by Marion Todd
Clare drained her cup then said, ‘We won’t keep you much longer. If I could just ask one more thing?’
Irene looked at her. Waiting for the question.
‘You said when the last four came in. For the pizzas, I mean. Can you remember who they were?’
Irene nodded. ‘The girls in the photo. Those three girls: Alison, Ingrid and – oh, I’ve forgotten the other one’s name.’
Chris seemed about to prompt her but Clare nudged him.
‘Ruth,’ Irene said at last. ‘Ruth Williams.’
‘And the fourth?’
‘That lad John. As I said, always hanging about the popular girls. I think maybe he felt safe with them…’
* * *
They made their way back through the streets towards the motorway in silence. But once they were on the M80 Clare set cruise control to sixty and relaxed back into her seat.
‘What do you reckon?’
Chris sighed. ‘Sad.’
‘Isn’t it. One child dead, another estranged. And I’m not even sure she’s happy with that man.’
‘He does seem a bit – it’s hard to say what he is.’
‘He’s like a bloody mother hen,’ Clare said. ‘The poor woman probably didn’t have any counselling at the time. And the first chance she gets it all comes tumbling out.’
‘Yeah. Not sure where it gets us, though.’
‘It makes you wonder,’ Clare went on, easing the car into the left lane to take the road to Kincardine, ‘whether John Mason was responsible for little Sam’s death.’
‘Why would he be?’
‘Well, that’s two people who’ve said he was a bit odd. What if he had caused Sam’s death and those girls were the only ones to witness it?’
Chris shook his head. ‘No. Doesn’t work.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well for a start, if he did kill Sam then he killed the three girls to shut them up, why wait until now? Twenty years later?’
‘Suppose.’
‘And then there’s Sandra Holt,’ Chris went on. ‘It doesn’t explain why he would attack her. Unless…’ he broke off.
Clare glanced at him. ‘Unless what?’
‘Unless he’s not our killer. Unless the attack on Sandra’s unconnected to the other killings.’
Clare groaned. ‘Don’t say that, Chris. We’ve nearly got this case wrapped up. Anyway, the Rohypnol. And Sandra told us he said something about how he would arrange her body – in the shower…’
Suddenly there was a blast from a car horn and Chris grabbed the steering wheel. ‘Christsake, Clare! You nearly drifted into that car.’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’ And she raised a hand to wave to the driver of the other car. They were almost at Kincardine now and she indicated left at a sign for a service station.
‘Clare?’ Chris said. ‘You feeling okay?’
‘Chris, I need to think,’ she said, slowing her speed and following the Services sign. She drove on towards the car park and drew into a space in front of a Premier Inn. She switched off the engine and rubbed her temple.
‘You want to catch me up?’
‘The shower,’ she said. ‘In Sandra’s statement. She said that John Mason planned to arrange her in the shower.’
‘Yes, you said.’
‘Then she said like the others.’
Chris was silent, thinking this through.
‘You noticed it at the time,’ Clare said. ‘I saw you react but we were still trying to find out what had happened, I think we kind of forgot.’
Chris looked at her. ‘Are you saying…’
‘Chris, it doesn’t fit. Sandra Holt. It’s not the same as the others. She’s not on Attracto…’
‘Nor was Ruth Williams.’
‘No, that’s true. But Jessica Peters tried to get Ruth to join. Sandra Holt wasn’t in that WhatsApp group either. We don’t know where she went to school. She didn’t even know the other women. She’s an outlier.’
‘Oh God…’ Chris said.
‘So John Mason might not be our killer. He or she might still be out there.’
Chris rubbed his head. ‘But the shower, Clare – how does that fit? Oh wait, she must have heard it on the news.’
‘That’s just the point, Chris. We didn’t give that information out. Nothing was released about Alison Reid being found in the bath, or Ruth Williams with her head in the sink.’
‘Alison’s neighbour might have said something about it.’
‘But who to? It’s not been in the papers and I doubt Sandra Holt would have heard it from Alison’s neighbour. So how did she know about the water?’
Chapter 52
Chris drove while Clare made phone calls. Roy Andrews hadn’t been keen to put his wife on the phone but Clare was insistent.
‘Sorry to trouble you again,’ Clare said, when Irene finally came to the phone. ‘I wondered if I could just check something?’
‘Of course, Inspector. What is it?’
‘Lexy – can you tell me what she studied at university?’
Clare could hear the pride in Irene’s voice as she said, ‘Medicine. She studied to be a doctor.’
Clare’s stomach was in knots now. ‘And the job in Manchester?’
‘Junior doctor. And then she specialised in psychiatry. I was so proud of her, Inspector. She’d had such a rough time after – you know – but she came through it.’
Clare thanked Irene Andrews for her help and ended the call.
‘Lexy Harris trained as a psychiatrist.’
Chris glanced at her then back at the road ahead.
‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ she went on. ‘The 999 call handler said she kept saying The man on the news.’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘She told us she knew John Mason. She’d met him at Pitlethie. Now we named him that afternoon. It was on the news about three. If she’d heard the news and recognised his name, surely she’d have phoned in, knowing where he worked? And do you really think she’d have invited him in when he appeared on the doorstep? More likely she’d have made an excuse. Said she had to go out or was expecting guests. She could have hit the emergency button on her mobile and left the call open.’
‘Maybe he barged his way in.’
Clare shook her head. ‘No, think back. She said it was a frosty night and she asked if he wanted to come in for a few minutes. Chris, there was nothing in her statement that indicated she was fearful of him at that point. Only when she thought he’d slipped something into her wine.’
‘And that call will be recorded. Reckon we’ve got her?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not enough, Chris. We need more.’
Clare’s next call was to Neil Grant, the pathologist. ‘Neil, I need a favour – straight away, if you can.’
They were crossing the Clackmannanshire Bridge now, just outside Kincardine. An hour away from St Andrews.
‘Go on, then,’ Neil said. ‘But it’d better be good.’
‘Can you look at the photos of the woman who fought off our killer last night, please? I need her injuries compared with the other three victims. I’m concerned her attacker might not have killed the other women.’
‘Give me ten minutes,’ Neil said. ‘Twenty tops.’
Clare ended the call and dialled the station.
Jim answered on the first ring. ‘Clare?’
‘Jim, can you see what background you can find on Lexy Harris please? Her first job after uni was in Manchester then she specialised in psychiatry. See if you can find where she went after that. Where she lived, relationships – anything at all. Soon as you can, please. I’ll be with you in an hour.’
It was almost half an hour later by the time Neil Grant called Clare back. She flicked it onto speaker so Chris could hear. ‘Go ahead, Neil.’
‘Sorry for the delay, Clare, but I wanted to be sure.’
‘Go on.’
‘The injuries are less pronounced on Sandra Holt.’
&n
bsp; ‘Could they have been self-inflicted?’
‘How the hell did you know that?’
‘Just tell me.’
‘Well the fingernail marks are consistent with trying to prise someone’s hands off her throat. But there’s a massive clue in the bruising round the neck. The person who strangled the first three victims wore a distinctive ring – a crossover pattern – one band overlapping another. It left an imprint on the victims’ necks on the left-hand side.’
Suddenly she remembered. They had been leaving Sandra Holt’s hospital room as the nurse prepared to take her blood pressure. Her right arm was extended as the nurse wrapped the cuff round it. Sandra’s hand lay face-up on the bed, a rose gold ring on her fourth finger. At the time Clare had noticed it was quite a chunky ring. But now she realised it wasn’t chunky at all. It had only seemed thicker because it was made up of several bands arranged in a crossover pattern.
She closed her eyes, visualising the attacks. ‘So the assailant wore the ring on the right hand.’
‘Correct. In the case of Sandra Holt, there is a mark but it’s on the right side of her neck, and further back.’
‘Can you be sure it’s the same ring?’
‘If it’s not, it’s one very like it. Now, if you wanted to create the kind of bruising that occurs in strangulation your thumbs would be to the front, fingers to the back. It’s too awkward doing it the other way round. So the position of the ring would be towards the back of the right-hand side.’
Clare put her hands up to her neck and saw what Neil meant. ‘Okay, Neil. In your opinion, the marks on Sandra Holt’s neck were self-inflicted?’
‘It’s a very strong possibility.’
‘What about the stab wounds?’
‘She’s been a bit more careful, there. I’d say she’s contrived to have him behind her in the kitchen and she’s grabbed the knife, slashing back at him. Maybe he thought she was inviting him to kiss her and, as he moved in, she picked up the knife. She’d only need one stab to disorientate him. Then she could turn round, keeping the knife carefully in the same position and finish the job. If I were you I’d pick her up, Clare.’
She ended the call. ‘Talk about cunning.’
Her phone rang. Jim. She snatched it up and switched the speaker on. ‘Go ahead, Jim.’
‘It’s Lexy Harris, Clare…’
‘Go on.’
‘Right. The mother seems to have changed the family name from Harris before she married Roy Andrews,’ Jim said, ‘but the change was never registered.’
‘It’s Holt, isn’t it, Jim?’
‘It is, Clare. I’m guessing when the mother remarried, Lexy decided to stick with Holt. But she kept her first name the same. She goes by Sandra now but her name is actually Alexandra.’
‘Alexandra,’ Chris said, shaking his head. ‘Of course. It works with Lexy and with Sandra.’ They’d reached the motorway at Kinross now and he accelerated down the slip road to join the M90.
‘There’s more,’ Jim went on. ‘We got John Mason’s phone number from the care home and the phone company were pretty quick with his records. There are text messages from an unlisted number, inviting him round on Thursday evening about seven.’
‘What about his phone? It wasn’t on the body, was it?’
‘Nope.’
She heard the triumph in his voice. ‘You’ve got it, haven’t you?’
‘We have. Buried under a load of rubbish in Sandra Holt’s wheelie bin.’
‘Pick her up, Jim.’
Chapter 53
‘There’s just one more thing I want to do,’ Clare said, as Chris slowed for the thirty miles an hour sign entering St Andrews. ‘Can you head for The Harvest Moon, please?’
South Street was quiet for mid-afternoon and Chris nosed the car into a space just outside the bar. Inside two women sat drinking coffees, a clutch of shopping bags at their feet. A man in a checked shirt was behind the bar restocking bottles of mixers and, as they approached, he rose and gave them a smile.
Clare flashed her warrant card. ‘I was hoping to see the other lady who works here.’ She described the barmaid who’d shown Sara the CCTV footage.
‘Sounds like Ella,’ he said. ‘Afraid she’s gone now. Only temporary for Christmas. I might have an address…’
Clare shook her head. ‘We’re in a bit of a hurry,’ she said. She took out her phone and typed Dr Sandra Holt into Google. An array of images flashed up and Clare clicked on the clearest. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’ she said, holding out her phone.
The barman shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
Clare racked her brains. It wasn’t going to be easy to link Sandra Holt to Ingrid McKinnie’s murder. Then she said, ‘Can you remember the twenty-eighth of December? I gather the bar was busy that night.’
‘Hold on.’ He reached under the bar and produced a large desk diary. The dark blue cover was well worn and the pages dog-eared from being thumbed through. He flicked back through the pages until he reached the last week in December. ‘Mm, that was the night we had the ladies’ Zumba class in.’ He turned the diary to show Clare.
There was a name next to the entry. ‘Kirsten Hayes,’ Clare observed. ‘Is that the person who made the booking?’
He shrugged. ‘Suppose so.’
Clare opened Facebook on her phone and typed in Kirsten Hayes. A string of entries appeared and she added St Andrews to limit the results. A dark-haired woman wearing a lime green running vest with a London Marathon number pinned to it was the only profile returned. ‘Is that her?’ She held out her phone.
He studied the photo then his face cleared. ‘Yeah, that’s her. I remember her coming in to pay the deposit. Nice woman.’ He handed the phone back.
Clare clicked to view Kirsten’s profile, praying she didn’t have maximum privacy. Kirsten’s page appeared with a link to the Zumba group. She followed this and clicked to view the group photos. And there it was. An album called Christmas Night Out. She opened it and began to scroll through, looking to see if Sandra Holt had been caught in any of them.
It was a video clip, in the end, that gave Clare the evidence she needed. Kirsten Hayes was up on her feet, in the middle of the bar announcing a series of prizes. The clip was just over six minutes long and Clare and Chris stood watching each of the winners wriggling out from behind their tables to collect their prize from Kirsten.
‘Stop!’ Chris said, suddenly. ‘Go back.’
It was the prize for the fastest 5K and, as the camera panned round to the winner’s table, Clare paused the video. At the next table were two women. She recognised Ingrid McKinnie’s curls from her photos and there was no mistaking the woman who sat opposite her. Dr Sandra Holt.
‘Got you,’ Clare said, tucking the phone back in her pocket. It began ringing again as they headed back to the car. Jim again. She swiped to take the call.
‘No joy at the farmhouse,’ he said. ‘She’s gone and so’s her car.’
‘Dammit. Okay, Jim. I’ll be back in five minutes. Can you alert Traffic Control, please? Give them the car reg.’
‘Done, Clare.’
‘Any idea how much of a head start she had?’
‘Fortunately not that much. Our lads only left the house about an hour ago. Just after you called. She was there waiting to get in when they packed up.’
Chris started the engine and began backing out of the space.
‘Get her phone tracked as well, Jim,’ Clare said as Chris roared away. ‘And track that burner phone too – the number used to invite John Mason to her house last night. She may still have it on her. We’ll be there shortly.’
* * *
‘We’ve a traffic car sitting on all the main roads out of Fife,’ Jim said as they entered the station. ‘Unless we’ve missed her they should spot her soon.’
‘That’s great, Jim. Thanks.’
‘What now?’ Chris asked.
Clare shrugged. ‘I honestly have no idea. If we pick her up we can check her DNA against
Ruth and Alison’s houses. John Mason’s phone, too. But we have to find her first.’
They wandered into the kitchen and Clare flicked the switch on the kettle.
‘What I don’t get,’ Chris said, taking mugs out of the cupboard, ‘is why she killed them in the first place.’
‘My money’s on her blaming the four of them for Sam’s death,’ Clare said. ‘Remember, Irene Andrews said the three girls and John were the last to come in from the garden for their pizzas. Maybe Sandra decided they must have been responsible for her brother’s drowning.’
‘Yeah I get that,’ Chris said, ‘but why now? Why all these years later?’
Clare nodded. ‘It’s a good point. And I doubt she’ll tell us.’
They fell silent then Clare said, ‘Hold on… she told us she bumped into John Mason in Cupar, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, she did,’ Chris said. ‘He’d run out of petrol.’
‘And she works there one day a week.’
Chris frowned. ‘So?’
‘Well it’s a long shot, Chris, but we might find out something from her colleagues. Where she’s likely to have gone.’
‘I dunno, Clare. Remember at the hospital she said there was no one she wanted us to call.’
‘Chris, if we’re right, she’s responsible for four murders. We have to try everything we can to find her.’
The kettle came to the boil and he looked at it hopefully.
‘Sorry,’ Clare said. ‘Get your coat. – we’re going to Cupar.’
* * *
‘I don’t know why we couldn’t do this by phone,’ Chris grumbled as they waited to be buzzed into the hospital.
‘Because you get a lot more, face-to-face,’ Clare said. ‘And besides they might try and quote data protection at us and we haven’t time for that.’
‘Fair enough.’
A buzzer sounded and they were admitted to the hospital. At the reception desk Clare showed her warrant card and explained she’d like to speak to any of the staff who were friendly with Dr Holt. The receptionist looked doubtful but turned to her computer and began typing. Then she lifted a phone and spoke into it.