‘But where’s the motive, Noakesy? And anyway, even supposing they wanted Ledwidge dead, medics are always afraid of being bothered when they’re “in civvies”.’ In much the same way he dreaded being collared when off-duty.
‘Yeah.’ Noakes chuckled. ‘Like when some poor sod on the plane hears “Is there a doctor on board?”’
Burton saw the logic. ‘A sort of Good Samaritan complex . . . You’re worried a patient’s going to pop up from somewhere . . . or there’ll be a medical emergency out of the blue when you just want to keep your head down and mind your own business.’
‘Exactly. Medical professionals are too get-at-able . . . patients and ex-patients potentially lurking round every corner. It’s one reason why so many of them develop a God complex.’ Markham suspected Martin Henley possessed this quality in abundance. ‘Whereas a middle-aged retired solicitor need have no fears on that score.’
Noakes conceded the point. ‘Stands to reason . . . if them two wanted to top Ledwidge, they’d be more likely to do it in the loony bin . . . then frame one of the fruit an’ nuts for it.’
Doyle stole a sly look at Burton, but she bore the political incorrectness with stoical resignation. One day the diversity squad would catch up with her colleague, but until then . . .
‘There’s another thing,’ she said. ‘I just don’t see them for the ritual stuff . . . the positioning of the two women and dressing Ledwidge up like that . . .’
‘Cos they’re medical?’ Noakes sounded combative. ‘There’s serial killers who were doctors and nurses, you know.’
‘Right, sarge. But that pair . . . they’re just too chilly and self-contained . . . almost antiseptic . . .’
‘Yeah, the kind who’d go for something clean and tidy . . . poisoning or an overdose,’ Doyle concurred.
‘And neither of them fits Dan MacAlinden’s photograph of Dawn’s friend,’ Markham pointed out. The girl whose name began with an S. Now, like Burton earlier, he was restlessly tracing patterns on his desk. ‘It bothered me when I saw that picture. It reminded me of someone. Of course it was Simon Gailey . . . fine-boned . . . silver-haired . . . oh, I don’t know, the facial structure and something about the eyes.’ All thanks to Muriel Noakes, he thought. ‘And then there was the make-up compact. It’s the kind of thing I can imagine Gailey picking out but not the others . . .’
‘You’ll need more’n that for Sidney, guv.’ It rather tickled Noakes’s fancy to imagine Markham broaching the subject of Gailey’s taste in jewellery with the DCI. The fur would fly alright!
‘Yes, everything’s circumstantial, Noakesy. But taken together . . .’
‘There’s the name too,’ Burton put in helpfully. ‘Simi . . . sounds like a contraction of Simon.’
‘What about Martine, then?’ Noakes was keen to show nothing got past him. ‘You could say that’s a girl version of Martin . . . As in Martin Henley.’
Burton gave him a cool look.
‘I’m jus’ saying!’
‘D’you have a copy of that photo Mr MacAlinden showed you, sir?’
‘No.’ Markham’s shoulders sagged. ‘He was in such a fragile state emotionally . . . and at that point I hadn’t made the connection.’
‘If you think she’s a dead ringer for Gailey, that’s good enough for us, sir.’ Doyle nodded vigorous assent.
The DI was touched by their faith in him. He hoped to God he could justify it.
‘Mrs Shaw’s . . . the psychic’s description of the girl she saw matches the photograph—’
‘An’ she said summat about her being in an operating theatre, remember, guv? With a surgical table an’ bright lights an’ metal instruments.’ Noakes was working himself up into quite a lather. ‘That’d fit with having the op to go from girl to boy.’
‘Indeed it would, Sergeant. And the bleeding heart that the figure was holding could stand for mutilation of the body as well as the heartbreak of rejection.’
‘Yeah, cos she came onto Dawn who didn’t want to know.’
‘And like Dan MacAlinden, Mrs Shaw mentioned a name beginning with S.’
‘The idea of its being Gailey . . .’ Doyle mused. ‘I mean, he was friends with them. And what he did to the first three . . .’ The DC wrenched open his shirt’s top button as if he was suddenly too hot. ‘Sorry, sir, but I don’t care if he made a mistake about transitioning and all that. He’s a frigging monster.’
‘What d’you reckon put Stacey onto him then, guv?’ Noakes looked to Markham as the man with all the answers.
‘Who can say?’ Markham was sombre. ‘I remember you commenting that she looked as though she had a hot date when she was talking to us after the memorial service . . . and she’d been eyeing Gailey up inside the church. I should have realized she had come across something about him . . . something that titillated and intrigued her.’
‘Maybe it was cross-dressing,’ Doyle volunteered. ‘Maybe she got a closer look at the woman in the headscarf or saw Gailey browsing women’s things . . . pegged him for a transvestite or thought he was kinky,’ the DC’s glance slid away from Noakes. ‘Y’know, into an alternative lifestyle . . . like Eddie Izzard or Grayson Perry.’ The expression on his grizzled colleague’s face suggested the youngster would be cross-examined on these exotic personalities at some point in the pub.
‘Could’ve thought he was the poison pen.’ The possibilities were opening up for Noakes. ‘P’raps she saw him putting something through a letterbox or caught him out.’
Burton was enthused now. ‘Remember what Hoskinson said about him and Gailey being kindred spirits. He said they’d bonded. Maybe Stacey noticed something. Maybe she saw Gailey at Lili’s or in some kind of compromising position . . .’
‘Whatever it was Stacey fancied she knew, Gailey was afraid she’d shoot her mouth off and the trail would lead back to him,’ Markham said.
‘What about Dowell, guv?’
‘You said he looked “gobsmacked”, Noakesy — that day in the church hall when we were interviewing residents, after we found the women’s bodies at number seven . . . like he’d “seen a ghost”.’
The DS looked highly gratified at his words having made such an impression. ‘Yeah, I remember now. He didn’t want to hang about with the rest . . . kept staring round like a zombie. D’you think he had some sort of eureka moment like Ledwidge, then?’
‘I think it’s possible.’ The DI held himself very still, taut with the effort of remembering. ‘Dan MacAlinden said Dawn got back into her box after Mr Dowell slapped her down in the LGBT debate. It was obviously a subject that came up from time to time amongst the residents . . . sounded as though emotions ran high. Maybe looking back, Dowell was struck by something Gailey said or how he looked — something he hadn’t noticed at the time but remembered after the double murder at number seven.’
‘Like what?’
‘That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it . . . ?’ Markham exhaled wearily.
‘What if he recognized Gailey from somewhere?’
‘Go on, Kate.’
‘Dowell’s specialism was body dysmorphic disorder — BDD. He was about ten years older than Gailey, so might’ve come across him as a trainee psychologist or early on when Gailey was having pre-op therapy as Martine.’
‘An’ it took him all that time to realize he knew the bloke?’ Noakes was incredulous. ‘They were neighbours, for chuff’s sake. Don’ tell me he only worked it out after we found Bussell an’ MacAlinden stuffed under that bed!’
‘Actually, Sergeant, I think that’s quite feasible,’ the DI said patiently. ‘I didn’t see it myself until that photograph and some chance remarks triggered something in my brain.’
‘Yeah, but Dowell an’ him jogged on together in the same housing estate, guv . . . lived side by side for yonks. What kind of dipstick wouldn’t clock that Gailey was someone he’d treated!’
‘Gailey reinvented himself, Noakes. And did so very convincingly. A confirmed bachelor, but nothing effemina
te about him . . . nothing that jarred or struck a false note . . . at least not until things began to unravel.’
‘But he didn’t stand out as being particularly agitated when it all came out about the murders, boss,’ Doyle said. ‘Leastways no more than any of the others.’
‘Dowell was an experienced psychologist, Constable. He might have picked up on signs that were invisible to an ordinary observer . . . something he sensed or some giveaway in the way Gailey behaved.’
‘Mother of God. Why didn’t he come to us instead of tackling Gailey on his own!’
‘Perhaps it was that God complex we were talking about earlier,’ the DI said sadly. ‘You see, Noakes, I think Mr Dowell — like Brian Ledwidge — may have had an inflated idea of his own “bedside manner”.’
‘Eh?’
‘Both men saw themselves as healers, Sergeant, belonging to a higher order of beings, if you like. It would have flattered their egos to imagine they could coax Gailey down from the ledge . . . make him show contrition . . . turn himself in.’
‘He was a freaking serial killer, guv — a total nutter! Which bit of that didn’t they get!’
‘You said it yourself, sarge,’ Doyle riposted. ‘On one level, he was their neighbour . . . a friend . . . someone they’d known a long time.’
‘Which meant they underestimated the pathology.’ This was Burton.
‘Plus there was the intellectual conceit,’ Markham added.
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, remember what Stacey told us about Mr Dowell liking to put people down — “didn’t suffer fools, never backed away from a good old ding-dong”. I got the impression he could be supercilious . . . dismissive.’
‘Oh right, I’m with you. Yeah, sounded like he was up hisself alright. So he woulda seen it like some kind of test . . . to make Gailey blub an’ say he was sorry?’
‘Exactly. He would have been fascinated by it as a case-study as well,’ Markham said slowly. ‘Most likely he wanted to hear the full story.’
‘Stacey said Dowell respected Gailey.’
‘That’s right, Noakes. Which makes me suspect he saw himself as being up against a worthy opponent in terms of intellect.’
‘What a fuckwit.’ Which, Markham supposed, was one way of looking at it.
‘There was the Rohypnol too, so his defences would have been lowered.’ Burton shivered as though mentally transported back to those desolate playing fields.
‘I doubt we’ll ever know the full truth, but I think Mr Dowell saw the rendezvous as a trial of strength.’ And emerged the loser.
‘D’you remember when we first went to see the Ledwidges, guv? We thought summat was bothering the Rev . . . making him twitchy.’
‘Yes, that’s right. He was uncomfortable.’
‘Mebbe he was on to Gailey — had his suspicions — an’ then when he saw him at the tea-party thingy with the rest of ’em, it clicked . . .’ Noakes was hitting his stride. ‘His missus said he did a shot-in-the-back face like he’d seen a ghost, so she thought he was having a funny turn.’
‘Correct.’
‘Mr Ledwidge had come straight from visiting Dan MacAlinden,’ Markham said. ‘He was likely shown the photograph album . . . would have had those pictures of the young Dawn and her friend in his mind . . . then something — a turn of the head, a gesture, a look, a trick of the light catching his hair — something alerted him to Gailey’s real identity.’ The DI breathed more rapidly. ‘That’s how it went, I’m sure of it. With Mr Dowell and Stacey their suspicions were somehow aroused by Gailey’s behaviour, but in Brian Ledwidge’s case it was that photograph of the two schoolgirls . . . two teenagers who were once best friends.’
‘I still can’t get my head round Gailey living alongside them all that time and no one having a clue.’ Doyle jiggled restlessly in his seat, perturbed. ‘I mean, Bussell was his teacher at Hope . . . and he used to be best friends with Dawn MacAlinden.’
‘Marian Bussell was an elderly lady and Dawn her middle-aged friend. I doubt I’d recognize people from school after all that time,’ Markham pointed out.
‘And don’t forget, Gailey was a transgender male,’ Burton added, ‘no matter how much he might have wanted it otherwise.’ She looked earnestly round at her colleagues. ‘We know from Mary Atkins that he wanted to detransition . . . but it hadn’t worked out and Gailey was stuck with secondary sex characteristics, so he got on with living as a male. He was a million miles removed from pathetic little Martine Knowlson and successful to boot . . . a retired solicitor interested in antiques. What could be more respectable and reassuring?’
‘Let’s face it,’ the DI declared, ‘none of us cottoned on to who he really was. And we’re trained to notice details. On the surface, Gailey comes over as intelligent, urbane, highly civilized—’
‘“In touch with his feminine side” alright,’ Noakes couldn’t resist interjecting.
‘Quite, Sergeant, and therefore attractive and unthreatening to women.’
‘When in reality . . .’ Burton shivered again.
‘Yes, Kate. He is exceptionally dangerous.’
‘How could he have waited so long?’ Doyle’s restlessness was back.
‘I imagine he derived considerable satisfaction from the fact that he was — what do they call it? — hiding in plain sight . . . He would have enjoyed the feeling of superiority it gave him as well as savouring the prospect of the two women’s reactions when they found out who he really was.’ Markham paused. ‘In the meantime, the prowling and hate mail afforded him a sort of safety valve.’
‘How did he expect to get away with it?’ Burton murmured.
‘He very nearly did, Kate. It was his bad luck that things spiralled out of control with the other residents . . . and that Dawn’s widower kept that book of mementoes.’
‘Yeah, Martine Knowlson was dead an’ buried.’ Markham flinched at the unfortunate phrase but Noakes bulldozed on. ‘No paper trail — he knew how to take care of that side with being a lawyer — an’ as for what happened at Hope . . . well, it was all ancient history. That no-mark Atkins only fessed up cos she got freaked out.’
Hubris, thought Markham. Gailey had overshot himself thinking that he had all the residents in his pocket . . . in their different ways, Dowell, Stacey and Ledwidge had proved combustible as gunpowder.
The hum of the vacuum cleaner in the outer office had long since ceased.
Markham’s room was feeling even chillier than when the team had arrived, the harsh strip lighting turning them into pallid spectres.
‘What happens now?’ Burton spoke for them all.
Markham rose and walked to his window. Outside, the lights of the town centre cast their lurid phosphorescent glow while a distant throb testified to festive high jinks being in full swing. There was something almost fiendish about the metropolitan fleshpots at this time of year. Irrationally he thought, it will be peaceful in St Chad’s cemetery on the other side — pure and pristine and perfect.
He was starting to feel light-headed. Better bring this meeting to a close.
‘Gailey will keep for tonight,’ he said. ‘Discreet surveillance on him first thing tomorrow morning.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I have a feeling he’ll be at the LGBT demo.’
‘Won’t he be more likely to lie low, sir?’
‘I don’t know what it is, Kate. I just feel he won’t be able to stay away.’ Drawn like a moth to a flame.
As he said this, in his mind’s eye, the DI saw Sidney chastising him for reliance on his ‘dangerous flair’.
Noakes must have been visited by a similar intuition. ‘What’ll you tell the DCI, guv?’
‘Nothing for now. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’
Sidney’s likely reaction to the news that their prime suspect was a respected local solicitor was something he didn’t care to imagine.
‘D’you reckon he’s got any idea we’re on to him?’
‘I think he might be ready�
��’
‘To throw in the towel?’ Doyle burst out eagerly.
‘I was going to say, he might want to go out on his own terms.’
‘What, like do summat crazy at the demo?’ Noakes was startled.
‘Possibly.’ Markham cast a last look at the cityscape with its infernal penumbra then moved back to his desk. ‘He knows we’re focusing on the school . . . knows we’ll have followed in Ledwidge’s footsteps and seen the photograph . . . knows the net’s closing.’ His voice very quiet, he pronounced what felt curiously like an epitaph. ‘Maybe on the brink of the abyss, it’s flashes of childhood and bursts of youth, and all he can think of is that untroubled time when he was whole.’
Noakes was always wary when the guvnor waxed poetic. Better bring him back to earth pronto. ‘So he wants to die cos he thinks that way he’ll go back to being whole? An’ he figures on taking out a few of the bastards who screwed him over . . . as in them LGBT headbangers . . . ?’
Doyle grinned at the expression on Kate Burton’s face as she heard this description of the demonstrators. Looked like something had gone down the wrong the way, he told Noakes afterwards.
‘I think it’s possible, Noakes, so we’ll be there watching.’
‘Why not just arrest him? What if he lashes out or starts summat?’
‘We haven’t got enough to make a case. Even with his transgender background, I doubt we’d get it past the CPS . . .’ Markham held his palms upwards. ‘Okay, so he knew Marian and Dawn back in the day, so what . . . ? If he had a fraught history with the two of them, what of it? Photographs, hate mail — phooey . . . pure coincidence . . .’ He held each of their eyes in turn. ‘If he’s planning a grand gesture of some sort, we may catch him in the act . . . get a confession.’
‘That’s a big freaking if.’
‘We’ve got to chance it. Right,’ the DI was brisk now, ‘I’ll drop you home, Noakesy.’ Unmentioned was the fact that Olivia would have sorted a taxi for Muriel. He turned to Burton and Doyle. ‘Did you two drive?’
They nodded in unison.
‘Safe journey. I’ll see you at seven sharp for the briefing.’
Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set Page 169