without going back to his desk. He was already halfway home when he remembered Bev’s arrangement to go out with friends that evening. Cursing, he slowed down, hoping she would go without him. He was too tired to put on a decent pretence of having a good time. If Bev had seen what he had seen that day, she might agree that her social engagements weren’t really all that important.

  59

  ON SUNDAY EVENING IAN offered to take Bev out, but in the end they decided to stay in and watch a film instead. Bev had been so bad-tempered lately, he had forgotten how lovely she was. Her smile still took his breath away. Although they weren’t going out, she had changed and put on make-up. Wearing skintight jeans and a sparkly jumper, she looked stunning. Pleased that she had gone to so much trouble just for him, he felt a stab of guilt at seeing how happy his appreciation made her. After dinner, they took their wine glasses into the living room and settled down together on the sofa. They had saved an old film on the planner, and sat comfortably watching together. Bev’s hand felt warm in his. Ian hadn’t felt so relaxed for months. When his work phone rang, he groaned but didn’t stir.

  ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Bev asked.

  ‘Not tonight.’

  To demonstrate his point, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and tossed it onto a chair the other side of Bev. Laughing, she leaned forward and picked it up. As she held it on the palm of her hand, it beeped.

  ‘You’ve got a text,’ she said.

  Ian reached for the phone.

  ‘Don’t look at it,’ he said sternly.

  She laughed again, with a determined look in her eyes and in the set of her chin.

  ‘I’ll look if I want to. Child found.’ She looked up. ‘What child?’

  Ian couldn’t control his excitement. ‘Did you say the child has turned up? Are you sure? Let me see.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come on, give me the phone.’

  ‘What child?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘It’s a little boy who was missing.’

  ‘I thought you were investigating a murder.’

  ‘We are. This is the son of one of the victims. He’s been missing since his mother was killed. He’s only about seven.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  He was taken aback to see that she was almost crying.

  ‘Seven? And his mother’s been murdered? How awful. What about the father?’

  ‘We don’t know who the father is. I don’t suppose anyone will ever know now. His mother’s dead, and she’s the only person who could have told us, if she even knew.’

  Bev turned to face him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I was just thinking about that poor child. It’s terrible, Ian. I had no idea.’

  ‘There’s nothing for you to get upset about. We’ve got it all under control,’ he lied.

  More than anything, he wanted her to have confidence in him as a detective. If his own wife didn’t believe he would sort out this mess, how could he feel positive about himself?

  ‘A little boy of seven, and he’s got no father, and his mother’s been murdered. That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.’ She reached out and clutched at his arm, staring earnestly at him. ‘How do you cope with stuff like that?’

  ‘All in a day’s work,’ he said quietly and saw her mouth tighten.

  It was so hard to share his work with Bev. While he had to remain doggedly detached from the brutality he encountered, she was bound to react differently to it. She probably found him monstrous, shocked that he could be so unfeeling. But he couldn’t allow his emotions to muddy his thinking.

  ‘I didn’t realise – that is, I had no idea how terrible it was for you. How awful for you.’

  Relieved that she wasn’t appalled by his objectivity, Ian felt a rush of gratitude for her compassion.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he assured her gruffly. ‘It’s what I’m trained to do.’

  He nearly added that he wouldn’t manage without the support of his colleagues. Just in time he thought better of it.

  ‘And I’ve got you, and that makes it all bearable,’ he said instead, and was rewarded with a lingering kiss.

  After a minute, Bev pulled away from his embrace.

  ‘Don’t you want to go into work?’

  ‘I’m not going in now. It’s Sunday evening and I’m spending time with my wife.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Do you really want me to go into work on a Sunday evening?’

  ‘Ian, there’s a child involved.’

  ‘Does that make a difference?’

  ‘Yes, of course it does.’

  Bev was right. He remembered huge black eyes peering up at him, Candy’s tenderness as she stroked the mop of tight curls, and tiny feet padding across the carpet. Until now, he had tried not to think too much about the front door closing on the small figure, or to worry about where he had gone. Now the memory flooded back.

  ‘I’d better go then,’ he muttered, and bent to kiss her again.

  As he drove to the police station, he felt elated. He was happy the child was safe, but it was more than that. Bev wanted him to pursue his all-important investigation. For the first time, she seemed to grasp why his work had to take priority over their time together. He was whis
tling by the time he arrived in Margate. Finding the child was just the start. He had reached a turning point in his life. They would soon find the killer and wrap up the case, and Bev would never resent him working long hours again now she understood. Once his promotion was confirmed, they would relocate, moving away from Bev’s parents who had never thought Ian was good enough for her. He had already applied for a vacancy up north, although he hadn’t told Bev yet. Together they would make a fresh start. He never should have agreed to go and live in Tunbridge Wells, so close to his in-laws. His imminent promotion offered their marriage a chance to start again somewhere new. Everything was going to be all right. He had always known it would be.

  A large woman was sitting in the waiting room accompanied by Joey and another little boy who was grizzling, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

  ‘I want him to stay with us. Why can’t he stay with us?’ he was nagging the woman.

  ‘Because I said so.’

  Leaving the two children with a constable, Ian took the woman into an interview room. She introduced herself as Shelley, and explained she had collected Joey from school on Friday for her neighbour.

  ‘We do that for each other, collect each other’s kids from school. They’re in the same class, and we’re neighbours. Candy’s supposed to pick him up from me at six on Friday. Only she never came for him, did she? And she still hasn’t turned up. So I’ve brought him here. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with him. When I see her, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind. I’m guessing she had one too many and she’s sleeping it off somewhere, or she’s off with some geezer. But her kid isn’t my responsibility. I’ve had him since I picked him up after school on Friday. It’s time someone else took a turn.’