"I was. I attended more of them in those days."
"Was she with anyone?"
"Inspector, I gave a statement to the original investigating officers. Can't you get hold of a copy?"
"Already have. I'm trying to fill in the gaps. As far as I can see, she didn't have a steady boyfriend and yet she was several months pregnant. Her friends didn't describe her as loose and yet she never mentioned anyone special, not even to her best friend."
"Catherine."
"Well remembered. Twenty years not too long then."
"They were like sisters. I was Catherine's tutor too. It took her a long time to get over her friend’s death."
“Did Catherine ever talk to you about her friend?”
“Only as an aid to working through her death. She didn’t discuss Emma’s personal habits or situation.”
“Dr Jeffries, were you aware of any young man paying particular attention to Emma? Someone that she rejected perhaps.” It was like wading through melted tar.
“No.” He paused. “Actually there was someone, but I think she was more interested in him than he was in her.”
Yvonne's eyes lit up. “Really? Who?”
“You know what?” he said ruefully, “I just can't remember.”
“Please try.”
“Nope, it won't come. I think it was probably a rumour. I heard the name and it obviously didn't stick.”
Yvonne felt deflated and looked at her watch. “Dr. Jeffries, I have to go but I may need to talk to you again."
"Any time, Inspector Giles. You know where I am." It was just a smile but, on him, it managed to look like a sneer.
53
Monday morning was pleasantly warm with a light breeze. Yvonne was optimistic about the day as she walked through the automatic doors of the station and felt for her key-fob, to access the inner sanctum. Tasha caught her up from behind.
"Morning, Yvonne. Nice day."
"Tasha. Yes, it is. Did you sleep okay?"
"So-so." Tasha didn't elaborate. She was remembering the banging and laughing at two that morning, when her housemates had returned after a late-night session at the local.
Yvonne patted herself down. "Damn, I have so many pockets in this coat that I can't find anyth..."
"Here." Tasha flashed her fob at the lock.
"Thanks."
They stopped briefly at the wooden pigeon holes, in a cramped walk-through corridor, for the morning post. Disappointingly for Yvonne, there was nothing from forensics. There was, however, one letter without an official stamp. Yvonne fingered it open.
1st October
It's raining. Streaming down my body and off the ends of my blood-stained fingers. How tepid does the colour become when diluted by so much water? My hair is plastered to my head by rain, as the hair is plastered to my victim's head by her own blood. Can you picture me? I eat as it was written.
She was sweet and now is lifeless. I was lifeless and now feel sweet. I am purged. Made whole by the life so newly taken. But it won't last. That is my curse and yours.
How sleek are the backs of my whores. Did you see? Of course, I know you did. Their final scenes are masterpieces of my creation. I know you will send this to forensics. Good luck with that. The stamp and envelope are self-adhesive. No DNA, sorry.
Inspector Giles, how good that you take such an interest in my work. I must surely repay the compliment. How is the cat? Are you hoping I will tire of my need? So sorry to disappoint.
My need is deep, Yvonne. Come closer. Let me show you. You too can submit to my dominance.
I can take away the pain.
Yours Sincerely,
SS X
The letter was typed and laser printed. Yvonne held it in her grip, goose bumps on her outstretched arms.
"We've got to get this to SOCO," she said finally. "Could it be genuine?"
"Maybe, but it doesn't say anything specific – could be a hoax. You know how quickly cranks come forward to get in on the act."
"He mentioned my cat."
"Don't be too worried. It could be a lucky guess, lots of people own cats. If this letter is from the killer, he wants you to believe he knows where you live - shake you up a bit."
"He may have looked me up."
They took the stairs two-by-two, up to CID. Tasha watched as Yvonne turned the pages in a bulky red folder and began filling in the evidence details. The letter was now officially exhibit YW1. The veiled threat contained in a see-through bag, with a red plastic, Thames Valley Police tag. The DI's normally fluid motion was stilted.
"Would you like me to stay over?" Tasha asked gently.
"I couldn't put that on you."
"Hey, you wouldn't be putting anything on me. Ever stayed in a police house?"
Yvonne laughed "Not for a very long time, thankfully."
"Well then."
Neither of them had noticed Brian, clicking his fingers, his face tight with impatience. "It's the same rope." Saliva projectiles burst forth like air from a popped balloon.
It took the DI a couple of seconds to understand. "Same rope? You mean the same as was used to bind Kelly, Hannah and Michelle?"
"Got it in one. I couldn't believe it when they told me. It's from the same batch, definitely. The fibres are a perfect match and guess what?"
“What?”
"The traces of varnish match too." Brian was grinning from ear to ear.
"So our killer murdered Emma Shilton."
"Seems so."
Yvonne was pensive. "I'm going to ask for an exhumation."
"Peterson will never say yes to that." Brian aped the voice of the Chief, “think of the resources.”
The DI wasn't listening. "Emma was pregnant. The father of that child may be the key to this mystery and, if not, then at the very least we may begin to understand the truth about what was happening in her life around the time of her death."
"How will you discover the father, from an exhumation?" Brian still hadn't quite caught on.
"Request samples of DNA from all of the men known to be close to her."
"And compare them to DNA from the foetus."
"Phew." Yvonne mockingly wiped her brow.
"It's a long shot, I don't see Peterson saying yes."
"Well, it would have to go through the Chief Super anyway, and Emma’s parents have to give their permission. I'm going to talk to Catherine first, I'll need as much information as I can get before speaking to either of them."
Yvonne's face was determined and as she marched for the door, Brian held it open for her.
54
University records had yielded Catherine's address, and during the hour and a half drive to Bath, Yvonne cogitated over the right words. She knew how painful memories could be. Events could trigger them so strongly that the rawness left you wretched.
She reached the house in Lansdown, with its fake Doric pillar facade, and she raised her hand. She paused before knocking on the gleaming white door, so unnervingly free of cobwebs and dust. To her right, a lace curtain twitched and then the door opened.
The woman had dark lines beneath her eyes. The skin, over the finely-boned face, was tightly drawn and the hair, so fair and flecked with grey, rendered her an ethereal quality. Catherine had been, and still was, a very beautiful woman.
"Can I help you?" Catherine's eyes narrowed enquiringly.
"I've come to speak with Catherine Swann."
"I am she. You must be DI Giles."
"Yes, that's right. May I come in?"
In answer, Catherine backed up and allowed the DI to pass her. The hallway smelled strongly of polish and everything had a high shine finish - the maple chairs, sideboards and the parquet flooring.
"Can I take your coat, Inspector?"
Yvonne placed her mac in the grip of piano-player fingers. "Thank you."
"Do come through."
Yvonne walked to the window and looked out over Bath. The City was almost orange in the late summer sunlight.
"Mr
s Swann, I've come to talk to you about Emma," she said softly.
"Yes, DS Leach told me you were coming. You're re-opening her murder investigation." Catherine's voice was flat. Weary.
"That's right."
"I'm glad." Catherine let out a slow sigh.
"May I call you Catherine?"
"Yes of course."
"Catherine, is your husband home?"
"Graham? No. He's in London."
Yvonne saw a resigned sadness in the other woman and it made her curious.
"When are you expecting him back?"
"He'll be back in a couple of days."
Yvonne could see that Catherine was not at all sure of when her husband would be back. She made a note.
"You were both at College with Emma."
"Yes. That's right. All studying History. I knew her better than Graham did. She was my best friend, you see."
"Did she tell you about her pregnancy?"
"She was pregnant?"
"Yes."
"No. Not a thing." The surprise appeared genuine.
"Was she seeing anyone?"
"No. Well obviously she must have slept with someone, but she did not mention it to me."
"Was that unusual behaviour?"
"What sleeping with someone?"
"Not telling you about it."
"Yes. I wasn't aware that we had any secrets."
"Who was she close tom beside yourself? The men in particular."
"She had several male friends, none of whom I would say were particularly close."
"Who was she in regular contact with?"
"Let me think...well, Graham obviously and Michael, Graham's brother."
"Go on."
"Gerald. He was Graham's best friend. Keith Jeffries, our tutor and several other lads from our history group. The names escape me after all these years."
"Did any of these men express an interest in her?"
"Well, Michael had asked her out."
"Okay, and what had she said about that?"
"She turned him down flat."
"Did Michael tell you that? Or did she?"
"Michael told me. He said she was probably seeing Doctor Jeffries."
"The tutor..."
"Yes."
"And was she?"
"No. She was having extra tuition, but it was innocent and the rumours were unfair."
"What makes you think that they were unfair Catherine?"
"She wouldn't have been seeing a married man. She just wasn't like that." Catherine's tone was more convincing than her facial expression.
“Were you aware of her spending more time with the tutor than you would have expected her to, Catherine?”
“Not really Inspector but then I wasn't with her twenty-four-seven, you know.”
Catherine’s eyelids were becoming heavy and the DI realised that she had probably over-stayed her welcome.
"Catherine, that is it for now. May I call again if I think of anything else?"
"Of course, Inspector."
55
The atmosphere sizzled as CID waited for the letter's return from SOCO. The newspapers were full of the story of SS -the Shotover Sadist. Every ambitious reporter, every climber of the reportage vocational ladder, was doing their devious best to glean its contents. For the investigators, it was paramount at this crucial stage, they did not succeed.
As she tripped over the feet of eager reporters, Yvonne was thankful she wasn't epileptic. Flash photography and reporter’s questions were machine gunned at her, at the front of St. Aldates.
“You can’t blame them.” Brian was enjoying the attention. “There hasn’t been a manhunt on this scale since the Yorkshire Ripper.”
Yvonne sighed heavily, “Brian, what did you come up with from the files of the Emma Shilton case?”
“Got thirty seconds?”
“As much as that eh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Brian if I find anything I’ll…leave them on my desk will you and write me a summary of the information you did think relevant.”
“Right, Guv.”
“I'm just going upstairs to see Peterson.”
The DI took the stairs two at a time and virtually ran to Peterson's door. She gave it a short, sharp rap.
“I’m requesting an exhumation, sir.” She was matter-of-fact, hoping that this would lull Peterson into agreeing despite himself.
“What?” Her superior ran his hands roughly through his hair, sure he must have misheard.
“An exhumation? On who? What for?”
“I’d like to know who the father of Emma Shilton’s child was. I know who she spent time with and I have a list of the men she knew including addresses. I could request DNA sample from each of them.
“Whoah. Whoah.” Peterson held his hands up. “Slow down. Let's take this a step at a time. Exactly how will you persuade these men to give you DNA samples?”
“They will put themselves under suspicion if they don't. And anyway, if they cared at all about Emma then surely they will be as keen as we are to finally solve her murder.”
“But what does knowing the identity of the child’s father tell us. Apart from that he had sex with Emma on at least one occasion? That does not make him her murderer.”
“I know that, sir, but the fact is she kept her pregnancy secret from everyone, even her best friend.”
“So? Have you never had secrets? Maybe she was ashamed or afraid of the consequences.”
“Then why didn’t she consider terminating the pregnancy? It would have been a relatively easy thing to do so far from home.”
“All that aside, Yvonne, think about the cost, the manpower and the time involved in exhumation. Not to mention the girl’s parents. I can’t agree to this without thoroughly thinking it through. I'll have to speak with the Chief Super.”
Yvonne had to think fast - Peterson was heading for the door. “Sir, Emma wanted to keep her child. She must have or she wouldn’t have let her pregnancy develop to six months. But even though she intended to keep it, she still hadn’t told anyone.”
Peterson halted, his hand on the door handle. “So what are you saying? That she was protecting the father?”
“Yes.That is exactly what I am saying. Perhaps she was madly in love with him. Perhaps he had a career or marriage to protect. Perhaps he had something to lose. Perhaps he had everything to lose.” The effort of the last caused the DI to suck air deep into her lungs.
“I’ll talk to the Chief Super about it and get back to you.”
“But, sir…”
“Yvonne, I said I would get back to you!”
Yvonne reluctantly backed off, better to quit while there was still hope.
56
Caroline rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t slept and her mouth was nervous-dry. She pulled the cap down closer to her eye line and walked with her head bowed. The heels were causing her trouble. Quite apart from the fact that she was not used to them, and she kept getting them stuck between pavement slabs, the backs were rubbing her and she was sure her left heel was bleeding. She swore at herself for choosing the heels over her comfortable, flat shoes. Still, the shoes wouldn’t have complimented her white cotton dress so completely, and he wanted her in white cotton.
She was early and felt that a cuppa at Pret-a-Manger would relieve the dryness she felt. The café was busy and she chose a seat next to the window which was just being vacated by an elderly lady struggling down from the stool.
The offered hand was rejected by the older woman with a look which said ‘Jump in my grave that quick would you?’ and Caroline smiled apologetically, acutely aware that she must seem a very odd figure in heels, dress and baseball cap, hair tied back. However, she dare not take off the cap. She would show the Master from the beginning just how obedient she was.
As she sat down on the shiny metal seat, and took a sip of the hot Café-latté, she gazed out over the ‘Marble Arch’. Its shadows appeared almost to live in the morning sunlight as the odd cl
oud scudded over.
He wasn’t there yet, but as her eyes searched the street for him she caught sight of a newspaper billboard: ‘Shotover sadist’s latest victim still in Coma.’ Caroline shuddered. She’d catch up with the story later as she was spending so much time on the net that she had seen little news for a month.
He caught her attention at once, newspaper under one arm and wearing a Trilby hat with a dark-pinstripe suit.
Heart pumping, as though it was needed to supply blood to the whole of London, she jumped down from the stool.
57
The letter’s back.” Yvonne slumped down into her office chair, disappointment rounding her shoulders. They were waiting for everyone to assemble in the briefing room.
“Well, what have they said?” Tasha asked, tapping her pen rapidly against her hand as though to speed up the exchange.
“Laser printed on Xerox photocopy paper typical of that distributed to thousands of stores nationwide.”
“Oh.”
“Oh is right. No DNA. No fingerprints. No fibres.”
“Were you really expecting any?”
“I was hoping…”
“He’s too clever for that.”
“We still have nothing.”
“We have the letter itself. Let’s go through it systematically.” Tasha was unusually forceful.
Yvonne unfolded the letter. “What are we looking for?”, she asked, flicking over the lines with gloved fingers.
“Anything unique. Something which hints at his motivation or reasoning.”
“Okay.”
“We need to study the language. The way he writes will reflect the way he thinks.”
“Well the first paragraph has to refer to the third certified victim, Michelle. She was the only one who was left in the rain.”
“Exactly. Well there’s a start.”
“But it was night time and dark when he left her. He wouldn’t have seen the blood on his hands.”
“Not unless he carried her to his car in the light.”
DI Giles BoxSet Page 9