by Tim Ellis
Those with PRESS badges were allowed inside and they shuffled their way into the available nooks and crannies in the briefing room like lemmings on a works’ outing.
Once everyone was inside Xena stood up and raised a hand for quiet. ‘Lock the doors,’ she called to the officers at the back of the room.
They tried turning round to see what was happening, but there wasn’t an inch of space.
‘Hey!’
‘What’s going on?’
‘You can’t keep us locked up in here.’
‘Is this one of those mass shootings?’
She smiled at them. ‘Please turn off the television cameras, recording devices and your Smartphones.’
‘But . . .’
‘Isn’t this a press briefing?’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Is this one of those mass alien abductions?’
Eventually, she was satisfied that she wasn’t being filmed or recorded. ‘You all know me.’
There was a ripple of unflattering remarks.
‘You know that I’m generally not nice to you, or anybody for that matter.’
More grumbling and a few bursts of laughter followed.
‘Today isn’t going to be any different. If you tell people Slinky is here, I’ll make it my mission in life to inform the world that it was your fault two young women were murdered and the killer escaped justice.’
The only sound was sweaty bodies rubbing up against each one another.
‘What you’re completely unaware of is that there’s a killer out there murdering young women who have altered their appearance to look like Slinky. He already has a tally of four victims, and there are a further two who we’re trying to locate and place in protective custody – as well as identify the killer, of course.’
‘How long do you expect us to keep silent, Inspector?’ A woman with ginger corkscrew shoulder-length hair seemed to have taken on the role of spokesperson.
‘Until five o’clock today.’
More muttering and then a consensus of head-nodding. ‘You have until five o’clock,’ the ginger-haired woman said.
‘Nobody breaks ranks.’
They shook their heads.
‘Come back in here at five o’clock and I’ll give you everything I have, but if anyone breaks ranks . . . Well, I think you know me well enough by now to know that I’ll hunt you down and make your life a lot more miserable than I’ve made it so far.’
‘We won’t say anything,’ ginger said. She raised herself up on tiptoes and swivelled her head like something from The Exorcist. ‘Will we?’
There was a chorus of “No’s”.
Xena nodded. ‘Good.’
‘How do we not know about these murders already?’ someone from the back shouted.
‘That’s something else I’ll tell you at five o’clock.’ She indicated for the officers at the back to open the doors and let the lemmings out.
Xena walked up the stairs to join Stick and Slinky in the incident room.
Slinky’s two body guards were standing outside and wanted to frisk her before letting her in.
‘Mmmm! Yes, please. But, as much as I’d enjoy letting you have a good feel-up of my ample womanly charms, I’ll still need to arrest you for assaulting a senior police officer.’
‘You look like you have a trustworthy face,’ one of them said.
She smiled like a shy teenager. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls?’
‘Only the pretty ones.’
As she went into the incident room she chuckled and closed the door. ‘Well, what have we here?’
Stick stood up and swept his arm towards a pretty young woman like a compère at an awards ceremony. She looked the spitting image of the victims in the photographs – or they looked like her. ‘This is . . .’
‘Don’t be stupid, Stick. I know exactly who she is.’ She shook the woman’s proffered hand. The grip was as limp as a wet dishcloth, and hardly worth getting out of bed for. ‘Thank you for coming. DS Gilbert has told you what this is all about, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes.’ She turned her head to look at the six photographs. ‘I feel terrible.’
‘At least you can feel. Four of those girls can’t.’
She saw Stick open his mouth as if to say something, but she ignored him. ‘Right, let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Your name is Tarah Puxty?’
‘Yes.’
‘Carry on then?’
‘Oh, okay. Well, I live with my mum and two younger sisters – Georgia and Louisa . . .’
‘What about your dad?’
‘He died of a heart attack five years ago . . .’
‘When you were fourteen?’
‘That’s right. In fact, the first song I wrote was about losing my dad. I recorded it on YouTube and got picked up by my agent Salie Turner. Pumpkin Records then took me on, and the rest – as they say – is history.’
‘To you. It may come as a shock to you, but I didn’t have a clue who you were until last night.’
‘That’s because you’re old . . .’
‘Old! I should lock you up for . . .’
‘Carry on, Tarah,’ Stick interrupted.
‘I had a normal childhood until I was fourteen and then my life went crazy.’
‘Why did you change your name to Slinky?’
‘You’ve probably guessed that Tarah Puxty doesn’t sound like a world-famous recording artist. My agent suggested that I change it, so I came up with Slinky. When I’m wet and naked, I look like a slinky salamander.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Do you know any of these girls?’
Slinky went up to the whiteboard and stared at the photographs. ‘They look just like me.’
‘That’s why you’re here.’
Stick had draped paper over the crime scene photographs, but before they could stop her Slinky had lifted up the paper and recoiled in horror. ‘Oh God!’
‘I covered those up for a reason,’ Stick said. ‘You’re too young and innocent to look at terrible things like that.’
‘What’s he doing to them?’
‘All you need to know is that he rapes, tortures and murders them.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Xena said. ‘You didn’t answer the question.’
‘No, I don’t know them.’
‘Do you keep an eye on the Slinky fan or chat room sites?’
‘No. I have an official website with my tour dates on, any news, a short biography, some taster music, photographs, videos and a shop. I don’t keep it up to date. My agent employs someone to do that.’
‘What about emails?’
‘I have an email account, but it’s filtered by the person who maintains my website. I also have a Twitter account and a Facebook page, but I don’t do anything on them. In fact, I have no time to look at them. Apparently, I have more LIKES than Justin Bieber and Cristiano Ronaldo.’
‘Wonderful.’
Slinky was still looking at the whiteboard and said, ‘What does ?Father mean?’
Stick answered her. ‘We had this idea that he was sexually abusing his daughter and that he was punishing her for preferring to leave him and become a prostitute.’
‘There’s something that nobody outside the family knows?’
‘Oh?’
‘I was adopted when I was nine months old.’
Xena looked at Stick. ‘Why didn’t we know that?’
‘You heard her – nobody knew?’
‘I blame you.’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you think it’s my real father killing these girls?’
Xena shook her head. ‘We don’t know, but it’s unlikely. You didn’t leave him and become a prostitute, did you?’
‘No, but there’s something else you should see.’ She went to the canvas bag that she’d brought with her, upended it, and loads of envelopes and letters spilled out onto the table. She rummaged around in the jumble of paper until she found four be
ige envelopes. ‘Read them,’ she said sliding them along the table.
Before they picked the envelopes up, Stick passed Xena a pair of plastic gloves and put a pair on himself.
He then picked up one of the envelopes and took out the contents.
She opened another. The name and address on the front of the envelope had been printed in black ink, and the postmark showed that it had been posted in Swansea on January 4. Inside, there was one sheet of paper with individual letters cut out of magazines and stuck on the paper to create a message:
WHORE
I LOVED YOU
WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?
YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE LEFT ME
NOW YOU’RE GOING TO DIE
I’LL SEE YOU SOON
And another one:
WHORE
YES YOU – YOU FUCKING SLUT
YOU LEFT ME
YOU’LL WISH YOU HADN’T
I WOULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD TO YOU
NOW I’M GOING TO KILL YOU
KEEP A LOOK OUT FOR ME
I’LL SEE YOU SOON
‘Are the other two like this?’ Xena said.
Slinky nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘This is our killer, isn’t it?’ Stick said.
‘It’s certainly looking that way, Stickamundo. The problem is, they don’t tell us anything we don’t already know.’ She stared at Slinky. ‘You’re not a prostitute, are you?’
Slinky‘s face went a bright red. ‘I’ve had three boyfriends in my life, but some people have called me that.’
‘Apart from two of your boyfriends . . . I assume you’re still with one of them?’
‘No. I’m off men at the moment.’
‘A wise decision. So, could any of your three ex-boyfriends be the killer?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘We’ll check them out anyway.’
Stick interrupted. ‘What do you know about your biological parents?’
‘Not much really.’
‘I’m beginning to think that maybe we were wrong about the father and daughter relationship.’
‘We? If you’re going to start finger-pointing, make sure you point it in the right direction, Stickleback.’
‘Maybe I was wrong?’
‘That sounds about right. I’d hate this Slinky person to get the idea that I could be wrong. Go on?’
‘Maybe I was right about the father . . .’
‘You?’
‘Oh no, it was you who was right about that the father, wasn’t it?’
‘Keep going.’
‘And I was wrong about the daughter. What if the relationship was between Slinky’s father and her mother?’
They both looked at Slinky.
‘What?’
‘What exactly do you know about your parents?’ Xena said.
‘I know I was left outside Cheshunt Community Hospital, Waltham Cross on December 14, 1996. I have a black and white video of my mother leaving me, but her face is obscured. The hospital and the police ran a campaign to find her, or my father, but no one ever came forward. So, Social Services put me up for adoption.’
Stick’s forehead wrinkled up. ‘How come you live on Sark in the Channel Islands?’
‘Shortly after adopting me, my parents – the Puxty’s – bought a farm and moved there.’
‘Give you mother a call – see if she knows anymore.’
Slinky nodded.
To keep herself busy, Xena placed the four envelopes in a line and stared at the postmarks. They were posted from different places and on different dates: Swansea on January 4; Portsmouth on November 3; Hartlepool on February 2; and London SW6 on December 7 . . . ‘Jesus!’ she said, scooped the envelopes up and took them to the board. ‘Look! Three months ago he posted this one from Portsmouth . . .’ She tapped one of the photographs. ‘. . . Jean Wells. Two months ago this envelope was posted from London SW6 – Marielle Arkell.’ She tapped the photograph of the second victim. ‘One month ago this one was posted in Swansea – Elizabeth Vincent. And the last one was posted two days ago from Hartlepool, which is where Lolita Murray lived.’
‘You’re brilliant,’ Stick said.
‘I am, aren’t I? But we’re not there yet.’
‘Although he’s posting the letters from where the girls came from, that’s not necessarily where they were or where the remaining two are now.’
‘But we know that Shirley Reid from Bath and Paula Scott from Warrington are still alive.’
‘Yes we do. The problem is though, he knows where they are, but we don’t.’
Slinky came off the phone. ‘My mother said I’ve received another letter.’
Xena pursed her lips. ‘Oh?’
‘It’s from Warrington and it was dated yesterday.’
***
It was a bumpy ride back to Aberdeen. The storm front was nibbling at the tail rotor during the whole journey, and just as they were about to land at Dyce heliport it swallowed them up. The pilot struggled to keep the aircraft under control with the stick as the wind whipped the tail round. It swayed from side to side, twisted round in a full circle and jerked up and down.
The British hadn’t really adopted the craze of clapping when a pilot landed an aircraft, but there was genuine relief and applause inside the helicopter when it finally touched down on the helipad.
‘Don’t clap too soon,’ the pilot said through the opening in the bulkhead. ‘We’re sitting ducks out here. Grab your luggage and get inside the hangar. Hopefully, this will soon pass.’
They hurried into the building with their bags, and the mini-tornado had dissipated by the time they reached cover.
‘I thought I was going to die,’ Richards said.
‘It was a little bit of wind.’
‘You have a little bit of wind – that was a hurricane. I saw you gripping the armrests.’
‘Nonsense. I was holding them down to protect the rest of the passengers from flying debris.’
‘You can’t fool me.’
‘Of course I can. You’re so easy to fool it’s embarrassing taking you out.’
She slapped him on the arm. ‘I am not.’
‘Right, while you and Jill get the luggage and Hogan into the Vitara, I’ll phone DI Pollard and let her know what’s going on.’
‘You’re such a gentleman.’
‘You wanted equality, well here it is.’
‘Huh!’
He stayed in the hangar while he called her because it was still windy and the rain was coming down in bucketfuls.
‘Hi, Jed.’
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Nothing substantial here. You were right about the body. Doctor Riley carried out a second post mortem and found an ante-mortem stab wound that severed the carotid artery in the neck. We ran the three names through CrimInt. Jimmy Landy and Vic Noakes had minor traffic offences against their names, but nothing else of any note. Also, the families were interviewed under caution, but deny knowing anything about a conspiracy.’
‘Things have moved on since we last spoke. I now know for sure that the body wasn’t Frank Cabot, but which of the other three it is, why he was murdered and what it’s all about I still have no idea. We’re back in Aberdeen, and we’ve got one of the witnesses – the medic Bruce Hogan – under arrest. He was paid ten thousand pounds to say that it was definitely Frank Cabot he saw fall to his death. He’s also implicated Doctor Lewis Hayden. Apparently, Hayden is a paedophile. Frank Cabot and the others had pictures of him with young boys, and threatened to publish them on the internet unless he falsified the Death Certificate.’
‘But you still don’t know whether it has anything to do with Lisa’s disappearance?’
‘No. It could simply be a sideshow. Although, I’m not big on coincidences. DS Jill Butler is speaking to her boss, and they’ll arrest Hayden and initiate an investigation into exactly what happened on the Echo74 platform.’
‘Any suggestions?’
‘If it’s all right with you, I’d l
ike to talk to Lewis Hayden and find out if he has any idea what it’s all about. It’ll be a minor detour. I still plan to fly back tonight.’
‘You may as well while you’re up there. It might be the one piece that will make the rest of the jigsaw make sense.’
‘I’m glad you haven’t lost your optimism, Anne. Oh, how did the review go?’
‘As expected. I have until midday tomorrow, and then I’ll be a footnote in history. Nobody said they’d do anything different, but a fresh pair of eyes . . . You know how it goes?’
‘Well, let’s see if Doctor Lewis Hayden is the puzzle piece we’ve been searching for.’
‘See you in the morning, Jed.’
He ended the call, walked over to the Vitara and climbed in the back seat next to Hogan.
‘I want to speak to Hayden before we fly back to Gatwick, Jill.’
‘They’ve sent officers to arrest him, so that shouldn’t be a problem.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘We don’t have a lot of time, Stick.’
‘No.’
‘What did your mother say about your biological parents?’ Xena said to Slinky.
‘She’d already told me everything she knew.’
‘Crap! Any ideas, Stickamundo?’
‘Slinky could go home if we’re finished with her?’
‘That’s not really what I had in mind, but she may as well slink off instead of cluttering up this place and getting under our feet.’
Slinky stood up. ‘I can go home?’
Xena nodded. ‘Yes. Thanks for coming here and helping us.’
‘Is it really my biological father who’s murdering these girls?’
‘It’s a hypothesis we’re working on, but it’s looking that way. I’m guessing that you’re the mirror image of your real mother. She was probably fifteen years old and impressionable, and let’s speculate that your father was an older man who used to beat and torture her during sex. Then she became pregnant. She knew she couldn’t have the baby and stay with him, so she planned her escape. After giving birth, she left you outside Cheshunt Hospital and ran as far away from him as she could. Things didn’t go well for her though and she was sucked into drugs and prostitution. Maybe he found and killed her, maybe he didn’t. Maybe she’s still alive, but I’m guessing not. After years of not knowing what had happened, I think he must have seen you on the television, possibly on the internet, or in a magazine and realised that you were his daughter. He wanted his revenge. He couldn’t get to you, so he went for the next best thing – replicas. These girls are copies of your mother and you . . .’