A Cold Cold Heart

by John Nicholl

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a solicitor, Mr Turner? We’re here to discuss extremely serious matters. I can suspend the interview. It’s no problem.’

  ‘If that’s your idea of a joke, it’s fucking pathetic.’

  Kesey smiled humourlessly, holding her nerve. ‘You seem to be becoming somewhat irate. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider before we continue?’

  Turner took a deep breath and steadied himself. ‘I’m fully aware of my rights under the law, thank you. That ridiculous identity parade, which you so insistently arranged, clearly didn’t result in the conclusion you were hoping for. If it had, I’d have heard about it long before now. I will not require a solicitor. I am innocent, as I’ve consistently maintained, and I’m perfectly capable of representing myself. Perhaps it might be an idea to consult your senior colleagues before we continue with this ludicrous charade. I wouldn't want you to make an even bigger fool of yourself than you already have.’

  ‘So, you don’t want a lawyer?’

  Turner tensed. ‘No.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  The bitch, the absolute fucking bitch. ‘I couldn't be surer. Ask your ridiculous questions, just get on with it, I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.’

  ‘Have you ever contracted a sexually transmitted disease, Mr Turner?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘It’s a simple enough question.’

  Turner thought before replying, contemplating her line of questioning. ‘I really can’t see the relevance, but, as you asked so nicely, I’m happy to play along with whatever game you’re playing.’

  ‘What’s your answer?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector, I have. In my early twenties. A girlfriend failed to inform me that she was infected. I didn’t use a condom. Let’s put it down to the inexperience of youth.’

  ‘And did that make you angry, Charles? You don't mind me calling you Charles, do you?’

  His face contorted with suppressed rage. ‘I wasn’t exactly delighted by her failings, but the infection’s treated easily enough with antibiotics. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Are you aware that the failure to treat the condition promptly can lead to infertility?’

  Turner sat in silence.

  ‘Nothing to say in response? It’s a simple enough observation.’

  ‘No comment. It’s of zero relevance. Move on, if you want my continued cooperation.’

  ‘Have you ever been arrested before today?’

  His expression hardened. ‘Ah, I can see where you’re going with this. You’re asking questions you already know the answer to. That may catch out some suspects, but not me. Don’t underestimate me, Detective, that’s never a good idea.’

  ‘Have you been arrested, or not? Are you going to answer, or is there something you’re trying to hide? Perhaps you’re ashamed of your past. Is that it?’

  Turner snorted disdainfully. ‘I was arrested while studying for my law degree at Cardiff University, as you know full well. A rather misguided young woman with mental health issues made outlandish and spurious allegations that I’d assaulted her during sex. Her statement was a work of fiction, an utter fabrication, and nothing more. She was fortunate not to be prosecuted for attempting to pervert the course of justice, or wasting police time. Maybe if she had been, we wouldn’t be sitting here now. You’re as misguided as she was.’

  ‘She said you put your hands around her throat. She said you tried to strangle her, before being disturbed by another student. She was scared for her life. I think you lost control. I think you came close to killing her.’

  Turner clenched his jaw and sneered. ‘The allegations were spurious. The case was dropped. What part of that don’t you understand?’

  ‘The girls in the photographs were strangled. Choked until dead. No one came to save them; they weren't as lucky as your student friend.’

  Turner jumped up and leered at the officer with angry eyes, causing her to retreat in her seat and press herself against the backrest. ‘The case was dropped by the Crown Prosecution Service. It didn’t go to court. Is that too difficult for you to comprehend? Maybe you haven’t got the intelligence required for your job. In the eyes of the law, I’m an innocent man.’

  Kesey waited for him to return to his seat, fighting to retain her composure, keen to appear unfazed by the intensity of his reaction. ‘In the eyes of the law? That’s an interesting choice of phrase. It seems like an admission of sorts, a convoluted confession. Or didn't you express yourself clearly? Maybe you’re not as clever as you like to think you are.’

  Turner smiled, picturing Kesey chained to a radiator in his private hell with his hands around her throat. ‘Beyond reasonable doubt. That’s all that matters. Your case is full of holes. It might be an idea to release me and get on with trying to catch the man who actually committed these crimes. We’re a predatory species; it’s only a matter of time until he does it again.’

  For a moment, an element of doubt entered her mind, and she stalled, losing track of her train of thought.

  Turner rested both hands on the table and looked at her. ‘Are you running out of questions, Acting Detective Inspector Kesey? You’re rather new to this, and I’m afraid it shows. We’ve been sitting here for over an hour, and you’ve got nowhere. Is this farce finally nearing its end? I’d like to think it is, more for your sake than mine. Your excruciating performance is hard to watch. It’s akin to witnessing a car crash in slow motion. You’re an embarrassment to the force. Let’s hope no one listens to the tape; it wouldn’t do your reputation any good at all.’

  ‘What size shoes do you wear?’

  Turner swivelled in his seat, stretched out his right leg, and pointed to a highly polished dark -tan Oxford brogue. ‘I’m an eight. I can take them off for you to check, if required. I’m more than happy to cooperate, if it gets me out of here.’

  Kesey felt a sinking feeling, deep in the pit of her stomach. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  Turner stared at her, observing her reactions, studying her closely. ‘You look a little disappointed. Is there something wrong, Detective? Wasn’t it the answer you were hoping for?’

  She checked her notes, buying time.

  ‘Oh, I get it. The fifth victim was found on a local beach. There’d have been footprints, lots of footprints. The killer hasn’t got the same size feet as me, that’s your problem. Reasonable doubt, Inspector. First the identity parade and now this. There’s reasonable doubt right there. Reasonable doubt in spades. That should tell you all you need to know.’

  Kesey ground her teeth together and glared at him as he began to laugh. ‘I can see right through you, Turner. I know exactly what you are, and it’s only a matter of time until I’ve got sufficient evidence to charge you. You won't be laughing then.’

  ‘Temper, temper, Detective. This is starting to sound like a witch hunt, and that never goes down well in legal circles. It’s tantamount to career suicide on your part. You’re a laughing stock. A joke.’ Turner paused, looked directly at the recording equipment, and continued with a smirk on his face. ‘You've wasted your time on a senseless and pointless endeavour. The man you’re looking for is still out there somewhere, searching for his next victim. It could be anyone, at any time – today, tomorrow, or the day after that. Best let me go, don’t you think? There’s every chance that someone else is going to die because of you.’

  39

  DI Kesey wasn’t usually one to break the rules. She believed in the system; in the need for regulations to complement the laws of the land. But the circumstances were exceptional, and her usual black and white world was tainted by shades of grey. ‘Come on, Emily, we can speak privately in here.’

  Emily Gravel entered the small second -floor office and took a seat near a window with a partial view of the town. ‘It’s nice to see you again. I appreciated our heart- to -heart in the café. It helped me make sense of my feelings.’

  ‘How’s your dad?’

  Emily folded her ar
ms. ‘Not bad, all considered. The surgeon told him that they succeeded in increasing blood flow to the heart muscle. I really thought he was a goner.’

  ‘Yeah, he had me worried… What did they do exactly?’

  ‘Something called an angioplasty. Basically, a deflated balloon is threaded up to the coronary arteries, and inflated, before a stent’s inserted to prevent any further blockages. It sounds a lot worse than it is, apparently.’

  ‘It’s amazing what they can do these days.’

  Emily checked her watch. ‘Look, Laura, I don’t mean to rush you, particularly after all you’ve done for Dad, but it’s my lunch hour. I’ve only got another half an hour before I need to be back in the office. What’s this about? You made it sound so urgent on the phone.’

  Kesey pulled up a seat and forced a reassuring smile. ‘Yeah, sorry this is all a bit dramatic, but I had to speak to you face -to -face. I couldn’t take the risk of anyone overhearing what I have to say.’

  Emily looked close to tears. ‘What’s so important? There isn’t something Dad hasn’t told me, is there? Please don’t say that; losing Mum was bad enough.’

  ‘No, it’s nothing like that. I need to talk to you about Turner again. It’s got nothing to do with your dad.’

  ‘I’ve decided to end the relationship.’

  Kesey relaxed. ‘That’s good, I’m glad to hear it, but I need to speak to you anyway.’

  ‘Look, I know he’s a bit of a weirdo. I’m going to tell him we’re finished – isn’t that enough?’

  Kesey sighed. ‘This isn’t something I’ve ever done before, but your dad would never forgive me if I didn’t warn you. I think Turner’s dangerous.’

  Emily glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. ‘Look, I know what I told you, but he didn’t actually hurt me. That’s what matters, isn't it? If he had, I’d be the first one to press charges. I can promise you that. Pretending isn’t the same as doing.’

  ‘Turner was arrested on suspicion of murder. He’s been released on police bail pending further enquiries.’

  Emily rubbed her brow. ‘Surely you’re not saying he’s a serious suspect? I hope it’s not because of what I told you; I really don’t think he murdered those girls.’

  ‘I’m telling you this in confidence, for your ears only. Understand?’

  ‘What the hell are you saying?’

  ‘I’m not going to go into specific details, but I think there’s a very real chance that Turner’s the killer. I can’t stress that enough. As soon as I’ve got sufficient evidence, he’ll be rearrested and charged.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, yes, there’s little doubt in my mind.’

  ‘Have you searched his house? Dad always searches the house.’

  Kesey shook her head. ‘We haven’t got enough to get a warrant.’

  Emily unbuttoned the top two buttons of her winter coat. ‘Have you got time for a coffee? I can make a quick phone call. I don’t think I’m in such a rush to get back to work after all.’

  Kesey’s mouth fell open as she stood and stared at Emily. ‘That necklace, where did you get that necklace?’

  ‘Charles gave it to me. Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘One of our victims was wearing one exactly like it: gold, sapphires, a single diamond. It was missing when her body was found. Some killers do that. They take trophies.’

  Emily resisted the impulse to vomit as she tore it from her neck with trembling fingers. ‘Is this going to be enough to rearrest him?’

  ‘I’ll need to confirm it’s the victim’s, that’s crucial. But, yes, I think it very probably is.’

  40

  Turner’s two- seater sports car was still parked in his driveway when Kesey and three uniformed officers arrived at his impressive Caerystwyth home. Kesey took the lead, rushing towards the front door, while ordering PC Kieran Harris to run to the back of the house to prevent any attempt of escape through the walled garden.

  She hammered the door repeatedly and yelled at the top of her voice, ‘Open up, Turner, it’s the police. We can break it down if we have to.’

  The DI waited and listened, but all was silent. She banged again, even more insistently this time, but still no response. ‘Okay, boys, let’s break it down. As quickly as you can. I want to get in there.’

  A large, rugby -playing officer in his mid -thirties stepped forward with a red, metal battering ram. He lifted it behind him and brought it forward with all the force he could muster. The double- glazed PVC door buckled under the force of the blow, but it stayed shut. The officer repeated the process, using all his weight and power to maximise the impact, and on the third stroke, the door flew open, its locking mechanism mangled and useless.

  Kesey rushed into the hallway as the uniformed officer threw the battering ram to the ground and stepped aside to allow her to pass. ‘Okay, Mike, you search upstairs. Gary, you can stay down here with me. As of now, we’re looking for Turner. If he’s here, let’s get the bastard arrested. We can search for evidence once that’s done.’

  Both constables signalled their understanding, and PC Michael Griffiths began to slowly ascend the stairs with his police issue baton gripped tightly in one hand.

  Within a few minutes, Kesey had satisfied herself that Charles Turner wasn’t hiding anywhere on the ground floor. She was approaching the stairs with the intention of searching the attic when PC Griffiths shouted out, his voice wavering with emotion. ‘You need to see this, ma’am. It’s horrendous.’

  She ran up the staircase, crossed the landing, and stood at the bedroom door, a look of revulsion on her face. It wasn’t like anything she’d seen before. She’d heard of such things, read about them, but seeing them with her own eyes was different. The chains, the wall-mounted camera, the bloodstained floor, and the ingrained stench of intermingling bodily waste. There they all were in front of her, as clear as day, assaulting her senses. For a time, she was lost for words, silenced by the horror of it all, as she imagined the victims’ terror while imprisoned in that awful place. The evil was palpable. It seeped from every brick, every fixture, every fitting. She contemplated humanity’s seemingly unlimited capacity for sin, in silence.

  PC Griffiths waited for her to say something. To issue orders. But she just stood and stared. ‘Are you all right, ma’am?’

  Kesey shook herself, suddenly back in the moment. ‘Have you been in there?’

  ‘No, no way, I just stood on the landing and called you. I didn’t want to disturb things unnecessarily.’

  ‘That’s good. Let’s keep it that way. The place is going to be dripping with evidence. I’ll get the scenes of crime officers here as soon as we’ve finished searching the rest of the house.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘Have you searched all the rooms?’

  Griffiths looked close to throwing up as he responded. ‘Yeah, everywhere. This was the last door I opened.’

  ‘Let’s get the attic open. I’ve got a horrible feeling he’s done a runner, but we need to be sure before I put out an alert.’

  Within ten minutes, the officers were satisfied that the house was empty. Wherever their suspect was, he wasn’t there.

  ‘Okay, boys, we need to search the garden and outbuildings before I call the cavalry. If he has done a runner, the quicker people are looking for him, the better. Let’s get on with it.’

  Kesey wandered around the first -floor rooms, casting a keen eye over the contents, as the two uniformed constables joined PC Harris outside in the cold. She stopped on entering the master bedroom, with its king -sized bed and floor to ceiling fitted wardrobes. It was obviously his room: the cupboards full of clothes; the book of infamous serial killers, and true crime magazines resting on the bedside table, with a half empty glass of water. It seemed he’d been studying their methods, comparing them to his own. Or maybe he just liked reading the details of the cases and wallowing in the misfortune and misery of their many victims.

  Kesey opened a drawer and knew she’
d found his trophy cabinet. There were gold rings, bangles, a silver pendant, and various items of women’s clothing. Even a frigging tampon.

  She opened a second drawer, inch by cautious inch, and was met by the unmistakable scent of lavender oil, as a shout came from the hallway, ‘He’s not here, ma’am, but he’s left his computer. He must have left in a hurry.’

  ‘Just bag it up for the tech people to look at.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Kesey dialled the detective chief superintendent’s direct office number as she descended the stairs and only had to wait a few seconds before receiving a response. ‘DCS Davies.’

  ‘Good morning, ma’am, it’s Laura. We’re at Turner’s house now.’

  ‘Have you got him?’

  ‘His car’s here, but there’s no sign of him. I’m guessing he knew we were getting closer and left. Leaving his car was a clever move.’

  Davies dragged a hand through her hair. ‘Has he got a second vehicle?’

  ‘There’s nothing on record.’

  ‘And he’s definitely not in work?’

  ‘No, I spoke to his secretary. She’s been unable to contact him for days, she was keen to tell me.’

  ‘What’s the house like?’

  Kesey took a deep breath as she pictured the room; that monument to evil she knew she’d never forget. ‘The women were here, that’s copper- bottomed guaranteed. He kept them chained up in what was a bedroom before he stripped it and fitted chains to the walls. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘So, they were imprisoned at the house, for however long, before he killed them.’

  ‘There’s a drawer full of trophies – items that belonged to the victims. I recognised some of them from the descriptions we were given. I’m surprised he didn’t take them with him. He must think he’s coming back.’