by BL Pearce
“Do you recognise this, Paul?”
He stared at it for a moment, then shook his head. “Should I?”
“It’s one of Rachel's pictures. Good, isn’t it?”
He tilted his head to the side.
“I think she had a certain flair.”
He didn’t respond.
“Do you know what it’s of?” Jo asked.
“An angel?” He shrugged.
“It’s an angel, yes. With wings and a halo. She’s floating above a forest, on her way to heaven.”
Paul’s dark eyes flickered.
“You see, I think it’s a self-portrait. She’s the angel going up to heaven. I think she wanted to die, Paul.”
Pain flashed across his face, but he didn’t speak.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” she whispered. “Rachel asked you to help her kill herself.”
His eyes glistened, and his lower lip started to tremble.
“It’s okay, Paul. I know what happened. I didn’t at the time, but I do now. She was pregnant and couldn’t see any other way out. She didn’t want to have her uncle’s baby, but she didn’t believe in abortion ether. And then there was the fact she’d been raped.”
Paul’s hands balled into fists and he pounded the table. “He used to tie her up, did you know that?”
Jo stared at him. It took a moment for her brain to compute the horror of what he was saying.
“He’d tie her to the bedstand so she couldn’t get away while he raped her, repeatedly. It had been going on for months. She couldn’t tell your mother because she was sleeping with him too, fucking whore.”
Jo was finding it hard to breathe.
“That’s why she wore all those bracelets. They covered the bruises on her wrists.”
“Oh, my God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. She remembered Rachel’s bracelets. Coils of silver around her wrists, jingling as she walked.
He sneered at her. “You were oblivious. You had no idea what was going on. Your father was useless, he was away more than he was home. There was nobody she could turn to. Nobody.”
“Except you?” whispered Jo.
He nodded; his eyes filled with tears. “Except me. When she told me what was happening, I was furious. I tried to help her. I told her to go to the police, to report him, but she wouldn’t. She was too frightened of what he’d do to her when he found out.”
Oh, Rachel. Poor, poor Rachel.
“The longer it went on, the more desperate she became. Then she found out she was pregnant.”
Jo nodded. “My mother told me.”
He struck the table again, making his solicitor jump.
“Stupid bitch. She went straight to him and told him that she knew, that she was going to report him. How do you think that made Rachel feel? The world would know her shame.”
Jo shook her head. She couldn't even comprehend what her fourteen year old sister must have gone through.
“She wanted to die. She couldn’t live with the shame of other people knowing what he’d done to her.”
“So she asked you to help her commit suicide.” Jo whispered.
He nodded.
“After we said goodbye on the street in front of the shop, we met around the block and snuck off into the woods. I had a plastic bag with me and she had a packet of her mother’s sleeping tablets.”
Jo didn’t want to hear anymore, but she had to. She had to know how her sister had died.
“She swallowed the tablets and we lay together until she fell asleep. I held her hand until I felt her grip loosen. Then I placed the bag over her head and held it tight until she stopped breathing. It only took a few minutes.”
It was only when a tear rolled down her face and hit the table that Jo realised she was crying.
“She looked so peaceful lying there, surrounded by wildflowers, those sparkly blue clips in her hair. Like an angel.” His gaze drifted to the drawing. “Just like that.”
There was a pause.
“Where is she?” whispered Jo.
“In the woods,” he told her. “I buried her in the woods at our secret spot. There’s a clearing where we’d go and watch the squirrels frolic and imagine we were someplace else. Anywhere but there.”
Jo wiped her eyes. “Will you show me?”
He nodded sadly. “I loved her, you know. She was everything to me.”
Jo gave a sad nod. She understood that now. “Thank you for telling me.”
He raised his gaze to hers. “Are you going to dig her up like the others?”
Jo froze.
“Erm, I don’t know. Probably, yes. I’d like to see she has a proper burial.”
“She had a proper burial. I made sure of that. She was happy there. She loved that spot.”
Jo chose her next words carefully. “Is it as beautiful as the clearing in Bisley Woods?”
He smiled. The smile of a man who answered to a higher power.
“Prettier, if that’s possible. Although Bisley has the healing fountain. They used to baptise children with the water from that fountain. It felt like a sacred place.”
“It is,” Jo glanced past him at the camera behind his head. “The vicar said as much at the vigil. Were you there?”
He nodded. “Of course, I was there. I had to pay my respects to my little angels. Such tortured souls, just like Rachel.”
“Is that why you killed them, Paul? Because you couldn’t save them?”
He nodded. “I tried, but there was nothing else I could do. I couldn’t let them suffer anymore.”
“Did they fall asleep? Just like Rachel?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “They didn’t suffer.”
“Do you remember their names?” she said. “So, we can give them a proper burial.”
He nodded. Jo glanced at Jenny who slid a blank piece of paper and a pen across the table. “Would you write them down for us? I don’t want to get them wrong.”
Her heartbeat frantically in her chest as she watched him write down the names of the seven murdered girls, including the unidentified one. Stacy Bancroft, her name was.
55
Rob stood beside Jo at the gravesite. It was cold up here in Manchester, but that didn’t matter. Nobody was focusing on the weather.
The pastor said a few words, and they watched as Rachel’s body was laid to rest.
Jo held his hand, while her mother, a wide-eyed vacant woman, stood silently beside them.
Paul Daley had been charged with eight counts of murder. There were probably more, but they’d never know for sure. The case was now closed.
Chief Superintendent Lawrence had retired. He’d walked out to raucous applause. The squad room had been packed with well-wishers. During his speech, there hadn’t been a dry eye in the house.
Before he’d left, Lawrence had recommended Mallory for the Woking post. Last order of business. It turned out they needed a DI. Rob would miss him, but it was well deserved.
They threw flowers onto the coffin. Wildflowers, her favourite.
Then she was covered up, to rest in peace. Finally.
They’d chosen a pretty spot for the burial. It was close to the woods that she’d loved. Where she’d chosen to die. Jo had seen to that.
Jo was currently on suspension. Pearson hadn’t given her leave, as it turned out. A small point she’d neglected to tell him. Jo had walked out after a row. Pearson would take her back, of course. There were extenuating circumstances. He hadn’t realised her sister was a victim of the notorious child killer.
She’d forfeited her promotion, though.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jo told Rob, smiling. “I’m not sure I want it anyway.”
“Why not?”
“I think I need a bit of a break. I thought I might take some time off.”
He’d left it at that.
The burial was over. The few friends and family members who’d come to pay their respects were going back to the hotel for canapes.
“Ready?” he asked her.
<
br /> She smiled. “Yes, let’s go.”
Together they walked towards the hire car. It was parked under a bushy magnolia tree, enveloping them in its sweet fragrance.
Jo turned to him. “Rob, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say, and now seems like the right time.”
He met her clear, uncomplicated gaze. “What is it?”
A smile played on her lips. A gust of wind lifted her hair off her forehead. He felt his chest swell.
He loved her too. He knew it now, but he couldn’t say it. Not first.
She looked into his eyes, and said, “I’m pregnant.”
What’s Next for DCI Rob Miller?
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Acknowledgments
Many people helped make this book possible. To my editor and proofreader, a huge thank you. Also, to my beta readers and advanced readers, your loyalty and feedback is much appreciated.
A special thank you goes to ex-Scotland Yard detective, Steve Gaskin, and his team at The Crime Lab for their fantastic True Crime webinars and to Steve, for fact-checking the manuscript for me.
I’d also like to thank my family who have to live with me – and the serial killers in my head – while I’m writing.
About the Author
BL Pearce is a British crime writer and author of the DCI Rob Miller series.
B.L. Pearce grew up in post-apartheid South Africa. As a child, she lived on the wild east coast and explored the sub-tropical forests and surfed in shark-infested waters. She attended university at Cape Town during the protests and on more than one occasion rode through burning tyres and riots in order to get to lectures. She was also present at Nelson Mandela's inauguration. She moved to London with her family after gaining a post-graduate degree in Business Science, but South Africa has left an indelible mark. The poverty and desperation, the crime and corruption, as well as the exquisite natural beauty and awe-inspiring wildlife, will always be a part of her.
Visit her at www.blpearce.com.
