Kiss Me, Kill Me

by Mullins, Louise

  DS Jones enters the room. The tall, slim-built, dark haired, handsome detective sergeant who interviewed me, returning to pile on the pressure.

  The police have no key evidence (CCTV footage, ANPR camera hits, website searches, emails, text messages, or evidence suggesting plans) which means they can’t prove premeditation. But to charge me with Garrett, Alfie and Leo’s murders they only need me to tell them where and how I disposed of Humphrey. To prove me capable of murder.

  ‘What’s with the sudden sale of antiques, Kirsty?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Why did you trash the house?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘The house appears to have been burgled but we know otherwise.’ He pauses. ‘What did you need the money for? Twenty grand or thereabouts is a lot of wonga, Kirsty.’

  He waits for me to reply and when I don’t take the opportunity he continues.

  ‘Do you know why Humphrey, an upstanding member of the community who associated with councillors at the local freemason’s lodge, scammed Paddy Daly’s auntie out of such a substantial sum of money?’

  The Messenger?

  I shrug.

  He remarks upon my body language ‘for the benefit of the tape’ then answers his own question. ‘According to Gerald, Humphrey’s first wife betrayed him. I suspect Humphrey feared you’d do the same so he lavished you with gifts and plied you with affection to prevent you from straying, which landed him in debt, forcing him to sell property, including his yacht etc. I suspect his loss of status gave you an excuse to murder him or you planned to replace him with your lover, Kim.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Paddy is a conman, Kirsty. He told you his auntie bought some company shares from Humphrey that immediately made a loss which he wanted recovered in full, with interest. But Vincent says his wife has never even spoken to Humphrey and he gladly showed us a building society statement dated today that proves their savings – far much more than we were told existed – remain intact.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I suspect Paddy had some influence on your decision to take the items he suggested you sell to a dealer he recommended.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I suspect those paintings you sold to Paddy’s mate were each worth triple the amount of money he gave you for the ten of them.’

  ‘No comment,’ I hiss, more pissed off at having been mugged off than I am for being accused of something I haven’t done.

  We’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

  ‘Detective Inspector Emma Locke,’ says the smartly dressed woman seating herself opposite me. ‘You murdered Mel too, didn’t you?’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘It is confirmed by a member of staff that on the day of your hospital discharge Mel collected you from St Cadoc’s and drove you home.’

  ‘This is too much.’

  ‘I put it to you that you used Mel, a vulnerable woman, for your own financial or sexual gratification – I haven’t yet decided which best applies – then you murdered and disposed of her, just like you did with your husband, Garrett.’

  ‘Stop!’

  ‘How much money or possessions did you pilfer from her before you took her life?’

  ‘It’s gone too far.’

  She slides photographs across the table. ‘Yes, it has.’

  I jump off my seat.

  She holds an image up to me. ‘Garrett. A physically fit gent, in his prime. Murdered.’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head.

  ‘Humphrey. Your kind, rich husband. Murdered.’

  ‘No.’ I squeeze my eyes shut.

  ‘Alfie and Leo, four years old. Two healthy, happy, little boys. Murdered. I also suspect you murdered your easily led lover, Mel.’

  She has no picture of Kirsty but when I blink, I can see an accusatory expression on her face.

  ‘No.’ I cover my ears, but I can still hear DI Locke talking.

  ‘Murdered by you.’

  ‘No, no, no. I didn’t kill them.’

  ‘You’re going to get five life sentences, to run concurrently, if you’re convicted.’

  I don’t want to tell her Kirsty took the twins and ran in fear of her husband, their father, because if they find her then she’ll get into trouble for taking them against the order of the court and the police will want to know what happened to Garrett.

  The words Kirsty wrote on the pill packet I found when I opened the bag come back to me; I have no choice. The only way I’ll be able to divert the detective’s focus is to confess.

  ‘I left Humphrey at the quarry.’

  DI Locke nods to DS Jones who vacates his chair and leaves the room while I fill her in on everything that happened. After a short interval he returns with a cheese sandwich, a packet of salt and vinegar crisps and a scalding tea which he hands to me without a word while DI Locke continues throwing questions at me until I feel as if I’m suffocating beneath them.

  ‘We need a body,’ she says. ‘And as you claim to be the last person to have seen your husband, and admit to failing to seek medical assistance for him after he fell, odds are that you’re the only one who can help us recover him.’

  She gives me some Google Earth shots, asks me to pinpoint an estimated location. Then she uses a tool on an iPad to narrow it down to a grid reference by asking me specifics about the surroundings: estimated tree heights, their density, the approximate yards separating them from one another, and the types of birds that nest in them.

  The unit’s IT department can use the GPS signal on our phones to find the exact spot, but without the phones it will take them longer to obtain the network records than the time they have available to remand me in police custody.

  I circle the area with a red biro, the pen shaking in my hand.

  I hadn’t put much thought into what he’d look like until now but the idea of him decomposing beneath the thin blanket of slate makes me want to hurl.

  DI LOCKE

  Now

  It’s been an excruciatingly long twenty-four hours, and I’m beginning to lose patience as we near the end.

  DI Vickers of North Wales Police has been keeping me updated since the CSIs he’s assigned have begun their search of Dinorwic slate quarry, paying special attention to the location Kirsty circled on the image Jones printed off from Google Earth. But so far, they’ve only been able to recover a dead field-mouse, a child’s nappy and a chewing gum wrapper.

  ‘We’ve got to find him.’

  ‘It’s been almost a week since Kirsty says the incident occurred,’ quips Jones.

  ‘He’ll have begun to putrefy, and he’s been exposed to the elements.’

  ‘It’s been raining. Any residual blood will have washed away,’ he says.

  ‘Vickers has requested authorisation to supply the forensic investigators with dogs.’

  Cadaver scent from a single drop of blood or the plaque from a tooth can be detected through fifteen feet of snow.

  ‘Let’s hope they recover him before our time is up.’

  ‘We’ve only got three hours and fifty-six minutes remaining,’ he says.

  ‘I don’t need reminding.’

  We can apply to hold Kirsty for a further twelve, but we’d need to provide the CPS with hard evidence to expand custody beyond the legal remand limit and I’m concerned she’s not medically fit to withstand another six hours (in two-hour blocks) of interviews considering she hasn’t slept since the night before her arrest – which means she’s been awake now for approximately thirty-two hours.

  When an offender manages a restful kip it’s usually a red flag signalling a lack of conscience, low empathy, a feeling of superiority, a belief they’ll get away with the crime they have committed. Innocent folk are too worried to relax.

  I try not to concern myself with the fact Kirsty is displaying signs of insomnia because I can’t prove it’s been caused by her arrest. Besides, we have a bigger problem.

  It’s now looking likely Kirsty will
be eligible for release.

  We have no proof Kirsty was aware that police had sought to arrest her when she removed the twins from the family home, and as she didn’t travel far – setting up home in Goldcliff under a pseudonym – there’s no evidence that she’s a flight risk. The incident of arson never accrued legal involvement, the shoplifting charges are considered minor as she was a youth at the time the offences were committed, and the ABH charge is spent so we have no reasonable grounds to suspect she would breach any bail conditions imposed.

  I spend a fraction of the time we have remaining making enquiries into Mel’s life, taking notes as I do. I scan the bullet-pointed list the team have developed in the hope of discovering something that might tell us what may have happened to her and if Kirsty had anything to do with her disappearance, where she may be.

  Volatile relationship with her deadbeat, cheating father.

  Co-dependent, insecure mother.

  Temporary stepfathers with criminal records, addictions, and violent or paedophilic tendencies.

  No relationship with stepmother and stepsister.

  Non-existent relationship with stepfather, Paul.

  Grandmother diagnosed with schizophrenia.

  Hospital admission for attempted suicide after the death of her boyfriend, Brandon.

  Sectioned under the Mental Health Act in 2015 and diagnosed with drug-induced psychosis and severe depression.

  Mel ticks several boxes that suggest she has the potential to be a repeat offender, but with no criminal record there’s nothing to indicate a typology she could be defined with. Unlike Kirsty.

  Something’s niggling me.

  I re-read the information we’ve acquired on both women so far to compare Kirsty’s trajectory against Mel’s.

  Five years after marrying Garrett, Kirsty gave birth to their twin sons, Alfie and Leo. She was admitted to St Cadoc’s psychiatric unit three years later, after stabbing her husband in the arm. She was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (now termed Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder), which is characterised by affective dysregulation – or emotional instability to the layperson – cognitive distortions, impulsivity, difficulty maintaining relationships, and a predisposition to other diagnosable mental health disorders, such as anxiety, depression, mania, eating disorders, addiction and self-harm.

  That’s suspect.

  I think of the way Kirsty’s acted since she’s been in our presence. Her behaviour is evidentially inconsistent with her medical diagnosis. But BPD or EUPD is a lifelong condition. And as a disorder of an individual’s personality, its symptoms are extremely difficult to disguise.

  I continue skim-reading the notes, positive I’m on to something, though I’m still unsure what.

  Garrett made several phone calls to report domestic disputes shortly after Kirsty was discharged from hospital. Police attended the property four times, but although no legal action was taken, the PCs notified the local authority concerning their visit. Kirsty breached the Child Arrangements Order granting Garrett custody of the children, and was served to appear for contempt of court, so she took the boys to Bristol, rented a flat there and placed the twins into a local nursery. But Garret claimed she returned to Newport with him, which is when he made the phone calls to the police, and Social Services placed the children onto the at-risk register.

  According to the transcript of the telephone call Garrett made to police the day he reported his wife and children missing, Kirsty fought him and snatched the boys. The warrant was issued for Kirsty’s arrest on the assumption that she abducted the children, fearing she’d lose contact with them. Police visited Garrett to update him on the investigation and found the property in disarray. Due to the nature of his allegations they conceded Garrett had come to harm. None of them have been seen since.

  I eye Jones, seated across the room. He straightens in his chair and flattens his palms on his chinos.

  Then there’s Mel, who fell asleep in a bath after spending two consecutive nights drinking and crying over the loss of her boyfriend. Her gran found her, called an ambulance. It’s recorded in her medical notes as a suicide attempt. She took the anti-depressants her doctor prescribed, but never returned for a repeat dose. She continued working but started partying hard, binging on cocaine. Strung-out and hallucinating, her boss drove her to The Priory in Cardiff so she could clean up, but she became violent while withdrawing and the staff couldn’t pacify her, so the police were called to contain the situation. She was driven to A&E at the Royal Gwent to detox under medical supervision, and someone there recommended a psychiatric assessment at St Cadoc’s. She was diagnosed with drug-induced psychosis, became agitated and aggressive with staff when they recommended that she stay to rest and recuperate, and refused treatment, so she received a mandatory twenty-eight-day Section 2 order of detainment. She was medicated and counselled using high-intensity psychotherapy under a Section 3 order, then discharged twelve weeks later.

  A flash of lightning crackles in the gunmetal-grey sky, momentarily drawing my gaze towards the window.

  If Kirsty planned to murder her husband to relocate her children to avoid prosecution, she would have been intelligent enough to know that taking on a false identity would decrease her risk of getting caught.

  Thunder roars. A receipt skitters through the air and rain slaps it against the window.

  Mel went missing shortly after Kirsty’s hospital discharge. Her trail stops three months after she stepped out the doors of St Cadoc’s.

  Rain pelts the glass. It sounds like someone’s thrown a handful of rice at the window.

  What if Mel stole Kirsty’s identity when she left the psychiatric unit?

  I picture wedding guests tossing rice into the air at a bride and groom walking arm-in-arm down an aisle.

  What if Kirsty is Mel?

  You can’t get married without a birth certificate and photographic ID. As soon as the registrar had typed Kirsty’s date of birth into the computer along with the rest of her personal details they would have known that Kirsty was already married to Garrett and was attempting to commit adultery. They wouldn’t have accepted her and Humphrey’s notice of intention to marry without evidence she’d obtained a Final Divorce Decree, as well as Humphrey’s wife’s death certificate. So we know she used a false name to obtain a marriage licence – I’ve had two DCs investigating how Kirsty managed to commit bigamy since her arrest – but we had no reason to suspect her surname and maiden name weren’t one and the same. Nor enquire as to whether her maiden name was legally procured when the CSI team I allocated to search the mansion attempted to locate Bethan Miller’s birth certificate within the property. Because investigators found Kirsty’s driving licence, and Kate received confirmation from the DVLA that it wasn’t a forgery.

  ‘Of course.’

  I flick back through the notes and slam my palms down on the desk when I find the name: Brandon Miller.

  ‘Boss.’ I turn my attention to Jones, and he waves me over. ‘You’ve got to see this.’

  I leave my desk, cross the room, and stop and stare at the screen of Jones’ laptop where there’s a scanned copy of Bethan and Humphrey’s marriage certificate.

  It seems we’ve come to the same conclusion.

  ‘DC Winters contacted Newport register office and asked for a copy of Bethan Miller’s birth certificate. They told her th—’

  ‘There isn’t one.’

  ‘How did you kn—’

  ‘A hunch. Have you ch—’

  ‘Yes. I’m waiting for confirmation from the deed poll service but as you can see the date of birth listed on the marriage certificate matches Melanie Driscoll’s, so I think it’s obvious that she changed her name to Bethan Miller.’

  Though I can’t say why she felt the need to alter her Christian name, I can understand Mel might have taken her deceased boyfriend’s surname in the hope of keeping him alive, which, according to the medical notes we’ve obtained, supports Mel’s psychiatrist’s b
elief that her grieving process stopped at the denial stage.

  There’s nothing legally preventing Mel from changing her name. She’s not suspected of a criminal offence and we’ve only believed her to be missing since we began investigating Humphrey’s disappearance and learned of Garrett, Alfie and Leo’s disappearances, and subsequently her and Kirsty’s friendship.

  ‘If that’s Mel we’ve got banged up in that cell, it means Kirsty’s still missing,’ says Jones.

  ‘Once we have definitive proof of her identity, we can direct our focus exclusively on what’s important, which is to find that family.’ I point to the scanned photograph of Garret and the boys that’s blue-tacked to the wall.

  There wasn’t a photograph of Kirsty in the property when police attended the domestic disturbance reported to have occurred at the house she shared with her husband and sons, and found it a mess, the residents gone. It’s not unusual, as mums are often the ones holding the camera and taking the pictures. But what detectives did think strange was that without any living family members or known friends they struggled to find anyone who might have a picture of Kirsty with her family who could corroborate her identity. And with only the small black and white profile shot on her photocard driving licence, until now we had nothing to refute the fact that the woman that we have in Interview Room Three was Garrett’s wife, or the mother of his kids.