The Stranger You Know (Maeve Kerrigan Novels)

by Jane Casey

  “Una.” Godley’s tone was a reproof.

  “Well, there’s going to be another one. He’s not going to stop now.” She turned over another page. “Unless he gets spooked and runs. But I’d say there’s time for another.”

  Godley ignored her and went back to Dr. Chen. “What about the way he leaves them? The white clothes, the flowers, the candles?”

  “The way these victims are left is very deliberate but it’s not designed to shock those who see them. A lot of killers will humiliate their victims by leaving their genitals and breasts exposed.”

  “This is the opposite,” I said, thinking of Maxine draped in a sheet, covered from neck to knee.

  “Yes. His fantasy involves them being pure. The bodies are clean. There’s no blood. The cut hair is tidied away.”

  “And the mutilation?” I said. “It’s the only damage he does, aside from killing them. Why?”

  “Ah, that’s interesting,” Dr. Chen said. “The fact that it’s post-mortem means it’s not to torture them. The Victorians believed that the last image a dead person saw remained imprinted on their retina after death. In this case, that would be their killer. They took it seriously—they tried to photograph the eyes of one of Jack the Ripper’s victims. That’s what I thought of straight away when I heard about the eyes.”

  “Don’t mention Jack the Ripper in connection with these crimes, please,” Godley said. “A serial killer operating in London with a victim in Whitechapel—the ghouls will be circling anyway.”

  Dr. Chen’s mouth became a scarlet line: she did not enjoy being told off. Hastily, I said, “What about the hair?”

  “Traditionally, cropping the hair is a punishment. It’s possible he tempts them into what he would consider indecent behavior—maybe they offer him sex as a way of placating him, but it has the opposite effect. Then he cuts their hair to make them atone for their sin. Or he could do it after they’re dead.”

  “It makes them look like mannequins. Dehumanizes them.” Burt tapped her pen on her teeth. “Or it could be that it makes them unfeminine.”

  “It makes them look younger,” I pointed out. “They’re all quite short and very slim. Anna looked like a child.”

  Dr. Chen looked at her watch. “I’m sorry to break this up but I need to go.”

  “Of course.” Godley stood up. “Is there anything else we need to know?”

  “Chief Inspector Burt is right. He will continue killing unless he feels threatened. He’s not a risk-taker. At the moment, the odds are heavily in his favor. But if you can reduce those odds, you might find he stops, or moves on. If he stops killing in London, it will be worth keeping an eye on murders in other parts of the UK or even other jurisdictions within Europe and the US.”

  “That won’t happen,” Godley said. “We’ll get him before he moves on.”

  You won’t if you can’t look past Josh Derwent, I thought.

  Ever the gentleman, Godley walked Dr. Chen out. I went over to the noticeboard and looked at the pictures of the three dead women that Godley had pinned there.

  “You look tired,” Burt said.

  “I am. I was up late.”

  “Reading the Angela Poole file. What did you make of it?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Do you think it’s relevant to this case?”

  I opened my mouth to say yes, then changed my mind. “I don’t know. It could be a wild goose chase.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Look at the differences. She died out of doors. These women are killed in their homes. Our victims are in their late twenties and she was fifteen. They’re left lying on beds, not the ground. She wasn’t wearing white and her hair wasn’t cut. Someone followed her and killed her—that didn’t take a lot of planning or ritual, and these deaths did. There’s a twenty-year gap with no deaths. We can’t be looking for the same killer. It doesn’t make any sense.” I rubbed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “Derwent is obsessed with Angela and he sees similarities with every murder of a female by manual strangulation. He wants there to be a connection and you’re going along with it, but that doesn’t make it true.”

  “What about the eyes?”

  “What about them? You heard Dr. Chen. Maybe the killer is superstitious. Anyway, Angela’s eyes were gouged out while she was alive and left to one side. The three victims in our case have them removed after their deaths with a knife and are positioned holding them. That’s a Masonic symbol, isn’t it—the eye on the palm of a hand. Maybe we should be looking for a Freemason.”

  “Maybe we should.” Godley had come in behind me while I was talking. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. “You think we’re seeing what we want to see, Maeve.”

  “I do. And I think you’re being unfair to Derwent to let him think there’s a connection. He’s losing his mind over this. Probably,” I remembered to add. Because I haven’t seen him since you told him to leave me alone.

  “What do you think, Una?” Godley asked.

  “I can’t agree.” She glared at me. “You’re just as wrong to try to make the facts fit your theory that he’s not guilty.”

  “If there were any facts, that might be true.” She looked furious. I reminded myself I was speaking to a senior officer and carried on in a more measured tone. “If you’re right and there is a connection between these deaths and Angela Poole’s, why are you assuming Derwent is responsible? Angela’s killer was never found.”

  “Angela’s killer is probably dead. We’re looking for someone who has spent his life thinking about her.”

  “You’re narrowing the search down too quickly.”

  She slammed her hand down on the desk. “You’re making excuses for someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he would do or not do. This isn’t about a personality. It’s about the truth.” My voice had risen too. Heads were turning outside Godley’s office.

  “That’s enough.” Godley stepped between us. “Una, you had somewhere else to be, I think.”

  “Whitechapel. I’m reinterviewing Maxine’s neighbors.” She shut her notebook with a snap and stared at me. “Want to come?”

  No.

  “No.” Godley gave her a bland look. “Maeve has other things to do. Take Belcott with you.”

  She didn’t look thrilled, but I didn’t blame her. Belcott was not a lot of fun at the best of times. I was annoyed with Una Burt but I wouldn’t have wished Belcott on her. She stumped out of the office with a frown and Godley shut the door behind her.

  “What do you really think?”

  “I don’t know. At all. But I don’t think Derwent can be involved.”

  “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be sticking up for him.” He sat down behind his desk.

  “And I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be trying to drop him in it. This is Derwent we’re talking about. His one quality, the one thing that makes him decent, is that he is totally loyal. He’d literally die for you. And you’re trying to tie him into a serial murder.”

  Godley’s jaw was tight. “At the very least I don’t want my case interfered with by someone who is a stranger to doing things by the book.”

  “I didn’t know doing things by the book was so important to you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know what it means.”

  He stood up, his face white. “I will not be blackmailed by a member of my team. If you have a specific complaint to make about me, there are official channels for handling that.”

  “I don’t want to make a complaint and I am not blackmailing you. I just feel you’re not being fair to Derwent.”

  “I would think very carefully about whether you want to use your undeniable advantage for Derwent’s benefit.”

  I could feel my hands shaking, partly from anger, partly from tension. Get this wrong and I’d be back to local CID if I was lucky. Get it really wrong and I’d be in a t
raffic car writing tickets for bald tires. “This isn’t about me. Or you. I still don’t understand why you would risk your reputation and your career for money but I meant what I said when we spoke about it before—it’s none of my business. And I am not the sort of person to try and turn that knowledge to my advantage. So please, stop assuming that I’m two seconds away from threatening you with disgrace.”

  Godley fiddled with his pen, still on edge.

  “Look, I’m just pointing out that nobody is perfect. I can understand why you don’t want Derwent involved but I can’t see why he has to be sent away in disgrace. And you know DCI Burt can’t stand him. You know she’s taking every opportunity to make him suffer. Neither of you seriously believes he’s guilty, do you?”

  “I don’t know. Did you read the file?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of it?”

  I thought about it. “I—yes. Not in detail. I didn’t have time. I didn’t get in until after midnight.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You must have taken a long way home.”

  Shit. I’d forgotten he knew when I’d left. “What was it you think I missed in the file?” I asked quickly.

  “He was a different person then.”

  “He was seventeen years old. Anyone is entitled to change in twenty years. And he’s been in the army. He was shot at.”

  “Exactly my point. He hasn’t had an easy time of it. You know him well enough now, Maeve. You know he’s not stable.”

  “He’s not always pleasant.”

  “You don’t want to believe the worst of him. Neither do I.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see the evidence.”

  “All right,” Godley said. “All right. You know, I like Josh and I like working with him. I take your point about Una—she is enjoying this. But she is a professional, as am I. We both think there is enough of an issue here to be concerned about him. He is off-balance at the moment, and these murders are pushing him in the wrong direction.”

  I thought of him jumping on me the night before. “I agree.”

  “You seem to think I’m trying to harm him, but I’m not. If anything, I’m trying to protect him. I want to sit on the Angela Poole thing until we’re sure that it is connected, or sure that it’s not. If we start investigating it alongside the three current murders, people will talk. It needs to be done quietly.”

  “May I look into Angela Poole’s death?”

  “Are you able to be objective about him?” Godley asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Do you consider him a friend?”

  “No.”

  “An enemy?”

  “No.”

  “Do you consider yourself to be neutral?”

  It was hard to be neutral about Derwent. “He’s a colleague. I admire some things about him. I dislike others. I don’t need him to be my friend to work with him.”

  “All right. Keep it quiet. Report to me. I’m bringing some other members of the team on to the investigation into the current murders, but I’d rather keep the details of the Poole murder between us. Josh still works here, and as I said before, I don’t want gossip about him.”

  “What about Chief Inspector Burt?”

  “She’s liaison with Bradbury and Groves. She’s busy with the current cases. She’s read the file and formed her own opinion and she thinks we’ll get our man if we start at this end, not in the archives of an unsolved.”

  “Do I talk to Derwent?”

  “Stay away from him.”

  “He might be able to help.”

  “He might be dangerous.” Godley gave me a warning look. “Don’t even think about it, Maeve.”

  “I have his statement anyway,” I said, which was true, but not actually relevant.

  “Talk to the witnesses. See where she died. Keep it quiet. Report to me. I can tell Josh we’re looking into it and mean it.” Godley sighed. “You don’t think there’s a connection between the two cases, and you don’t think we should be worried about Derwent. I hope you prove yourself right on both counts.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I spent the day reading the Angela Poole file in detail and dealing with paperwork, and my head was aching by the evening. I was glad to have a reason to leave the office, and besides that I was looking forward to seeing James Peake again. He was a lot more charming than his boss, though that wasn’t difficult. I also liked the idea of getting the inside track on Maxine Willoughby without having to ask Una Burt about it. I thought less of her for being vindictive toward Derwent. It was ironic that Derwent was the prince of vindictiveness. In her position, he’d have done the same and worse. Still, I had my standards, and Una Burt was not meeting them, currently.

  Peake had picked a hotel bar in Kensington, a place with lots of mirrors and glass and low-slung designer armchairs and dim lighting. It was busy but the noise level was pleasantly muted, the conversations pitched to a murmur. He was sitting at a table at the end of the room when I got there and he waved, looking exactly like a DS who’d just come off duty in his suit and woeful tie. I hoped I was looking a bit better than him. I was wearing a Liv-approved charcoal-gray trouser suit, low heels, hair down but more or less under control. Businesslike. Not flirtatious in the least. But I couldn’t quite suppress a small, guilty glow of pleasure when Peake watched me walk all the way to the table, his expression telling me that he liked what he saw. The glow faded as I contemplated exactly how awkward it would be to encourage him to think of me as anything other than a colleague. And of course I had no interest in him, beyond finding out what he knew about Maxine Willoughby. No interest at all. The old me, before Rob, would have been quivering with lust, but I was totally unmoved.

  “Thanks for coming.” He stood up and pulled out a chair for me. “What’ll you have?”

  “Tonic water, please.”

  “With gin or vodka?”

  I smiled. “Not when I’m still working.”

  “Yeah. Of course. Maybe later.”

  He headed over to the bar and leaned against it, taller by inches than the men on either side and a good deal broader. He looked as if he’d expect to win an arm-wrestling competition with anyone there. His hair was really properly red, which I happened to like. From the looks Peake was getting from ladies—and quite a few men—all around the bar, I wasn’t alone in noticing that he wore it well.

  He came back juggling a beer, a bottle of tonic water, a glass for me with ice and a plate of nuts and crisps.

  “Brain food. Here you go.”

  I crunched a pretzel, suddenly ravenous. “Do they know you here? How come we’ve got this and no one else has?”

  “I was nice to Magda.” He looked back at the girl who was working our end of the bar and grinned at her, getting a lopsided smile in return. “She’s from Krakow.”

  “I think you made her night.” She was now polishing a spot on the bar that probably hadn’t needed a two-minute shine but it allowed her an unimpeded view of Peake. It wasn’t altogether surprising, I thought. He was pleasant, handsome, and I found him attractive. I reminded myself firmly that my boyfriend possessed all three characteristics in truckloads, and concentrated on sipping my drink.

  “So what did you do to annoy my boss?” Peake raised one eyebrow slowly. “Anything I should know about?”

  “I didn’t think he remembered meeting me. Why, what did he say?”

  “He said you were arrogant.”

  “Just arrogant?”

  “An arrogant bitch.”

  I nodded. “Nice.”

  “Sorry.” He drank his lager. “I hadn’t planned to say so much.”

  “Christ, don’t ever commit a crime. The interview would be pitiful.”

  “What can I say? I can’t lie to you.”

  I looked away, smiling politely.

  He moved on without further comment. “So I thought we should get together and have a chat about this case minus my twat of a boss and your … Chief Inspector Burt.”

  I wond
ered what choice phrases he had decided not to use. It was wise of him not to slag her off, as he didn’t know how I felt about her. The funny part was that I didn’t know either.

  “What’s been going on? How did Bradbury get this case when he’s only just been promoted?”

  “No one else wanted it. Everyone assumed it was a domestic gone bad, an easy one that Bradbury could handle. They didn’t make the connection with the other woman until after the post-mortem, when Dr. Hanshaw said he’d seen something similar. And then Groves and his fat friend came along and looked over our shoulders.”

  “They’re quite the double act,” I observed.

  “They’ve been dying to take over. Not that I blame them.” He finished his beer in one long swallow and caught Magda’s eye, holding up the glass. “Changed your mind?”

  I’d barely touched my drink. “I’m fine. What’s been the problem with the investigation? Why do they want to take over?”

  “Bradbury doesn’t want to listen to anyone. I mean, anyone. He took some convincing to admit it was the same killer.”

  “Hadn’t he seen the crime-scene pictures?”

  “Yeah. He wasn’t prepared to admit they were identical straight away. I think he was afraid the case would get taken away from him.”

  “He must be just delighted at how things have worked out, now that Godley’s taken over the lot.”

  “Actually, I think he is. He’s glad to have an opportunity to impress your boss.”

  “Please, God, don’t let him impress Godley so much that he gets him to join the team.”

  “Godley’s got to know better than that.”

  “You’d think, but he doesn’t filter out the tossers.” I stirred my tonic water with the totally unnecessary swizzle stick, jabbing the ice viciously. “As long as they’re good coppers, they can join the team.”

  “Rest easy. That leaves Bradbury out.”

  “Is he actually fucking it up or is he just dragging his heels?”

  “Fucking up. He put everyone’s backs up at Maxine’s work, asking questions about her sex life and everyone else’s in the office. He upset her parents—did a video link interview with them and they were so steamed up about what he was suggesting that they complained to our boss.”