by Tana Collins
‘Yes.’
The nervous girl in front of him hung her head for a few moments. She now looked embarrassed. He was desperate for her to get to the point but knew they had to be gentle with her or she would just clam up and change her mind about talking to them. Clearly what she was about to tell them was important. It was also making her very nervous.
‘Are you’re saying your alibi was false? You lied for him?’
Annie McLeod nodded. ‘He asked me to lie. I thought he was with another girl at the time Rachel Abbie got killed, so I didn’t think he had anything to do with her horrible murder, but I found out this girl, Mary-Lou, the one I thought he was with, was in a lecture. I only know this because one of my friends was in the same lecture as her and mentioned her.’
‘What’s this student’s name? The one you thought Davey was with?’
‘Mary-Lou Gettier. She’s American. The thing is – Davey is obsessed with her. Hero worships her.’
An important question popped into Carruthers’ mind. ‘Are you sure she’s American? Could she be Canadian?’
‘What?’ Annie McLeod seemed to ponder the question for a few moments. ‘Oh yeah, that’s right. She’s Canadian. Think she’s on some sort of exchange programme or something.’
Carruthers was starting to feel some important strands of the case were beginning to fall into place. Mary-Lou Gettier being one of them. He started to wonder if Davey Munroe and Mary-Lou Gettier had known each other back in Canada. What was the betting that they had studied at the same Canadian university? They needed to bring her in.
‘Do you know what she’s studying? Mary-Lou Gettier?’
‘Oh, um, some weird subject. I don’t know. Zoology or anthropology or something.’
We’ll find out, thought Carruthers.
‘So just to confirm, are you saying that you supplied Davey Munroe with a false alibi?’ McTavish’s voice was curt. As well it might be. ‘This is very serious, Annie.’
‘Yes, I suppose I did.’
Carruthers jumped in. ‘Did it not occur to you that if he had been with this other woman, like he said he was, he could have asked her for an alibi?’
‘Like I said, Davey asked me to say I was with him. I wanted him back.’
‘And were you with him when Sarah Torr was murdered?’
Annie shook her head.
Carruthers looked at the young woman in front of him who was so desperate to be loved that she would do anything, even lie. He exchanged a look with McTavish. This revelation catapulted Davey to the position of being most likely candidate to have murdered the two women. After all, what possible other reason did he have for asking Annie to give him a false alibi? And with Mairi’s revelation about his suspect application and the assault on campus back in Canada… the man was clearly manipulative and cunning. Annie McLeod must be utterly infatuated with Davey Munroe to give him a false alibi when she already thought he was with another woman. That in itself smacked of utter desperation.
‘I know what I did was wrong. I only did it because I love him. Please tell me I’m not in too much trouble? My parents will kill me.’
Carruthers considered this for a moment. Annie McLeod was in a hell of a lot of trouble if Davey was the murderer. If he was and she had told the truth earlier, there was a distinct possibility that the murder of Sarah Torr could have been prevented. If Davey Munroe had murdered Sarah Torr, Annie would come to understand the consequences of her lie and she would have to live with that for the rest of her life.
Neither Carruthers nor McTavish answered her question. She’d lied to the police investigating a series of brutal attacks and murders. Giving a false alibi often carries a prison sentence.
Annie started talking again, desperate to fill the silence. ‘Since he’s come under her influence he’s changed. And you know what really freaks me out about this Canadian girl?’
‘Mary-Lou,’ interjected Carruthers.
‘Yes, Mary-Lou. She looks just like Ayn Rand. The Russian émigré that started the Objectivist movement. She’s the spitting image. Don’t you think that’s freaky? I don’t like the hold she’s got over him.’
Carruthers wondered if this Mary-Lou was the mastermind behind the crimes. They needed to bring her into the police station.
‘He’s completely obsessed with a dead woman. And a woman who is alive who looks like a dead woman.’ She wrinkled her nose in disdain.
‘I don’t want to think this, because I loved him, but do you think he could have anything to do with the killings? Anyway, to be honest, I’m starting to wonder what I ever saw in him now. He was messy, annoying, everything had to be about him and the way he wanted it. It was like my feelings didn’t matter. And then, if all that wasn’t bad enough, I found out he’s been sleeping with the temp in the philosophy department. Apparently, she calls him Dave. I once tried to call him Dave and he bit my head off. What is it about her? I guess you could say that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I suddenly realised what a mug I’d been.’
Well, if Davey is a true Objectivist, other people’s feelings don’t matter, thought Carruthers.
McTavish stood up. She’d heard enough. Carruthers followed suit. It was time to bring Davey Munroe into the station.
Chapter 30
Carruthers punched in Fletcher’s number. ‘Andie, I need you back at the station. We’re going to pick up Davey Munroe. His girlfriend, Annie McLeod, has just paid us a visit. She lied in her interview. He has no alibi for when Rachel Abbie or Sarah Torr were murdered. This could be our man.’
He could hear the intake of breath on the line. Fletcher was ambitious. He knew she’d want to be in. ‘Jim, why don’t I meet you at Strathburn Halls. It’ll be quicker. I’ll jump in my car now.’
‘Okay. See you soon.’ Carruthers finished the call. Something was playing on his mind. It was something Mairi had said about what she’d found out about Ayn Rand. Hadn’t she said that the woman had admired a serial killer? He remembered that she hadn’t had a chance to tell him the details because her doorbell had rung. Didn’t she say he could find out himself if he googled Ayn Rand and Objectivism?
He glanced at his watch. It would take him five minutes to get across town to Strathburn Halls. It would take Andie twenty. He had fifteen minutes to play with. Following his instinct that what his ex-wife had said had been important, he booted his computer up and started googling. Within five minutes he’d found the link between Ayn Rand and an American serial killer. This was just too weird. With heart thumping he phoned Fletcher back.
She picked up on the hands-free. ‘I’m five minutes away, Jim.’
‘You’re not going to believe what I’ve found out.’
‘Try me.’
‘Ayn Rand admired an American serial killer named William Edward Hickman.’ As he said this, Carruthers felt his heart grow colder than Lake Ontario.
‘Keep going,’ urged Fletcher.
‘In 1927 Hickman murdered a twelve-year-old girl called Marion Parker. Not just murdered, but dismembered. It shocked the nation at the time. When I first started reading about Hickman it looked like the girl was the only person he’d killed, but it appears, when he was arrested, he admitted to a couple of other murders. The murder of Marion Parker became so notorious though, that it’s the only one that really gets a mention when you google him.’
‘So, what’s the connection between the murder and this woman, Ayn Rand?’
‘Rand’s early notebooks were full of praise for Hickman. It’s even said that she modelled her first literary creation, Danny Renahan, the protagonist of her unfinished first novel, The Little Street – on him.’
‘Christ.’
‘There’s more. Hickman was a sociopath. And that’s what Ayn Rand admired about him, apparently. But it’s the way in which the girl died that is important. When interviewed by police Hickman said that he had killed Marion by strangling her with a towel.’
Fletcher was silent, taking all this new information on b
oard.
‘Andie, are you still there?’
‘Yes, I’m here. Carry on.’
‘Hickman had knotted the towel around her throat and pulled it tightly for two minutes before she became unconscious. Once Marion was out, Hickman took his pocket knife and cut a hole in her throat to draw blood. He then took her to the bathtub and drained her body of blood. And that’s just the start. I’m not wanting to tell you the rest. If you want to know the gruesome details you can read them for yourself.’
Carruthers’ mind was racing. Davey Munroe had no alibi for when either Rachel Abbie or Sarah Torr had been murdered. He was by all accounts obsessed with a dead woman who herself had been in awe of a serial killer. Carruthers was now convinced Davey Munroe had lied to get on the exchange programme. The question was, why? He had no doubt that Munroe was the murderer. He just had to set about proving it. And he had the very strong feeling that the roots of the murders lay in Munroe’s childhood back in Canada.
‘Okay, just leaving. It’s him, Andie. I’m pretty sure Davey Munroe’s our man. I also want us to pick up a student called Mary-Lou Gettier.’
Within twenty minutes Carruthers and Fletcher were standing at the front door of Davey Munroe’s accommodation. Fletcher was struggling to get into the stab proof vest. Carruthers was already wearing his, as were the several police officers standing behind them. Carruthers rang the students’ bell and waited.
Fletcher kept her voice low. ‘How did you find out the stuff about Davey Munroe?’
‘It was Mairi who put me on to it. She found out Davey Munroe falsified his application to get onto the exchange programme here. She was in a bit of a state.’
Fletcher looked at him, alarmed. ‘Why here, though? I mean, why would he want to come to Scotland? Are you worried about Mairi, Jim?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I think her boyfriend was going round. In fact, the doorbell rang when I was on the phone to her.’
Carruthers rang the bell again and this time kept his finger down on the bell for several seconds.
‘How do you feel about the fact she has a boyfriend?’
Carruthers hadn’t had time to think about how he really felt so all he said was, ‘It was bound to happen.’
An exhausted-looking Will Smith opened the front door. His eyes widened when he saw the line of police officers. ‘What’s going on?’
Carruthers kept his voice calm. ‘We need to speak with your housemate, Davey Munroe. It’s urgent.’
‘He’s not here. He’s staying over with Annie McLeod tonight.’
But he isn’t, thought Carruthers. He’s not with her and he’s lied to his housemates.
Carruthers and Fletcher pushed passed Will. ‘We need to take a look at his room. Can you show us which one it is, please?’
‘Sure, okay. What’s going on?’ He led the line of police officers through the hall. He stopped outside the third room on the left. ‘This is it.’
Carruthers tried the door. It was locked. He gave the nod to the uniformed officer behind him. The officer took a step back and shoulder charged the room. The lock splintered. He shouted an instruction for the two officers to start a systematic search of the rest of the accommodation, and he and Fletcher walked into the boy’s bedroom.
The room was tidy. Almost too tidy to be the bedroom of a student. Carruthers went over to the small writing desk in the far corner whilst Fletcher rummaged through the drawers of his bedside table.
Carruthers picked up a pad of paper that was on Davey Munroe’s desk. The top page had been torn off. There were faint indentations on the next sheet.
‘Have you got a pencil, Andie?’
‘I may carry a lot of things in my handbag but a pencil isn’t one of them.’
Carruthers searched the desk and discovered a pencil in a drawer. He picked it up and held it at an angle while he shaded the page. He held the pad up to the light. It revealed an address. A familiar address in Ceres. He gripped the scrap of paper tightly. It was Mairi’s home address.
‘Shit.’
Fletcher crossed the room and Carruthers handed the pad to her. His mind was racing and he was starting to feel sick.
Why on earth would Davey Munroe have Mairi’s home address? Could it have been Davey Munroe who had left the rose on Mairi’s bed? No, it didn’t make sense. Why would he? Perhaps he had the address for an altogether more sinister reason.
He whipped his mobile out. ‘I need to phone Mairi.’ With sweating hands, he made the call. It just went straight to voicemail. He cursed again. And yet he knew she would be at home. Hadn’t she said that she was waiting for a visitor? Then again, if it were a visitor of the opposite sex, would she be answering her mobile to Carruthers? Perhaps she was in bed with him.
But a nagging thought pushed into the detective’s mind. What if the guest at the front door hadn’t been her boyfriend? What if it had been Davey Munroe? Hadn’t she said her visitor had been early? Oh God.
With increasingly shaky hands he phoned the station. ‘I want you to dispatch a unit to an address in School Hill in Ceres.’
He heard Willie Brown’s voice on the other end. ‘Hang on. Did you say School Hill in Ceres? We’ve just had a call come through from a Mr Malcolm Duggan. He was ringing about his neighbour, Mairi Beattie. I can’t get a unit dispatched at the moment, Jim. We’ve got two men down with that stomach bug and there’s been a major incident in Glenrothes.’
‘Jesus. Okay. I’ll go myself. Just get a unit sent out as soon as possible.’ He turned to Fletcher. ‘I need to leave. I want you and the officers to search Davey Munroe’s room thoroughly. And I mean thoroughly. Leave no stone unturned. I’ll be on the mobile if you find anything.’
Fletcher grasped his arm. ‘You need to wait for back-up, Jim. It might be dangerous. You know the procedure.’
He shrugged her off. ‘No time.’ And with that he was gone.
Chapter 31
Mairi Beattie saw the knife glinting in Davey Munroe’s hand. Paralysed with fear, she could do nothing but just sit where she had fallen, rooted to the ground. Her breaths were coming fast and shallow. Just as she was about to speak there was a knock at the door. She tried to get up.
‘Leave it,’ Davey Munroe hissed.
He covered the ground between him and Mairi, and before she knew it, he had pulled her to her feet and unceremoniously pushed her into the shadows and was standing behind her with the cold knife against her face.
There was a noise as the letterbox was lifted and a pair of eyes and bushy eyebrows peered through. ‘Mairi, hen, it’s Malcolm Duggan from next door. Are you okay?’
‘Tell him you’re okay or I’ll cut you, just like I cut the others,’ he hissed.
She felt the coldness of the blade against her skin. ‘Malcolm, I’m okay, thanks.’ Her voice sounded shaky even to her own ears. She hoped it would be enough to concern Malcolm and for him to raise the alarm.
‘Are you on your own, Mairi?’
She felt the knife digging in a bit more. ‘No, I have a visitor with me.’
Munroe hissed in her ear. ‘Tell him you’re fine and make it convincing. We need to get rid of him.’
‘We, er, can’t get to the door right now, Malcolm.’
‘If you’re sure you’re okay, hen. I don’t want to disturb you. Just want to make sure you’re all right.’
With a sinking heart Mairi responded. ‘I’m fine, Malcolm. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Davey tightened his grip on the knife. ‘Convince him.’
‘Go back inside. You’ll catch a chill,’ was all she could think to say. She heard the letterbox clatter as it was dropped.
Malcolm’s footsteps retreated as he walked back up her garden path towards his own home – and Mairi’s heart sank.
‘You did very well, Mairi, if I can call you that. Quite the actress.’ He was still holding the knife to her face. Mairi shivered as she realised this was probably the same knife used to kill those other women. She was so close to him
she could the smell the fresh sweat on him. She wrinkled her nose, wondering if he was getting off on her fear. She was determined to show none.
‘The one regret I had about killing those other women was it was over far too quickly. Being in someone’s house is much better. We can take our time to get to know each other. That’s the problem with students. Very few of them live on their own.’ He laughed. ‘I should have gone after pretty lecturers instead.’ He grasped a lock of her black hair and wound it around his finger.
Utterly terrified, Mairi knew enough about psychology to now know she was most probably alone with a psychopathic serial killer. She just hoped Malcolm would raise the alarm and the police would get to her in time.
‘How could you murder those women? What had they ever done to you?’ Mairi knew that if she kept him talking long enough the police had a greater chance of arriving before she became the next victim. She also knew from the little Jim had told her about serial killers when they had been married, that once they started talking about their killings they often wanted to talk in great detail.
Fletcher bent on her hands and knees and searched under Davey Munroe’s bed. Nothing. She stood up and stripped the bed as she made a methodical search under the pillow and in the duvet. She glanced at Watson, who was riffling through the chest of drawers in the student’s room.
‘Nothing here, Andie,’ Watson shouted over.
‘Keep looking. The answer’s in this room. I just know it is.’ Fletcher straightened up, putting her hands on her hips. She flexed her neck, which crunched. Time to get another massage, she thought absentmindedly. She walked over to the bookcase and started taking each book out in turn, flicking through the pages and replacing the books on the shelves. Gayle Watson was going through Davey Munroe’s wicker washing basket, picking up dirty boxer shorts and putting her hands in smelly socks. Rather her than me, thought Fletcher.