by Tana Collins
Carruthers knew that Fletcher could be like a dog with a bone once an idea sprung into her mind. He wondered what Sandra McTavish thought of forensic hypnosis. It wasn’t a subject they’d had cause to discuss. ‘It’s purely conjecture on your part though, Andie, that Serena isn’t telling us the whole truth. I’m not sure that’s the impression I got from talking with her.’
Fletcher frowned. ‘Really? Like I said, I thought it was pretty obvious she wasn’t telling us everything.’
Carruthers could just imagine how the comments about bringing a hypnotist in would be greeted by the old school brigade like Dougie Harris or Willie Brown. Fletcher’s mobile rang. She fished it out of her bag and answered it.
She mouthed the words, ‘North Yorkshire Police’ to Carruthers. He listened to the one-sided conversation. A few moments later she finished the call. ‘Did you get most of that? Nobody at home. They’ve spoken to the neighbours. There’s only a Mr Abbie. Mrs Abbie died a few years ago. Car accident. Apparently, Mr Abbie’s on holiday and nobody knows how to reach him.’
Carruthers frowned. ‘Oh God. Not another one. Haven’t they heard of social media?’
‘Well, it’s not helped us locate Serena’s parents.’
‘True, but then it’s unlikely Mr Abbie’s trekking anywhere as remote as Borneo.’
Fletcher grinned. ‘Apparently, he’s only gone to the Borders. The local police are on to it. They’re finding out if he’s on Facebook or Twitter. It’s just going to take a bit longer than we would have liked, that’s all. I did discover one interesting thing, though.’
Carruthers looked up.
‘They’re not short of a bob or two. Mr Abbie and his daughter. Their house is a three-hundred-year-old mansion.’
Carruthers whistled.
‘What now?’
Carruthers climbed into the driver’s seat. Fletcher jumped into the passenger side.
‘I’m going to head off for the PM after dropping you at the station.’ Carruthers shut his door as he spoke. Fletcher followed suit.
Fletcher snapped her seatbelt on. ‘Sounds good. I’ll pick up Harris or Watson and pay the halls of residence a visit. And I’ll set up a meeting with your – with Mairi Beattie, I mean.’
Starting the engine, Carruthers said, ‘Take Gayle with you to the halls. And keep an eye on Dougie. He’s meant to be pulling the files on any recent slashings and strangulations Scotland has had, but his mind’s clearly elsewhere.’
‘How’s his wife, do you know?’
‘Not great.’ Carruthers took the handbrake off and he started to manoeuvre out of the hospital car park. He glanced at Fletcher. ‘I think Dougie’s going to have to get more help in for her. He can’t manage it all himself.’
‘I never thought I would say this, but poor Dougie.’
Carruthers joined the short queue to exit the car park. ‘I think he’s surprised us all, hasn’t he?’
‘Do we actually know what’s wrong with his wife?’
‘She’s never been in the best of health but I believe she’s just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.’
Chapter 6
Fletcher drove herself and Gayle Watson in her green Beetle over to Strathburn Halls. It was situated close to the cathedral by the outer walls of the town. The wind had increased in intensity and Fletcher wondered if the weather had started to affect the local transport links after all. She was glad of her Beetle. When she’d been a student here, she hadn’t had a car. Some of the weather she’d had to walk into and from her department had been atrocious. They parked in the student car park, Fletcher locked up, and they started walking towards the building. Fletcher’s hands were numb.
‘It’s only five degrees today,’ said Watson by way of conversation. ‘It still feels like winter.’
Fletcher rubbed her hands together once more, thinking of the summers she’d spent down near Rye. ‘Doesn’t surprise me. It’s bloody freezing. And I’ve already had Jim telling me about Scandinavian winds wreaking havoc in Scotland in springtime. Not hard to believe when you’ve spent some time up here. And there was me not that many years ago sunbathing topless down in Rye this time of year.’
‘Topless?’ Watson reddened.
‘Ha. Thought that would get your attention.’ Fletcher laughed. Their work relationship had developed into good-natured ribbing. ‘Okay, so I exaggerated. I was wearing a bikini. But I used to love visiting Camber Sands. I really miss it. I remember, as a kid, going for donkey rides.’
‘Poor donkeys.’
Fletcher gave Watson a good-natured slap on her arm. ‘Oy, I’m not that heavy.’ But even so, Fletcher felt uncomfortable with the comment. She was acutely aware she hadn’t lost the extra weight she’d carried when she was pregnant.
She fished the piece of paper with the address on it out of her pocket. ‘This is it.’ She knocked on the door. The sound of footsteps greeted them and Fletcher could hear a deep male voice coming from behind the door which was swept open by a lad of about eighteen. He had a chiselled face and fine floppy brown hair. Fletcher thought he looked like a first world war poet. ‘Rach, how many times are you going to forget your key in one term? Oh,’ he said, frowning on seeing the police officers. ‘Sorry. I thought you were our housemate, Rachel.’
Fletcher brought out her ID, noting the English accent. No local dialect. Well-to-do. Public school educated, she thought. Not surprising in a place like Castletown. Watson followed suit with her ID. ‘Can we come in, please,’ said Fletcher. ‘I slipped a note through the letterbox. Did you get it?’ As the boy shut the door Fletcher noticed a pile of unopened post and flyers behind it. She wondered if they were still taking their washing back to mum.
‘Sorry, no.’ The boy reddened, then ushered them through the narrow hall into a small living area. A dark-haired girl and a boy were sitting on the couch. The girl was on the boy’s knee. She leapt off and sat next to him when she saw they had visitors. Fletcher noted how she hurriedly readjusted her top.
‘Is everything okay?’ said the boy on the couch. Fletcher thought she could detect an American accent. The university was known to have its fair share of American and Canadian students. She looked at his freckled skin and mop of curly reddish-brown hair. Cute, she thought. If she had been at least fifteen years younger and still a student she wouldn’t have minded being on the couch with him. Not sure she’d be sitting on his knee though. She wasn’t the type.
‘Can you tell me who lives here?’ asked Watson.
The boy on the couch jumped up. ‘I’m Davey Munroe, this is Annie McLeod, my girlfriend, although she doesn’t live here.’
‘I’m Will Smith,’ said the floppy-haired boy who had opened the front door to them, ‘and our other housemates are Ruth Skipsey and Rachel Abbie. They’re both out at the moment. Oh, and Sarah Torr is in her bedroom.’
‘Do you know where Rachel is?’ asked Fletcher. As she spoke, a young woman entered the room. Sarah Torr, she supposed. She noticed the girl’s hair was as dark as a raven’s wing and she had an expressive, round-shaped face.
‘She should be back by now,’ said the girl who had previously had her arms wrapped round the cute, red-headed boy.
‘She’s gone to get a library book,’ said the boy, Will, who had opened the door to them. ‘I think Ruth’s also at the library.’
Fletcher tensed. Again, that connection with the library. Likely both students had been walking back from the library when they’d been attacked. She fished in her handbag for her black notebook and a pen. ‘What does she study?’ Once more, she was thinking of the David Hume book in the dead student’s bag, wondered if that had been the library book she’d been after.
‘Logic and Metaphysics,’ said Will.
‘That’s a branch of philosophy, isn’t it?’ said Fletcher. It sounded to her like they had their person.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Davey Munroe. ‘Rach and me – we’re in the same department. So is Sarah Torr.’
‘Do you know what b
ook Rachel wanted from the library?’
‘A book on David Hume. A Treatise on Human Nature, I think she said.’
Bingo.
‘Did they go to the library together? Rachel and Ruth?’
Will looked confused. ‘No, separately. Ruth left first but she had her parents with her. They’re up for a visit.’
A Treatise on Human Nature. The book that had been found with the body, Fletcher thought. But where was the girl’s student ID? Would she not need that in order to take the book out of the library? Fletcher’s mind was powering ahead. Her ID was missing. Perhaps she had dropped it or left it at the library. She addressed her next question to Will. ‘And would she be getting it from the central library or the departmental library, do you know?’
Will shrugged. ‘S’pose departmental library but I don’t know for sure.’
Two girls both attacked after leaving a library. And both blonde. Had they both used the same library? They needed to find out. From talking to Serena, they knew that she had used the central library rather than her departmental one. Coincidence, or had both girls been followed by someone who had been in the library at the same time? Had it been a random attack? Or had these particular girls been targeted? Something to mention to Carruthers.
‘How old is Rachel?’
‘Nineteen,’ said Will.
Similar age to Serena Davis.
‘Have you got a photograph of her, please?’ said Watson.
‘I’ve got those passport photos we had done,’ said Sarah, jumping up, smoothing her dress out. ‘We were just mucking about.’
‘If you could fetch them that would be great,’ said Watson.
Sarah left the room with a worried look on her face.
Will suddenly leapt into action. He pulled his mobile out of his back pocket. ‘I’m going to ring her. I’m sure she’s not far away.’ The silence was broken by the eerie sound of a muffled phone ringing in another room.
‘She’s always leaving something behind is Rach. Keys, mobile. I’ve never known anyone so scatty.’ Will was unusually cheerful, thought Fletcher, but he’s obviously worried. Two red spots had appeared on his cheeks.
He brushed his hair out of his boyish face. ‘She is okay, isn’t she? I mean, nothing bad has happened?’
‘Just routine enquiries at the moment.’ Fletcher tried to sound brighter than she felt as she thought how that saying covered a multitude of sins. She exchanged a look with Watson.
‘Is Rachel your girlfriend?’ asked Watson.
Will nodded. He walked across to the coffee table and bent over to reach into a black rucksack. He brought out an address book.
Fletcher raised her eyebrows that a young man that age would still use an address book.
‘How would Rachel normally get to the department from here?’ asked Watson.
Will looked confused. ‘She takes a short cut through Greyfriar’s Wynd.’
‘And would she use that short cut for the central library too?’
Will nodded.
Fletcher studied the students’ facial expressions. Will looked like he might burst into tears. Of course, they would know about the previous attack on Serena Davis. It had been all over the news. Fletcher thought about the location of the first attack: Marshall Place. Serena Davis had been attacked less than ten minutes’ walk away from Rachel Abbie. But Castletown wasn’t a big place; everything being compact within its medieval walls. Most places were within walking distance until you got to the more recently built sprawling outskirts.
Will hesitated, then delved further into the rucksack, bringing out a pen and a spiral notebook. He tore a page out.
‘What’s going on? Why can’t you tell us what’s happened to Rach?’ asked Davey.
Fletcher felt for these kids. Part of her wanted to say more, especially to Will, the boyfriend, but until there had been a formal ID of the body by next of kin her hands were tied. She thought back to the two male students who had found the body. They had been asked to keep the information of their discovery to themselves for the sake of the family, who had yet to be notified, but Fletcher was all too aware of how news like this had a way of getting out.
They needed, as a matter of urgency, to trace Rachel Abbie’s father. However, if the local police couldn’t get hold of him, and as unlikely as it sounded, if there literally were no other next of kin, it may well be that they would have to ask one of her housemates to ID the poor girl’s body.
Being her boyfriend, Will would be the most likely candidate, but it wouldn’t be Fletcher’s decision to make. And it would be a tough call. Outside of family it would usually be the person closest to the deceased, but of course it was an emotional ordeal for anyone, and not everyone was willing to do it. If Will didn’t want to do it they would have to turn to the girl’s supervisor… Mairi Beattie. But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Fletcher’s mind turned to the forthcoming post-mortem. She wondered what the cause of death would uncover. On the face of it, it looked like strangulation, but sometimes PMs yielded surprising results.
Still smarting at how uncharacteristically undiplomatic she’d been at the hospital with Serena Davis she chose her words with care. ‘We’re trying to get in touch with Rachel’s family at the moment. Does anyone know if they’re currently away?’
Will leafed through his address book until he found what he wanted and then wrote something down and handed it to Fletcher.
‘Here’s her father’s address and their home phone number. Her mother died a few years ago.’
Of course, he wouldn’t know that someone from the local constabulary had already been round to the address. He may not know where Rachel’s father currently was but it was certainly worth asking. Fletcher glanced at the sheet but then her eyes widened. It wasn’t the same address as the one she’d been given from the secretary of the philosophy department. That had been an address in Nidderdale, North Yorkshire. This was an address in Ashington, Northumberland.
Fletcher frowned, confused. ‘Has Rachel changed home address recently?’ It was all she could think of at the moment. And that would make sense as to why the departmental address differed from the one she’d given her housemates.
Will shook his head. ‘No. Why? I remember Rachel telling me they were living at her current address when her mum died in that car crash.’
Strange, thought Fletcher. ‘Have any of you ever been to her father’s house?’ Although she addressed this to all of them, she was looking at Will.
Will ran his hands through his long, floppy hair. ‘Not yet. We keep meaning to go but then something crops up and we end up having to cancel. I’ve met her dad when he dropped her off here at the start of the term though.’
Fletcher wasn’t sure how this discrepancy had occurred but best to get the local police to send someone to this second address right away. The quicker they did that the better. Perhaps they’d have more luck with this new address. ‘Have you ever heard Rachel talk of an address in Nidderdale?’
Fletcher looked round at the students as she said this. All she was greeted with were confused looks and a collective shaking of heads. The local police had spoken to the neighbours of the address in Nidderdale. Rachel’s father was known to them, as was Rachel. She had been described as a quiet girl. If the Nidderdale property was where they actually lived what would they find at this other property? Or perhaps the family were wealthy enough to have two homes. It wasn’t unusual. But two so close together? It didn’t seem very likely.
‘Does Rachel have a large family?’ Fletcher addressed her question to Will.
Will shook his head. ‘Not as far as I know. It’s just her and her father now. Like I said, her mother died a few years ago.’
‘No siblings?’
‘She’s an only child.’
How devastating for Rachel’s father, thought Fletcher, to lose his one child. He’s still probably trying to get over his wife’s death. And now this. How would he recover? Fletcher was thinking of her own road to reco
very after her miscarriage. Losing the baby had left a huge hole in her life that she just couldn’t seem to fill. She couldn’t imagine how Mr Abbie would pick up the pieces.
How could she ask about the whereabouts of Rachel’s father without sounding alarmist? She took a deep breath, knowing she had to push on.
‘Rachel didn’t say what her dad is up to in the next few days, did she?’
‘No,’ said Will. ‘Don’t think so. You think something’s happened to Rachel, don’t you? Do you know where she is? Has she been attacked… like that other girl?’ said Will. ‘The one in hospital?’
‘You mean Serena Davis?’
Will nodded. Ignoring the question, Fletcher said, ‘Do any of you know the girl who got attacked?’
Davey was the only one of the students to answer the question. ‘No,’ was all he said, but it was emphatic. Fletcher noticed Will give him a sharp look. She wondered what it meant. There were mumbles and shakes of the head between the students. But she felt a new tension in the air. She wasn’t convinced that they were being honest. First Serena, now Rachel’s housemates. What did it mean?
Did they know Serena Davis and if so, what was the connection between the six of them? She made a mental note that at some point she would most probably have to interview Ruth Skipsey. Turning to Will she said, ‘Do you normally carry your address book around with you? I’m just surprised. I thought everything was done on the phone nowadays?’