The Burning

by Jane Casey

  The plan was so simple. I dosed her drink with the Rohypnol and she passed out, like a good little victim. I kept her in my spare bedroom for the next twenty-four hours. Every time she stirred, I gave her a drink that knocked her out again. She never knew where she was or what she was doing there. I stripped out the room completely afterwards. You know how I never got around to redecorating? Changing the decor wasn’t exactly the point. Trace evidence was what worried me. Fibres. Hair. Skin cells. Fingerprints. I’d cleaned the room, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t be sure. And I like being sure.

  On the Thursday night, late, I went to the room. I made sure she was out of it – she had no idea what was going on. I put make-up on her. I dressed her in expensive clothes, the kind she would have worn to see you. I made her look beautiful, and then – well, I did it.

  I don’t want to talk about killing her. It was horrible. I was just focused on imitating what the serial killer was doing. He was a bit too violent for my tastes, a bit too physical. I’d done my research but I sort of knew I might get some of it wrong, even though the fire should hide any mistakes I’d made. That was all right. I had already lined you up as my suspect of choice.

  I went to Rebecca’s flat the next day. I hadn’t planned to. But lying in bed, I started thinking about how she’d always written things down. Dinner with Louise. It was probably on a calendar somewhere. On a Post-it note. Or in her diary. I didn’t want it there. I didn’t want any recent contact between us. So I went over and I started searching. At the same time, I cleaned the whole place, so there was no evidence you hadn’t been there. I took a pen with your initials on it. Rebecca bought it for you but you broke up with her before she had a chance to give it to you. I don’t know why she kept it. Wishful thinking, perhaps, in case you came back. You might not remember this, but I showed it to you after the memorial service – got you to hold it so your prints were on it. I thought I’d show it to the police at some stage, worriedly, and say I’d found it in Rebecca’s flat but not thought twice about it at the time. Nudge nudge. Investigate Gil. Don’t focus on me. I’m not important. But when I got around to it, I was too late.

  It was a bit of a sickener when the police turned up at the flat before I was ready. I was so close to leaving, too. I had to come up with a story about how untidy Rebecca was – when she would have been the last person to leave something out of place – and pretend to be overcome with emotion so I could finish checking the flat for giveaway hints to where Rebecca had been. I thought I’d been pretty convincing, for a spur of the moment lie. Not convincing enough, maybe. I should have pretended to have OCD or something. But I knew Rebecca’s friends thought I was her slave. They would have told the police as much. I thought I’d get away with that one.

  I threw out Rebecca’s clothes that she’d worn to dinner with me. I got rid of anything I’d worn while she was in my house, and of course what I’d been wearing when I killed her. The same went for my car. Bye bye, old car, with your DNA particles and fabric fibres that might link me to Rebecca. Hello, sporty new car, clean and evidence free. As a manifestation of grief, it was a very nice one. Quite understandable, too, that I would devote myself to living it up now that Rebecca was gone.

  But all along the line, I’ve made mistakes. Talked too much to the wrong people. Tried to be too clever. That’s something I’ve always done. I can get so far but no further. I got into Oxford, and I got a 2.1 in the end, but by the skin of my teeth – absolute rock bottom of the class. And I worked hard. God, I worked. Then, when I started at PG, I worked more than anyone else. I worked more than anyone should. I didn’t want anyone to have an excuse to get rid of me. It’s sad, but I would never have made partner. I certainly won’t now.

  Then again, there are lots of things I won’t do now. I’ve lost everything I’d worked for. Everything I wanted. All gone because of Rebecca. So you could say I deserve it.

  I’ve had enough, Gil. I’ve said what I wanted to. I’ve owned up to my crimes; the punishment is up to me too. There’s nothing the state can do to rehabilitate me. And prison would not have suited me – all those people, and no prospect of any peace, ever. Most of the women here are addicts and prostitutes, mentally ill, unstable in various ways. It’s the world I took great pains to leave behind me, but I’m beginning to realise that I never truly got away. You can change everything about yourself – the way you look, the way you talk, the way you behave – but you can’t escape what you truly are.

  I’m sorry my plan didn’t work out. I’m sorry I won’t get another chance to make you pay for what you’ve done.

  I won’t miss you, and somehow I doubt you’ll miss me.

  And now it’s time to go.

  L.

  MAEVE

  I was asleep when the phone rang, not unreasonably given the time of day. Ten past four, according to the clock on my bedside table. No one ever called me at a sensible time, I found myself thinking as I scrabbled for the handset, answering just before it switched to voicemail.

  ‘Maeve?’

  ‘Sir.’ I was awake instantly, recognising Superintendent Godley’s voice.

  ‘I’m sorry to wake you. I’ve just spoken to the governor at Holloway. They’ve been trying to get hold of both of us for the past couple of hours. It’s Louise North. She’s back in the prison infirmary now, but she was rushed to hospital.’ I knew what he was going to say before he went on. ‘She’s taken an overdose.’

  ‘Jesus. I knew she’d try something to get out of the trial but I didn’t think of suicide. How did she manage that?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to find out yet.’ He paused. ‘She wrote you a note, Maeve. and what seems to be a confession.’

  I was already out of bed, hunting around for clothes. ‘I’ll come to the prison.’

  ‘They’re expecting us. I’ll see you there.’

  It didn’t take me long to get ready, though I skipped breakfast and closed my front door on a scene of devastation. Living on my own wasn’t good for me. I needed the discipline of sharing a space with someone else to make myself be tidy, and I found myself wishing Rob was there to put his arms around me and tell me what had happened wasn’t my fault. I made myself focus on getting to the prison instead, wondering what was waiting for me. I headed out into the cold, dark morning to the sound of plaintive birdsong that matched my mood.

  Godley was there before me, sitting reading in the governor’s office with a pile of pages in front of him. He handed me an envelope with my name on it in the firm writing I recognised as Louise North’s.

  ‘You might want to start with that. I haven’t opened it.’

  I slit the envelope carefully along one side, habit making me preserve it from damage as far as I could, and skimmed through the brief contents.

  ‘It’s just a note to ask me to make sure Gil sees the letter in the bigger envelope.’ I looked up and realised that the A4 envelope in front of the superintendent was what she had meant. ‘What is it? Interesting reading?’

  ‘very.’ He turned over the pages and handed me the fat sheaf of lined paper written in a biro that tended to blotch. She had only used every other line so it was mostly legible. ‘I’m nearly finished. When you’ve caught up, let me know.’

  I nodded, already reading, already absorbed in Louise’s letter. We read in silence, the superintendent passing me the pages he had finished as he went along. When I finally got to the end, I looked up at him. He was sitting with his fingers steepled in front of his face, his expression set.

  ‘That’s it, then. She did it. She did it all.’

  ‘That’s what she wrote.’

  ‘And I was right about Gil too. I knew there was something off with him.’

  He winced. ‘Knowing it doesn’t mean we can do much about it.’

  ‘But he raped her.’

  ‘She’s not going to be a brilliant witness, is she? You can’t have it both ways, Maeve. She has lied and lied about murdering Rebecca; she can’t be credible in a case where
she’s alleging rape. It’s hard enough to prove at the best of times.’

  ‘Don’t you believe what she wrote?’

  He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t assume anything she said was true, up to and including “hello”.’

  ‘I disagree. I don’t think she’d lie in these circumstances.’

  ‘You got to know her. I didn’t.’

  I pulled a face. ‘I wouldn’t say I knew her. I saw more of her than you did, that’s all.’

  ‘And do you want to see her now?’

  I did not. I wanted to say no, more than anything. But I nodded, and followed the superintendent out to where a guard was waiting. He led us down airless corridors to the prison infirmary, where we spoke briefly to the doctor. Godley hung back to ask him a few more questions and motioned to me to go on alone. I walked down to the end of the room, and there, small and vulnerable under a white sheet, lay a motionless figure. She didn’t look like a murderer. Her eyes were closed, her hair limp and dirty as it fanned out on the pillow. They had given her charcoal to drink, the doctor had said, to absorb whatever remained of the drug in her stomach, and her lips were blackened where the skin was dry. There was no colour in her face, none at all, and I looked down at her feeling something like sadness.

  And then she opened her eyes and looked straight at me.

  I didn’t say anything, I just waited for her to know me. It took a moment. Then, in a weak, thready voice, she spoke.

  ‘I wrote you a letter.’

  ‘I read it.’

  ‘I wrote one for Gil.’

  ‘I read that too.’ I watched her to see her reaction, the flicker in her eyes as she registered what I knew, what she had said. ‘I think you might regret writing that, to be honest.’

  Her face crumpled and she closed her eyes, shutting me out. a tear slid down the side of her face, slipping into her hair. I thought about what had happened to her – what Gil had done to her – and I tried to feel sorry for her. But thinking about what she’d done herself made it hard. When she had regained control of herself, she took a deep breath.

  ‘I thought the pills would work. Why didn’t they work?’

  ‘A pipe leaked in the cell next door. The guard came in to check that yours was still dry, and found you.’

  She nodded and turned her head away. ‘I wish it had worked. I don’t want to spend the next thirty years in prison.’

  ‘No one ever does.’ I leaned down, so no one else could hear what I said. ‘I’m glad you didn’t die.’

  She looked back at me, surprised – not a little pleased, I think. I leaned an inch closer still.

  ‘You took Rebecca’s life to safeguard your own. You picked over what she’d left behind and you borrowed what suited you from it. You took the man she’d loved. You took her place in her parents’ lives. You dressed like her. You copied the way she spoke, the way she wore her hair, her make-up, her jewellery.’

  Louise’s eyes were fixed on mine, her pupils wide and dark. She ran her tongue over her lips nervously, and it was black too, as if she was rotting from the inside, the evil festering within her.

  ‘I hope you live a long life, Louise. and I hope you don’t know a minute’s peace from now until the day you die. You took Rebecca’s life,’ I said, one last time. ‘The very least you owe her is to live it.’

  Outside the prison, I stopped by Godley’s car.

  ‘So that’s it, then? We can’t go after Maddick, even with this?’

  ‘Pass it on to the sex crimes unit at the Yard, if you want. Let them follow it up with his ex-girlfriends – see if there’s anyone else who wants to make a complaint. But I think you’re going to have to let it go, Maeve.’

  ‘That’s not right. If we walk away from it, we can’t be sure justice will be done.’

  ‘You don’t think that’s our job, do you? Making sure that justice is done?’

  I frowned. ‘Isn’t it?

  ‘We’re just trying to hold back the tide, Maeve. For every killer we catch, there’s another we don’t. Murderers who are clever enough to find victims who don't count. Rapists who are plausible enough to get off every charge. abusers whose crimes don’t come to light for decades. We can only do something about the crimes we know about, and half the time, even if we get a conviction, the punishment isn’t fit to be called justice.’

  I shook my head, bewildered. ‘If you’re so cynical about it, why do this job at all?’

  ‘Because it’s better than not even trying.’ He sat into the driver’s seat and looked up at me. ‘Maddick will come again, Maeve. His type always does. and when he does—’

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ I finished for him.

  THE BURNING MAN ‘WILL NEVER BE RELEASED’

  Razmig Selvaggi will spend the rest of his life in jail for murdering four young women in South London.

  Selvaggi killed Nicola Fielding (27), Alice Fallon (19), Victoria Müller (26) and Charity Beddoes (23) before setting fire to their bodies. He terrorised the residents of the Kennington area, where he hunted his victims between September and December of 2009.

  Mr Justice Cauldwell, sitting at the Central Criminal Court, ordered 24-year-old Selvaggi to serve the maximum sentence. He said: ‘This was a targeted campaign of murder. It is right you should spend your whole life in prison. You will never be released.’

  Selvaggi listened without showing any emotion as Mr Justice Cauldwell said he had targeted vulnerable young women. ‘They were out late at night, walking home alone. But they should not have been at risk from harm. You killed them, burned them and left them, by your own account because you enjoyed it.’ The judge said the case met the legal requirements for a whole life sentence because the murders involved a ‘substantial degree of premeditation and planning’.

  Selvaggi pleaded guilty, having confessed to the crimes once in custody. He was caught while attempting to attack an undercover policewoman in December 2009. Analysis by forensic science experts revealed DNA from two of the victims on a hammer that was found at his address, as well as items of jewellery that had belonged to all four women.

  Detective Chief Superintendent Charles Godley, who led the investigation, said Selvaggi had committed ‘despicable acts of violence’ that had left the capital in a state of terror.

  Selvaggi is expected to be placed on suicide watch and undergo routine psychiatric assessments. His defence team said they would be considering whether there were grounds for an appeal, as is routine in all criminal cases.

  The Metropolitan Police will now check outstanding cases in the London area to see whether there could be links to Selvaggi.

  WOMAN JAILED FOR ‘MISTAKE’ KNIFE ATTACK

  A woman has been jailed for two years for wounding a 56-year-old call centre worker ‘by mistake’. Kelly Staples, 20, of Richmond, Surrey, was sentenced at Kingston Crown Court.

  In January she pleaded guilty to wounding Victor Blackstaff, but in mitigation her barrister told the court she had believed she was under threat.

  ‘The capital was in a state of hysteria at the time of the incident because of the activities of the serial killer known as the Burning Man, then unapprehended. My client believed her life was in danger. She was considerably inebriated following a night of drinking and admits that her judgement was impaired. She wounded him by mistake.’

  The judge, His Honour Judge Steven Delaware, said that the two-year sentence reflected her early plea of guilty and also the fact that she had no previous convictions, but pointed out that it was a warning to others not to carry knives. He was also concerned by the serious long-term effects of the attack on the victim. Mr Blackstaff is continuing to receive medical treatment for his injuries and has not been able to return to work.

  THIRD SUICIDE AT ‘OVERCROWED’ WOMEN’S PRISON

  A third prisoner has committed suicide at HMP Mantham in Northumberland. Louise North, 29, was halfway through the second year of a life sentence for murder. She was returning to her cell on the top landing of the prison yesterday mornin
g after breakfast when she jumped over the railing and plummeted sixty feet. She died instantly. Anti-suicide netting had been removed to allow repairs to take place on the landing below. Prison authorities have launched an enquiry into why North was able to move around the cell block without adequate supervision.

  This was North’s second attempt to kill herself. She had previously taken an overdose of antidepressants while on remand awaiting trial for the murder of her best friend, Rebecca Haworth, but was discovered in time to receive medical treatment. Her suicide note was a key part of the case against her at her trial, although her barrister argued it was written while she was suffering from depression and should not be viewed as reliable evidence of her guilt. In the witness box, she claimed it was intended to convince her then boyfriend not to mourn for her, and that she had lied or exaggerated in many places. The trial received considerable media attention because of North’s attempt to copy the crimes of notorious serial killer Razmig Selvaggi, dubbed the ‘Burning Man’, who was still at large at the time Rebecca Haworth was murdered.

  In spite of her history, North was not considered to be a suicide risk by the prison authorities and was not under special supervision. She was regarded as a model prisoner.

  Three women have taken their own lives in HMP Mantham since 2009, despite efforts to improve living conditions for the inmates and the introduction of a counselling service. Sophie Chambers, chief spokesperson of prison reform group Cell Out claimed that there are still serious problems with over-crowding and poor facilities in the Victorian jail, and urged the government to release funding for the construction of new prison buildings as a matter of urgency.

  Convicted in May last year, North received a life sentence with a minimum tariff of twenty-five years. She would have been eligible for parole in 2035.