by Marion Todd
And on top of the rug, the life draining out of him, lay the figure of John Mason.
Chapter 49
‘Ambulance is on its way,’ Sara said.
Clare glanced across to where Gillian was comforting the woman. ‘Better make that two,’ she said.
Sara took out her radio to summon another ambulance while Clare walked across to Gillian and the woman. Her sobs had eased and she sat now on a garden bench, shaking violently.
Clare was about to suggest they moved her into a police car for warmth when the woman raised a mascara-streaked face. It took Clare a moment to recognise her. The face was contorted into an expression of pain but suddenly she saw that the woman John Mason had chosen for his fourth victim was Dr Sandra Holt, the psychiatrist she’d asked to examine Ruth Williams.
‘Dr Holt!’
The woman frowned as though wondering how Clare knew her name. And then there was a spark of recognition in her eyes. ‘Inspector Mackay?’
Clare sat down beside her and nodded. ‘Yes, it’s me.’ She took Dr Holt’s hand. ‘You’re safe now.’
The blanket Gillian had put round Sandra Holt’s shoulders was slipping off and Clare pulled it back round. ‘It’s cold,’ she said. ‘I think we should get you into one of the cars.’
As they rose Clare saw the sky towards St Andrews light up and heard an approaching siren.
‘That’ll be the ambulance. We’ll get you warmed up in there. But, are you able to tell me anything at all about what happened tonight?’
Dr Holt began to shiver again. She opened her mouth then shook her head.
‘The man in the house, did he attack you?’
She wrapped her arms across her chest and nodded vigorously.
‘And did you cause his injuries?’
She met Clare’s eye and nodded again. ‘Knife,’ she mumbled.
‘One of yours? Or did he have a knife with him?’
‘Mine.’
The ambulance rumbled up the farm track and came to a halt in front of the entrance. Two green-clad men jumped out and approached Clare and Dr Holt. Clare gave a brief summary of what she’d learned then directed the men inside where Chris had been attempting CPR on John Mason. A second ambulance could be heard approaching and Clare put an arm round Sandra Holt.
‘Soon have you in the warm,’ she said, and Dr Holt nodded mutely.
Clare handed her over to the paramedics, promising to follow her across to Ninewells Hospital in Dundee. Then she went back to the farmhouse door. Chris was coming out, peeling off a pair of blood-soaked disposable gloves. As he saw Clare he shook his head.
‘Dead?’
‘Afraid so. Massive blood loss. He arrested in front of me. Didn’t know whether to try and stem the blood or give him CPR.’
Janey appeared at Clare’s shoulder. ‘SOCO heading over. Should be here within the hour.’
‘Thanks, Janey. Chris and I will follow the ambulance to Ninewells. I want to speak to her as soon as they’ll allow it. Could you stay here till SOCO arrive?’
‘Sure, boss.’
‘And I’ll need a couple of cops on duty overnight,’ Clare added, ‘plus one at Ninewells to keep an eye on Dr Holt.’ She glanced back at the farmhouse. ‘We’ll have to find someone to identify the deceased formally. And we’ll need a warrant to search his house, wherever it is. See if there’s anything on the body that will help with an address.’
The paramedics were leading Sandra Holt into the ambulance to assess her and Clare steered Chris down the path where they couldn’t be overheard.
‘What do you reckon?’ she said.
He considered. ‘Stab wounds in his side. Not your usual site for a defensive wound. Unless…’
‘Yeah?’
‘If he had her from behind, she might have managed to grab a kitchen knife – swung it behind her – she’d have caught him in the side.’
‘So he’s attacked her, she’s grabbed the knife and hit lucky.’
‘Looks that way.’
Clare closed her eyes, picturing the scene again. Then she said, ‘There was wine, wasn’t there?’
‘Didn’t notice, to be honest, Clare.’
‘There was. I’ll mention it to Janey. I want to know if it’s drugged. If it is…’
‘We’ve got our man.’
‘Let’s hope so, Chris.’
* * *
The Accident & Emergency Department at Ninewells was buzzing with drunks, and men in sports kit clutching their shoulders.
‘She’s gone up to the Short Stay ward,’ the receptionist told them.
Clare and Chris made their way through the corridors and up one floor to the ward. Clare showed her warrant card and explained they hoped to interview Dr Sandra Holt.
‘The doctor’s with her now,’ a nurse in a blue tunic told her. ‘If you could wait here…’
They sat on hard chairs at the end of the ward while a steady stream of medical staff in different-coloured uniforms flew back and forth, wheeling monitors and scribbling on charts. After twenty minutes, Clare again approached a nurse.
‘Hold on, I’ll check…’
The nurse returned a few minutes later and led them to one of the rooms. ‘Not too long, if you don’t mind. She’s pretty shaken up.’
Sandra Holt lay, still clothed, on top of the bed, her head resting on a pile of pillows. She’d kicked off her shoes and pulled a honeycomb blanket up round herself. Beside her on the bed lay a buzzer and a grey cardboard sick bowl. There was a small tear in the neck of her jumper and Clare’s eyes were drawn to her throat and the slight scratching at either side. She reckoned it was probably self-inflicted as Sandra struggled to remove John Mason’s hands from her neck. She tried to see if there was bruising around the vagus nerve but Sandra’s hair had fallen forward. As Clare approached the bed she saw Sandra’s eyes fill with tears.
‘Is… is he dead?’ she asked, her voice little more than a whisper, doubtless hoarse from the attempt at strangulation.
Clare nodded. ‘It’s not official yet but, yes. I’m afraid he died at the scene.’
Sandra closed her eyes and a tear began to roll down her cheek. ‘I didn’t mean to…’
Clare interrupted. ‘Dr Holt, I don’t want to prejudge your version of this evening’s events but, in light of what’s happened, I must caution you formally. I hope you understand.’
Sandra wiped away the tear and Clare delivered the standard caution. When Sandra had acknowledged this, Clare carried on. ‘If you feel up to it, I’d like to ask what happened tonight. Could you manage that?’
Sandra ran her tongue round her lips then said, ‘Yes. I’ll try.’ She put her hands down on the bed to lift herself up and glanced across at a jug of water on the cabinet. Chris rose and walked round the bed to pour her a drink.
When Sandra had sipped the water, Clare said, ‘Dr Holt…’
‘Call me Sandra.’
‘Sandra,’ Clare began again, ‘if you could tell us what you remember – maybe start with how the man came to be in your house.’
She swallowed and put a hand to her throat. Then she said, ‘John Mason works at Pitlethie Care Home.’ She took another sip of water then continued. ‘I’ve met him a couple of times when I was seeing a patient. He always struck me as perfectly pleasant and very good with the residents.’ She shook her head. ‘I liked him.’
She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath in and out, then she opened them again. ‘One day – last week – I was leaving the hospital in Cupar. I do a clinic there once a week – and I saw him parked just outside. He was holding a fuel can so I rolled down my window and asked if he’d run out of petrol.’ She stopped to clear her throat then went on. ‘I offered to run him to the petrol station in my car but he said I shouldn’t be offering men lifts.’ She stopped again, cleared her throat and took another sip of water.
‘Take all the time you need,’ Clare said, smiling.
Sandra nodded and, after a moment, she continued. ‘So
I said I’d drive along, fill the can and bring it back which I did. He offered to pay but I said not to bother and I went on my way.’
‘When was this?’ Clare asked.
Sandra’s brow creased for a moment then she said, ‘Tuesday. It was Tuesday, about four thirty.’
Clare jotted this down in her notebook.
‘Then, last night, my doorbell rang.’
‘Time?’
Sandra took a moment, then she said, ‘Seven, I think. Or a bit after.’
Clare continued scribbling in her notebook.
‘I went to the door and was surprised to see him there. He had a bottle of wine and said it was to thank me. I said there was no need but he said it was the least he could do. He told me he’d be on holiday the next time I came to Pitlethie so he wanted me to have it before he went.’
‘Did you ask how he knew your address?’
Sandra nodded. ‘He said I’d talked about the farmhouse on one of my visits to the home.’
‘Had you?’
Sandra shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. I chat to the staff – you know how these things are. Small talk. Anyway, it was pretty cold. Clear sky. I could see frost already on the garden so I said did he want to come in for a few minutes.’ She eyed Clare and Chris. ‘Stupid, I know. But I’d met him through work, you see? I never thought…’
Clare gave her a reassuring smile, then asked, ‘Did you offer him a drink?’
‘Yes. I meant tea or coffee. But he said why not open the bottle he’d brought. And he picked it up and opened it there and then. Before I could stop him. It was a screwcap, you see. He… he just opened it.’
Clare could visualise it clearly. ‘Who poured the wine?’
‘He did. I fetched glasses from the cupboard and he poured. And then he said could he have a glass of water too. He’d left his car at the end of the track and didn’t want to be over the limit. So I went to the sink and poured him a glass of water.’
Clare glanced at Chris. Had this been a diversion? An opportunity for him to slip a tablet into Sandra’s glass? He’d only have had a few seconds but, in red wine, the Rohypnol would be invisible.
Sandra seemed to read her thoughts. ‘I thought I saw his hand draw back as I turned round from the sink. And, well, I’m a naturally cautious person. I wondered if he might have done something to my drink. So I said I was just about to have a sandwich and would he like one. He said that would be nice so I took my wine glass with me, pretending to drink. I opened the fridge to get out some cheese. There’s a sort of half wall at that end of the kitchen – blocks the view from the sofa so I tipped the wine into a bowl of chilli in the fridge and pretended I’d drunk it. I made the sandwich and brought it through, saying what lovely wine it was.’
Sandra stopped for a moment, her eyes closed. Then she took a deep breath in and out and carried on. ‘After half an hour he asked if I was feeling all right.’ She shivered, then said, ‘That convinced me something was wrong. I guessed he’d tried to drug me so I played along. Said I was feeling drowsy.’ She closed her eyes again, as if trying to remember. ‘I thought maybe I could hit him with something so I got up from the sofa and walked back to the kitchen, pretending to be wobbly. I was looking for something I could use to defend myself.’ She opened her eyes and met Clare’s. ‘But he was too quick. He was there, behind me, hands round my neck.’
Tears started to course down Sandra’s cheeks and she reached for a box of tissues next to the glass of water. She dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, between sobs. ‘It’s just…’
Clare took hold of her hand in both of hers. ‘Sandra, you’re doing so well. Nearly there. If you could just tell us what happened next.’
She nodded and blew her nose. ‘It’s a bit of a blur. He said something about my time having come and how he would enjoy arranging my body. Something about the shower, I think.’ She flicked a glance at them. ‘Like the others.’
From the corner of her eye Clare saw Chris move forward in his seat and, holding Sandra’s gaze, she tapped his knee lightly, warning him not to interrupt.
‘I put out my hand,’ Sandra went on. ‘I was grabbing at air then suddenly a drawer flew open and I felt something. I didn’t know what it was but I grabbed it and tried to hit him with it. But I couldn’t get past his arms – he was so strong, you know? So I swung it behind me. I tried and I tried and then I heard this noise – this horrible noise and I couldn’t pull it back. He shouted something and I felt the strength go out of his hands. I realised I must have grabbed a knife. So I mustered all my strength and pulled it out and I dashed it behind me again. This time I didn’t pull it out and he staggered back.’
‘What did you do next?’ Clare said, her voice gentle.
Sandra’s eyes flicked left and right as if she was trying to remember. Then suddenly she said, ‘My phone! I saw my phone so I grabbed it and ran outside. I pressed the emergency button and I must have dialled 999…’ she tailed off then she looked from Clare to Chris. ‘Will I go to prison?’
‘I’d say almost certainly not, Sandra. We will investigate but if we find evidence to support what you’ve told us you can claim self-defence.’
The door opened and a nurse entered, wheeling a blood pressure monitor. ‘Is it all right if I do this now?’
Clare rose from her seat and Chris followed suit. ‘You’ve done brilliantly, Sandra,’ she said. ‘We’ll leave you now but, once you’re out of here, we’ll take a formal statement. And I’ll post an officer on your door overnight.’
Sandra forced a smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for understanding.’
As the nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff round Sandra’s arm Clare said, ‘Is there someone we can call for you?’
Sandra shook her head. ‘No thanks, Inspector. There’s no one.’
As they walked back through the corridors, dimmed with the night lights, Chris said, ‘Reckon she’ll get off okay?’
‘Yeah. Pretty clear case of self-defence. With his hands round her throat her life was in danger, not much chance of escape. I’d have done the same in her shoes.’
Chris eyed his boss. ‘I bet you would, too!’
They emerged into the fresh air, bitterly cold after the stifling heat of the hospital. The car had begun to ice up and Clare reached into the well of the door for a scraper. She threw this to Chris. ‘I’ll get the engine going. You scrape.’
He sighed. ‘I’m sure it’s your turn to do the scraping.’
‘But you do it so beautifully…’
Friday, 15th January
Chapter 50
Clare sat at her kitchen table, chewing on a slice of toast while Benjy demolished the contents of his bowl. It was the first morning she’d lingered over breakfast since the discovery of Alison Reid’s body. She couldn’t even think how long ago that was. A week? Ten days? Longer, probably. But now she felt she could relax a bit. Go in an hour later. There was still a lot to do. Sandra Holt’s story would have to be checked closely and John Mason’s phone and laptop records retrieved, hopefully confirming he was Stoneman.
Clare finished the last of her toast and rose, carrying her plate to the dishwasher. An image of John Mason, lying on Sandra Holt’s floor, bleeding out, came into her mind and she shivered. Could they have saved him? Probably not. But at least he wasn’t at large now.
It wasn’t the result she’d wanted, though. The death of a suspect never was. No. Clare had wanted John Mason sitting in an interview room, explaining why he had killed three women and attempted to kill a fourth. She wanted to understand what had driven this man to such lengths, to drug and kill these women then to leave them in water. She particularly wanted to know about that. Had some experience in his past given him a fear of water? With John Mason lying in a mortuary fridge they’d probably never know.
She put a tablet in the dishwasher compartment and pressed it closed, switching it on. It began to hum and fill with water and she whistled to Benjy. ‘Quick walk,’ she told him, da
ngling the lead. As she clipped it on she wondered if Sandra Holt might be able to shed some light on John Mason’s state of mind – on his obsession with water. She was a psychiatrist, after all…
* * *
Michelle Delaney phoned as Clare was backing the car into her usual space.
‘Sorry, Inspector. Not heard anything from Jessica. The message was delivered but it’s not been read.’
Clare thanked her and ended the call. It wasn’t surprising, really. She was pretty sure, by now, that John Mason was both Stoneman and Jessica Peters. He wouldn’t be reading any more messages.
‘Positive ID on the victim,’ Jim said as she approached the public enquiry desk. ‘It is John Mason.’
‘Who ID’d him?’
‘Matron at the care home, plus another staff member. Still trying to trace his family but it seems he lived alone.’
‘You found his house then?’
‘Aye. One of the flats up by the swimming pool. Lads went in this morning and picked up his laptop. It’s down with Tech Support now.’
‘Okay, thanks Jim. What about his phone?’
‘No sign. Wasn’t on the body and the lads couldn’t see it in the house. Still to get into the car but that’s back up at the farmhouse.’
‘Okay, Jim. What about SOCO?’
‘They finished at the house just after midnight. I’ve left Gary up there, meantime.’
‘Can she go back, then – Dr Holt?’
‘Yeah. Should be okay.’