by John Nicholl
‘Oh, yes, I’m absolutely certain. I can remember him leaving shortly before the electricians arrived.’
‘Would they have seen him?’
‘No, I don’t see how they could have. He’d gone by then.’
‘Was there anyone else in the shop? Another member of staff for example.’
‘I’m afraid not. I was the only one in that day. The usual manager rang in with a migraine, poor dear. She’s a martyr to them.’
Kesey hid her dismay as best she could. ‘How did he pay? Please tell me it was by card?’
‘Cash. He paid cash. And he made a rather generous donation in addition to the cost of his purchases. Ten pounds, if I recall correctly.’
Kesey looked at his smiling face and sighed. ‘Yeah, I had a horrible feeling you were going to say that. Give me a second; I’ll just fetch some statement forms. We need to get something down on paper.’
35
Laura Kesey sat on the end of Grav’s hospital bed and wolfed down one seedless grape after another as he looked on.
‘I’m glad you’re enjoying them. I wouldn’t eat the damn things if they were the last food on earth. It’s a matter of principle. Fruit never passes my lips. Never has done and never will.’
She swallowed the remains of the last grape and smiled. ‘I can bring you something different next time if you like. How about a book or the local paper?’
Grav adjusted his position and grinned. ‘If you could smuggle me in a few cigars and a bottle of twelve -year- old Scotch, I’d be your friend forever.’
‘You’ve got no chance. If you want to indulge your self- destructive habits, you’ll just have to get better and get out of here. I’m playing no part in it.’
‘Yeah, Emily said much the same thing.’
‘Good for her.’
‘So, tell me, how’s the case going?’
This time, it was Kesey’s turn to frown. ‘That’s the last thing you should be thinking about.’
‘I’ve been thinking about little else.’
She nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess I’d be much the same in your place. It’s the copper’s curse.’
‘Who’s in charge now I’m out of circulation? It’s not that Trevor Simpson, is it? He’s next to useless at the best of times.’
Kesey threw the empty plastic container in a nearby bin and grinned. ‘I am.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, the world’s gone mad. What total numpty came up with that decision?’
‘I’m acting up until you’re back in the saddle, Acting Detective Inspector Kesey, the DCS asked me personally. And, before you say anything else, she told me you’d recommended me. Persuaded her, were the actual words she used. I’ve shown a great deal of promise apparently.’
Grav took a sip of water and looked at her with a look of feigned surprise. ‘I must have been pissed. Either that, or I’d had a bang on the head. It was definitely one or the other.’
Kesey laughed. ’Yeah, yeah, anything you say. I’m the boss now, so watch your step. I might kick your arse for you.’
‘No, seriously, I’m pleased for you, love. You’re a good detective. It’s an opportunity – I’m not going to be around forever. Don’t fuck it up.’
‘I’ll try not to.’
‘Any developments I don’t know about?’
‘The chief super’s rearranged the press conference.’
Grav closed his eyes for a second before speaking again. ‘Yeah, I guess that was inevitable. I put on quite a show.’
Kesey checked her watch, as the end of visiting time fast approached. ‘You certainly did, anything for a bit of attention.’
‘Did the media publicise the photos of the dresses?’
‘Yeah, they did. The chief super issued another press release soon after the conference went tits up.’
‘And I suppose I’ve been all over the news?’
Kesey grinned. ‘You have, boss, you’re quite the celebrity. I can’t say you were looking your best for the cameras, but you’re famous now. Caerystwyth’s answer to Columbo, but not as stylish. They’ll be asking you for your autograph when you get out of here.’
‘Bloody marvellous.’
‘Yeah, it’s not exactly the focus we were looking for.’
A young staff nurse in an ill- fitting sky -blue uniform put her head round the door. ‘Just five more minutes, please. He needs his rest.’
Kesey nodded and stood to leave.
‘So, come on. I know there’s something you’re not telling me. You can trust your old Uncle Grav.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘You’d think you were a detective or something.’
‘Spit it out, girl.’
‘We didn’t have any joy with the DNA results from our last victim. Any saliva was washed away by the rain long before we had the chance to test it.’
‘What about the bite marks?’
‘The forensic dentist examined them; the killer tore pieces of skin and flesh from the body, rather than leave actual impressions of his teeth that could have been compared with dental records – they’re not going to help us.’
A bell rang out to signal the end of visiting time.
‘What about the footprints?’
‘The ones found on the beach were a size ten. The one I found on the riverbank was an eight.’
‘You’re sure?’
Kesey nodded. ‘Yeah, scenes of crime had a good look at it for me. I asked them to double check. There’s no doubt.’
‘So, it looks like the print on the riverbank was something and nothing.’
‘Yeah, that’s the conclusion I came to. There’s just the one. It could have been anyone’s.’
‘Do we know who the latest victim is?’
‘Let’s just say enquiries are ongoing.’
Grav’s brow furrowed. ‘Have you got any positives for me before you sod off and leave me to get back to sleep? I could do with a bit of cheering up.’
‘We may have a description of the killer.’
‘May?’
‘Someone bought three dresses like ours. We know that much.’
Grav felt his pulse racing at a dangerous high. ‘Where from?’
‘A charity shop in Swansea.’
‘Who was it?’
‘We haven’t got a name, but he was a smartly dressed blond guy in his thirties. That’s as good as it gets.’
‘Nothing on camera?’
‘Not in the shop.’
‘What about in the surrounding streets? Surely the bastard’s got to be on CCTV somewhere?’
‘Oh, he is. We’ve got him entering and leaving the shop as clear as day.’
‘So, what’s the problem?’
‘It was raining. He used an umbrella; we never see his face.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, either he was lucky, or he’s one clever bastard.’
‘My money’s on the latter. It sometimes feels like he’s running rings around us. I’m out of my depth, boss, that’s the truth of it.’
‘Stay strong, love, we all feel like that sometimes – even me.’
Kesey smiled thinly. ‘Thanks, that helps.’
‘I can’t think of any local villains meeting the description, or at least no one with a relevant history that’s worth looking at.’
Kesey shook her head. ‘No, me neither. I’ve got Joe Bromley making enquiries with other forces.’
‘Anything else?’
Kesey felt her gut churn and buckle like a washing machine on a spin cycle. ‘Emily arranged to see me, we had a coffee together. Turner’s been acting strangely. I think she’s concerned.’
‘Strangely? What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’
‘He’s a bit too touchy -feely and overly interested in the case.’
‘Why the fuck didn’t she talk to me?’
‘She didn’t want to worry you. You know what I’m saying.’
Grav’s face twisted as his chest tightened, and the monitor next to his bed began to buzz loudly and in
sistently. ‘He meets the description. Drag the bastard in. Sort out an identity parade. If there’s even the slightest chance of him being the killer, I want him…’
Kesey threw open the door and yelled for assistance as two nurses and a white -coated doctor ran down the corridor towards her. ‘Quick, I think he’s having another heart attack. Please, you’ve got to help him.’
36
Carl Prichard studied the six men lined up behind the glass screen in front of him and began to giggle. ‘I’m not sure. I just can’t say with any certainty.’
Laura Kesey glowered. ‘Take your time, Mr Prichard. Have another look. If the man who bought the dresses from you is in the line -up, I need you to identify him for me. Just tell me his number. This isn’t some game; it matters.’
Prichard was close to panic now, feeling the pressure like never before. ‘It’s just so difficult; the last thing I want to do is mislead you and identify an innocent man. I was so sure of what he looked like before I arrived. It seems my memory’s been playing tricks on me.’
‘Just have another look, please. Take as long as you need. There’s no rush.’
Prichard looked each man up and down, left to right and back again. ‘It’s either number two or number five, yes, two or five, I can’t be any surer than that.’
‘Oh, come on, you described the man in such specific detail in your statement. You seemed so sure of his appearance, so certain. What’s changed?’
Prichard was sweating profusely now, red in the face and agitated, but still smiling the broad Cheshire Cat smile that seemed to define him. ‘I took my glasses off when he came into the shop; I think it makes me look younger. I’m a ridiculous, vain man, but there it is. I’ve said it.’
‘Were they reading glasses or distance?’ She was clutching at straws, and she knew it.
‘Distance, like the new ones I’m wearing today. I think they suit me rather well, don’t you?’
‘And what’s your sight like without them?’
‘Not great, I’m afraid. Everything’s somewhat unfocused; blurred is a better way of putting it, to be honest. I can’t see a damn thing.’
Kesey held a hand to her face. ‘And you didn’t think of telling me this before now? You didn’t think it was relevant?’
‘I’m sorry, but I’ve done my best. That’s all anyone can do.’
‘But you can’t tell me if the man who bought the dresses is here now?’
Prichard pressed his face against the glass. ‘It may be number two or number five. I’ve already told you that more than once, I don’t know why I need to repeat myself.’
Kesey rested her hands on her hips. ‘May? You’re saying may? That suggests you’re far from sure on either count. Two and five don’t even look that much alike. There are slight similarities – their hair colour, their general demeanour – I’ll give you that much, but that’s all there is.’
Prichard burst into another fit of giggles as his face contorted. ‘I really am sorry. It’s the best I can do, you stressed the need to be honest. Now, can I go, please? My wife will be waiting for me.’
Kesey approached the door and held it open, with a look that left him in no doubt as to her displeasure. ‘Okay, we’re done. Thank you for your time, Mr Prichard. You can leave whenever you’re ready.’
Prichard looked back at her on entering the brightly lit corridor and held her eyes. ‘You’ve got anger issues, young lady. Has anyone ever told you that? It’s not very becoming, particularly in a public servant. It might be an idea to remember who’s paying your wages.’
Kesey glared at him. ‘I’ve got frustration issues. Five girls are dead, there’s a predatory killer hunting for his next victim, and you haven’t helped one little bit.’
Prichard burst into peculiarly high -pitched laughter, which bordered on the hysterical, stopping suddenly. ‘Oh, there is one more thing I remember from that afternoon. I don’t know if it’s of any importance.’
‘What’s that?’
‘He was carrying a black umbrella. Yes, that’s right. Such a sensible man, we were having autumn showers. It had been raining on and off for most of the day.’
37
The detective chief superintendent pushed her paperwork aside and picked up her office phone on the fifth ring. ‘DCS Davies.’
‘It’s Laura Kesey, ma’am. I was hoping you can spare some time to discuss the case.’
‘Is it urgent?’
‘Yes, ma’am, I think it is.’
Davies glanced at the clock. ‘You can come now. And don’t bother knocking, I’ll be waiting for you.’
‘Right, Laura, take a seat and tell me what this is about.’
The acting DI sat down in a seat that was smaller and lower than her boss’, who appeared perched on a pedestal by comparison. ‘There’s been a few developments in the case, ma’am. I wanted to consult you before taking the next step.’
Davies adjusted her spectacles. ‘Okay, let’s hear it.’
‘The description provided by the charity shop volunteer, ma’am, matches a local solicitor: a Mr Charles Turner.’
The DCS smiled, genuinely amused by the observation. ‘There’s a lot of men with blond hair, Laura. And that witness seems less than reliable, from what I read in the records. I hope you’re not wasting my valuable time, I’ve got a lot to be getting on with.’
‘I really think Turner’s a credible suspect.’
Davies shook her head. ‘Oh, come on, I know Charles personally. He’s a charming man. We’re going to need a lot more than an elderly witness with poor eyesight and a bad memory before we go down that rocky path. Prichard couldn’t even identify him in an identity parade. His evidence, if you can call it evidence, is next to useless.’
Kesey bit the inside of her lower lip, determined to make herself heard. ‘I’ve been making some enquiries, ma’am, background stuff; there’s significant factors that make Turner a viable suspect, even allowing for Prichard’s failings.’
Davies shook her head dismissively. ‘I hope asking you to act up doesn’t prove to be an error of judgement on my part. That would not bode well for either of us.’
Kesey adjusted her position in her seat. ‘I spoke to Turner’s GP. She was surprisingly cooperative when I told her it was a murder enquiry.’
‘And what did she tell you?’
‘Turner hasn’t had a vasectomy, but he caught syphilis in his early twenties. It went untreated for a time before he sought medical help.’
‘I can’t see the relevance. Syphilis may or may not suggest dubious morals on his part, but it’s far from criminal.’
‘She told me syphilis can cause infertility in men if not treated promptly. It could explain the absence of sperm in the killer’s semen.’
‘And did it cause infertility in his case?’
‘I don’t know the answer to that. He was never tested as far as his doctor’s aware.’
The DCS sighed. ‘It’s all rather tenuous, Laura. Charles has a spotless record and an excellent reputation in this town. He’s well liked, respected. I don’t think he’s ever had so much as a parking ticket, let alone anything that would suggest his involvement in a string of vicious murders. I really think you’re barking up the wrong tree on this one.’
‘I’ve been talking to a friend of Grav’s, at South Wales Police. A DCI with over twenty years’ service. Turner was arrested when he was at Cardiff University – a girlfriend alleged assault. She said he’d grabbed her by the throat, but she dropped the case before it went to court. Turner made a no comment interview. The DCI had the distinct impression he was lucky to get away with it.’
‘I know Charles rather well. I’ve never thought of him as a violent man. Far from it.’
‘Emily Gravel spoke to me – Grav’s daughter. She works with Turner; he’s not all he seems.’
‘Oh, God, where’s this going?’
‘They had sex. He asked her to strangle him. He wanted to do the same to her, and then he asked her
to play dead.’
Davies’ face paled. ‘Are you saying she claims that he asked her to mimic a corpse during sex?’
‘Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what I’m saying. “Play dead,” he used those words.’
‘Didn’t Ted Bundy’s girlfriend say very similar things after he’d gone on to kill and mutilate God knows how many women?’
‘Yeah, she most certainly did, I watched a documentary on Sky.’
‘I’ve had Turner in my house. I’ve invited him to dinner parties. We’ve played bridge together!’
‘Do you think there’s enough for us to formally interview him?’
The DCS spoke out loudly, pronouncing each word as if announcing it to the world. ‘I do, Inspector, more than enough. I want him arrested on suspicion of murder, I want him interviewed on tape, and I want it done today. Capeesh?’
Kesey wasn’t sure of the exact meaning of “capeesh,” but she got the general idea. ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you for your support. I’ll get it done.’
‘Play on his ego, Laura, that’s my advice. He has a very high opinion of himself. Challenge his feelings of superiority and see where it gets you. If sufficiently provoked, he may well reveal his true nature and say something he later regrets.’
38
DI Kesey placed individual colour photographs of the five dead girls on the table in front of her and waited for a few seconds before speaking. ‘Take a good look, Mr Turner. We have very good reason to believe that you were involved in their murders.’
Turner glanced at the photos appreciatively and shook his head. ‘If you think your transparent and painfully predictable shock tactics are going to illicit a spontaneous confession on my part, you’re very sadly mistaken. You’ve got this horribly wrong, Detective. I’m an innocent man.’
‘Take a good look at your handy work, or is that too much to bear in the cold light of day?’
Turner looked at each photo in turn, taking his time, licking his lips and lingering when a particular detail caught his eye. ‘Do you know who I am? Have you got even the slightest idea how influential I am in this town? I’ve got contacts. Important contacts. If you’re not careful, that ill -advised, temporary promotion you seem so proud of, will come to a sudden and dramatic end. You’ll be demoted back to constable and directing traffic faster than you can blink.’