The Secret Admirer: An absolutely gripping crime thriller (Detective Natalie Ward Book 6)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘There’s always the satnav. The techies might be able to pull data from it even if it hasn’t been programmed with a destination. Satnavs are like having a tracking device in your car.’

  ‘David’s car’s pretty old. I doubt the system is sophisticated enough for that.’

  ‘Course it will be. Come on, Natalie, it’s not like you to get wound up like this. You’ve had frustrating dry days before on other investigations but you keep plugging away until eventually something comes to light.’

  ‘It isn’t happening this time, and I don’t know where to look next. I’m not feeling my way through the case like I usually do. What the fuck’s wrong with me?’

  He spoke firmly. ‘This is because of what happened in August. You’re worried you’ll slip up, but you won’t.’

  ‘How can you be sure I won’t? Even that sodding journalist, Bev Gardner, questioned the fact I was heading the investigation so soon after my “tragic loss”. I understand it’s partly because of… the last investigation… and yes, I’m paranoid about ignoring what might be under my nose, even to the point of being anal about following up on every sodding detail, but I have little evidence to work with. I can’t point the finger at anyone. I have no witnesses, no suspects and no clues. I’m not making headway and it’s really starting to piss me off.’

  Mike’s phone buzzed and he answered it with a series of affirmations, then placing his hand over the receiver, he said, ‘We’ve identified some of the DNA on Fran’s clothes and body. There are matches to all of her housemates and Rhiannon.’ Natalie had ensured all the students had given DNA samples, including those who lived with Rhiannon. It was a start.

  ‘Okay, thanks, Darshan. I’ll be ten minutes.’ Mike ended the call.

  ‘Was there any other DNA?’

  ‘Yes, three lots – one came from that homeless guy, Evan, whose blankets she was under. I assume it was transferred from them. The other two don’t match any we have on record.’

  ‘We sent a sample of David’s DNA across to the lab. Can you prioritise it for me? The sooner I can eliminate him, the quicker I can get on with looking for the person responsible.’

  ‘Then you do believe he’s innocent?’

  ‘Truthfully, I don’t know.’ A wind was getting up and whistled around the back of her knees. She needed to go back inside. Mike’s jaw moved slowly as he worked his gum. He didn’t move and neither did she. Did she think David was behind these deaths? He wasn’t a killer. The man she had loved wouldn’t murder or commit a barbaric acid attack, would he? Her gut gave her the answer, and if she was right and David wasn’t anything to do with this, she would have to work out who else might have killed Fran and Gemma.

  ‘Dinner,’ he said for the second time.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I was miles away.’

  ‘Dinner. Come around for dinner at the weekend. Saturday night. I’ll cook for you, and Josh if he wants to join us. Not seen him for a while and it would be nice to find out how he’s getting along.’ Mike had known the children since they were born. Being David’s best friend, he’d become part of the family long before he and Natalie had had their one-night stand back in 2016. Josh and Mike had always got along well. It might be a good idea.

  ‘It’s a date,’ she replied, distracted by the angry buzzing of her phone in her skirt pocket. She fumbled to withdraw it, and at the same time, Mike’s mobile rang.

  She frowned and held it to her ear, turning her head away from Mike in order that they could both hear more clearly. Lucy sounded distant even though she was only upstairs.

  ‘They’ve found a body on campus. It sounds like it might be Hattie.’

  ‘Three victims, four days,’ said Pinkney, then remarked, ‘That sounds like the title of a horror movie.’

  His weak attempt at light humour managed to counteract the sinking sensation in the pit of Natalie’s stomach. The afternoon had turned into evening and darkness had fallen quickly. Dan Tasker had arrived at the scene and was on the phone, presumably to the media office at the station in readiness for the inevitable onslaught. Three female students in their late teens and twenties, all dead. She could already imagine the headlines. He strode backwards and forwards outside the cordoned area, efficiency leaching from him, and although his face was unreadable, Natalie guessed that behind his super-composed exterior was a man preparing for battle. It would arrive soon enough in the form of journalists and television cameras and presenters, all mad eager to report about the recent spate of murders taking place at Samford University.

  She showed her pass to one of the officers standing close to the rear of what was called the Heraklion Centre – a drama studio that was now disused thanks to the more recently built, larger building that had been erected adjacent to the library, at the far end of campus. She ducked under the cordon and strode onwards. Pinkney followed her into a small concreted area enclosed by high panel fencing and accessed from the building by large double doors, or through the entrance she’d used – a shabby wooden gate. Floodlights had been erected and it was difficult to know what purpose the space served as it appeared to be a dumping ground for piles of broken plastic chairs, tatty stage props and decorated backdrops to sets.

  Natalie studied one of the panels, a hand-painted woodland scene filled with pine trees. Pine cones had tumbled to the fern-covered ground and a red squirrel was caught in mid-dash up a tree trunk, a cone in its mouth. She glanced at the section propped next to it, where a woodpecker was searching for insects in the bark of a tree, then as her gaze descended, she spotted a pair of boots protruding from the bottom of a long, dark green skirt with a lace trim. Hattie was on the ground behind a row of white metal lockers, the type found in schools, but with handles either side of them and on castors for easy manoeuvrability around a stage. She moved towards the body, taking in the green cardigan that had fallen open and the blouse half-tucked into the skirt band that gaped open above her navel, revealing white flesh. Natalie’s eyes grazed the multicoloured beaded bracelets on the woman’s wrists and the thin-strapped watch that had stopped at seven fifty; there was a fissure running across the glass on the watch. Her eyes moved to Hattie’s long, white throat and finally rested on the woman’s face, which in death looked peaceful, dark eyelashes sweeping onto the tops of her delicate cheeks. Her deep auburn hair had fallen loose around her head, and close to her right temple it was matted with a dark substance.

  Pinkney crouched down and attempted to lift one of the young woman’s hands. There was little to no movement. Full rigor had taken place. Hattie had probably been dead for over twenty-four hours. He checked her eyes and confirmed the optic fluid had dried and the irises had changed shape. He checked the skin on the exposed parts of her limbs, face, eyelids and her mouth, and examined the side of her skull, where her hair was thick with brown blood. ‘Cranial blunt force trauma,’ he said. ‘The skull cracked here.’

  Natalie focused on the depression close to the woman’s temple, where blood had congealed. It appeared as if she’d either fallen badly and hit her head, or been struck by a heavy object. One way suggested an accident, the other an act of violence, and right now, Natalie was convinced it was deliberate. She took a step backwards – allowing Pinkney to move about unimpeded by her presence – and moved outside, where she spotted Mike standing with Lucy and Murray on a grassy bank beside the road that traversed the campus. She made her way across to them. From where they stood, they had a clear view of the front of the drama studio, which resembled a large wooden cube; the only opening, a black door.

  Natalie joined them, mindful of the emergency services vehicles lining the road, their blue lights flashing brightly in the darkened sky. ‘She’s got a serious head injury which could be the cause of death. Mike, have you had a chance to look around in there?’

  ‘Not yet, although the photographer’s been in already. We’re waiting for Pinkney to finish and then we’ll move in.’

  Murray and Lucy went to look at the body and she remained
behind with Mike. An ambulance had arrived at the scene and forensic officers milled about in front of their vans awaiting instructions. This was a brief hiatus before the activity began.

  She kept her voice low. ‘Another victim, Mike! This is getting out of hand. People will believe there’s a crazed killer on the loose.’

  ‘If this was the work of a random killer, they’d have chosen victims from all parts of campus, not selected three girls from the same house. There’s something or someone connecting the victims.’

  His words echoed her own suspicions. She mentally chastised herself. She ought to be focusing her energy on finding more connections between the three young women, or at least investigating those they were already aware of more thoroughly. ‘There has to be. I have to establish what or who it is. You will run David’s DNA through as soon as possible, won’t you?’ It could take up to seventy-two hours to check DNA and she couldn’t wait that long.

  ‘I’ll sort it.’ He put a friendly hand on her shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. She responded with a grateful smile. ‘We’ll catch up later, right?’ he said.

  ‘Definitely.’ She turned away and headed back towards Dan, who stood alone beside the cordon, his face serious.

  He spoke quietly. ‘We’re advising the university to shut for the time being. I couldn’t keep a lid on this and I’ve had to mollify the press. I’m sorry but I had to give them something.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve told the media office to issue a statement that a male in his late forties is currently helping us with our enquiries.’

  ‘Currently? We let David go. You want me to question him again, this time about Hattie?’

  ‘I imagine that would be the natural course of action.’

  ‘I shall be questioning him as you’d expect, but we’ll be talking to other people as well – the other students who lived with the girls, and the girls’ friends and families. David will be one of several people interviewed.’

  Dan gave a sigh and adopted a patient tone as if explaining a difficult maths problem to a child. ‘The press likes things to be uncluttered. If they learn that “a person” is helping us with our enquiries, it sounds more promising than “several people are helping us”. People make assumptions – that we have found the guilty party – and it makes the public feel more reassured.’

  ‘You’re arguing semantics! Besides, I disagree. If the public think there’s only one person assisting us, it might indicate we are struggling to get leverage on this case.’

  Dan’s eyes glittered angrily. ‘I’d have thought you’d want to establish whether or not David knows the third victim.’

  ‘I do but I certainly don’t want the press to find out about it. What happens if it gets out who that “male in their late forties” you referred to is? According to your argument, they’ll assume David is responsible for the deaths. I’m not going to bring personal emotion into this but have you forgotten that his daughter – our daughter – was murdered only three months ago? Yes, he might be guilty of this crime, and if he is, make no mistake, I shall ensure he is brought to justice, but if his image is tarnished because assumptions are made, what will that do to him? And… where does that place me as head of this investigation?’

  ‘That will do! I’ve made this call to mitigate any panic. I’ve presented you and your team as well-organised and on top of this case. There is nothing further to discuss. It’s pointless to speculate as to whether or not David’s name will be leaked. Interview him and charge him or clear him once and for all, and if you do that, find who is responsible because once we no longer have any potential suspects, we run the risk of coming under scrutiny not only from the press and public, but also from the higher authorities. Cases like this are very high-profile.’

  She didn’t respond but allowed her silence to leave him in no doubt as to how she felt about the situation. She didn’t appreciate being pushed about, and no matter what she thought about David, if he was innocent, she wouldn’t allow his name to be dragged through the mud. She glanced at the gate, caught sight of Lucy beckoning her and excused herself to join her officer. Pinkney was on his knees, his case by his side. As she strode through the gate accompanied by Lucy, he turned his head towards her.

  ‘The head injury that crushed part of her skull was inflicted perimortem and is likely to be the cause of death. Livor mortis suggests she was lying in position elsewhere before she was brought here. I would put time of death at some point Saturday evening, any time between six and midnight, although there is a good chance she died at the time suggested by her stopped watch, at seven fifty. Anything further will have to wait until the post-mortem. Is that sufficient?’

  ‘It’s very helpful,’ Natalie replied. If Hattie had died at seven fifty, she couldn’t have driven her car to Samford Railway Station. She cast about for scuff marks indicating the body had been dragged to its resting spot but could see none. Forensics would be able to confirm whether or not Hattie had been carried in.

  ‘Unless I find any fragments embedded in the skull that might suggest what was used to strike her, I’m not going to be able to speculate. Having said that, I’ve not uncovered any obvious bruising to indicate she actually fell: given she has struck the right side of her head, I would also expect to see some injuries – grazing or bruising, or even minor cuts – elsewhere on that side of the body, commensurate with a fall. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any, only that I haven’t discovered any yet.’

  ‘Do you think she might have stumbled and hit her head?’

  ‘You need to be mindful of that possibility. I can’t do much more here. I’ll head back to the lab and wait for her there. While I’m at it, I’ll see if I can hurry along those toxicology reports for Fran Ditton.’

  ‘Thanks, Pinkney. I’ll talk to you later.’

  ‘You will. I doubt I’ll be returning home for some time, if at all tonight.’ He got to his feet with a little groan and rubbed his knees.

  ‘You okay?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Too much time in the saddle – bicycle not horse.’

  Lucy lifted an eyebrow. ‘Really? Since when?’

  ‘Since I decided to get into shape.’ He caught the look on Murray’s face. ‘Pooh-pooh all you like. I can take the ridicule.’

  ‘There’ll be none from me. Nothing wrong with looking after your health. Murray could do with dropping a few pounds himself. Maybe he should join you,’ said Lucy.

  Murray grimaced at the thought. ‘Might pass on that, thanks,’ he replied.

  ‘If you change your mind, you’d be welcome to join myself and a few fellow enthusiasts on a twenty-five-mile ride next Sunday.’

  Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Twenty-five miles! I’m impressed.’

  Pinkney smiled his thanks.

  ‘I’ll speak to you later, Natalie,’ he said again, reaching for his pathologist’s case.

  She returned a nod and gave Hattie one last look. Three dead young women, all students and all from the same house on Eastview Avenue; the latter was a fact that couldn’t be ignored.

  ‘I’ll head across to break the bad news to Hattie’s father. He might be able to shed some light on what’s going on although I’m not holding out much hope. He didn’t even know she’d disappeared,’ said Natalie to Murray.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Good. Let’s clear off and let Forensics get on with it.’

  They left the yard and stood outside. The late evening sky was a dark navy rather than black, lit by pinpricks of stars, and as she looked up the road that led through campus, Natalie could make out a variety of green-roofed buildings. According to the plan she’d seen of the site, they were part of the arts and design centre and also housed the students’ union, bar and cafeteria. Behind them stood tall, glass-fronted buildings, housing other humanities departments. Her attention was dragged back to the green roofs of the students’ union, and her thoughts turned to the night of Gemma’s attack. ‘Fran had a m
eeting on Friday night, didn’t she?’

  Lucy replied, ‘That’s right.’

  ‘It took place in the students’ union.’ It was more a statement than a question but Lucy responded all the same.

  ‘Her alibi checked out. She was definitely at the meeting. It took place in one of the rooms off the main social area. She went into the bar after that.’

  Natalie kept her focus on that area. It was a mere two-minute walk away from where she stood. Fran hadn’t been far from where Gemma had been attacked and could have slipped out for a while unnoticed. The bar was busy; she might have claimed to be going to the toilet – anything was possible. Fran, who shared a house with the other victims, had been on campus Friday evening, as had Lennox for that matter. He too had been only minutes away from the library. Now they had a second victim who’d been uncovered on university land. It was perplexing.

  Natalie shook her head. ‘Three young women, all students and all from the same house. This is no coincidence. This has to link to the house on Eastview Avenue.’

  Murray pointed out the facts. ‘But that suggests either Ryan or Lennox are responsible for their deaths. What possible motive could either of them have for killing the girls?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out.’

  ‘They’d have to be either pretty confident we wouldn’t catch them, or incredibly stupid to think they’d get away with it,’ scoffed Lucy. ‘Surely, they’d have realised they’d come under scrutiny?’

  ‘As you say, either supremely confident or incredibly dense,’ said Murray. ‘On the other hand, they might not be responsible for the deaths and it could be somebody else altogether, someone else who knew all the victims.’

  ‘What makes you say that, Murray?’ asked Natalie, curious to understand his reasoning.

  ‘Ryan is in the clear because he can account for his movements on both Friday evening, and Sunday, which only leaves Lennox who claims to have been in the lab. We can’t prove he was actually there when he said he was. Anybody could have swiped his pass for him or he could even have swiped it but not gone into the lab. If he attacked and killed them all, wouldn’t he have given himself a better alibi than that? It’s so wishy-washy it almost points at his involvement.’