by BIBA PEARCE
He turned his attention back to the folder on his desk. Ben Studley. Becker had been right about Studley being a troublemaker in his youth. He’d been suspended from school on numerous occasions, once because he’d threatened a teacher using a fire extinguisher as a weapon, all because she had given him detention. He’d had several warnings about brawling and one drunk and disorderly charge, and it was clear he had a temper, but they were all minor transgressions, nothing to indicate he harboured murderous tendencies. Then he met Bridget and he’d calmed down, or so it seemed. There were no mentions of any misdemeanours in his file from 2011 onwards. It appeared that Ben Studley had turned over a new leaf. He was attending college in the evenings, even though he worked as a mechanic in a local garage during the day. So, he’d been trying to better himself.
Was that Bridget’s influence? She worked as a marketing manager for a Canterbury firm selling organic cosmetics. Maybe he wanted her to be proud of him, or maybe she realised his potential. Either way, Studley didn’t strike Rob as a torturous killer.
He put the question to Jo as they drove along the M25 to Whitemoor. Once again, she was in the passenger seat, the same manila case folder open on her lap.
“I tend to agree with you,” she said with a firm nod of her head. “Ben Studley had reformed. Why would he suddenly go on the rampage and torture, rape and murder his fiancée, the woman he loved? He’d never laid a hand on her before. Never laid a hand on any woman before.”
“I suppose he could have caught her messing around with someone else.” Rob played devil’s advocate. “Maybe it sent him over the edge. Perhaps he had months of pent-up aggression simmering under the surface and he unleashed it on Bridget when he caught her being unfaithful?”
Jo looked sceptical. “I suppose anything is possible. It’s pointless guessing. We’ll just have to ask him and see what he says. Although, there was no mention of her cheating on him in the report.”
“I agree, it’s unlikely, but it could have been kept under wraps. It’s possible her parents didn’t know or didn’t want to admit it.”
“But if she was, surely the lover would have come forward?”
Rob shrugged. “Not necessarily. Not if he was married.”
Jo fell silent. Rob took the M1 turn-off. The traffic was heavy as usual on the motorways around London, but at least it was moving, and in the outside lane he managed an impressive seventy miles per hour. According to his satnav, the drive was two and a half hours, which meant they’d get there shortly before noon.
* * *
HMP Whitemoor was a sprawling prison campus amid acres and acres of agricultural fields and light industrial works. They parked in a purpose-built car park surrounded by tall trees and freshly painted white lines and walked across the tarmac to the entrance. The only way in was through a darkened glass door in the centre of a grey-brick building with a sloping, slate-grey roof and no windows. The only attempt at décor was the HM Prisons insignia mounted above the doorway. The whole place had an air of finality about it.
“Ever been here before?” Jo suppressed a shiver.
“Nope. This is a first. You?”
She shook her head.
They went inside and stopped at reception, where a petite woman with flaming red hair offset by her blue cashmere jumper was sitting in front of a computer, her nails clacking away on the keyboard. Rob thought how out of place she looked. She’d be the type of person you’d expect to see in a smart solicitor’s firm or working for a posh finance company.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a smile.
“We’re here to see Ben Studley.” Jo held out her warrant card. “I’m Detective Chief Inspector Maguire and this is Detective Inspector Miller.”
The woman gazed at their cards for a minute, then nodded. “Please sign in, then you can go through. It’s directly across the yard in the grey building.”
Was there any other kind of building in this place?
“Someone will take you through security,” she added. She pressed a buzzer beneath the desk. There was a loud click and the heavy metal door in front of them released. Rob pushed it open and held it for Jo. She smiled her thanks. “This place gives me the creeps.”
“I know what you mean.” He couldn’t imagine being incarcerated here and thought about how the inmates must feel when they were brought into the yard for the first time. It was the end of their life as they knew it, with only the grey buildings, the barred windows and the clanging of doors to welcome them.
The concrete yard smelled damp and there were puddles at the sides that hadn’t evaporated after the recent rainfall and probably never would. He glanced up at the overcast sky. Not even the sun saw fit to shine on this place.
Jo stuck close to him as they made their way across the yard and into the next building, also grey-brick, also low and sprawling, but with significantly more security than the outer building.
“Put your belongings in here,” said a beefy man in a tight-fitting prison uniform holding out a plastic container, much like the ones used at airports. “That includes any electronics and mobile devices.”
They did as they were told. Rob walked through the metal detector, his hands up in front of him. Jo followed suit, after which they were led down a long corridor, through several more automatically controlled security gates, and into a large hall with tables and chairs set out. This must be the visiting room.
Rob imagined wives and children greeting imprisoned fathers and a sense of sadness descended on him. What was the point? Lives lost, hopes dashed. He could sense the desolation in the room.
“Wait here,” barked the guard.
Shortly afterwards, a man in a crisp, brown uniform unlike the other guards opened the door and gestured for them to follow him.
“Your prisoner is waiting in Room Four. It’s along the corridor to the left.”
They walked ahead of him and stopped outside Interview Room Four. The door was locked, but through the glass panel they saw a slender man huddled over the table, his head bowed as if in prayer.
The guard punched in a code and the door swung open. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
Rob nodded, and they went inside.
* * *
Ben Studley wasn’t what Rob had expected. He was much thinner than his photograph, but then six years inside would do that to a man, and his hair that had been dark and full in the police folder was now thinning and tinged with grey. Small veins criss-crossed his temples like a drunken spider’s web disappearing into his hairline, and his skin seemed thin, almost translucent. He glanced up as they walked in, his expression a mix of curiosity and resentment.
Rob made the introductions and they sat down. The wooden table between them was bolted to the floor. Rob tried to shuffle forwards and found his chair was too.
He glanced at Jo. In the car they’d decided he’d start off the questioning, just clarifying the basics, then she’d step in and ask the more emotional questions once he’d warmed up. She gave him a little nod.
“Ben — do you mind if I call you Ben?” The prisoner shook his head, which Rob took to be a good sign. He was cooperating. “We’d like to ask you some questions about the night Bridget Kane was murdered.”
Ben frowned, but he nodded slowly. So far, his curiosity appeared to be overriding his animosity towards the police. “Could you tell us in your own words what happened?”
“I don’t know what happened because I wasn’t with her that night.”
“Okay, could you tell us what you did that night?”
“Sure, I was at home watching football. We’d had a row and Bridget had stormed off. That was the last time I saw her.” There was a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but he looked away.
“What was the row about?” Rob asked. Jo was observing, a passive, non-judgemental expression on her face.
He shook his head. “It hardly matters now, but we were arguing about whether to have her parents over for dinner. It was her birthday the follow
ing week, and I wanted to do something special, just the two of us, but she felt it was time we invited her stuck-up parents over. We’d just moved into a new place, you see, and she wanted to show it off. Show them how well she’d done, and that I was behaving myself.”
“I take it you didn’t see eye to eye with her parents?” asked Rob.
Ben scoffed. “You could say that.”
“What happened after she left?”
“Nothing. I stayed in and watched the game, and then went to bed. The next thing I knew, the coppers were bashing down my door and I was arrested for her murder. I didn’t even know she was dead.”
“Didn’t you worry when she didn’t come home that night?” Jo asked in a soft voice, speaking for the first time.
Ben glanced at her. “No, I thought she’d gone to her parents’ house. She was in a real huff.”
“Did she often go to her parents?”
Ben looked down at the table. “No, not really. We were pretty happy actually, despite what they said about us.”
“What did they say?”
“That I had a temper and that we used to row a lot.”
“Did you?” Jo was gently probing.
“No, not at all. Bridget understood me. We had a great relationship. We were going to get married, you know? And she was the one who proposed because she said I was taking too long. I couldn’t believe she’d want to marry someone like me. I was a mechanic, a grease monkey, and she came from a good family. Her father was some bigwig businessman, he was friends with the mayor and the chief of police, those kinds of people.” His voice turned bitter. “I didn’t stand a chance.”
Jo leaned forward in her chair, her elbows brushing the table. “Did Bridget ever mention anyone following her or watching her in the days leading up to her murder?”
Ben’s eyes widened. “Not in the days leading up to her murder, but there was this guy harassing her several months before that. Is that who you mean?”
Rob met Jo’s astonished gaze. They’d been right. Their hunch had paid off. Neither of them had really expected it to be that easy. How had the police missed that?
“Could you tell us about that?” Jo was now clutching the table with both hands.
Ben scrunched up his nose. “She had this ex-boyfriend, some weirdo she’d met at college. I can’t remember his name. He’d been calling her and waiting for her outside her work, that sort of thing. He couldn’t accept the fact that she’d moved on.”
“Did they break up just before you two got together?” Rob asked. This could be the guy they were after. Was Bridget the girl who’d broken his heart and sent him over the edge? Was she the one who’d set his diabolical killing spree in action?
Ben looked smug. “Actually, they were never really together. They’d had a fling, a one-nighter, nothing more, and it meant nothing to Bridget. She met me shortly afterwards and we were pretty hot and heavy for a while, but this guy wouldn’t leave her alone. He used to wait for her to finish work and beg her to give him another chance. Pathetic, really. He’d call several times a day until she blocked him from her phone. It got so bad, she asked her father to warn him off.”
“Did he?” jumped in Jo. “Warn him off?”
“Yes, I think so, because she never heard from the guy again.” Jo rubbed her forehead. Rob knew she was wondering if they could track down someone who remembered her father warning him off. DCI Becker maybe? Although the retired policeman hadn’t mentioned that.
“How long before she died was that?” Rob wanted to know.
Ben thought for a moment. “It was right after we met, so it would have been at least six months before she died. We moved in together after three months. Like I said, we were pretty tight by that stage. It felt natural, you know?”
Rob did know. That’s how he’d felt about Yvette. His attraction to her may have been sexual to begin with, but after a few months, when they were still at it like rabbits and it felt so right, he could quite easily have asked her to move in with him. As it was, he’d proposed after six months, and she’d said yes without a second’s thought. In retrospect, perhaps she should have taken that second to think about it. Perhaps he should have.
He focused on Ben, who’d wrapped his arms around himself in a meagre attempt at self-comfort. “And when exactly did you get engaged?”
Ben looked so forlorn that Rob couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“The week before she died.”
Chapter 21
“Did you give her a ring?” Jo asked softly. Rob could tell Jo had come to the same conclusion as he had — that Ben had been set up. He’d been the fall guy in a devious murder plot by Bridget’s ex-boyfriend, the man without a name, who had later become the infamous Surrey Stalker.
“No, because I wasn’t the one who proposed.” His lower lip jutted out like he was trying not to cry. “I was going to get her one, just as soon as my pay cheque cleared. She said she didn’t want anything fancy.”
That explained why no ring was mentioned in the report. It hadn’t been found on her body or, worse, lodged inside her like the others.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” murmured Jo, even though it was six years too late. When Ben had been arrested, everyone had assumed he was guilty, and no one would have stopped to think that he was grieving too.
“Does this mean you believe me?”
There was hope in the prisoner’s voice, hope that Rob wanted to encourage, but knew that he couldn’t. He chose his words carefully. “We’re working on a new angle in a current case, and we think this guy, this ex-boyfriend of Bridget’s, might be involved.”
Ben perked up. “Do you think he was the one who murdered Bridget?”
“We don’t know yet.” Jo was equally conscious about giving the inmate false hope. “It’s a line of enquiry in an ongoing investigation. But if you could help us find him, it might give us a better idea of his involvement.”
Ben’s face fell. “I don’t know anything about him. Like I said, I can’t even remember his name.”
“Are you sure? Bridget must have mentioned it to you at some point,” prompted Jo. “Have a think, it might come to you.”
Ben shut his eyes, a frown across his brow. He was thinking hard. “He had a high-pitched, nasal voice, I know because I spoke to him once on the phone. Told him to fuck off and leave her alone.”
“Did you ever see him?” If they could get a description . . .
“No, I didn’t. He always cornered her when I wasn’t around.”
“So, he wasn’t a local?” asked Rob.
Ben shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. Bridget went to college in Canterbury, so maybe he lived there, but I don’t know.”
“And she never described him?” Jo was clutching at straws. “She didn’t mention anything that would help us locate him? The colour of his hair, his eyes, any body piercings or tattoos, that sort of thing?”
Ben closed his eyes again, tapping into long ago memories. “I remember once, after he’d called, she was freaked out and said he was a tall, freaky weirdo.” He opened his eyes again. “I don’t know if that helps?”
“It does.” Jo assured him. “Every little thing helps.”
“If you catch this guy, does that mean I can get out of here?” There was a little light behind Ben’s eyes, a light that hadn’t been there when they’d walked in.
Jo exhaled. “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. We’d have to link him to Bridget’s death, and after all this time . . .” She faded off, the rest being self-explanatory.
Ben’s shoulders slumped. “So even though I’m innocent, I have to rot in here while that psycho is free to do whatever he likes.”
Jo leaned forward. “Help us find him, Ben. Try to remember his name. We can only do so much without a name. Once we find him, we can concentrate on linking him to Bridget’s death.”
Ben beat his forehead with his palm like he was trying to kick-start his brain. “I wish I could, but it was such a long t
ime ago and I haven’t given that guy another thought since then. I’ve had bigger things to worry about.”
“I understand.” Jo patted his hand. Rob noticed she was a very tactile person, something else he liked about her. She wasn’t afraid to reach out and touch people. “If you do remember anything, let us know straight away. You can contact us at the Putney Police Station. My name is Jo Maguire, and this is Rob Miller.”
Even though they’d introduced themselves at the start, Jo reiterated in the hopes that it would sink in. They hadn’t been allowed to bring anything in with them, so they had no cards to give him.
Ben nodded, but looked sullen. “I guess it was too much to hope for.”
Jo frowned, as if she’d just remembered something. “Ben, do you mind if I ask you how Bridget’s clothes got to be in your rubbish bin?”
He sat up straight, immediately on the defensive. “I have no idea. When she left, she was fully clothed.”
“I believe hair was found in the boot of your car. Do you know how that got there?”
“No, I don’t know how it got into the boot. We’d gone out earlier in the day to this meadow that we liked to visit. It was our secret spot. We used to make love under the old oak tree in the corner, so her DNA would have been all over my car, but as far as I know, she never got into the boot.”
“Meadow? Which meadow was that?” Rob’s heart skipped a beat. The grass stains.
Ben arched his eyebrows. “It’s just before Barham on the Valley Road, off the A2. Why is that important?”
“There were grass stains on the back of Bridget’s jacket and on her heels, suggesting she was dragged across a field or a meadow,” Jo explained. “The prosecution thought that’s where she was killed.”
“I thought she was found on the beach?” Ben seemed confused. It was clear he hadn’t paid much attention at the trial, which wasn’t surprising considering he would have been devastated by Bridget’s death and bewildered by the sudden turn of events. “Wasn’t she killed there?”
“Could the grass stains have been from earlier in the day, from the meadow?” Rob stared at him intently, ignoring his previous question. This was important.