by Andy Maslen
Then she pulled out two apple-green cardboard folders from the drawer she was riffling through and left them alone.
Stella and Garry looked at each other. While he leaned his six-foot frame against the door, Stella pulled open the third filing cabinet drawer, located the folders she wanted, labelled, conveniently, ‘Leavers 2017’ and ‘Leavers 2018’ and photographed the pages with her phone.
Ten minutes later, Sylvia returned with the two apple-green folders and a plain white envelope, bulging with the copies. As she entered the room she glanced at the filing cabinet then back at Stella.
‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if it will be helpful, but I’ve put his last school photo in there. He was only fourteen, but perhaps your technical people can do something clever with it. If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll give you my mobile number. I may not be at the school very much longer.’
Stella noticed that Mrs Royal’s lips were trembling. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her top lip.
‘Thanks. Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else. It doesn’t matter how trivial it feels. Any time of the day or night.’
Garry held out one of his cards, too.
‘Just in case you can’t get hold of the boss,’ he said with a smile.
As they wove through the country roads, heading for the M3, Stella studied Malachi Robey’s school photo. His deep-set brown eyes stared out at her from beneath a high, wide forehead, dotted with red pimples. He was smiling, but the expression hadn’t really reached beyond the thin lips, which looked as though he had moved them into a curve by force of will. She’d seen the expression a couple of times before.
A face swam into view. It belonged to a sexual psychopath named Peter Moxey who the PPM conspirators had sent to kill her. Moxey’s eyes had had the same bottomless-well look, right up to the point Stella had dug a broken bottle into them.
‘Penny for them, boss?’ Garry said.
Oh, you really don’t want to spend your money on them, Garry.
‘I was just thinking about Mrs Royal,’ she answered.
He nodded.
‘She really came through, didn’t she? I thought she was going to be one of those ramrods who do everything by the book.’
‘Me too. But then, I think she just saw the connection and it all fell apart. I’ve met people like Sylvia Royal before. Ex-soldiers, for example. They have a rigid code to live by and it gets them through the most incredible kinds of shit. But it’s brittle. Once you get a crack in it, the whole thing shatters. I think that’s what happened to her.’
‘You think she’s going to be all right? I thought she looked a bit off-colour when she came back in.’
‘Probably just the relief at getting the whole thing into the open. Keeping those kinds of secrets eats away at people.’
As they passed Fleet services on the M3, Stella’s phone rang.
‘DCI Cole,’ she said.
‘Ah, yes, hello. It’s Jerry Connolly here.’
‘Hello, Jerry. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s Niamh’s crucifix. I’ve had the rest of her jewellery back today from your forensic people. Her earrings and watch, wedding ring and so forth. But she always wore a gold crucifix on a thin chain and it’s not here.’
As soon as he’d spoken, Stella’s mind made the intuitive leap. Trophy!
‘Can I ask you, Jerry, was Niamh definitely wearing it the day she was murdered?’
‘Absolutely. She never took it off. Even in bed.’
‘Did you see it on her, and I’m sorry to have to ask you this, when you discovered her?’
Connolly paused and Stella could only imagine the pain her question was causing him, as he’d be visualising his wife’s mutilated body.
‘Honestly? I can’t remember. I think so, but I’m not one hundred per cent certain. The circumstances were,’ he paused, ‘extreme.’
‘I totally understand. Look, we’ll double-check and I’ll get back to you if we find it. But there is another possibility, which is that the murderer took it with him.’
‘Find it if you can, please. It means a lot to me.’
‘Of course.’
‘Wearing what?’ Garry asked.
Stella was about to answer with the truth when a thought flashed across her brain. A thought to do with the mole in the investigation.
‘An emerald ring. Can you follow up on the chain of custody for Niamh’s personal effects when we get back, please?’
‘Sure.’
‘In fact, can you get me lists of personal effects for all four women, please?’
He nodded, and accelerated around a cluster of slow-moving traffic. Back to Paddington Green. Back to start looking for Malachi Robey.
While Garry started hunting down the lists of personal effects, Stella went to her office and closed the door.
She called Monksfield and asked to be put through to Haddingley. One of the younger secretaries answered and explained in what sounded like a tearful voice that he was still in his meeting with the governors.
‘Could you tell him it’s DCI Cole, please. I need to ask him a question urgently. And before you go, is everything OK? You sound upset.’
‘It’s Mrs Royal,’ the young woman said. ‘She, I don’t know, fainted or something. We had to call her husband to take her home.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that. Perhaps it’s the heat. She does like her tweed suits, doesn’t she?’ Plus she just blew the whistle on a near-twenty-year rape cover-up.
Stella listened to some Vivaldi on repeat for the five minutes it took for the secretary to locate Haddingley.
He came on the line, sounding stressed.
‘DCI Cole. How can I help?’
‘Did Amy wear a crucifix?’
‘What?’
‘Did Amy wear a crucifix? You know, maybe a little one on a chain?’
‘Yes, she did. It was silver. Why?’
‘It may be helpful to our enquiries. Thanks, James. Sorry to pull you out of your meeting.’
Calls to Sister Rose at the Brockwell Park community and the editorial offices at The Church Times revealed that both women wore gold crucifixes.
When Garry returned with the four lists, she thanked him and asked him to close the door on his way out. Ignoring his quizzical look, she started reading.
86
TUESDAY 11TH SEPTEMBER 8.00 A.M.
PADDINGTON GREEN
Standing in her usual place beside the whiteboard, Stella tried to strike an upbeat note. But the team of detectives and civilian staff in front of her looked weary. The faces of the four murdered women – apart from Niamh Connolly, horribly disfigured by blood, putrefaction or the absence of skin – stared out at them as if to say, Why haven’t you caught him yet? How many more of us must die?
When everyone was settled, coffees and teas in hands, snack bars or chocolate substituting for breakfast, Stella smiled briefly and began.
‘We have a new suspect.’
She turned and scrawled a name on the main whiteboard, underlining the first two initials in red.
MALACHI JEREMIAH ROBEY
Then she stuck his school photo on the board beneath his name.
‘Who is he, boss?’ Baz asked.
‘He attended Monksfield between 1993 and 2001. While there, he raped, well, actually it was an allegation, but I’m inclined to believe it, a girl in the sixth form. Robey was fourteen at the time. His victim was seventeen. So we have a connection between a juvenile sex offender and the school where Amy Burnside worked.’
‘Bit thin, isn’t it?’ Roisin asked. ‘I mean, that’s barely even circumstantial.’
‘Hold on, Rosh,’ Garry said. ‘The boss hasn’t even got started yet.’
Stella nodded to Garry. Thanks.
‘Roisin’s right. That is circumstantial. As is this. Robey was obsessed by torture and martyrdom. He made art models and apparently got sent off to see the local vicar bec
ause he had so many questions in RE. And, saving the best till last, he once brought back a deer he’d killed in the woods. He’d skinned it and cut out its eyes and teats. Which bears a direct correlation to the injuries inflicted on Niamh Connolly, Moira Lowney and Amy Burnside, three out of Lucifer’s four victims. Circumstantial? Yes. But in my opinion enough to connect Malachi Robey to our murders and it explains why Amy Burnside was a geographical outlier. She represented the school that kicked him out.’
Becky spoke up.
‘It would also give him a reason to kill her even though she didn’t have a public profile.’
‘Yes, you’re right. So that’s the two anomalies in Amy’s case dealt with. Plus, and this is a lovely little detail, guess what the school colours are?’
Stella noticed Cam glance over at the whiteboard.
‘Black and gold?’
‘In one. So, here’s where we are. I want everyone not engaged in something critical tracking down Robey. I read his school file on the way back from Monksfield. He grew up in Watford. From what the school secretary told us, my money is on him being a full-blown psychopath. That means he probably kept going. He may have been inside as a juvenile or an adult, probably for sexual offences, or GBH, maybe arson. So let’s look at that angle, too. I’ll circulate his file so you’ve all got access. Rosh and Arran, can you sort out jobs for everyone, please? I’m going to talk to Jamie Hooke again. I need to get a handle on Robey’s psychology. Hopefully so we can catch him before he kills anyone else but, at any rate, when we do get him, and we will, people, we will, it’s going to be crucial to knowing how to interview him. Thanks, everybody.’
As the team dispersed, Stella sighed out a breath. She turned to Garry.
‘Finally, it feels like we’ve got something concrete to go on.’
‘You want me to start looking at the leavers’ records? Just to be sure?’
‘Not really. I’d much rather have you doing something on Robey. But yes please. We’re under such a lot of scrutiny on this one we need to be watertight. Especially with that dickhead Craig Morgan hovering around.’
‘No worries. There’re roughly forty boys on the list who would have known Amy. I’ll look for criminal records first, plus where they’re living. Hopefully some have pissed off overseas. See how much I can narrow it down.’
‘Take Becky and grab a handful of the CID imports. We need that list burning through as quick as possible.’
Ten minutes later, Stella walked into the forensics office at Paddington Green. A uniformed constable from Dorset had driven up late the previous day with all the physical evidence their CSIs had gathered from Amy Burnside’s cottage and garden.
Lucian had laid all the items out on a table covered with clear plastic, taped around the edge.
In the centre, rolled into a coil, a metre of what Stella was sure was flax bell rope, supplied by Sherborne Ropes. A plaster cast of a shoe print, rough round the edges and with minimal definition. Several bloody fingerprints. And a great many blood samples.
Beneath each object lay its evidence bag, label signed and dated multiple times to preserve the chain of custody. Ranged along the back edge of the table, the crime scene photographs painted a grisly picture of the blood-spattered room. Stella experienced a sense-memory of the smell that momentarily nauseated her.
‘The fingerprints are interesting,’ Lucian said. ‘They managed to get quite a few from the body itself. There were places where the fascia were stretched tight and the local CSIs did a brilliant job of lifting prints off them. If you look closely, you can see what appears to be the ragged edge of the glove he was wearing. I’m guessing it tore while he was skinning her, and he was too absorbed in his work to notice.’
‘Can you get them sent to IDENT1? If it was Malachi Robey, I’ve got a strong suspicion he’ll be on the fingerprint database.’
Lucian nodded.
‘Already done. We should have the results back tomorrow.’
‘What about the blood?’
‘Well, that’s the killer, no pun intended. I need to run some tests here to see if we can find any blood that didn’t come from Amy Burnside. If we can find that, it’s the killer’s. Then we can fast-track it with NDNAD,’ he said, then paused and raised his eyebrows. ‘Budget permitting?’
‘I’ll have to clear it with Callie, but yes, I’m sure she’ll OK the spend.’
‘Good. Twenty-four hours after that, you’ll have a profile and if his DNA’s on NDNAD, you’ve got him: his blood in the victim’s kitchen mixed up with hers. All you have to do then is find him.’
Stella nodded, her lips set in a grim smile.
‘Piece of cake,’ she said.
Lucian picked up the rope in his gloved hands.
‘At first glance, it looks identical to the rope the POLSA found at the Niamh Connolly crime scene. We’ll run the same tests. The footprint looks useless, I’m afraid. It came from the lawn, which was burnt to a crisp, apparently. We might be able to get an estimate of the size, but that’s about all, I’m afraid.’
‘No, it’s fine. You’ve got plenty to be going on with. Let me know as you confirm things, OK?’
He nodded.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Great night, the other week, by the way,’ she said.
She realised with a start that she wanted to talk about Jamie. Incongruously, given the charnel-house photos arrayed before her, but that was cop life.
‘Yeah, Gareth and I had a really good time. And Jamie seems nice.’
She smiled.
‘Nice? What, nice-but-boring nice? Nice-and-you’d-take-him-home-to-meet-your-mum nice? I need to know, Lucian.’
‘Nice and I think he seemed struck on you. Nice and in your shoes I’d ask him out again. Nice and if you don’t I will truly give up on your dating life. How’s that?’
She grinned. Nudged him with her shoulder as she turned to leave him to his work.
‘Nice,’ she said over her shoulder.
Back at her desk, Stella called Jamie. She updated him on what she and Garry had discovered in Monksfield, thanks to Sylvia Royal’s candour.
After listening silently, apart from a few muttered, ‘Mm, hmm’s, he spoke.
‘It sounds like you have a classic psychopathic personality here. The parents come over on paper like religious obsessives. Had to be to pick those two names for their son. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out the mother abused him sexually before he hit puberty. The rape sounds like an outpouring of anger and hatred against women. Based on the men I’ve treated here, I’d say he is totally confused about his sexuality. He’s straight, but the incestuous childhood abuse will have left him, to use a technical term we like to employ in the psychiatry game, sexually fucked-up.’
‘What are you saying? He’s trying to kill his mother because she abused him sexually?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’
‘What about the pubic hair? The absence of it?’
‘I don’t know. I’d hazard a guess and say he once saw her naked. Little boys are fascinated by female anatomy, and for most little boys their mother provides the first glimpse of an adult, that is to say, sexual, female body. If she shaved down there he would have keyed into that and he’s recreating that experience in the women he’s killing.’
‘Any tips on catching him, doc? I’m asking more in hope than expectation, but if you don’t ask…’
Jamie laughed and Stella let herself relax enough to enjoy the sound. Just for a few seconds.
‘Way above my pay grade. All I can tell you is what you already know. Most serial killers, if they are caught, are caught by good old-fashioned coppering, or plain luck. Ted Bundy was finally caught because a cop stopped him for driving a stolen Beetle. Dennis Nilsen because neighbours complained about the smell coming from the drains. You’re a good cop, Stella. And you’ve got a great team. Just keep at it. You’ll get a break. I’m sure of it.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I hope
so. Do you know who’s the hero of chapter five in Peter Karlsson’s book?’
‘Go on.’
‘Saint Lawrence. They roasted him alive.’
‘Then I’d better let you go. Oh, but one more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘When this is all over, I don’t suppose you’d like to come to dinner at mine? I cook a mean Thai fish curry.’
‘I’d come to yours if you cooked me a fish finger sandwich. Thank you. I’d love that.’
Stella heard the pleasure in Jamie’s voice as he answered.
‘Good. Now, go and catch your serial killer.’
That afternoon, at 4.00 p.m., Baz approached Stella’s desk, a wide smile on his face.
‘Boss! We got lucky. Malachi Jeremiah Robey has a criminal record stretching back to 2001. Sexual offences mostly, including a conviction in 2009 for the rape of a fifteen-year-old girl. Apparently they suspected him of multiple murders of prostitutes, but the evidence for those was shaky, so the CPS went for the easy win and charged him with the rape.’
Stella’s stomach lurched.
‘Please tell me you’re smiling because he was released before Lucifer started up.’
‘He was. He served his full sentence, eight years. No parole on account of he was a naughty boy in Belmarsh. Didn’t take the punishment beatings lying down. Left two guys in the hospital wing. One’s in a wheelchair now, the other’s blind. Robey gouged his eyes out with his thumbs and ate them.’
‘When did he get out?’
‘November last year.’
‘Right. This is excellent work. We need to track him down. He is our prime suspect, OK? Prime. And I want him.’
Stella called everyone together and put the entire team on finding Malachi Robey.
‘I want known associates, inside and outside prison. Arran, can you put a small team together and start hitting the databases, please?’
