by Marion Todd
Dr Holt looked shocked. ‘Oh, how dreadful. Do you know… I mean, what happened? Was she ill?’
Clare hesitated. They still didn’t know officially. The PM report wouldn’t be out until the end of the day or even tomorrow. ‘We don’t have a cause of death yet but we are treating it as unexplained at this stage.’
Dr Holt said, ‘Then I imagine you’ll be busy. I’ll not keep you any longer, Inspector.’
‘Actually…’
‘Yes?’
‘I can’t tell you how we found Ruth but, until we have a cause of death, I did wonder…’
‘You’re thinking that the balance of her mind could have been disturbed by her arrest?’
Clare was grateful for the doctor’s directness. ‘Frankly, yes. If there is a chance that the arrest contributed to her death we need to learn from that.’
‘I’d have thought not, Inspector. But maybe if you could tell me a little about the circumstances…’
‘Can I offer you something to drink first?’
Dr Holt smiled. ‘I’d love a cup of tea, if you have time. No milk.’
Over mugs of tea – Clare couldn’t find any cups and saucers – she related the story of Ruth’s arrest. As she mentioned the garage full of stolen goods Dr Holt interrupted her.
‘How did she seem, when she opened the garage? Was there any sense of pride? Were the goods arranged in any order?’
Clare rose from her seat. ‘Hold on. I’ll fetch Sara.’
Sara trailed in after Clare, twisting her hands.
‘Dr Holt’s keen to learn how Ruth reacted when she opened the garage,’ Clare explained.
‘Can you remember what she said?’ Dr Holt added. ‘At the garage.’
Sara’s brow creased and she stood thinking for a minute. ‘I think she said something like It’s all here. And she stood back to let me go in.’
‘You didn’t see her face?’
‘I did,’ Sara said. ‘She wouldn’t meet my eye, though. Just looked away.’
‘Her body language – was it defensive? Arms crossed, that sort of thing.’
Sara shook her head. ‘Oh no.’ She half closed her eyes, as if recalling the scene. ‘I think her shoulders were down. She’d sort of slumped, if that makes sense.’
Dr Holt nodded. ‘And the garage? How were the goods arranged? Any order or method?’
‘No, nothing like that. A bit like a jumble sale, to be honest. Some of the clothes were dusty and the things on the floor were just a mixture. No order at all.’
‘And did she attempt to show you anything? Point anything out?’
‘No. In fact, I think she was desperate to close the door again. She seemed ashamed of it.’
Dr Holt smiled her thanks and Sara escaped with obvious relief.
When the door was closed again, Clare said, ‘Well, doctor?’
‘It certainly sounds as if she was crushed by the experience, Inspector. But, from what your officer said, I think her problems pre-date her arrest. That kind of random, disorganised shoplifting, with no apparent benefit to the thief, no sign that she’s using the stolen goods to improve her life, well, it’s a kind of compulsion. Rather like an alcoholic who drinks, not because he enjoys it, but because he must. He fears the alternative more than the drink itself. I’d say Ruth Williams stole because it made her briefly happy. The guilt she demonstrated at her garage is typical. It’s not particularly common but is a recognised mental health condition.’
Clare hesitated and Dr Holt seemed to guess what she was thinking.
‘Put your mind at rest, Inspector. If Ruth Williams did kill herself – and, from what you say, I think you have your doubts – the root cause goes further back than her arrest on Friday. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to see her then. I might have been able to recommend the types of therapy that could have helped.’
Clare smiled. ‘Thank you. I’ll relay that to Sara. She’s been terribly worried.’
Dr Holt rose and began to pull on her coat. ‘Please do reassure her. Whatever the outcome of the post-mortem, I’m sure your officer wasn’t to blame.’
* * *
Jim was waiting for Clare when she showed Dr Holt out. ‘I’ve been on to the Registrar General – about Jessica Peters.’
‘Any luck?’
He shook his head. ‘Nope. All they have is her birth certificate. No record of a marriage or anything like that. I’ve been through our own records and the voters’ roll. She’s not on either.’
Clare nodded. ‘That figures. When we spoke to Michelle Delaney this morning…’ She saw Jim’s face cloud. ‘From the WhatsApp group – hairdresser, still lives in the town – she said she thought Jessica had moved to France when she was about fourteen.’
‘Ah. That makes sense,’ Jim said. ‘Thought about Europol?’
‘Thanks for the reminder, Jim. I promised to send the details to the DCI. He’s agreed to process a request. Better do that now.’ She turned to head back to her office then stopped. ‘Any luck with the house-to-house yet?’
‘Not that I’ve heard. They’ll phone in if there is anything.’
Chapter 40
Clare was contemplating calling Neil Grant to ask if he’d carried out the post-mortem on Ruth when her phone began to ring. Oh please, not another victim, she thought clicking to take the call.
‘Inspector, this is Maureen Curzon. I’m the headteacher at Lamond Primary School.’
At last, Clare thought, but didn’t say. ‘Mrs Curzon – thank you for calling.’
‘I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long to come back to you. So many staff off sick, you know. But, then, you don’t want to hear about that…’
Clare waited for Maureen to draw breath then said, ‘Have you managed to track down your predecessor?’
‘Well, yes and no,’ Maureen said. ‘The headteacher before me was Celia Crawford and I have her mobile number, but I only heard about her yesterday.’
Clare didn’t like the sound of this. ‘Heard?’
‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘I gather she’s going to be fine. But she had a heart attack just after Christmas and she’s been in intensive care since then. That’s why I’ve not been able to get hold of her.’
Clare tried not to let the disappointment show in her voice. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll be able to visit then.’
‘Well, that’s why I’m calling now,’ Maureen said. ‘I’ve spoken to her daughter and they think she might be well enough for a short visit tomorrow, if that helps.’
‘Oh, tomorrow would be fine,’ Clare said. ‘If Mrs Crawford’s daughter can give us a time, we’ll be there.’
‘Then I’ll give you her number and you can sort it out between you.’
* * *
It was almost six by the time Clare remembered she hadn’t phoned Celia Crawford’s daughter. She keyed in the number Maureen Curzon had given her and switched the speaker on, setting the phone down on her desk. It went to voicemail.
‘Dammit,’ she muttered, waiting for the beep. She left a message asking Celia’s daughter to call her back and ended the call. As she did so an email popped up. Al Gibson. The DCI. Just one word.
Europol?
She’d forgotten that too. She clicked to reply, typed Sorry and began keying in what the Education Department had told her about Jessica Peters. She sent the message then leaned back in her chair, stretching out her legs. She was tired now and longing for home. Benjy would have been well walked by Moira but would still be excited to see her. She watched her Inbox to see if the DCI would send a reply but, after five minutes, she gave up and shut down her computer. As she locked her desk and turned out the lights she remembered what he’d said earlier that day. Clare, you always look great. Had he meant it? Or was it just one of those things you say when someone makes a remark about their weight – or their hair? Did he feel anything at all for Clare? Maybe she should ask him. Get it out into the open.
And then she knew she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the kind to chas
e after men. Not her style. ‘You’ll end up an old maid, Clare,’ she told herself. And then she thought there might be worse things.
* * *
When she’d fed Benjy and eaten another of her mother’s meals, she lay on the sofa with the dog at her feet scrolling through Facebook on her laptop. Inevitably she found herself browsing through photos on Geoffrey Dark’s timeline. As usual he was pictured smiling, always with friends and colleagues, all smiling too.
And then she saw one photo that was like a knife in her heart. There was snow on the ground and the sky was a deep blue. It looked like a city park, she thought, noting the skyscrapers in the background. There were six or seven of them in the group, plus whoever was taking the photo. They weren’t looking at the camera but at something beyond the photographer. They were all facing the same way, except for Geoff. He had his arm round a petite girl with a heart-shaped face. She wore a pale grey beanie hat decorated with a line of red and yellow chickens. Her hair, a rich coppery brown, lay over her shoulders in thick wavy hanks; Clare couldn’t help comparing it with her own poker-straight hair. The girl was gazing beyond the camera in the same direction as the others, apparently not heeding the fact that Geoff’s eyes were fixed on her upturned face. Clare studied his expression. She’d seen it before – when he’d looked at her, sometimes. Usually when he was about to say he loved her. And now, it was trained on someone else. A petite girl with good hair and a heart-shaped face.
‘Didn’t take you long, Geoff,’ she muttered, closing Facebook. She wondered idly if he’d only just met the girl. Or had there been something all along…
She hovered over the shortcut to Attracto and then, seized by an impulse, she opened it up, navigated to Settings and clicked Delete Profile. A pop-up asked if she was sure and she clicked to confirm this. She wasn’t going to learn anything about Stoneman through the dating site anyway. Jessica Peters was the key to this case. She was sure of that now.
Clare watched the progress bar fill up and felt something approaching relief as her profile disappeared from the site. Attracto wasn’t for her. But maybe there were other sites…
She opened up Google and began searching. After a few minutes scrolling past the usual sites she had heard Zoe mention, she found one aimed at professionals. She wasn’t really sure about that. It sounded a bit self-important. But then the photo of Geoff gazing at that girl came into her head and she thought she had nothing to lose. As with Attracto she had to create a profile before she could browse through the thumbnails and, again, she used the photo of Benjy. It took a good half hour to complete the registration process but eventually she was able to browse the men who met her criteria.
The profile photo was taken from behind, but the tall athletic figure in the black wetsuit with the blue flashes on the legs was unmistakable. Clare had seen it before on his Facebook page – DCI Alastair Gibson.
She scanned his profile to see if he’d been active recently. One hour ago. And suddenly Clare’s mouth felt dry. Whatever had gone on between him and the woman in the ski photos, he was on a dating website now and he’d been active that evening. Just an hour ago. She hovered over his profile to give it a thumbs-up and then decided against it. Surely if he was available and interested in Clare he would have said something.
And then she knew he wouldn’t have. Of course he wouldn’t. After all it was Clare who’d chosen Geoff over him when she had come out of hospital the previous year. She’d almost died. And he’d arrived at the hospital, ready to take her home and look after her. But then Geoff had come striding in, straight from the airport. He had breezed into her life once more, ready to nurse her back to full health. And she had let him.
And Al Gibson had melted into the background taking their burgeoning relationship with him. At the time Clare had wondered if she’d made the right decision. Now she knew she hadn’t.
Tuesday, 12th January
Chapter 41
A dense fog had rolled in from the North Sea overnight and Clare drove slowly, the sound of her tyres on the damp road breaking the stillness that comes with thick mist. She’d switched off the car radio, trying to order her thoughts for the day ahead, but she couldn’t seem to make any sense of this case.
Her phone began to ring as she reached the station car park. An unfamiliar number. She killed the engine and clicked to take the call.
‘Detective Inspector?’ a woman’s voice said. ‘I’m Carolyn Joseph. You called me last night.’
It took Clare a moment then the penny dropped. Celia Crawford’s daughter. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for calling.’
‘Not at all. I’m sorry it wasn’t last night. We were up at the hospital until quite late.’
‘Can I ask how your mother is?’
‘Oh, thank you. She’s recovering, albeit slowly. They had to operate, you see. She was very woozy last night. But I’m hoping to find her a bit better today.’
Clare hesitated. Clearly her investigation wasn’t going to be a priority for Carolyn Joseph. But she had to find out more about her three victims, assuming Ruth’s PM confirmed she was victim number three. ‘I wonder if it might be possible to speak to your mother,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t ask but it is important.’
‘I doubt she’ll be fit today, Inspector. But I can ask the doctors. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday…’
‘Wednesday would be better, if it’s at all possible. I would prefer not to trouble your mother but it is a murder inquiry.’
‘I’ll plead your case, Inspector. Leave it with me.’
Clare thanked Carolyn and ended the call. She emerged from her car and saw Chris and Sara heading for the door. They held back and waited for her.
‘Morning, boss,’ Chris said. ‘Any news?’
‘Celia Crawford’s had heart surgery,’ Clare said. ‘Won’t be able to speak to her today, that’s for sure. I’ve asked her daughter to press for an interview tomorrow.’
They walked into the station which was stiflingly hot and Clare made a beeline for Jim. ‘I don’t suppose you can do anything with this heating?’
‘Tried, Clare. The thermostat’s stuck again. I’ll give maintenance a call.’
In her office Clare hung up her coat and switched on the computer. She opened her emails and went through to the kitchen to put her lunch in the fridge. By the time she came back her Inbox had loaded and her eye went immediately to one from Neil Grant. The post-mortem for Ruth Williams. As usual it was a comprehensive document so she scrolled to the summary information which she read quickly. She took a couple of minutes to skim the rest of the report then rose from her seat.
Chris and Sara were in the kitchen making coffees.
‘Pass the word round, would you,’ she said. ‘Briefing in five minutes.’
Chris raised an eyebrow but Clare turned and headed back to her office.
She sat at her desk, thinking for a moment. So now they knew. She lifted her phone and called Diane’s number but it went straight to voicemail so she left a message, scribbling some notes on her pad. There was another email that caught her interest and she read it quickly. It had an attachment labelled Kiosk Manual and she flagged the message to read properly when she had time.
As Clare entered the incident room the hum of chatter died down, as though they sensed that something was coming.
‘Thanks, everyone,’ she began. Then she scanned the faces. They were all there, even Jim, standing by the door in case the phone went. ‘I’ve just had confirmation that Ruth Williams was killed in the same way as the other two victims. The cause of death was constriction of the airway and the pathologist believes death was hastened by applying pressure to the vagus nerve. Again, there was a small amount of alcohol in her system and, crucially, traces of Rohypnol.’
A hum went round the room and Clare waited for it to die down.
‘So, there’s no doubt, guys, we’re dealing with a serial killer. Someone who is systematically picking off women who were at primary school together.’
<
br /> ‘Any idea why, boss?’ someone asked.
Clare spread her hands. ‘At the moment, no. But at least we have the school as a link.’
‘And Attracto,’ Janey said.
‘Well yes. Our first two victims were contacted by the same man – Stoneman – but so far we’ve not been able to track him down. And Ruth Williams wasn’t on Attracto, although Jessica Peters did try to persuade her to join.’
Chris raised his hand. ‘Are we thinking that Jessica Peters could be Stoneman?’
‘It’s certainly a possibility,’ Clare said. ‘We’ve been working on the assumption that our killer is a man. But Neil Grant said the Rohypnol would make it easier to strangle the victims. So our killer – whether it’s Stoneman or someone else – could easily be a woman.’
Sara frowned. ‘But if it was this Stoneman, how would it work?’
‘Pretty straightforward, I’d say, Sara. Jessica Peters persuades the women to join Attracto. She creates a profile for a man, username Stoneman, and she starts flirting with her chosen victims. She persuades them to go on a date and, when Stoneman doesn’t show up, she does.’
‘So,’ Janey began, ‘…you’re saying Jessica sets up a date, knowing Stoneman won’t turn up…’
‘…because he doesn’t exist,’ Chris added.
Janey nodded. ‘Exactly. Then Jessica herself just happens to be in the pub, or wherever the date is, and moves in offering sympathy.’
‘That would certainly work for Ingrid,’ Clare said. ‘But not for Alison or Ruth. Both were found at home and Ruth wasn’t even on Attracto.’
Janey fell silent, considering this.
‘But it is a link,’ Clare said. ‘It’s possible that’s what happened to Ingrid but, if Jessica – or Stoneman – couldn’t persuade Alison to go on a date she could have found Alison’s address some other way. Maybe she asked where everybody worked in the WhatsApp chat. Then she just happens to be passing Crossford at the end of the day and bumps into Alison. She engineers an invitation to Alison’s house and turns up bearing wine. She probably chose red to disguise the Rohypnol tablet. Let’s not forget the sausage rolls in the oven. That suggests Alison had a guest.’