Insidious Intent

by Val McDermid

  ‘Actually,’ Kevin said, ‘we’d like you to come to the station. Easier all round. Saves awkwardness in the office. And everything’s to hand if we need you to look at anything or provide any samples.’ Chin up, cool blue stare meeting Elton’s eyes.

  ‘Samples? What is this all about?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, we’d prefer not to discuss that here.’

  ‘And what if I do mind?’ The first hint of a challenge in the words, though his voice was warm, almost jokey.

  ‘We can do this the friendly, low-key way, or we can not. It’s up to you, sir.’ Kevin took a step closer.

  ‘And what’s the unfriendly way? Is that where you wrestle me to the ground, slap on the handcuffs and drag me from the building?’ Now he was quite clearly taunting them. Kevin flushed.

  Alvin didn’t. ‘We’d simply arrest you. We only do the other stuff if you’re dumb enough to resist arrest. Which we don’t mind at all, because it gives us something incontrovertible to charge you with.’ He smiled. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Do I need a lawyer? Isn’t this what people say at this point? And don’t you go, “If you’ve done nothing wrong, why would you need a lawyer?”’

  ‘It’s up to you,’ Kevin said. ‘You can decide on the way to Skenfrith Street.’ He gestured towards the lift. ‘After you, sir.’

  Carol and Paula were in the squad room with Tony. The rich smell of strong coffee filled the air. Carol looked at her watch for the third time in as many minutes. ‘I thought they’d be here by now.’

  ‘Traffic,’ Paula said.

  A second later, Kevin walked in.

  ‘Traffic,’ he said, then looked puzzled when they all laughed, an easy release of tension.

  ‘How did he take it?’ Tony asked.

  ‘Tried to be a bit of a joker, but when he realised we weren’t playing, he got serious. Spent all the time in the back of the car making calls. Lawyering up, cancelling meetings.’

  ‘Who’s he got?’ Carol asked.

  ‘Who do you think?’ Kevin said, the vicious edge in his voice telling Carol what she didn’t want to hear.

  ‘Bloody Bronwyn Scott,’ Paula lamented. Bronwyn Scott was the nearest thing to a celebrity lawyer that Bradfield possessed. The standard joke was that if you hired Scott, the police knew you were guilty and the jury believed you were innocent. There was some truth behind the cynicism. Scott had crossed swords with the Bradfield MIT more than once, but she’d also been the person they’d called on to defend one of their own. She didn’t mind who paid the piper; she’d find a tune that everyone could dance to.

  ‘The same,’ Kevin said. ‘She’s in court, but she’ll be here within the hour. I’ve put Elton in an interview room with a uniform to keep him company. Alvin’s gone down to the canteen to get him a coffee.’ Because, although ReMIT had probably the best coffee delivery system in any UK police office, it was for those who upheld the law, not those who might have broken it.

  Carol could hardly bear the thought of another hour. Her body felt electric, her brain heavy. Sobriety was supposed to make you sharper; all it made Carol feel was that she’d been born two drinks under par. She caught Tony’s eye and exchanged a rueful grin. ‘I know it’s tough having to wait. It puts us all on edge. But it’s tougher on Elton. We know what we’ve got and where we’re going. He has no idea.’

  ‘How did Karim get on with the car-hire firms?’ Kevin asked.

  ‘He drew a blank,’ Paula said. ‘And we’re still waiting for ID on victim three. No joy with dentists so we’re reliant on the lab managing to extract some DNA.’

  ‘I really hoped we’d get something on the car hire,’ Tony said. ‘He has to have access to another vehicle we don’t know about.’

  Carol stared at the incident board, eyes dark and heavy. ‘Christ, I hope we haven’t gone with this too soon.’

  Less than forty minutes had passed when Alvin came to tell them Scott was in the building, conferring with her client. ‘Though what they’ve got to confer about at this stage, who knows?’ Paula muttered as they made their way down the hall to the interview room. Tony and Kevin peeled off into the observation room, Paula adjusted the earpiece that nestled unseen behind a wing of hair, and on Carol’s nod, they walked in.

  Scott looked as expensive and brittle as ever, her fitted black jacket snug over a white shirt, the long points of the collar like knife blades against the narrow lapels. ‘DCI Jordan,’ she said. ‘Amazing to see you in harness again.’

  ‘Ms Scott. Always a pleasure.’ Carol took her time over her first appraisal of Elton. He looked more like his driving licence picture than the photofit Stacey’s software had generated but with a pair of glasses on the thick bridge of his nose, he’d definitely be identifiable. He seemed calm and there were no obvious physical tics to signal nervousness. That was unusual enough. Most people in his position were twitchy at the least. Citizens who had committed no crime had a habit of freaking out in a police interview room, probably because they’d watched too much TV drama.

  ‘And DS McIntyre. Still a sergeant, Paula?’ Scott was clearly in abrasive mood.

  ‘Happily, yes. I’ve managed to avoid being demoted.’

  Scott’s smile was sharp enough to cut a well-done steak. ‘Why are we here?’ It was a reasonable opener.

  ‘Because we would like to ask your client some questions.’ Paula was taking the lead, as agreed. Carol was happy to concede; she acknowledged Paula was better at this than she was.

  ‘Are we allowed to know what about? I presume that since you are ReMIT now, we’re not talking unpaid parking tickets?’

  ‘We are investigating a series of murders.’ Elton didn’t move a muscle at Paula’s words. ‘The bodies of three women have been incinerated in their own cars at various locations in the Yorkshire Dales. All three were already dead when they were set on fire. The post-mortems indicate probable strangulation.’

  ‘Fascinating. And this involves my client how, exactly?’

  ‘We believe he may be able to help us with our inquiries. Mr Elton, have you even met a woman called Kathryn McCormick?’

  He frowned and shook his head. ‘Not that I can recall.’

  ‘Or Amie McDonald?’

  ‘You mean the singer?’ It was almost a smirk. ‘I don’t move in those sorts of circles.’

  ‘Not the singer. A council employee from Leeds.’ Carol chipped in.

  ‘Definitely not. I’ve never met anyone who worked for Leeds City Council.’

  Paula slid an enlarged print of the photograph taken at the bar of the wedding where the man called David had connected with Kathryn McCormick. ‘Is this a photograph of you, Mr Elton?’

  He leaned forward to study the photograph. ‘I don’t wear glasses,’ he said. ‘So it’s not me.’

  ‘It looks very like you.’

  He glanced at Paula with disdain. ‘The hairstyle’s completely different.’

  ‘Glasses, hairstyle. That’s very superficial. The jawline, though. The ear. The shape of your mouth. I’d say they’re pretty much identical.’

  Scott intervened. ‘Oh, please. On a blown-up photo that’s obviously been taken on a mobile phone from some distance away? I don’t think so.’

  Paula took out the next photo, from the wedding where ‘Mark’ had encountered Amie McDonald. ‘And this? Is this not you either?’

  This time, the look was cursory. ‘Hardly. Again, I don’t wear glasses. And that’s a ridiculous hairstyle and the colour’s all wrong.’

  ‘Big deal,’ Carol said. ‘Like you couldn’t make those changes in a matter of minutes.’

  ‘It’s not me.’ Elton didn’t raise his voice. He simply stated his denial as if it was self-evident.

  ‘Where is this going?’ Scott demanded. ‘Where were these photographs obtained?’

  ‘They were taken at two weddings, three weeks apart. That’s where the first two victims met the man who killed them.’

  ‘You know that, do you?’ Scott came straigh
t back at Paula.

  ‘We know they were both picked up by a man posing as a wedding guest but who was unknown to bride or groom. They met him again on a date on more than one occasion. Then they arranged to spend a weekend with him. And the next time they were seen was in a blazing car by the side of the road in a remote location. So yes, I think we can safely assume that the man who picked them up had murder in mind from the start.’

  Scott chuckled. ‘Quite an assumption. Any evidence? I can already think of several alternative explanations, were my client to need them.’

  This was not going as well as either detective had hoped. There was no sign that Elton was even mildly discomfited, and there was no prospect of diverting Scott from her focus. Time to go down a road she hoped would be unexpected enough to throw Elton off his stride. ‘You say you’d never met Kathryn McCormick or Amie McDonald. But you have met Claire Garrity.’

  He looked puzzled. He opened his mouth to speak but Scott cut across him. ‘Is this your third victim?’

  ‘No. We don’t have a confirmed ID on the third victim as yet. Claire Garrity met Mr Elton in her professional capacity as bakery manager at Freshco.’ Paula paused.

  And on cue, he filled the gap. ‘That’s right. She dealt with a complaint I made.’ A little laugh, false as the bottom of a smuggler’s suitcase. ‘I found a child’s sock in a loaf of bread.’

  Paula spread a pair of screenshots in front of them. This time, Elton shifted in his seat, but his face didn’t change. ‘Claire Garrity posted a picture of Kathryn McCormick at the wedding on her RigMarole page and invited Kathryn to be her friend.’ She paused. Scott’s expression shifted, revealing a shred of uncertainty. ‘The thing is, Claire wasn’t a guest at the wedding either. Just like the mystery man.’

  ‘Wedding crashers, obviously,’ Scott said, the line a casual throwaway.

  More screenshots. ‘Three weeks later Claire Garrity also posted a photo of Amie McDonald at the wedding she attended on her RigMarole page and asked to be her friend. She’s the only person who made friend requests to both women associated with the weddings they’d attended.’

  Bronwyn Scott leaned back in her chair, looking bored. ‘Frankly, it looks to me as if the person you should be questioning is Claire Garrity from the Freshco baking department.’

  Paula thought she saw a transient moment of shock in Elton’s eyes. ‘There’s only one problem with that,’ she said mildly. ‘Claire Garrity’s been dead for nearly three months. Which your client knew, because the customer service representative at Freshco told him.’ Paula paused, but Elton’s expression never varied.

  ‘So?’ Scott moved swiftly from back to front foot. ‘It’s not exactly a state secret, is it?’

  ‘Whoever posted those photos stole Claire’s identity to do it. The only person who would have understood the relevance of those two friendship requests is the killer. And even as we speak, we are pursuing the IP address those communications came from.’ This time she saw the fleeting change of expression in Elton’s eyes. And his shoulders relaxed fractionally.

  Paula heard Tony’s voice in her ear. ‘He’s covered his tracks on that one.’ But she’d already worked that out for herself. She didn’t need him telling her to let it go.

  Now it was time for Carol. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at Elton. ‘You can lie all you like, Tommy boy. But we can put you with these women. We’ve got photographs. We have you using different names and attempting to disguise yourself. You’re the only link between Claire Garrity, these weddings and these women. We are coming for you and, make no mistake, we will have you for these crimes. Keep lying to me, Tommy. Because the more you lie, the more we demonstrate you’re nothing but a liar.’ Hands on the table, leaning forward, in his face. Then Paula’s hand on her arm, restraining her.

  Prearranged, of course. Scott sat up straight and gave a slow handclap. ‘You’re wasted here, DCI Jordan. You really should be on the stage.’

  Carol ignored her, reaching for Paula’s folder and pulling out another two sheets of paper. ‘We know you did this. We know you’re lying. So give us some more lies. Here’s a list of dates and times. Fill it in, Tommy.’ She had a way of spitting out the diminutive of his name that made it sound like an insult. ‘Every last one of them.’

  ‘How do you expect me to remember where I was —’ He pulled it towards him. ‘Five weeks past Tuesday?’

  ‘You’re a modern man,’ Carol said. ‘Get your phone out and start going through your diary.’

  ‘I must protest,’ Scott said. ‘This is a fishing expedition. We’re out of here.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Paula said. ‘Either do this willingly or I will arrest your client and close your options right down. And you know what a leaky sieve this station is. Give us some cooperation. Show me he really is the injured innocent he’s playing right now. Mr Elton, we’ll give you some time to go through it with Ms Scott here.’ Paula stood up. ‘Take as long as you like. We’ll have some coffee and sandwiches sent in.’

  Scott looked up. ‘Your coffee, Sergeant. Not that crap they serve in the canteen.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Carol said. ‘You don’t deserve anything more than the rank and file drink.’ She got to her feet. ‘Best handwriting, Tommy.’

  ‘Now,’ came Tony’s voice in Paula’s ear. ‘Hit him now.’

  She gathered her papers and gave Elton an up-and-under look. ‘Tricia says you’ve got a violent temper.’

  Now she won a reaction. Elton reared back in his chair like a man seeing an apparition. ‘What?’

  ‘She says she had to have the living room wall repainted three times because you threw things at it when you were pissed off.’

  ‘That’s a lie.’ He struggled to keep his face under control.

  ‘She told me how she met a man at a wedding you didn’t want to go to with her. A man who made her realise precisely how wrong for her you were. A bit of a pattern there. Lone woman at a wedding meets a man who reminds her what romance is.’

  His face had darkened, his jaw set, the muscles bulging.

  As she reached the door, Paula stopped and turned. ‘Oh, and she told me where she dumped you as well. You got burned in a lay-by, Mr Elton. Just like your victims did.’

  65

  C

  arol stood in her office, blinds drawn, forehead against the cool glass of the window. ‘We went too soon,’ she said.

  ‘You had to make a move. Even if you don’t have enough now, you’ve shaken him up,’ Tony said.

  ‘You saw him. Did he look shaken to you?’

  ‘At the end, yes. When Paula delivered the sucker punch, he looked appalled. Then furious. What else could you do?’

  She pushed back and turned to face him. ‘Turns out I could have waited half an hour and had Eileen Walsh’s identity confirmed. The team’s out there now, Alvin and Kevin and Karim, combing her life for traces of him. And maybe they’ll find something.’

  ‘And then you can charge him.’ He went to pat her arm but she flinched away from him.

  ‘I had a nightmare last night,’ she said. ‘Michael and Lucy.’

  She didn’t have to say more. Tony himself had occasional flashbacks to that blood-drenched scene of horror. He’d often wondered whether returning to the scene of the crime had been wise, even though Carol’s mission had been to strip the barn to its bare bones, to remove every trace of what had happened there. Underneath the façade she’d constructed, the skeleton of a murder scene remained, the ghost of its history still in the air. He felt it sometimes when he was there; he couldn’t believe it wasn’t part of her day-to-day. The miracle was that she didn’t have nightmares more often.

  Or perhaps it was simply that she didn’t admit to them. The idea of PTSD had crossed his mind from time to time. She’d certainly seen and experienced enough trauma, both personal and professional, to take many people over the edge. But he was a professional. She couldn’t have kept that from him, could she?

&nbs
p; ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Does that happen often?’

  She shook her head. ‘Less and less.’ She gave a wobbly smile. ‘Maybe having you around has helped. God knows, you’ve got to be good for something apart from gaming.’

  ‘I’ve not been much use this time round.’ He moved away and leaned against the filing cabinet. ‘You get a second crack at him over the alibis, though.’

  ‘More circumstantial evidence, nothing else. I need something hard, something solid, and it’s not coming. You saw him when we said we were tracing the IP address for the Claire Garrity messages. He relaxed. He’s got that covered. He’ll have found the last internet café in Bradfield and used that. Or the library. Or somebody else’s office.’

  Tony sighed. ‘Probably. He’s very savvy. So go for that nerve. Suggest he’s not as smart as he thinks he is.’

  ‘I think he’s too hardcore for that. Hitting him with Tricia unsettled him, but he’s got to know she doesn’t have anything on him from the last three months.’ Carol aimed a vicious kick at the wastepaper bin, sending it skittling across the floor, shedding its contents in an arc. ‘Oh, fuck,’ she moaned, crouching down and picking everything up.

  Like the good girl she was, Tony thought. Always trying to be the best, that was the cross Carol carried. Adamant for justice, but also adamant that she was the best person to deliver it. She never made it easy on herself.

  Paula used the break to talk to Elinor. They met in the Starbucks opposite Bradfield Cross Hospital, their regular rendezvous when they both managed to escape for twenty minutes.

  They’d discussed the outcome of Torin’s disastrous foray into online relationships the night before. Elinor had agreed with Paula, shaking her head with a wry smile at the prospect of having to spend three hours a week under Stacey’s rigid supervision. ‘Elsa will end up a software millionaire,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Then she can lavish Torin with penance gifts.’